How to Woo... A Reluctant Bride (3 page)

* * *

Evan sat in his office above the London docks, lost in thought. It was early evening now and most of the workers at Channing and Sons had gone home, leaving the building unusually quiet. For days now, he’d ignored his work to alternately brood about his upcoming nuptials and explore the book his uncle had given him.

The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana
was more than a sexual manual, though it listed a variety of different positions, some of which obviously required more agility than he possessed. It was also an ancient etiquette manual, though how much good some of the suggestions in it would do him in these modern times was doubtful.

He shook his head in wonder. And the behavior “recommended” for young women seemed unbelievably childish. He’d no more want a wife who threw tantrums like a two-year-old than the proverbial hole in the head. Perhaps people married younger in those days.

Thank heaven he was marrying a sensible, intelligent, modern girl. However, she’d made it clear he would have his work cut out winning her over.

He studied the two pages of notes he’d made, one labeled “useful,” the other “nonsensical.” On the useful list, he’d noted ideas such as getting to know the woman’s likes and dislikes. To that end, he’d ordered a new piano delivered to the house. Harry had said she liked to play and was actually quite good.

Just thinking about the rest of the items on the list made his cock harden. It included “Fluttering Butterflies,” a method of kissing the woman’s
yoni
, the name used for the female private parts. “
Yoni,
“ he whispered. It sounded much nicer than the Anglo-Saxon word he’d heard in the brothels, and he suspected his new bride would find it less offensive. She didn’t seem the type to enjoy dirty talk, but one never knew. He’d find out soon enough.

He groaned out loud and rested his head on his hands. This waiting was killing him. He’d been flogging the bishop regularly for weeks now. Then he’d fall asleep and dream of Lydia, her pale body lying nude in his bed, her legs parted to receive him. And he’d wake up hard as a pikestaff again.

Thank heaven his wedding was only a few weeks away. He just hoped he didn’t embarrass himself by being too eager.

The door to his office opened and Uncle Frederick entered. “I thought I heard you in here. Working late?”

Evan shrugged. “Not working is more like it. It’s hard to keep my mind on business right now.”

His uncle smiled. “I understand. Zahra told me to invite you to dinner tonight. She would love to see you.”

“I can’t. I’m taking Lydia to dinner tonight.”

“Bring her along,” his uncle suggested. “Zahra would love to meet your bride. It is not as if she will be invited to the wedding.”

“Introduce my gently born bride to a courtesan? You must be joking.” Besides, Zahra lived in a small house not far from the offices of Channing and Sons. The neighborhood was run-down, unsafe for a woman, even escorted by a servant, with prostitutes plying their wares on every corner. But it was convenient for Frederick, who spent more evenings there than he did at home.

Frederick stared at him reproachfully. “You are too English, nephew. I always thought you should spend more time in India.”

Evan sighed. “I’m not you, uncle. I’ve lived my whole life here.”

“Yes, but must you be so rigid and judgmental? I thought you liked Zahra.”

“I do. She’s a lovely woman, and if you’d married her, she would have been invited to the wedding,” Evan added hotly.

“Touché. I should have made her an honest woman long ago.”

Evan sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Forgive me, I know it’s complicated.”

“I know,” Frederick agreed. “If we’re to be successful in England, we must keep up appearances, at all costs.”

“How is Zahra?” Evan asked to buy time.

Frederick began to pace the office. “Lonely. She misses her family and friends in Calcutta.”

“Yes, I can well imagine. She must love you dearly to come so far from home to be with you.”

Frederick stopped by the window, staring out at the docks. “Yes. I’ve come to a decision, Evan. After you return from your honeymoon, I’m going back to India.”

“But Uncle—”

Frederick spun around to face him. “You don’t need me any more. You’re more than capable of managing things here. Zahra will be happier at home, and when she’s happy, I’m happy.”

Evan stood and walked to his uncle’s side. “If that is what you want, then so be it. I will miss you, though.”

Frederick smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Nonsense, boy, you’ll have your new wife to keep you busy. Are you sure you won’t come to dinner?”

Evan started to refuse again, and then thought, why not? Perhaps he should introduce Lydia to the other side of his heritage before they wed.

“Very well, but I make no guarantee Lydia will agree.”

