Grace shook her head. “No, it’s not about the lessons. I . . .”
She hesitated. Was it really such a good thing to tell him about it? He would probably also say that it was a good thing for a woman to marry. A few young girls in his village were preparing for marriage; Grace had picked up that much on one of her visits.
“What is it?” Vikrama asked. He looked at her in a way that made her feel as though he wanted to put his arms around her—a gesture she would have welcomed.
“All the indications are that my mother wants to marry me off. To George Stockton.”
At first Grace could not make out Vikrama’s expression, but she noticed him tense up.
“Oh. Then . . .” He said no more, as though the thought he had been about to give voice to had been stolen by the night breeze.
“It’s just that I don’t want to marry him. I don’t love him.”
A crease appeared between Vikrama’s eyes which, although very slight, made his face look several years older.
“Marriage isn’t always about love,” he said, his voice betraying a hint of sadness. He moved a little apart from her as though a wedge had been driven between them, then looked at her seriously. “In my village, too, girls are given to men who are chosen for them by their families. Here, girls can only marry within their caste.”
“Have you . . . have you got a wife?”
Vikrama shook his head. “No, I’m a half-caste, so I don’t belong to any of the castes. I’m welcome in everyone’s home, but no one would give their daughter to me. It’s set down that Hindus can only marry within their caste. At best I’ll find a woman from among the Burghers—people who are part-European, part-native—who don’t belong to any caste.”
Grace looked at him. Every line on his face seemed so familiar to her that she could have drawn him with her eyes closed. An unexpected warmth spread through her as she looked at him. She was relieved to hear his words. He was free, free to love her. As she loved him.
The prophecy that she would bring bad luck on her family passed briefly through her mind, but she dismissed it as fast as it had come. Why should she be led by an old man’s prattle? In any case, it would probably be more of a misfortune if she were to bend to their wishes and marry a man whom she could never in her wildest dreams bring herself to feel anything for.
He was suddenly next to her, very close, his face just a hair’s breadth from hers, his hands on her back. He looked at her briefly, searching for any sign of resistance in her expression, and when he found none, he kissed her. His lips were dry at first, but as they opened, Grace felt the moist warmth inside. She could only yield to him, allow his tongue to slip into her mouth and entwine around hers. Her whole body suddenly felt as though it were on fire, her pulse thundering like a storm in her ears.
As he drew back, she felt as though a cold breeze were settling over her face. She immediately longed to be close to him again.
“I . . .” she began, but fell silent as he took her hand.
“We should find somewhere where we can talk,” he said softly.
Grace nodded, then allowed him to lead her into the darkness. As they walked, a thousand thoughts shot into her head, which seemed as loud as if she had spoken them.
When they entered a small wooden house, Grace’s heart leapt to her throat. What would happen now? Would they merely talk through the night? Or would they do more?
Whatever it was, she wanted it with all her heart. She longed to stroke his skin and to feel his lips on hers again. She wanted to feel his warmth like before, when he had held her in his arms.
“I . . .” she began again, but the words dried up in her mouth as she looked at him. Their lips found each other again, this time more gently, and their hands wandered over each other’s body, as though they were exploring something fragile.
When they drew apart again, he pulled the door shut behind him. The fact that they were now truly alone excited her and almost made her forget any interest she might have had in seeing what was inside the little dwelling. He didn’t approach her immediately, but walked around her to lay the white bundle on the table, which more or less forced her to examine her surroundings. The moonlight only showed her vague outlines, but they were transformed into objects when Vikrama lit the lamps that were standing on the windowsill.
The hut was very simply furnished. Against the wall was an old, neatly made bed. A chest of drawers near the door looked like it had been a cast-off from the mansion at some stage. A small Oriental-looking cupboard stood by the door, and instead of chairs there were cushions scattered on the floor. Red paint was peeling from the walls. The floorboards creaked softly beneath his feet as he crossed the room.
Could I live in a hut like this? Grace wondered.
Yes, she could. With the right man by her side she could live anywhere. She knew that now. She didn’t need a country house in England, nor a debut before the queen. Just the right man.
“It’s nowhere near as elegant as your house,” Vikrama said, a little ashamed. His voice sounded strange in the awkward silence. “But it’s my home, and I built it with my own two hands.”
“It’s the loveliest house I could imagine,” Grace said, not knowing where she should look. Vikrama’s face looked even more handsome in the warm light, like the face of a prince in one of her old fairy-tale books.
“Have a seat,” Vikrama said, indicating one of the cushions. The prospect of sitting by him made Grace blush and caused her to remain standing.
“No, I think I’m fine as I am. I . . .” Her stomach suddenly lurched. All at once she was aware of the danger she was putting herself in—at least, that which her mother and Miss Giles had always called danger. “I have to go,” she whispered. She knew no more about the relations between a man and a woman than a few whispered hints picked up from overheard servants’ conversations, but it was enough to worry her.
“The door’s not locked,” Vikrama said, as though he sensed her doubts. “I won’t do anything to you. You know that.”
