9308-3953

“And I see the end of me. I am under the power of alcohol, Emma, and I have been ever
since you first knew me. This glass and a thousand of his brothers shall someday end my life. But I’ll
be damned if I let it take you down with me.”
“I understand. We shall not marry. Not have children. You could not have been more
clear. But shall you now come with me? In England we may be worlds apart but here in India, my
room is not so very far from yours.”
He exhaled and drained the glass, then tossed it into the grass. “Of course. Despite my
bold speeches, was there ever any doubt? And then perhaps afterwards we might find a child’s
sandcastle and kick it to the ground.”
“Perhaps we shall.”
“You knew from the start, I presume, that this was an argument you would win.”
“I suspected as much,” she said, standing up and tossing her romance in the same
direction as his empty glass. Let Mrs. Tucker and her servants find them both there in the morning
light and wonder at the cause. “But Tom,” she added “you must promise me one thing.”
“Anything,” he said, reaching for her hand.
“No one must know of this night. Or of others like it, should they occur.”
“Of course not,” he said, although her words were oddly stinging. “This shall be our
guilty secret, yours and mine.”
“Especially not Trevor.”
Now that was worse than a sting. It was a slap. So deftly placed that it might have
derailed any man who was less drunk or less aroused. Tom knew that he could ask her what she
meant, but he also knew there was no answer she could give that would please him and besides, her
hand was cool and soft. The air smelled of something exotic and, just as she said, her room was not
so very far from his.
“Especially not Trevor,” he obediently echoed and they walked together toward the light.