Veils of Silk

by Mary Jo Putney

  As guests of honor, Ian and Laura were immediately surrounded. For a while there was an informal receiving line, with people greeting Ian and then being presented to Laura. It was a blur of names and faces, except for Blanche Baskin, who wore a gown so low that she risked pneumonia even in India. After brushing aside Laura's thanks for the loan of Premula, she floated away in the company of three men.

  During the rush, David stood beside Laura and told her what she should know about the people she was meeting. When the press finally thinned, he said, "Care to dance? A waltz will seem restful by comparison."

  Laura accepted her brother-in-law's offer with pleasure. "I hope I also have the chance to dance with Ian tonight. Do you know, he and I have never danced together?"

  As they stepped onto the floor, David said. "The disadvantage of a whirlwind courtship. I'm sure the lack will be remedied tonight."

  Laura's dancing was no more than adequate, but David turned out to be excellent. As they whirled across the floor, he said, "I want to thank you, Laura."

  "For what?" she said, puzzled.

  "For marrying Ian. When he first returned, he seemed on the edge of a breakdown. I was worried about him." David's pensive gaze went across the room to where his older brother stood in the center of a knot of people. "But he seems like a different man now. While he still has some way to go, I know that he'll be all right. I suspect that much of the credit should go to you."

  "Some, perhaps," Laura said. "But Ian has been as good for me as I have been for him. When we met, my stepfather had just died and I was in dire need of a shoulder to cry on."

  David smiled. "Isn't that what marriage is supposed to be—two people caring about and helping each other?"

  "I don't know yet," she confessed. "I've only been married a fortnight. When I can speak with authority, I'll let you know."

  David chuckled and spun her into one last flourish as the music ended. Again Laura sensed strong feeling emanating from her brother-in-law. He really did find her attractive— and the feeling was mutual—but what mattered was that he had accepted her into the family without question. If the rest of the Camerons were even half as nice, she would have no problems.

  The waltz over, David said, "I see at least six men coming this way to plead for dances. There are never enough women here, much less attractive ones, so if you wish, you'll be able to dance holes into your slippers."

  She glanced up at him with a laugh. "Then introduce me first to the ones who are least likely to step on my toes."

  David did exactly as requested. As Laura smiled and stepped into the next dance with a cavalry captain, she knew that she had been correct in thinking that she would have a splendid time this evening. She hoped Ian was doing as well.

  * * *

  After half a dozen dances, Laura excused herself to go to the ladies' retiring room so she could catch her breath. The luxurious chamber had a large mirror which revealed that her hair was living a wild, free life of its own, and that her gown was even more daring than she had thought.

  It was too late to do anything about her décolletage, but she tidied her hair, then sponged her face with cool water. After drying it with a lavender-scented towel, Laura subsided onto a wicker sofa and began wielding her lace fan. For the moment the lounge was empty of guests, and she reveled in the quiet.

  The door opened and she glanced up to see a petite blond girl enter. The newcomer was stunning, with bright golden hair and porcelain features that perfectly fulfilled the fashionable ideal of beauty.

  The girl halted and placed one hand on the back of a chair, her fingertips biting into the wicker. "I'm Mrs. Gerald Phelps," she said in a faltering voice. "I know that we haven't been introduced, Lady Falkirk, but I must talk with you."

  Laura noted that the girl was pregnant, and from her pallor, she seemed on the verge of fainting. Concerned, Laura said, "Are you feeling unwell? Should I call someone?"

  The blond girl perched nervously on the edge of the chair and delved into her reticule. "I'm well enough. I want to speak because I... I have something I must give you."

  "Oh, dear." Laura's hands flew up to check her sapphire earrings. "Have I been shedding bits and pieces?"

  "This has nothing to do with tonight. You see, before my marriage I was Georgina Whitman." She said the name as if it was all the explanation required. Finding what she wanted in her reticule, she handed the small object to Laura.

  Laura blinked with surprise when she found herself holding a very handsome diamond ring.

