Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India)

by Lane, Nina

  “Does it bother you very much?” Rohan asked.

  Devora shrugged. “Not as much as it should, I think. I’m sorry for having hurt Gerald, but I suspect our marriage wouldn’t have lasted anyway. He’s well entrenched in the British civil lines. He would have realized sooner or later that I wouldn’t fit in.”

  “And you would have as well.”

  Devora smiled again and nodded.

  “What will you do now?” Rohan asked.

  “I have a ticket for Bombay,” Devora explained. “I leave tomorrow, and I wanted to say goodbye to you before I left.”

  She glanced at him, wondering if she should tell him about the depth of her feelings. The mere presence of him in the same room comforted her to unfathomable degrees, and she wished she didn’t have to let him go forever.

  “I see,” Rohan replied. “And from there you will return to England?”

  “I expect I will. Although I might stay in Bombay for awhile. I don’t know. I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

  “You appear to have a great deal of freedom.”

  “I’ve had a nice surprise.” Devora explained what happened with the maharaja’s harem woman and the jewelry.

  Rohan’s eyebrows lifted as he listened. “That is indeed good fortune. You have positive karma, then.”

  “I don’t know why,” Devora said. “I haven’t exactly been a moral person.”

  “Remember that karma and destiny also come from previous lives,” Rohan replied. “And you have been honest to yourself.”

  Devora considered his words. It was true. Throughout this whole debacle, she hadn’t lied to herself about anything, not even her love for Rohan. “Yes, I suppose I have.”

  “I will miss you,” Rohan said.

  Devora looked at him in surprise. “You will?”

  He nodded. “I have always found you very intriguing. I will miss our conversations.”

  “And here I thought you just found me frustrating and headstrong.”

  “Well, that too,” Rohan agreed.

  Devora chuckled. “I’ll miss you too, Rohan. You’re the truest person I’ve met in India. Even in my entire life. I’m sorry that we…” Her voice broke, and she shook her head. “Never mind. I should be getting back before the Thompsons realize I’ve gone.”

  Rohan gazed at her for a moment with a gentle expression. Devora thought back to the time when she had been convinced he would never look at her with anything but disapproval. How wonderful to be proven wrong about that.

  “I am glad you came to see me,” Rohan said.

  “So am I.” Devora stood and approached him, clasping his hands in hers. “Thank you for everything.”

  They looked at each other for a moment, and then Rohan reached up to curl his hand around the back of her neck. His palm felt warm and strong against her skin. He drew her head down towards him slowly as his dark eyes began to burn with heat. Devora loved that flare of passion, knowing the sensualities promised by his gaze. Heart pulsing, she moved easily into the kiss.

  An intense contentment overcame her, as if she had known all along that by coming to see him, she was returning to a place of security and peace. With a moan, she pressed her mouth against his and slid her hands into the coarseness of his hair.

  Rohan’s lips parted, his tongue flickering out to caress her mouth with deliberate, lush ease. He tugged Devora down onto his lap, sinking onto the bed until he was lying on his back and she hovered over him. Her knees pressed against his hips, her sex brushing tantalizingly against the increasing bulge in his trousers.

  Bracing her hands on either side of his head, Devora deepened their kiss. She stroked her tongue over his lips, loving the slightly rough sensation and the faint taste of spices. Warmth and love burst inside her, trailing through her blood and settling in a secret place just underneath her heart.

  She lifted her head to look down at him, stunned by the inflamed darkness of his eyes. Such unfathomable depths. There had been a time when she thought she would never break through his shield, that he would forever be inaccessible to her.

  And now, looking into those eyes of his, she realized that no one had been as accessible to her as Rohan. No one knew her as deeply, no one possessed such an intense perception of her soul and mind. The disconcerting part was that so many mysteries lay uncovered within him, layers that she had never unfolded. And yet she had never felt so close to another person in her entire life.

  “My God,” she whispered in amazement. “It’s inconceivable.”

