Laura must have still been a bit sleepy, or she never would have asked, "Why did you resign?"
He raised his head and gave her a hard glance that made her sorry she had asked, but before she could withdraw the question, he said tersely, "I'd had enough of the army."
Wanting to smooth over the awkward moment, she said, "Thank you for... taking care of so many things. The funeral, the guns, everything. I don't know what I would have done without you."
He began rubbing the pieces of the firing mechanism with an oiled rag. In the ruddy firelight, his face was a dramatic collection of shadows and sharp planes, both fascinating and disquieting. "One way or another, you would have managed."
"I suppose. But you made everything much easier." She gazed into the fire. "Strange how quickly things can change. A day and a half ago I had a life and a family. Now they're both gone. I'll find something to fill in the empty spaces, but I have no idea what. The idea is a bit frightening."
Ian frowned as he held the gun barrel to the fire, peering through it to check for cleanliness. "You've no family at all?"
"Pyotr Andreyovich was the last. I suppose there are some distant cousins in Russia, but none that I remember. My first father was an only child, so there are no near relations on that side. My mother had two older brothers, but one, Sergei, died fighting Napoleon before I was born, and Uncle Pyotr never married. So now there is just me."
"What about Stephenson's family? They may not be blood relations, but you've been one of them for years."
Laura's mouth hardened. "They didn't really approve of his marriage to a wild Russian. My mother was too dramatic and unconventional for them—like a peacock among pigeons. She and I were tolerated for my stepfather's sake, but never welcomed."
Ian began to reassemble the shotgun. "It's hard to imagine having no relatives. I don't see mine very often, but knowing that they exist is a kind of anchor in the world."
"Be grateful they're an anchor, not a millstone."
"I've some of both sorts." He gave a faint smile that softened his features. "Do you have plans for the future, Miss Stephenson? Or haven't you had time to think about that?"
"If I'm to call you Ian, you must call me Laura." She smiled wryly. "I've only known you for a day, but it seems much longer."
"You don't like the name Lara? Pyotr always called you that, and the name suits you. It's unusual."
"I'd really prefer Laura. I'm used to it, and besides, there's nothing unusual about me," she said uneasily. "I'm a thoroughly unremarkable female. As for plans... I really don't know. My father left me a bit of income, enough for me to survive, but not much more, so I suppose I'll go to a city and look for employment. I'd make a decent teacher or governess, and the work would save me from boredom. After running my father's household for years, I'm used to being busy."
"That sort of menial job would be burdensome for a woman used to being independent." He hesitated a moment. "I know it's none of my business, but marriage and family are what most women want. It's to your credit that you chose to make a home for your stepfather, but now he's gone. India must be full of men who would be honored if you would accept them. In return, you would have comfort, family, and the security of being loved."
He sounded just like her stepfather. Laura recalled that she had told Kenneth that she would look for a husband if he died. She dismissed the promise; she had given it only for his peace of mind. Wanting to avoid the topic of marriage, she said, "I don't know if I'll stay in India. I might return to England."
He reassembled the shotgun, the barrel locking into place with a decisive snap. "Then you won't want a husband whose career will keep him here. But for a woman as attractive as you, there will be eager suitors wherever you go."
Though the words were a compliment, his manner was so detached as to be downright irritating. He might say she was attractive, but he certainly didn't act as if he believed his own words. Tartly she said, "To be honest, I really don't wish to tie myself to a husband. I've gotten along without one perfectly well for twenty-four years and I don't see the need to marry now. I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."
He gave her an appraising glance. "You sound like a woman who has been pestered on this subject before. My apologies."
He saw more with one eye than most people saw with two. Hastily Laura said, "Are we leaving for Baipur in the morning? I was so distracted yesterday that I didn't make any preparations, but there's no reason to stay here any longer."
He lifted her father's rifle and began to break it down for cleaning. "Unfortunately there's still the man-eater. With your father gone, the responsibility for killing it has devolved on me—this afternoon the headman asked if I'd have a go at it."
"I'd forgotten about the tiger," she admitted. "Tracking the man-eater could take days or weeks."
"I'm afraid so," he said apologetically. "You might prefer to return to Baipur with your servants rather than wait for me to escort you. While I won't stay here indefinitely, I should try for at least a fortnight before giving up."
Laura hesitated, feeling that the decision of whether to stay or go back alone was beyond her. "I'll wait and see. Perhaps you'll shoot the beast on your first attempt."
"That could happen. The villagers have been diligent, wanting everything ready for when your father came. They've built a a platform, at a water hole that the tiger visits regularly." He used the cleaning rod to push an oiled rag down the rifle's barrel, scrubbing up and down to remove all the corrosive grains of black powder. "The moon will be almost full tonight, so they'll stake out a kid as bait. If the tiger cooperates, it might be all over by tomorrow."
