At that, the tears that had been hovering began to flow. Fiercely she repeated, "I love you as you are, Ian." She raised her face and kissed him, hard.
Their bare bodies were pressed so closely that she could feel the first stirrings of response. His hands slipped down to cradle her buttocks and he pulled her against him. Desire went from a spark to a bonfire in moments.
The night before, Laura had deliberately set out to create the most romantic scene she could, using flowers and scent and seductive clothing. This morning there were none of the trappings of romance, and none were needed. They made love in the light, with only themselves and their desire.
Ian swept her to the bed and proved that he already knew the techniques of sensuality. Using hands and breath and tongue, he demonstrated all of his knowledge of what pleased her, and then went beyond.
When he kissed her intimately, she froze at first. The Kama Sutra had described this in cool, bland words that did nothing to convey the stunning sensations. When she was incoherent with desire, he entered her. Her sense of completion was magnified now that she better understood what a miracle it was that he was whole, and that he was hers.
She crushed his moisture-filmed body to hers, and very soon she reached the level of shattering exaltation that she was coming to recognize. The climax started where they joined, then spread through her in scorching waves, filling her belly and breasts and limbs. His culmination echoed hers, passion resonating back and forth between them so that she could scarcely tell her body from his as he spent himself inside her.
When it was done, they lay limp and quiescent in each other's arms. This time Ian didn't withdraw when Laura said that she loved him.
Perhaps he would never be fully at peace with himself again, though she was unwilling to accept that as the final truth. But now that the two of them knew everything worth knowing about each other, the result was a new level of intimacy.
If it wasn't love, it was the next best thing.
Chapter 29
They ate breakfast late that morning. Ian enjoyed watching Laura; she had the contented expression of a purring cat. He envied her ability to put the past behind her. Having decided to accept physical passion into her life, she seemed entirely comfortable with her decision.
Not that he was complaining, since he was the prime beneficiary of her change of mind. With her tawny hair loose over her shoulders and her natural sensuality no longer suppressed, she was a sight to gladden any man's heart. Among other things.
He was content merely to look, for their early morning discussion and lovemaking had left him mentally and physically drained. Describing his unforgivable cowardice had been even harder than revealing his impotence.
Though his opinion of his behavior had not miraculously improved, he felt unexpected relief at having told his wife the worst. Subconsciously he had expected a stronger reaction from her: disgust or shock, or perhaps anger that her uncle had died in such an unworthy cause.
But once again, she didn't look back. Pyotr was dead and would have died anyhow, and Laura wasn't going to tie herself into knots worrying about what-might-have-beens.
Pity would not have surprised him, though he would have hated it, but he was glad that her response had been empathy. Pity was offered by those who were above the fray, and perhaps just a little contemptuous of the sufferer's weakness. Empathy was for equals who had both looked into the abyss and survived.
Yes, he was a fortunate man. His bitter regret over his self-betrayal had not vanished, but he had lived with it so far, and he would continue to live with it. In the meantime, devoting himself to making Laura happy was an endeavor that was almost as rewarding for him as it was for her.
Since neither of them had any special plans for the day, Ian was about to suggest they ride into the city of Manpur. Before he could, a messenger from the maharajah entered with an urgent summons for Falkirk Sahib.
Ian frowned. "I wonder if something has happened." He got to his feet. "Only one way to find out."
He gave Laura a quick kiss, then followed the messenger outside and into an unfamiliar section of the gardens. The barking of hyenas showed that the royal menagerie was ahead.
Confident and regal, Rajiv Singh stood on a low bluff overlooking a rhinoceros wallow, a marshy area adjacent to a stream. Happily ensconced in the wallow were two of the single-homed Indian rhinos. As Ian approached, the maharajah turned. Without preamble, he said, "I just received a dispatch which will interest you, though it's not news you'll welcome. It will be simplest if you read it yourself."
The information in the lengthy dispatch was staggering. Ian read it once, then again, his blood congealing. Without any real hope, he said, "Is your source reliable? It's hard to believe that the whole British Army in Afghanistan —almost five thousand trained soldiers—has been destroyed except for one single man."