“Fair enough. Now get your things and let’s go.”

Evan took his suit jacket from the coat rack and donned it, then returned to his desk.

His uncle’s gaze dropped to the book lying there. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yes, the book you gave me.”

“Has it been of interest?”

Evan shrugged. “Yes and no. I’ve found it to be an odd mixture of practical advice, odd superstitions and ludicrous notions about how young people should behave. I’d be clapped in jail if I tried to kidnap Lydia from her parents’ home!”

Frederick laughed. “Such behavior isn’t as far in England’s past as you may think. Two centuries ago, debtors conspired to kidnap heiresses and force them into marriage.”

“I’d forgotten about that part,” Evan replied. “Some of the other suggestions are quite…intriguing.”

His uncle merely raised an eyebrow. “I rather thought you’d find them so.”

“In fact,” Evan said, “I’m not sure some of them are even possible.”

Frederick chuckled. “You won’t know until you try.”

* * *

When Evan picked her up for dinner, Lydia was surprised to see his uncle was with him. As chaperone, perhaps?

She smiled warmly at both men. “Good evening, gentlemen. Mr. Channing, I had no idea you were joining us.”

Frederick Channing sketched her a bow. “I hope you do not object.”

“No, of course not,” she murmured.

“There has been a slight change of plans,” Evan said. “We have all been invited to dine at the home of an Indian friend.”

Lydia frowned slightly. Something in Evan’s intent gaze made her think this was some kind of test. Did he think she was too snobbish to consort with his friends or business colleagues? In truth, she could ill afford such an attitude.

“How lovely,” she murmured. “Will we be sampling Indian cuisine?”

“Indeed we will, Miss Blatchford,” Frederick Channing said, with an approving smile. He gestured toward the carriage waiting by the street. “Shall we?”

Lydia took Evan’s proffered arm and let him lead her to the carriage, wondering what the evening would bring.

Evan helped Lydia into the carriage and sat beside her, leaving his uncle to take the rear-facing seat. “Now tell me about this friend of yours.”

“Zahra, Miss Patel, is a personal friend,” Frederick said smoothly. “Someone I knew in India.”

“And now she is here in London?” Lydia asked. “What a brave woman she must be to travel so far.”

Frederick Channing merely shrugged. “She is rather adventurous.”

“She must be,” Lydia agreed. “Such a long trip.”

“Would you not like to see India, my dear? I thought you might like to go with me this winter,” Evan said.

She glanced at him in surprise. “I hadn’t thought of it.”

He leaned forward and quirked an eyebrow. “It is a long voyage, and we will have a lot of time to get to know each other better.”

Her heart raced at the thought of being alone with him in a ship’s cabin for weeks on end, with nothing to do but explore each other. “Yes, I see.” The huskiness in her voice surprised her.

“Then we shall go,” Evan said and relaxed back in his seat.

Was that a test, Lydia wondered? If so, she had evidently passed it.

As the carriage ride progressed, Lydia grew more anxious, glancing nervously out the window of the carriage as the scenery changed from the luxury of Mayfair to far less pleasant areas of the city. She thought they must be near the docks. Drunken sailors staggered out of taverns and she saw women who were surely selling their bodies on the corner.

“Do you not worry about your friend living in such a run-down area?” she asked with a frown.

“She is well protected,” Frederick said, his tone implying an end to the conversation.

The carriage pulled into a more respectable looking side street and dropped them off in front of a red brick town house. Evan helped Lydia from the carriage and escorted her up the steps where he banged on the door. It was opened by a tall Indian man wearing a turban and with a large dagger tucked in his wide belt. Well-protected, indeed.

“Thank you, Vijay,” Frederick said, closing the door behind him.

“Missy Zahra will be with you soon,” said Vijay, in heavily accented English.

“Thank you,” Lydia murmured.

He ushered them into a large room, bowed, and left.

Glancing around, Lydia felt as if she’d stepped into another world. The room was decorated in the Hindu style, with colorful pillows and draperies, incense burners, and what she guessed was some very valuable artwork. Miss Patel must not be without resources, but if so, why live here?

“Vijay and her maid Uma are completely devoted to Zahra,” Frederick said as he helped himself to a drink from a cart. “Sherry?”

