Reaching behind her for the door latch, she fought the lance of guilt. “Even if I did, my answer will still be no. When we dock tomorrow, it’s best for me to take my leave in St. Helena as planned.”

Eleven

Marriage.

Sarani had endured a restless sleep from the moment she’d left the duke’s cabin after his preposterous proposition, and she’d tossed and turned all night, tortured by visions of her wedded to the man who’d stolen the heart of a starry-eyed girl all those years ago. Those dreams had been intertwined with more salacious fantasies of what came after the wedding…as in the bedding. And that had left her in a wicked, restless state that made further sleep practically impossible.

She stared up at the ceiling, fisting her fingers in the twisted bedsheets, her eyes flicking to her exhausted maid who had taken refuge in the armchair halfway through the night to avoid her mistress’s constant thrashing. Poor Asha. Sarani had explained in a few short words what Embry had proposed and Asha’s eyes had gone wide, though she had uncharacteristically, if wisely, not offered any counsel.

Sarani throttled a grunt of frustration.

Marriage.

The utter nerve of him. It was unconscionable. Absurd. Unthinkable.

But after several hours of indignation, her innately practical mind had slowed enough to consider both the advantages and the disadvantages. Despite their tumultuous history and the decisions that had pushed them apart, something had brought them back together. And if she put emotion aside, the duke could be the answer to her prayers.

A duchess would be unassailable.

The ton would accept her without question because she wouldn’t just be Lady Sara Lockhart, returning mysterious heiress from India, she would be Lady Sara Lockhart, fiancée to the exalted Duke of Embry. By default, an uncontestable extension of him.

She would be safe from harmful gossip, but her identity would be swaddled up in that of yet another man. One whose motives weren’t entirely clear.

Why would he offer to wed her?

What reason could he possibly have? With his fortune, looks, and title, he would have his pick of brides in England. Unless he wanted her specifically. He couldn’t be that vengeful, could he? Wanting to exact retribution for her betrayal all those years ago? Her chest tightened. If anything, the past few weeks had taught her that the man Rhystan had become was capable of that and more. He was ruthless in the extreme.

Cold. Powerful. Exacting.

Sarani thought of the tender way he’d soothed and bound her hands, and then she remembered that he’d set her to work shoveling manure in the first place. She, a princess shoveling cow and horse shit, and one he’d proposed to nonetheless. It was beyond the pale.