Page 32 of To Break the Rules

Privately, Silas thought if he was anything like this man he’d walk into the sea without delay, but he held his tongue and did his best to look flattered by the remark.

“Thank you for saying so. I’m afraid my father was not a man of your… worldly wisdom. He never left England in his life, never saw the need. Yet you have travelled widely, I believe?”

Ulceby shrugged, noncommittal. “I have seen more than most men, I suppose.”

“Including India, I take it?” Silas prompted, gesturing to the figure on the mantelpiece.

There was a pause. “Yes, I spent some time there.”

“It must have been fascinating.” He leaned forward, hoping his interest would get the man to open up and let something slip. “I confess I’ve always harboured a love of adventure, a desire to see such far-off lands. Such a vast and remarkable country. What was it like?”

Silas watched with interest as the man grimaced. “Too damn hot and full of heathens. A godless country. I advise you to stay put. Once you’ve seen one elephant, you’ve seen them all,” he added with a sneer.

Silas swallowed down his ire at the man’s ability to dismiss a country and culture that he’d read about with wonder. The earl seemed more objectionable with every passing second, but he tried again.

“When was that?”

The earl waved a dismissive hand, looking rather impatient. “I have no idea. Fifteen years ago, perhaps? Why the interest?”

There was a suspicious glint in the man’s eyes and Silas spoke with care, knowing he needed to tread carefully. “No reason, only… the little silver object you had in your hand yesterday rather looked Indian to my untrained eye.” It was a total shot in the dark, the idea having only occurred to him at that moment, but he knew he’d struck gold before the earl even replied.

“It is,” the earl said smoothly. “It’s a good luck charm, a token I picked up over there and keep for sentimental reasons. It’s Kali’s trishul, Kali being one of their pagan gods.”

It was a lie. Silas felt it in his gut. Oh, he believed the description was apt enough, and perhaps it was a good luck charm, to Lucia, but not to this man. For the Earl of Ulceby, whoever wielded that trident, or trishul, or whatever it may be… they were his enemy.

“Do you have it?” Ulceby demanded, extending his hand.

Silas hesitated, very aware of the tiny silver object nestled in his waistcoat pocket.

“I don’t,” he said, spreading his hands out regretfully. “I’m afraid I didn’t realise its significance. I can’t actually remember what I did with it. It maybe I left it at St Clair’s place. Would you like me to ask?”

The earl waved his hand, dismissing his offer. “It’s of no matter,” he said, the look in his eyes saying otherwise. “Though, if you happen to come across it—”

“Of course,” Silas said, getting to his feet. The desire to be out of the man’s presence was a forceful one, the weight of gilt and belligerence in this house so palpable it made his skin prickle with unease. “I am glad to see you are in good health, Ulceby. Do let me know if there’s ever anything I can do for you.”

It was a calculated remark. Silas was believed to be a wealthy man and, as of yet, no rumours of his late father’s uncertain finances had reached the ears of the ton. For all Ulceby knew, he was as rich as Croesus. Which he might well be, if ever he had the time to sort out his affairs.

They shook hands, Ulceby giving his thin fingers as though he was granting Silas a boon of great honour, and Silas made good his escape.

***

Lucia clutched at the bedclothes, her breath coming too fast, her chest tight as the nightmare dug its claws in harder, pulling her into the dark.

She’d been asleep that night, too, on the ornate four-poster, covered over with netting to keep the mosquitoes at bay, the perfumed smoke of agarbatties drifting into her dreams… until she’d been awakened in the dead of night and told to run away.

“Dharani… Nani maa,” she called, her voice no longer her own, but that of a child, high pitched and filled with terror.

“Run, Aashini. Run and hide. Go to the indigo fields and don’t look back!”

“No, Nani maa,” she cried, her hands clutching at the woman’s sari, the material bunched in her small fists. “I cannot. I’m afraid. You must come with me.”

A sob caught at her throat, as her beloved Dharani pushed her away, urging her to go on alone.

“I will come, Aashini, I will come as soon as it is safe. But you must go. Please bhanvaraa. Now! Go!”

A push to the small of her back had made her stumble forwards, made her gasp in shock, but she’d run then, run until she heard aggressive voices behind her, and she’d turned, hearing Dharani’s voice, strong and angry, and the sound of a scuffle, of a hand striking flesh. For a moment she’d hesitated, wanting to return, but then Dharani’s voice had travelled down the darkened hall, the power of it raising the hairs on the back of her neck as she swore revenge on the man who threatened the life of a child.

Run, Aashini.