"There's a difference between knowing something in the abstract and being faced with it in the particular, especially when 'the particular' is beautiful and has a baby in tow," Laura said dryly. "I suppose the incident made me realize how little I know about your earlier life. I'm sorry I was unreasonable, but I'm not really a reasonable woman. I merely pretend well." She gave him a fleeting smile, then slipped from the room.
Ian watched her go with a frown. On the whole, he had gotten off easily. Most wives would have weeping hysterics if confronted by a husband's former mistress.
But the incident had created a chill between them. He had a nagging feeling that he hadn't heard the last of the matter.
* * *
After a leisurely dinner with David, Ian and Laura retired and went right to bed. At first Laura lay on the far edge of the mattress. Ian guessed that she was still unhappy about Leela. He hoped that she wouldn't make a habit of staying away; he rested much better with his wife in his arms.
Fortunately, night eradicated the barriers that had been erected during the day. Ian woke later to find that Laura had inched over and wrapped herself around him like a vine. To his bemusement, this was not one of the close-but-nonsexual embraces they usually shared, for one of his wife's hands had come to rest on his genitals. With only a thin layer of fabric between them, the warmth of her palm was very pleasant, though nothing like what he would have felt if he had been unimpaired.
He felt a violent spasm of bitterness at the unfairness of fate, but swiftly he brought it under control. Bitterness was old news. Carefully he moved her hand to his chest.
There was a certain black humor in the situation. Awake, Laura might be a virgin and frightened of physical passion, but in her sleep she was staking him out as her territory with unerring wifely possessiveness. In a way, her gesture was rather endearing. He was certainly hers. Not only had they exchanged wedding vows, but he was no use to any other woman.
Bitterness again. It dissipated when a more cheerful thought struck him. Since Laura had been the one to breach the tacit physical limits between them, he was entitled to bend the rules a bit himself. Gently he laid a hand on her breast. It was deliciously soft and full, even more so than he had guessed. She had packed away the elaborate silk negligee of her wedding night and was wearing a simple muslin nightgown instead. He could feel the pebbled texture of her nipple through the light fabric when he stroked it with the ball of his thumb.
As her nipple hardened, he sighed and removed his hand, not wanting to waken her. Without words Laura had made it clear that touching with sexual overtones was off-limits. He wondered if they would ever know the casual physical ease that was usual between lovers—simple things like not worrying where hands were when they embraced, and undressing in front of each other.
He would like to see her naked, even though he was incapable of taking full advantage of that state. But because he didn't want to pressure Laura into anything that would make her uncomfortable, they might never fully relax with each other. Some women married and bore children without once letting their husbands catch a glimpse of bare flesh.
Nonetheless, before settling to sleep again, Ian caressed her other breast. There was bittersweet pleasure in feeling the lovely curves. At least bittersweet was an improvement over bitter.
Chapter 14
The young servant made a last adjustment to one of Laura's ringlets. "There, memsahib," she said cheerfully. "You look very fine."
Being a bachelor establishment, David's bungalow was not well supplied with mirrors, so Laura had to cross the room to see how she looked in a small glass that was better suited for shaving than a lady's toilette. The maid, Premula, had done a fine job of styling her hair. Laura complimented the girl, then stood on tiptoe to see how her ball gown looked.
When she saw her image, she inhaled with wonder. She had never owned such an elegant garment in her life, and the shimmering blue silk was spectacular. A little too spectacular—she hadn't realized the lace-edged neckline was so low.
Uneasily she looked down at herself. An embarrassing amount of bare flesh was showing, but the basic problem was less the style of the dress than the way she was built.
Now that it was too late, she remembered why she had always chosen more conservative styles. Her natural figure tended toward the hourglass shape that men fancied, and her tight-laced corset and gown emphasized it to an absurd degree.
Nervously Laura touched the elaborate ringlets. "You really think I look all right?"
"You shall be the toast of the ball, memsahib," Premula said reassuringly. "Now, if you have no more need of me, I must go to my own lady." The maid bowed and left. She had been sent by Blanche Baskin with a note saying that Blanche didn't expect a gentleman's house to have a decent lady's maid.