Veils of Silk (27 page)

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 finally 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 find 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. In fact, 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 I really don't see anything unusual about it."

"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, and 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 arriving 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 fiancee 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 fiancee, 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 said acidly, "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 not a lady—I'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, but clearly I was wrong. 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, "As you know, 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—but when she saw the devastation on his face, she knew that she could never do that to him. Never. "You're not getting rid of me that easily," she snapped. "I don't want an annulment—I want to murder you, which isn't at all the same thing."

In a spontaneous gesture swifter than thought, Laura raised her hands, planted them in the middle of
Ian's broad chest, and shoved him off the dock into the lake.

Laura's action caught Ian off-guard and he pitched backward into the lake with an enormous splash. As he plummeted below the surface, the water cleared his head as nothing else could have. My God, how could he have said such things to his wife?