“Tej!” she cried. “What are you doing here?”
Dressed in fancy livery, the boy smiled and sketched an elegant bow. “I was bored with my lessons so I’m pretending to be a tiger for His Grace this evening. Don’t I look dapper?”
“You do.” It was true. Tej looked happy and well fed, his small face glowing with health. The endearing plumpness of his cheeks made his young age even more apparent. “What kind of lessons?”
“Maths and reading.” He wrinkled his nose in distaste. “I’m to start a fancy school soon as the duke’s ward.”
Sarani blinked her shock. “As the duke’s what?”
“His ward. Like his charge. He says if I want to stay, I can. I just have to be willing to learn and make something of myself when I get older. He says I can apprentice to Mr. Longacre if I want.” He screwed up his face. “He adores maths.”
Unexpected warmth filtered through her chest. Rhystan was paying to send Tej to school? The boy was whip-smart, and Sarani had planned to do the same once she got settled, but things had been muddled of late. And now with Talbot and Markham in town, who knew what the future would entail?
Tej grinned. “May I offer you a ride, Princess?”
She could not deny him, not when he’d asked so prettily, his adorable face bright with childish enthusiasm. “Why, of course, gallant sir. Lead me to your chariot.”
* * *
Rhystan stared at the calling card presented to him by his butler. What the hell did the disgraced Vice Admiral Markham want with him? He’d been caught corralling private wealth and had faced a court-martial that had had him cashiered and dismissed with disgrace. The bit of business he’d gotten into with illegal shipments of opium had been his end. That the man expected an audience now was entirely laughable.
In any other circumstance, Rhystan would have set the bastard out on his heels with a few choice words, but with Sarani’s reputation hanging in the balance, he hesitated. A duke of his station was unassailable…but Markham knew exactly who Sarani was. As did Talbot.
The earl could be dealt with—Talbot was a coward at heart. Markham, however, was a political strategist who had gotten the maharaja’s ear and been the right arm of the British Crown in Joor for years. Rhystan frowned. What was he doing here?
“Show him in,” he said to Morton. “But make him cool his heels for a bit.”
“As you wish, Your Grace.”
Briefly, Rhystan’s thoughts strayed to Sarani, who, his coachman had informed him, had been returned safely to Huntley House last night. He’d been prevented from chasing her by his sister, who demanded to know what he’d done to upset her, and then the duchess, who had had the gall to stare at him as if he’d done something unforgivable. By the time he’d arrived outside, his coach had just been returning, and instead of going back inside, he’d elected to go home.
His instructions followed to the letter, a quarter of an hour went by before the vice admiral was shown into the study. Rhystan collected his thoughts, trying to figure out the man’s angle. He had to have one. They were not allies. In fact, Rhystan considered the man an enemy. But the timing of both Talbot’s and Markham’s arrivals in London stank of conspiracy.
“Markham,” he said, not looking up from the papers on his desk. “Feel free to sit.”
“Your Grace,” the vice admiral said, settling himself into a chair opposite. “Your father’s death was a loss to England.”
“Thank you.” Rhystan looked up, hiding his shock at the man’s dissipated appearance. The years had not been kind. And fortune, too, he supposed. Not that he gave a whit. Markham could rot for all he cared. “What do you want?” he asked brusquely, dispensing with any pretense of pleasantries.
Markham’s eyes narrowed. Despite his circumstances, shrewd intelligence glinted in that hawk-eyed gaze. “Money.”
“I’m not a charity, Markham.”
“This is not a charitable contribution,” he said. “Consider it an…investment. Say in a future partner on the seas.”
Brows high, Rhystan sat back in his seat and pretended ignorance. “You’re in shipping?”
“A man has to eat.”
Rhystan recognized that the words were those of a bitter man…a man who’d had his pride stripped and everything he valued taken away from him. Rhystan felt regret that it hadn’t been him to be the one to punish the vile man. He would have relished seeing the pompous prick on his knees. Then again, wasn’t he on his knees now? Begging for coin?
“I do not require partners for my fleet, and if I did, you would be the last man I would consider.”
“Still holding grudges, eh?” His eyes panned to the mantel where an array of decanters and bottles stood. He licked his lips. “Won’t you offer me a drink, Duke?”
“No.” Rhystan clenched his jaw. “I do not consider it a grudge when I was stripped of all dignity, beaten to within an inch of my life, trussed, and tossed on a cart. The answer to your proposal is no. Now, get out.”
“I took it upon myself to do you a favor,” Markham spat out. “You needed to be taught a lesson. Fawning like a green lad over a gutter-blooded chit.”
The slur to Sarani made his blood boil, but Rhystan stilled. “You took it upon yourself?”
Markham froze like a rabbit catching sight of a fox. “I wrote your father because I had to make an example of you. For the other men. And her, too; she had to know her place.”
Rhystan’s eyes narrowed, a thought striking him. “Did you mail my letters to the duke?”
The man had the decency to flush, though his eyes glittered with hateful defiance. “The ones complaining about the treatment of the locals and the unfairness of the treaties?” He guffawed before sneering. “No. I put those in the fire where they belonged.”
Rhystan blinked. He could not control the flood of rage that saturated his veins, nor his sudden desire to pummel this man into the ground. “Did Embry tell you to discharge me or did you do that on your own?”
“The duke would have wanted the same even if he did not say so in his summons. I know your father, and he would not have stood for you sullying his good name with a native.”
“Careful, Markham,” he warned.
“Why?” the viscount asked. “Because she’s your toffer now?”
Rhystan half rose out of his chair, his entire body bracing with fury at the audacity of the man. “Get the fuck out.”
“Such foul temper, Your Grace.” Markham grinned. “I see I’ve touched a nerve. In any case, Princess Sarani is the subject of our negotiation. You settle a healthy sum upon me, and in return, I’ll take Talbot away and prevent him from pursuing her—and you—for breach of promise.”