“You must see the pool,” he said.
He led me into another chamber, one thankfully free of Victorian furniture. The walls were a gleaming white, sunlight streaming through the arched windows covered with pearl latticework, and steps led down into an enormous pool of glistening silvery water so clear I could see the blue and gold mosaic designs at the bottom. Watery reflections danced on the walls like silver shadows, and the long yellow silk draperies hanging over the ivory-columned archways stirred in the soft breezes like thin, translucent yellow wings, the rich color shimmering in the sunlight. The rajah pointed to one of the archways.
“My women live in that section,” he said. “My beloved wife died many years ago, but I have several concubines, all of them plump, all of them fond of jewels. It amuses me to toss handfuls of precious stones into the water and watch the women dive for them. They usually fight, alas, and I must be very stern with them.”
I made no reply, and he looked at me with those dark, glowing eyes. His manner was as polite, as formal as ever, but I had the impression that he knew very well that it wasn’t fitting to speak of concubines in front of an English girl, that he had done so deliberately. The faintest suggestion of a smile curled on his full lips, and I was uncomfortably aware of the silence and the fact that during the tour we had not as yet encountered another person. Maintaining my composure at considerable expense, I stepped over to one of the archways and fingered one of the draperies.
“I’ve never seen silk so fine,” I remarked, “and the color is beautiful, such a rich yellow.”
“It is my own yellow,” he informed me. “The dye is specially made for me. They also make a royal blue and a crimson that you will find nowhere else in India.”
He had padded silently across the floor until he was standing directly behind me. I turned, alarmed by his nearness. It must have shown on my face, for he frowned.
“You are uncomfortable, Miss Gray?”
“We’ve been gone for quite some time, Your Highness. I think perhaps we should rejoin the guests now.”
“But there is much you have not seen. You have not seen the Throne Room nor the official reception chambers. Nor have you seen my private quarters. They are the most elaborate in the palace, as is fitting. There are many rich items to behold.”
“Perhaps I shall be able to see the rest of the palace another time,” I said, gracious, I hoped, but firm.
The rajah hesitated a moment, studying me intently, and then he nodded.
“It shall be my privilege, Miss Gray.” His voice was smooth and formal. “Perhaps the lieutenant will bring you back to the palace soon.”
“I shall look forward to returning.”
He crooked his arm again, and I placed my hand on it. He was silent as we moved down a long hallway, the white walls adorned with blue, black and gold mosaics depicting a tiger hunt. Moments later we were moving down the front steps again in splashes of bright sunlight, and I felt a wave of nervous relief. We joined the other guests. I thanked the rajah politely for the honor he had done me. He nodded and moved toward a group of guests in long, lordly strides, and I stepped over to one of the tables to fetch a much-needed glass of champagne.
I was shaken, much more so than I cared to admit to myself. I drank the champagne quickly, and then I took a second glass and turned to look at the crowd. Couples were strolling all over the grounds, some of them far away, looking like dolls in the distance. I saw Reggie across the way, deep in conversation with three officers, and Dollie was sitting with a group of women in a circle of white wicker lawn chairs under one of the shade trees, all of them with plates in their laps, gossiping avidly as they ate. Michael was nowhere in sight. He must still be in conference with the chamberlain, I thought, and I was relieved, for I didn’t want to talk to anyone just yet, afraid I would betray myself.
I knew I mustn’t let anyone know what had happened. Reggie was already adamantly set against the rajah, and if he were to think that Sahji Bandi had even hinted at anything improper it could, I knew, lead to serious diplomatic problems. I had thought Reggie amusingly stuffy when he criticized my gown and told me to be wary of the rajah, and like a fool I had let the man take me into the palace, away from the other guests. I had been calm enough when the rajah had made his subtle proposition—for I knew now that that was exactly what it had been—but as I thought about it now, as I remembered the look in his eyes, I could feel a delayed reaction setting in. I finished the second glass of champagne, shuddering inside, trying to maintain my composure.
