Читать книгу His Captive Indian Princess - Tanu Jain - Страница 8

THE TELEVISION CAMERAS planned on the girl’s face and captured her tight-lipped expression for just a second before she turned away, hiding her face. But that one glimpse was enough for Vikram.

He sat up straight with a jolt, the glass of whisky almost slipping from his grasp. It was her. He would have recognised her anywhere. His heart began hammering hard, and blood rushed to his head. Her face was imprinted on his consciousness. High cheekbones and delicate nose, doe eyes, lustrous skin glowing like gold, swan-like neck and those luscious lips … He pulled back his wayward thoughts as his mind was assaulted by memories.

He had found her. That was the crucial thing. Two years of frantic searching and a small fortune spent on detectives were finally at an end. He had found Gauri. Rage which simmered deep inside him whenever he thought of her came to the fore. She had single-handedly destroyed her adoptive family, taking their love and caring and turning on them, betraying and shaming them. And then she had fled, escaping the repercussions of her actions.

Controlling the rage swirling inside him, he tried to get a grip on his thoughts. His brow furrowed. What was she doing on prime time television being hounded by the media? Why was she hiding her face? What scandal was she embroiled in now?

His mind buzzing with questions, he focused his attention on the reporter, who was claiming to have unearthed a prostitution racket being run by Home of Hope, a well known charitable trust which worked for poor and needy women.

The reporter interviewed a young girl, an inmate of the charitable home, who alleged that the Director of the Trust was morally corrupt and forced the inmates into prostitution.

What was Gauri’s involvement? Vikram couldn’t find an answer. The newsreader had moved on to the next juicy scandal.

Vikram immediately called his secretary and, with barely concealed impatience, rapped out, ‘Neerja, find out the details about the Home of Hope scandal and information about all the people involved. And there was a clip in the ten o’clock news which showed a young girl hiding her face. Get her details.’

He cut off the call without waiting for her reply, confident his efficient secretary would have the details soon. Unable to sit, his gut churning with emotion, he stood up and began pacing the room.

He had found her and he wouldn’t let her slip away. Gauri, his best friend Madhav’s runaway half-sister, would soon be in his grasp. He would be able to fulfil his friend’s dying wish. Ever since Madhav’s death almost two years ago now, the promise had preyed on his mind, hounding him and keeping him awake at night.

His beautiful lips firmed ruthlessly. Moreover, the events of the past year had intensified the urgency of his search because she was the tool he needed to sort out the legal mess he had been dragged into.

His cellphone beeped. It was Neerja. She had been quick.

‘Yes, Neerja?’ he asked, urgent anticipation coiling in the pit of his stomach.

‘Sir, the organization Home of Hope works for the uplifting of women who are poor or victims of abuse. The head of the organization is fifty-year-old Mrs Singh and she is being accused of running a prostitution racket.’

Vikram bit out impatiently, ‘What about the girl in the news clip?’

Neerja, well used to her formidable boss’s impatience, immediately answered, ‘Sir, that girl is Mrs Singh’s assistant, Ms Mira Rathore.’

‘Mira Rathore?’ So she was using a false name. No wonder the detectives had been unable to find her. ‘And?’

‘She is a trained lawyer, sir.’

Vikram greeted this news impassively, betraying none of the shock he felt. ‘A lawyer?’

‘Yes, sir, she is an up-and-coming lawyer and has recently joined the organization after having finished her training,’ Neerja relayed efficiently. She then reeled off her address and telephone number.

Vikram immediately called his driver. He would have to act quickly in case his quarry disappeared again. Since it was almost eleven at night, there was not much traffic and they travelled swiftly to the address given by Neerja. As he sat in the car, tight tension gripping him, the past flashed across his mind’s eye.

The last time he had seen Gauri had been six years ago, at Madhav’s sister and Gauri’s half-sister, Maya’s, wedding.

He still recalled the events of that day with a shudder. The festivities had just concluded and the wedding party was about to leave, taking Maya with them, when her father, Maharaj Sambhaji Rao, had complained of breathlessness and had suffered a massive heart attack.

He had been rushed to the hospital for open-heart surgery. All of them—Madhav, Gauri and their grandmother, as well as Vikram—had gathered outside and were waiting anxiously.

Suddenly a weeping Maya, still in her bridal finery, had appeared and, ignoring her grandmother’s consoling embrace, turned on Gauri and, pointing an accusing finger towards her said, ‘You bitch! You are to blame for this. You brought on the attack. Baba was distressed because of your affair.’

