Veils of Silk

by Mary Jo Putney

  With a knowing smile, the young widow offered several ideas that were so imaginative that Laura began laughing. "There is much to be said for the education of an Indian lady. I wonder if the staid English school I attended would be willing to add courses on 'How to please your husband.'"

  "It would be a very good thing," Meera said seriously. "A wife who can satisfy her man in bed will have a happier life."

  "As will her husband." Thinking of the erotic sculptures in the cave temple, Laura shook her head. "If my headmistress, Miss Givens, tried to give her young ladies such practical lessons in England, she'd be in jail the next day." Laura finished her tea, then swung her feet from the bed. "I think I'll wear the blue muslin dress."

  "Very good, memsahib." But instead of going for the garment, Meera said shyly, "Zafir has asked me to marry him."

  "He has?" Laura said, surprised. "I knew that he admired you, but I hadn't realized it was marriage he had in mind. Are you going to accept?"

  "I think so," Meera said with a mixture of pride and doubt. "Unless you know any reason I should not."

  Hearing a faint question in the girl's voice, Laura said reassuringly, "My husband has never had anything but praise for Zafir. He is, I believe, a man of courage and honor. Also good-natured, which is a valuable trait in a husband."

  "Don't forget handsome," Meera added impishly. "Or hadn't you noticed?"

  Laura chuckled. "I've noticed. He could turn any woman's head." More seriously, she said, "The only question I have is about the differences in your backgrounds. Do you think that will be a problem?"

  "That is also the only question I have. There will be difficulties," Meera admitted. "Yet I no longer have a place among my own people. Zafir wants me and I want him. Do you think that is enough?"

  Laura smiled ruefully. "I'm no expert, Meera. But wanting each other is a good beginning."

  * * *

  Ian stayed out all day, sending a message to Laura that he wouldn't be back for dinner and she shouldn't wait up for him. During his time away, he thought that he had become resigned to the situation, for there was a certain bleak justice in it. Then he returned, and it had taken almost nothing to trigger his desire again—just a single touch.

  It was hard to deal with Laura's casual warmth when they were alone together. Her affectionate nature would be wonderful if they had a normal marriage. Under present circumstances, it was harrowing.

  It was late when he finally returned to the apartment. As he stepped in the door, a tidal wave of rose scent engulfed him. The drawing room smelled as if someone had dropped a crate of expensive perfume. A good thing he liked attar of roses.

  Laura was already in her bedroom, though a line of lamplight at the door showed that she was still awake. He went silently into his room, hoping to get to bed unnoticed. As he was removing his eye patch, his wife called out, "Ian, is that you?"

  Caught. "Yes. Sorry to disturb you."

  With an odd note in her voice, she said, "You're not disturbing me. Could you come in here? I've found something that I think you'll find interesting."

  Assuming that Laura's search through her uncle's papers had finally paid off, Ian went through the curtained doorway that connected their rooms. "What is it?"

  He would have said more, but the sight that met his gaze rendered him speechless. His wife was not poring over a yellowed volume but standing in the middle of the room, her splendid figure swathed in an almost transparent sari, and her tawny hair cascading luxuriantly over her shoulders. She was as provocative as a Hindu goddess come to life, or the ancient Siren whose song bewitched men to their deaths.

  And everywhere there were rose petals. No, not everywhere, the bed was clear. But a richly scented carpet of pink petals covered the floor inches deep, mounding into drifts and tumbling over Laura's elegant bare toes. The fragrance and color struck him with the impact of a physical blow, disordering his senses and blurring the line between reality and fantasy.

  Ian knew that he must get out before it was too late, but already he was too paralyzed to move. Didn't she have any idea of the effect she was having on him? Yes, dammit, she must. "Bloody hell, Laura," he swore. "Are you deliberately trying to drive me crazy?"

  "No!" Her slanted amber eyes were wide and anxious. "What I'm trying to do—what I found—is a new understanding."

