Her mouth fell open, even though she’d expected him to be thinking along those lines. “That’s what you want to ask me? After I tell you the Maharaja of Joor, my father, was murdered and we’re being tracked by his killer?”

“Answer the question, Countess.”

Sarani rolled her lips between her teeth, but then shook her head. Telling him the truth would not hurt them at this point, and Asha was right that they were in the middle of the ocean with no options but what they had at hand. Which were Rhystan, his ship, and his men.

She walked over to the desk, poured herself some whisky, and took a healthy swallow, not even gasping when the liquor burned a hot path from her throat straight down to her quivering belly. She took another sip for good measure. For courage.

“There is no Lord Lockhart, not in the way you imagine anyway,” she began, her gaze on the tumbler between her palms. Bringing up the past felt like picking at a nearly healed scab. “In Joor, as you know, my father ordered me to wed Lord Talbot, the regent. I put off the wedding for as long as possible with any excuse I could come up with. At first, it was because I was too young and wanted to wait. My father agreed. And then later, the rebellion and mourning for those who died. Anything to prolong the engagement.” She didn’t hide her shudder at the memory of Talbot—his ashen, almost skeletal features and those watery eyes that stripped her bare every time they fell upon her. “He was odious.”

“Wait, you didn’t marry? Markham told me that you had.”

Sarani didn’t miss the stunned rage that darkened his expression. She shook her head. “No. The wedding was supposed to be the day after I ran.” She drew a breath. “When my father was assassinated, I knew it was only a matter of time before Talbot or the murderer would come for me. I suspect my cousin Vikram was behind it. He has the most to gain, though he would not have acted without Talbot’s help.” She lifted the glass, thought about it, and then set it down on the desk. She didn’t need her mind muddled. “Tej got us to Bombay, so we decided to leave on a ship in the dead of night that just so happened to be yours.”

“What are the odds?” he murmured.

Sarani was not particularly religious, but destiny—or karma as she learned from the Upanishads: the philosophical law of ritual action and its effect in the universe—did indeed seem to have a twisted sense of humor. Fate had decided to throw them together once more.