The Perfect Temptation Page 8

the house and kill the boy."

  Preeya, in hearing her name, looked back and forth between

  them in obvious distress. Alex hastily assured her that

  the argument had nothing to do with her and then turned her

  full attention back to Aiden Terrell. "You're being ridiculous,"

  she accused. "Absolutely ridiculous."

  And, just as she expected, he was ready with a rejoinder.

  ''No more so than you are, Miss Radford. Life is risk. You

  can't avoid it. Simply opening your eyes and climbing out of

  bed every morning is fraught with peril. You could slip on

  the rug, fall, and bash your brains on the bedstead."

  ''Did you not notice the bed in your room?"

  "Don't split hairs," he countered, cocking a brow. "You're

  an extremely intelligent woman and you know full good and

  well the point I'm trying to make. You can't-and most importantly,

  shouldn't treat Mohan as if he's some fragile

  piece of porcelain. He needs to be treated as a normal child

  and allowed to take reasonable chances. If you do, his general

  attitude will be much improved and you won't be nearly

  as frustrated with him."

  ''I'm not frustrated," she lied, putting down her fork,

  afraid that he'd notice that her hand was trembling.

  ''The hell you aren't."

  She blinked at him, not so much shocked by his language,

  but more for the fact that he so clearly understood how she

  felt deep down inside. She'd tried very hard to keep it locked

  away, hidden from the casual observer. That she'd failed was

  more than disturbing, it was frightening. Alex swallowed and

  forced herself to take a breath. With what she hoped passed

  for a serene smile, she shrugged and said, "We'll simply have

  to agree to disagree on that point. And on the matter of

  Mohan's daily activities."

  All right, Aiden thought, so it's not easy. He'd underestimated

  her sense of independence. And her mother-hen tendencies.

  But if she thought he was going to give up the

  voyage because he'd encountered a little patch of rough sea,

  then she was underestimating his tenacity. As well as his abhorrence

  of boredom. He and Mohan had common ground

  in that .

  It might well turn out to be the longest damn day of his

  life, but he was going to keep pushing until she didn't have

  the wherewithal to fight him another step, until he'd so worn

  her down she'd have to trust him if for no other reason than

  to get her exhausted, curvaceous little body home.

  ''Tell me, Miss Radford ... Do you know how to ride?"

  She sighed and closed her eyes for a second before she

  said, "No, I don't."

  "Hunt, sail, or fish?"

  She looked as if she wanted to pick up her fork and throw

  it at him. "Of course not. Nor do I sled or skate. And I

  wouldn't play cricket, football, or rugby even if you held a

  gun to my head."

  ''Would you care to learn?" Her eyes widened and he

  couldn't keep from chuckling. "Not the rougher sports. Those

  are strictly for men. I was thinking of the others. We could

  start with riding. Teaching two doesn't require much more

  effort than teaching one."

  "You've presumed that I've given my consent for .Mohan

  to engage in these activities. I thought I made It clear

  when-"

  "I haven't presumed anything of the sort," he interrupted,

  smiling at her. «And you did make your position clear. Now

  let me make mine just as understood. I don't care whether

  you give your consent or not. I've made a decision and it's

  going to stand."

  She stared at him, her eyes wide again and her lips slightly,

  invitingly parted.

  "Yes, Miss Radford," he assured her, placing his napkin

  on the table beside his plate. ''This is indeed one of those occasions

  I mentioned in the carriage earlier today. I decide.

  You and Mohan acquiesce without protest. There is no discussion."

  "You are positively ... dictatorial," she sputtered.

  He shrugged and nodded. "I was born to command. I happen

  to do it well and you happen to be in no position to defy

  me." Rising from his seat, he added. I d like to first our

  tour of the house as you promised. Whenever you're ready.

  of course. I'll wait for you in the hall."

  He didn't give her a chance to object. Turning to Preeya,

  he bowed, and said, "Preeya, thank you for the meal. I have

  absolutely no idea what it was, but it was delicious."

  Still smiling, he left the dining room thinking that,

  all the exchange had turned out precisely as he'd envisioned

  So far, anyway. There was always the possibility that

  Alexandra Radford would follow him out for the sole purpose

  of summarily dismissing him.

  Alex glared at her half-eaten lunch, wondering what he'd do

  if she refused to get up and trot obediently after him. Preeya

  leaned forward to place a hand on her arm and say in Hindi,

  "It is never a good thing to argue with a man, dear. They do

  not like to think of women as being as strong as they are."

  "Women are every bit as capable as men in every respect,"

  Alex maintained angrily.

