Veils of Silk (3 page)

Over time, new scenes had been added to her nightmares. The worst was the catastrophe that had destroyed her childhood, though the images were hot limited to her years as Larissa Alexandrovna Karelian. In fact, the most humiliating event had taken place after she had become Laura Stephenson.

These days the nightmares were rare and usually occurred only when change was imminent. Unfortunately, the images had lost none of their vivid emotion. Fear, revulsion, and shame. Passion, disaster, death.

Wearily Laura brushed the tawny hair from her damp forehead. Most of the time she was a levelheaded woman of twenty-four, calm and collected to a fault. Yet in her nightmares she was always a frantic, terrified child, and no amount of maturity had changed that. She supposed she must content herself with being grateful that the bad dreams came only two or three times a year.

It seemed absurd to have nightmares when the change coming was one she welcomed. Tomorrow she and her stepfather would leave on a camping tour of the district, which was the most rewarding part of the yearly routine. Nonetheless, the prospect had woken her sleeping demons for one of their periodic assaults.

The air had cooled to a comfortable temperature and on the veranda the hanging wind bells tinkled faintly at a cat's paw of wind. Laura lifted the mosquito curtain and swung her bare feet to the floor. Heedless of possible scorpions, she crossed to the window, where she saw the first light of dawn in the east. Good; that meant she didn't have to try to go back to sleep again.

Like many Britons in India, she and her stepfather were in the habit of taking early morning rides, before the heat of the day took hold. Soon he would rise and they would have tea and toast together. After their ride, he would attend to his duties as district collector and she would see to the myriad details necessary to close the house and prepare for their journey. It would be a busy, predictable day.

But for a moment, before turning to light the lamp, Laura savored the rippling notes of the wind bells and the other rich sounds and scents of the night. As the breeze caressed her face, the voluptuous darkness called to her. India's very nature was passion, and sometimes—too often—she longed to surrender to it. Unthinkingly she drew her hands down her body, her palms shaping her breasts and hips as she felt the warm pulse of flesh beneath the thin muslin shift.

Then, realizing what she was doing, she flushed and turned away from the dangerous sensuality of the night.

Laura was in the cookhouse selecting supplies when her father's bearer came to announce that the joint magistrate was paying a call. She wrinkled her nose—the last thing a woman packing for a trip needed was visitors—but said, "Thank you, Padam. Tell Mr. Walford that I'll join him directly."

She took the covered walkway that led from the cookhouse to the bungalow and went to her bedroom to check her appearance. As expected after hours of bustling, she looked as if she had been dragged through a bush backward, with tendrils of light brown hair rioting in all directions from the knot at the back of her head. That didn't bother her much, but her clinging, perspiration-damped gown did, for the last thing Emery Walford needed was provocation. She called her maid and changed to a shapeless white muslin dress, then went to greet her guest.

Shaded by trellises covered with flowering vines, the veranda was the most pleasant part of the bungalow. As soon as Laura appeared, the magistrate stood, six feet of shy, handsome young man. "Good afternoon, Laura," he said. "I know you must be busy, but I wanted to say good-bye before you left." He swallowed, then said unimaginatively, "It's very hot today."

"But soon the cool weather will begin, for six glorious months." Laura gestured for him to sit down, choosing a wickerwork chair a safe distance away for herself. Even so, she was uncomfortably aware of his yearning. Ever since she was fourteen, men had desired Laura; even with her eyes closed, she could sense the not, wordless pressure of male hunger.

Lord only knew why so many men wanted her, for she was no beauty and certainly offered them no encouragement; nonetheless, the desire was almost always there. Most men's admiration was gentlemanly and not a problem, but Emery's blatant longing was embarrassing. That was a pity, for she liked his intelligence and sweet earnestness; they would have been better friends if he did not so obviously lust after her.

As tea and
jelabi
cakes were served, the young magistrate said, "Wouldn't it be better to wait until the cool weather begins before starting the tour? The heat is so enervating."

"But camping is stimulating," she replied with a smile. "We've been looking forward to it for weeks. Father says that touring the district is the most important part of his job."

Eyes downcast, Emery stirred sugar into his tea. "I… we'll miss you and your father here at the station."

"We'll be back before you know it," she said briskly,

"Not until almost Christmas." He hesitated, as if trying to work himself up to say something important.

"With pig-sticking season coming, I'm sure you'll be busy," Laura said, craftily changing the subject. "Father said you've gotten a wonderful new horse from an Afghan trader?"

Emery brightened and began describing his new mount, a topic that saw them safely through the tea and cakes. Laura sipped and nodded at the appropriate places, but most of her attention was on the unwelcome knowledge that sooner or later, in spite of her attempts to keep him at bay, Emery would offer marriage. There was nothing very complimentary about such an offer, for at least half the British bachelors she had met in India had proposed to her; European girls were so scarce that even the most horse-faced and sharp-tongued received their share of proposals.

Still, though an offer seemed inevitable, she preferred to postpone it as long as possible because her refusal would create awkwardness. The handful of Britons in Baipur saw a great deal of each other, and anything that caused tension was to be avoided.