“No, thank you,” Lydia murmured as Evan accepted a glass of something that looked more like whisky than sherry. Was it her imagination or did he seem nervous tonight?

“Welcome to my home.”

Lydia spun around to meet her hostess. Zahra Patel was a small woman, with light brown skin, long, straight, black hair and the biggest brown eyes Lydia had ever seen. Of course, it might be because she’d evidently outlined them with kohl, giving her an even more exotic look. Gold bangles circled her wrists, drawing attention to her graceful hands, and she wore a yellow silk skirt with a cropped matching blouse that left a small part of her stomach bare. One end of the material was draped over one shoulder. The result was both elegant and provocative.

She held out her arms. “There are my two handsome Englishmen.” Her voice was sultry, her accent musical in its intonations.

Frederick bowed over her hand. “Miss Patel, thank you for inviting us.”

Evan led Lydia forward and performed the introductions. Lydia felt large and awkward next to the miniature Hindu goddess, but she curtsied and murmured a greeting.

Zahra Patel took both of her hands and smiled warmly at her. “I am so pleased to meet you, Miss Lydia. I hope you do not object to me calling you so. I have trouble saying your last name.”

“No, of course not, Miss Patel,” Lydia replied. “Your home is lovely, as is your gown.”

Zahra laughed. “Thank you, but you must call me Zahra. Now, come and eat. I have prepared it myself. I do hope you like curry, Miss Lydia.”

“I do,” Lydia answered politely, though she had rarely eaten the dish and generally found it too spicy for her taste.

Zahra’s dining room was tiny compared to Lydia’s home, with a small table set for four.

“Zahra’s curry may be hotter than you are accustomed to,” Evan warned, as he held her chair.

Lydia smiled and murmured, “I am sure I will manage.”

When they were seated, Zahra picked up a small bell and rang it. “I have tried to be more English, but the food is so bland.”

Evan exchanged an amused glance with his uncle as Lydia hid a smile. Zahra would never be remotely English.

A maid appeared carrying a dish of delicious-smelling food and served each of them before disappearing again.

Lydia took a small bite of the curried chicken and rice, letting the spicy flavors explode on her tongue. “Delicious.”

Zahra clapped her hands in delight as Lydia smiled at her. But as the meal went on, her mouth grew hotter and hotter. After a few minutes, she stopped eating and just sipped wine to cool her tongue.

While they ate, Zahra chatted about her attempts to adopt English customs, some more successful than others. “It is so cold here, I have tried to dress like your women, but the clothing is so uncomfortable. Restrictive. Once I tried to wear a corset,” she confided to Lydia confidentially. She rolled her eyes. “Why do you women allow yourselves to be tortured?”

Lydia felt her face flaming at such frank talk. “We must follow the dictates of fashion.”

“But why, when it is so inconvenient?”

Lydia looked helplessly at Evan. His lips quirked but he smoothly changed the subject. She reminded herself to thank him later.

After a dessert of fruit and nuts, Zahra turned to Lydia. “Shall we leave the men to their port? I believe it is the English custom.”

“Certainly.” Lydia smiled and followed her out of the room. To her surprise, Zahra led the way through the parlor and up the stairs. “Come. I have something for you.”

* * *

Upstairs Zahra left Lydia in a sitting room and disappeared for a moment before returning with a box. She handed it to Lydia. “A wedding present for you.”

Lydia looked at her in surprise. “What a lovely surprise.”

“Open it.”

She opened the box to find red silk with gold embroidery along three sides. Lifting it, she found a short sleeve blouse and realized it was a two-piece garment like the one Zahra wore. Her face warmed. “It is lovely, but I can hardly accept.”

“Why not?” Zahra asked. “I understand you cannot wear the sari in public. But you will need something…enticing for your wedding night.”

“Mama has already ordered a new nightgown.”

Zahra smirked. “And is it as beautiful as my gift?”

“No,” Lydia admitted, thinking about the heavy cotton with long sleeves and a high neckline her mother had chosen.

“Then you must wear the sari,” Zahra said. “Evan will be ever so pleased.”

“But I do not even know how it works,” Lydia protested.

Zahra pulled her into the bedroom. “Come, I will show you.”