down and her hair brushed out. She’d danced every dance at the ball, and weariness pulled at her. Humming below that, though, was curiosity—though probably not for the reasons Lord Charlemagne would have expected. She loved a puzzle, and he’d presented her with a good one.
He’d made her an offer for the silks; one that would earn her two hundred and fifty guineas. A fair sum, yes, but she knew the silks were worth far more than that. He knew it, as well.
What had he given her, then? A note, a letter, something explaining how dearly he’d wanted those silks and imploring her to give them up at some ridiculously low price? She didn’t see how a letter could be more persuasive than his kiss, and that hadn’t swayed her one jot.
A gift, then. “Ah, that’s the rub,” she murmured, circling the table. Because under the circumstances it wasn’t a gift; it was a bribe. Whatever it was, obviously it was meant to better his negotiation position, likely by softening hers. Therefore, she knew full well that she would best be served by not opening anything and instead returning it to Lord Charlemagne at the appointed time tomorrow.
Squaring her shoulders, Sarala turned her back on the table and its contents and climbed into bed. That would show Lord Charlemagne, Shay to his friends; whatever he meant to accomplish by this, she would be unaffected. And her stance regarding the silks wouldn’t have changed, either. Her price remained five thousand pounds, unless he countered with something less insulting than a guinea and a half per bolt.
“There. Curiosity and females, ha.” Perhaps next time he would consider his position before he insulted every member of her sex.
The idea of maintaining a blissful ignorance lasted for nearly five minutes, until she realized that he would base their next conversation, his next argument, on the assumption that she knew what she’d been given. Pretending ignorance could therefore very well be to her advantage, but actual ignorance wouldn’t serve any purpose at all.
“We can’t have that,” she murmured, and climbed out of bed again. Firmly reminding herself that this was about business and not about curiosity, Sarala returned to the reading table and pulled open her reticule. Inside, the small velvet pouch lay wedged between her coin purse and a small tortoiseshell mirror.
Interesting as it was trying to guess what Charlemagne thought would be an effective bribe, knowing would serve her better. She pulled the fine braided strings and opened the pouch.
She turned it over, and a silver chain spilled onto her palm. Attached to it by a small loop was an intricate, delicate silver setting surrounding a small, multifaceted stone. Sarala held it up to the candlelight. Blood red. A ruby.
She couldn’t help her slow intake of breath. It was lovely, after all. And no doubt an Indian ruby, since given her past firstly it wouldn’t make sense for it to be from somewhere else, and secondly he was a Griffin and could easily afford such a thing.
So he’d given her a gift worth probably more than the five hundred bolts of silk. Sarala liked to consider herself a logical female, and logically a keen businessman wouldn’t bestow a bribe worth more than the property he was trying to acquire. Therefore, this bribe wasn’t about acquiring property; it was about acquiring her. Heat began low inside her, though she tried to set that sensation aside.
Well, he had some nerve, turning what would have been an interesting, invigorating negotiation into what was clearly his idea of a seduction. Yes, he was attractive and intelligent, but for heaven’s sake, she’d just arrived in England. She had no intention of succumbing to the suave maneuverings of the first man who looked in her direction, simply because he expected her to do so.
No, he did not have the reins of these proceedings. She did. And she had silks to dispose of. If he thought she could be bought with a ruby because it came from
He’d made her an offer for the silks; one that would earn her two hundred and fifty guineas. A fair sum, yes, but she knew the silks were worth far more than that. He knew it, as well.
What had he given her, then? A note, a letter, something explaining how dearly he’d wanted those silks and imploring her to give them up at some ridiculously low price? She didn’t see how a letter could be more persuasive than his kiss, and that hadn’t swayed her one jot.
A gift, then. “Ah, that’s the rub,” she murmured, circling the table. Because under the circumstances it wasn’t a gift; it was a bribe. Whatever it was, obviously it was meant to better his negotiation position, likely by softening hers. Therefore, she knew full well that she would best be served by not opening anything and instead returning it to Lord Charlemagne at the appointed time tomorrow.
Squaring her shoulders, Sarala turned her back on the table and its contents and climbed into bed. That would show Lord Charlemagne, Shay to his friends; whatever he meant to accomplish by this, she would be unaffected. And her stance regarding the silks wouldn’t have changed, either. Her price remained five thousand pounds, unless he countered with something less insulting than a guinea and a half per bolt.
“There. Curiosity and females, ha.” Perhaps next time he would consider his position before he insulted every member of her sex.
The idea of maintaining a blissful ignorance lasted for nearly five minutes, until she realized that he would base their next conversation, his next argument, on the assumption that she knew what she’d been given. Pretending ignorance could therefore very well be to her advantage, but actual ignorance wouldn’t serve any purpose at all.
“We can’t have that,” she murmured, and climbed out of bed again. Firmly reminding herself that this was about business and not about curiosity, Sarala returned to the reading table and pulled open her reticule. Inside, the small velvet pouch lay wedged between her coin purse and a small tortoiseshell mirror.
Interesting as it was trying to guess what Charlemagne thought would be an effective bribe, knowing would serve her better. She pulled the fine braided strings and opened the pouch.
She turned it over, and a silver chain spilled onto her palm. Attached to it by a small loop was an intricate, delicate silver setting surrounding a small, multifaceted stone. Sarala held it up to the candlelight. Blood red. A ruby.
She couldn’t help her slow intake of breath. It was lovely, after all. And no doubt an Indian ruby, since given her past firstly it wouldn’t make sense for it to be from somewhere else, and secondly he was a Griffin and could easily afford such a thing.
So he’d given her a gift worth probably more than the five hundred bolts of silk. Sarala liked to consider herself a logical female, and logically a keen businessman wouldn’t bestow a bribe worth more than the property he was trying to acquire. Therefore, this bribe wasn’t about acquiring property; it was about acquiring her. Heat began low inside her, though she tried to set that sensation aside.
Well, he had some nerve, turning what would have been an interesting, invigorating negotiation into what was clearly his idea of a seduction. Yes, he was attractive and intelligent, but for heaven’s sake, she’d just arrived in England. She had no intention of succumbing to the suave maneuverings of the first man who looked in her direction, simply because he expected her to do so.
No, he did not have the reins of these proceedings. She did. And she had silks to dispose of. If he thought she could be bought with a ruby because it came from
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