Ignoring her complaint, Damon passed the cloth across his taut belly and swabbed it over the cluster of male parts hanging below. "If the sight of my male member bothers you," he snapped, "look the other way. And I can't do a damn thing about its state, which has a way of hardening when you're watching, which you have a penchant for doing."
Heat rushed up Elizabeth's face. The fact was, whenever Damon stripped naked, she found it near impossible to keep her eyes off him. She'd never seen that part of a man before marrying him, and it was still a curiosity. On one occasion, when he'd caught her staring, she'd been completely unaware that he was watching, so astounded she'd been by the change that was taking place to the object of her attention. She was also certain no woman could possibly find pleasure in such a menacing-looking thing.
Catching herself staring again, she hastily looked up, and said, "You could have purchased two compartments like I asked you to do."
Damon propped his foot on the seat and began sponging off his leg. "I could have, but I'm staying with you in this compartment to protect you from thugees."
"Thugees crawling through the window and strangling me are the least of my worries," Elizabeth parried, noting that the thing dangling between his legs, which had been flaccid moments before, was rising upward and taking on a definite form, as were the two pouches beneath. When he'd stripped off his drawers, those pouches had sagged with the rest. Now they were round and so full, she doubted one alone could fit in her hand...
To her mortification, she drooled, causing her to make an audible sucking sound. Until then, she hadn't realized her mouth had dropped open.
"Give me your hand, Elizabeth," Damon said.
She looked up with a start. "Why?"
"So I can satisfy your curiosity once and for all." When she made no move, he took her hand and put it on his hardened shaft and closed his palm around her hand. What she felt was hot and throbbing and soft and hard at the same time, like silk-covered iron. And when he moved her hand against it, she felt a velvety sheath shift on top of a hardened core. And that private pleasure began to awaken. Like a flower opening. Beckoning her to welcome the thing within her hand…
Realizing where her thoughts had strayed, she pulled her hand from under his and said, "That was entirely unnecessary."
"But now you know."
"Some things I'd just as soon not know," she snapped, "one being how that thing you so covet feels in my hand. Like I said, thugees crawling through my window are the least of my worries. What you just did reaffirms it."
Damon wrung out the cloth and slapped it against the washstand. "What I did was preserve my sanity. Now, maybe you'll look the other way when I strip to wash. You know what the thing between my legs looks like, and now you know what it feels like. The only thing you don't know is what it would feel like inside you. But you already know how your body reacts when you rub against it, weak though your reaction was. As for Thugees… I told you I would not touch you again and I won't, but you can keep believing whatever you want. It's too damn hot to spar with you." He shoved his legs into a clean pair of drawers and sat opposite her. Thrusting his traveling pillow behind his neck, he closed his eyes.
Elizabeth glared at a face that both filled her with disgust and made her heart race, and let her eyes roam over a muscular chest she felt like beating with her fists, while at the same time wanting to run her palms over. Her gaze moved down to where his drawers stretched tight, like a tent over a pole. She had a prurient desire to touch the thing again. Silk-clad iron. So different from what she'd expected. Disturbed by what was becoming a fixation, she looked out the window, not because she was interested in what was out there, but because she wanted to block out the sight of Damon and the effect it had on her.
The train gave a little lurch and slowly began moving forward. Feeling as if she were about to suffocate in the tight confines of the closed compartment, Elizabeth raised the windowpane. A hot dry breeze began to funnel through the wire screening. Gradually, as the train picked up speed, fine dust began sifting in. Deciding she'd rather endure the heat than sit half-naked to Damon's view, she unfastened the top few buttons of her shirtwaist and settled against the seat. Shifting onto one hip, she angled her body against the window wall, propped her head on her travelling pillow, and closed her eyes...
