The Tiger Prince by Iris Johansen

room. “Sit down. My name is Ruel MacClaren.”
    “Ruel. That’s a strange name.”
    “Not in Scotland. It’s a very old name. Sit down,” he repeated. “Aren’t you going to return the courtesy? What’s your name?”
    She crossed the room and sat down gingerly on the chair he had indicated. “Jane.”
    “Jane what?”
    She didn’t reply.
    “You’re right, of course. Under the circumstances, last names are a formality that are a bit bizarre, but I find myself wanting to know more about you.” His brow creased in concentration. “Jane …” The frown vanished and he snapped his fingers. “Jane Barnaby. Patrick Reilly. The railroad.”
    Her eyes widened in surprise.
    He chuckled. “You didn’t think I’d make the connection? Your accent is neither English nor Scottish and, though Reilly’s never brought you to the Officers’ Club, there’re not that many Americans in Kasanpore. You’d be surprised how much gossip is floating about town about Reilly and his ‘ward.’”
    She flinched. “You’re wrong, I’m not surprised.”
    “Is it Reilly you’re hiding from?”
    “Of course not.”
    “Then why are you—”
    “And why are you in Kasanpore, Mr. MacClaren?”
    “Ah, the offensive,” he murmured. “I was expecting that move earlier.” He took another sip of his wine. “I’m trying to get an appointment with the maharajah. I’ve had little luck as yet.”
    “Why do you want to see him?”
    “He has something I want.” He paused. “Perhaps you could intercede for me. I hear he comes often to examine your progress on the railroad.”
    “Which never pleases him.” Her hands clasped together on her lap. “I’d be the last one to influence him.”
    “Too bad.” He casually lifted one leg, and the sole of his foot began to rub back and forth on the flat surface of the mattress. “I suppose I’ll just have to look for help elsewhere.”
    Her stare was drawn by the motion of his foot, the flexing calf muscles, the contrast of warm, golden skin against the white of the sheet. She quickly shifted her glance up to the bandage she had noticed earlier. “How did you hurt your shoulder?”
    “I allowed myself to become distracted and received a severe lesson for my carelessness. It won’t happen again.” He suddenly set the glass on the table by the bed and swung his legs to the floor. “I’m becoming restless, aren’t you? Let’s get out of here.”
    “We have to wait for Zabrie.”
    “I don’t like waiting.” He strolled over to a chair in a shadowy corner of the room and picked up a white linen shirt. “I don’t like locks.” He was dressing quickly as he spoke. “And I particularly don’t like the idea of a vengeful lover rushing in to skewer me. Under the circumstances, I believe we should both leave the premises.” He sat down on the bed and pulled on his left boot. “Pity. It’s not at all what I had in mind for the evening.”
    “How are we supposed to get out? Both doors are locked.”
    “We still have a window.”
    “We’re on the second floor.”
    He drew on his right boot. “A circumstance which can be overcome.”
    “I have no intention of breaking a leg trying to jump to the ground.”
    “I would have expected you to be more determined.”
    “I’m determined to get the railroad built, and I can’t do that by becoming a cripple.”
    “The railroad.” He smiled as he rose to his feet. “I forgot about your railroad.” He moved toward the window. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t injure yourself irretrievably.” He sat down on the windowsill and swung his legs out the window. “As far as I can make out, this room must face to the rear. There seems to be an alley below.” He wrinkled his nose. “Yes, definitely an alley. The odor is the same the world over.”
    She followed him and peered over his shoulder. Moonlight revealed the narrow alley he had mentioned,but it seemed very far down. “Are you mad? How are you—”
    He jumped