She then turned to her brother Madhav and said, ‘Dada, she was caught with the stable boy. He had spent the night in her room and Baba was devastated. She is responsible for his heart attack.’

Pin-drop silence had fallen after Maya’s venomous outburst and every eye turned towards Gauri, who was standing ashen-faced and unmoving.

Vikram had been rooted to the spot. He had found himself holding his breath, hoping and waiting for sixteen-year-old Gauri to refute the allegations. But the normally feisty Gauri continued to stand unrepentant and silent, glaring defiantly at Maya, who abused her with terrible names.

Gauri’s continued silence confirmed her guilt and, as Vikram contemplated her seemingly pure and innocent profile, a strange darkness had engulfed him, almost choking him. Her innocence was just a sham. She was totally rotten from inside without an atom of goodness. How cleverly she had fooled everyone, including him.

Dismissing the darkness engulfing him as acute disgust at her rottenness, he had turned away, unable to bear the sight of her any longer.

She had thrown her family’s love back in their faces and ruthlessly trodden upon the family honour. She had proved totally ungrateful and undeserving of the kindness shown to her by her father and his family. She should be punished.

His driver looked in the rear-view mirror and saw cold fury on Vikram’s handsome face. He grimaced with pity for whoever would be on the receiving end of his employer’s anger. Maharaj Vikram was always fair and just but his anger was legendary and no one dared to cross him.

Vikram came out of his reverie when the car purred to a stop in front of a smart apartment block. So this was where Gauri, alias Mira Rathore, lived. She seemed to have done well for herself. Taking two steps at a time, he bounded up the stairs.

He rang the buzzer. No answer. He rang again, heart thudding. Had she run away again?

Suddenly the door opened and Gauri looked out. The words seemed to die on her lips. She paled with shock and Vikram, taking advantage of her frozen state, swiftly steered her inside.

Once inside, he looked at her with grim intensity. Gauri felt herself being held in thrall, unable to move. Shock rendered her speechless. She stared at him, unable to look away. It was Vikram. He had found her. For a moment she thought her heart had stopped. She had trouble drawing breath. The next second her heart began to thud agonisingly.

‘Hello, Gauri,’ Vikram said in a dangerous tone.

Gauri felt faint. The past had caught up with her. What would she do now? Her most feared nightmare had come true.

She had agonised over coming face to face with her past, especially Vikram, and now that it had happened she didn’t know what to do.

She had been filled with dread ever since the media cameras had filmed her and her fears had been proved right. Her family had found her. Vikram was here.

She continued to stare at him in shocked silence. He was unchanged. Vikram, her half-brother Madhav’s childhood friend. She had last seen him six years ago and the effortless arrogance and dangerous aura of power that he always exuded hadn’t diminished a bit. He descended from an illustrious royal line and his genetic heritage was stamped in the authoritative way he carried himself, in the imperious lift of his eyebrow and the disdainful expression on his face. His face remained striking as ever. Ebony winged eyebrows, high cheekbones and a sharp nose melded together to create an intimidating impact. Only the planes and angles which sculpted his face seemed more pronounced now.

His jet-black hair, which had been long and curling at his nape six years ago, was now cropped short. It gleamed menacingly in the soft light of her home. His lips, as always, were set in grim forbidding lines. His eyes bored into hers with an icy intensity that frightened her—black as night and fathomless like an ocean, at this moment they were glittering with anger. She stared back, flinching but unable to wrest herself from the force of his dark, furious gaze.

‘No answer? Oh, I forgot. I should have said, Hello, Mira! That’s your name now, isn’t it?’ Vikram said sarcastically.

Gauri felt her stomach hollowing out with dread. She struggled to find words but failed. Her mouth tried to move but her throat felt dry and no words came out.

Her mind was probably working overtime to seek a way out, Vikram thought furiously. Lying and pretending were as natural as breathing to her and she must be trying feverishly to concoct a story.

‘Still nothing to say? You never used to be short of words, as I recall! Trying to buy time, are you? Or are you going to pretend amnesia so you don’t have to recognise me?’ Vikram jibed cruelly.

Gauri bit her lip to stop her pained cry at Vikram’s cruel words. He had often used this sneering tone with her and it still hurt. Tears which she had thought she would never allow again in her eyes clogged her throat. Panicking that he would see her tears, she tried to compose herself. She wouldn’t let him see any weakness.