  Rohan stroked his hands up her back, his fingers tracing her spine. “What is, memsahib?”

  “You and I. Isn’t it?”

  “Of course. That is what makes it so good.”

  He pulled her down towards him again to plunder her mouth with his. Devora shoved her hands into his hair, delighting in the way the thick strands felt against her palms. She drew her tongue over his lower lip and pressed her body downwards to rub her sex over his throbbing erection. The intimate sensation of him pushing against her through the confines of their clothing sent a rainfall of pleasure through her.

  With a moan, Devora tugged Rohan’s shirt off his body and sat back to look at the gorgeous expanse of his chest. She stroked her hands over him, loving the texture of his hair-roughened skin and wanting to memorize everything about him.

  Her fingertips traced the structure of his ribcage as she bent to capture one of his flat nipples between her lips. Rohan groaned and clutched the back of her neck, pushing his hips upward against the apex of her thighs. Devora rotated her hips slowly and rubbed their sexes together.

  She gave Rohan a wicked grin as she moved down to hook her fingers underneath his waistband. She pulled them off his legs, her pulse surging at the sight of his freed penis. Grasping the shaft in her hand, she stroked up to the tip. A sheen of sweat broke out on Rohan’s forehead as he watched her touching him.

  Devora bent to take him in her mouth, wanting to please him as she had never wanted to please a man before. He throbbed against the surface of her tongue, the tangy taste of him filling her mouth. Devora closed her eyes and took him in fully. Rohan’s breath came in harsh pants as she slid her lips over him and traced the veins with her tongue. His fingers twined through her hair and tightened on her scalp.

  Devora pulled back with a slow, luscious movement, flicking her tongue against him.

  “Your dress,” Rohan whispered, his voice hoarse. “Take it off.”

  Devora unbuttoned her dress and pushed it off her shoulders, then removed her slip. She straddled Rohan’s hips again, grasping his cock and guiding it to the opening of her body. He reached up to touch her swaying breasts, skimming his fingers over her areolae until sublime tension wrapped itself leisurely around her body.

  Devora moaned with pleasure at the feeling of him pressing against her, and she eased herself down onto him with a desperation borne of need. Only Rohan could evoke such powerful sensations, filling her entire being with a kaleidoscope of emotions.

  “Oh, yes.” She braced her hands on either side of his head and lifted her hips, allowing him to thrust in and out of her with increasing movements. Her body rubbed lusciously against him and expanded her ache to infinite depths.

  “Turn over.” Rohan clutched her hips, rolling them both over so that he was above her. He pushed her legs farther apart and sank into her with a hoarse groan. The slick length of his cock pounded into her as he began to work his hips back and forth. Pure sensation wiped out all reason and thought, leaving them submerged in the rough carnality of their union.

  Whimpers spilled from Devora’s through as she writhed heatedly underneath him, never wanting them to separate, never wanting this to end. She wrapped her legs around his thighs and clutched his buttocks to urge him even closer. His body slammed against hers with every thrust, his mouth open against her neck.

  Sensation flowed like an endless, eternal river. Devora pushed her hips up to increase the depth of their union, digging her fingers i
nto his buttocks when the pressure began to mount. His mouth covered hers, his lips muffling her cries.

  An orgasm broke with powerful sweetness over her, washing her in the scent, taste, and feel of both ecstasy and her lover. Rohan pushed into her with a long, slow stroke, filling her completely before he groaned low in his throat and succumbed to his own rapture.

  Devora clutched him to her, their chests heaving. She skimmed her hands over Rohan’s muscled back, suddenly wishing that she didn’t have to leave so soon. Rohan pressed his lips against her neck and moved to roll away from her.

  Devora tightened her arms around him, murmuring a sound of protest. “Don’t go.”

  “I am crushing you.” Rohan moved onto his back and pulled her on top of him. “Better.”