The sunlight was too bright. The music was too loud. Everyone else was enjoying the party, much less dignified and formal than they had been earlier on. The champagne and plentiful hard liquor were responsible for that. Colored parasols twirled. Voices were shrill. Dishes clattered. The music played and played, and I thought my head would split. I moved through the crowd, smiling, pretending to enjoy myself, and then I circled around one of the striped tents and passed a splashing fountain and walked over richly green grass toward the four teak trees growing on a small slope in the distance. Several deer were grazing on the grass. They lifted their heads as I moved quickly past, my full skirts swaying back and forth like a white silk bell. Finally I was beneath the trees and the dreadful music wasn’t so loud and I was alone at last, away from the others, free to relax.
Or so I had thought. I had been standing there only a few moments when I smelled the burning tobacco and saw a plume of blue-gray smoke writhing around one of the trees and floating off into the air. A man was standing on the other side of the trees, smoking one of those evil-smelling black cheroots. I could sense his presence now. He couldn’t have helped hearing my approach nor the sigh of relief I had uttered upon reaching this sanctuary. Why hadn’t he shown himself?
“Damn!” I muttered. It was a word I rarely used.
“Such language,” he said.
I hadn’t realized I had spoken loud enough to be heard. A blush tinted my cheeks as the man stepped casually around one of the trees and looked at me with mocking black-brown eyes, and then the blush must have vanished for I know I turned pale with shock and surprise. I couldn’t speak. I could do nothing but stare at him, amazed, alarmed, disbelieving.
“Relax,” he drawled. “I shan’t bite you.”
“You,” I whispered. I felt weak, dizzy.
He wore shiny black boots and a beautifully tailored creamy white linen suit and a loosely knotted emerald green tie. His head was bare, thick raven locks untidy, tousled by the wind. The face was exactly as I remembered it: cruel, ruthless, the face of a killer. The hypnotic black-brown eyes observed me coolly beneath hooded lids, and the lips curled sardonically at one corner.
“Surprised, Miss Gray?”
I stared at him, still unable to speak.
“I do hope you’re not going to faint,” he said dryly.
“I don’t faint,” I told him. My voice was tight.
“I shouldn’t think so. Any young woman who can carry on so splendidly in the middle of a jungle after witnessing a massacre isn’t likely to swoon at the sight of me. Pity, rather. I should enjoy reviving you.”
“You—you’re Robert Gordon,” I accused.
“Guilty. I confess it.”
I could feel hot anger rising up inside, eclipsing all other emotions. I stared at him in outrage and dismay.
“You spoke English all the time!”
“Indeed,” he confessed.
“And—and you let me make a fool of myself! You let us think you were some kind of—” I gasped, unable to continue.
“Brigand, ruffian, brute, rapist, white slaver. I freely admit the first three labels might apply, but I’ve never committed rape, and I definitely don’t sell young girls into bondage. I can’t recall all the things the two of you called me during our little adventure, but it was certainly interesting to hear you speculate.”
“We were terrified of you!”
“Perhaps. It served its purpose. Had you known I was Engli
sh you would have given cries of relief and gone to pieces, giving in to the hysterics both of you were holding at bay so superbly. I knew we had a difficult time ahead of us. Two brave, determined young women constantly alert, constantly on guard were much easier to manage.”
“That was despicable!” I cried.
“Is that fair?” he asked. “After all, I did save your lives. I should think you’d show a little more gratitude.”
He flicked an ash off the tip of his long black cigar and took another drag. Smoke curled about his harsh, deeply tanned face, and he narrowed his eyes against it. I thought of all the things Sally and I had said about him. He had understood every word. He had been laughing at us. My anger mounted, and I wanted to pound on his chest with balled fists. I had rarely experienced such tumultuous emotion, and it left me helpless, composure shattered, dignity gone.