She turned around on the pretext of shutting the door and tried to control her turbulent emotions.

Exerting all her willpower, she wiped every trace of emotion and, composing her face, turned to him and asked stonily, ‘What do you want?’

Vikram narrowed his eyes at her calm tone. She had morphed into a tough cookie. Even his surprise appearance hadn’t managed to unsettle her. He could have sworn that she had paled and her lips had trembled but now she was in control. But she always had been a tough one. He had suspected that right from the beginning. Her fragile and delicate appearance hid her hard, avaricious and scheming nature.

He had been the only one not taken in by her seeming vulnerability—except for that one moment so many years ago.

For a short while he had believed that he had been wrong about her and that she had been all that she seemed—an innocent young girl. Against his better judgement, he had let down his guard with her and had been speedily disillusioned.

Even now, with her hair in a tight braid and no make-up that he could see, she appeared unworldly and delicate. But he was aware of her true nature and would be on his guard, as always.

He said in a condemning tone, ‘First tell me how you came to be involved in this scandalous business. Why are you working for that corrupt Singh woman? Have you lost all sense of morality? Have you no regard for the family honour?’

Gauri quailed under his verbal onslaught. But she wouldn’t tolerate his scathing attack on the one person to whom she was hugely indebted. She immediately jumped to her defence.

‘Mrs Singh is not corrupt. She is, in fact, one of the most upright people I’ve ever met. She has been wrongly accused. The girl who has levelled these accusations is doing all this out of spite because she was indulging in nefarious activities and Mrs Singh asked her to leave the home. So she decided to take revenge and went to the press with these trumped up allegations.’

‘But why are you involved?’ Vikram asked with narrowed eyes.

‘I am a part of the organization. I am assisting them as their lawyer,’ Gauri replied.

‘A lawyer! How and when did you become a lawyer?’ Vikram asked with grim disbelief.

‘It is none of your business! I don’t need your permission to become one,’ she said belligerently, smarting at his disbelieving tone.

‘Obviously, degrees these days can be easily obtained for the right price,’ Vikram said with biting scorn.

Gauri knew he was deliberately insulting her and wanted to snarl in retaliation but contented herself with a stiff, ‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I slaved for my degree and passed with flying colours.’

‘If you are a bona fide lawyer how can you willingly choose to defend such unscrupulous and wicked people?’ Vikram asked.

‘They are not wicked!’ Gauri refused to hear anything wrong against Mrs Singh, who had been her saviour and mentor when her life had seemed to be all over.

‘How can you be so sure of her innocence?’ Vikram pressed.

Gauri clammed up, refusing to elaborate further. She couldn’t explain without going into the details of her past and she had vowed never to dredge that up again. It was dead.

‘Well? Is that all you are going to say?’ Vikram growled, waiting for her to elaborate further.

But Gauri didn’t answer. She realised the difficulty of explaining herself. She would have to reveal her past to him and the mere thought of doing so made her tremble.

‘What inducements have they offered you for defending them? How much have you sold yourself for?’

Vikram’s cruel accusations were like a sharp blow to her solar plexus. She felt winded and weak. He couldn’t have made his low opinion of her any clearer.

But she answered stoically, ‘You may think what you want to! I will not say anything further about this.’

Vikram sensed that there was something Gauri wasn’t telling him. ‘You are hiding something. If you are so sure of their innocence why can’t you explain properly?’ he said fiercely.

Gauri refused to say anything and kept her eyes lowered and hands clenched.

‘So, you’re not going to answer? All right then, let’s try some different questions. Why did you flee six years ago? That, too, in the dead of the night and without informing anybody! You didn’t stop to think that we would be worried? You didn’t even care?’

Gauri turned paper-white as Vikram hurled a volley of accusations. Her legs began trembling and she felt she would collapse. Vikram saw her tremble but the anger inside him had burst its dam and he couldn’t stop. ‘Answer me, damn you!’ he hurled.

‘I … I left a letter for Madhav Dada, explaining that I had to go away and not to worry.’ Gauri forced out the words through trembling lips.

‘Don’t lie! I was with Madhav when we discovered your absence and there was no letter.’ Vikram was ready for every possible falsehood that she would offer.

Gauri raised her eyes in confusion. ‘But I left a letter in his room. He must have found it. Probably he didn’t mention it to you.’

‘Do you expect me to believe your untruths? If you had left a letter he wouldn’t have hired a detective to trace you,’ Vikram raked out.

