It was an emotional afternoon, for every object in the bungalow had associations with her stepfather: the Indian chess set that they had used; his favorite upholstered chair, which had taken on the contour of his body; the rose bushes that she had carefully nurtured in a hostile climate because he had loved the blossoms; the books they had discussed.
There was no end to the memories. Soon Laura stopped trying to suppress her tears and just let them flow, changing to handkerchiefs as needed. The more she wept, the sooner she would heal.
The only member of the British community who had not been available to offer his condolences earlier was Emery Walford, who had been visiting an outlying village. He remedied his earlier absence by calling on Laura as soon as he returned to Baipur.
Glad of an interruption, she went to the drawing room and greeted him warmly.
Clasping her hand, he said, "You have my deepest sympathy, Laura. Your father will be greatly missed."
His sincerity almost brought on fresh tears, but she managed a smile instead. "He told me once that there might be cleverer men in the world, but none more honorable than his colleagues in the civil service. He knew the future would be secure in hands like yours. He thought highly of your work, you know."
"I'm honored. Your father was a model of the kind of official I want to be—wise, kind, and honest to the backbone." When Emery's eyes adjusted to the indoor light, he said with concern, "You've been crying. Is there anything I can do?"
She shook her head. "Thank you, Emery, but I imagine I'll be crying on and off for some time to come. Everywhere I look, there are memories of him." To alleviate his worried expression, she said lightly, "I must look a fright. Weeping elegantly is one of those ladylike skills I've never acquired."
"You look beautiful," he said intensely. "You always do."
"You flatter me," she said, touched. Knowing that he would want to be of assistance, she continued, "Later, after I've decided what I'm going to do, perhaps you can help me arrange for shipping the things I want to keep."
"Of course." After a long pause, Emery said, "Laura, I know that it's inappropriate to speak of this when your father has only just died, but I'm concerned for your future." He swallowed hard. "You must know how I feel about you. I intended to wait until I was promoted, but now your father's death has left you alone in the world." He took a step closer. "Give me the right to support you, Laura. I love you, and I want you to be my wife."
Her stomach knotted with sharp anxiety as she recognized the hot pressure of desire emanating from Emery. She should have seen this coming, but she had been so absorbed by thoughts of her stepfather that the proposal caught her off balance. As she groped for a kind refusal, he stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders, then bent and gave her a tentative kiss.
For an instant Laura responded, her lips moving against his. He was young and strong and his ardor enfolded her like a goosedown comforter. How lovely it would be if she dared marry, if she had a husband who would hold her like this, who would care for her as she would care for him....
Her momentary yielding was all the encouragement Emery needed. His arms came hard around her. As his kiss became more demanding, Laura was jolted back to reality. She could never marry, not this handsome young man, not anyone.
She tried to pull away, but Emery was too absorbed in sensation to notice that her response had changed. Sharply she turned her face away from his. "Please, Emery, let me go."
Instead of complying, he pulled her tighter. "I've loved you ever since I met you, Laura," he whispered. "You're everything I've ever dreamed of finding in a woman. Beautiful, kind, understanding..."
Laura began to struggle in earnest, but Emery's sporting pursuits had given him muscles she couldn't match. She gasped, "Emery, stop this!"
She shoved against his chest and drew her breath so that she could call the servants. Before she could, the front door opened. Then a familiar deep voice swore, "Damnation!"
An instant later Ian wrenched Emery away from Laura. Expression savage, he spun the younger man around and struck him with devastating power, first in the jaw, then in the stomach. Emery made a strangled sound as he crashed into the wicker sofa, then pitched to the floor.
Ian hauled the magistrate to his feet and was preparing to hit him again when Laura cried out, "No, Ian, don't hurt him!"
For a moment she feared Ian hadn't heard and that he might kill Emery. Barely in time he checked his next blow.
Instead of striking, he shoved the younger man back to sprawl across the sofa. "You despicable young swine," he snapped, "How dare you assault Miss Stephenson! I should stake you out as tiger bait."