Veils of Silk (50 page)

"I hope so, but it might not be until tomorrow." The maharani sighed. "I understand your impatience. I shall be very glad to see my husband, too. Even five days of separation are too many, but I do enjoy the reunions. Oh, before I forget, take a look at this book. I think you'll find it intriguing."

As the other woman began writing down the ingredients for the perfume, Laura opened the text, but at first she made no attempt to read the Persian script. Three long days had passed since her discussion with Kamala. In some ways, it would have been easier if Laura had been able to act immediately on her resolve to have a real marriage, for the waiting was difficult.

Kamala, bless her, had decided to distract her guest by demonstrating aspects of the education of a Hindu lady. East and West agreed that a gently born female should be able to sing, sew, dance, and play a musical instrument. Laura was adequately skilled in those areas; however, her knowledge of magic, sorcery, and cockfighting was sadly deficient, her ideas of how to adorn the female form were very austere by Indian standards, and she had never in her life made a couch of flowers.

The sessions were interesting and sometimes hilarious. Laura had enjoyed learning how to mix perfume and make sherbet, and being massaged with scented oil had been delightful. That was one skill she would be glad to demonstrate on Ian, for it would be a perfect excuse to run her hands over every inch of his lean, muscular body. She thought that he would like it, too.

The trick would be getting to that state of happy intimacy from the strained situation they were in now. Laura had not yet decided the best way to go about seducing her husband when she had just persuaded him that they must stay apart. It was one thing for her to be willing to lie with him, quite another to make the first move. But she was the one who had turned her marriage into such a muddle, and it was up to her to sort it out.

She hoped that Ian would be back that night, because the delay was making her a nervous wreck.

Telling herself to stop brooding, she looked at the manual the maharani had given her. Within a minute, her eyes shot open. People actually wrote such things down? "Kamala, does this say what I think, or am I no longer understanding Persian?"

The maharani looked up with a smile. "I thought you would find the
Kama Sutra
interesting. The pursuit of pleasure,
kama
, is one of the Four Aims of life, so the sage Vatsyayana wrote a treatise on the subject. Since sex is one of the great pleasures, a good part of the book is devoted to it."

"The sage seems to have a passion for counting and classifying," Laura said weakly.

"It is rather tedious to read about the eight kinds of love bite and the eight stages of oral intercourse," Kamala agreed. "And he cheats by counting mating after the fashion of deer, asses, and horses as different positions for intercourse. To me, those positions all seem much the same."

"I haven't gotten that far yet. But tell me, is this even possible?" Too embarrassed to read the passage aloud, Laura showed the page to her friend.

"Ah, very difficult. Really only suitable for a trained acrobat," the maharani observed with a twinkle. "If you wish to try it, the sage Suvarnanabha recommends practicing in a hot bath, so that neither of you hurt yourselves."

Laura gasped. "Is that why Indian bathtubs are so large?"

Kamala laughed. "One of the reasons." Her expression sobered. "Don't take everything the
Kama Sutra
says seriously, Laura, but I thought that reading it would expand your horizons. Though the book is interesting and covers many topics other than sexual congress, it's not half so romantic as a verse of fine love poetry. Still, it's useful to know some of the techniques."

"Oh, indeed," Laura agreed, still a little dazed. "I had no idea there were so many possibilities."

"If you were Indian, your education would have started much earlier. In the temple, young girls see and handle
lingams
, stone phalluses, so that they become accustomed
to the idea." The maharani chuckled. "Though your education began late, I think Falkirk Sahib will be pleased with
what you have learned."

Laura hoped so, too. As she returned to the book, she remembered his Indian mistress, Leela. He must know all
about these interesting and athletic maneuvers. She stopped and reread one passage. As Kamala had said, there was
nothing romantic about the blunt description, but the thought of doing it with Ian made Laura tingle in spite of her embarrassment.

The maharani rose, to her feet. "I must hold audience now, but first I will give you something to aid your
endeavors."

"You've given me so much already," Laura protested.

Kamala's elegant brows arched. "It is easy for me to give, and I take great pleasure in it. Will you deny me that pleasure?"