The steady sway of the train, accompanied by the rhythmic clankety clank of wheels made her drowsy, and before long she was unaware of her surroundings…
Three hours later, Elizabeth awakened to find everything covered in dust, and herself drenched in sweat. She felt utterly wilted. The high afternoon sun beating against the tin roof of the train had raised the temperature inside the compartment until it was nearly unbearable. It had also greatly reduced the size of the block of ice, the remainder of which sat in a muddy puddle on the floor. She looked across at Damon, who was staring at her. Dragging herself upright, she fanned her sticky wet bodice back and forth against her damp chest and went to the wash stand. The room seemed to darken momentarily. She closed her eyes and braced a hand against the wall until the lightness passed…
"Take off the damn dress, Elizabeth, or you'll be overcome by heat." Damon's voice seemed to come from far away. Her eyes popped open. "Just because my cock reacts doesn't mean I'll act on it. So, stop being so mulish. It's not like I haven't seen what's under your dress."
The image of his eyes on her while she stood bare breasted that first night on the steamer, and later, while standing before him as he fastened her corset, triggered a familiar response—heart beating a staccato rhythm, face flushed as if on fire, breath coming so fast within the tight confines of her corset she feared she wouldn't be able to fill her lungs with air. She also felt desperate to shed her damp dress and corset, strip off her sopping wet camisole and drawers, sponge off her entire body, and let her skin breathe again. Glancing over her shoulder, she said, "I would appreciate it if you'd look the other away."
Damon grunted in irritation and turned toward the window.
Her back to him, Elizabeth unfastened the bodice of her shirtwaist, dragged her arms out of the sweat-dampened sleeves, and shrugged off the dress. Sliding her arms out of the lacey straps of her petticoat, she pushed the garment down her hips and stepped out of it, then removed her sticky wet corset and followed with her camisole. The drawers, she decided, would remain. Displaying her back to Damon's view was one thing. Having him turn and see her naked backside was quite another. Relieved to be free of the sweat-dampened layers of clothing, she took several long, deep breaths, filling her lungs with air. Immersing her wash cloth in cool water, she passed it over her feverish face… and tipped her head back and dragged it down the column of her throat… and passed it over each breast… and swiped it across her ribcage… and mopped under her arms… and let water trickle over her shoulders and between her breasts. She closed her eyes and let out a long, pleasurable sigh as a cooling breeze from the window caressed her damp skin, drawing her body toward it…
The sound of Damon mumbling a string of expletives jerked her out of her blissful interlude. Shoving his legs into his trousers, he shrugged on his shirt, yanked open the door and left. Only then did Elizabeth realize she'd been so caught up in her sponge bath and the relief the cooling breeze brought, that she'd completely forgotten Damon's presence.
***
By late afternoon the second day it was so hot, Elizabeth was tempted to doff the last vestiges of clothing and sit naked as a jay bird. What difference? Whenever she dampened her camisole and drawers to cool herself, they clung to her like a transparent skin, hiding nothing. And she was beyond caring.
Damon was becoming increasingly irritable, and she knew it was because of his ongoing male problem. But it was his own fault for insisting they share quarters while traveling. The only bright moments during the miserable day had been when they pulled into a station, and men selling lemonade and coconut milk boarded the train. And on a longer stop, they dressed hastily and stepped onto the platform where kett
les of spicy, milky tea were being served. After having their fill, they bought mutton curries from a vendor, who presented them on plates, neatly tied with napkins, then returned to their compartment, stripped to their underwear, and ate.
That night, as they lay on the hard beds, Elizabeth was thankful for the cacophony of the iron wheels clattering against the tracks, if only to drown out the sound of the heavy breathing of the man who lay no more than an arm's length away.
In the moonlight that flickered through the window of the moving train, she saw that Damon's face was relaxed and knew he was asleep. She turned onto her side and looked at him—this man she'd been trapped into marrying for the sole purpose of recovering an opal that would also make her free of him. He lay naked on his back, one arm draped over his eyes, the other relaxed at his side. The cluster of male parts lay limp now, lifeless and unthreatening. She watched the rise and fall of his chest and imagined how it would feel against her bare breasts, his arms encircling her, pulling her closer. If there hadn't been an aisle between them, she'd be tempted to curl up against him.
