A Lady's Guide to Improper Behavior by Suzanne Enoch (15)

How long do I need to push you back and forth here?” Lackaby grunted, reversing direction again. “I’m getting blisters.”

Bartholomew snapped open his pocket watch. “According to you, Wellington’s generally prompt. I’ll give him another twenty minutes. If he doesn’t appear, I’ll either have to find another way to get to him, or I’ll have to go to the Horse Guards to have a look for allies.”

“They won’t give you anything if the East India Company’s already lining their pockets. Which it is.”

“I know. They may have the records to prove my argument, though.”

“Which will prove them liars.”

“I didn’t say I would go through the front door,” Bartholomew returned.

“Seems like they’d be happier if you were dead, Colonel.”

The thought had actually occurred to him before; it was another reason for him to make his presence in London known. He didn’t want to be able to disappear without commentary.

Bartholomew glanced up at the gates of Apsley House again. A few weeks ago he’d been halfway to wishing the Thuggee had succeeded and he was still down in that damned well rotting with his men. By calling him a liar, the East India Company had forced him into action.

A pair of liveried grooms ran out to the ornate Apsley House gates and pulled them open as a grand black coach rolled down the carriage drive and onto the street. Damnation. He hadn’t expected Wellington to be on foot, but stopping a carriage hadn’t been a part of his plan, either.

“Push me out,” Bartholomew ordered.

“Beg pardon?”

“Push me into the street.”

“You’ll be killed.”

“Now, Lackaby.”

The valet gave him a hard shove. He rolled forward, coming to a stop directly in front of the looming coach-and-four. The valet dove out of the way, but Bartholomew stood. He’d faced death; nothing else much impressed.

The coach skidded to a halt. “Move aside, you bloody fool!” the driver bellowed at him.

Bartholomew took a limping step forward. “That’s Colonel bloody fool to you,” he returned. “I require a brief word with His Grace.”

“His Grace does not stop to chat with every supposed soldier who steps into his path. Move a—”

“That’s enough, Smith.”

The coach door swung open. Hurriedly the tiger seated beside Smith jumped to the ground and flipped down the trio of steps spanning from the coach to the ground. A booted foot emerged, and then the blue-and gray-clothed Duke of Wellington himself stepped onto the street.

“My driver is cautious,” he said, keen eyes taking in Bartholomew and the chair behind him. “In the past, men have tried to kill me.”

“Men have tried to kill me, as well. That’s actually what I wanted to speak to you about.”

“I know who you are, Colonel James. And I won’t be pulled into a dispute with either the army or the East India Company. I have found them both to be invaluable allies in the past. They may prove to be so again.”

Bartholomew understood that. “They say politics is a dangerous battlefield, Your Grace.”

“And with fewer victories. I—” The duke stopped, his sharp-eyed gaze moving beyond Bartholomew to the edge of the street. “Lackaby, you old dog. Is that you?”

The valet came forward. “I hardly recognize ye, Your Grace. You’ve more medals and titles now than I can count.”

“You’re serving Colonel James now, I presume?”

Lackaby puffed out his chest. “I am, and proudly. Colonel James holds the reputations of his fallen men in his hands, and he ain’t about to let them be remembered as anything less than heroes.”

Cool gray eyes shifted to regard Bartholomew once more. “Well, then. You’re not likely to find many others with whom to compare stories, Colonel. In fact, your experience may well be unique.” He frowned a little. “You’re residing at James House?”

It was more a statement than a question, but Bartholomew nodded anyway. “I am.”

“I may have some old notes you might find informative, though I don’t know how helpful they’ll be. I’ll send them by this evening.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re on the verge of making some very powerful enemies, Colonel. Consider carefully before you proceed. Not many men could stand against that onslaught. And you’ve only got the one good leg to begin with.”

With another look Wellington climbed back into his carriage and knocked on the roof. Lackaby pushed the chair out of the street, and the big coach rolled into motion once more. Bartholomew limped aside and watched as it turned the corner and vanished.

“Well. Looks like you’ve got a bit of help, after all.”

“A bit of help. If his old notes mention any Thuggee attacks. If they don’t, I’m back to being alone again.”

“I find that somewhat troubling, myself,” Lackaby commented, moving the chair behind Bartholomew. “No other survivors means no one to talk.”