  Speaking quickly, Georgina said, "I know I should have given the ring directly to Ian, but the one time I saw him after he came back, I was too stunned to think of it. Then he was gone, and since he returned to Cambay, there has been no opportunity. I suppose I could have contrived one, but it would have been... awkward. Even more awkward than speaking to you."

  Her fingers twined together. "After Ian was reported dead, I tried to give the ring to David, but he was sure that Ian would have wanted me to keep it, so I did. But of course Ian's survival changed everything, so the ring must be returned."

  Numbly Laura gazed at the ring. A sizable center diamond was surrounded by a circle of tiny brilliants. It was most impressive; India was known for fine gems, like the sapphires around Laura's own throat.

  She raised her gaze to Georgina. So Ian had wanted to marry this golden creature, who came from his world, was lovelier than Laura would ever be, and had enough honor to do something she found very difficult.

  Laura would have preferred to be able to hate Georgina, but she couldn't. In a handful of words the younger woman had sketched a betrothal, Ian's presumed death, another marriage, and, by implication, a hideous shock when Ian had returned from the grave. Hardly surprising that the girl was distressed.

  Obviously Georgina assumed that Laura knew about the broken engagement, and Laura would rather have her nails torn out with red-hot pincers than admit her ignorance. Trying to keep her voice even, she said, "That's very generous of you, Mrs. Phelps, but are you sure you don't want to keep the ring? Given the unusual circumstances, Ian didn't expect you to return it."

  "Oh, no, no, I couldn't possibly keep it. My husband..." Georgina's voice choked off.

  "Ian's return must have been very upsetting for you," Laura said sympathetically. She glanced at Georgina's waistline. "I hope your health hasn't been affected?"

  Georgina put her hand on her stomach. "Oh, my health is fine, or at least, normal for a woman in my condition. The only problem is... the shock... since Ian came back we haven't... my husband won't... I don't know how..." Her agonized words came to a complete halt, and she flushed and looked away.

  Yes, Ian's return had caused trouble. Laura felt reluctant compassion for the girl. On the other hand, she wanted to murder Ian. Slowly.

  Part of her wanted to pitch the ring out the nearest window, but it was too valuable for such cavalier treatment, so for safety's sake Laura unwillingly slipped it on her right hand. "I'm sure that things will sort themselves out in time, Mrs. Phelps," she said gently.

  Her speech was interrupted when several women entered the lounge, which was fortunate because Laura had no idea what to say next. Getting to her feet, she bid a polite farewell to Georgina, whose color was better now that she had discharged her duty.

  But Georgina's peace of mind had come at Laura's expense. As Laura returned to the ball, she wondered with deep, smoldering fury how many other surprises her husband had in store for her.

  * * *

  A bright-eyed young subaltern said, "Sir, do you think we'll be sending troops to Central Asia soon? We need to secure Bokhara and the other khanates before the Russians do."

  Ian sighed. Another fire-breathing disciple of the "forward" policy, which preached that continuous expansion was necessary to protect existing British territories. "I have no idea what the government's policy is, but having been to Central Asia I can testify that the mountains and deserts make the khanates almost impossible to invade. The Rus
sians have mounted several expeditions under conditions more favorable than we can manage, and they've met disaster every time."

  "But now that Afghanistan is under our control," the subaltern replied, respectful but undeterred, "we have a perfect base for launching operations deeper into Asia."

  "Afghanistan is not under British control," Ian said dryly. "Replacing a capable, popular ruler like Dost Mohammed with a weak, despised puppet of our own was one of the stupidest things the British government ever did. If we didn't have several regiments in Kabul to back him up, Shah Shuja would be off the throne in a fortnight. The Afghanis might revolt and attack our garrison at any time. They don't like our heavy-handed brand of statesmanship, and I can't say as I blame them."

  A colonel frowned. "For a British officer to say that is damned near treason, Falkirk."

  "I am no longer an officer," Ian retorted, "so I feel no obligation to disguise my real opinions. The British are on thin ice in Afghanistan, and it could break at any time."