‘He did that? But why? I mentioned that I would call him once I was settled to assure him that I was fine,’ Gauri said tremulously, bewilderment writ on her face.

She must think I am a fool. Her doe eyes and seemingly sincere expression would have swayed a more susceptible man, Vikram fulminated. But he knew better. She was a consummate actress and, even as a young girl, she had been adept at putting on performances and deceiving others.

‘Then why didn’t you call, as you claim?’ he countered with patent disbelief.

Gauri remained silent for a moment as another painful memory flitted across her mind. She had called once after about a month and Madhav’s grandmother, who was also her grandmother and whom she called Aaji Ma had received her call.

Aaji Ma had abused her, calling her names and then had banged down the phone on her after hissing venomously, ‘No one here wants to even hear your name, let alone speak to you! You are dead to us. Don’t ever call here again!’

Gauri said in a low pain-filled voice, ‘I did call but Aaji Ma answered and said that Madhav Dada had returned to England and Baba didn’t want to speak to me ever again. She said that I was dead to everyone and forbade me from calling again.’

‘What a convenient explanation,’ Vikram sneered. ‘If you had called as you claim, why didn’t Aaji Ma ever mention it? She knew detectives had been employed to trace you and she wouldn’t have kept quiet. I don’t believe you. You should have chosen a better story,’ he delivered cuttingly.

‘I don’t believe you.’ The harsh, dismissive words reverberated in Gauri’s head like bullets. Pain sliced through her. The majority of her childhood had been spent hearing these words. Aching thickness clogged her throat as she recalled how she had been branded a liar and a cheat as a child. And the slur had always remained.

Being the illegitimate daughter of her father, who had brought her to live with his family when her mother died, she had always been regarded as being conniving and dishonest and had been punished all her childhood for the circumstances of her birth. She had grown up suffocated under a crushing burden of guilt, believing that being born was her unforgivable crime. But she had learnt to school the hurt and the pain and had rarely revealed the depth of her misery.

‘Whether you believe me or not doesn’t matter. Madhav Dada will believe me once I tell him,’ she asserted.

Naked emotion streaked across Vikram’s face before it was hastily masked. ‘And how do you propose to do that?’

Gauri looked at him uncomprehendingly and Vikram said, ‘Madhav is no more. He is dead.’

Gauri let out a faint cry. ‘No!’

She looked at Vikram in numb disbelief, sure that he was playing a cruel joke on her, but the bleakness in Vikram’s face convinced her more than his words. Madhav Dada was no more. Her dear brother was dead. There was a roaring in her ears. She swayed and felt the floor rushing to meet her as she slid down in a dead faint.

Vikram saw her collapsing and tried to catch her before she fell but couldn’t reach her in time. As Gauri slid down she knocked her head on the edge of a wooden side table and Vikram winced as the thunk echoed around the room. He should have relayed the news more gently but anger had overridden his usually unflappable control.

He picked her up and, after laying her on the sofa in the corner of the room, pressed the alarm on his watch. His driver came rushing in and he dispatched him to fetch a doctor. In the meantime, he filled a glass with water and splashed some drops on Gauri’s face.

Despite his deep rage, he couldn’t fail to notice how her beauty shone and beckoned. Held close, the perfection of her delicate features was magnified.

He had last seen her as a young girl on the threshold of womanhood and now she had matured into a breathtakingly beautiful woman. Her long lashes fanned out in perfect crescents against her flawless skin. Desire coiled dangerously in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to touch her. Against his will, his hand reached out to gently smooth away a strand of hair that had escaped her tight braid, and he felt the satiny silk of her skin. He cupped his hand around her pale cheek and gently nudged her, calling her name.

Gauri opened her eyes and saw Vikram bending over her, a grim look on his face. Her insides turned at his proximity when suddenly remembrance struck and she closed her eyes in agony. Madhav Dada is dead, her mind whispered.

She heard Vikram calling out her name softly but kept her eyes shut. She didn’t want to open them and see anger and accusation on his face. It was better to lie still, hoping the agonising pain in her heart would ease a little.

Suddenly, she heard the sound of her apartment door opening. She opened her eyes cautiously and saw a man enter and murmur something to Vikram in a low voice.