Laura laughed. "Put that way, I don't suppose I can."

The maharani signaled to the servant. Knowing what was expected, the girl came forward and presented Laura with a folded length of exquisite, lavender-colored silk.

"It's a sari," Kamala explained. "The fabric is so fine that it can be drawn through a ring." She removed one of her gold rings and demonstrated, pulling the whole length of gauzy fabric through the circle. It came out none the worse for wear.

"Thank you, Kamala. It's exquisite." Laura stroked the gossamer silk. "This color is perfect for me."

"I know," the maharani said. "The sari is a very graceful garment, and one as fine as this will drive a man to madness." Her dark eyes sparkled. "I speak as one who knows."

Laura laughed, though she would wait before wearing the sari for Ian. It was too blatant for her at the moment, since she was still the next thing to a virgin. But she was willing to change that.

By midevening, Laura had given up hope that Ian would return when he unexpectedly walked into, the apartment. Even dust-covered and fatigued, he looked good enough to eat. The thought brought the
Kama Sutra
to mind, so she said hastily, "You're home! I'd decided you wouldn't be back until tomorrow."

"Rajiv Singh was anxious to return tonight, so we rode through rather than stopping."

Laura considered giving him a welcoming kiss, but decided against it. Though her husband seemed pleased to see, her, there was a wariness in his expression that did not encourage her to come closer. She would wait until later, when he was more relaxed. "Shall I order a bath for you?" ,

"Splendid idea. And some food as well." He ran a tired hand through his auburn hair. "I might as well take advantage of the fact that we're staying in a palace. After a few nights of camping, I'll look back on this luxury with longing."

"Did the maharajah persuade you to take over his army?'

"He tried, but finally accepted defeat." Ian smiled. "We played chess several evenings. I managed to beat him about half the time, which apparently doesn't happen often. It made him even more regretful that I was unwilling to enter his service, but he's been a gentleman about it." He glanced at the journal Laura had been reading. "Have you found anything interesting?"

Grateful that she had been studying Pyotr's papers rather than the
Kama Sutra
, Laura said, "There are lots of interesting things. In fact, I may try to publish Pyotr's memoirs in London—he's very witty and he led an incredible life. But so far, there's nothing like what we're looking for."

"Maybe there's nothing to find," Ian said. "But I like the idea of publishing some of his work.
Memoirs of a Russian Secret Agent
has a ring to it. My brother-in-law Ross is a writer—perhaps his publisher would be interested."

Laura nodded absently, then made the connection. "Good heavens, is the Ross who is your brother-in-law the travel writer, Lord Ross Carlisle?"

"Yes, though he's become the Marquess of Kilburn since his last book was published."

"His work is excellent," Laura said, more awed by the writing than the lordly title. "I've read all his books. It's not just what he says, but how he says it."

Ian grinned, more relaxed than when he first returned. "Tell Ross that and you'll make a friend for life."

Laura made a face. "I don't know. He now sounds as intimidating as the alarming Juliet."

Ian smiled, then went into his bedroom. Laura summoned a servant and ordered a bath and food. While her husband cleaned up, she changed into her prettiest nightgown and robe and brushed her hair out. She wanted to look desirable, in an unobvious way. Apparently she was successful, for when Ian came into the drawing room, his expression shuttered after a single glance. As he ate supper, he avoided looking at her and hardly spoke except for a few terse comments about his trip.

While glad that he wasn't indifferent to her appearance, Laura was also frustrated, for she had no idea what to do next. She couldn't quite bring herself to say, "By the way, Ian,
I've changed my mind about lying with you. Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?" A pity that the
Kama Sutra's
varied advice didn't cover this particular situation.

As soon as he finished eating, Ian got to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed. We were up riding before dawn to get back to Manpur today."

Part of Laura advised waiting until tomorrow, when Ian was rested, but she couldn't bear another day of delay. Maybe the best approach was to hope that proximity would do the work, as it had in the past. If Ian was too tired, the moment could pass without embarrassment for either of them.