“How could you? We were stranded in the middle of nowhere, paralyzed with terror, not knowing what you intended to do to us, and you—you were British all the time! You let us babble on like fools. You shoved Sally around brutally and treated us both like imbeciles and—”
“Guarded you with my life,” he interrupted. “Fine thanks I get for it, too, I must say.”
“You were prowling around at Karbala as well. Sergeant Norman thought you were a Thug. He almost killed you!”
“Poor shot, Norman. He fired twice, never came anywhere near me. I’ll have to speak to him about that. Chap needs a bit more practice if he’s going to qualify as a real marksman.”
“You let us rush off into the jungle like terrified cattle, thinking a whole band of assassins might fall upon us at any minute. I’ve never run so hard in my life.”
“The exercise did you good, I dare say.”
I swung my hand back, ready to slam it across his face. Robert Gordon caught my wrist, gave it a savage twist and slowly lowered it to my side. I winced at the pain, biting my lip, and he released me, shaking his head in silent admonishment. I could feel tears welling up inside, and I was horrified they might start flowing. Desperately, I fought them back, and the anger fled, replaced by confusion and frustration and other emotions I couldn’t identify. Gordon took another long drag on his cigar and released the smoke and then, dropping the cigar to the ground, crushed it under his heel.
“I’d gone to considerable risk to save your lives once before,” he remarked, “and when I learned you were going to Karbala I decided I’d best tag along, make sure that nothing happened. Despite what your upstanding young lieutenant might believe, the whole area is infested with Thugs. It was a foolhardy venture. Your idea, I believe.”
“How could you possibly know that?”
“I know almost everything that goes on at the garrison, Miss Gray. I could give you a thorough account of everything you’ve done since the day you arrived, although I’m afraid it would prove quite dull.”
I had the tears under control now. At least I wouldn’t suffer that humiliation. I struggled to summon some kind of composure. Never before in my life had I experienced so many different emotions in so short a time. Never before had I encountered anyone so disturbing.
“How could you possibly know what I’ve been doing?” I asked coldly.
“I have my sources, Miss Gray. Knowing things is my business.”
“Then you really are a spy?”
“If that’s what you choose to call it. I’m a government agent attached to the military, a useful chap who can do things your average soldier boy can’t.”
“Like posing as a native.”
“Among other things, yes.”
“If you work for the military, why aren’t you in uniform now?”
“Wearing a uniform could cause unnecessary complications,” he informed me. “Because of the nature of my job it’s often necessary for me to give orders to men who considerably outrank me. Were I wearing the uniform of a captain, say, or a mere first lieutenant, they would find it both difficult and galling to obey me. As I wear no insignia, no one here knows my rank. Makes my job a bit easier.”
“Apparently you need all the help you can get,” I replied. “From what I’ve heard, it appears you’ve had a remarkable lack of success.”
“You’ve heard that, have you?”
“I’ve heard a lot of things about you, Mr. Gordon, all of them highly unflattering.”
He made no reply, but a disdainful half smile curled on his lips. Cool, arrogant, mocking, he gazed at me with heavy lids drooping over those dark, hypnotic eyes, and I experienced yet another emotion, one that shocked me profoundly. When he had been disguised as a native, he had reminded me of one of the improbable heroes who charged through the pages of those flamboyant romances I had read back at school. I had felt his potent magnetism then, and it had horrified me even to recognize it as such. In his civilian clothes, his hair untidy, the emerald tie loose and flapping, he bore an even more striking resemblance to those unprincipled rogues who caused such stormy upheavals in the hearts of all of those heroines with flowery names. The man was infuriating, insufferable, but he had magnetism so strong it was almost like a physical force.
“It seems I have quite a task ahead of me,” he remarked idly.
“Oh?”
“Wooing you, winning you. I’ve made up my mind to marry you, you see. Can’t have a wife who harbors such ugly ideas about me.”