  Slowly she walked toward him, the voluptuous scent of roses spiraling up at every step as petals crushed beneath her bare feet. He couldn't take his gaze off the subtle sway of her breasts, which were clearly visible beneath the translucent silk of her sari. It was obvious that the only thing beneath the garment was enticing woman.

  Stopping an arm's length away, she said, "While you were gone, I had a long discussion with Kamala about the nature of passion. It made me realize that I had everything backward— that trying to suppress desire was actually making it more dangerous." She swallowed, the graceful line of her throat taut. "The time has come for me to stop trying to hide from passion and accept that it is an essential part of my nature."

  Wondering if his wits were being addled by roses, he said, "You'd better spell out what you mean. When I've tried to interpret your wishes in the past, the results have been wretched."

  Color rose in her cheeks. "I know that my vacillation and confusion have been hard on you," she faltered. "You've been amazingly understanding. But now I'm through with vacillating. I hope you're still willing to... to make this a real marriage."

  Willing? If she wanted him to cut his heart out, he'd ask her for a knife. But this was too sudden. Though he could see in her face that something fundamental had changed, he had learned the hard way that what appeared to be good fortune was probably not. His restored potency had proved to be a bitter blessing, and now his instincts shouted that Laura's change of mind might have equally unpredictable and painful repercussions.

  He knew that he should retreat and take the time to think, to examine the black corner of his spirit that was warning him that nothing good could come of this. He didn't deserve unmitigated happiness, and any joy he found with his wife would have to be paid for by a piece of his soul.

  But he couldn't draw back, not even to save his life, and that was brutal proof of his weakness. "Ah, God, Laura, you must know that I can't resist you," he said, aching.

  "That's what I was hoping," she said with a smile as tremulous as dawn.

  As always, he was fascinated by her combination of fair coloring and slanted Oriental eyes, as unique and unpredictable as the woman herself. He caught a handful of her shining hair, the color of polished oak, the texture of moonbeams, and brushed it against his cheek, half expecting her to vanish because this whole magical scene was just a fantasy. But she didn't. Instead, she turned her head and kissed his fingers where they twined through her hair.

  Fierce animal passion surged through him. He wanted to drag her down among the rose petals and mate with mindless abandon. But that would be too quickly done, and he dared not waste this priceless opportunity. His mind was momentarily too clouded by lust to have room for self-reproach, but once desire had been slaked, bleakness would take root, tainting future intimacy. He must make the most of tonight. In the future he would never be able to enjoy his wife's wondrous sweetness with as much freedom as now, when her darkness was receding and his darkness had not yet invaded the same space.

  He tilted her head up for a kiss. Her arms came around his neck, her breasts crushing against him, and he tasted the hunger in her. He deliberately muted his response, setting a pace that would allow them time to savor what had passed too quickly the first time they had made love.

  He lifted his head and studied her face. In the depths of her eyes was joy, tempered by lingering anxiety. It couldn't be easy for her to put aside the fears that had ruled her for so long. Softly he said, "You are so lovely, Larishka. Bewitching enough to drive a man mad. I don't think I'll be able to bear it if you change your mind again."

  "That won't happen," she said, her eyes wide and earnest.
"Not this time. Not ever again."

  The only jewelry she wore was the necklace that Meera had given her. The delicate gold chain drew attention to her flawless skin, which was as finely textured as the petals that surrounded them. Delicious. Irresistible. He pressed his lips to the hollow below her ear, then trailed his tongue along her throat until he reached the cool gold links of the chain.

  Laura exhaled with a breathy sound and her head fell back, her pliant body arching over his supportive arm. She was so trusting that tenderness immobilized him and became anguish. How could she trust him when he was so undeserving?

  Before the thought could take hold and poison his pleasure in the moment, he said, "This time I'm going to see all of you."

  The sari was draped in an improvised style, without a blouse, so that one shoulder was bare, the other covered, rather like a Roman toga. The silk was so sheer that the darker circles that tipped her full breasts and the small shadow of her navel were visible even through half a dozen layers of fabric.

