Читать книгу His Runaway Royal Bride - Tanu Jain - Страница 10

MEETHI CURLED UP on her side, utterly drained and trying to stifle the sobs rising in her throat. She had been so happy when they got married. It had seemed as if she had found her sapno ka rajkumar—the prince of her dreams.

She remembered their first meeting, when she had saved a puppy from being run over by his car.

When he’d alighted from the car, his dark, smouldering looks had taken her breath away. He’d stood there, broad-shouldered and so tall that she had to crane her neck to look into the midnight-black eyes staring out of a chiselled face. He had been the most handsome man she had ever seen and, for a moment, her voice had threatened to desert her.

But his haughty, disdainful expression and regal air had angered her. She had sensed he was royalty by the way he carried himself and by the subservient attitude of the three men who had jumped out of the car with him. She had dismissed him as a typical royal, full of swagger and self-importance. And, not being kindly disposed towards royals in general, despite her thudding heart she had lambasted him.

Later, when she’d encountered him at a wedding she had gone to, she had felt his eyes following her and had tried her best to ignore him, feeling breathless and nervous. Inexperienced though she was with men, her senses had been aware of his dark sex appeal and the charged heat which seemed to shimmer whenever their glances met.

He had approached her the next morning when she was out early jogging and, striking up a conversation, had apologised for the car incident. Floored by his sincere apology, she had acquiesced to his invitation for breakfast and, before she knew it, they had driven down to a nearby heritage resort.

He had proved an interesting conversationalist and, over a sumptuous breakfast, they had talked about a variety of subjects. Though there was a difference of nine years between them, they had discovered a common love of music and cricket and there had been humorous bickering over favourites.

She had so thoroughly enjoyed herself that time had flown and she had been aghast to realise that it was already afternoon when they returned.

On their return, Veer had met her father and asked for her hand in marriage.

Her father had been ecstatic. Veer’s impeccable lineage and spotless reputation had bowled him over. He had approved wholeheartedly of the match.

But Meethi had felt piqued at what she considered Veer’s high-handed, archaic behaviour. The entire morning, he hadn’t given a single hint of any such interest and then he had suddenly gone behind her back to talk to her father.

She was also upset because she didn’t want to get married at nineteen.

Since she’d been seventeen her father had been inundated with proposals from well-meaning relatives. But her father had withstood the pressure from family and relatives and remained firm that she would complete her studies first.

Meethi had wanted to go to college and graduate with a degree in Fine Arts and Baba had always supported her desire but, worryingly, he had recently started hinting at finding a suitable match for her. And now he was serious about Veer’s proposal.

Though his dark good looks had mesmerised her and her heart beat loudly when he was around, she was deeply scared of giving up her life as she knew it. She knew life changed for a girl when she married. She had seen her friends married off young, freedom curtailed, circumscribed within the four walls of their sasural—their marital homes. Their lives revolved around their husband, in-laws and huge joint families and they had no independence or say in the running of their own lives.

And, most of all, she hadn’t want to leave her father alone. So she had refused, even though her father was being stubborn and adamant that she agree to Veer’s proposal.

Then Veer had stepped in.

With her father’s permission, he had taken her out for a drive and stopped the car in a quiet copse across the main road. He’d opened her door and held out his hand to help her step out.

Meethi had looked at him with beating heart and stepped out.

‘Why don’t you want to marry me?’ he asked her gently.

‘Why do you want to marry me?’ she asked through thundering beats of her heart.

His eyes crinkling at the corners, Veer smiled in amusement. ‘Life with you will never be dull, I guarantee! Well, I want to marry you because I think you’re extremely suitable for me,’ he said with gentle mockery.

Meethi saw red. ‘Don’t be patronising! Aren’t there any other suitable girls? Surely parents must be queuing up at your door in hordes!’ she hissed angrily.

Veer couldn’t contain his amusement and burst out laughing. ‘My dear girl, much as I hate to disappoint you, there is no horde or even a queue at my door. You are the girl I want to marry, and I think we’ll be very happy together,’ he added softly.

‘What about what I want? I don’t want to get married!’ she snapped, angry at his domineering attitude.

‘You don’t want to get married at all or you don’t want to marry me?’ he asked, suddenly serious.

‘I don’t want to get married right now,’ Meethi said truculently.

‘Why?’ Veer asked tautly.

Meethi remained silent.

‘Is there someone else?’ he asked with a strange expression on his face. ‘A boy you study with, perhaps? Does your father know?’ he asked with cold suspicion.

‘Of course not! What do you think I am? I wouldn’t go behind Baba’s back and do something underhand!’ Meethi was aghast at his fertile imagination.

Veer prodded her. ‘At least let me know the reason for your refusal.’

‘Well, sorry to let down your wild imaginings, but I don’t want to get married because, firstly, I want to go to art college and, secondly, I don’t want to leave my father alone,’ Meethi said stiffly, the words forced out of her.