“Of all the outrageous—”
“Never thought I’d care to marry,” he interrupted, still speaking in that idle, casual tone. “I lead an unsettled, frequently uncomfortable life, travel a lot, intend to do much more in the future. I need a woman who’ll be willing to pay, pack and follow, who has a taste for adventure as strong as my own. A woman, in short, who can trek through jungles and face sandstorms and savages and endure all sorts of hardships without whining. Never thought I’d meet her. Most of the pale, puny English misses I’ve met wouldn’t last a week. Then I met you, Miss Gray, under highly unusual circumstances. Took me no time at all to realize I’d finally found the woman I’d been looking for.”
“I—I’ve never been so insulted in all my life!”
“Insulted? I’ve just paid you the highest compliment a woman can receive. You’re one in a million. Oh, you’re cool and conventional enough on the surface, but there are depths yet unplumbed. I spotted that immediately. You’re remarkably intelligent, and you have spirit and stamina and, incidentally, a face and form to make a man seethe with lust.”
I slammed my palm across his face, hand, and this time he made no attempt to stop me. My palm stung viciously, and I could see the imprint of my hand glowing on his cheek, but Gordon merely smiled.
“I can see this has come as a shock to you,” he told me, “but I dare say you’ll grow accustomed to the idea. There’s really no use fighting it, Lauren. I’ve made up my mind to have you, and one way or another I always get what I want.”
I was trembling with rage, unable to speak. I wanted to slap his face again. I didn’t. I turned and moved quickly down the slope, my cheeks burning, my heart pounding. My skirts swayed wildly, and I almost lost my balance. The deer looked up, startled. The dreadful music grew louder and louder. My head was spinning. My pulses were leaping. Never before had I been so thoroughly shaken. Never had I felt such emotional turmoil. It was almost as though I had been struck by a bolt of lightning.
Eight
“I was absolutely fascinated,” Sally said. “He was wearing black trousers and this billowing Indian robe of dark maroon, all embroidered with leaves in black silk, and, Miss Lauren, he was smoking a hookah! It gave me a turn when I saw him, I don’t mind telling you. There he was, big as life, looking just as sinister and mysterious as he did when he came riding up to us in the desert.”
“Surely you didn’t visit that man’s quarters alone?” I asked sharply. “Really, Sally, there are limits—”
“Of course I didn’t,” she interrupted. “Bill went with me. He and Bill are good friends—I think I told you that. Anyway, he was ever
so polite and gracious, told us to sit down on a pile of cushions, offered the hookah to us. I took a puff. Made me quite heady. You should see his rooms, Miss Lauren—Indian cushions on the floor, books and papers everywhere and the most unusual curios, all jumbled together. There were drawings, too, whole portfolios of ’em. I looked at some—they made what we saw at Karbala seem tame! He’s writing a study of Eastern sexual customs.”
“Sally!”
“Oh, it’s ever so scholarly, has to do with anthropology. I can’t imagine anyone actually publishing it, but it seems there’s a firm in Germany anxiously awaiting the manuscript. He’s writing it in German, by the way. I guess that makes a difference.”
It was the morning after the rajah’s fête, and we were out in the back garden. Sally had scampered off immediately after breakfast, the yellow rumal in her pocket, and I had moped around listlessly, irritated by Dollie’s bright banter and bits of gossip, in a thoroughly foul mood. I had finally come outside to get some sunshine and try to compose my thoughts. Sally had come prancing out a few minutes ago, brimming over with excitement at her visit with Robert Gordon.
“We didn’t stay long,” she told me. “Bill had to report for duty at ten-thirty. I gave Gordon the yellow scarf and told him how I’d gotten it, and he just nodded, frowning a bit. Bill was astonished, I must say. ‘You mean you’re that native who—’ he began, and Gordon cut him short and said he was to keep his mouth shut about it. Said I was to keep mine shut, too. No one knows but just the four of us, Miss Lauren. Gordon says it’s important no one else knows. You haven’t told anyone, have you?”
Danger at Dahlkari Page 15
