The Duke of Shadows Read Online Free PDF Page B

sheet over. The laudanum was unfurling through her; she had to blink a few times to bring the numbers and names into focus:
    Seventh Dragoon Guards; Queen's Army, 23,000; 58th Native Infantry. "Stations and regiments," she said, bemused. "But why in the world would you need these maps? Surely you aren't involved with the military." Marcus would have been sure to complain about it.
    "Do you see these numbers?" He pointed to a figure written in a cramped hand at the top right corner. "Three hundred thousand and fourteen thousand. Three hundred thousand men in the Indian Army." His finger traced over the number. "Only fourteen thousand European."
    "A small number," she said uncertainly. "But natives have always served in the Indian army."
    "Three Indians for every Englishman two decades ago," he agreed. "Now six for every Englishman."
    "Surely you can't be against that. You, yourself, are…" She trailed off, blushing, and he shook his head.
    "I take no offense at the mention of my heritage. It is my better half, I think." He smiled. "Or better quarter, though that lacks a certain ring. My concern is for the peace. While I firmly believe that England has no place in India—" Her huff of shock made him smile again. "Well, and I am part native, Miss Martin."
    "And also an English peer, a future duke!" She knew she was sputtering, but she had never heard of such a sentiment!
    His eyes could become weapons. They focused on her now with alarming intensity, seeming to become greener as she stared into them, hopelessly pinned. "I will be the Duke of Auburn," he said, and she had the strangest thought that he was not pleased by that eventuality. "But it is an English title, you know. It gives me no claims to Indian soil."
    Emma shook her head. "I've never encountered such talk."
    He was considering her in turn, his expression pensive. "No, I don't suppose you have. How are you, by the way? I had planned to leave a note inquiring after your health."
    "Oh—you mean from the other day?" She shrugged. "Recovered, thank you."
    "Yes?" With an upraised brow, he reached for her wrists. Unprepared, she let him take them. He turned her around, lifting out one arm, and then the other, to examine where she had hit the ground in Chandni Chowk.
    If Sir Metcalfe returned now, it would be very awkward. But lassitude had fallen over her, so she held still, remarking her concern only by a pointed glance to the closed door. "Harmless scratches," she said.
    "Healing nicely." His palms slid up her arms, his fingers skating lightly over the tender skin of her inner elbows. She caught her breath and cast him a startled glance over her shoulder.
    His eyes came up to hers, and his hands let go. He stepped back, a look of surprise on his face.
    "I beg your pardon," he said. After a moment, he turned and bent to retrieve a satchel that had been sitting by the table. "This is for you." He pulled out a slim, gilt-edged volume.
    She took it and turned it over in her hands. The tooling on the leather was very fine. "'Wanderings of a Pilgrim in Search of the Picturesque,'" she read aloud slowly. She would not have taken the laudanum had she known so much reading awaited her!
    "Yes, a volume by Mrs. Fanny Parkes. She toured all over the subcontinent in the twenties and thirties. I thought you might find her account of interest—although I regret to inform you, she also suffered the curse of male chaperones."
    Emma laughed despite herself. It came out husky and slow. "You shouldn't be giving me gifts. Marcus would have your head."
    He frowned a little at that, as if she had puzzled him, although his mouth was still smiling. "You may say you found it at the club."
    "What a clever idea. I think I will." She opened the book at random, to a plate entitled Lachchmi, Goddess of Beauty. Her finger traced the outlines of the goddess's voluptuous figure. "Thank you. She looks as if she might step out of the page and come alive."
    "You're welcome." He paused. "I would not