‘Well, you can go to college even after marriage. No one will stop you. These are not the Dark Ages, you know! And, as for leaving your father, one day, sooner or later, you will have to get married. Do you think your father would be happy if you never married or if you stayed with him for ever? It is every father’s dream to see his daughter well settled. And your father is so happy with the idea of our marriage!’ Veer was all persuasion.

‘But he will be all alone!’ Meethi said through the lump in her throat.

‘I will ask him if he would like to come and live with us. And if he doesn’t I will take you to meet him as often as you want!’ Veer said easily.

Meethi looked at him in surprise. He was making short work of all her objections. Why was he so keen to marry her? He could have his pick of any girl. So why her?

‘But why me…?’ she began, but the words died in her throat at the look in his dark eyes. She felt feverish and chilled at the same time and couldn’t tear her gaze from him.

She stared at him, mesmerised, as he tugged at a lock of her hair, pulling her towards him, and lowered his head, capturing her mouth gently.

Meethi closed her eyes in shock and felt his lips move over hers tenderly, softening them, caressing them and coaxing them open.

Despite her sheltered and protected upbringing, Meethi had a fair idea of the physical intimacy between men and women, thanks to the knowledge passed on amidst giggles by her married friends. But the actual reality of being kissed blew her mind.

His lips slid over hers, nipping her lower lip gently, pushing and prodding seductively and then deepened as he kissed her possessively. One hand moved to clasp her head closer while his other hand slid over her waist, cupping her bottom and pulling her into a snug fit.

Meethi went up in flames. All thought was erased from her mind, her body became a mass of dizzying sensations and she began trembling and shaking in his arms.

Feeling her tremble, Veer broke off the burning kiss and, placing a tender kiss on her forehead, said, ‘Now you know how suitable we are for each other.’

Meethi was red with embarrassment and couldn’t meet his eyes.

But her heart did a strange flip-flop when he pulled her close in a tight embrace and said softly, ‘Don’t worry! I will always ensure your and your father’s happiness. You will never regret marrying me.’

Meethi stilled in his embrace, held in the thrall of inexplicable, mysterious emotions. She felt as if she were walking on air.

They returned to her home, and her father’s ecstatic expression was Meethi’s undoing. She stifled her fears and accepted his proposal.

But her fears had eventually come to roost, and Veer had come to resent their hasty marriage.

She had thought that by running away she would set them both free.

She slid into an uneasy slumber but woke all of a sudden, catapulted up, perspiring heavily, her breath coming in gasps.

Her eyes alighted on unfamiliar surroundings and then it all came back. Veer had found her and brought her back to Samogpur.

A sudden movement beside her, she saw the maid, a young girl, hovering solicitously, bowing down low in greeting. ‘Namaskar, Maharani Saheba!’

Her breath sticking in her throat, Meethi asked her, ‘Maharaj Saheb?’

‘He has gone riding, Maharani Saheba,’ she replied deferentially.

Some things never change, Meethi thought, feeling old wounds buried deep down begin to tauten. He had always preferred the company of his beloved horses to her. She recalled numerous occasions when, after a disagreement, he would simply storm off to the stables and go for a long wild ride.

‘And Maaji Saheb! Where is she?’ Meethi asked haltingly, dreading the answer.

‘Maaji Saheb is at the haveli in Haridwar. She has been living there for the past two years,’ the girl said confidingly.

Meethi looked at her incredulously. Maaji Saheb was no longer at the Mahal! How was this possible?

Seeing Meethi’s confusion, she said in a low voice, ‘Maharaj Saheb had a huge row with her and he ordered her to go to Haridwar!’

Meethi felt a slight easing of the clenched-up feeling inside. She wouldn’t have to face Maaji Saheb. Though one part of her mind clamoured to know the details, a nameless dread, familiar and omnipresent, kept her silent.

What would happen now? she thought dispiritedly. Where did she go from here? She couldn’t relive the terrible ordeal that their married life had been.

What did Veer want? Questions clamoured in her brain till it felt as if her head would burst.

Meethi tried to pull herself together. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked the maid.

‘Simran,’ the girl answered with a shy smile.

‘I haven’t seen you before,’ Meethi said thoughtfully. The girl seemed very young and sweet.

‘Maharaj Saheb appointed me a year back. He said that I was to look after you when you came back,’ Simran offered tentatively.

Meethi was stunned to learn that Veer had been completely sure of finding her a year ago and bringing her back.

‘I think I’ll have a bath,’ she said. Simran’s revelations had confirmed her dread that Veer wouldn’t let her go. Maybe her brain would start functioning better and find a way out of the current predicament.

Simran brightened up and said with a smile, ‘Ji, I will show you the dressing area.’

She went into the adjoining room and Meethi followed. It was a huge double dressing room divided by a thin wooden partition.

‘Maharaj Saheb’s dressing area is on that side,’ Simran pointed out. ‘All your clothes are neatly arranged in the wardrobe,’ she said.

‘My clothes! Where did they come from?’ Meethi asked, stupefied.

‘Maharaj Saheb had them moved here from the old mahal. And I was given the responsibility of arranging them,’ she added with a note of pride.

