His Runaway Royal Bride

скачать книгу бесплатно


‘He has gone riding, Maharani Saheba,’ she replied deferentially.

Some things never change, Meethi thought, feeling old wounds buried deep down begin to tauten. He had always preferred the company of his beloved horses to her. She recalled numerous occasions when, after a disagreement, he would simply storm off to the stables and go for a long wild ride.

‘And Maaji Saheb! Where is she?’ Meethi asked haltingly, dreading the answer.

‘Maaji Saheb is at the haveli in Haridwar. She has been living there for the past two years,’ the girl said confidingly.

Meethi looked at her incredulously. Maaji Saheb was no longer at the Mahal! How was this possible?

Seeing Meethi’s confusion, she said in a low voice, ‘Maharaj Saheb had a huge row with her and he ordered her to go to Haridwar!’

Meethi felt a slight easing of the clenched-up feeling inside. She wouldn’t have to face Maaji Saheb. Though one part of her mind clamoured to know the details, a nameless dread, familiar and omnipresent, kept her silent.

What would happen now? she thought dispiritedly. Where did she go from here? She couldn’t relive the terrible ordeal that their married life had been.

What did Veer want? Questions clamoured in her brain till it felt as if her head would burst.

Meethi tried to pull herself together. ‘What’s your name?’ she asked the maid.

‘Simran,’ the girl answered with a shy smile.

‘I haven’t seen you before,’ Meethi said thoughtfully. The girl seemed very young and sweet.

‘Maharaj Saheb appointed me a year back. He said that I was to look after you when you came back,’ Simran offered tentatively.

Meethi was stunned to learn that Veer had been completely sure of finding her a year ago and bringing her back.

‘I think I’ll have a bath,’ she said. Simran’s revelations had confirmed her dread that Veer wouldn’t let her go. Maybe her brain would start functioning better and find a way out of the current predicament.

Simran brightened up and said with a smile, ‘Ji, I will show you the dressing area.’

She went into the adjoining room and Meethi followed. It was a huge double dressing room divided by a thin wooden partition.

‘Maharaj Saheb’s dressing area is on that side,’ Simran pointed out. ‘All your clothes are neatly arranged in the wardrobe,’ she said.

‘My clothes! Where did they come from?’ Meethi asked, stupefied.

‘Maharaj Saheb had them moved here from the old mahal. And I was given the responsibility of arranging them,’ she added with a note of pride.

Meethi opened her wardrobe. It contained all her old clothes. Since she had feigned her death, to avoid any suspicion, she had left all her belongings behind and taken just a couple of old churidaar kameezes, a pair of jeans and some tunics. Memories came rushing in when she looked at the rows and rows of opulent and expensive banarsi saris, antique brocade lehangas and elaborate anarkali churidaar kameezes. The best designers had put together her trousseau, as befitting her position as the Maharani of Samogpur.

Simran bent and took out a silver chest from the bottom of the wardrobe. It contained jewellery—necklaces, earrings, bangles, nose pins, toe rings and anklets that she was supposed to wear every day. There were several heavy jewellery sets that were kept under lock and key but which she had to wear periodically.

As the wife of Maharajah of Samogpur she had to always remain dressed to the hilt in a nine-yard saree or a lehenga, dripping with jewellery, her head demurely covered. She couldn’t leave her chambers dressed otherwise.

She had no say in choosing her clothes. And she hated her wardrobe down to the last piece. The clothes were gaudy, elaborate and cumbersome and she had always felt trussed up in the heavy fabrics.

There were no jeans, trousers or skirts in her wardrobe except for the ones she had owned before marriage. And once or twice when she had tried to wear clothes of her own choice, her mother-in-law had frowned and looked askance before acerbically humiliating her so that she had given in and changed.

Turning away from torturous memories, she rushed to the bathroom in desperation.

Veer was galloping furiously. For a Rajput, pride was paramount, and his wife had insulted him in the worst possible way.

She had played on his weakness for her.

She had seemed so sweet and innocent… Unbidden, his mind went back to the first time their paths had crossed.

He had driven down to Jaipur to attend the wedding of his school friend, Gauravendra Singh. Itching to drive his new Jaguar at full throttle, the Delhi-Jaipur highway had seemed perfect, and he had set off with his driver and bodyguards.

He was enjoying driving the powerful car at a breakneck speed when suddenly a puppy appeared from nowhere. He had braked frantically.

To his utter shock, a wisp of a girl appeared as well and she dived in front of his car to save the puppy. He almost lost control, and the car swerved, but he managed to bring it to a screeching stop.

Aghast and furious, he had jumped out of the car and shouted, ‘Are you blind?’

‘No! You are!’ she retorted immediately, militantly.

He was taken aback. No one had ever dared to answer him back. Even his driver and bodyguards, who had leapt out urgently, were shocked into silence.

The chit of a girl continued her tirade. ‘Fancy car owners don’t own the road, you know! This puppy has as much right to this road as you have! Big car, small heart!’

Veer looked at her, stupefied. She barely reached his chin and she was staggeringly beautiful.

She had a heart-shaped face, almond-shaped eyes with impossibly long eyelashes and a rosebud mouth. A thick long braid that seemed almost too heavy for her swanlike neck lay sideways on her ample bosom.