  He untucked the sari where it was folded across her breasts, then lifted it away from her, unwinding the fabric like thread from a spool. Laura made a dance of it, turning slowly, a seductive smile on her face, her gaze catching his each time she came around. The luscious curves of her body became more visible as every rotation removed another veil of silk.

  The last length of fabric slithered away in a rush, landing on the floor as a hazy splash across the pink petals, leaving Laura fully revealed. Mouth dry, he said, "You are even more beautiful than I dreamed. A fantasy come to life."

  "My figure used to embarrass me," she said, a little shy at her nakedness. "Too much of everything to be ladylike."

  He laughed. "Everything is exactly right. Not a straight line anywhere."

  He had wanted to look, but now he had to touch. Placing his hands on her shoulders, he caressed the hollows above her collarbones with his thumbs. "Skin like the very finest polished wood, smooth and alive."

  He splayed his fingers outward, then skimmed his hands down her sides, trying to memorize all the complex contours. "A waist so slim I can circle it with my hands.'' He demonstrated, loving the way her torso tapered down, then flared into ripe, inviting hips. "Gorgeous shapely legs."

  Smiling with pleasure, she reached for his shirt. "Now it's my turn to see you." As she undid his buttons, her fingertips grazed his chest, sending hot jolts of sensation crackling through him. He caught his breath, knowing how hard it would be to make love properly when his minx of a wife could dissolve his will with a touch.

  She peeled off his coat, then tugged his shirttails loose and pulled the shirt over his head. When his torso was bare, she gave a low sigh of satisfaction and leaned forward to nuzzle her face against his shoulder, her lips soft against his skin, her silky sweep of hair gliding over his chest and ribs. "You're rather gorgeous yourself." She began nipping at him with light, teasing bites that splintered what was left of his control.

  With sudden furious impatience, he bent over and dragged his boots off. He was about to remove the rest of his clothing when Laura, laughing, caught his hand and pulled him down to the floor. He went willingly, catching her in his arms and rolling her over for a kiss. The scent of a thousand roses exploded around them, the petals a cushion as soft as crushed silk.

  Cutting through the sweet, clear fragrance of roses was the heady aroma of Laura's perfume, an alluring feminine scent that somehow intensified her Lauraness. He molded her magnificent breasts with his hands, then buried his face between them, rubbing back and forth, entranced by the creamy smoothness.

  A faint rasping sound reminded him that he hadn't shaved since that morning, and when he raised his head he saw that his whiskers had left faint red marks. "Sorry," he said huskily, using his mouth and tongue to solace any soreness.

  He couldn't seem to get enough of the sight and feel of her breasts. And the taste, ah, yes, the taste. His lips closed over one dusky nipple. Laura shuddered, her hips rocking against him. As he moved to the other nipple, her nails bit into his back, then slid under his waistband to dig into his buttocks.

  Swearing mentally for not having taken the time to get fully undressed, he rolled onto one hip and unbuttoned himself, a process that was complicated by Laura's unskilled but eager fingers. When she slipped her hand into his trousers and touched his hardened flesh, he gasped and his vision darkened. Nothing in his past had prepared him for this degree of desire, for never had he known a woman like this one.

  With one swift movement, he yanked off his close-fitting trousers, stirring up a floral flurry in the process. As petals fluttered in all directions, he pressed Laura onto her back and caught both of her hands in one of his, pinning her wrists to the floor above her head so that her breasts lifted. Her golden eyes were feral, and she squirmed against him in wordless demand. "Slow down, lassie," he murmured.

  Restlessly she drew up one leg. He leaned over and kissed the fragile skin on the inside of her thigh. She moaned, and the sound vibrated through him like temple bells. He spread his hand over her belly and kneaded the gentle curve, then drew the heel down over soft, curling tan hair.

  She made a dark, wild noise deep in her throat and began grinding her pelvis into his palm, her desire the sharpest aphrodisiac he had ever known. Another scent joined the enticing potpourri that surrounded them, this one the sweet saltiness of female arousal.