“Means no proof of how they were actually killed. I am aware of this.” Bartholomew sat, handing his cane back to the valet. “If it was easy to prove the Thuggees’ existence, the East India Company wouldn’t have discounted them. Let’s go, shall we?”

“Where to now?”

“I thought I might return home for a pistol, and then take luncheon at the Army Club.”

“They’ll murder you there, Colonel.”

Bartholomew gave a grim smile. “I’m a member. And if I’m fortunate enough to find another member who served in India, I might find an ally.” He doubted it, and he wouldn’t trust anyone who did come forward, but any additional evidence, stories, or rumors would add to his collection of evidence.

Six streets later, Lackaby was complaining that he was about to lose his own feet, and the left wheel of his chair was beginning to squeak. Apparently it would be a hack and the cane for his luncheon engagement. They turned up the drive to James House.

“Stop,” he said, his breath catching before he could cover it.

“Thank God.”

Bartholomew shared very nearly the same sentiment. The Weller barouche stood in front of the door, Amelia leaning on the side to talk with its seated occupant. A pretty yellow bonnet swept back from her face, one hand resting on her cousin’s, sat Theresa.

“Go.”

“I’m thinking we should figure a way to harness a pony to the front of this contraption,” Lackaby said, grunting as he pushed the chair into motion again.

 

Theresa turned as Bartholomew rolled up the drive. On a lesser man the bumping and weaving of the chair might have looked silly, but the resigned, faintly amused expression on his face told her and everyone else who might chance to see him that he could manage on his own perfectly well and that he was only humoring the people around him.

He stood up, limping with his cane to the barouche. Whatever she’d said to him the night before, it hadn’t driven him off. Then again, she’d never seen anything to make her think he frightened easily.

“Good morning, Theresa,” he said, gripping one hand over the door of the carriage.

“Tolly.” She swallowed, trying to settle the butterflies in her stomach. “I wondered if you might care to go driving this morning.”

He held her gaze for a heartbeat, then straightened, shaking his head. “I need a haircut. Interested?” With that he nodded at Amelia, and went to haul himself up the steps and into the house.

“What was that about?” Amelia asked, watching him disappear inside.

“He doesn’t trust anyone with sharp implements,” Theresa offered. “You know that.” Her heart beat even faster. She stood up, unlatching the door of the barouche and stepping to the ground. Sally scrambled behind her to catch up.

“He seems to trust you,” Amelia observed, falling in beside her. “Sally, see about fetching us some tea and biscuits, will you? For the morning room.”

Theresa had no intention of sitting in the morning room when Tolly had just challenged her again, but the request did free her from Sally for the moment. Everything felt topsy-turvy this morning, and she wasn’t even certain her feet touched the ground. She imagined others would say it was the result of putting aside a burden she’d carried for a very long time, but she thought it was more about forgiveness. They’d said it all along, but for the first time she believed that her family didn’t blame her for the accident. She glanced again at Amelia. Or most of them didn’t, anyway.

“I thought you were avoiding Colonel James,” her cousin noted.

“I came here, didn’t I?”

“Clearly.” Amelia took her arm, stopping her just short of the steps. “And why is that? I don’t recall that you ever recommended assisting a gentleman with his toiletries in your booklet.”

“It never came up.”

“Theresa. What’s happened?”

Tess took a deep breath. “I’m…looking for a new path, Leelee. I’ve been wondering, though, if I have the right to do so.” A tear ran down one cheek, and she swiftly wiped it away. “I think I need your permission. If you say no, I won’t be angry. I promise. I just need your per—”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Tess. Get in the house.” Amelia threw her arms around Theresa, giving her a tight hug. “Go on.”

They were happy for her. Her family was actually pleased that she’d decided to reassess her obsession with rules—if she could. Thirteen years of perfect, proper behavior was a great deal to consider. It wasn’t as though she meant purposely to misbehave, anyway. It was only that she didn’t have to stay away from Tolly just because he might be in for a bit of trouble and raised eyebrows. She’d probably been exaggerating the scandal, anyway.

She climbed the staircase. For a man with a bad leg, Tolly moved fairly quickly. “Tolly?” she called, leaning around his half-open bedchamber door. “I’m not here to play hide-and-seek.”

“At the risk of sending you fleeing again,” his low voice came from directly behind her, “what are you here to play?”

