Veils of Silk (16 page)

Ian's emotions were churning as he rode away from Laura's bungalow. Deliberately he chose a route leading away from the town, for he was not ready to return to the McKittricks' bungalow. He needed time to think.

Part of his turmoil was simple fury at the way Laura had been mauled by her overeager suitor. He could not remember the last time he had been so angry; it was fortunate that Laura stopped him before he broke the young fool's neck.

Even more disturbing than anger was the notion that struck Ian after Emery had left. It was an idea so outrageous that it shamed him, yet it was irresistibly appealing and made a bizarre sort of sense.

Laura had made it clear that she didn't wish to marry. Based on what he had seen, her resolution was almost certainly rooted in a distaste for physical contact with men. He had not realized that when he first met her, for she had been relaxed and accepting with him. But she had also been in a state of shock because of her father's death, and that had affected her usual behavior. At least, that was what Ian now deduced, for she had withdrawn physically as she regained her normal equilibrium.

She had not withdrawn mentally; on the journey to Bai-pur, she had been the best of companions, willing to talk when he was, but entirely comfortable with long silences. Yet she did not like being touched, for she avoided even the most casual of contacts. She had tried to make her withdrawal unobtrusive, but he had noticed immediately.

He noticed everything about her.

The revulsion she had shown while trying to escape young Emery confirmed Ian's theory. Laura hadn't feared her suitor. She must be fond of him or she wouldn't have been so tolerant of his misdeed. Yet she had hated his embrace, even though he was a good-looking and decent young man.

Perhaps her distaste for physical intimacy was a result of some youthful trauma at male hands, or perhaps she was just born that way; some women were. But whatever the reason, obviously she wanted to avoid the earthier side of life.

Laura wouldn't make a wife, and he couldn't make a husband. He gave a twisted smile. Clearly they were made for each other.

Since facing the fact that he was a eunuch, he had seen himself as flawed, inadequate. Yet virility was only a small part of gender. Many men abstained from sexual relations, some for religious reasons, some for practical reasons or lack of opportunity, others from choice.

What was the measure of a man?

Ian had always enjoyed women in ways that were quite nonsexual; his favorite childhood playmate had been his sister. He had always assumed he would marry, for he wanted children and a wife who was a companion as well as a bed-mate. As soon as his income had grown to the point where marriage was practical, he had started looking. He had wasted no time in proposing when he met the right girl.

Now the life of marriage and children he had envisioned was forever out of his reach. Yet marriage was more than sex; it was also a source of companionship and an economic partnership. He was still quite capable of providing for a woman, of protecting and cherishing her. And love itself existed in many forms, most of which had nothing to do with physical passion.

By sheer chance, he had found a woman who might welcome a husband who would make no sexual demands, but who could provide support, friendship, and the possibility of love.

His mouth tightened: It would be easy to find out if Laura was willing to consider what he still had to offer.

All he had to do was lay bare his soul.

The next morning, Laura prepared her hair with special care, donned her most flattering riding costume, and had the cook pack a basket with cakes and a jug of hot tea. She was ready and waiting when Ian arrived for their ride.

He greeted her warmly but seemed preoccupied. There was little conversation as they rode into the rolling hills. Laura didn't mind; it was enough just to be with him. There seemed a special brightness in the morning air, and she tried to memorize it, along with every other aspect of the ride. In the future, she would use her imagination to come back to this place, to this special time. Even lonely old spinsters were allowed to dream.

A half hour's ride brought them to a tiny abandoned shrine. It was a peaceful place, with vines curling over the ancient stones and playful monkeys swooping through the trees that surrounded the flower-strewn clearing. The shrine itself was simply a free-standing wall covered with weathered bas-relief sculptures. The central image was of a jolly, elephant-headed being who improbably rode on a rat.

Laura slid from her horse and tethered it. "I thought this would be a good place to stop for refreshments. I've never seen any people here, but sometimes offerings are left."

