Ryman, Rebecca (22 page)

"You
equate your progenitors with your destroyers, is that
it?"

It
was not a remark designed to please him, nor did it. "My progenitors, as
you call them," he snapped, "are what I equate with greed. It is
neither to be indulged nor tolerated."

"Not
all are greedy," Olivia observed with matching asperity. "Many
Europeans come out here for reasons that are selfless."

"Like
you?" His low laugh was derisive. "Greed comes in many shapes and
colours, my dear Olivia. Yours, for instance, is for a rich Anglo-Saxon
husband. Harmless enough and shared by many spinster mems but hardly
selfless!"

She
was intolerably incensed. To rise to his poisonous bait, however, would be to
pamper his perversity. She forced herself to remain unruffled. "You mean
the fishing fleet? You consider me to be one of that?"

"Well,
aren't you?" He threw her an insolent smile. "Even though it is
unlikely that our prize buffoon will allow you to be one of the returned empties,
hah!"

"Why,
thank
you," she cooed, utterly livid but not dropping her flinty
gaze an iota. "I already have had that assurance from others whose
business my affairs are as little as they are yours."

His
sudden nod of approval was, if anything, even more infuriating. "You
know," he said, satisfied, "anger really does become you. Now come
here, I want to show you something interesting." With yet another
mercurial change of mood he
strode off towards a cluster of trees, leaving her
standing and stiff with outrage. "See that?"

Olivia
swallowed her chagrin and allowed curiosity to take over. Slowly she followed
him into the trees, where he sat balanced on his haunches, peering into the
undergrowth where something glowed eerily. "Well, what is it?"

"Wild
fungus. It shines in the night with its own inherent phosphorescence. Isn't it
amazing? I found it by accident last week and have been fascinated ever
since."

In
great detail he launched into an explanation of wild fungi in India, waxing
lyrical about their beauty. Obviously, he had made a study of the subject, for
his information was prolific and authoritative. Something about the way he
spoke, in short excited sentences and with immense enthusiasm, reminded Olivia
suddenly of her father, who also often went into raptures over some new and
trivial discovery. Overcome again by consuming curiosity about this most
contrary of men, she was once more driven by an irresistible urge to reach the
core of that "onion," which had eluded even his closest friends.

"Where
was it," she asked in wonder, "that you received all your education.
Here, in India?"

He
rose and dusted his trousers. "In those best possible of
institutions," he replied drily, "the school of hard knocks and the
university of experience."

"But
in India?" she persisted.

"Everywhere.
The institutions are universal."

Olivia
was sorely tempted to stamp her foot. "You ask me such grossly personal
questions," she said petulantly, "yet you refuse to answer a single
one of mine! Is that just?"

Even
in the gloam she could see his eyes harden. "I would hate you to run away
with the idea that I am a just man. I am not. And my life, such as it has been,
is of little consequence to you, whatever its inadequacies."

"But
it is in those inadequacies that you revel, isn't it?" she cried,
unbearably frustrated by the stone wall with which he blocked questions.

"No,
but I accept them. They give me pride of possession because they are among the
few things that are mine and mine alone." Aborting all further
conversation, he stalked away from her.

At
the entrance of the zenana two maidservants awaited them, but as Raventhorne
approached they melted into the shrubbery with their veils over their faces. A
signal flashed
through Olivia's brain, tying up yet another loose thread; Raventhorne's
presence here over the weekend was the reason why she had seen no sign either
of her ayah or of Sir Joshua's other servants who had accompanied her. Servants
in India were the means often used to ferret out information of people's secret
doings (which was why Calcutta was such a village!). As such, Raventhorne had
ensured that there would be no risk of their meeting in Kirtinagar being
reported to the Templewoods. His deviousness was indeed far reaching, but
Olivia could not help a sense of relief at the vital precaution.

"Are
you good with a shotgun?" he asked suddenly.

"I
can shoot straight, if that's what you mean."

"You're
not likely to faint and fall off the elephant when the tiger appears?"

She
regarded him coolly, put out by his patronization. "I doubt it. I have
hunted before, if not tigers then animals equally savage."

He
chuckled under his breath. "I forget sometimes that you are American with
hackles that rise like those of a prairie wolf when he senses an attack."
The hard lines of his face seemed to thaw and, without warning, he reached out
to touch her cheek. "From which parent did you inherit those deceptively
ingenuous, disconcertingly lovely eyes?"

Olivia
recoiled; his fingers were icy. "My mother. She . . ." Her voice died
in her throat.

His
hand did not retract. Instead it lingered to lightly trace the line of her jaw.
Carefully he brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and looped it behind an
ear. "You delude yourself, Olivia. You have no idea in how vulnerable a
position you stand." He spoke in a flat monotone, his mood more
indecipherable than ever. "I see you as I would the wing of a butterfly,
fragile and trembling on the point of dissolution at a touch. You play with
toys that are not toys." He sighed and let his hand drop. "It is this
that disturbs me most about you. Good night."

And
with that she was left alone.

For
a long while Olivia stood motionless, staring into the dark. Her body was numb;
even her mind seemed static. The only sensation she felt was on her cheek where
the imprint of his finger-tips burned as raw as if branded into her skin. An
instinct then stirred in some far-away recess of her brain, ominous and
gathering strength. She knew that with that touch, subtly but irrevocably, Jai
Raventhorne had succeeded in altering the course of her life. Something
insidious had ruffled the placid surface of
her existence; given a chance, it had
the power to blow a storm and divert her into spaces unknown and uncharted.
Like a deadly undertow in the ocean, it threatened to drag her down into depths
she would not know how to negotiate. That Raventhorne with his feral instincts
knew it was only too obvious.

