Vansh Raisinghania, the Prince of Mewargarh, stepped into the hall. As if in unison, people turned to look at him, sycophantly smiling when he met their eyes. He rarely attended such tedious gatherings, but tradition required the Prince to bestow his grace on the Debutante’s Ball every year. This duty had befallen his father Viren Raisinghania earlier, but the honorary title had now been signed over to Vansh in the interest of prudence and his father’s advancing years. Viren had happily retired to the Mewargarh Palace, preferring to indulge in his hobbies rather than attend these social calls.
Dodging effusive greetings by over eager young ladies, Vansh unbuttoned his coat and signalled for a scotch at the bar. “You are handling this better than expected,” spoke Aditya Ahuja. “I expected you to escape the moment the hopeful Mamas surrounded you.” His light brown eyes twinkled over the rim as he sipped his drink. Aditya’s family owned the largest law firm in the world with a thriving business in over nine countries. Viren Raisinghania had entrusted only the best with his legal affairs, and Vansh had been more than happy to carry forward that association. Today, Aditya was more a friend than anyone he had ever known.
“The salt is for your vodka, not to rub on my wounds, Adi.” He downed his drink, loving the fire that hit his throat. Keeping his expression neutral was a struggle when revulsion burned his insides at the fawners around him. “This title is becoming more of a pest than the solution to our problem. I can’t walk into a room without women throwing themselves at me and their mothers hanging onto my arm. I have already had some of the ambitious ones try to corner me in isolated places, to force my hand into an offer of marriage.”
“What are you complaining about? You seem to have a problem most men wish for,” grinned Aditya, noting the vexation in the Prince’s dark eyes.
“Just because you are happily wed does not mean you plot my downfall, dear friend.”
“It is because I am happily wed that I wish to see you basking in marital bliss,” he retorted, his expression becoming serious. “The title comes with a lot of responsibilities, Vansh. It is hereditary, to be passed down to your eldest child. We nearly lost it when your gambler of a step brother tried to lay a claim on it. Shouldn’t you be using this time at these places to find a woman to secure your lineage?”
“You are such a buzzkill tonight,” he muttered, his eyes glancing dispassionately around the ballroom. How exactly was he supposed to find a wife in this ostentatious set up? He hated everything about it; the pomp, the show, the money hungry mamas, the simpering debutantes giving him flirtatious looks.
A shimmer of blue whirled past him, in the sea of couples dancing on the floor. As the dancers turned and switched partners, her kohl laden eyes met his over the shoulder of a gentleman. Immediately, she looked away, smiling graciously at something the man was saying.
“Riddhima Kapoor.”
“What?”
“That girl in blue. Her name is Riddhima Kapoor.” Aditya nodded towards the dance floor, tracing Vansh’s line of sight. “She is the daughter of Pritam Kapoor, the yesteryear Bollywood star. Riddhima has a degree in Arts from a prestigious college in London. The family name is respectable, their filmy background going back three generations.”
Vansh stared at him, exasperated. “Why do you insist on acting like a matchmaking mama tonight? I am not interested in the hellion, or anyone for that matter.” He raised a finger for another glass of scotch.
“No reason,” spoke Aditya, hiding his smile behind a large swig of his drink. “But if you are, for hypothetical reasons only, I suggest you move fast. Her family won’t be too picky about a suitor. Or so I have heard. In recent years, their influence has weakened considerably with no hit movies from Papa Kapoor. Rumors say that their son isn’t inclined to be the next movie star, preferring to practice medicine instead. There are also nasty whispers on the grapevine about her mother’s affair with an unnamed high-profile gentleman. A reason why, if you notice, the more hoity toity are giving the girl a clear berth. Riddhima’s marriage into an influential family will greatly benefit their social standing.”
“You know too much gossip for a lawyer, Adi,” remarked Vansh sardonically, watching their topic of discussion step off the dance floor. “Perhaps, I should have a stern word with your lovely wife the next time we meet.” She glanced back and caught him looking at her again. He expected her to look away, but a haughty eyebrow raised in challenge was her answer this time. He placed his unfinished glass on the table, standing up.
“I make a profitable business out of gossip, my friend,” Aditya drawled lazily, reclining on the settee. He watched the new Prince stride towards the pretty girl. They all thought his job was just about spouting cold facts in a courtroom. If only they knew how many he manipulated emotionally to mold into favorable circumstances. Oh, if only they knew.
