Some Enchanted Evening

Priya frowned at her and continued with, “It is impossible because…because….”

The moment of truth had suddenly come, but despite the fact that Charlotte was like a sister to her—far more so than any of the sisters and half-sisters born of her father were—confessing the truth felt like thrusting her hand into a basket without knowing whether it contained venomous snakes or biscuits.

She took a breath, shook her head, and squared her shoulders to summon all the courage she could. “Charlotte, there is something I haven’t told you.”

“Ooh, a secret!” Bless Charlotte. The woman saw the light and the good in everything, even an impossible situation like the one Priya found herself in.

“It is not a secret I have kept out of spite or malice,” Priya explained. “I have withheld the truth from you out of embarrassment more than anything else. You see, I received a letter from my father the other day, and—”

“Miss Narayan, is that you?”

Priya’s heart dropped into her stomach, then bounced to her throat, at the sound of Francis’s voice. She and Charlotte turned in unison to find Francis walking across Bedford Square. He looked as dashing as ever in his autumn coat, a fashionable derby hat over his dark hair, and a silver-tipped walking stick in one hand. He was every bit the British aristocrat. Priya should have despised everything he stood for, but in her heart, she knew he was different. And her lips could still feel his.

“Miss Sloane, isn’t it?” Francis greeted Charlotte as well as he stepped off the path and walked to join them. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance again.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Charlotte said, beaming as though she’d been handed a Diwali lamp when Francis took her gloved hand to kiss it.

When Francis moved to kiss Priya’s hand, a shudder of longing passed through her entire body. He lifted his gaze to meet her eyes, and the swirl of excitement that had whispered through her body seemed to coalesce in her sex.

“Miss Narayan, you look as lovely as ever,” he said, lowering his voice to a purr.

Damn the man for appealing to all of her baser instincts. She was the daughter of a maharaja, for goodness’s sake. She should be more in control of her faculties. But there was something about Francis that was simply too appealing to resist.

Even though she had no choice but to resist it.

“Lord Cathraiche,” she said in return, extracting her hand from him as soon as she could to preserve her own sanity. She cleared her throat, scrambling for something to say, and settled on, “How is your mother?”

“She is quite well,” Francis answered, as though there were nothing between them but the usual pleasantries of refined society. “She was concerned about you, as was my Aunt Josephine, after your abrupt departure the other day.”

“I am terribly sorry that I upset her,” Priya said.

She sent a sideways glance to Charlotte, knowing she would have a great deal to explain later. Indeed, Charlotte’s eyes were wide with interest, and she pressed her lips together as if it took every force within her to stop her from asking questions out of turn.

“She would very much like to host you for tea again,” Francis went on. “Soon, in fact. Would you like me to inform her which days you are free?”

“I—” Priya couldn’t think of a single argument that would be both polite and that would set her free from the burden of fighting to resist Francis’s charms. “I would have to consult with my schedule,” she said at last.

“You have classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays,” Charlotte answered for her. “And seminars on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons. As well as the occasional required lecture in the evening. Such as the one tonight.” She turned to Francis with a downright devilish look. “You would enjoy it as well, Lord Cathraiche. It is on the subject of royal lines of succession and the turmoil caused by the Old Pretender. Very thrilling, very scandalous,” she added with a significant look.

Francis laughed, then looked sheepish for doing so. He continued to smile at Charlotte, which did nothing for the state of Priya’s heart. “It sounds as diverting as a night at the theater, Miss Sloane.” He glanced to Priya, then said, “Perhaps you would allow me to accompany you to this lecture? Does the lecture hall allow for non-student guests?”

“We really couldn’t—” Priya began.

“Oh, yes!” Charlotte interrupted, clutching her books tight to her chest and sending Priya a dazzling smile. “Guests are allowed, and we would very much enjoy if you would accompany us.”

“I shall cancel my evening’s plans at once and make certain to meet the two of you at the lecture hall,” Francis said. The way he peeked at Priya made it clear he understood fully that he was encroaching on what would otherwise have been a private event, and that Charlotte was his co-conspirator, and also that he didn’t care. “Which building contains the lecture hall?” he asked.

“It truly isn’t necessary—” Priya tried again.

“This particular lecture will be taking place in a room at the British Museum, across the way there,” Charlotte interrupted a second time, gesturing to the east at the looming structure of the museum. “We could meet you at the public entrance.”

“That sounds ideal,” Francis said, his smile growing as he glanced at Priya. He likely noted the distressed purse of her lips, as he said, “I trust this scheme meets with your approval, Miss Narayan? Do you consent to my efforts to support and further the education of women?”

It took all of Priya’s powers of concentration not to huff in irritation at the man. He knew she couldn’t turn him down, not after a statement like that.

“It sounds delightful, Lord Cathraiche,” she said, forcing herself to smile.

“Until this evening, then.” He touched the brim of his hat and nodded to each of them. “Good day, Miss Narayan, Miss Sloane. I am grateful to have met you this morning.”

“Good day to you, Lord Cathraiche,” Charlotte said, bobbing a quick curtsy as Francis headed back to the path.

“Good day,” Priya said. She added “and good riddance” in her head as she narrowed her eyes at his departing back.

A moment later, a voice within her scolded her for being so irate with him. It was not Francis’s fault that she was unable—or perhaps unwilling would be more accurate—to resist his charms. She needed to be strong. She needed to uphold her father’s wishes and her role within his kingdom.