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74 pages

English

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Was the first man you fell for a brooding desert prince? Or better still, a cruelly handsome feudal lord? Are you a spirited beauty, your fire contained-but only just-by the clinging brocade of your lehenga's choli? A delicious Kama Kahani is sure to strike your fancy. Devastatingly handsome Rajput lothario Shivendra of Jaigarh has a formidable reputation-until he meets his match in bewitching Nandini, the headstrong daughter of an impoverished zamindar from Multan. He decides he must have Nandini as his mistress, but she is determined to resist his indecent proposal, attracted as she is to him. Shivendra is persistent, however, and defies convention to bring them together illicitly. But for how long, and to what end? Through desert sandstorms and Mughal camps, the epic love story of the yuvraj and his impetuous lover unfolds.

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Historical romance

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Publié par	Random House Publishers India Pvt. Ltd.
Date de parution	02 décembre 2011
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9788184002591
Langue	English

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M ISTRESS TO THE Y UVRAJ
M ISTRESS TO THE Y UVRAJ
Sanyogita Rathore

RANDOM HOUSE INDIA
Published by Random House India in 2011
Copyright Sanyogita Rathore 2009
Random House Publishers India Private Limited
Windsor IT Park, 7th Floor, Tower-B,
A-1, Sector-125, Noida-201301, U.P.
Random House Group Limited
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London SW1V 2SA
United Kingdom
This eBook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorised distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author s and publisher s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
EPUB ISBN 9788184002591
For Rajni, my best friend and editor
CHAPTER ONE
Y UVRAJ S HIVENDRA S INGH S HEKHAWAT , heir to the princely state of Jaigarh, stood just inside the main durbar hall s silver doors, glowering handsomely. He was tall, dark, and arrestingly good looking; some would say cruelly so-his face was so accustomed to its mocking, arrogant cast. He had spent the last few weeks on the fringes of the North West Frontier, battling nomadic tribes, and felt incongruous in his usual surroundings. It was strange, he thought, to have sparred in war just a few days ago and to now have to pretend to be part of the lavish festivities of the best of Rajput society again. He chose the word pretend deliberately; the yuvraj never quite fit in, in polite society. There had to be more to life, he thought.
But the crowded haveli did look resplendent, with its dazzling gold tissue curtains and velvet gold facings. Dhruv Singh Pauota, a chief in his army, was getting married to the only daughter of the zamindar of Marsuda-an alliance that had been plotted by the family elders. Rumour had it that the bride was pockmarked and stout, though as nobody except the groom s mother had seen her, it was yet to be confirmed. Not that it would make any difference; the bride s dowry would take care of wagging tongues-it was not every day that a thousand camels and three hundred acres of land exchanged hands.
Countless twinkling diyas, generously sprinkled like rice over the vast floor, cast a brilliant daze over the canopied courtyard. There, the dancers whirled to the beat of the ghumar, whirling east and then west in a continuous, hypnotic rhythm. Celebrating the first event of the auspicious season, common women dressed in their most lustrous, embroidered, silk poshaaks, and men in majestic jodhpurs offset with flaming ruby buttons adorned the hall below. Young girls, dressed in the colours of the rainbow, showed off poshaaks in the brightest shades of green, canary yellow veils, scarlet lehengas glittering with crystals, and gold tassels braided through their long, flowing tresses. The nubile nautch girls in their swirling chiffon lehengas moved about the dance floor in graceful circles, while the ladies of noble birth, dressed in their richer yet more understated poshaaks, sat high up on the first floor, veiled by a latticed wall delicate enough for the men to see the bevy of young girls through it, yet elaborate enough for the women to be obscured behind it. This wall was usually powerful provocation for virile young Rajput men.
Shivendra, however, had other thoughts on his mind; he had decided to suffer the festive celebrations for a few hours before slipping out for a rendezvous with his sensuous mistress, Ayesha Begum. He had first met her at a feast given at his hunting lodge a few months ago, and she had caught his fancy for the next two weeks. He was ready to move on now; he had a very low threshold for boredom. Shivendra was preceded by his reputation for new conquests, whether they lay in the battlefield or in the bedrooms of glittering havelis. Indeed, his past had been the subject of many hushed whispers and gossip sessions in Jaigarh.
Unknown to Jaigarh society, though, Shivendra had only ever turned his irresistible charms on willing women who could equal him in experience, never having to work at the peak of his powers. However, the marriage proposals were steadily increasing every day; he was considered to be the most eligible bachelor in Rajasthan. Yes, even the young prince s scandalous past, overflowing with tales of debauchery and indiscretions, was not enough to put women off.