She tried to hide her start as she faced him. “I wanted to apologize for my behavior last night.”

“Ah.” He moved around her into the bedchamber. “For the drinking, or for when you threw me to the ground and attempted to have your way with me?”

“I did not—” She snapped her jaw shut, her cheeks heating. She did have some rather vivid memories of kissing him. “For both things.”

“Come in here.” He faced her from halfway across the room. “I refuse to yell.”

Her fingers just a touch unsteady, Theresa closed the door and threw the bolt. “You said something to me that night. It made sense.”

“Yes? What was that?”

So he wouldn’t make it easy for her. She couldn’t precisely blame him; after all, here she was just under a day after she’d said she didn’t wish to be around him any longer. “The part about both of us having already faced our worst moment.” Theresa tilted her head. “I assume that means someone told you about my parents.”

He nodded. “I was looking for puzzle pieces. You are rather fascinating.”

Everyone else upon learning about the death of her parents said they were sorry, which always made her wonder why they were apologizing when it had been her fault. Or they implied that they could sympathize, when of course they had no idea.

“So have you put together my puzzle now?” she asked aloud.

“Clearly not, because I didn’t expect to see you here this morning.” Setting his cane aside, he gripped the nearest bedpost to approach her again. “If you merely felt the need to be sober while telling me off, you could have saved yourself the trouble.”

“As I said, your advice to me made sense. That’s why I’m here.”

Bartholomew moved another step closer, his amber eyes studying hers very, very intently. She kept forgetting how tall he was when he rose from his chair. What she had been unable to forget, what she craved, was the arousal that flitted through her when he gazed at her as he was now. “So I’m back to courting you again? Or is it your turn?”

“I mean to let you court me. If you’ll answer a question.”

The fingers of his free hand lifted to brush along her cheek. “What question is that?”

“What happened in India?”

His hand dropped again. “Tess, you don’t need to know that.”

Despite her abrupt panic that she’d gained his attention once more only to lose it just as swiftly, Theresa stayed still. “I killed my parents through my own selfishness,” she said quietly, her voice shaking. “You know my tragedy. It’s only fair that I know yours. Especially if I’m to stand there beside you while you’re called a liar.”

Uttering a quiet curse, Tolly limped to the window. He stood still for a moment, then clenched his fists and pounded them into the sill. “I was wrong.”

“About what?” She could think of several things, and then several more she didn’t want to think about.

“That we’re the same.”

“I—”

“You threw a tantrum when you were a child. We all did, yelled and kicked our feet when we didn’t get our way. Our parents threw tantrums when they were children. And as parents they gave in when it suited them to do so.”

Theresa swallowed. “You’ve spent some time thinking about this, then.”

“It’s been occupying my mind lately.”

“But this has nothing to do with you and India. It doesn’t signify, anyway. I know what happened that night. You don’t.”

“Your brother and Amelia wanted to stay overnight at Reynolds House, because the Reynolds children were their age. You were what, three years younger? And you wanted to go home. Were you asleep when the coach overturned?”

“Yes, but I know what happened, for heaven’s sake. Stop talking about it.”

“If your parents had waited fifteen more minutes, you would have been asleep regardless of whether they listened to you or not. Do you think they didn’t know that?”

“But I screamed for my doll! I threatened to run home if they didn’t take me!”

He shook his head. “That doesn’t signify. They wanted to return home, and you provided the excuse.”

A tear plopped onto her hand, and she wiped it on her gown. She wanted to yell that it was her fault, as the rest of her family knew, whether they’d forgiven her for it or not. And she wanted to vomit, because she’d heard very similar arguments from Leelee and Grandmama Agnes and she’d dismissed them, but damned Tolly James made her listen to him, and he made sense.

“It’s not true,” she finally rasped. “And you’re mean to attempt to try to distract me from your story by telling me mine.”

“It’s not a distraction.” He sat heavily in the chair by the window. “Your guilt gives you something in common with me, but it’s an illusion. I’d rather have you run now than later. Because India was my fault.”

That stopped the additional protest Theresa had been about to make. “You think after you tell me what happened to you, I’ll realize we have nothing in common after all?”

He avoided her searching gaze. “I just…you don’t need to keep punishing yourself, Tess.”

“And you do?”