Everything in her was crying out for him to do something to her. Something she would never forget, something that would drag her out of the circle her parents inevitably wanted to draw her into.
She didn’t want to be George Stockton’s wife, she wanted to be the wife of this man, this foreigner, who had caught her attention from the very first day.
And so she did not open the door—no, nor did she take a step towards it, but stayed where she was, reeling, gazing with longing at this man.
Vikrama came over, but stopped two hands’ breadths from her. As before, she could smell the scent of his skin, feel his warmth.
As he drew her into his arms, she did nothing to stop him. Her body seemed to melt into his as she returned his kiss passionately and now, emboldened, began to caress his chest and shoulders.
He stopped suddenly and drew back. As Grace leaned towards him, he gently held her away.
“We shouldn’t be doing this!”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want to get you into trouble. You must know that you could get pregnant. I don’t want to do that to you.”
Grace stared at him, shocked. Those words would not have slipped so easily from an Englishman’s lips. But he was right. Even though her body yearned for his, even if she wanted to cast all reason to the wind, her head told her that what Vikrama had said was right. If she got pregnant that would certainly mean trouble. But her heart did not care about the consequences.
They finally separated without a further kiss, without further closeness, but with a promise to meet again. As Grace left the hut, she realised that she had gained the clarification she had been wanting: she knew now that Vikrama loved her as much as she loved him. That was enough to silence the spectre of a marriage with George Stockton, for a short while at least.
On the way back to the house she suddenly felt she was being watched. She couldn’t say where the feeling came from, but something about her footsteps sounded strange, o
ddly doubled, as though someone were trying to walk in step with her.
A twig suddenly snapped behind her. Grace jumped with a small cry, but then realised that the noise was above her and she had probably merely disturbed a few monkeys. As she continued, the suggestion of footsteps disappeared and with it the feeling that eyes were boring into her back. I probably only imagined it, she told herself as she finally saw the house loom out of the darkness before her.
From then on Grace stole out of the house as often as she could to meet Vikrama. They kissed, walked hand in hand through the forest, breathed the dust-free air, and marvelled at the beauty of the night, at the secrets each revealed to the other that made them see the world differently.
They would sit together on a boulder, and Vikrama would lay his jacket over her shoulders. His warmth and his kisses awoke in her a longing for more, but although desire burned inside her and lit up her eyes, she did not give herself to him. Their kisses were passionate, but he did not touch her body.
Afterwards, she would spend the rest of the night staring at the bedroom ceiling, languishing with an unfamiliar desire which she had no idea how to relieve.
During this time Grace’s mood was as happy as it had ever been. Even her sister noticed the change.
“Are you sleeping better now? You’re positively radiant!”
“Yes, I’m sleeping excellently,” Grace fibbed. She had no intention of telling Victoria about her love, even if she knew full well that her sister was able to keep a secret.
Grace’s happiness continued until the day Stockton suddenly announced he was coming for tea. Too late, she realised she should maybe have feigned illness. But as it was, she was forced once again to listen to his flattery and the unspoken threat of marriage to his son that hung in the air.
This time she had no need to find a flimsy excuse to leave because her mother sent her and Victoria out, saying there was something she wanted to discuss with Stockton.
She’s probably talking about my engagement to George, Grace thought bitterly. It took a huge effort of will not to let her feelings show.
“Shall we play hide-and-seek in the garden?” Victoria asked. Although Grace was in no mood for games, she agreed.
“I’ll begin—you go and hide!” her sister said as she ran to a frangipani tree.
Next time I should make sure I make a better job of hiding from Stockton, Grace thought as she searched for a hiding place. With Victoria counting down behind her, she noticed a pergola that she had only paid the briefest attention to before. Victoria would take ages to find her there. Her anger against Stockton should have cooled by then.
As she entered the leafy tunnel formed by bodhi trees, she could almost feel as though she were back at Tremayne House, where the gardens had featured pergolas of fruit trees. With her sister’s voice in her ears, she ran further into the arched pathway. Dappled sunlight fell through the twigs, landing in bright flecks on the sand beneath her feet. Once she had reached the middle of the pergola, all sound suddenly seemed to have vanished. She stopped, tipped back her head, and closed her eyes. Maybe she should come here more often . . .
“Are you enjoying the peace and quiet, Miss Tremayne?”
Stockton suddenly appeared. The devil only knew where he had come from!
Grace gasped in shock and recoiled.
She suddenly regretted her decision to choose this spot. Stockton must have seen her on his way across the courtyard and followed her.
“Mr. Stockton. Didn’t you have something to discuss with my mother?”
Stockton smiled, walking towards her with his hands clasped behind his back. “It was only the briefest conversation. I didn’t want to leave without saying goodbye to you first.”
The gleam in his eyes certainly didn’t suggest a farewell. Grace had seen that expression on Vikrama’s face.
As though he had read her mind, Stockton suddenly leapt towards her and pressed her roughly against the wall of tree trunks. The lecherous spark in his eyes scared her terribly.
“At last I’m alone with my little princess.”
