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‘Hello, Gauri,’ Vikram said in a dangerous tone.
Gauri felt faint. The past had caught up with her. What would she do now? Her most feared nightmare had come true.
She had agonised over coming face to face with her past, especially Vikram, and now that it had happened she didn’t know what to do.
She had been filled with dread ever since the media cameras had filmed her and her fears had been proved right. Her family had found her. Vikram was here.
She continued to stare at him in shocked silence. He was unchanged. Vikram: her half-brother Madhav’s childhood friend. She had last seen him six years ago, and the effortless arrogance and dangerous aura of power that he always exuded hadn’t diminished a bit. He was descended from an illustrious royal line and his genetic heritage was stamped in the authoritative way he carried himself, in the imperious lift of his eyebrow and the disdainful expression on his face. His face remained striking as ever. His eyes bored into hers with an icy intensity that frightened her. Black as night and fathomless, like an ocean, at this moment they were glittering with anger. She stared back, flinching, but unable to wrest herself from the force of his dark, furious gaze.
‘No answer? Oh, I forgot. I should have said, Hello, Mira! That’s your name now, isn’t it?’ Vikram said.
Dear Reader
My editor’s letter of approval had an incendiary effect, and I still have trouble catching my breath at times!
As a child I loved reading, and my imagination was peopled with love stories. When I eventually sat down to write a love story I came up with a clichéd romance with wooden characters. The empathy was missing because as an Indian I found it difficult to identify deeply with a Greek hero and a British heroine.
I decided to write about Indian characters, and by the time I submitted my manuscript to my delight I found that Mills and Boon® had begun publishing Indian writers. Harlequin Presents has always been my favourite series, because the one truth that it holds up is that wealth, riches, lineage and beauty alone cannot ensure happiness. A human being’s quest for happiness is eternal. Everyone wants to be happy and everyone has different ideas of what can make them happy.
I write romances because I feel that love leads us to abiding joy and happiness. Love for one’s soul mate, one’s children, parents, friends, and all those who inhabit one’s immediate world. Love is deep and at the same time detached, because it has zero expectations. The missing piece in life’s puzzle, it is love which gives a spiritual dimension to human life.
I hope, dear reader, you will enjoy reading the story of Vikram and Gauri as much as I enjoyed writing it. I would love your feedback at tanurja@yahoo.com
Tanu
About Tanu Jain
And then he kissed her! is the line that used to run like a litany through TANU JAIN’S mind whenever she sat down to laze and relax. For years handsome hunks haunted her imagination and stunning, strong-willed heroines clamoured to come out. She knew it was the effect of countless Mills & Boons® (she started in Class Eight). She tried scratching the itch and came up with the story of a strong Greek male and a suffering Greek beauty. It was sure to be accepted, she thought naively. It was a disaster! The rejection slip opened her eyes to a few pertinent facts and her next work was written straight from the heart, with familiar local settings. An editor who believed in her voice guided her—and voilà!
Strength, kindness, honesty, optimism and love were drilled into her as a child by her parents, and the first Mills & Boon® she read made her realise that these are exactly what romance novels are about! So writing a romance novel is both emotionally and morally satisfying!
Tanu’s interests are wide-ranging. Too wide-ranging, she feels at times! She has done a doctorate in English Literature, and occasionally teaches English Language and Literature. She currently lives in Gwalior, India, with her businessman husband who, for her, epitomises the qualities of a typical romance hero. Her daughter and son are proud of her, but are embarrassed when she uses their names for the characters in her books!
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To the exceptional men in my life—
Y. c. m., O. p. j., Amit;
To the incomparable women in my life—
Achla, Santosh, Sapna n’Charu;
To the twinkles of my eyes—
Urja, Vidyamaan n’Aryaveer.
And most of all to the alpha male who is the nucleus,
G. J.
And a heartfelt thanks to Megan.
Table of Contents
Cover
Excerpt
About the Author
Title Page
Dadication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Epilogue
Copyright
Chapter One
THE TELEVISION CAMERAS planned on the girl’s face and captured her tight-lipped expression for just a second before she turned away, hiding her face. But that one glimpse was enough for Vikram.
He sat up straight with a jolt, the glass of whisky almost slipping from his grasp. It was her. He would have recognised her anywhere. His heart began hammering hard, and blood rushed to his head. Her face was imprinted on his consciousness. High cheekbones and delicate nose, doe eyes, lustrous skin glowing like gold, swan-like neck and those luscious lips … He pulled back his wayward thoughts as his mind was assaulted by memories.
He had found her. That was the crucial thing. Two years of frantic searching and a small fortune spent on detectives were finally at an end. He had found Gauri. Rage which simmered deep inside him whenever he thought of her came to the fore. She had single-handedly destroyed her adoptive family, taking their love and caring and turning on them, betraying and shaming them. And then she had fled, escaping the repercussions of her actions.
