Especially the ladies; they’d been worse than the men.
It made her think of Thackeray’s words that it was a great compliment to any woman to be despised by her sex. She still wasn’t able to find it in her heart to agree. Women should lift each other up, given the barriers they faced on account of their sex alone and not having the same power as men. It had been what her mother had taught her and what her father had bolstered by allowing her to be raised as a son would be. Perhaps even to be esteemed as one would.
Until he’d traded her off like a goat, that was.
Marriage—the sole thing any highborn woman was good for. At least she and other Englishwomen had that in common. And here she was…crumbling like a house of straw at the duke’s offer, because it had to be a joke. The memory of her broken heart was her undoing, the prospect of wedlock to him twisting her into painful knots. Marriage to Talbot would have been intolerable. Marriage to Rhystan would be the end of her.
“This is the answer for both of us,” Rhystan said.
With the barest flinch, Sarani closed her eyes. “No. Not for me. I’d sooner go back to Joor.”
Rhystan narrowed his eyes, tracking her like a hound scenting a fox. “You’re telling me that you’d rather face your father’s murderer than become engaged to me?”
In a heartbeat.
Nodding fervently, Sarani retreated several more steps until the cabin door pressed into the backs of her shoulders, halting her flight. It was by far the lesser of two evils. By a long shot. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her throat closing as buried memories surfaced, reminding her of what came with wanting too much. And the price that accompanied such arrogance. She had learned that lesson the hard way.
It had been drilled into her by men like Markham and Talbot: Someone like her did not belong with men like him. Sons of dukes, brothers of dukes, or dukes themselves.
She let out an agonized breath.
“Sarani.” Her given name was a caress upon his lips, but his next words were a ruthless arrow to her heart. “Hear me out. You owe me that much.”
Reaching behind her for the door latch, she fought the lance of guilt. “Even if I did, my answer will still be no. When we dock tomorrow, it’s best for me to take my leave in St. Helena as planned.”
Eleven
Marriage.
Sarani had endured a restless sleep from the moment she’d left the duke’s cabin after his preposterous proposition, and she’d tossed and turned all night, tortured by visions of her wedded to the man who’d stolen the heart of a starry-eyed girl all those years ago. Those dreams had been intertwined with more salacious fantasies of what came after the wedding…as in the bedding. And that had left her in a wicked, restless state that made further sleep practically impossible.
She stared up at the ceiling, fisting her fingers in the twisted bedsheets, her eyes flicking to her exhausted maid who had taken refuge in the armchair halfway through the night to avoid her mistress’s constant thrashing. Poor Asha. Sarani had explained in a few short words what Embry had proposed and Asha’s eyes had gone wide, though she had uncharacteristically, if wisely, not offered any counsel.
Sarani throttled a grunt of frustration.
Marriage.
The utter nerve of him. It was unconscionable. Absurd. Unthinkable.
But after several hours of indignation, her innately practical mind had slowed enough to consider both the advantages and the disadvantages. Despite their tumultuous history and the decisions that had pushed them apart, something had brought them back together. And if she put emotion aside, the duke could be the answer to her prayers.
A duchess would be unassailable.
The ton would accept her without question because she wouldn’t just be Lady Sara Lockhart, returning mysterious heiress from India, she would be Lady Sara Lockhart, fiancée to the exalted Duke of Embry. By default, an uncontestable extension of him.
She would be safe from harmful gossip, but her identity would be swaddled up in that of yet another man. One whose motives weren’t entirely clear.
Why would he offer to wed her?
What reason could he possibly have? With his fortune, looks, and title, he would have his pick of brides in England. Unless he wanted her specifically. He couldn’t be that vengeful, could he? Wanting to exact retribution for her betrayal all those years ago? Her chest tightened. If anything, the past few weeks had taught her that the man Rhystan had become was capable of that and more. He was ruthless in the extreme.
Cold. Powerful. Exacting.
Sarani thought of the tender way he’d soothed and bound her hands, and then she remembered that he’d set her to work shoveling manure in the first place. She, a princess shoveling cow and horse shit, and one he’d proposed to nonetheless. It was beyond the pale.
A small giggle escaped her lips. When did Rhystan ever care about what was proper? And now he was a duke who could do as he pleased without fear of recrimination or punishment. As duke, no Vice Admiral Markham would have him tossed on a convoy. No man below his rank would dare put his hands on the duke or question his authority.
Sarani stilled.
Perhaps he was right. Or perhaps she was so weary she wasn’t thinking straight.
It didn’t matter. She was set on her course: she, Asha, and Tej would disembark and make their own way. With a determined breath, she rolled to the side of the bunk, performed her ablutions, and got dressed in her boy’s clothing without waking Asha. Perhaps a round of exercise on deck would help calm her roiling thoughts. Palming her kukri blades and slipping them into their leather harness that crisscrossed her shoulders and hugged her hips, she immediately felt better.
She exited the cabin and climbed the stairs to the main deck.
The pale golden rays of the morning sun washed across the worn wooden planks of the ship, splitting through the rigging and the foremast and mizzenmast and glittering across the uncommonly glass-like surface of the sea. It wasn’t like the usual chop of the open ocean.
A few men working the sails tipped their caps to her as she walked by.
As she climbed to the quarterdeck where the huge figure of Gideon stood, Sarani noticed other things through the sunrise haze. Like the tips of other masts glinting in the distance and what looked like the curve of land. Were they in a bay? Gracious, had they arrived at St. Helena already? She frowned when she reached Gideon, putting a hand to her brow to get a better view through the glare.
“Have we reached port already?” she asked.
His answer was a grunt that sounded like aye.
Something that felt like regret settled low in her stomach. It would be moments, not hours, that she would have to say her goodbyes. Gather her belongings. Formulate another plan of action. She huffed a breath, wondering idly where Rhystan was and feeling her sense of regret deepen. An ache began to build in her throat.