Olivia
was frightened. Force, power,
affinity . . .
call it what they might,
something also told her that however loud the alarm bells ringing around her,
however dire the warnings she received, she would not heed them.

She
knew it was already too late for that.

Heavily
timbered and built on stilts, the royal hunting lodge was set deep in the
jungle. Over its red tiled roof sal branches interlocked, filtering shafts of
early sunlight that dappled the clearing. The air was heavy with sound and
smell; rustling leaves, chirping birds, tunelessly croaking frogs, muted human
voices and swirls of wood smoke announcing imminent breakfast combined to make
it a lively scene. From a distance came muffled drum beats, rhythmic and
steady, like the pulsing of some primeval heart. It was in the bowels of this
dank, dense underworld that the tiger prowled, unaware that with those drum beats
were also ticking away the last hours of its life.

An
armed cavalry unit had escorted Olivia and the Maharani and their attendants in
carriages, whereas the men had ridden out earlier on horseback. In the verandah
of the lodge the Maharaja and Raventhorne were already at work checking guns
and ammunition, working out strategy and assigning jobs. In the clearing were
the four caparisoned elephants, now being fed rice balls and molasses, who
would bear them into the jungle. The mahouts stood by waiting to mount the
foreheads of their massive charges. Early breakfast was being served to the
retinue of hunters and attendants who squatted on the grass and ate out of
banana leaves while hundreds of villagers watched in barely suppressed
excitement, secure in the ability of their ruler to make their lives again safe
from danger.

On
the verandah a light meal was on offer—glasses of hot milk and savoury
triangles of pastry stuffed with vegetables. Sitting next to Kinjal, Olivia
spent all her time trying to avoid meeting Raventhorne's eyes, not that they
sought hers anyway;
for all intents and purposes, he seemed barely aware of her presence. The
Maharaja, on the other hand, greeted her effusively.

"I
trust your ride was comfortable and has given you a fair appetite, Miss
O'Rourke. We will eat more fully on our return."

"Most
comfortable, thank you, although I would have preferred to make the journey on
horseback," Olivia answered with frankness.

He
spread his hands ruefully. "Forgive me, Miss O'Rourke, for not allowing
you that. My people are conservative and the sight of a lady, even European,
riding a horse is one with which they are not yet familiar."

"Of
course I understand," Olivia said quickly, ignoring the pointed, tacit
comment contained in Raventhorne's smile. "I was merely expressing a
regret, not a complaint."

But
it was impossible to ignore the flesh and blood presence of a man who had spent
the night haunting her fitful dreams. What had transpired between them last
night had shaken her far more than she would have thought possible. The
prospect now of spending more time in his company, even with the safeguards
provided by the presence of the Maharaja and the Maharani, was nerve racking,
for she needed time to assimilate what was happening within her. Whatever it
was, she didn't like it. It had taken her by surprise, and Raventhorne wasn't
the only one who didn't care much for surprises.

As
they ate and drank, Kinjal pointed out various things to her over the wooden
balustrades about the flurry of preparations below. It was as the breakfast
dishes were being cleared that she took Olivia into a room away from the others
and said, "You must excuse me, Olivia, if I do not accompany you into the
jungle. You know that I do not appear before men not of our household, and to
enclose the howdah would be such a wasted exercise."

Olivia
was not only greatly disappointed but also perturbed. "Then I will stay
back with you. It is so serene and pleasant right here."

"My
husband would not hear of that and neither would I," Kinjal said firmly.
"We would not like you to miss an experience as colourful as a tiger
shoot."

It
was churlish to argue further so Olivia did not pursue the subject, but her
alarm persisted. "How many guns will there be?"

"Eight.
One on each elephant and four on foot."

Would
Jai Raventhorne ride with the Maharaja? Olivia
prayed that he would. The
howdahs were comfortable and well appointed but by no means spacious enough to
ensure privacy for two people. But when the starting signal was given and the
elephants lumbered up to the ground below the verandah to trumpet and then
kneel in obeisance before their king, it was obvious to Olivia that her prayers
would not be answered. The Maharaja's elephant stood apart with its royal
pennant hoisted and the two other elephants already had their marksmen in
place, which left only one more animal. Damn! She turned to see Kinjal watching
her closely.

"It
is Jai who asked to ride with you, Olivia," she said, her eyes strangely
unhappy. "Would you prefer it otherwise?"

The
facility with which Kinjal had read her thoughts brought a fierce blush to
Olivia's cheeks.
Yes!
she wanted to shout, I would prefer it otherwise!
But she shook her head quickly and ran down the stairs where everyone waited.

The
sensible hunting clothes she wore had been provided by her aunt, who had been
in the jungle many times and knew exactly what was needed. Her skirt, divided
for easy movement, was of hardy brown twill. The cotton blouse, high at the
neck and long sleeved, was a protection against insects and the sturdy,
knee-high leather boots were to guard against snakes and scorpions that might
be lurking in the undergrowth. Beneath the skirt, as her aunt had insisted, she
wore long johns. "If you fall off somewhere at least you won't make a spectacle
of yourself in front of that uncivilised crowd."