He smiled then, broadly, and scooped her up off the desk into his arms. Holding her close against his chest, he moved toward the door.
“Where are we going?” she asked, her arms curling around his neck. In truth, she was content to let him take her where he would. The very ease with which he carried her sent a tingle coursing along her spine. He was so effortlessly strong!
“To bed.”
Anna raised her head from its comfortable spot on his shoulder. “Oh, yes?” Her voice was a trifle cool. His “I suppose I must” still rankled.
He had managed to open the door without letting her drop or banging her head against the jamb, which in his less than sober state was, she supposed, something to be thankful for. He headed toward the stairs. “I’m a man of action, not words. You’ll get precious few pretty speeches out of me.”
“I don’t want pretty speeches.”
He reached the foot of the stairs and began to climb. Again her weight seemed not to bother him in the least. She put down the fact that he stumbled on the first stair to the effects of strong drink.
“I can walk, you know.”
He stopped in the middle of the staircase to look down at her. In the shifting shadows, all she could see clearly was the proprietary gleam in his eyes.
“Not on your life. You’re mine now, my girl, and I don’t mean to ever let you go.”
“Oh.” Anna’s response was meek, but her arms curled tighter around his neck. In truth, she could stay in his arms forever.
“Oh.” He mimicked her, tone and all, and then his mouth came down on hers, claiming her lips, kissing her so thoroughly that she feared for their safety—while she could still think at all. When at last he broke off the kiss to climb swiftly on, she was so dazzled by the aftereffects that she didn’t even worry about the state of his balance.
He took her to his room, not hers. Anna registered that fact with a small part of her mind even as he shouldered the door shut behind them. Inside, the darkness was eased by bright moonlight flooding through the windows. They had been left partly open, but fortunately the mosquito netting had been drawn over them, and it was this that billowed in the cool night air, lending an otherworldly atmosphere to the silent room.
The silk hangings on the half-tester bed rustled faintly as he placed her on the coverlet. Anna lay there for a moment, shrouded in shadows, her head turning on the pillow as she watched him tug, first carelessly and finally with clear fury, at his twisted cravat.
The knot would not come loose. Anna smiled with rueful fondness at her love and clambered to the edge of the bed.
“Let me do it for you,” she told him, catching his arm and drawing him toward the bed, where she knelt at the edge.
“Damned thing,” Julian muttered, but he stayed obediently still as her slim fingers worked what magic they could on the recalcitrant knot.
“I hope you don’t get in this state often,” she said in a scolding tone as she at last freed the tight knot and pulled the cravat from around his neck.
Julian’s hands came up to rest on her waist. “The last time I drank too much was when I was seventeen, and for the same cause, too.”
“And what cause was that?” Her fingers moved on to unfasten the buttons on his shirt. Being able to take such liberties with him was intoxicating, and as the final button left its hole she was emboldened to run her fingertips down the front of his chest.
“A minx of a woman was driving me mad.” He captured her wrists, stilling her hands against him. Anna felt the soft prickle of his chest hairs beneath her palm, the solid heat of his chest, and suddenly the ache deep inside her that she had almost succeeded in willing away sprang back to full, throbbing life.
“And what woman was that?” Scarcely aware of what she was saying, she pressed her hands more closely against him. Beneath her right palm she could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart.
“I’ve forgotten. See? You’ve driven every other female but yourself clear out of my mind.”
“See that it stays that way.” She twined her finger in a curl of chest hair and yanked it threateningly. He yelped, laughed, and released her hands to sit down on the edge of the bed.
Arms looped around his neck, Anna leaned against his broad back and watched as he tugged off his boots. When he stood up again, he was barefoot. When he stripped off his shirt to reveal his wide muscled shoulders and broad chest, Anna watched admiringly. When he stepped out of his breeches to reveal his narrow hips and long, strong-looking legs, she felt her blood quicken in her veins. Then, when he turned fully toward her, her breath stopped altogether. That part of him that was most fully a man was huge, stiff as a tree limb, and ready.