Reaching across the space separating them, she placed her hand over his heart. It was a strong heart; she felt its heavy beat against her palm. She glided her hand across his belly. His muscles were hard and smooth, his skin cool now that the heat of day was over. Resisting the urge to touch the thing that lay limp and flaccid, she looked instead at his mouth and remembered the pleasure she'd found from those lips. The taste of him lingered in her mind, spicy and sweet, like ambrosia for the soul. Curious to know if what she remembered was real, she leaned over him until her lips brushed his…
When you come willingly to my bed, gypsy girl, you’ll come as my mistress, or my whore… never as my wife…
His words came at her like a slap across the face, a reminder of exactly who she was. She might be Lady Damon Carlisle, but she was his wife in name only. In his mind she was, and always would be, his mistress or his whore.
She rolled onto her side away from him.
One night, and one long hot day to get through, and they would be home. Odd, how she thought of Shanti Bhavan that way now. But in less than two months it would be hers. Never would she have thought the place would feel welcome to her again.
At the train station in Calcutta, the following day, Damon's coach, along with a utility wagon for hauling their steamer trunks and other luggage, were waiting for them.
As the coach rolled toward their destination, Elizabeth felt growing apprehension about returning to Shanti Bhavan as Lady Ravencroft. Two years before, on the night the gypsies arrived, she'd fled, presumably with them. Gossip among the servants would have been vicious back then. Lord Ravencroft's gateman was murdered. Eliza Shirazi stole a valuable gem from his lordship. And now she was returning as Lady Ravencroft. Hopefully, the lower servants, who had been her friends, would receive her well. But Mrs. Throckmorton would be mortified, a thought that brought an ironic smile to her lips.
But when she stepped from the coach and took Damon's arm to receive greetings from the servants, the lightness Elizabeth had felt earlier vanished. Not a face in the lineup was friendly, and the look on Mrs. Throckmorton's face was as lethal as a dagger. And Elizabeth realized that her troubles as mistress of Shanti Bhavan were just beginning.
Once inside the house, Damon excused himself and vanished down the long hallway, leaving Elizabeth to confront Mrs. Throckmorton, who made no attempt to disguise her hostility. Elizabeth knew that the woman was crucial to running the place, but she would demand compliance, if not respect from her. Looking directly into her hard, cold eyes, she said, "Mrs. Throckmorton, you will now address me as Lady Ravencroft."
Mrs. Throckmorton's lips pinched, and her large oval nostrils flared with disdain. "You have only risen to that rank by whoring with His Lord."
Elizabeth fought with all her might the urge to slap the woman hard across the face. It was no less than the woman would have done had the situation been reversed. Instead, she held the woman's caustic glare and said, "I will not tolerate your insolence, Mrs. Throckmorton. You will apologize to me and address me as Lady Ravencroft or you'll find yourself in the laundry. Have I made myself clear?" she said, mimicking the woman's own words from an earlier time.
Mrs. Throckmorton's eyes narrowed into scornful slits, and spittle gathered in the corners of her mouth, as she said, "Because you bedded His Lord you think you are above me. Well, you are no higher than a commonplace whore ."
Elizabeth glared at the woman, fists in tight knots to keep from striking her. "You will dip into a curtsy and address me as Lady Ravencroft," Elizabeth insisted. "I am giving you one last chance, and I advise you to take advantage of it."
Mrs. Throckmorton looked directly at Elizabeth. "And I am giving you my resignation." She snatched the keys from her belt and shoved them into Elizabeth's hand. Turning abruptly, she marched off, leaving Elizabeth staring after her in stunned silence.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Palms braced against Damon's desk, Elizabeth leaned forward and said to him, in a hushed voice, "There is a problem."
Damon looked up from his accounts, his face a combination of perplexity and annoyance, and said, "We have only just arrived, Elizabeth. What kind of problem."