___________________________________________________
Riddhima stiffened as the tall dark man approached her, moving with pantherlike grace across the room. She hadn’t expected him to take up her silent challenge. Immediately, his peers sought to draw his attention, those he deftly avoided like a master diplomat. Every eye was on him, watching him closely. Even covetously, she noted. Unmarried ladies were giving him coquettish smiles, their charms on display for his slightest attention. No wonder the man had seemed so desperate for a break, she mused.
As he drew closer, the very air sizzled with his commanding presence. He was more handsome than she had originally assumed. His features harsh but oddly poetic in their masculine beauty. She couldn’t help but notice the immaculate perfection of him. His black suit fit him like a glove, accentuating his athletic frame. The white of his shirt drew her gaze to his strong throat, her eyes drawn to his prominent Adam’s apple. He was dressed like any other man in the room, but there was something about him that screamed royalty.
She fidgeted with her hands, a nervous habit her mother had long tried to drill out of her. The prospect of sharing his spotlight was suddenly too frightening, making her back away and turn quickly. “Miss Kapoor,” his sinful voice called before she could take another step. She stopped still, her heart beating an irregular rhythm. This was going to be most awkward.
She turned slowly, trying not to look at anyone else in the room. Her eyes met his hesitantly, noticing the amusement lingering in their dark depths. He stood in front of her and bowed slightly as was customary. She clumsily fumbled for the skirt of her gown, dipping formally. “It is a pleasure to run into you…again.” It was a strange greeting; a hint of sarcasm laced his velvety voice. Coward, his eyes seemed to be taunting her. She drew in a sharp breath, rankled. He was enjoying her discomfiture.
He stepped closer, making the room feel suddenly tiny. She wasn’t petite by normal standards, but he was taller than her, even in heels. She started as his hand nudged hers. As if in a dream, she watched him take her cold hand in his. He raised it leisurely towards his lips. “Your Highness,” she rasped out, her skin tingling from his touch. She cleared her throat, blushing with embarrassment. “The pleasure is certainly…all yours.”
Her voice lowered at the end deliberately, the words only for his benefit. She expected him to be offended. But his shoulders began shaking in silent mirth. He bent his head towards her hand, his lips touching her skin like a butterfly’s wing. The whisper of a kiss. She swallowed, a rising awareness of him igniting her core. He raised knowing eyes to hers, straightening again.
“I believe we got off the wrong foot this evening, madam.” His voice was low like hers, a husky note caressing it. She was mindful of many eyes and ears on their conversation. “Perhaps you would grace me with a dance to atone for my boorish behavior.”
She was taken aback. Out of every possibility, she hadn’t expected him to desire a dance with her. It would set every tongue wagging from here to London. “Perhaps,” she agreed, transfixed by his magnetism. Her hand was still caught in his, a wicked invitation gleaming in his eyes. She inclined her head in acceptance, trying to ignore the weight of everyone’s stare on them. His mouth lifted in a devilish smirk, a dimple deepening in each cheek.
He offered her his arm, looking ahead confidently. She tried to mimic his self-assuredness, placing her hand firmly over his arm. She could feel his biceps through the many layers of cloth. It surprised her, considering that men of his stature did not often indulge in rigorous physical activity. Conversations picked up as they stepped onto the dance floor. She had the uneasy sensation that they spoke about her.
The musicians began to play a slow waltz, bringing a surreal quality to the evening. The Prince turned towards her, extending a hand. She slid her trembling fingers across his palm, drawing in a sharp breath as he drew her close. His eyes twinkled merrily, the light of the chandelier above bringing out the brown tints in his irises. “Courage, my dear,” he whispered, his breath fanning her forehead. She was acutely aware of his other hand sliding across her waist, coming to rest on the small of her back. “Don’t let the jackals intimidate you.”
She looked up at him gratefully, taking strength from his firm grasp. Hesitantly, she placed her other hand on his shoulder, encouraging him to take the lead in their dance. He set a leisurely pace across the floor, leading her chivalrously through the steps. The music picked up, demanding quick turns and gliding steps a minute. She had no time to mull over her dancing lessons, so naturally did they flow together. She was breathless with elation, feeling like they were alone on the floor, enclosed in a safe bubble.
He twirled her on the spot, once then twice. She laughed as he pulled her close again, her skin flushed with the exertion of the dance. The music slowed after a while, allowing them to sway in place and catch their breath. She watched his enigmatic gaze on her, a mysterious smile lining his lips. They moved in silence, looking into each other’s eyes.
He had made her the most sought-after woman in the room with this dance. After his earlier coldness on the terrace, she couldn’t fathom the reason for this favor. He had also been kind, she reminded herself fairly. He had shielded her from gossipmongers when he could have just let walk to her doom. “Thank you, Your Highness,” she spoke shyly, breaking their silence. “I am deeply indebted to you after tonight. You have been more than gracious to me this evening.”