“I’ve recently been called a liar and an incompetent coward. Fifteen men have only me to speak for them. I intend to do so. And it won’t be pleasant.”

The door rattled. “Colonel? The maid’s looking for Miss Tess,” Lackaby called.

Tolly looked at her. He expected her to leave, she realized. A few days ago she would have done so. Today, though, Bartholomew James seemed to be saying precisely what she’d wanted—needed—to hear for years.

She turned around and opened the door. “Please tell Sally to wait for me in the kitchen.”

“I can do that. There’s, ah, a lack of a chaperon in here. Should I, ah, come in? I don’t embroider, but I could polish boots.”

But she didn’t want a chaperon. Neither of them could speak as freely as they had been with a chaperon present. Theresa frowned. “I will give you five pounds if you will find somewhere out of the way to polish boots and tell everyone later that you were in here.”

The valet grinned at her. “Would an hour suffice?”

“Yes, I believe so.”

He bent down and picked up the pair of boots sitting just inside the door. “Be good to him, miss,” he whispered. “The next few weeks won’t be.”

She closed and latched the door again, then joined Tolly by the window. “You’d best begin telling me your tale,” she said, sitting in the chair opposite him. “We only have an hour.”

Unexpectedly, he snorted. “You arranged for us to be alone for an hour, and you want to spend the time talking?”

“I want to know what happened.”

Pushing upright, he put his hands on either arm of her chair and leaned over her. “The problem with that, sweet Theresa, is that when I’m close to you, I can’t seem to think of anything but you.” He kissed her, tilting her chin up and molding his mouth to hers until she moaned.

She reached up, sliding her arms around his neck. Just as he said, when they were together, everything else fell away. Even the realization that he was still not telling her what she wanted to know—even that didn’t matter. Not when they had only an hour.

Using the chair’s arms, Tolly muscled himself down onto his good knee, the other leg bent only slightly and angled to one side. It still looked like it hurt. Leaning forward, she followed him down so that their faces were nearly level.

“If you stay, Tess, you will not be able to put this chapter into any booklet on proper behavior.”

Theresa touched his face. “Today I’m trying out a new path,” she breathed, shivering all over. “A bit of impropriety.”

He untied the ribbon at the waist of her gown. “A great deal of impropriety.” Sitting back just a little, he curled a loose strand of her light-colored hair around his finger. “You make me feel human again, Tess. Alive. And you’re safe with me. I swear it.” Slowly he drew her in for another kiss. “I promise it, and I don’t generally make promises any longer.”

“You make me feel alive, Tolly,” she whispered back. That was it; when she set eyes on him, when she chatted with him, her heart beat faster, she smiled more easily, even her steps felt lighter. And it had been at least thirteen years since she’d felt so…carefree.

When Alexander had kissed her—well, she couldn’t even remember what it had felt like. But it hadn’t felt like this. Bartholomew slid his hands slowly up her legs, her skirt lifting beneath his fingers.

“Tolly?” she said in a breathless voice that didn’t much sound like her at all.

His palm brushed the inside of her knee. “Yes?”

“If I asked you to stop, would you?”

Amber eyes gazed at her from only inches away. “I’ll tell you what. You come down here with me, and I’ll leave stopping up to you.”

With that he sat down, scooting backward on the floor midway between the chair and the bed. Then, still watching her, he untied his cravat and cast it aside, then one by one opened the buttons of his waistcoat.

Theresa couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. Everywhere his fingers went, her mind followed, imagining that it was her touching him and undressing him. It could be, stupid. All she needed to do was sink down onto the floor. What the devil was she waiting for? After all, he couldn’t very well chase her down if she decided to run.

Not that she wanted to run. Tolly lowered one shoulder, then the other, and pulled his coat from his shoulders. A slight smile touching his wicked mouth, he removed his waistcoat, as well.

“Shall I continue?” he asked. “Or would you care to join me?” His gaze stroked boldly down the length of her, then lifted again to her mouth. “Come here, Theresa,” he whispered, his voice a low rumble that went all the way through her.

This was the moment. The moment she could choose whether to stay in her safe, bright, proper garden, or climb over the fence to see what life might offer. And over this fence there waited a handsome, battle-hardened man who had been creeping into her heart for weeks. Since the moment they’d met.

Taking a deep breath and holding it, Theresa slid down from the chair and sank onto her knees. “Are we going to be completely naked?”

