LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter Two

      What a very strange girl, William thought as he stared at the closed door of the library where Diana Martin had stood only a moment before. Her hurried patter of heeled shoes had faded, but he thought he could still smell the trace of her sweet lilac perfume, feel the satin of her glove on his palm.

      He stared down at his hand, remembering the warmth of her touch, her slender fingers curled around his for the merest instant. He felt something he hadn’t felt in ages. An urge to laugh. For just a moment he had forgotten Laura, forgotten his work, forgotten everything but Miss Martin’s smile. He remembered her from his visit to Alex at Miss Grantley’s. She had been so sweet, a blush on her face, her words stammered a bit, a slightly gawky, charming schoolgirl. Now she seemed to have blossomed into an autumn goddess with her red hair, her bright eyes, her enthusiasm that seemed to make everything turn new again. At least in looks. When she talked, she became that awkward schoolgirl again and he feared for her in the ballroom jungles of London. The poor, sweet girl.

      He only wished she hadn’t seen him at his very worst. His country-house party tryst with Laura seemed so long ago now, after India and all that had happened, a memory shrouded in wine and youthful passion. He had almost forgotten about it, until he saw her in the ballroom. To his surprise, she had begged to talk to him in private.

      Much to his shock, she wanted to renew their old liaison. She was still beautiful, of course, maybe even more than she had been at that house party. Yet there was something strange about her, about the over-bright glow in her catlike eyes, her desperate grasp on his arm. He wanted to help her, but he knew very well he couldn’t go back to her. He was a much different man now.

      The man he had been back then, younger and wilder, just starting his career, probably would have looked at someone like Diana Martin and seen a pretty but shallow deb. Indeed, he had thought that when he and Chris visited Alex at school.

      He found he didn’t want to return to the crowd just yet. Didn’t want to lose the fleeting, bright, silly glow Miss Martin had left behind, as sweet and summery as her lilac perfume. He wandered over to the table where the newspapers were displayed and scanned the headlines about the Exposition.

      William did see how an eager, enthusiastic young lady like Diana Martin would be fascinated by it all. The whole world gathered in beautiful Paris, the art and fashion, the food and theatre. He hoped she would get to see it.

      Then he glimpsed a grainy photograph in one corner of the Mail. A tall, bearded man in a pale tunic and loose trousers, standing on the deck of a ship with three ladies in elaborate embroidered saris.

      The Maharajah Singh Lep with his wives, boarding HMS Princess Augusta to make his way to the Paris Exposition, where he will visit the Indian Pavilion and see the wondrous sapphire, the Eastern Star. On display thanks to the generosity of the Duke of Waverton.

       The Star was once worn by the Maharajah’s grandmother...

      Singh Lep—who was no doubt trailing trouble in his wake, as he had in Bombay with his investment offers, his proffered and then withdrawn friendship. His grandmother had once ruled for him in his kingdom and had sold the Star to William’s uncle and then sold the kingdom. The man was understandably angry at what had happened. But did he blame his grandmother—or someone else?

      And now he was going to be in Paris. The article said it was merely a pleasure trip and listed other dignitaries on their way to climb Eiffel’s tower and eat ices at his cafés—including the Prince and Princess of Wales. But William was sure there was more to it than that.

      He stared out the window where Diana had been hidden and for a moment he didn’t see the rain-soaked London street. He saw the baking sun of India, smelled the spices and heady perfumes of a world he had left far behind. A world no one could even begin to fully understand.

      The door suddenly opened, and William glanced over his shoulder, ready to send Laura away again if had she returned. Or maybe he was half-hoping it would be Miss Martin?

      In any case, it was neither lady, but his brother who stood there. Will laughed at himself and folded the paper away.

      ‘Hello, Chris,’ he said. ‘Come to hide out here, too?’

      Christopher grinned and closed the door behind him. ‘Our parents have arrived,’ he said and that was all that was needed to explain the fact that even Christopher, who rarely cracked a book if he could help it, would hide in a library. William had taken lodgings since returning to London, only taking a few dinners at his parents’ town house as he had done earlier that evening, but Chris still lived there, in that suffocating place that hadn’t changed a bit since they were boys.

      ‘Sorry about that. Mother must have changed her mind after all,’ William said.

      ‘She sent me to find you,’ Christopher said, carelessly scanning the paintings hung on the walls, a series of indifferent landscapes and a few really fine French pieces. ‘One of the footmen said you came this way.’

      Will wondered if the footman had told Chris who he was in the library with. Perhaps

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