was so full of longing that Rhystan nearly cackled. “If you behave, you may have a bath as well.”
She scrunched up her nose as if the thought of sharing his bathwater was beneath her but then shrugged as though her next thought was that beggars couldn’t be choosers. The frown reappeared when she narrowed her eyes at him in sudden suspicion. “What’s the catch?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why are you being so…generous?”
His smile was slow. “I consider it quite selfish actually. A beautiful woman bathing in my cabin? What’s not to want?”
“You won’t be anywhere in the cabin with me,” she said tartly. “I’ll forego the bath if I have to.”
He grinned, feeling the odds finally beginning to tip in his favor. “Care to make a wager on that? Because trust me, Princess, you’ll be begging for it.”
Six
Sarani itched everywhere. She had grime on her neck, in her armpits, behind her knees, in every imaginable bodily crease. And the more she thought of the proffered bath, the worse the itching became. It wasn’t as though she was dirty. She cleansed herself from top to bottom with a cloth and water from the wash basin every evening, but the thought of actually submerging her body into clean water, even if it was only a hip bath, made her delirious with need.
Damn Rhystan for putting it into her head! Bloody man.
You’ll be begging for it.
The five words became a taunting drumbeat to her pulse. By the time she’d consumed her simple meal of boiled beef, bread, and peas with Asha, she was a mess of want and anger and frustration. All over a sodding bath. One of the simple pleasures she’d taken for granted was now on her top list of coveted things. Not only was her temper holding on by a thread, but her vocabulary had taken on a distinctly unladylike slant. She had the boatswains to thank for that.
At first, they’d tried to curb their language, but when she didn’t gasp in ladylike horror, they’d fallen back to old habits. Now she had a very colorful collection of oaths, some she’d employed more than once in the past day. Under her breath, of course. And usually always directed to one rotten soul in particular.
If that man thought she was going to beg, he was mistaken. Sorely. Completely.
She scratched at her ribs beneath the rough clothing and sighed.
Who are you fooling?
No one, really. She wanted the bath. Badly. Blast it. She would eat humble pie. She would devour it and beg for more. She didn’t even care if Rhystan bathed first. He took meticulous care of his personal hygiene. She would know—she had to empty the used basin water from the small chamber in his quarters and refill it twice daily after his ablutions. Though he was a foul-tempered arse, he didn’t make her empty his chamber pot, thank goodness. He had Tej do that.
A small mercy for which she was grateful.
Back in her cabin, where Asha was tidying the cramped space after patching a small mountain of men’s clothing, Sarani had the thought that Asha and Tej did not look worse for wear. For the most part, her servants had been treated well, which gave her hope. Tej had been tasked with helping the ship’s cook. He stirred oats and broth two times a day. And when he wasn’t helping in the kitchen, he was mending sails, braiding ropes, and shoveling coal with the other deckhands, or emptying ducal chamber pots overboard.
She hadn’t spoken to either of them about what had happened in the palace since they’d left, keeping her lingering fears buried. And her worry that her cousin Vikram had to have allies who’d been opposed to her father. Deposing him would not have been easy if her cousin didn’t have support. Getting an assassin inside wasn’t the issue, it was making sure that he would be championed by the British regent as the new maharaja. Sarani grimaced. Talbot undoubtedly would have been salivating at the thought of more control. Pockets would have been liberally lined…enough to commit regicide and enough to ensure Vikram’s new station.
That craven, heartless bastard.
Though she mourned her father deeply, fretting about the past wouldn’t help her now. Even though they were well on their way from India, Sarani couldn’t be sure that trouble wouldn’t follow them, especially since she’d involved the harbormaster in Bombay to help her secure passage. And to be truly safe, Sarani had needed to vanish. Without any trace.
The harbormaster was a