Her Master's Touch

  "How am I looking at you?" Damon asked, his gaze drawn to her mouth. Her warm breath was like a summer breeze that carried with it the fragrance of blossoms. Her parted lips invited him to taste the nectar he knew would be there. He moved toward her.

  "You're looking at me like you want to do this…" She lifted her chin to accept his kiss, but before their lips met, a young bearer appeared in the doorway.

  "Sahib," he said, "Lord Hadleigh comes now."

  The young man had barely left the room when Cedric Hadleigh's voice came from the direction of the hallway. "I say, old boy," he called out, "I heard the news. So, you're a married man." Cedric burst into the room… And stopped abruptly. His eyes moved from Damon to Elizabeth, a perplexed frown on his brow. Then the frown faded, and he smiled. "Well, it seems you've gotten your opal back—I assume that's why the chit's here—as well as taken a wife, so I hear. So when will I meet her?"

  Damon draped his hand on the back of Elizabeth's neck. "Right now," he said. "May I present Lady Ravencroft."

  Cedric stared at Damon, dumbfounded. When he had at length found his voice, he said, "You're not serious. What's in it for you, Ravencroft? Surely you didn't marry the strumpet to beget your heirs? She's no more than a common—"

  "Careful, my friend," Damon warned. "Elizabeth is my wife."

  "Elizabeth?" Cedric said, with irony. "Does she think that changing her name changes what she is? You're already consigned to the fringes of polite society as it is," Cedric reminded him. "When word gets out that Lady Ravencroft once roamed with gypsies, was half Indian, and had been your servant who'd robbed you blind, every door in Calcutta will shut in your face." His eyes scanned the length of Elizabeth. He smiled a dark, cynical smile. "I admit she's a tart for the taking, like you pointed out at the horse fair. I'd buy an old nag to get between her thighs. But to take her for your wife… Have you gone mad? Any man could have her. Most around here probably have."

  Damon looked at Elizabeth, whose face was flushed with suppressed rage, and said to her, "Excuse us, Elizabeth. I'd like to have a few words alone with Lord Hadleigh."

  The look in Damon's eyes was lethal. Whether his anger was aimed at her, or at Lord Hadleigh, Elizabeth couldn't tell, but she didn't question, but simply left the room and started down the hallway. She hadn't taken more than a few steps when she heard a crack and a loud grunt, followed by something crashing against the wall. Moments later, Cedric sailed through the doorway and landed in the hall. He lifted himself to a sitting position and clamped his hand to his mouth. Finding his palm streaked with blood, he took out his handkerchief and dabbed his mouth. Dragging himself upright, he balanced on unsteady legs and tottered toward Elizabeth, who was standing between him and his exit.

  Damon stepped into the hallway and called after him. "You will apologize to Lady Ravencroft as you leave."

  Cedric dipped his head toward Elizabeth and said, while holding the blood-stained handkerchief to his face, "Lady Ravencroft, please accept my apologies."

  Elizabeth said nothing, nor did she move aside for him to pass. Lowering his head, he eased around her and left hurriedly.

  Damon walked up to stand beside her as Cedric hastily let himself out. "Like I said, as long as you are my wife, I will demand respect for you."

  Elizabeth looked at him. "I appreciate what you did, Damon, but you have to understand that I will never come to you as your wife, even if you continue to defend my honor. I will find your opal, and our marriage will be annulled. Until that time, I will take my rightful place as mistress of Shanti Bhavan and assume the duties of a memsahib." Before Damon could respond, she'd turned and was scurrying down the hallway.

  Damon had no doubt that Elizabeth could run the household as efficiently, if not more so, than Mrs. Throckmorton had. Before the week would be out she'd have the staff at her beck and call, and him on the verge of declaring feelings he was only just coming to know. And all she wanted was to recover his opal and be done with him.

  ***

  During the next two weeks, Elizabeth made several trips to the marketplace, intent on gleaning information from vendors and beggars and street urchins on the whereabouts of her tribe, which was key to finding the opal. If they didn't have it, they'd know where it was. But to her dismay, her inquiries were met with shrugs, or headshakes, or negative waves of the hand. However, the gypsies would be arriving for the horse fair soon, so until then, she'd bide her time. It was pointless to do otherwise.