  The subaltern said, "But they're just a bunch of savages. They can't match trained British troops."

  "Probably not in a pitched battle," Ian agreed, "but I know those 'savages' rather well, and they are some of the finest warriors in the world. Not only are they fearless, but they are fighting on their own ground. I wouldn't want them at my back if I were launching an attack on Khiva or Bokhara."

  An uneasy silence fell on the group, broken when a new arrival said, "How did you manage to escape from Bokhara, Falkirk? Is it true that your little sister brought in two camels' worth of gold and ransomed you?"

  The story of his escape was one that Ian had repeated often, but at least it had no political implications. As he recounted the facts for the dozenth time, he thought that it was a miracle that he was still civil and coherent after two hours of being caught in a cannon barrage of voices and faces. But there were old friends present whom he was genuinely glad to see, so the evening wasn't quite as difficult as he'd expected.

  What was difficult was watching Laura's triumph, for there wasn't a man at the ball who wasn't entranced by her. When Ian first saw her dancing with David, a surge of visceral, possessive anger swept through him. For the first time in over two decades, Ian had wanted to strangle his younger brother. David was obviously half in love with Laura already, and unlike Ian, he was whole and sane.

  Even during an attack of irrationality, Ian knew that David could be trusted to behave himself, but the same couldn't be said of others. It appeared as if every officer in Cambay wanted to dance with Laura, and she was obliging them all. Laughing and drinking champagne that had been chilled in ice from the Himalayas, his wife was a bewitching temptress. She had the kind of sensual allure that drew men like bees to honey even if a woman was plain as a fencepost— and Laura was no fencepost.

  Though he had never thought of himself as a jealous man, his anger increased whenever he caught a glimpse of his wife. He had never been troubled by Georgina's flirting, but then he had been whole, calmly sure of his ability to satisfy his woman. Now he was infuriated by the way other men were openly admiring Laura's luscious figure and tumbling bronze hair. And they were normal men who could give her what he couldn't.

  As the evening advanced, again and again Ian's brooding gaze went to his wife. He wanted to sweep her away from her admirers and teach her the lessons in sensuality that her awakened body was wordlessly asking for. He knew that he could satisfy her, for he had not lost the skills of hands and mouth, or his understanding of what pleased a woman.

  But he was afraid to try, for limited lovemaking contained the potential for catastrophe. Once Laura had tasted the forbidden fruit of passion, she might develop an appetite that would lead her to the bed of a man who could teach her the final lesson.

  Ian's fraying control snapped when he realized that his wife had left the ballroom. Half convinced that she had gone out into the balmy night with one of her admirers, Ian broke away from the group that still surrounded him. "Excuse me, but I'd like a dance with my wife before the night is over."

  He began to work his way toward the doors that led onto the veranda. He was passing a small knot of cavalry officers when one said, "Leave it to Ian Cameron to go to a backwater like Baipur and come back with the most beddable female in India."

  Ian spun about. "And what is that supposed to mean?" he said, his tone menacing.

  The young officers blinked back at him, startled and uneasy. Two were acquaintances of his, the others strangers. One ventured, "Entirely a compliment, sir. Lovely girl. Very gracious. Every inch a lady."

  Another chimed in, "We all envy you."

  At least that was more polite than referring to her as "beddable." Realizing that he was in danger of making a complete idiot of himself, Ian nodded curtly and continued his hunt for his errant wife. As he searched the crowd, he saw that she had reappeared on the edge of the dance floor.

  Before she could brighten the next slavering fool's evening, Ian stalked over to her. Sourly he noted how the shimmering blue gown clung to her lush curves and made every breath she drew an exercise in provocation. "Shall we go out for some fresh air, madame?" he said, taking hold of her elbow. "The club gardens are very fine, and there's a small boating lake as well."

  She gazed up at him, her topaz eyes narrow and glittering. "What a splendid idea."

  Ignoring people who wanted to talk to him, Ian guided them outdoors and onto one of the walks that threaded through the verdant greenery. As they moved away from the sounds of revelry, he said in a voice pitched low so that no one would hear, "You certainly seem to be enjoying yourself."

