That couldn’t be, though. After an hour of napping, she sat and nudged Francis.
“I have to go back to my room,” she whispered, loath to break the peace of the moment. “I cannot stay here, and I cannot be seen leaving your room in the morning.”
Francis grunted as he woke and pushed himself to sit as well. “You’re right,” he said at last, his voice sleepy. “I’ll help you dress.”
Even after saying that, they spent another few minutes kissing. It was beautiful. Priya truly would take the memory of that evening with her through her whole life.
All too soon, she climbed out of bed, used Francis’s washstand to clean up a bit, then set about dressing in her dinner clothes again. It didn’t take as long as she wanted it too—she wanted the moment to go on forever—and before long, she was dressed and presentable enough to leave Francis’s room. Francis had dressed and tidied up as well, as he insisted on walking her, even though it was only at the other end of the hall.
They stepped quietly back into the hall. Priya couldn’t keep the smile off her face as Francis offered his arm to escort her. She had never been happier.
A moment later, every last bit of that happiness vanished. As Priya and Francis reached the juncture of the hallway with the main staircase, three men stepped up into the hall and immediately spotted them—Jeetan, her father, and Jogendra Raikut.
Priya gasped so hard that she started coughing. That sound immediately drew her father’s attention.
“Priya, beti!” he called out to her, wearing a big smile. “We have found you!”
“Lord Cathraiche,” Jeetan greeted Francis with a frown and a nod. “What are you doing with my sister?”
“Jeetan, where are your manners?” Priya’s father asked, shaking his head at Jeetan. If only he knew that Jeetan was absolutely right to be suspicious.
“Miss Narayan took a turn at supper,” Francis said, frowning slightly but trying to maintain a neutral, respectful expression. “I escorted her outside to get some fresh air.”
“And you are?” Priya’s father asked, glancing to her.
Priya swallowed hard, her hands and feet going numb. She let go of Francis’s arm and moved to stand between all of the men. The moment of truth had come.
“Father, this is Lord Francis Rathborne-Paxton, Earl of Cathraiche and a…a friend of mine,” she said.
“An earl!” Jogendra’s face lit up. “A real, British nobleman. Fascinating!”
“It is a pleasure, my lord.” Her father nodded to Francis as though they were equals, or like he was superior.
“Jeetan you know,” she continued with the introductions, her voice shaking. She couldn’t quite meet Francis’s eyes. “This is my father, Maharaja Jitendra Narayan of Koch Bihar.” She gestured to her father. Tears stung at her eyes as she gestured toward Jogendra and said, “And this is Raja Jogendra Dev Raikut of Jalpaiguri…my husband.”