Her Only Desire Read Online Free PDF

the British. There had already been two wars between the English and the Marathas over the past fifty years, but for more than a decade now, thankfully, an uneasy peace had reigned. Many felt, however, that it was only a matter of time before war broke out again.
    Georgie worried so. She detested violence and hated the thought of a just ruler like King Johar being brought low. So many proud Indian kingdoms had already fallen to British machinations, some quelled by wars, others by humiliating treaties: Hyderabad, Mysore, even the warlike Rajputs in the north. Only the Marathas remained completely free and independent.
    But maybe not for long.
    If war broke out and the warrior king were slain in battle, then all thirty of Johar’s wives, including her dear Meena, not to mention his hundreds of concubines, all would burn on his funeral pyre in an act of suttee, just like Lakshmi had nearly done today.
    Georgie shuddered at the hideous thought, at which Lord Griffith held her a little closer.
    â€œAre you all right?” he murmured.
    What a tender touch he had.
His gentleness arrested her attention. She managed a nod. “Yes, thanks,” she forced out, reminded anew that, whatever intrigues were afoot, this man was mixed up in the middle of it all.
    She intended to find out through her guest what was going on—though, of course, she could not do so directly. After all, she was “only a woman.” Lord Griffith would never tell her government secrets, and she had no right to ask. Best, therefore, not to arouse his suspicions in the first place, she decided. If she used her woman’s tools, kept her eyes and ears open, charmed him, soothed his guard down, then she’d soon have all the information she required.
    She intended to watch him like a hawk.
    As much as she longed to believe in Lord Griffith’s brilliant reputation, she wasn’t that naive. She saw little reason to hope that the supposedly wonderful marquess was in truth any different than all the other greedy Europeans who had come to plunder India for centuries.
    If his motives were pure—if he really was here to stop a war from breaking out and could be trusted as a human being, then she would do all she could to help him.
    But if it turned out that he was just like all the rest, corrupt and callous, and that his true purpose boiled down to greed—his own, the Company’s, and the Crown’s—then she would stand with her Maratha friends and find a way to work against him.
    Having him stay at her house as her guest would help her keep an eye on him; thus, she had sent him that note opening her home to him in hospitality. His visit should give her plenty of time to observe him, get to know him, and judge his true nature for herself.
    Presently, they turned onto the broad, elegant avenue known as the Chowringee, Calcutta’s answer to Park Lane. As they rode past the row of stately mansions where the richest English families lived in splendor, Georgie ducked her head, having donned the veil and Eastern clothing to help conceal her identity from her nosy neighbors.
    Most of them were probably still sleeping, for there had been a grand ball last night, but she wasn’t taking any chances. She did not want to end up as mired in scandal as her late, great aunt, for she couldn’t be of help to anyone if she was ruined.
    No, she embraced the duchess’s ideals, but not her methods.
    When they approached her house, she signaled to Lord Griffith to rein in. “Here we are.”
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    Ian pulled the horse to a halt before the most whimsical home on the stretch. Glancing up at it, he beheld a snow-white Oriental fantasy, an exotic confection topped by a turquoise onion dome with four quaint little towers like minarets rising from the corners. It almost seemed to float before him like that mad poet’s dream of Kubla Khan, a shimmering illusion, gleaming white against the azure