The Wedding Bed (The Sun Never Sets, Book One) Read Online Free

reflected in the structure of his square-jawed face, with its high cheek bones and broad brow, his imperious nose and firm male mouth.
    Their gazes locked. Calla realized in that instant she had mis judged his eyes. She remembered them dark, level, rational. Not stormy gray, eyes that looked quick to passion and quick to temper.
    Though The Times arrived on India’s shores months after the gossip had been devoured in London, it remained required reading among Calcutta’s social elite. Lord Keating’s name appeared more often than most. The Dark Lord, the newssheets called him. Black Baron. Tiger of the Thames. Ruthless in business, savage in negotiations, cruel and calculating in his personal affairs. He was deemed too large, too powerful, too untamed to be comfortably assimilated into their society—particularly given the exotic blood that flowed through his veins.
    Calla had known all th at before she left India. She’d foolishly assumed the newssheets had exaggerated. If anything, she realized, suppressing a shiver, the papers had been too kind. Dear God, the sheer size of the man was intimidating. Well over six feet tall, every inch of his body composed of thick, solid muscle—the sort of man who presumably would have no trouble wrestling a bull to the ground, if he were so inclined.
    Had she seen Derek Jeffords before she boarded ship for England, she would have chosen another course of action, a solution to her family’s difficulties that had nothing to do with him. She brushed the thought away in irritation. She’d been over the matter a thousand times. There was simply nothing else to be done. Get on with it , she scolded herself.
    Tilting her chin to meet his stare, she said, “ You received no word that Mrs. Singh and I were en route?”
    “None.”
    “I’m sorry to hear that.” While their engagement might have come as a shock to him, that did not mean he could treat her like common baggage. “Nevertheless,” she said, sending him an arch look, “arrangements have been made, and I have traveled a considerable distance on your behalf. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too much to expect you to offer me some refreshment?”
    He loo ked at her blankly for a moment, then seemed to recall himself. Turning, he shot a look at the footman who’d brought his drink. “Tea.”
    “Yes, sahib.” The man bowed and left the room.
    She gave a regal nod of approval. “Thank you.”
    Icy silence settled over the room. Too nervous to sit—and fully conscious of the fact that he had not invited her to do so—she remained standing. Desperate for somewhere to focus her attention, Calla turned away from him and examined the salon’s opulent furnishings. She ran her hand along a panel of exquisite saffron-colored silk drapery, admired the intricately carved marble mantelpiece, then swept an appraising gaze over the lofty ceilings, crystal chandeliers, inlaid mahogany flooring, and hand-knotted Persian rugs.
    “So this is where it all goes…” she heard herself utter.
    “It?”
    “The riches of India.”
    His gaze narrowed . When he spoke, his voice was silky soft, carrying just the barest hint of menace. “Are you playing a game with me, Miss Staunton?”
    “A game? Certainly not. I can assure you I have better things to do with my time.”
    “Then there is an actual betrothal?”
    “Of course there is. Mrs. Singh and I would not have traveled from India had there not been,” she replied, relieved she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt. “Our mothers believed we would suit. They said our stars are perfectly aligned for marriage.”
    He released a derisive breath. “And you agreed with that nonsense?”
    “I…Yes. Yes, I did.”
    Lord Keating studied her in silence. After what seemed an interminable pause, he leaned one slim hip against a mahogany table and crossed his arms over his chest. “In that case,” he drawled, “shouldn’t you begin?”
    “ Begin?”
    “Aren’t you going to regale me with