He chuckled, his chest vibrating against her hand. “Now that’s something I have rarely been accused of, Miss Kapoor. You will ruin my reputation with this accusation of yours.”
“Your reputation is a well-deserved one, I am sure,” she returned tartly. “People seem to either tremble in fear or simper with adoration when you pass by. I shall do my utmost to keep it untarnished.”
He was silent for a moment, looking down at her speculatively. “Tell me something, little one.” He spoke the endearment casually, with practiced ease, even as it set her heart aflutter. “I am a curious man. If you did know who I was all along, why did you pretend otherwise?”
“I didn’t,” she muttered, wondering how to phrase her answer. Being foxed out of her wits was hardly something she could admit to him. She had been bored with the inane conversations and drunk on champagne till all conversation muddled around her. It was only when she had come back all sobered up that gossip about the new Prince had reached her ears. Knowing that they were the same man had mortified her to the core.
Her gaze slid away from his, clashing with her mother’s. She was whispering something to her father, her face pinched in a look of disapproval. Feeling like a little girl again, she surreptitiously looked about her being, wondering what was out of place this time. She just couldn’t understand her sometimes. Here she was, dancing with the most coveted man in the room and her lips were still pursed with disappointment? What did she have to do to get her approval?
“Look at me, Riddhima.” His command, softly spoken, brought her out of her reverie. She hadn’t answered him. They were moving across the dance floor, his body brushing hers alluringly.
She licked her lips, casting about her mind for an explanation. “I-I didn’t know who you were, Your High-“
“My name is Vansh.”
She nearly tripped in surprise. The Prince wanted her to call him by his first name? His hand tightened at her waist, steadying her. “Vansh,” she repeated, rolling his name over her tongue. It felt more intimate than expected. “You were all everyone was talking about when I came back to the room. It became very hard to not know all about you.”
“All about me, hm?” a teasing note entered his voice. “Now what would that entail, I wonder.”
“Oh, just that you are awfully rude to lone women on moonlit terraces,” she teased back, a smile tugging at her lips. “And that you are a consummate hypocrite when you ogle a lady minutes after accusing her of that same crime. And, of course, the fact that you are just an acceptable dancer.”
“You witch,” he breathed in mock outrage. Splaying his hand flat on her back, he dipped her suddenly. Laughter bubbled in her throat as her hand clutched his suit for dear life. He straightened, feeling the tumble of silken hair against his arm. “I have wrestled men for a far lesser offence than these outrageous words.”
“Is that a threat, Mr. Raisinghania?” she exclaimed breathlessly, pushing back stray locks of her hair. Her eyes shined with mirth. “How unbecoming of you to wrestle a lady to the ground for a mere quip. Is that considered justice in Mewargarh?”
He looked down at her upturned face, a dangerous light in his eyes. “How provocative of you to phrase it that way, Miss Kapoor.” He tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her ear, tracing the delicate skin of her earlobe with his thumb. She shivered involuntarily. “One would think you seek to tempt with that wicked imagery.”
As the undercurrent of his words penetrated her mind, she halted suddenly in shock. The dance lay forgotten as they stood still in the middle of the floor. “Your Highness…I-“. She opened and closed her mouth, at a loss for words. “One-one would be entirely mistaken then,” she whispered finally, her eyes huge at her faux pas. They did not discuss, did not even insinuate such scandalous stuff in civilized society.
Mercifully, the music ended at that moment, making an escape possible from his predatory gaze. He guided her off the dance floor, a veneer of suaveness back on his face. He stopped at the exit, turning towards her. “I thank you for this enchanting evening, Miss Kapoor. I’m afraid I must beg your leave for the night,” he spoke formally, a dark smile lurking at the corners. “Until we meet again.” He said it like a promise, backing away from her slowly. The butler opened the door, bowing deeply. As he turned to leave, she felt like she could breathe again. Another man followed him out the door, gazing speculatively back at her for a moment.
Her friends surrounded her, jealously demanding to know the details. She brushed them off lightly, accepting another dance by a good-looking man. She danced through the night, a line up of eager men claiming all her time. She smiled, twirled, charmed with all the right words. But her body felt ensnared by another pair of hands, a smell of pine lingering around her. Despite her internal admonishments, her eyes searched for a tall dark man in the shadows all evening.
She sighed as she dropped tiredly onto the bed in the wee hours of the morning, her legs aching from the exertions. Curling into the satin covers, she dreamed of a roguish face with sinful eyes.
***