  Before the end of their third week at Shanti Bhavan, Damon managed to find a replacement for Mrs. Throckmorton—a dignified man who dressed in dazzling white and wore a many-layered turban. The man had taken charge immediately, doing the marketing, running the household, checking with Elizabeth each morning to report on the condition of her empire. But Elizabeth was not without duties.

  Each day she accompanied the man to the storeroom for the ritual distribution of supplies. It was also her job to see that there were adequate provisions in the kitchen, as well as keeping tabs on essentials such as soap and candles and matches. She felt like a proper memsahib but for the fact that several servants, who'd been at Shanti Bhavan when she'd been there before, could not hide their resentment. She had anticipated a certain amount of animosity from those who'd once accepted her as one of them, but she had not expected the young woman, who'd once shared her bedchamber, to be among them.

  Lekra's enmity was subtle. Whenever Elizabeth approached, she dutifully dipped a curtsy, and when given a task, she clipped her, 'Yes, memsahib' while refusing to look Elizabeth in the eye. It troubled Elizabeth greatly that they could not share the camaraderie they'd shared in the past. And when her request that Lekra become her lady's maid was clearly unwelcome, she refused to let it pass. "I know you're upset that I'm your mistress now," she said to the young woman, "but that doesn't mean we cannot be friends. And you can look me in the eye, Lekra. I am not Mrs. Throckmorton."

  Lekra raised her eyes slowly and looked directly at Elizabeth.

  "As my lady's maid," Elizabeth continued, "you would occupy the maid's room just down the hallway from my bedchamber, so you would be out of that stuffy, stifling box of a room you're in now. Besides, I have things to tell you, but I dare not do so unless I have your friendship, and your trust."

  Lekra's eyes softened then, and a tentative smile played about her lips as she said, "We were friends once. I like it that we be friends again."

  Elizabeth smiled in delight and took Lekra by both hands. "Then it's settled. You will be my lady's maid."

  Lekra squeezed Elizabeth's hands and smiled back. "I will try," she said, "but you will have to give me instruction because I have never been a lady's maid before."

  "That will be easy," Elizabeth said. "It will also insure a better position for you should you want to find employment elsewhere at a later date, though I hope you will stay here for a very long time." Elizabeth was tempted to tell Lekra that in only a few months they would be rid of Lord Ravencroft for good, but decided the time was not right. Instead, she said to Lekra, "I'll send a bearer to fetch your things."

  While the bearer moved Lekra's belongings into her new quarters, Elizabeth and Lekra slipped back into their old comfortable friendship, and before long, Lekra was filling Elizabeth in on the vicious gossip that was being passed from servant to servant to mistress to confidante to anyone who would gasp with outrage or smile with prurient delight, gossip that was spreading through Calcutta's British society like a gathering swarm of locusts…

  Lady Ravencroft lived with gypsies… Worked for the notorious rake she married… Had been his mistress… Stole a valuable jewel from him… His gateman stabbed in the heart with a knife belonging to Lady Ravencroft… No, she didn't commit the murder, but how did the murderer get her knife? During a tryst no doubt… Her kind care little who they sleep with in order to gain what they want… Lady Ravencroft is obviously remiss in her wifely duties… Lord Ravencroft has taken up with his former mistress…

  Elizabeth cou
ldn't stop the tears from welling. Being a social outcast did not concern her—she'd suffered that most of her life and carried on. It was learning that Damon's evenings were spent in the arms of another woman that made her stomach twist and her chest feel like it was being squeezed in a vise.

  Lekra touched her hand. "Maybe he not with mistress. Maybe it just gossip."

  But Elizabeth knew better. When they'd passed the bungalow on their way from the train station, three weeks earlier, she'd seen Mara's phaeton parked alongside the house and wondered if Damon still kept her, but didn't dare ask. Now she knew. And for the past three nights, Damon had not occupied his bedchamber. Each evening after dinner he left the house and didn't return until morning. He offered no explanation of his whereabouts, and she didn't ask. Until three nights ago, she'd heard him in his bedchamber, which adjoined hers by a door that remained open during the day when the servants were about, and which she shut during her bath, or at night after the servants left them to their privacy.

