The Housemaid’s Scandalous Secret - Helen Dickson

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found you I contemplate a much grander bedding for you and me. We will talk about it when we get out of this damned river.’

      Hearing the male arrogance edging his voice, Lisette swallowed drily. ‘Then tell me where you plan this bedding so that I can avoid it,’ she exclaimed, knowing that what he was saying was wrong … and yet it was so wickedly exciting, like nothing she had ever experienced before.

      Ross gave a small sensual laugh, sending shivering pulse beats through her body. ‘Nay, my lovely girl. Do not think you can avoid your destiny. I am a soldier, but I have been in India long enough to know your culture is full of the mysteries of destiny and fate and other fantasies. When we kissed I felt the desire in you. Deny it if you can.’

      Lisette was helpless in denying it. How could she, when she had felt it too?

      ‘Rest easy,’ Ross said, his arms gathering her against him, ‘while we wait out the night.’

      With nowhere to rest her arm Lisette placed it around his waist and closed her eyes.

      As the water continued to rush around them, Ross did the same, knowing there was the danger of the water rising. If it did, they would not survive the night.

      When dawn broke up the darkness of the sky, Ross opened his eyes to find his arms empty of his companion’s soft warmth. Panic seized him and he cursed himself for allowing himself to fall asleep, but he had truly believed she would be safe in his arms. Standing up, his eyes did a frantic search of the water round about, but there was no sign of her.

      Thankfully the river level had fallen during the night and the bridge hadn’t been washed away. Without any difficulty he managed to make it to the bank. On reaching it and looking at the ground, he saw the small footprints of a woman coming out of the river. This in itself put paid to the theory that she had been washed away. But there the trail ended. She had vanished as if spirited into thin air.

      He was astounded at the strength of his relief that she was alive, but then he felt a strange sensation come over him and he could hardly believe it himself when he realised it was pique and a helpless, futile sick anger against fate and himself and the foolish instinct of his kind that had driven him to leap unthinkingly to the rescue of a drowning native girl. And now the ungrateful girl had simply got up and left him; the sense of loss and disappointment would come later.

      He was affronted because having endangered his life to rescue her, she had left without so much as a farewell, slipped from his hands as unexpectedly as she had been placed into them. He set off to look for his horse and young Blackstock, determined to banish the native girl from his mind. But all the way to Bombay he did not stop looking for the girl in the pink, star-spangled sari.

      The events of that night were a hideous jumble in Lisette’s mind, and reaction had her in its grip. On opening her eyes and seeing the river level had fallen, careful not to disturb her companion, she had gotten to her feet and looked down into his deeply tanned and undeniably good-looking face. His closed eyes were fringed with black lashes and he was tall, his chest broad and hard muscled. His luxuriant dark brown hair and clean-shaven face enhanced his masculine good looks.

      Her heart stirred. How she would like to get to know him better, but there was something inside her telling her to flee, not to become entangled with this man whose only thought when they had been locked together had been to bed her. And so, shaking so violently she could barely walk, troubled by doubts and fears and a haunting sense of insecurity, she had left her handsome rescuer and made it to the riverbank.

      Fortunately she spotted the people she was travelling with encamped on the other side of the river. Reclaiming her bundle she carried on with her journey to Bombay.

       Chapter One

      Surviving tropical storms, pirates and a thousand other discomforts in the cramped quarters allotted to her on board ship, Lisette was relieved when she arrived in England, a country of bucks and beaux, Corinthians and macaronis. It was said that the old King George III had lapsed into incurable madness and his son ‘Prinny’ had been made regent. As the ship made its way up the river Thames, she went on deck. Against a marbled sky of grey and white, London was spread out before her—streets and houses, church spires and the dome of St Paul’s.

      Lisette felt no attachment to England. It was a long way from the India that she loved, with its tiger hunts and elephants, oriental princes and potentates glittering with fabulous jewels living in medieval state in fantastic marble palaces. India had been her world for so long that England on this grey morning was a pale comparison. A swift vision of that lovely, mysterious country with all its smells, its vibrancy and blistering heat sprang into her mind with a mixture of pleasure and pain and she choked a little, and then swallowed. It was no time to be self-pitying, when she was on the brink of a new life.

      Stepping onto dry land her legs shook like those of a newborn colt. After the relative quiet of the small cabin, the noise and bustle of the East India dock was jarring and chaotic. The Company was rich and powerful and well organised, owning the largest ships that used the port of London. The dock was a scene of great variety. The smell of tar and coffee beans, timber and hemp, permeated the air, along with other aromas which titillated her nostrils. Another ship of the fleet, the Diligence, had already docked and its cargo of tea, silks and spices from India and porcelain from China was being unloaded.

      Although Lisette had seen many a dark face in Bombay and heard all manner of languages spoken, she was dazzled by the spectacle of foreigners and shouting sailors, uniformed men and those in styles of dress she had never seen before. That was the moment that the enormity of her undertaking came over her. She was in a country that held nothing for her. Even the faces looked alien. Fear sank into her but it was too late to do anything about it.

      Stevedores carrying crates and trunks swarmed up and down the gangplank. One of them struggled to carry a barrel. On reaching the bottom of the gangplank he lost the battle and it rolled away in the direction of a prancing horse. The horse sidestepped to avoid it, causing its young handler to leap back or risk being struck by a flying hoof. The horse rose up on its hind legs with a snort of alarm, dragging the short rein from the man’s grip. Finding itself unexpectedly free, with stirrups dancing, it then began to rear and prance with its hooves flailing, scattering everyone in its path. Raising a noisy furore amongst the crowds it was heading straight for Lisette.

      She watched as it came closer. The horse had its ears back and nostrils flared, but it seemed to her that its head was still well up, which was a sign that it was not completely out of control. The only thing she could think of was to try to slow the horse. Unafraid, stepping into its path she began to walk towards the charging beast, holding her arms wide. When it was close she uttered a gasp of admiration, for it was the most beautiful chestnut horse and it was galloping straight at her.

      ‘Oh, my God! Get back, woman! Get back!’ the horse’s handler shouted.

      Standing only a few feet from the danger, Lisette heard the warning but stood her ground, not out of bravado but from sheer fascination as the magnificent animal reared up. ‘Oh, you beautiful creature!’ she whispered. Then, as if she were urging a child to do her bidding, ‘Stop, stop, you’ll hurt yourself if you’re not careful.’

      Reaching into her pocket for a sugared sweet, she held out a flat palm to the horse, which ground to a halt, snorting wildly and rolling big hazel eyes. ‘Come on, you adorable thing. I’m sure you’re going to like it.’ The horse decided he would. He accepted the sweet as Lisette calmly took hold of the short rein and proceeded to stroke his quivering, satiny neck. With huge hindquarters and a barrel chest, he was a splendid sight. ‘You’re so lovely.’ She sighed as the horse nudged her pocket for another sweet. ‘But where have you come from?’

      Suddenly a swift, agile figure appeared from nowhere.

      ‘It’s all right, Blackstock,’ the figure shouted to the man who had brought the horse off the ship. ‘I’ll handle him. Give me that horse,’ he demanded of Lisette, holding out his hand for the rein. But as he made to grab it, the horse flattened his ears, stamped his foot and lunged at him, knocking

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