His lips curved. “Ideally.”

“Then you should have your boots off.” She clasped the heel of his right boot and tugged. It pulled loose, and she set it down aside. “I’ll be careful with the other one.”

Tolly cocked his head, leaning back on his elbows. “I know you will. And I’ll be careful with you, sweet Theresa.”

Of course he would be. She’d never had a single second of hesitation about that. She trusted Bartholomew James. It was the rest of the world and their opinions where she had her doubts.

Pushing against the top of his calf, she pulled the heel of his left boot. With a slight wince that he swiftly hid, Tolly shifted just a little and the boot came free.

“Well done. I told you that you have the makings of a fine valet.” His smile deepened. “Come up here and kiss me.”

Low excitement and arousal coursing through her, she glided up over him as he sank back flat onto the floor. Theresa lowered herself along his chest and touched her mouth to his. Tolly slid his arms around her back and shoulders, pulling her closer still. Slowly she relaxed against him, her world narrowing to where they touched, hips, breasts, and mouth. He felt warm, even through their clothes.

His hands lowered to her bottom and he gently squeezed, in a way that felt very good and very naughty. Then he began pulling the hem of her gown up toward his hands. Nerves fluttered through her again. “You should be naked first,” she decided.

“Then get to work,” he returned, amusement in his voice. “I can’t do everything.”

“Well, I’ve never done this before, so you’ll have to excuse me.”

He shifted again, taking her hands and placing them on the bottom folds of his fine linen shirt. “And I never thought to do this again.”

That made her hesitate. When they’d first met, he had conducted himself like…like a dead man. He said she made him feel alive. Until now she hadn’t realized that he meant it literally. It was a very powerful feeling. Letting out her breath again, she slipped her hands beneath his shirt and pushed upward, unfurling like a cat as her palms caressed warm, soft skin and hard muscles beneath.

Bartholomew groaned softly, lifting his shoulders a little and raising his arms so she could pull the shirt off over his head. With her hands on either side of his shoulders she sank down to kiss him again. This was absolute heaven, and she wanted more. More, more, more.

“As you wish.”

She hadn’t even realized she’d spoken aloud until he answered her. Tolly fiddled with the front of his trousers, tickling against her stomach, then lifted both her and his hips to shove his trousers down.

“I’m naked now,” he announced, kissing all along the base of her jaw until she felt like nothing but a mass of aroused, lightning-tipped nerves. And she had her gown, her shift, and her shoes on. With a very handsome, very naked man beneath her. She shifted her hips, feeling the large, hard…thing pressed against her. And she wanted to see him.

Theresa rolled off his right side, her legs tangling in her disheveled skirts. “Oh, my,” she whispered, looking down past his hips.

“Turn around,” he said with a deepening grin, and made a spinning motion with his forefinger. “I don’t want to tear off any buttons.”

Buttons. Oh, yes, her dress. Reluctantly lifting her gaze, she turned away. Tolly sat up behind her, and as she pulled his trousers the rest of the way off and then slipped off her shoes, he unbuttoned the back of her gown.

Pushing the material forward, he kissed the nape of her neck. “Can you put your hair up on your own?” he asked, his voice not quite steady.

“No. It took Sally twenty minutes to pin it up this morning.” And she’d been so impatient to be gone to James House the entire time.

“Then I won’t take it down,” he breathed, sounding wistful. “This time.”

His kisses continued along her shoulders, inch by inch as he bared her skin. She turned and caught his mouth for another kiss, their tongues dancing as she moaned helplessly. “This is very nice,” she breathed.

Bartholomew pulled her arm to turn her back to face him. With his help she freed her arms from the dress, and he lowered it to her waist. “Very nice,” he echoed, brushing the backs of his fingers across the outside of her breasts and then drawing them closer and closer until he dragged his thumbs across her nipples.

She gasped, jumping at the sensation. With a low sound, Tolly shifted her onto his lap. “Up,” he said, pushing her dress down her hips.

Theresa lifted up, and a moment later she was as naked as he was. More naked, because he had a bandage around his left knee. With anyone else she would have been embarrassed—mortified, but Tolly seemed so…fascinated with her that she was too occupied with trying to remember his every touch, his every breath, that the thought didn’t even occur to her except in passing.

“What should I do?” she asked, shivering again as a palm covered her breast.