  With a contented sigh, Devora rested her head against his chest. She let her leg slide between his in a position that felt eternally natural. His heartbeat thumped into her ear, sounding as if it were pulsing into her body and her very blood. Tightness clenched Devora’s chest as she realized this might very well be the last time they were together.

  “What time must you leave tomorrow?” Rohan asked.

  “My train leaves at ten,” Devora said. Tears sprang into her eyes, and she was unable to prevent them from falling to dampen Rohan’s chest. “But I have to go back and pick up my belongings from the Thompsons.”

  Rohan eased his hand underneath her chin, lifting her face to look at him. He gazed at her for a long moment, wiping away a trail of tears with his thumb.

  “We’ll never see each other again,” Devora choked.

  “I would not say that. The universe holds many mysteries.”

  “Sod the universe,” Devora muttered. “I’d rather have you.”

  Rohan gave her a gentle smile and lifted his head to kiss her. “And I you.”

  “What was it you said the other day?” Devora asked. “When you told me I might know someday?”

  Rohan brushed his fingertips over her lips. “I said you were my bhagya,” he said. “My fate. And my prem. My love.”

  Devora stared at him. She couldn’t believe this inscrutable man would reveal something so poignant to her. “That’s what you said?”

  “Yes, that is what I said.”

  “Oh, Rohan.” Devora wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him, touched to the core that he would actually say that to her, even after everything they had been through. “And you meant it?”

  “I only say what I mean.”

  “I wish you could come to Bombay with me,” Devora confessed. “You probably shouldn’t stay in Calipore either. I suspect that no British family will hire you.”

  She reached out with her finger to trace the lines of his mouth. A thought suddenly occurred to her, one so daring and exciting that she could hardly believe it might be a possibility.

  She sat up, resting her hand on his chest. “Rohan, why don’t you?”

  “Why don’t I what?”

  “Come to Bombay with me.” Excitement lit in Devora’s eyes. “I have more than enough money to buy you a ticket.”

  “I have enough of my own money. I do not need you to pay for me.”

  “Does that mean you’ll come with me?” Devora asked.

  Rohan looked at her for a long minute, brushing her hair away from her face. The touch of his fingers was light and soothing. “I do not think that is wise. An Indian man and a British woman cannot travel together.”

  “We won’t be traveling together,” Devora pointed out. “This will be just like our trip to Agra. And I’ll have to ride in a separate car with the other British women anyway. We’ll just be on the same train, and we can meet at Victoria station in Bombay.”

  “And then what?” Rohan asked.

  Devora shrugged. “I don’t know. You’d have an easier time finding a job there, I know that much.”

  “True enough,” Rohan allowed. “But I could just as easily return to Delhi.”

  Devora sighed as disappointment lanced through her. “You know, you can be annoyingly practical when you want to be,” she said. “It was only a suggestion. If you don’t want to go, then don’t.”

  Rohan splayed his hands over her moist back, rubbing her skin with gentle strokes. “And a good suggestion.”

  Devora looked at him, hardly daring to believe this might work. “Really?”

  He smiled his beautiful smile that made the entire world brighten.

  “Oh, Rohan, how wonderful!” Devora threw her arms around him and hugged him. The light from his smile filled her entire soul. “I really didn’t want to let you go.”

  “Nor I you,” Rohan admitted. “You should not travel completely alone, anyhow. It is not safe for a British woman to do so.”

  “Wonderful, you can be my bodyguard,” Devora said wryly.

  “I would like to guard your body.” Amusement flashed in Rohan’s expression.

  “It’s yours to guard if you want to.” Devora kissed him again, sliding her tongue over the smooth surface of his teeth. Happiness filled her at the thought that their relationship not only didn’t have to end, but that they might even be able to start something new together. “And do other things with,” she murmured.

  “You are indeed a wicked woman, memsahib.”

  “Yes, I know. A wicked woman with an old soul. What on earth are you going to do with me?”

  Rohan’s hands curved over the globes of Devora’s bottom and pressed her pelvis against him.