What was worse, she would be tempted to accept, for Emery was amiable and very good-looking. More than once she had caught herself thinking that he was not at all like Edward, so perhaps it would be safe to marry him. It would be a pleasure to have his strong arms around her, to feel his lips and his hands…

Whenever her thoughts reached that point, speculation was drowned by a wave of panic. The problem was not Emery, but her, and marriage was out of the question.

Finishing her tea, she stood and offered her hand. "I don't want to seem rude, Emery, but I must get back to work. Otherwise we may find ourselves deep in the country without tea, or quinine, or something equally essential."

"If you need anything, send me a message and I'll see that it's sent immediately." The magistrate clung to her hand, not wanting to release her. "Laura… there's something I must say."

Before he could say more, salvation appeared in the form of Laura's stepfather. As Kenneth Stephenson climbed the steps to the veranda, his perceptive gaze evaluated the tableau and a glint of amusement appeared in his light blue eyes. "Good day, Emery. You're just leaving?"

The young man flushed and released Laura's hand. "Yes. I… I only stopped by to wish you both a good journey." His longing gaze touched Laura for a moment, then he turned away."I'll look forward to your return."

As the young man collected his horse and rode away, Laura ordered another tray of refreshments. "You came in the nick of time, Father. I think Emery was about to declare himself."

His voice serious, Kenneth Stephenson said, "You could do much worse. He's a bit callow, but he'll make some girl. an excellent husband. He comes of a good family, he has an easy disposition, and he's very good at his work. He'll go far."

"The farther the better," Laura said lightly. "I'd rather stay with you—you're much better company."

Her stepfather smiled a little wistfully. "You should find a husband and have a family of your own, Laura."

It was an old argument. "You're my family," she retorted. "You need me to take care of you and see that you eat properly."

He toyed with one of the crisp jelabis. "I won't always be with you, my dear."

Concerned at his tone, Laura studied her stepfather's face. It was easy to overlook the subtle changes in someone she saw every day. Now it was a shock to realize how thin he had become, how many lines there were in his sun-browned skin, and how his hair was now more gray than brown. He was older than most district officers, and living in India was arduous even for those who were young and strong. "You work too hard. Perhaps it's time for you to retire so we can go back to England."

"How do you really feel about India?" he asked. "I'd be content to spend the rest of my life here, but it's a hard life for a young woman. I sometimes wonder if you're just pretending to be happy so I won't feel guilty about bringing you here."

"You didn't 'bring' me—I insisted on coming with you, remember?" Laura gazed absently at the lush green countryside as she considered what to say. "I'm not sorry to live here. The land and people are fascinating, and I understand why you love them so. Yet even after five years, I find this country alien. I'll never understand it."

"One needn't understand to love," he said affectionately. "There's an intense Russian side of you that I'll never understand, but I don't love you any the less because of that."

"I'm not Russian—I'm a civilized Englishwoman." To prove it, she poured herself more tea and added a large dollop of milk. "I just happened to be born in Russia." '

"And lived there until you were nine. No number of years in England will change that." Kenneth smiled. "When you look at me with those slanting gold eyes, you're the very image of your mother, and no one was more Russian than Tatyana."

"But I'm not like her," Laura said uneasily, "except on the outside."

He shook his head but didn't pursue the point. Catching Laura's gaze with his, he said, "If something happens to me, promise that you won't mourn too long, my dear, and that you'll seriously consider marriage."

Alarmed, Laura set down her teacup and stared at her stepfather. "This is a very strange conversation. Is there something you aren't telling me? Have you been feeling poorly?"

"No, nothing like that." He shrugged his shoulders. "It's just that a Brahmin priest once cast my horoscope and said that I'd die soon after my sixtieth birthday."

And his birthday had been the week before. Feeling as if an icy draft had touched her neck, she exclaimed, "That's nonsense, Father! How could a superstitious heathen know when you'll die?"

"Perhaps the priest was wrong. Then again, perhaps he was right. I've seen many things in India that are inexplicable in western terms," Kenneth said calmly. "I've also acquired some of the fatalism of the East, I think, for the thought of death doesn't bother me. I've taken stock of my life and on balance I'm satisfied with what I've done." He sighed. "But I worry about what will happen to you. I should have paid more attention to money matters, for I haven't much to leave you."

"You've given me everything that matters," she said in a low voice. "You needn't worry—I'll survive very well on my own."

"I know you can manage, but life is more than mere survival," he said gently. "It's also companionship, friendship, love. I worry that you'll choose to spend the rest of your life alone, and miss the chance to have so much more."

Laura bit her lip, unhappily aware that her stepfather had divined her aversion to marriage. It was not a subject she would discuss, even with him, for nothing would change her mind. Nonetheless, she was willing to fib if an untruth would give him peace of mind. "Life is uncertain, especially in India—you could outlive me by twenty years." She gave an exaggerated shudder. "But I promise that if something happens to you, I'll look for a husband. A woman needs a man, if only to kill all the really big bugs. You know how much I hate centipedes."

Kenneth chuckled, his expression easing. "When you marry, I'm sure you'll find other uses for a husband besides killing bugs. When you haven't got me to fuss over, you'll find that you enjoy the company of young men."

Perhaps she would, but she still wouldn't marry. Not ever.