Rising to her feet, she moved around the table until she was standing beside him. Tentatively she laid one hand on his wrist as she looked up into his face. "I've missed you." With relief, she felt his desire kindle, sparking between them like heat lightning. This wouldn't be hard after alt.

She opened her mouth to explain her new understanding, but Ian gave her no chance to speak. Face thunderous, he twisted away as if scalded. "You'll have to do better than this," he said grimly. "Remember what I said—I can't control both of us."

Then he pivoted on his heel and vanished into his bedroom. Before Laura could think of what to say, it was too late. She was left standing alone with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She should have known that the line that had been so firmly drawn between them could not be easily crossed. Once more she had misjudged Ian's willpower, and her failure would make it harder to try again. But try again she would; she had no choice.

After taking a long, slow breath, she retreated to her own room. She might be a fool and she had certainly been hopelessly confused about passion, but she had at least one quality on her side: Russian stubbornness. Since subtlety hadn't worked, next time she would try head-on assault.

The next morning, Ian left their suite before Laura was even out of bed. No doubt he was going to find something to keep him busy and out of her dangerous clutches all day. Ah, well, that gave her time to plan the next stage in her campaign. A few minutes later, Meera arrived with a cup of tea, a proper English custom performed by an exotically lovely eastern nymph. After taking a sip, Laura said, "Meera, my husband came home very late last night, so tonight, I'd like to give him a proper welcome—something he'll never forget. Do you have any suggestions? If something exotic is required, the maharani will help."

With a knowing smile, the young widow offered several ideas that were so imaginative that Laura began laughing. "There is much to be said for the education of an Indian lady. I wonder if the staid English school I attended would be willing to add courses on 'How to please your husband.' "

"It would be a very good thing," Meera said seriously. "A wife who can satisfy her man in bed will have a happier life."

"And so will her husband, I'm sure." Thinking of the erotic sculptures in the cave temple, Laura shook her head. "If my headmistress, Miss Givens, tried to give her young ladies such practical lessons in England, she'd be in jail the next day." Laura finished her tea, then swung her feet from the bed. "I think I'll wear the blue muslin dress."

"Very good, memsahib." But instead of going for the garment, Meera said shyly, "Zafir has asked me to marry him."

"He has?" Laura said, surprised. "I knew that he admired you, but I hadn't realized that it was marriage he had in mind. Are you going to accept?"

"I think so," Meera said with a mixture of pride and doubt. "Unless you know any reason I should not."

Hearing a faint question in the girl's voice, Laura said reassuringly, "My husband has never had anything but praise for Zafir. He is, I believe, a man of courage and honor. Also good-natured, which is a valuable trait in a husband."

"Don't forget handsome," Meera added impishly. "Or hadn't you noticed?"

Laura chuckled. "I've noticed. He could turn any woman's head." More seriously, she said, "The only question I have is about the differences in your backgrounds. Do you think that will be a problem?"

"That is also the only question I have. There will be difficulties," Meera admitted. "Yet I no longer have a place among my own people. Zafir wants me and I want him. Do you think that is enough?"

Laura smiled ruefully. "I'm no expert, Meera—quite the contrary. But wanting each other is a good beginning."

* * ♦

Ian stayed out all day, sending a message to Laura that he wouldn't be back for dinner and she shouldn't wait up for him. During his time away, he thought that he had become resigned to the situation, for there was a certain bleak justice in it. Then he returned, and it had taken almost nothing to trigger his desire again—just a single touch. It was very hard to deal with Laura's casual warmth when they were alone together. Her affectionate nature would be wonderful if they had a normal marriage. Under present circumstances, it was harrowing.

It was late when he finally returned to the apartment. As he stepped in the door, a tidal wave of rose scent engulfed him. The drawing room smelled as if someone had dropped a crate of expensive perfume. A good thing he liked attar of roses.

Laura was already in her bedroom, though a line of lamplight at the door showed that she was still awake. He went silently into his room, hoping to get to bed unnoticed. As he was removing his eyepatch, his wife called out, "Ian, is that you?"