“Whatever you want. I, for example, intend to do this.” With a glance up at her from beneath his thick eyelashes, he dipped his head, his soft, warm mouth closing over her other breast.

She dug her fingers into his ragged, mahogany-colored hair, throwing her head back as his tongue flicked across her nipple. Oh, good heavens. No wonder this wasn’t considered proper behavior. She didn’t feel at all proper. What she did feel was wild and wanton and very, very naughty. If he could put his mouth on her, she supposed she could do the same to him. In a moment, of course. She had no intention of stopping him as he turned his attention to her other breast.

When he went after her mouth again, she pushed against his shoulders. She couldn’t possibly have budged him if he wanted to stay put, but he gave in and lay down flat on his back again. Mostly flat. The very interesting bit in the middle wasn’t at all flat.

She kissed his mouth, then trailed her lips down his throat as he’d done with her, feeling his pulse and the faint stubble of beard beneath her touch, then the irregular pattern of the scar at the base of his neck. He jumped a little, but she kept kissing him. In a moment she felt him relax again. Now that she had something to compare it to, she could swear that she almost felt as drunk as she had last night—only more euphoric, less weighty. Floating, almost.

“Straddle me,” he growled, lifting up to catch her mouth with his again.

Oh my, oh my. Shivery and nervous again, she did as he asked, placing her knees on either side of his hips, that interesting part of his she’d most recently discovered brushing the inside of her thighs with a warm insistence that had her panting.

“Tolly.”

He sat up, putting them eye to eye. “I want to do this right for you,” he said, his fingers trailing across her skin as though he couldn’t help touching her. “But I’m a bit hampered at the moment.”

“Are you? I hadn’t noticed.”

“No, I don’t suppose you would.” Bartholomew kissed her again, one hand on her face and the other dipping breathlessly between her legs. “Follow me,” he murmured, drawing her down on him. “And not to make another excuse, but you’ll more than likely enjoy this more every time after this.”

“This is very nice.”

He smiled. “Just don’t yell, or we’re both in trouble.”

Carefully she sank down on him, feeling the tip of his very large member sliding up inside her. The sensation was…indescribable. Why would this make her yell?

Tolly put both hands on her hips. “There are better ways to do this,” he continued, “but I’m bloody well not willing to wait.” Slowly he pressed his hips forward, pulling her down on him at the same time.

She felt resistance, then sharp pain. Before she could yelp, Tolly kissed her, muffling the sound. Theresa doubled her fists, clenching them against his shoulders. He kept very still, and after a moment the pain began to fade, replaced by…“Good God,” she muttered, arching her back.

“Mmm-hmm. Move with me.” Tolly pulled her forward, impaling her more fully. Rocking back and forth, clinging to him, she couldn’t even speak as he filled her and retreated a little, only to return with a rhythm that had her moaning in time.

Holding her around the hips again, he increased his pace, his heated gaze nearly as arousing as his body moving inside hers. The muscles across her abdomen tightened, bringing her closer and closer to the edge of something she couldn’t describe, but abruptly needed desperately. Faster and faster, deeper and deeper, and then she gave way. With a keening groan that didn’t even sound like her everything went white and hot and pulsing all around Bartholomew.

Bending his head against her shoulder, he held her hard against him, his breathing as ragged as hers. When he lay back again, he brought her with him, and she sank, completely spent, against his chest. And she’d thought riding horses the most delightful thing ever. Clearly though, she’d discovered something even better.

“Are you well?” he asked into her hair, his arms loose around her, keeping her warm and close.

“Yes. That was…extraordinary.”

“I wanted that with you. I needed it, I think.”

She lifted her head to look at him. “Because I make you feel alive?”

Bartholomew nodded. “Yes. And because I am alive. I forgot that for a time.”

Slowly and gently she ran her fingertip along the scar on his throat. He closed his eyes, but this time he didn’t flinch. It was a gesture of trust and surrender—and she realized that she was very likely the only person he’d ever surrendered to. “Tolly,” she whispered, sinking into his embrace again, “thank you. For trusting me.”

His grip around her tightened a little. “All I can say to that, Tess,” he murmured, “is that I am likewise honored.” Tolly’s chest rose and fell beneath her cheek. “And speaking of trust,” he said slowly, “I think I can tell you now. About India.”