  "Isn't that the point of a ball?" From the tautness on Ian's face, Laura guessed that he was having a difficult evening. She probably shouldn't raise the subject of Georgina, but her anger proved stronger than her compunctions. Voice edged, she began, "I was having a wonderful time—until a few minutes ago."

  Before she could elaborate, he said harshly, "A pity that you must suffer the company of your husband when there are so many more amusing men present, but I could no longer stand still and watch the vulgar display you were making of yourself.''

  "The vulgar display I was making?" she said, so astonished she forgot her own anger. "What on earth do you mean?"

  "I mean that I am surprised and not pleased to find that my modest bride has such a talent for acting like a trollop," he said through gritted teeth. "You were flirting and dancing with every man in four regiments. You weren't just dancing. You were all but offering yourself on a platter."

  After a speechless moment, she retorted, "I was dancing with your friends in plain sight of half of Cambay! If that's acting like a trollop, I must plead guilty. I thought men wanted their wives to be a credit to them. Would you rather I wore sackcloth and was rude to everyone you know?"

  Using unnecessary force, he batted aside a branch of spice-scented blossoms that overhung the path. "Sackcloth would be preferable to a gown that barely covers you and is in danger of falling off at any moment!"

  Outraged, she said, "Half the women here are wearing gowns that are cut lower!"

  "But none of them have your figure," he said grimly.

  She glanced down at herself in disbelief. "This is the body God gave me, and it's a normal female body."

  "You have a figure like one of the women in a Hindu erotic sculpture, and the way you were flaunting it, every man at the ball couldn't help but notice." They reached the little lake and Ian steered them to the right along the path that followed the bank. "Is this your first visit to the gardens? It appeared as if every man at the ball was doing his best to get you into the shrubbery. Surely one or two of them were successful."

  "What is that supposed to mean?" she said, her voice dangerous.

  "It means," he said tightly, "that I wonder just how far you have disgraced me."

  "How dare you speak to me like this?" Laura tried to pull her arm away, but his grip was too strong. "I have behaved with perfect propriety, but ever since arrivi
ng at Cambay, I've been told more about your rakish past than I ever wanted to know."

  "Trying to change the subject?" he said furiously. "That's a classic way of drawing attention away from one's own lapses.''

  Laura wrenched herself from his grasp, so enraged that the intensity of her anger frightened her. The distant voice of reason said that she should get away from Ian before one of them said something unforgivable, but he was between her and the club.

  She spun on her heel and stalked out to the end of the low dock that jutted into the lake, her hands clenched into fists.

  Ian followed her and caught her arm again, turning her to face him. "Have you nothing to say for yourself?"

  "I certainly do!" She raised her right hand and the diamond ring flashed in the moonlight. "Recognize this, Lord Falkirk? Your former fiancée returned it to me."

  As Ian stared at the ring, taken aback, Laura said with lethal precision, "I've now met your former mistress, your former fiancée, plus a genuine trollop who expressed regret that she never managed to seduce you. Though for all I know, Mrs. Baskin was successful but wanted to spare my feelings." When he didn't reply, she snapped, "If you wanted a harem, you should have stayed in Bokhara and turned Muslim."

  An expression of unspeakable pain crossed his face and his grip tightened bruisingly on her arm. For a horrible instant she feared that he was going to hit her, but he mastered himself.

  "That is all in the past," he said, voice shaking. "Your misbehavior is in the present. I thought I was marrying a lady."

  "I'm no lady! 'm a Russian trollop, remember?" She knocked his hand away from her arm. "I was wrong, too! I thought my husband was a reasonable man. Dear God, it was a mistake to marry you against my better judgment!"

  Her words cut the air like a dagger. There was a long, suffocated silence before Ian said in a voice strained to breaking point, "If you want to end the marriage, you have grounds for annulment."

  With horror, Laura saw how close to disaster the argument had brought them. Yes, she could get an annulment, if she revealed what Ian had told her after asking her to swear secrecy.