  "Agreed." The older woman patted her hand. "But that does

  not mean men like to know it. And there is much to be gained

  in keeping them contented and blissfully ignorant of that fact."

  "Such as?"

  ”Aside from a quieter house and smoother digestion, it

  makes them much more attentive lovers."

  For heaven's sake, she'd met the man only a few hours

  ago! Yes, he was handsome and incredibly well built. Yes, he

  was well spoken and for the most part gentlemanly. But

  those were hardly the basic criteria for establishing an intimate

  relationship. ''As I said the last time you spoke of this,"

  Alex replied, trying to be kind about her dismissal of the notion,

  "I have no intention of making him a lover. He simply

  doesn't interest me in that way."

  Again Preeya patted her hand. This time a quiet chuckle

  accompanied the gesture. "My dear, you are the worst liar in

  the world. You really must stop trying. You're embarrassing

  yourself."

  It wasn't the first time she'd had that fact pointed out.

  Rather than continue an obviously failed protest, she

  changed the avenue of approach. "He's far too full of his

  own viewpoints to be even marginally tolerable."

  Preeya considered her for a moment, a smile tickling the

  comers of her mouth and her dark eyes shining. "I've been

  listening to the sounds and watching your faces. It feels and

  looks very much like a lovers' quarrel."

  "Well, it's not."

  ''What is it that you are arguing about so passionately?"

  They were, thankfully, to the summary part of the exchange.

  Alex sighed in relief. "How to properly parent Mohan.

  He contends that the days should be filled with riding, hunting,

  fishing, sailing, and all warmer of wild, uncontrolled sports."

  "Ah," Preeya said, leaning back in her chair and nodding.

  "Your gentleman wants Mohan to be a boy. You want him to


  be a prince."

  "He is a prince," Alex righteously countered.

  Preeya laced her fingers and stared at the dining room

  wall. Quietly, her gaze still focused in the near distance, she

  said, "Mohan is both a boy and a prince. You are both right.

  Perhaps you might seek a way by which Mohan can benefit

  from the wisdom and vision you both possess."

  As always, Preeya was right. Alex barely kept herself

  from sagging as her anger evaporated in a single instant. In

  its absence, she felt nothing but overwhelmed and beleaguered.

  The threat of tears tightening her throat, she struggled

  for control of her wildly careening emotions. "He's not

  my gentleman:' she asserted, clinging to the only real certainty

  she could see.

  "He very much wants to be," Preeya replied softly. "For

  what other reason would he make the effort to assist you in

  the guidance of Mohan? Nothing requires that effort of him.

  He is offering it out of his desire to be, meaningful to you."

  She didn't want him to be meaningful. She didn't want

  his help with anything beyond guarding Mohan. She didn't

  want to need him for more. Needing people made you weak

  and vulnerable; it obligated you to them. And she had

  enough obligations already.

  "While you ponder that truth," Preeya went on, "you should

  also consider another, Alex, my dear. He knows that you're

  only pretending to find him unattractive. His are the eyes that

  can see through a thousand veils. Perhaps you should ask

  yourself if it might be pointless and foolish to continue to

  wear them."

  Pointless, no doubt. But foolish? It would be even more

  foolish to let them fall, to consciously allow Aiden Terrell to

  look fully into her soul. Better that he only suspect that she

  lacked any moral depth than to blatantly display the unflattering

  truth for him.

  "Alex, dear?"

  She recognized the tone. Part of her relaxed in the knowledge

  that the personal inquisition was over. Another part

  braced, wondering which word Preeya had picked this time.

  "What does 'manly' mean?"

  Yes, it would be that one. Preeya had an uncanny ability

  to pick the most sensitive words out of any English conversation.

  "It means virile," she explained matter-of-factly.

  "Masculine. Very much a man."

  "Like your gentleman."

  "Yes, but he's not mine," she corrected weakly.

  Preeya arched a brow and smiled broadly as she rose to

  her feet. Gathering up the plates, she said, "He is standing in

  the hall. It is not wise to make men wait too long for you. But

  for just long enough that they do not take your appearance

  for granted."

  Alex had the distinct and ' uncomfortable feeling that

  Preeya's last bit of wisdom was intended to apply to more

  than just her promise to show Aiden Terrell the upstairs

  rooms. But she was too battered to think clearly and so she set

  aside any immediate consideration of it, placed her napkin beside

  her plate, and rose from the table. Thanking Preeya for

  the meal, she left the dining room to fulfill her duty and a

  promise she wished she hadn't made.

