Edward Ashford x Roshni Thakur
#1st book of the forbidden series.
A marriage of convenience, A deal , A game, well that's what it was until it wasn't.
In the heart of colonial India, Edward Ashford, a British officer overseeing the railway expansio...
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The evening air was cooler now, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and jasmine. I found her by the verandah, her figure framed against the orange hues of the sunset. She stood quietly, her gaze fixed on the horizon as if lost in thought.
I cleared my throat, and she turned, her dark eyes meeting mine. There was no animosity there, but no warmth either. Just that same calm reserve she always carried.
“Would you like to take a walk?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral.
Her brows lifted slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing her face. “A walk?”
I nodded. “I thought I could show you around the property. Unless you have other plans.”
She hesitated, then gave a small nod. “Lead the way.”
The silence between us as we walked was not uncomfortable, but it was far from easy. I led her down the path toward the orchards, the gravel crunching beneath our feet.
“This land has been in my family for years,” I said, gesturing toward the sprawling fields. “Most of it is just for show now, but the orchards still thrive.”
She glanced at the rows of trees, their branches heavy with ripening fruit. “It’s beautiful,” she said softly, her voice almost drowned out by the rustling leaves.
We stopped near a small clearing where a wooden bench sat beneath a banyan tree. I gestured for her to sit, and for once, she obliged without question.
“I imagine this is all very different from what you’re used to,” I said, taking a seat beside her, though leaving enough distance to avoid crowding her space.
Her lips curved in the faintest of smiles. “It is. But not in a bad way.”
I studied her profile as she looked out at the fields, her expression unreadable. “You handled my parents well earlier,” I said finally, the words heavier than I intended.
She turned to me, her gaze steady. “It wasn’t about handling them,” she replied. “They needed to see that you’re not the man they think you are.”
I blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in her voice. She wasn’t joking, nor was she patronizing me.
“And what kind of man do you think I am?” I asked before I could stop myself.
Her gaze lingered on mine for a moment before she looked away, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. “I don’t know yet,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her honesty unsettled me. I turned my attention back to the horizon, unsure of what to say. The silence stretched between us, but it felt different now. Less like a barrier and more like a question neither of us was ready to answer.
The weight of her words hung between us, heavy yet unspoken. For a moment, I stayed silent, watching as the wind tousled loose strands of her hair. Her quiet strength, the way she carried herself—it unnerved me. She was a puzzle I wasn’t sure I wanted to solve, yet I couldn’t look away.