The reawakened ache in her loins pulsed in almost painful response.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
He drew her off the bed onto her feet. Anna went, unresisting. Her heart was thudding so loudly that she could scarcely think above the pulsing of her own blood as he lifted first her wrapper and then her nightgown. When she was as naked as he, he pulled her against him. The friction between his hot, hair-roughened flesh and her own soft silkiness made her dizzy. Her arms rose to link behind his neck even as his head descended. Their mouths met in a hard, explosive kiss. His hands slid down her spine to close around her bare bottom, lifting her clear off her feet. He pressed her against him so that she felt the hard urgency of him probing at the nest between her thighs. Then he lifted her higher, and instinctively her legs twined around his waist.
Even as he entered her they were falling, tumbling together back into the bed.
This time when he loved her, she went wild. Her hands and lips and body made demands of him that she never knew how to make before. But she wanted all of him, wanted him to fill her, to take her, to give her the ecstasy that he had taught her to crave.
And he did.
At the end he gave her even more. He thrust himself deep, holding her close while she cried out his name in glorious abandon, then sought his own release.
“I love you, love you, love you,” he groaned into her neck as he quaked and shuddered inside her.
Anna was smiling as he shuddered one final time and went limp.
XLV
Five minutes later he was snoring. Lying against his side, her head pillowed on his shoulder, her hand resting against his black-furred chest, Anna was dreamily contemplating the unexpected turn her life had taken. Who would have imagined that she would one day fall crazily in love with the terrifying housebreaker she had surprised all those months ago at Gordon Hall?
Then came the first of a series of furniture-rattling snores. No mere hard breathing were these. They were loud, full-throated, and almost funny. At least, they would have been funny if they hadn’t come from the adoring throat of the man who had just promised to love her forever.
Sitting up, Anna looked down at her insensible beloved and shook her head. Of course he would have to choose this of all nights to drink himself into a near stupor. They should have been cuddled up together, exchanging tender endearments, then making love until dawn. But clearly those things would have to wait for another night. Tonight, she was privileged to witness her lover in his natural state: sprawled flat on his back, whiskers darkening his cheeks and chin, naked as a babe—and rattling off snores loud enough to wake the dead.
So much for romance. Anna sighed, mentally castigated her lover as a castaway idiot, and clambered off the bed. She could not leave him this way for the rest of the night, and however far into the morning he meant to sleep. She tugged the bed coverings from the side of the bed he was not sprawled across, then set herself to rolling him onto the clean sheet thus revealed. It was not an easy task. He was a big man, and heavy. Pausing once or twice to admire the sheer magnificence of him, Anna pushed and pulled and prodded without noticeable result. Finally she had to stand on the far side of the bed and give a hard yank to the arm opposite to where she stood. Still, when he moved, she didn’t flatter herself that any effort of hers was
more than marginally responsible. He simply decided to roll over, incidentally landed in the spot she wished him to occupy, and, reaching up to loop both arms around it, buried his face in the pillow. For a moment more Anna watched him, admiring the strong back and the firm round curves of his bottom. Then, almost regretfully, she pulled the bed coverings over him and left him to sleep in peace.
Really, she reflected as she slipped into her nightgown and wrapper and left his room, it was just as well that he had sunk fathoms deep into unconsciousness. If he had not, she would almost certainly have spent the night in his bed. And it would never do for her to be found there in the morning. Such scandalous behavior had no place in the life of a respectable widow with a young child.
She was smiling faintly as she moved along the corridor to her own room. It was near dawn, and the darkness outside was just beginning to lighten to a thick charcoal gray. Soon stray sunbeams would pierce the gloom, and the sun would peep over the horizon before at last rising to brighten and warm the day. Rather like her own emergence from grief, Anna realized with some surprise. When the night of her loss had fallen upon her, she had never expected to wake up, smiling, to face a brand-new day.