  Aiden had no idea what the two women had talked about,

  but the effect on Alex was obvious. He'd seen sailors adrift

  on a raft who had more spark in them. She wasn't going to

  send him packing, that was certain. She didn't have the energy

  for it. This wasn't quite the surrender he had in mind,

  though.

  ''As a point of information," he said, hoping to bring a bit

  of her starch back to the surface, "I enjoy a good game of

  rugby."

  She rewarded him with a delicate snort and a roll of her

  eyes as she walked past him. ''That doesn't surprise me in

  the least," she quipped over her shoulder as she halted in the

  doorway just down the hall. ''This is the salon, sitting room,

  parlor, whatever you choose to call it. It serves for our communal

  gathering."

  She disappeared inside and Aiden followed her into a

  most curiously appointed room. Unlike the dining room, this

  room wasn't purely English. A camel-backed settee, a wing

  chair-the mate to the one downstairs, he realized - and a

  few carved wooden pieces paid tribute to traditional English

  tastes, but that was the sum total of it. The rest of it looked a

  great deal like his quarters.

  Thick, fringed, intricately patterned carpets covered the

  floors. There was a chaise of sorts, draped with what looked

  like paisley shawls. And there were pillows. Lots of pillows.

  Large and small and in between. Plaids, stripes, solids,

  damasks. In all kinds of colors. Fringed and tasseled, embroidered

  and plain. What he supposed were lamps were

  nothing more than brass cylinders punched full of holes. A

  short English chest of drawers sat against the far wall to the

  right of the crackling fireplace. In the center of the top was a

  statue of a woman with what looked like four painfully bent

  arms. Little pots of sticks sat around her.

  "It looks very comfortable," he offered cautiously, not

  wanting to offend. ''An interesting combination of English

  and Indian styles."

  Nodding, she bent to retrieve a pillow from the carpet.

  ''With the Indian part of it being ever so much more inviting

  and comfortable," she said, tossing it casually toward the

  chaise.

  Since she'd opened the conversational door and he was

  curious as to how she thought, he ventured, "You sound as

  though you've been a bit let down by your countrymen."

  Going about tidying the room, she answered, "It's difficult

  to maintain that British ways are superior when your back is

  aching from sitting on an unforgivingly stiff English settee."

  "Then why not admit the obvious truth and throw yourself

  into the pillows?"

  "I'm employed because I'm British," she answered, peering

  inside one of the brass tubes. She extracted a squat candle

  stub as she went on. ''And because I'm British, my ways

  are considered to be worth knowing and emulating. If I suggested

  that Indian ways might be better than mine there'd be

  no point in keeping me about."

  Watching her put the candle remnant in a basket beside

  the chest, he took a chance. "So you live a lie?"

  Shrugging, she got a new candle--a tall, fat, brown

  one--from the chest under the statue. "I've never claimed it to

  be an ideal existence," she answered, carefully placing it into

  the cylinder. She looked up and met his gaze, adding, "It is,

  however, a reasonably secure one."

  "As long as you can keep up the pretense."

  "It helps if one doesn't dwell on the incongruities."

  "What is, is," he guessed, remembering what she'd told

  him earlier about Mohan's beliefs.

  "You learn quickly, Mr. Terrell," she offered as she glided

  past him. "I'm most impressed." She stopped in the center of

  the hall and turned back, nonchalantly but effectively blocking

  his exit from the parlo
r. "My room, of course, is down

  there," she said, gesturing to the hall on her left. She lifted

  her right hand toward the other end of the hall and Aiden

  saw her intention.

  "I'd like to see it, please."

  Her arm falling slowly to her side, she looked at him for a

  long moment, clearly weighing a decision. ''My private

  quarters are none of your concern."

  There was no fire in her assertion, just a quiet wariness

  that he found utterly intriguing. "I beg to differ," Aiden

  countered gently but firmly. "There are three rooms on this

  side of the hall. I've seen one of them, mine. It's on the end

  and has five windows and two doors. One door comes in

  from the hall, the other opens into Mohan's room. Two of

  the windows overlook the rear of the house, three overlook

  the city to the east. If I wanted to gain illegal access to this

  house, all I'd have to do is climb anyone of several trees on

  the east side, lean out on a limb, break the window glass and

  crawl inside."

  She continued to study him, one delicate brow arched and

  her wariness apparently unaffected by his explanation. Undaunted,

  he pressed on.

  "Your room, Miss Radford, is undoubtedly-British architecture

  being the predictable creature that it is configured

  exactly as my own. I need to see what lies outside your