Controlling the rage swirling inside him, he tried to get a grip on his thoughts. His brow furrowed. What was she doing on prime time television being hounded by the media? Why was she hiding her face? What scandal was she embroiled in now?
His mind buzzing with questions, he focused his attention on the reporter, who was claiming to have unearthed a prostitution racket being run by Home of Hope, a well known charitable trust which worked for poor and needy women.
The reporter interviewed a young girl, an inmate of the charitable home, who alleged that the Director of the Trust was morally corrupt and forced the inmates into prostitution.
What was Gauri’s involvement? Vikram couldn’t find an answer. The newsreader had moved on to the next juicy scandal.
Vikram immediately called his secretary and, with barely concealed impatience, rapped out, ‘Neerja, find out the details about the Home of Hope scandal and information about all the people involved. And there was a clip in the ten o’clock news which showed a young girl hiding her face. Get her details.’
He cut off the call without waiting for her reply, confident his efficient secretary would have the details soon. Unable to sit, his gut churning with emotion, he stood up and began pacing the room.
He had found her and he wouldn’t let her slip away. Gauri, his best friend Madhav’s runaway half-sister, would soon be in his grasp. He would be able to fulfil his friend’s dying wish. Ever since Madhav’s death almost two years ago now, the promise had preyed on his mind, hounding him and keeping him awake at night.
His beautiful lips firmed ruthlessly. Moreover, the events of the past year had intensified the urgency of his search because she was the tool he needed to sort out the legal mess he had been dragged into.
His cellphone beeped. It was Neerja. She had been quick.
‘Yes, Neerja?’ he asked, urgent anticipation coiling in the pit of his stomach.
‘Sir, the organization Home of Hope works for the uplifting of women who are poor or victims of abuse. The head of the organization is fifty-year-old Mrs Singh and she is being accused of running a prostitution racket.’
Vikram bit out impatiently, ‘What about the girl in the news clip?’
Neerja, well used to her formidable boss’s impatience, immediately answered, ‘Sir, that girl is Mrs Singh’s assistant, Ms Mira Rathore.’
‘Mira Rathore?’ So she was using a false name. No wonder the detectives had been unable to find her. ‘And?’
‘She is a trained lawyer, sir.’
Vikram greeted this news impassively, betraying none of the shock he felt. ‘A lawyer?’
‘Yes, sir, she is an up-and-coming lawyer and has recently joined the organization after having finished her training,’ Neerja relayed efficiently. She then reeled off her address and telephone number.
Vikram immediately called his driver. He would have to act quickly in case his quarry disappeared again. Since it was almost eleven at night, there was not much traffic and they travelled swiftly to the address given by Neerja. As he sat in the car, tight tension gripping him, the past flashed across his mind’s eye.
The last time he had seen Gauri had been six years ago, at Madhav’s sister and Gauri’s half-sister, Maya’s, wedding.
He still recalled the events of that day with a shudder. The festivities had just concluded and the wedding party was about to leave, taking Maya with them, when her father, Maharaj Sambhaji Rao, had complained of breathlessness and had suffered a massive heart attack.
He had been rushed to the hospital for open-heart surgery. All of them—Madhav, Gauri and their grandmother, as well as Vikram—had gathered outside and were waiting anxiously.
Suddenly a weeping Maya, still in her bridal finery, had appeared and, ignoring her grandmother’s consoling embrace, turned on Gauri and, pointing an accusing finger towards her said, ‘You bitch! You are to blame for this. You brought on the attack. Baba was distressed because of your affair.’
She then turned to her brother Madhav and said, ‘Dada, she was caught with the stable boy. He had spent the night in her room and Baba was devastated. She is responsible for his heart attack.’
Pin-drop silence had fallen after Maya’s venomous outburst and every eye turned towards Gauri, who was standing ashen-faced and unmoving.
Vikram had been rooted to the spot. He had found himself holding his breath, hoping and waiting for sixteen-year-old Gauri to refute the allegations. But the normally feisty Gauri continued to stand unrepentant and silent, glaring defiantly at Maya, who abused her with terrible names.
Gauri’s continued silence confirmed her guilt and, as Vikram contemplated her seemingly pure and innocent profile, a strange darkness had engulfed him, almost choking him. Her innocence was just a sham. She was totally rotten from inside without an atom of goodness. How cleverly she had fooled everyone, including him.
Dismissing the darkness engulfing him as acute disgust at her rottenness, he had turned away, unable to bear the sight of her any longer.
She had thrown her family’s love back in their faces and ruthlessly trodden upon the family honour. She had proved totally ungrateful and undeserving of the kindness shown to her by her father and his family. She should be punished.
