Hmm. Jaya studied his face. Still no trace of that sadism she kept waiting for. If Grey Emerson was putting on a show, he was an actor on par with Meryl Streep. What was he doing? Why did he need to hear all of this in her words? Feeling a bit like she was playing a game of chess in the dark, Jaya went on, her eyes tracking his every facial twitch. “Isha got careless. A newspaper reporter, ah, just happened to be passing by the shop one day and saw her, covered in motor oil, drinking, and kissing one of the mechanic boys. He snapped some pictures and the story ran the next day. That was it. Just a teenager acting like a teenager and now our entire family has to pay.” She let her gaze bore into his as she said it, hoping, even if he didn’t show it, that he’d feel the wicked blade of guilt stabbing into his heart.

“That was it?” Grey asked. “She drank and kissed a boy and that was enough for people to condemn all the Raos?”

“Perhaps you forget how conservative the Indian working class can be.”

Grey inclined his head, allowing that. “And the British upper class,” he muttered. “Continue, please.”

Jaya let out a shaky breath, remembering the horror of it all. “The public outcry was… I couldn’t believe it. People were accusing our parents of raising wayward daughters, questioning whether we were meant to lead because we obviously lacked the moral fiber required of a royal family. Anytime we went into town, shopkeepers would make cruel remarks under their breaths. People pointed and whispered and yelled rude things. It didn’t matter that we had bodyguards with us and they protected us from anything more serious. They just kept doing it anyway. It was like they wanted us to know how much we’d let them down, how unworthy we were.”

Grey moved a half step closer, and in doing so, blocked the wind. As if he were her protector. Ironic, considering what he’d done. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.