Elizabeth leaned closer, lowered her voice yet, and said, "Mrs. Throckmorton quit."
"Mrs. Throckmorton did what!" Damon shoved his chair back and shot to his feet.
"For heaven's sake, keep your voice down," Elizabeth said, while trying to maintain her composure. "The servants have enough to gossip about as it is."
Damon paced across the floor, turned back, and faced Elizabeth squarely. "What in hell did you say to make her quit!?" Muscles bunched in his jaw as he waited for her response.
"I didn't say anything," Elizabeth hissed, hands laced together to keep from... She wasn't sure what. Slap him. Shake him. Kiss him on the mouth if only to distract him until he regained control of his temper. "It's what she said to me."
"I don't give a damn what she said to you," Damon shouted. "Mrs. Throckmorton is crucial to running this place. Whatever it was she said, you could have come to me instead of aggravating her."
Holding his angry gaze, Elizabeth said, in a tightly controlled voice, "And what would you have done if I'd told you she called me a whore? "
Damon eyed her dubiously. "Mrs. Throckmorton has been with me for years. I can't imagine her saying anything like that to my wife."
Elizabeth felt her temper rise. "But I'm not your wife," she said. "I'm either your mistress or you whore." She gave a short snort of derision. "I guess Mrs. Throckmorton was half right."
The expression on Damon's face softened, and he started towards her. "Words said in anger. I never meant them."
Elizabeth backed away. "Yes, you did mean then. Maybe I'm not your whore, but you were planning to set me up in the bungalow as your mistress. I admit though, being your mistress is a step up from being your whore." She let out a rueful chuckle. "Actually you are the one who took money from my father in the form of a dowry, so in essence, my father bought you for me, much like a slave master purchases a slave for his wife or daughter. So in principle, that makes me your slave mistress."
The anger she'd seem on Damon's face moments before had vanished, replaced by amusement. "Perhaps," he admitted, with a wry smile. "So, what would you like to do with your new-found power over me?"
Emboldened by his words, Elizabeth walked slowly around him, while saying in a reflective voice, "I could have you strip to the waist, like you had be do on the steamer, or I could have you drop you pants so I could inspect my property more closely." She stopped in front of him and looked down. Now that's a thought," she said, eyeing the bulge in his pants. "But I'll spare you. That thing in your britches no longer interests me." She looked up at him and folded her arms. "But you didn't answer my question. What would you have done if you learned that Mrs. Throckmorton called me a whore?"
Damon braced his hands on her shoulders, and she didn'
t back away."I would have dismissed her straight away, and without references. You are no whore, Elizabeth, and you are no man's mistress," he said, looking steadily at her. "You are my wife. And as long as we are married, I will demand respect for you."
Feeling uneasy with his nearness, Elizabeth backed away from him and said in an animated voice, "Meanwhile, we have no housekeeper. But I am certain I can handle the staff until you find another. In fact, many memsahibs run their own households. As for watching the servants so they don't siphon off too much… I am more capable than anyone you might employ, except perhaps another gypsy, because I know all the tricks. I'll also do my own shopping, which will give me an excuse to comb the marketplace while ferreting information about the whereabouts of my tribe and ultimately, the opal."
Damon dropped his arms from her shoulders and rubbed his chin, brows drawn. After a few moments he said, "I suppose. But if you have problems with any of the staff, I'll expect you to come to me to resolve them."
Elizabeth dipped a curtsy. "Yes, my lord. Your wish is my command."
Damon peered into eyes glittering with humor and looked at a pair of lips that held a rueful smile. The image of a barefoot gypsy girl taunting him with her quick wit and teasing him with her innocent seduction filled his mind's eye. Back then, he'd wanted her beyond all reason. He'd wanted her as his mistress so he would have sovereignty over her warm, naked body and the freedom to do with it what he wished. Now he wanted more…
Elizabeth licked her parted lips, leaving them moist and inviting, and said, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
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