Ian dismounted and secured his horse, then nodded toward the bas relief. "That's because it's a shrine to Ganesha, the happy god, who removes obstacles from the paths of mortals. Who wouldn't want to invoke prosperity and good fortune?"

Laura regarded the image thoughtfully. The elephant head contained wise, human eyes. Though she had visited the shrine many times, she had known nothing about the resident godling. She reached into her basket for one of the small cakes and laid it in front of Ganesha. "Who indeed?"

Ian gave a faint smile before beginning to prowl around the small clearing. "Have you decided what you will do now?"

"I think I'll go back to England." She perched on a convenient rock. "There's much I love about India, but I'm tired of heat, tired of disease, tired of being surrounded by an alien culture that I'll never fully understand. My income would support me better here, but I want to go home."

"I'm concerned for you, Laura." Ian stopped his restless pacing and turned to her. "I owe your uncle my life. Since he is gone and you have no other family, perhaps I can fulfill my obligation to him by making sure that you are well provided for."

She looked at him in surprise. "You owe me nothing, Ian. You brought me Pyotr's journal and helped me through a very difficult time, so I think the accounts are even." She poured a cup of tea. "I shall manage very well on my own. Besides, it would hardly be proper for you to support me."

"It would be quite proper under certain conditions." He took a deep breath. "Before I say more about that, there's something I must ask you."

Puzzled by his seriousness, she said, "Of course."

"You have said that you don't wish to marry, ever. Forgive me for being intrusive, but is it because you…"He paused to search for words before saying carefully, "you wish to avoid the… the physical side of marriage?"

Laura felt the blood drain from her face. Dear God, she knew he was perceptive, but how had he guessed that? Stiffly she said, "That is really none of your business, Major Cameron."

He raised one hand. "Please, bear with me. I know the question is an unforgivable impertinence, but I have a good reason for asking. I started in the wrong place by talking about finances. I should have begun by explaining why your feelings about marriage are important to me. I'll do that now." He halted, strain visible in his face. "But first, I'd like your word that you won't tell anyone what I'm going to reveal."

Laura stared, unable to guess where this strange conversation was going. "Unless you're going to confess to a crime, you have my promise."

He turned away, his broad shoulders rigid under his dark coat. "While I was in prison, I was severely injured during a beating. I am…no longer capable of marital relations."

She gasped, horrified at the revelation, and at what it was costing him to tell her about it. "Are you sure?"

"Months have passed since my escape and there has been no improvement," he said flatly. "I'm not the man I was, and I've accepted that I never will be again."

Tears stung her eyes. No wonder she had never felt the least trace of desire emanating from him. All of the time she had been quietly lusting after him, he had been trapped in his own solitary hell. "I'm so sorry," she whispered.

He swung around to face her. "I didn't tell you because I wanted your pity," he said harshly. "I told you because I want to marry you. In order to properly evaluate my proposal, you must know the truth about me."

If Laura had been prone to swooning, she would have done so. Instead she lifted the teacup she still held and took a gulp. Then another. Feebly she said, "You want to marry me?"

"Yes. Am I right that you would refuse me if I was capable of… normal marital relations?"

"You're right, I would certainly not accept such a proposal." Her brows drew together. "Are you suggesting that we contract a marriage of convenience—that we would go our own separate ways, but I would have the protection of your name?"

"No, I mean a real marriage in every way but one." His smile had a bitter edge. "There are some who would say that physical intimacy is the purpose and bedrock of marriage, and perhaps they are right. But marriage is more than the procreation of children—it's also companionship, support, and shelter against the world. There are many marriages where husband and wife cease to share a bed, but the bonds of matrimony still hold. I care for you a great deal, Laura, and you seem to enjoy my company. I hope—I pray-that that might be a solid foundation for marriage."

She swallowed hard, too confused to know how she felt about his proposal. "Is what you're suggesting even legal?"