But she had, and suddenly her life sparkled with previously unimagined possibilities. Happiness washed over her in a huge warm wave as she reached her bedchamber, turned the knob, and entered her room.
The first thing she noticed was Moti’s tiny eyes glowing at her from the floor near the bed. If she hadn’t recognized the creature almost at once, she would have been frightened to death. Under the circumstances, she was mostly puzzled. How had Moti gotten into her room? She was sure—almost sure— that he had followed her down the hallway when she had gone to confront Julian what seemed like centuries ago.
All at once a memory of the cobra that had found its way into the east wing on the day of Julian’s arrival popped into her head. Conscious of a sudden rush of rear, Anna stepped with extreme caution toward the bedside table, where she quickly lit a candle.
As she lifted the candle high and turned to peer into the corners, the spreading golden glow revealed Moti’s furry brown body but nothing else. Marginally reassured, she turned toward the bed—and got her second shock in as many minutes. Someone, or something, was curled up beneath the covers in the middle of her bed!
Biting back a scream, Anna set the candle down and leaned over to twitch the covers back to reveal the intruder.
Chelsea! Curled into a little ball, her golden hair tangled all around her face, her knees drawn up to her chest and hugged so that not even her toes were visible beneath the hem of the dainty white nightdress, Chelsea was fast asleep.
In the days immediately after Paul’s death, Chelsea had come to her mother’s room in the middle of the night and climbed into bed with some regularity. Anna, grief-stricken herself but hurting even more for Chelsea, had welcomed her daughter, and the two had slept snuggled as close as spoons, comforting each other. But Chelsea had seemed past the need for such reassurances for months now, and Anna frowned as she tried to imagine what could have brought Chelsea to her bed on this of all nights.
It occurred to Anna then to thank a watchful Providence that Julian had chosen to carry her off to his room rather than her own.
“Chicken.” Anna sat down on the edge of the bed and lightly shook her daughter’s thin shoulder. “Wake up.”
On the second shake Chelsea stirred, then suddenly sat up. As she shook the hair from her face, the child’s eyes were wide with fright. Then, spying her mother, Chelsea gave a little gasp and scooted close to throw herself into Anna’s arms.
“Mama, where were you?”
“Did you have a bad dream?” Anna, prudently ignoring the question, stroked the silky blond head that burrowed into her bosom.
Violently Chelsea shook her head, her arms tightening around Anna’s waist.
“It wasn’t a dream, Mama, it wasn’t! At first I thought it was, but I wasn’t screaming and my eyes were open, and you don’t dream like that, do you?”
“I wouldn’t think so. Unless you were dreaming that your eyes were open, of course.”
“Well, I wasn’t! There was a coolie in my room. He had spears through his cheeks, Mama, little tiny ones, and he looked so strange! He just looked at me for a few minutes, and then he shook something at me and dropped it on the end of my bed, and I was so scared I shut my eyes, and when I opened them again he was gone! I wanted to scream but I couldn’t, and Kirti wouldn’t wake up so I came to find you, but you weren’t here!”
“I’m so sorry, chicken.” Anna held her trembling daughter for a few seconds, then pushed her a little away and smoothed the hair from her face with both hands. “It must have been scary. But it was only a dream, you know.”
“It wasn’t! I know it wasn’t! Truly, Mama!”
Chelsea was so upset that Anna could do nothing but wrap her daughter in her arms and rock her back and forth, crooning wordless comfort. It was some little while before she ventured to say, “Would you like to sleep with me for the rest of the night?”
“Oh, yes, Mama, please!”
Anna dropped a quick kiss on the child’s forehead, settled her down, tucked her up, blew out the candle, and climbed in beside her. Chelsea cuddled against her like a frightened animal. Holding her daughter close, Anna listened until she heard the soft, even breathing that told her that Chelsea had fallen asleep.
Then, moving carefully so as not to awaken the child, Anna slid out of bed and pulled on her wrapper once more. More than likely what Chelsea had seen was no more than a spectre out of a dream. Still, that Kirti couldn’t be awakened seemed odd.