His driver looked in the rear-view mirror and saw cold fury on Vikram’s handsome face. He grimaced with pity for whoever would be on the receiving end of his employer’s anger. Maharaj Vikram was always fair and just but his anger was legendary and no one dared to cross him.
Vikram came out of his reverie when the car purred to a stop in front of a smart apartment block. So this was where Gauri, alias Mira Rathore, lived. She seemed to have done well for herself. Taking two steps at a time, he bounded up the stairs.
He rang the buzzer. No answer. He rang again, heart thudding. Had she run away again?
Suddenly the door opened and Gauri looked out. The words seemed to die on her lips. She paled with shock and Vikram, taking advantage of her frozen state, swiftly steered her inside.
Once inside, he looked at her with grim intensity. Gauri felt herself being held in thrall, unable to move. Shock rendered her speechless. She stared at him, unable to look away. It was Vikram. He had found her. For a moment she thought her heart had stopped. She had trouble drawing breath. The next second her heart began to thud agonisingly.
‘Hello, Gauri,’ Vikram said in a dangerous tone.
Gauri felt faint. The past had caught up with her. What would she do now? Her most feared nightmare had come true.
She had agonised over coming face to face with her past, especially Vikram, and now that it had happened she didn’t know what to do.
She had been filled with dread ever since the media cameras had filmed her and her fears had been proved right. Her family had found her. Vikram was here.
She continued to stare at him in shocked silence. He was unchanged. Vikram, her half-brother Madhav’s childhood friend. She had last seen him six years ago and the effortless arrogance and dangerous aura of power that he always exuded hadn’t diminished a bit. He descended from an illustrious royal line and his genetic heritage was stamped in the authoritative way he carried himself, in the imperious lift of his eyebrow and the disdainful expression on his face. His face remained striking as ever. Ebony winged eyebrows, high cheekbones and a sharp nose melded together to create an intimidating impact. Only the planes and angles which sculpted his face seemed more pronounced now.
His jet-black hair, which had been long and curling at his nape six years ago, was now cropped short. It gleamed menacingly in the soft light of her home. His lips, as always, were set in grim forbidding lines. His eyes bored into hers with an icy intensity that frightened her—black as night and fathomless like an ocean, at this moment they were glittering with anger. She stared back, flinching but unable to wrest herself from the force of his dark, furious gaze.
‘No answer? Oh, I forgot. I should have said, Hello, Mira! That’s your name now, isn’t it?’ Vikram said sarcastically.
Gauri felt her stomach hollowing out with dread. She struggled to find words but failed. Her mouth tried to move but her throat felt dry and no words came out.
Her mind was probably working overtime to seek a way out, Vikram thought furiously. Lying and pretending were as natural as breathing to her and she must be trying feverishly to concoct a story.
‘Still nothing to say? You never used to be short of words, as I recall! Trying to buy time, are you? Or are you going to pretend amnesia so you don’t have to recognise me?’ Vikram jibed cruelly.
Gauri bit her lip to stop her pained cry at Vikram’s cruel words. He had often used this sneering tone with her and it still hurt. Tears which she had thought she would never allow again in her eyes clogged her throat. Panicking that he would see her tears, she tried to compose herself. She wouldn’t let him see any weakness.
She turned around on the pretext of shutting the door and tried to control her turbulent emotions.
Exerting all her willpower, she wiped every trace of emotion and, composing her face, turned to him and asked stonily, ‘What do you want?’
Vikram narrowed his eyes at her calm tone. She had morphed into a tough cookie. Even his surprise appearance hadn’t managed to unsettle her. He could have sworn that she had paled and her lips had trembled but now she was in control. But she always had been a tough one. He had suspected that right from the beginning. Her fragile and delicate appearance hid her hard, avaricious and scheming nature.
He had been the only one not taken in by her seeming vulnerability—except for that one moment so many years ago.
For a short while he had believed that he had been wrong about her and that she had been all that she seemed—an innocent young girl. Against his better judgement, he had let down his guard with her and had been speedily disillusioned.
Even now, with her hair in a tight braid and no make-up that he could see, she appeared unworldly and delicate. But he was aware of her true nature and would be on his guard, as always.
He said in a condemning tone, ‘First tell me how you came to be involved in this scandalous business. Why are you working for that corrupt Singh woman? Have you lost all sense of morality? Have you no regard for the family honour?’
Gauri quailed under his verbal onslaught. But she wouldn’t tolerate his scathing attack on the one person to whom she was hugely indebted. She immediately jumped to her defence.
‘Mrs Singh is not corrupt. She is, in fact, one of the most upright people I’ve ever met. She has been wrongly accused. The girl who has levelled these accusations is doing all this out of spite because she was indulging in nefarious activities and Mrs Singh asked her to leave the home. So she decided to take revenge and went to the press with these trumped up allegations.’