  She surmised it had something to do with an incident that happened the night before he began staying away. She'd been immersed in the tin tub in her bedchamber while three ayahs were soaping her down, when one of the ayahs lifted her arm to soap it, stared at the area under her arm, and gasped, then began talking in frenzied Hindustani to the others, who bobbed their heads in concern. Before Elizabeth had the wherewithal to stop her, the ayah rushed to the door between the bedchambers and rapped sharply. When Damon opened the door, the woman said to him in an excited voice, "Sahib, you come… see mistress." She raised her own arm and pointed to show him where the problem was.

  To Elizabeth's horror, Damon walked over to the tub and crouched beside it. Although she'd crossed her arms to cover herself, he took her elbow and lifted her arm. Not wanting to make a scene, she'd sat immobile, heart hammering, while he inspected the area beneath her armpit. "It's swollen and very red," he said, his breath cool against her wet skin. He started palpating the area. "Does it hurt when I do this?" he asked.

  Eyes straight ahead, she nodded, certain that if she tried to speak, no sound would come. "And here?" His hand moved lower. Again she nodded. But when his fingers began palpating the side of her breast, she couldn't resist looking down. She should have voiced her outrage over his violation of her person, because clearly, the red area was not on her breast. Yet she did nothing, just stared at the large, sun-bronzed fingers that were no longer palpating, but fondling her breast in a way that had nothing to do with the swelling beneath her arm...

  Then, he stood abruptly, and said to the ayahs, who had been gaping at them in prurient interest, "Have cook prepare a paste of basil leaves and salt and see that it is applied to Lady Ravencroft until the swelling has passed."

  He hastily left, and he had not returned to his bedchamber since…

  Elizabeth blinked to check the tears. "It makes no difference if Lord Ravencroft has gone back to Begum Mara," she said, spitting out the bogus title. "Our marriage is not permanent."

  Lekra looked at her, baffled. "I don't understand."

  Feeling confident that Lekra could be trusted, Elizabeth explained, as concisely as possible, the reason behind her provisional marriage. Lekra already knew about the stolen opal and the dead gateman, and that Elizabeth had somehow been involved, even though she had nothing to do with the deed herself. But she was surprised to learn that not only had Elizabeth's father once owned Shanti Bhavan, but that during the years that Elizabeth was away from India, she'd been attending finishing school in London, where her father owned a large estate.

  "So you see," Elizabeth continued, "as soon as I am able to recover the opal, Lord Ravencroft will turn over Shanti Bhavan to me, our marriage will be annulled, and he will return to England." She let out a little soft snicker. "And Begum Mara will have to cool her ardor with another woman's husband. It will be interesting to see which one she chooses." Although she tried to make light of it, the thought of a beautiful Indian woman bedding Damon bothered Elizabeth more than she cared to admit. But then, Damon had sexual needs that were not being met, so she could not fault him for seeking the release he needed elsewhere.

  Still, she could not dismiss the image of slender golden-brown hands moving over Damon's chest, and stroking his belly, and fondling that part of him that awakened merely to Elizabeth's perusal. Nor could she shake the jealousy she felt that while she was familiar with that part of Damon from a forced touch that lasted only moments, Mara knew it intimately. Odd that the thing she once found repugnant, now made her restless and impatient to experience that rush of pleasure just one more time. But the means by which she'd found that pleasure with him, two years before, would no longer do. It was silk-clad iron and throbbing heat that she imagined awakening that private pleasure. And she wanted it to come from deep within her feminine core.

  Silk-clad iron sheathed in velvety softness.

  But now she could not imagine taking that pleasure with any man but Damon.

  And those were the kinds of thoughts she would simply put out of her mind, because there was no place in her heart, or in her life, for a man who considered her little more than the kept woman he went to each night to satisfy his lust.