The next instant she was lifted up in Vikram’s strong arms. Shock held her still for a moment. In so many years, they had never been within touching distance ever and here he was, holding her in his arms. She tried to wriggle away, but in vain, as Vikram held her tight and told her sternly to keep still.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked weakly, ignoring the throbbing in her temples. Vikram didn’t deign to answer and she fell silent, defeated by his forbidding expression. Her body was tingling and even through the drumming in her head she was extremely conscious of his strong arms enfolding her. Held close to his masculine chest, she could inhale the cologne that he always wore and which had been a part of her restless dreams for so long. She stiffened, mortified and self-conscious, trying to mask the sensations running through her body.

Vikram carried her effortlessly down the stairs and she demanded, ‘Where are you taking me?’

He answered curtly, ‘To the doctor. Now keep still until my driver comes.’

He lowered her into his car and snapped the door shut. He then got in from the other side and an oppressive silence filled the car as they waited for his driver.

Gauri closed her eyes in despair. She was back into the morass of her memories. Grief engulfed her when she thought of Madhav. She would never see her beloved brother again. Never have her hair pulled by him teasingly or see the twinkle in his eyes as he joked with her.

So deeply was she sunk in her painful memories that she failed to register that Vikram’s driver had returned and only when the car began moving did she come back from the past. They soon reached a doctor’s clinic and when the car stopped Gauri opened the door, determined to avoid being carried inside in Vikram’s arms. By the time Vikram reached her from the other side she was standing on her own, ignoring the pain shooting up her temples. Vikram ushered her in with grim authority, where they were greeted by a kindly-looking doctor.

The doctor made her lie down and examined her pulse. ‘I am fine …’ she tried to protest and then felt another excruciating pain shoot up the side of her head. With a stifled moan, she put a hand up to the painful area and found it was quite tender. The doctor examined her head gently.

‘She knocked her head on the edge of the table when she fainted,’ Vikram told the doctor.

The doctor finished his examination and said, ‘The area will remain tender for a couple of days. She seems fine, except for some stress, but the blow on the head needs to be monitored for concussion. Although there is nothing to worry about, she should rest and sleep. Apply this ointment and I’ll also give her a painkiller with a mild sedative. And make sure that she is not alone for the next twenty-four hours.’

He held out a painkiller. But Gauri refused, saying, ‘I’ll be fine in a moment. I don’t need it.’

Vikram was immediately at her side and, taking the painkiller, said with gruff impatience, ‘Don’t argue! Just take it!’

Gauri tried to sit up and bit back a cry as pain shot up her head. Vikram pushed the painkiller at her, an implacable look on his face. She wanted to protest but when the throbbing increased she capitulated and downed it in one go. Then, summoning all her willpower, she stood up.

Vikram took hold of her elbow and shepherded her out of the clinic. He seated her in the car and slammed the door shut.

Gauri collapsed in the seat and a mind-numbing sorrow filled her. Thoughts of her half-brother and father engulfed her. Feelings she had kept buried for six long years inundated her and she bit back a sudden sob.

Her half-brother had been the pillar of her life and she had loved him so much. She would never get the chance to see him again. She tried to keep her grief at bay but it had burst its banks. Silent sobs convulsed her and tears ran down her face in rivulets. She bent over, hiding her face, trying to control her sobs, but her tears wouldn’t be checked and kept falling incessantly.

When Vikram got in from the other side he noticed her huddled up but didn’t look too closely. She was probably feeling groggy, he thought. But gradually the silent tremors shaking her body registered and he realised that she was sobbing silently.

Unwillingly, he stretched out his arm and stopped, undecided. But when a particularly long tremor shook her, he grudgingly patted her shoulder. But she wouldn’t stop shaking. Seeing that her weeping wasn’t subsiding, Vikram hauled her close and tried to comfort her.

‘Shh …’ he murmured.

Gauri tried to pull away, conscious that it was Vikram who was holding her, but grief had overwhelmed her and she couldn’t stop crying. Vikram didn’t let her pull away and kept on holding her, stroking her back rhythmically and offering unwilling comfort.

Her piteous sobs tore through his composure and revived the agony of his best friend’s death that he had submerged deep down. He hadn’t had the luxury of breaking down. Ever. The news of Madhav’s accident had been a crippling blow and he had almost keeled over with grief but he had exerted superhuman control and trudged on stoically, ruthlessly suppressing his deep agony.

Gradually, Gauri’s sobs petered away and she stopped shuddering.

‘I’m sorry for losing control like this,’ she said haltingly, pulling away, agonised that it had to be Vikram who had witnessed her loss of control. He was the last person she wanted to bare her emotions to.

