The Duke of Shadows Read Online Free PDF

ludicrous image of the boy in the frilly hat. "I didn't like it anyhow." She faced front again, tilting her chin up. It was quite pleasant, this sensation of warmth on her scalp. "They don't want to lose this place," she said. "If there's a danger, they'll be sure to act."
    "Do you speak of the British, or the Indians?" the Marquess asked. "For on either count, I fear you're correct."

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    Chapter 3

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    E mma awoke with a gasp, sitting bolt upright in her bed. The lamp in the far corner had guttered out, and furniture and carpeting melded into one indistinguishable mass, looming fuzzy and dark through the green mosquito netting.
    Good Lord, that dream. The water roaring. The ship rearing up above. Would it never go away?
    She clawed for the break in the net, then slipped to her feet to open the curtains. The Residency grounds bordered a broad street that marked the perimeter of the walled city. The lane seemed eerily desolate in the blue light of dusk. A balmy breeze whispered through the trees, carrying with it the creaks of rickshaws and muted cries of street vendors in the bazaar a quarter mile away.
    A few hours yet until Marcus came to fetch her for dinner. He had been gone to Agra for five days, and would expect a cheerful countenance. She thought she might be glad of his return, if only for the opportunity to escape the Residency. Lady Metcalfe had been ailing, and Emma had not dared to strike out on her own again. If not for her sketchbook and the new charcoals Sir Metcalfe had given her, she would have gone mad from boredom. Even so, the walls felt as if they were beginning to close on her.
    With a sigh, she turned back to consider the room. The blue bottle on the dresser caught her eye. It held laudanum mixed with quinine; Lady Metcalfe had given it to her after Marcus had remarked favorably on its calming effects. Privately Emma had hoped that it would stop her nightmares. So much for that. But it was soothing.
    She measured out a tiny bit, splashing some onto her sleeve as she lifted it to her mouth. Then she set down the bottle and looked into the mirror. A pale, oval face stared back, dominated by eyes that were shadowed with fatigue. Not sleeping well. Sweat had turned her hair a limp brown. With fingers loosening under the spell of the opiate, she smoothed a lock from her brow. No one would ever count her as more than passably pretty, but usually she didn't look quite this bad.
    A parrot flew away from the sill, making her heart flutter as hard as his bright green wings. She put her hand to her chest and rubbed.
    On a sudden decision, she reached for her shawl, tying it quickly about her shoulders as she slipped out of the room. As she paced down the Turkey leader in the corridor, a breeze came through the open shutters, carrying the scent of oleander and the metallic sharpness of the heat.
    She realized as soon as she opened the library door that there were people inside. But it was too late—the conversation stopped at the squeak of the hinges, and she had no choice but to make herself known.
    Lord Holdensmoor and Sir Metcalfe were standing at the far end of the room, a map rolled out on the desk between them. Sir Metcalfe looked relieved to see her; the Marquess smiled as well, but turned immediately back to the map.
    "Miss Martin," the Resident said. "You are well?"
    "Very well. I did not mean to disturb you."
    "No, no, we are done here."
    The Marquess looked up, a peculiar expression on his face. "We are hardly done."
    "I will go," Emma said quickly, but Sir Metcalfe waved a dismissive hand and yanked at the bellpull.
    "Nonsense. I've already been waiting above a quarter hour for the servant to bring the tea. Where is he? I'll be back directly."
    Sir Metcalfe moved past her with uncharacteristic speed. When the door closed behind him, the Marquess said, "He is running from me."
    "Oh?" She approached the desk. "But why? What is it you're looking at there?"
    He hesitated, then sighed, pushing a