‘But why are you involved?’ Vikram asked with narrowed eyes.
‘I am a part of the organization. I am assisting them as their lawyer,’ Gauri replied.
‘A lawyer! How and when did you become a lawyer?’ Vikram asked with grim disbelief.
‘It is none of your business! I don’t need your permission to become one,’ she said belligerently, smarting at his disbelieving tone.
‘Obviously, degrees these days can be easily obtained for the right price,’ Vikram said with biting scorn.
Gauri knew he was deliberately insulting her and wanted to snarl in retaliation but contented herself with a stiff, ‘Sorry to disappoint you, but I slaved for my degree and passed with flying colours.’
‘If you are a bona fide lawyer how can you willingly choose to defend such unscrupulous and wicked people?’ Vikram asked.
‘They are not wicked!’ Gauri refused to hear anything wrong against Mrs Singh, who had been her saviour and mentor when her life had seemed to be all over.
‘How can you be so sure of her innocence?’ Vikram pressed.
Gauri clammed up, refusing to elaborate further. She couldn’t explain without going into the details of her past and she had vowed never to dredge that up again. It was dead.
‘Well? Is that all you are going to say?’ Vikram growled, waiting for her to elaborate further.
But Gauri didn’t answer. She realised the difficulty of explaining herself. She would have to reveal her past to him and the mere thought of doing so made her tremble.
‘What inducements have they offered you for defending them? How much have you sold yourself for?’
Vikram’s cruel accusations were like a sharp blow to her solar plexus. She felt winded and weak. He couldn’t have made his low opinion of her any clearer.
But she answered stoically, ‘You may think what you want to! I will not say anything further about this.’
Vikram sensed that there was something Gauri wasn’t telling him. ‘You are hiding something. If you are so sure of their innocence why can’t you explain properly?’ he said fiercely.
Gauri refused to say anything and kept her eyes lowered and hands clenched.
‘So, you’re not going to answer? All right then, let’s try some different questions. Why did you flee six years ago? That, too, in the dead of the night and without informing anybody! You didn’t stop to think that we would be worried? You didn’t even care?’
Gauri turned paper-white as Vikram hurled a volley of accusations. Her legs began trembling and she felt she would collapse. Vikram saw her tremble but the anger inside him had burst its dam and he couldn’t stop. ‘Answer me, damn you!’ he hurled.
‘I … I left a letter for Madhav Dada, explaining that I had to go away and not to worry.’ Gauri forced out the words through trembling lips.
‘Don’t lie! I was with Madhav when we discovered your absence and there was no letter.’ Vikram was ready for every possible falsehood that she would offer.
Gauri raised her eyes in confusion. ‘But I left a letter in his room. He must have found it. Probably he didn’t mention it to you.’
‘Do you expect me to believe your untruths? If you had left a letter he wouldn’t have hired a detective to trace you,’ Vikram raked out.
‘He did that? But why? I mentioned that I would call him once I was settled to assure him that I was fine,’ Gauri said tremulously, bewilderment writ on her face.
She must think I am a fool. Her doe eyes and seemingly sincere expression would have swayed a more susceptible man, Vikram fulminated. But he knew better. She was a consummate actress and, even as a young girl, she had been adept at putting on performances and deceiving others.
‘Then why didn’t you call, as you claim?’ he countered with patent disbelief.
Gauri remained silent for a moment as another painful memory flitted across her mind. She had called once after about a month and Madhav’s grandmother, who was also her grandmother and whom she called Aaji Ma had received her call.
Aaji Ma had abused her, calling her names and then had banged down the phone on her after hissing venomously, ‘No one here wants to even hear your name, let alone speak to you! You are dead to us. Don’t ever call here again!’
Gauri said in a low pain-filled voice, ‘I did call but Aaji Ma answered and said that Madhav Dada had returned to England and Baba didn’t want to speak to me ever again. She said that I was dead to everyone and forbade me from calling again.’
‘What a convenient explanation,’ Vikram sneered. ‘If you had called as you claim, why didn’t Aaji Ma ever mention it? She knew detectives had been employed to trace you and she wouldn’t have kept quiet. I don’t believe you. You should have chosen a better story,’ he delivered cuttingly.
‘I don’t believe you.’ The harsh, dismissive words reverberated in Gauri’s head like bullets. Pain sliced through her. The majority of her childhood had been spent hearing these words. Aching thickness clogged her throat as she recalled how she had been branded a liar and a cheat as a child. And the slur had always remained.
Being the illegitimate daughter of her father, who had brought her to live with his family when her mother died, she had always been regarded as being conniving and dishonest and had been punished all her childhood for the circumstances of her birth. She had grown up suffocated under a crushing burden of guilt, believing that being born was her unforgivable crime. But she had learnt to school the hurt and the pain and had rarely revealed the depth of her misery.