“I rarely eat meat,” Priya said. In fact, if her father knew that she and Jeetan had abandoned some of the precepts of their religion, such as not eating meat, while in England, he would be furious.
“You are a Hindu?” Mrs. Sloane said, her eyes going wide. “But you don’t look like a savage heathen.”
Priya was perfectly willing to forgive the woman for her ignorant comment, but Francis rushed to her rescue.
“The Hindu faith has a long and proud tradition, Mrs. Sloane,” he said, his frown just stern enough to give Mrs. Sloane pause. “It predates Christianity, and it represents a colorful and admirable set of doctrines. I quite admire it.” He smiled at Priya as he finished his sentence.
Whether he was being truthful or attempting to win her over even more, Priya admired his bravery in saying as much in a public setting. She could sense that he would be open to learning more at the very least, and that did nothing to help the pitiful state of her heart.
Mrs. Sloane cut in again with, “Don’t tell me that you will allow Miss Narayan to continue to practice such a faith after you are wed, Lord Cathraiche.”
Priya had, unfortunately, just taken a gulp of wine as Mrs. Sloane spoke, and for so many reasons, she choked on it at the woman’s words.
Her coughing grew worse instead of better, particularly when Mrs. Sloane decided to make a fuss over her instead of letting the matter go. “She needs help, she needs help,” she said, rising from her seat and fluttering her hands at Priya.
Francis cleared his throat and pushed his chair back. “Rest assured, Mrs. Sloane, I will help her.”
Francis stood, inching Priya’s chair back and helping her to stand as well. He rested a hand gently on the small of her back and steered her away from the table.
“I will take Miss Narayan out for some air,” Francis said as he led her away from the table.
“Do not feel as though you need to hurry back,” Mrs. Sloane called after them, loud enough for half the restaurant to hear.
Priya’s face burned with embarrassment as Francis escorted her out of the room. “I’m so sorry,” she managed in a tight, hoarse voice. “Mrs. Sloane is—”
“Yes, I can see that,” Francis said as though Priya had given him a lengthy explanation. He chuckled, then steered Priya through the lobby. “I believe there is a lovely patio off to the side of the hotel. It is a lovely evening. We could go there to catch our breaths, then decide how to proceed.”
Even though she knew she should put her foot down, reaffirm that Francis should leave her alone to her fate, and return to her room, Priya let Francis take her outside. Brighton had settled a bit after the sun had gone down. The sound of the water on the beach was louder than any traffic on the streets, and it was accented by the cries of sea birds. Lanterns had been set up around the patio, and a street musician played from some unseen perch nearby. There had been a small bit of rain earlier, and the remaining drops glittered like diamonds in the lamplight. Overall, the scene was enchanting.
“Now, isn’t this better?” Francis asked as he escorted Priya into one of the darker corners of the patio. “No garish hostesses to ask impertinent questions, no friends meddling, nothing but you and I, finally able to take a breath together.”
Priya glanced up at Francis and nodded. That was all the answer she trusted herself to give. The scene truly was magical, the small bit of wine she’d indulged in had loosened her earlier tension, and the dreams she had fought so hard against seemed to be right there at her fingertips.
“What would you do, Lord Cathraiche,” she asked in a small, shaking voice, “if you knew you had one chance, one evening to live a dream before everything vanished?”
He caught her meaning immediately, and his expression grew both affectionate and troubled as he studied her. She could see the effort he was putting into forming his thoughts into words in the kind glint in his eyes. It wasn’t at all what she would have expected from the man who had been so restless in his ill-conceived pursuit of her.
“Won’t you tell me what troubles you, Priya?” he asked, using her given name without permission. That single word felt like the most beautiful love poem to her.
Priya shook her head. “It is not something I wish to think about,” she said. Slowly but surely, her heart was deciding what it wanted, even if it would just be one night.
“What do you wish to think about, then?” Francis asked. He raised a hand to brush his fingertips over her cheek, then caressed the side of her face with one hand.
“I want to think about what might have been,” she said, her voice shaking as she glanced up at him. “I want to feel as though I truly have a choice in my future, even though I know I do not.”
“I’m certain your father can be reasoned with,” Francis said, just enough of a wry grin on his lips to tell Priya he was convinced he could change what was already written in stone.
Despite herself, she loved that self-assurance in him. She drew in a breath, closed her eyes, pressed her face into his hand, and made her decision.
“I want to dance,” she said, opening her eyes and looking at him.
Francis’s brow shot up. “Dance?”
Priya nodded, flickering her eyes to the shadows where the unseen street musician played. “We have music, after all. And I’ve never danced with an earl before.”
Francis smiled. “It would be my pleasure to dance with you.”
He proved his words by taking her into his arms in the position for a waltz. The music was simple and common, but it was in three-quarter time, so he stepped smoothly into the waltz, holding Priya closer than she knew was proper for the dance.
She didn’t care. All she cared about was the cool sea breeze blowing around her, the warmth of Francis’s arms and body as he held her close, and the sensation that she was making a memory she could take with her forever. Nothing had ever made her feel so free as dancing in the light of a handful of lamps as the waves of the Channel beat against the beach nearby and the stars peeked out from skittering clouds above them. The moment was everything she would need to hold onto in the days to come.
“Tell me what you are thinking that has brought such a smile to your face,” Francis said, his voice low and amorous.
Priya hadn’t realized she’d been smiling, but judging by the heat in Francis’s eyes, he enjoyed it. It made her bold.
“I am thinking that a truly modern woman would grasp a moment like this with both hands and do something daring that she could take with her for the rest of her life,” she said, her voice a whisper, but one filled with power. “I’m thinking that I should take what I want and disregard the consequences.” It wasn’t as though her marriage prospects would be ruined by a night of indiscretion.