Shivendra s arresting features wore a nonchalant, slightly bored expression as he glanced around, looking up at a covey of eager young girls standing directly atop, herded behind the latticed separation and gazing at him in breathless anticipation. He couldn t have looked more aloof.
And then he saw her.
His restless gaze settled on a bewitchingly beautiful girl, not older than seventeen. She was angelically exquisite, from her radiant honey-coloured skin to her dark eyes, rimmed with kohl and speaking a language all their own. His experienced eye skimmed the layers of brocade and chiffon, noting with satisfaction that her form was irrefutably feminine, in fact, most luscious. Not only was she undeniably sensuous, her carriage was strikingly aristocratic. Her flawless, oval face and elegant neck were tilted at an imperial angle; long black hair was braided carelessly and threaded with gold and jewels, lustrous in the light of hundreds of diyas; her eyes, large and lovely, smote him from afar.
Shivendra stood spellbound, unable to tear his eyes away from the young woman; never in his wildest dreams-and of these there had been many-had he envisioned anything like her. Upon a closer look, she looked engrossed herself, only, her undivided attention was fixed on the flaming dancers; the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her enthusiasm.
Nandini wanted to dance with the nautch girls swirling around in the central courtyard below. Her feet, hidden beneath yards of rose pink brocade, were already tapping to the exhilarating beat of the drums.
Below her, the durbar hall packed in a considerable crowd. The delayed hour did nothing to thin the crush, only making the crowd more boisterous and wanton with each passing hour. Gold-rimmed crystal glasses were drained of alcohol almost as soon as they were served, while the guests gorged on ample quantities of delicacies: trays laden with roganjosh, kebabs, succulent chicken tikkas, and tables full of sweetmeats.
Nandini, who had arrived a few weeks ago from Multan to spend some time with her bua, her father s sister, and her cousin Devika, was awestruck to see such grandeur. She had been single-handedly raised by her father who had felt it more important to familiarize her with ancient texts of Sanskrit, history lessons of their ancestors, and mythological tales of chivalry and bravery, rather than have her spend time with her dai, who coached her in the fine art of cooking and being the perfect housewife. Her father was an intelligent man, often spending days locked up in his room reading books, but he was inept at administering their estate. Their home had fallen into a hopeless state of disrepair, the land refused to yield anything except for a few worthless shrubs, and the place had gradually deteriorated, slowly eating up her dowry and their other properties scattered around Peshawar. Her aunt had offered to take care of Nandini temporarily, and had assured her father he would see his daughter s wedding that very year. A sudden increase in rhythm broke into Nandini s thoughts. She took it all in, wanting to join the dancers. She twitched excitedly, but not only on this count. Beneath all the fun and frivolity, the flirting and dialogue, she was subconsciously aware of being the focus of someone s watchful gaze.
Peeping over the corner of the latticed wall, she caught only the shadow of a striking, majestic man before the colourful, swirling movement of the nautch girls removed him from her sight again. With her heart in her mouth, she stood there transfixed, impatient and anxious for another look at this enigmatic stranger. The dancers moved in her favour again, and the man was laid bare to her; their eyes met and stayed fixed on each other, for what seemed like an eternity.
Handsome was too insipid a word to describe him; he was magnificent and captivating, with glossy black hair and features that looked like they were carved out of stone. Masculine and powerfully built, his physique rivalled his aristocratic looks. His immaculately styled midnight blue sherwani fit his broad shoulders perfectly, the sapphire buttons gleaming like his raven eyes. Eyes that were still looking at her, eyes whose gaze Nandini suddenly found herself trembling under. Annoyingly, she saw that there was no evidence of any conflict in the man s eyes, just the confidence of knowing the turmoil they caused.
Snapping out of her reverie, she heard just then snatches of a hushed conversation between the women beside her, as they gossiped about the imposing figure standing below.
Look, there the handsome devil is! He is looking at me, I always knew the yuvraj was interested, ever since he kissed me at Ragini s wedding, gushed the first woman.
The yuvraj, Nandini realized, with a jolt. And obviously, he had attracted more than just her attention that night.
You mean you kissed him. Anyway, that hardly counts since he kissed half the women at the naatch that day. Except me, the second voice complained peevishly.
The first woman laughed. You are just fretful because he ignored your advances that day. Come on, we both know it, if the handsome yuvraj were to summon you, you would kiss the ground his feet walked on.
Yes I would, like any other warm-blooded woman. He is rumoured to be richer than Shahenshah Akbar, and as we can all see, devastatingly handsome. I wish
Nandini s attention shifted back to the man she now knew to