  ***

  Although the household was running smoothly under the supervision of the new head servant, Elizabeth was becoming increasingly exasperated with the ubiquitous staff. All she wanted was solitude, but it seemed that as long as she remained at Shanti Bhavan, that would not be. Her patience finally snapped at dinner one evening. Because Damon was late, she was already seated at the table. He arrived just as the matey was entering the dining room, carrying a platter of sweetbread croquettes. After taking his place, Damon looked down the length of the table at Elizabeth, and said, "How did you fare today?"

  "How did I fare!" she scoffed. "When I was in the garden, I found a dead crow among the marigolds, and when I went to remove it, one of the half-dozen Hindu gardeners, who follow me everywhere, stopped me, horrified that 'Missy Sahib might defile herself,' by touching the dead bird. So he sent for the masalchee from the scullery, who rushed out claiming it was the job of the sweeper. But the sweeper claimed only a dome could dispose of the dead bird. I was so exasperated by then I disposed of the bird myself. Now, the entire staff is mortified over what I did." She nodded for the matey to slip a sweetbread croquette from the platter onto her dish.

  Damon eyed her with vexation. "You've lived in India. You should have known."

  Elizabeth sliced off a piece of croquette. "I lived with gypsies. They don't have staffs of servants." She popped the croquette into her mouth, barely aware of it's succulent flavor, so agitated she was over the whole incident, and with Damon for his insensitivity.

  "But your father had servants when you lived with him in London," Damon said.

  Elizabeth gave a sharp snort of disgust. "But they did not run my life! Here, I have punkah coolies to fan me, durzis sitting cross-legged on the floor of my bedchamber stitching away on my gowns, the bheesti bursting in at all hours with water, two ayahs to help me dress, one to brush my hair, three to bathe me. I'm about to go mad. I do not like having hands all over me." She sliced off another piece of croquette.

  Damon took a slow sip of wine. "You did once," he said. "The night I found you dancing around the lantern you made no move to stop what I was doing."

  Elizabeth looked up and found him watching her, intently. "That was different."

  Damon held her gaze. "In what way?"

  "I allowed you to do those things so I could recover the opal." She popped the piece of croquette into her mouth, annoyed with the direction of the conversation and determined not to let Damon goad her into saying more.

  "I did not have the opal that evening and you knew it." Damon took another slow sip of wine, his eyes holding hers. "You allowed me to do those things because you discovered you enjoyed the feel of my hands on your body and my lips on your breasts."

  "You can believe whatever you wish," Elizabeth clipped. "It makes no di
fference to me." She turned her attention to the matey, who'd entered with a serving bowl filled with curry and rice, and nodded for him to place a portion on her plate.

  After Damon had been served, he took a mouthful of curry, chewed thoughtfully, and said, "Has the swelling under your arm gone away?"

  Elizabeth looked up, surprised at the shift in conversation. He'd not so much as inquired about her wellbeing since the evening of the incident in the bath tub the week before. He'd left the room in such a hurry after that, she hadn't known what to make of it. "I'm fine now," she replied, "but you never said what you thought caused the swelling."

  "It was obviously an insect bite," Damon replied. "There was a red dot in the center of the swollen area. Did you know when you were bitten?"

  Elizabeth nodded. "It was when I was in the garden that morning. I was on my hands and knees picking larkspur and snap dragons when I felt something bite sharply. The area became swollen and started throbbing. I worried that it might have been a poisonous spider and thought about sending for a doctor to take a look. But after several hours passed and nothing happened, I decided the thing was not venomous and gave it no further thought."

  "There are no poisonous spiders in India," Damon said, "but any bite, even that of a mosquito, can get infected. You should have come to me and told me about it."

  Elizabeth offered a cynical smile. "Why? So you could examine my breast and take liberties I would not have otherwise let you take?"

  Damon's eyes darkened. "No, so Cook could make a poultice for you to put on it." He sat silently staring at her for the stretch of several seconds, then said in a low, wistful tone, "Did the touch of my hand bother you so much?"

  Elizabeth held his unwavering gaze. "It wasn't right. You're not my doctor, and you're not my husband. Not really," she said, disturbed that he was pressing her to admit a longing she did not want to recognize. And angry with herself for her weakness.