Face grim and hard, Vikram let her pull away. This was the second time he had held her in his arms. It had been torture. His body had been submerged by waves of sizzling awareness. The feel of her soft ripe breasts against his chest had set off unwanted sensations inside him and he had been tempted to crush her close.

He wondered why holding her nestled in his arms had felt so right and why now that she had pulled away did he suddenly feel bereft. The next moment he furiously berated himself for succumbing to her lure and letting her get under his skin.

She was adept at affecting people by batting her huge eyes and shedding crocodile tears. Just like her notorious actress mother! He, too, it seemed, wasn’t immune to her appeal. His rage returned. He sat up straight, angry with himself, all softness gone and a forbidding expression in place.

‘You are wasted as a lawyer. You should have been an actress like your mother,’ he said cruelly.

Vikram’s harsh words were like a hard slap on her face. Gauri recoiled, almost gasping aloud in pain. He had caught her at her most vulnerable point.

She stared at him with still wet cheeks, unable to react.

Vikram stared back at her stonily, steeling himself against the effect her wet cheeks were having on him. ‘These crocodile tears are wasted on me. I’m immune to your tricks.’

Gauri bowed her head and tried to pull her tattered emotions around her. She was in no fit state to argue any more. Her storm of weeping had left her feeling weary and she felt tiredness swamping her. She wanted to lay her head back and close her eyes but she dared not give in to any more weakness in front of him.

Biting her lip, she said hesitantly, ‘Can you please take me home? We can continue our discussion tomorrow.’

‘Don’t think you can dismiss me so easily! We have matters to discuss. I have found you with great difficulty and I don’t trust you. There’s no telling when you might skip out again,’ Vikram said in a soft, chilling voice which raised goose bumps on her skin.

His eyes bored into hers relentlessly and Gauri looked away, unable to meet his implacable gaze.

‘Lie back and close your eyes. It will take us time to reach our destination,’ he said tersely.

‘I … I’ll sleep once I reach home,’ Gauri mumbled.

‘Don’t make me more angry, Gauri. Just do as I say.’

Gauri capitulated with a sigh. She knew she didn’t stand a chance in the face of Vikram’s indomitable will. And she was feeling too spent to argue any further. It was only her air of bravado that was keeping her going.

She laid her head back on the seat and closed her eyes. Despair overwhelmed her again and, despite her bout of crying, fresh tears pricked at her eyes under her closed eyelids. But she didn’t let them escape. With tremendous control she lay soundlessly, pushing away the painful memories, blocking out everything from her mind and trying to focus on her breathing as she had been taught.

She had been an emotional wreck years ago and then she had run into Meenakshi Singh, who had been her saviour and on whose insistence she had seen a counsellor. The counsellor had trained her to switch off whenever painful memories began to intrude. She had had years of practice now and had become adept at pushing away agonising emotions while continuing to function stoically.

Vikram looked at her spent form, angry at the unwanted feeling of protectiveness that surged inside him. The only people he had ever truly cared about were his mother, his childhood friend Madhav and, later on, Madhav’s father. He had always been a loner and had never formed any attachments, even as a child. He’d always maintained an emotional distance with everyone, including Madhav’s family. But, ironically, Gauri always managed to disturb his equilibrium and had ruffled his equanimity on countless occasions.

The circumstances of her birth, her sudden appearance in Madhav’s family and the resulting furore had shaped his view of her. She had been the product of a one-night stand between Madhav’s father, Maharaj Sambhaji Rao, and a desperate and greedy actress who had seen the married Maharajah as a meal ticket and who had connived to get him very drunk at a party, seduced him and then trapped him by becoming pregnant.

That the Maharajah was bound to a terminally ill wife whom he could not leave had suited Gauri’s mother perfectly—knowing the limited shelf life of an actress, she had only wanted a benefactor to fund her expensive lifestyle. After Gauri’s birth, she had pretended great love for her daughter and had actively discouraged the Maharajah from having any contact with Gauri.

She had tearfully convinced the susceptible Maharajah that she didn’t want their daughter growing up ashamed of her illegitimate birth. The Maharajah had acquiesced and had retreated to the background. The astronomical sums of money she was given every month for Gauri’s upkeep were spent on leading a lavish, hedonistic lifestyle.

When Gauri turned five, Maharaj’s wife had died and, ironically, so had Gauri’s mother in an accident. Maharaj finally brought Gauri home.

