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

might be just the thing to ease her nerves. After all, they’d known each other as children. Their mothers had enjoyed the bonds of friendship for decades. Surely the gulf that separated them was not so broad it could not be breeched with minimal effort. Gathering her courage, she ventured, "You mentioned you remembered my family’s visits?”
    “Vividly.”
    She narrowed her eyes at his unflattering tone, but continued with dogged brightness, “I don’t suppose you remember me.” It was only natural that her light had been dimmed by the radiant glow of her more attractive sisters.
    But Lord Keating surprised her by saying, “Actually, you are the only one I do remember.”
    “ Oh?”
    “ The last time you and your female tribe descended upon my home, I have the distinct memory of you charging a hornet’s nest with a torch, battling a cobra with a stick, and befriending a male tiger cub.”
    Surprise and pleasure flitted through Calla. Well. So he did remember her. Certainly that was a step in the right direction. Still, something in his tone suggested explanations were in order. “I smoked the hornets out because their nest was near the river where the children bathed and they were being stung. The cobra had curled up in the washerwoman’s basket—I was merely defending her. As to the tiger cub, its mother had been shot by hunters. It would have starved to death without my help.”
    “ I see.”
    A soft, pleased smile curved her lips as she regarded him across the swaying coach. “I take it you admire courage.”
    “ Certainly.” He lifted his ankle and crossed it over his knee. “However, I have little tolerance for reckless stupidity.” His tone made it abundantly clear on which side of the ledger he thought her actions fell.
    So much for attempting to bridge the distance between them. Calla opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, swallowing the sharp retort that sprang to her lips. Shrewish retaliation was hardly the right note on which to begin a marriage, even if she had been provoked. She turned her attention to the passing streetscape.
    Within minutes the coach slowed before a large tract of land that was markedly different from the homes surrounding it. There was no elegant facade, no neatly manicured lawn, no smoothly paved drive. No sign of welcome anywhere. Instead, all that could be seen was a tall iron gate spanning an imposing brick wall which encircled the property. Thick, thorny vines had woven their way around the iron bars, obliterating any view of what was contained within.
    Call a went cold at the sight. Her mother and sisters had fretted over money for as long as she could remember. Yet their small home had not been without a certain warmth and charm. The same could not be said of Lord Keating’s estate. The coach skirted past shadowy gardens, barren trees, and silent fountains, then drew to a shuddering stop before a dark, imposing estate. Calla’s breath caught in her throat and her heart thundered at twice its normal tempo.
    Like the man himself, the first thing she noticed about Lord Keating’s home was its size. The overwhelming scale of the mansion dwarfed every neighbor. It was classic in style, built of pale gray marble that looked unbearably slick and cold. Even so, it was tastefully done, with tall Corinthian columns, arched windows, and broad, semicircular steps leading to an ornate oak door. Calla studied the sprawling estate, wondering whether it had been designed to impress or intimidate. Likely both, she concluded. A slew of m isgivings swamped her. This step—entering what was to be her home for the remainder of her days—seemed far more final than any she had taken to date, including embarking on the voyage from India.
    Their driver leapt from his perch and pulled open the coach door. Derek stepped out, then turned and assisted Calla and Mrs. Singh. Together they dashed through the driving sleet toward the front door, which Derek himself threw open. They rushed