If nothing else, she could check and make certain that the old ayah was all right.
It was dawn now, and creeping tendrils of light were curling along the corridor as she walked toward the nursery. Moti, liberated from the bedchamber where he had apparently fled in Chelsea’s wake, padded at her heels. Anna was glad of the animal’s presence. In the uncertain quiet of dawn, it was comforting to know that there was some other creature besides herself awake in the house.
The nursery door stood wide. Anna glanced in, saw Chelsea’s bed with the covers thrown back where the child had apparently abandoned it, and let her gaze slide over the rest of the room, which was apparently undisturbed. The door that led to the schoolroom was open, too. Since Kirti’s bedchamber opened off that, Anna assumed that Chelsea had run through there to awaken Kirti. Before moving on to check on the ayah, Anna walked over to Chelsea’s bed. Of course the child had merely suffered another nightmare.…
But something was lying on the foot of her bed, half buried by the disheveled bedclothes. Anna’s eyes widened as she stared at it for a long moment before daring to touch it with a single probing finger. It was a large, trumpet-shaped flower, brilliantly colored, waxy to the touch. Harmless, surely.
But how had it gotten on Chelsea’s bed?
Perhaps the child hadn’t been dreaming after all.
The thought was frightening. A coolie, with tiny spears through his cheeks, shaking this blossom over Chelsea’s bed? The very idea was bizarre—but there lay the flower.
Biting her lower lip, Anna gingerly picked up the blossom, holding it between her thumb and forefinger as she went to awaken Kirti. It was only a flower, and she knew that her reaction to it was largely the product of an overactive imagination, but still it seemed evil. Almost threatening.…
Kirti was fast asleep in her small chamber off the schoolroom, snoring almost as loudly as Julian had been. Brusquely Anna shook her awake. She refused to admit even to herself how relieved she was when Kirti opened her eyes almost at once.
Had she really feared that the ayah was drugged?
“Memsahib?” Kirti sounded groggy, which was only to be expected, as she blinked up at Anna before sitting bolt upright, her eyes huge with consternation. With her hair flowing around her face and her sari replaced by a simple linen sleeping shift, Kirti looked a very different perso
n from Chelsea’s devoted ayah. “Is something wrong with the little missy?”
“She’s had another bad dream, and she’s come to sleep with me. I wanted to tell you. Kirti, do you have any idea how this might have gotten on Chelsea’s bed?”
Anna lifted her hand so that the flower dangled before Kirti’s face. If the ayah had been wide-eyed before, it was nothing to what she was when she looked at the brightly veined bloom. The color seemed to drain from her face, and then she began to rock back and forth, muttering something that sounded like an incantation or a prayer in what must have been her native Tamil dialect.
“What is it, Kirti? You must tell me at once!” Fright sharpened Anna’s voice. Kirti, still swaying, looked gray and ill.
“It is the blossom of the thorn apple, memsahib. On missy’s bed, did you say? Oh—ay, oh—ay, great trouble comes to us who …”
Kirti was slipping back into her singsong keening. Anna had to restrain the urge to shake her.
“What does it mean, Kirti?” she demanded in an urgent tone.
“The thorn apple—it has much power. Kali—the worshippers of the goddess Kali use it in their rituals.”
“Why would anyone want to put it on Chelsea’s bed?”
“To warn her—to warn us to watch her—to warn all of us. Oh—ay, great trouble comes to us who—”
Anna turned abruptly on her heel and left the room. Whether he was sleeping off a drunk or not made no difference: she had to show this to Julian.
XLVI
He was still sprawled on his stomach, his black head buried in the pillow, snoring lustily. He didn’t look as if he’d moved so much as a hair since she’d left him.
“Julian, wake up!”
Leaving the bedroom door half open behind her in her haste, Anna carefully placed the flower on the bedside table for safekeeping. Then she plopped on the edge of the bed and vigorously shook the muscled bare arm closest to her. The only response she got was another enormous snore. Anna shook him again.
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