"I assume you've hunted tigers before."
"Yes, though it's been five years." He began rubbing the rifle's hammer with the oiled rag, his expression distant. "The last time was when my brother-in-law visited and I took him hunting in the hill country north of Cambay. We spent several days stalking a tiger before cornering it in a rocky gorge. Ross was in the best position for a shot, so I waited for him to take it. But he didn't fire, even when the tiger whirled and charged right at him. Ross went down, and I was sure he'd been killed—scared the devil out of me. I took a wild shot at the tiger and missed, then went to Ross, expecting to find him in bloody pieces. Instead, he was fine. He had deliberately dropped to the ground to let the tiger bolt by him and escape."
Ian's voice took on a tinge of self-mockery. "I was so relieved that he was all right that naturally I lost my temper and started roaring furiously at him, telling him how many kinds of an idiot he was. Ross patiently waited me out— he's the most reasonable man I know, it's his only fault—then said that he had decided that the tiger skin looked better on the original owner than it would on his wall. Besides, what kind of sport was it when he had a rifle and the tiger didn't?"
Laura chuckled. "He may have a point."
"So I realized after I calmed down. A tiger is a magnificent animal—perhaps it's jealousy that makes men want to hunt them down. But as Ross said, the odds are stacked heavily in the man's favor, which isn't really very good sport. After his visit, I lost my enthusiasm for trophy hunting. I've concentrated on animals that could be eaten ever since."
"Speaking of eating, when tigers develop a taste for human flesh, they definitely have the advantage over unarmed villagers," Laura observed.
"Too true. That's why I'm going after this one. It's already killed at least a dozen people in Nanda and the neighboring villages. This morning I'm going to scout the area of the water hole. In the afternoon I'll go to the machan so I'll be in position when dusk falls." Almost casually, he added, "Care to join me for that?"
"On the machan?" she asked, startled.
He nodded. "To avoid disturbing the wildlife we'd have to walk, but the pond is less than three miles from the village."
Laura considered. Today Kenneth's belongings must be sorted, the bedclothes burned as a guard against possible infection, some of his possessions distributed to chosen servants
and others packed to be taken back to Baipur. But none of that would take long, and when she was done, time would hang heavy on her hands. "I'd like to go. I've never been on a tiger hunt."
"This won't be a colorful one with elephants and beaters," he warned, "but it will be quite safe, and might be interesting. Of course, it could also be deadly dull if the tiger doesn't put in an appearance."
She watched intently as he began reassembling the rifle. He had a physical grace, a quality of being wholly in command of his body, that intrigued her. How would those deft hands feel if they touched her?
Her face colored when she realized the direction of her thoughts; a decent young Englishwoman would never have such fantasies. Of course, she was neither decent nor English. How fortunate that Ian Cameron was uninterested in her, because he was the sort of man who could make female judgment fly straight out the window. In proof of which, Laura found herself saying, "Please forgive me if the question is horribly impertinent, but has losing an eye made shooting more difficult?"
His thick brows rose sardonically. "Wondering if 'll be able to prevent you from being eaten?"
"Of course not." She blushed again. "You did say it would be safe in the machan. And surely a tender young kid would be tastier than an old spinster."
"I'm not fool enough to answer a comment like that." Again he gave a fleeting smile that was too soon over. "Actually, my shooting is better than ever. It made sense when I thought about it, because a marksman closes his off eye when aiming. Having only one eye simplifies the process, and it seems to increase my concentration on the target. Of course, it's fortunate that I'm left-handed. If I shot right-handed, losing my right eye probably would have ruined my marksmanship."
"How interesting that there is a positive benefit," she said, intrigued. "What are the other effects of losing an eye?"
"Well, people stare more." He touched the eyepatch. "Asiatics have an almost mystical respect for vision—to lose an eye is to be incomplete and quite possibly wicked. Some of the natives make signs against the evil eye behind my back."
"I didn't know that," she said in a small voice. "I'm sorry, it was rude of me to ask."
"I'd rather be asked outright than have people try to avoid looking me in the face," he said, "I lost the eye as a result of a beating in prison and it was painful and a nuisance, to say the least. However, I was so grateful not to lose the other eye that I didn't spend much time cursing fate."
He fingered the eyepatch again. "I'm still adjusting to the differences. Oddly enough, though I haven't as wide a field of vision, the range has increased from what it was at first." He thought a moment more. "I had constant headaches at first, but they're decreasing. It is hard to judge depth and distance—sometimes I find myself pawing the ground like a pony because I can't tell if there's a step in front of me. And don't ask me to pour a drink unless you're feeling adventurous about the results. Still, it's getting easier all the time."