  He slid his fingers through the dainty curls and began to caress her intimately. The moist, petal-like mysteries of her body were lovelier than the blossoms around them. She made a choking sound when he began stroking the bud that was the most sensitive spot of all. "Please, now," she panted. "Please."

  Knowing that she was as ready, as desperate, as he, he released her wrists and rolled onto his knees, then braced himself above her. Her arms came around his ribs and she opened easily to his penetration, sheathing him with a clasp like hot, liquid velvet. He entered her slowly, but with smooth, inexorable power. At the point of deepest invasion he held still for a moment, his sexual balance as precarious as a tightrope walker.

  She gave a low moan of distress as he withdrew, then cried out when he thrust again. Convulsions rippled through her, and she tightened around him in hard, rapid spasms that swept away his balance. He surged into her again and again, until he reached the taut point where madness splintered into peace.

  Throbbing and light-headed, he subsided onto her, wondering if he would ever move again. "I'm very, very glad that you didn't change your mind this time," he whispered.

  "So am I, doushenka."

  With tension released, the only sound was that of their breathing as it gradually returned to normal rhythms. Ian was thinking that he had better move before he crushed Laura when she slid her fingers into his hair and murmured, "I love you, Ian. Thank God you came into my life."

  Her words ripped through his surface contentment, baring the darkness below. He would never have answered as he did if he hadn't been physically and emotionally drained. But all of his barriers were down and before he could stop himself, he said, "I wish to God that you wouldn't say that."

  Chapter 28

  Unable to believe that she'd heard correctly, Laura turned her head and stared at her husband, whose face was only inches away. There was a bleakness in his expression that hurt her heart. Uncertainly she said, "Ian?"

  In an instant he masked his emotions so smoothly that it was as if the darkness had never been there. "Just muttering to myself, Larishka." He smiled and kissed her, his expressions so tender that she almost believed that she'd misunderstood. Almost.

  Lightly he said, "It's too cool to spend the night on the floor, even with a blanket of rose petals." He raised his head and looked measuringly at the bed. "I wonder if I have enough strength left to get us that far."

  Laura could have managed to move, though she was disinclined to try, but no effort was required of her. Ian got to his knees, then scooped her in his arms, stood, and carried her to the bed. His prison gauntness had
been replaced by hard, sculpted muscles. Trying to forget her husband's disquieting remark, Laura touched a ragged scar on his bicep. "Did one of your souvenir bullets cause this?"

  "Yes. That happened when I was a newly fledged subaltern without the sense to know when to duck." He laid her on the bed, then began brushing petals from her with tantalizing care. "I recall reading that Cleopatra once welcomed Mark Antony in a room knee-deep in rose petals, but the book didn't mention whether they also ended up with petals in such interesting places."

  With a soft sigh of pleasure, Laura said, "Having you remove them is part of the fun." She proceeded to brush him off wherever she could reach without having to move from her supine position. "Because you were on top, you don't seem to have acquired as many petals as I did, but your knees are pink.''

  "A small price to pay." He pulled back the covers and tucked her under, then lay down himself. "I'm almost afraid to ask, but exactly what changed your mind about physical intimacy?"

  The rose scent was less obvious now that Laura had become accustomed to it, but it still stirred her nostrils with delicate sweetness. She felt as if they were drifting on a magical sea of blossoms. Turning so that her head was on his shoulder and her arm across his waist, she described her discussion with Kamala.

  When she was finished, Ian said pensively, "The maharani was right. Passion denied can become so overpowering that nothing else matters. I should have realized that myself, but I was too close to be objective. We owe Kamala a considerable debt. Life will be easier for both of us now, as well as far more pleasurable." His arms still around her, he drifted off, his breathing becoming slow and regular.

  But for Laura, sleep wouldn't come in spite of her languid satisfaction. Their physical union had been deeply rewarding and promised to get even better in the future.

  Her fears of being swept away to madness were largely gone, so remote it was hard to remember how vivid they had been only a few days before. And though she knew her capacity for possessiveness was great, she didn't believe Ian would give her cause for jealousy. Not for him the casual sex in which her father had so thoughtlessly, and disastrously, indulged.