Veils of Silk(121)

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 all.

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."

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 must. 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. 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."

"As will her husband." 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 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. 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 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 eye patch, his wife called out, "Ian, is that you?"