Madhav had welcomed his chhoti bahen—younger sister—whom he lovingly called chhoti with open arms but the issue of her illegitimacy and her mother’s notorious reputation had filled Vikram with dislike.

As a child, she had been jealous of Vikram’s bond with her brother and would either ignore him or behave in a prickly manner. In turn, her doglike devotion to Madhav would irritate Vikram intensely and he had frequently been forced to hold his tongue, swallowing the scathing words springing to his lips in order not to upset Madhav.

And then, overnight, Gauri had grown up.

He couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it had happened, but he’d started to realise that his breath often caught at the sight of her.

She had suddenly blossomed into a beauty and had wreaked havoc on his hormones. His senses would thrum with awareness at the sound of her light step and the blood in his veins would quicken at the sight of her long braid swinging against her hips as she turned and left a room. The disturbing effect she had on him had knocked him off balance and made him angry and he had often resorted to cold sarcasm in her presence.

With hindsight he recalled that they both had rubbed each other the wrong way right from the beginning.

He looked at her, wondering why she had the capacity to ruffle his unflappable calm and arouse disturbing feelings inside him, especially when he knew her true nature. The sedative worked and after a few minutes Gauri slid into a deep slumber.

Suddenly Vikram realised that Gauri hadn’t applied the ointment that the doctor had given her. He hesitated, unwilling to touch her again and uncertain about waking her up. Finally, aware that the doctor’s orders had to be followed, he applied the ointment on the swelling on her forehead. Her skin was like soft satin and his fingers tingled as he rubbed gently.

Gauri murmured something sleepily but didn’t awaken. He looked at her face.

The moonlight glinted on her face, highlighting the perfect symmetry of her features and her flawless luminescent skin. She had inherited her heart-stopping beauty from her actress mother, who had been an acclaimed beauty and had graced the covers of many magazines.

Gauri, too, had received a couple of acting offers while still in school, which her father, the Maharaj, had peremptorily turned down.

Vikram gazed at her heart-shaped face and sharp patrician nose, which always used to be adorned by a tiny gold nose pin. The nose pin was no longer there. But her lips were perfect as ever. They glistened invitingly in the moonlight.

A deeply buried memory of the kiss that they had shared almost six years back surfaced.

It had been during the festival of Holi, also known as the festival of colours. As part of a bet, Madhav and he, along with their friends, had downed numerous glasses of the traditional intoxicant drink bhang. Drunk and intoxicated on bhang, they all had danced in the moonlight and he had found himself dancing with an equally intoxicated Gauri. It was the first time he had touched her.

The next thing he remembered was kissing her under a secluded arch of the palace. The kiss had rocked him and ignited an explosion of feeling in him. Gauri had kissed him back and he had plundered the sweetness of her lips. They had tasted like ambrosia, and he had drunk greedily, passion flaring intensely between them. Their kiss had gone on and on and he had almost taken her there and then, and only the sudden realization that he was kissing the teenage sister of his best friend had stopped him. She had looked at him with her doe-like eyes, dazed and innocent, and his heart had slammed against his ribs.

The sensations had been so vivid and the experience so intensely arousing that for several days he had been unable to behave naturally in front of Madhav and had gone out of his way to ignore Gauri. His body’s intense reaction had shocked and disturbed him and, knowing the futility of pursuing their explosive chemistry, he had done his best to douse the raging hunger that had filled him since the kiss. Deep guilt had assailed him when he thought how close he had come to betraying his friend’s trust with his sister. Especially since Gauri was still so young, only sixteen and sweet and innocent—or so he had mistakenly thought.

It had been a struggle but he had fought hard against the searing attraction which seemed to infect him whenever Gauri appeared.

But his scruples had been misplaced, as he had soon learnt. Later events had shown how mistaken he had been to think of Gauri as a naïve and innocent teenager. While he had pulled back, thinking she was still a child, she had been conducting an affair with the stable boy under their unsuspecting noses. Even at sixteen she had been a master of deception and wiles and had crafted a careful web of lies and betrayal. He had felt like a fool for being taken in by her.

Gradually, he had buried the entire incident deep inside the recesses of his mind and had never permitted any recollection to cross his memory. But now Gauri was in his clutches and he would make her squirm for her deception and lies.

Vikram looked at her with ruthless satisfaction, bent forward towards his driver, gave him some instructions in a low voice and then stretched out his long legs and prepared to rest, too. It would be a long journey and he wanted to be fresh and alert when they arrived.