Meethi opened her wardrobe. It contained all her old clothes. Since she had feigned her death, to avoid any suspicion, she had left all her belongings behind and taken just a couple of old churidaar kameezes, a pair of jeans and some tunics. Memories came rushing in when she looked at the rows and rows of opulent and expensive banarsi saris, antique brocade lehangas and elaborate anarkali churidaar kameezes. The best designers had put together her trousseau, as befitting her position as the Maharani of Samogpur.

Simran bent and took out a silver chest from the bottom of the wardrobe. It contained jewellery—necklaces, earrings, bangles, nose pins, toe rings and anklets that she was supposed to wear every day. There were several heavy jewellery sets that were kept under lock and key but which she had to wear periodically.

As the wife of Maharajah of Samogpur she had to always remain dressed to the hilt in a nine-yard saree or a lehenga, dripping with jewellery, her head demurely covered. She couldn’t leave her chambers dressed otherwise.

She had no say in choosing her clothes. And she hated her wardrobe down to the last piece. The clothes were gaudy, elaborate and cumbersome and she had always felt trussed up in the heavy fabrics.

There were no jeans, trousers or skirts in her wardrobe except for the ones she had owned before marriage. And once or twice when she had tried to wear clothes of her own choice, her mother-in-law had frowned and looked askance before acerbically humiliating her so that she had given in and changed.

Turning away from torturous memories, she rushed to the bathroom in desperation.

Veer was galloping furiously. For a Rajput, pride was paramount, and his wife had insulted him in the worst possible way.

She had played on his weakness for her.

She had seemed so sweet and innocent… Unbidden, his mind went back to the first time their paths had crossed.

He had driven down to Jaipur to attend the wedding of his school friend, Gauravendra Singh. Itching to drive his new Jaguar at full throttle, the Delhi-Jaipur highway had seemed perfect, and he had set off with his driver and bodyguards.

He was enjoying driving the powerful car at a breakneck speed when suddenly a puppy appeared from nowhere. He had braked frantically.

To his utter shock, a wisp of a girl appeared as well and she dived in front of his car to save the puppy. He almost lost control, and the car swerved, but he managed to bring it to a screeching stop.

Aghast and furious, he had jumped out of the car and shouted, ‘Are you blind?’

‘No! You are!’ she retorted immediately, militantly.

He was taken aback. No one had ever dared to answer him back. Even his driver and bodyguards, who had leapt out urgently, were shocked into silence.

The chit of a girl continued her tirade. ‘Fancy car owners don’t own the road, you know! This puppy has as much right to this road as you have! Big car, small heart!’

Veer looked at her, stupefied. She barely reached his chin and she was staggeringly beautiful.

She had a heart-shaped face, almond-shaped eyes with impossibly long eyelashes and a rosebud mouth. A thick long braid that seemed almost too heavy for her swanlike neck lay sideways on her ample bosom.

His stupefaction wore off when he realised that the ample bosom that he was admiring was heaving with indignation. She was spitting fire, hurling insults and berating him.

He held up his hand to silence her. ‘Enough! You could have been terribly injured if I hadn’t braked in time! Have you no sense?’ he asked.

‘You don’t have any sense! If I hadn’t been here, this poor little puppy would have been dead!’ she retorted heatedly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to this poor thing instead of standing here making small talk with you!’ She stomped off, the puppy held securely in her arms.

Veer looked at her diminutive figure, bemused. He felt as if a tornado had just whizzed past him.

He had gone to the wedding, unable to shake off the bemusement that had beset him.

To his astonishment he had run into her there again. She was from the bride’s side of the family and had come with her father for the wedding.

Traditionally dressed in a lime-green ghagra choli, her beauty had stolen his breath away and her vivacious laughter had captivated him totally. He had fallen in instant lust—a lust so powerful and primitive that it had overshadowed all rational thought.

And, for the first time in his life, he had behaved impulsively and thoughtlessly. And had paid the price for his lapse in behaviour, he thought bitterly.

His eyes wintry, he recalled the horror he had felt when he learnt that Meethi had met with an accident while driving the Beetle which he had given her soon after their wedding. He had been away and had been told that she had supposedly lost control and the car had plunged into the river near their mahal.

He had immediately called divers, who had been on the job for two whole days before they admitted defeat. With the last ray of hope gone, he had felt as if he had been hurled down a cliff to lie in a broken heap. For the first time in his life, uncaring of appearances, he had dismissed everyone and spent the night slumped on the riverbank, filled with agonising grief. He had stayed alone, in a stupor, drowning in the hollowness besieging him. The cold misery of that night would remain in his consciousness till his dying day.

Adding to his misery was corrosive guilt because he felt responsible for her accident. If he hadn’t given the car to her and insisted she learn to drive she would’ve been alive.

When he had discovered that Meethi had staged the accident and feigned her death he had felt humiliated and betrayed. After all that he had done for her…

But no more! He would rectify his mistake now. He would make sure that Meethi paid for her heartless betrayal. He would enjoy making her fulfil her duties as his lawfully wedded wife.

He turned to ride back.