His stupefaction wore off when he realised that the ample bosom that he was admiring was heaving with indignation. She was spitting fire, hurling insults and berating him.

He held up his hand to silence her. ‘Enough! You could have been terribly injured if I hadn’t braked in time! Have you no sense?’ he asked.

‘You don’t have any sense! If I hadn’t been here, this poor little puppy would have been dead!’ she retorted heatedly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll see to this poor thing instead of standing here making small talk with you!’ She stomped off, the puppy held securely in her arms.

Veer looked at her diminutive figure, bemused. He felt as if a tornado had just whizzed past him.

He had gone to the wedding, unable to shake off the bemusement that had beset him.

To his astonishment he had run into her there again. She was from the bride’s side of the family and had come with her father for the wedding.

Traditionally dressed in a lime-green ghagra choli, her beauty had stolen his breath away and her vivacious laughter had captivated him totally. He had fallen in instant lust—a lust so powerful and primitive that it had overshadowed all rational thought.

And, for the first time in his life, he had behaved impulsively and thoughtlessly. And had paid the price for his lapse in behaviour, he thought bitterly.

His eyes wintry, he recalled the horror he had felt when he learnt that Meethi had met with an accident while driving the Beetle which he had given her soon after their wedding. He had been away and had been told that she had supposedly lost control and the car had plunged into the river near their mahal.

He had immediately called divers, who had been on the job for two whole days before they admitted defeat. With the last ray of hope gone, he had felt as if he had been hurled down a cliff to lie in a broken heap. For the first time in his life, uncaring of appearances, he had dismissed everyone and spent the night slumped on the riverbank, filled with agonising grief. He had stayed alone, in a stupor, drowning in the hollowness besieging him. The cold misery of that night would remain in his consciousness till his dying day.

Adding to his misery was corrosive guilt because he felt responsible for her accident. If he hadn’t given the car to her and insisted she learn to drive she would’ve been alive.

When he had discovered that Meethi had staged the accident and feigned her death he had felt humiliated and betrayed. After all that he had done for her…

But no more! He would rectify his mistake now. He would make sure that Meethi paid for her heartless betrayal. He would enjoy making her fulfil her duties as his lawfully wedded wife.

He turned to ride back.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_1de82788-06ff-5572-8515-73423dfb62f1)

MEANWHILE, MEETHI HAD showered and dressed, and she felt better and stronger. She was no longer the nervous nineteen-year-old bride or the sad, broken, twenty-two-year-old wife who had fled. She was almost twenty-five and the past three years away from Samogpur had matured her.

She would make Veer understand that he couldn’t hold her against her will. He would rail at her because, according to him, it was improper and against tradition, but she knew there was no future in their marriage. And though her heart skipped a beat at the thought, she would try to leave as soon as possible.

Deciding to figure out how things lay, she left her suite of rooms, refusing Simran’s escort.

She had to find a way to escape, though she knew it would be very difficult. There was a high level of security and round-the-clock bodyguards; no member of the royal family could take a step out of sight of them. But she was determined to leave. She had managed it once before and she would manage it again.

Descending the stairs, she went out, and immediately the major-domo appeared. She hadn’t seen him before; he was new. Meethi decided to try her luck.

‘Has Maharaj Saheb returned?’ she asked, trying not to betray her nervousness.

‘Nahin, Maharani Saheba! He hasn’t returned yet,’ the major-domo answered deferentially.

Heaving a silent sigh of relief, she said with forced calm, ‘Is there a driver outside? Please ask for the car to be brought around.’

The major-domo bowed his head and went outside. Meethi wanted to run after him and hurry up the proceedings but she knew that to do so would be dangerous. She began pacing impatiently in the vast hall.

Suddenly, she heard a commotion and her heart sank. Had Veer returned? She stood welded to the spot as a tall lanky figure came in. It was Harshvardhan, her husband’s cousin.

‘Pranam, Bhabhi Saheb!’ he greeted her ecstatically, touching her feet and hugging her. Though he was two years older than her, custom dictated that, because Meethi was his elder cousin’s wife, he would touch her feet in greeting.

Meethi gave him a glimmer of a smile.

Harshvardhan had been the only friend that she’d had in the dark days of her marriage. He had been witness to the nasty criticism and public put-downs she’d been subjected to by the family members and, though she hadn’t confided in him, he had sensed her unhappiness and had always been around, trying to cheer her up.

‘Your accident was such a terrible thing to happen! But I always knew in my heart of hearts that you were alive. Bhaiya Maharaj told us how you lost your memory and ended up in Kolkata. Thank God he found you,’ Harsh went on.

Meethi gazed at him in amazement. Was that what Veer had told them?

‘Bhaiya Maharaj was devastated when the news of your accident came. Totally distraught, he kept insisting that you would be found and wouldn’t leave the site of the river where your car was found. It was only when the divers gave up that he came home. The past three years have been terrible for him, but now that you are back he will be fine,’ he added emotionally.

Meethi couldn’t believe it. Veer was the most cool and collected man in the universe. Nothing could shake him or disturb his impassive demeanour. He was used to people depending upon him, looking up to him, idolising him, and he discharged all his duties and responsibilities with effortless ease and imperturbable control.

His life had been turned topsy-turvy when he married her and he would’ve been relieved to have got rid of her.