“Let me go!” Grace grabbed his wrists, but was unable to fend him off. His breath brushed her face as he panted, “I’ve wanted you since the day you and your sister ran under the hooves of my horse. Not a minute has gone by since then that I haven’t thought about you. In the nights when I lie beside my wife I dream of possessing you, of taking you as my lover. I came so close on the viewing platform. If you hadn’t taken fright, I’d have had my way with you there and then.”
“Mr. Stockton!” Grace exclaimed in disgust. “You can’t mean that seriously.”
“I most certainly am serious! I’ve been craving you, my sweet Grace, for so many months! I know your father would kill me if I gave in to my desire. That’s why it would be so wonderful if you were to marry my son. My misguided, feckless son, who only has eyes for dead animals! God only knows whether he could sire an heir. But I’ll take care of that.”
“Let me go, Mr. Stockton!” Grace tried desperately to turn away, but was unable to get free of him. “You’re talking nonsense!”
He stopped suddenly. His expression could only be called madness. “Nonsense? We’ll see about that. A number of rumours have come to my ears, rumours that I’m sure would interest your father. I wonder if he’d consider those nonsense?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” Grace’s eyes sparked with anger, but tinged with fear. Did he really know? Who could have been watching her? Who could have betrayed her?
She suddenly recalled that Petersen had once crossed her path after a rendezvous. It had seemed a mere coincidence, but when she thought about it now . . .
“I’m talking about that half-caste, that Vikrama. A handsome chap, I’ll give him that. And he clearly knows the way to handle you to get what he wants!”
Grace felt as though the ground were opening up beneath her feet.
She lacked the strength to fight off the hand that lifted up her skirt, the thighs that fought their way in between her legs.
“That’s nothing but malicious rumour!” she said in an effort to defend herself, all the while wondering when their secret trysts could have been discovered. Whoever it was must have had a filthy imagination if they believed she would have given herself to Vikrama like a prostitute.
“I think you should grant me the same favours as you do that savage,” Stockton panted, his arousal deafening him to her words. “It will hardly affect you, since he’s already penetrated you.”
Grace gasped as he felt for her underwear. Fear and disgust stuck in her throat, so that she couldn’t even scream. His breath brushed her face, and a moment later his lips were pressed against her mouth and his tongue choked off any cry she might have made. At the same time his finger found its way inside her. As the blood hammered and throbbed in her ears, Grace thought she would faint from horror.
He stopped in amazement and drew his lips away from hers. “He hasn’t . . .”
Grace sobbed with revulsion and anger before finding the strength to push him away.
Stockton recovered rapidly from his astonishment, then suddenly smiled. “Well, if that’s how it is . . .”
“Grace?”
Her sister’s voice rang in her ears like a liberty bell. Stockton paused, his flushed face going a deeper red. Grace whimpered. Was he going to let go of her at last? Or did he have the gall to assault her before Victoria’s eyes?
Her sister called again, and he drew back. Instead of letting her go immediately, his fingers bored into her upper arms.
“Not a word of this to your father, you understand?” he hissed. “If you breathe a word to him about this little meeting, I’ll tell him about your trysts with the half-caste.”
“You’re a bastard, Stockton!” Grace’s voice dripped with disgust.
“I may be, but one who gets what he wants! In return for my silence, I want you to meet me the night before your wedding. It won’t occur to my son that you’r
e not a virgin. And I honestly don’t want to rely on George for the future of my plantation. I want to father an heir with you myself. And I promise you that you’ll never experience a deeper desire.”
As the grip of his hands loosened, Grace shoved him away. Instead of grabbing her again, he brushed his hair from his face with a trembling hand and held her eyes like a wolf fixes on its prey.
“Think about what I’ve said, Princess. As long as your father says nothing to me, the matter will remain a secret. And if you come to me before your wedding night, everything I know will be forgotten. You have a gentleman’s word on it!”
Grace felt like spitting in his face, but at that moment Victoria came round the corner. She looked from Grace to Stockton in amazement.
“Here you are! Why didn’t you answer me?”
Grace felt as though she would die of shame as she struggled for composure. “Mr. Stockton and I were talking. I can’t have heard you.”
“I was about to fetch Mr. Vikrama to help me look for you.”
The sound of his name ignited a spark in Stockton’s eyes. He pressed his lips together, but his words still rang in Grace’s ears. And she knew he would carry out his threat.
“I’m coming, darling,” she said to Victoria and walked away without so much as a glance at Stockton.
It took every ounce of self-control she possessed not to reveal what had passed between her and Stockton. Several times she was on the verge of tears, but the knowledge that Victoria was bound to ask her what was the matter soon made her regain control of herself.
On the way back to their room, Victoria was called away by Miss Giles. Grace returned to the room alone and sank down on the bed. What was she to do now? How could she reveal Stockton’s intention without losing face herself? She certainly couldn’t tell her parents that . . . Stockton would be bound to dismiss it as slander, or as an attempt by her to seduce him.
No, it wouldn’t come to that!
For some reason she was unaware of, her gaze fell on the chest of drawers. She immediately rose and hurried over to it.
Butterfly Island Page 35
