seduction. Sent to lure sages from their purpose.”
“I’m already yours,” he’d croaked, mesmerized.
“Are you?”
“As long as I draw breath, you will be the only apsara to tempt this wastrel’s heart.”
She’d laughed and floated in the pool then, the voluminous white folds of the traditional garb fanning about her, looking much like the divine nymph she’d described, and Rhystan had never been more grateful for the isolation of their secret spot than he had at that moment.
The small waterfall had been a short hike away from where the villagers usually bathed and washed their clothing, but it was worth it for the seclusion. There she was free of the trappings of her station and could speak her mind. There he could kiss her fragrant skin without recrimination, judgment, or censure. It had been their secret adventure.
The first time he’d shown her the pool, climbing through the sweltering bush hadn’t deterred his fierce princess in the least. She was adept at sneaking out of the palace. She’d allowed her maid, Asha, to accompany her for propriety’s sake, though she’d refused a guard, insisting she could defend herself well enough should any need arise. And she could with those kukri blades of hers. Not that she’d needed them where Rhystan was concerned; he was already wholly at her mercy.
As the recollection dimmed, he licked dry lips. That was a more fitting name for her than the lukewarm Sara. His apsara sent to lure him from his purpose, from reason.
And now she had returned.
He ground his jaw. He was hardly the naive, lovestruck lad he’d been then, though he couldn’t deny the attraction that still burned like an unchecked flame between them. His heart was already beating a resounding staccato in his chest. And other parts of him… Well, he’d been at half-mast for so much of the voyage that it had become his natural state.
A sorry state indeed.
Rhystan shook his head at his inability to control himself and winced at the ache that shot up his spine and between his bruised ribs. There was no doubt in his mind that she was dangerous, and not just to him. She’d already brought danger on his heels with this unnamed assassin, if her story about why she’d fled Joor and Indian shores was true. Now that his thoughts had settled somewhat, his brain had processed the information she’d shared.
She never married.
The thought flew into his brain like a fly to honey. But it didn’t matter if she was unmarried or a widow. She wasn’t his.
Why can’t she be?
He almost growled at the supremely rational voice in his head. Theirs was not a story that could ever end in some unrealistic happily-ever-after. The court in Joor had been a small taste of what any union between them would face.
As vile as his behavior had been, Vice Admiral Markham would not be the only one in England to look down the length of his arrogant, prejudiced nose at Sarani. The truth of her lineage would come out sooner or later. London, with all its social rules and discrimination, was hardly the place for either of them.
St. Helena was still an option. He could rid himself of her once they put into James Bay. Though his gut clenched at the thought of leaving her in an island port without any means of escape. Would she be able to find passage on another ship? With another captain? One who wouldn’t take advantage? His jaw clenched at the thought of any such unscrupulous man getting his hooks into her, having her at his mercy on the seas. With her blades, she could defend herself against one, but what about many?
She’s not your problem.
She wasn’t, and yet he warred between wanting to protect and punish her. But punishing her didn’t mean abandoning an Indian princess at a random shipping port of call. The wolves would scent her vulnerability and be upon her in seconds.
A cool cloth dragged across his brow, and his gaze snapped open to his unwelcome nurse.
“What are you doing?” he growled.
She recoiled at the venom in his tone. “You’re hurt. I wanted to help.”
He didn’t snarl that it was because of her that he was hurt, that she had driven him to seek a thrashing from the biggest man onboard. Because in truth, provoking Gideon had been his choice. He’d needed a release from the paralysis that had gripped him. He’d needed reason pounded into him. “You’ve done enough.”
She sat back, her face contrite. “I’m sorry. If I’d