"There's at least one other benefit that you might not appreciate," Laura said lightly. "You look dashing with an eyepatch. When you go into society, you'll have to fight off romantic young ladies."
His lighter mood vanished as if it had never existed. "I sincerely hope not.'' He got to his feet and lifted the shotgun and rifle. "Where do you want me to put these? Now that they're yours, you should probably keep them in your tent."
Though Laura accepted his change of topic, his dismissal of her comment didn't change her opinion: like it or not, the former major was fated to attract female admiration. How fortunate that Laura knew that marriage was not for her, or she might have been tempted to throw out some lures.
* * *
Ian spent a productive day acquainting himself with the water hole and the surrounding forest under the direction of Punwa, a taciturn woodsman from the village. It wasn't until they separated and Ian began walking from Nanda to the camp that it occurred to him that he felt better than he had in a long, long time. The demanding events of the last day and a half seemed to have temporarily freed him from the dark wheel of his own misery. He was still not his old self, for the shadows of melancholy had merely retreated a short distance, not vanished. Nonetheless, for the first time he could believe that a day would come when life would again be more pleasure than pain.
The hours he had spent in the forest had been healing. He had always loved nature, whether it was the desert, the jungle, or the beloved hills and coast of Scotland. Though not in most ways a patient man, he was capable of spending hours waiting for birds and animals to reveal themselves. But there had been little time to enjoy the natural world since his escape from Bokhara. He had spent the previous months in convalescence and travel, and there had been no opportunity to simply be still.
No, that wasn't true. There had been opportunity, but he had been incapable of enjoying anything.
Ian was skirting a pond outside Nanda when a dozen wild peafowl fluttered up. The metallic blues and greens of the males shimmered with impossible beauty. No wonder they occupied an important place in Hindu myth and legend; if India had a national bird, it was the peacock.
But dignity vanished when the creatures began to drink. Tails tilted whimsically to the sky when they bobbed forward to dip their beaks in the water, then dropped when the birds straightened up to swallow. The flock teetered back and forth like a collection of feathered seesaws. As Ian continued on his way, he found himself smiling. There hadn't been many smiles in his life lately.
Laura made him smile. As he resumed walking to the camp, he realized that she was the principal reason for his improved mood. He had talked more freely to her in the last day than to anyone since Pyotr had died. Perhaps it was because she was Pyotr's niece; Ian was intrigued by occasional gestures and turns of phrase that reminded him of her uncle. She also had some of Pyotr's character, for even in the depths of grief she was capable of humor and compassion.
Yet he suspected that the underlying reason he felt comfortable with Laura was because she, too, was suffering. Since his escape from Bokhara, Ian had learned the harsh truth behind the old proverb that misery loved company.
The only occasion when he had felt close to another person had been the night when his sister had wept on his shoulder, convinced that her marriage was over. Juliet's pain had drawn him out of himself to try to comfort her. He had even given some advice that, Juliet later informed him, had made it possible for her to heal the breach with her husband.
It had been much harder to be with her and Ross when they were radiantly happy. In fact, it was difficult for him to bear the company of anyone who was normal. But Laura's presence was soothing, for her pain and vulnerability were similar to his own.
He hoped that she decided to wait for him to accompany her back to Baipur. The journey would delay his departure for Scotland for several more weeks, but that was of no real importance. He wanted to assure himself that she was back among friends before he said good-bye.
Idly he wondered why she was so set against marriage; she did not have the manner of a woman who despised men. The most likely explanation was that she had suffered a broken heart. If so, perhaps she would be willing to accept a husband when she recovered. He hoped so; he disapproved of such a waste of womanly warmth and charm. Beyond that, he felt a responsibility for Pyotr's niece; he didn't like thinking of her living the gray life of a governess in another woman's house.
But it wouldn't come to that. Ian might be less than a man physically, but there was nothing wrong with his judgment. Laura was the sort of woman who would always attract men eager to love and protect her. She, at least, would not need to spend the rest of her life alone.
MARY JO PUTNEY is a graduate of Syracuse University with degrees in eighteenth-century literature and industrial design. A New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author, she has won numerous awards, including two RITA's from the Romance Writers of America and the Career Achievement Award for Historical Romance from Romantic Times. Though most of her books have been hi
storical, she has also published three contemporary romances. Her growing list of Young Adult novels are published under M J Putney. Ms Putney resides in Maryland with her nearest and dearest, both two- and four-footed.
Visit her website at http://www.maryjoputney.com/
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