  “Ah, Devora. I will think of something.”

  Devora lifted her head and stared at him, stunned by the sound of his deep voice saying her name. “What did you just call me?”

  “You have a lovely name.”

  “Say it again.”

  “Devora.” He said her name as if he were eating a chocolate, wrapping it around his tongue and tasting every subtle nuance.

  Warmth broke open inside Devora, spilling a sudden, incredible peace to every corner of her being. She smiled and stroked her hand through his hair.

  “That’s nice,” she murmured. “I like that.”

  “As do I, my Devora.”

  ***

  EPILOGUE

  London, 15 years later

  Devora set the old scrapbook aside and turned on the light above her desk. The approach of winter had begun to result in shorter days. Darkness invaded her workroom much sooner than it had before, but she didn’t mind since the windows overlooked the sky and her garden.

  There was a sublime pleasure in watching the sky and earth become submerged by the twilight. Devora gazed out the window for a moment at the sky painted with red and gold cloud-ribbons. Her garden below still bore remnants of blossoms and flourishing greenery, but soon a cloak of white snow would cover the grass and plants. How lovely it would be.

  Reluctantly breaking out of her reverie, Devora returned her attention to her latest array of drawings illustrating different aspects of Indian mythology. Her publisher had requested that she turn out at least ten watercolor paintings to include in her next book, and Devora was only too happy to comply.

  She couldn’t wait to see what color plates of her work would look like. Her last four books had been enormously successful, although the first one about the Khajuraho temples had to be published by an underground British publisher due to the sexual content. Still, that hadn’t prevented it from becoming a success.

  “Tea, memsahib?”

  Devora turned at the sound of the teasing, male voice. She smiled as Rohan entered the room with a tea tray in his hands and a package tucked under his arm.

  “Thank you,” Devora said. “You didn’t have to bring it up here. I could have come down.”

  “I know you are working hard.” Rohan set the tray down and poured two cups of tea. “Is it going well?”

  “Yes, very well. What’s in the package?”

  Rohan handed her the package. “From your publisher, I think.”

  Devora picked up a pair of scissors and cut open the package. Eager
ly, she reached inside and pulled out an advance copy of her next book.

  “Oh, look! The cover is beautiful.” Devora ran her hand over the glossy cover, admiring the gold lettering that read Parvati’s Wish: The Goddesses of India.

  “Yes, it is attractive,” Rohan agreed. He touched her hair gently. “I am very proud of you.”

  Devora smiled at him. His black hair was shot through with threads of gray now, and his abdomen had thickened slightly over the years, but Devora had never considered him to be more handsome as she did now.

  Fifteen years ago, she had stayed in Bombay for an entire year before booking passage to England. She hadn’t even considered the notion of Rohan returning with her until he casually mentioned something about always having wanted to see Westminster Abbey. He refused to take her money for a ticket, choosing instead to remain in Bombay and work until he had enough. Eight long months later, he had arrived in England.

  Devora soon realized that she couldn’t have imagined what her life would be like without him. Of course, it hadn’t been easy since their relationship was hardly acceptable by social standards, but neither of them cared. They had been through too much to let a little thing like society stand in their way.

  “The publisher is going to find out about distributing it in India,” Devora said. “I hope they do. Then perhaps we’ll have an excuse to take a trip back there.”

  Rohan shook his head. “There is much unrest in India now,” he said. “I do not know what will happen, but the Indians are determined to free themselves from British control.”

  “As well they should,” Devora muttered. “I heard Gerald is still there, only he’s in Calcutta now. Apparently he’s a top official in the freedom negotiations, only of course on the British side.”

  Rohan shrugged. “We all live according to a certain destiny.”

  “Really? And what was mine?”

  “To go to India and discover the true nature of your old soul,” Rohan replied. “Your soul needed to find the place of its birth.”

  Devora lifted an eyebrow skeptically. “You mean I was a withered, Indian woman in a previous life?”