"Nonconsummation is grounds for annulling a marriage," he admitted, "but whose business is it what we do—or don't do—in the privacy of our own bedchamber?"

"It may be no one else's business." She finished her tea and carefully set the cup down. "But it doesn't seem quite right somehow."

"It would be different from most marriages," he agreed. "Yet different doesn't automatically mean wrong."

"That's true." She considered, her brows drawing together. "A marriage such as you're suggesting might be… possible."

His expression eased. "I'm glad you're not refusing out of hand. At the same time, I don't want you to accept unless you fully understand what you would be giving up. At its best, physical love is perhaps the closest mortals can come to heaven."

Laura grimaced as the indelible memory of her parents' violence flickered through her mind. "I wouldn't know about that, but I do know that passion can also be beastly and destructive. I want no part of it."

"You must be very sure of that," he warned, "for if you marry me, you'll lose the opportunity to change your mind.It might be unjust of me, but I don't think I would be a complaisant husband if you decided to take a lover."

"Blunt words, Major," she said coolly. "Give me credit for knowing my own mind. Or are you trying to undermine your case?"

"I'm trying to be honest, for a marriage between us will have no chance without honesty." He crossed the clearing and knelt on one knee before her. His gaze searching, he said, "It's too soon to talk of love, Laura, but I hope you'll give my proposal serious thought. We are uniquely suited to each other, for you wish to avoid physical intimacy and I am incapable of it. If we care enough about each other to take the chance, perhaps we can build something deeply rewarding between us."

She could see in his face how much he did care. Afraid of what he might read in her own expression, she got to her feet and slipped away from him, drifting across the clearing.

Ironic that Ian thought she disliked physical intimacy when her real fear was that she would like it too much. The shattering of her family had taught her the appalling dangers of passion. Later, her one brief experience with carnal love had proved that she carried the same destructive seeds in her own nature. Only by refusing to let herself be drawn into passion's snare could she be sure of avoiding disaster.

Yet it wasn't important that Ian was wrong about why she had decided not to marry. What did matter was that he was proposing a marriage that did not contain the one element that terrified her. Here was a chance to have companionship, security, someone to love—things she had thought forever out of her reach. And if she accepted him, she could fulfill her promise to her stepfather to find a husband while being true to her private vow to shun unruly lust. Her stepfather would have approved of Ian, for the two men were alike in many ways. Steady. Kind. Safe.

But the fact that such a marriage was possible did not mean that it would be devoid of difficulties. Laura's pacing had brought her to the stone wall, so she turned and regarded Ian in silence. He had not moved, and he watched her with the same stillness he would have exhibited if she were a wild creature that he was trying to lure to his hand.

Ruefully she recognized that the analogy was uncomfortably correct. She already desired Ian, and surely desire would increase in the proximity of marriage. She could bear that in return for the pleasure of his company; nonetheless, marrying him would be a leap into the unknown.

Yet how could she refuse a man she was already half in love with? As he had said, they were uniquely suited to each other. And she wanted him; dear God, how she wanted him.

Fiercely she reined in her emotions. Her rational side wanted more information before making such a momentous decision. Or perhaps her mind sought reasons to justify what her heart cried out for. "I know even less of your future plans than you know of mine, Ian. Where would we live? What will you do now that you're no longer in the army?"

"While I was in Bokhara, I inherited my uncle's estate on the Scottish coast, not far from Edinburgh. Managing that will keep me busy and provide a very decent income. You won't want for anything, and you'll have a respected position in society." After a moment, he added, "For what it's worth, there's a title. I'm the fourteenth Baron Falkirk."

"So you're a lord, and you aren't happy about it," she said thoughtfully. "Why not?"

His features hardened. "I inherited because three men died. I can't be happy about that, even though I've had my fill of the army and I've always loved Falkirk. Inheriting it is like a poisoned apple, lovely to contemplate, but bitter within. That's why I haven't started using the title—I haven't yet come to terms with what it means."