"No, I’m not shocked, it’s just, well, so, um—"
"Sensual?"
"Yes, I suppose."
He flashed her a grin. "In that case, I’m definitely dancing for you."
He took off his jacket and kurta and handed to them to her, and a short time after, his slippers as well.
He was perfection bared to her gaze, but then she had always known he would be. Ash looked as though he had been rendered from finely tempered steel. Or wrought in bronze, with his lovely golden colouring. All the bucks she had ever met in Somerset melted away in her mind as mere puerile lads compared to his male magnificence.
Then Ash began to dance, and she felt a throbbing right up through her as though he had touched her with his bare hands in her most intimate places.
Ellen stared at him open-mouthed, for never had she seen anyone so graceful, yet so masculine. All his muscles rippled with the effort as he held his different positions.
Then the tempo of the drums changed to something fleet-footed and flirtatious, and she could see all the women admiring him just as she was. She knew a moment’s stinging jealousy. The women were all lovely, dark-haired, and she noted even the ones with silver edging on the sari, the new brides, were looking at Ash with desire in their eyes.
She told herself to not be so foolish. He was a friend. They had experimented with each other a bit, it was true, but he came from another world. One full of all sorts of sensual possibilities. As if a man as handsome as he would ever consider…
Yet here she was with him as his special companion, and he had dressed her in her sari, given her all manner of gifts, he and his friends and family. He had held her hand and been most solicitous in a hundred small ways. Had welcomed her as part of his family far beyond what the Jeromes had ever done for he and Eswara. She felt shamed. Had she been as narrow-minded as her uncle Timberlake?
A short time later, the dance ended to wild applause. Ash took his shirt and jacket from her nerveless fingers, and stood for a moment looking down at her.
"You were magnificent," she breathed, her admiration shining in her eyes.
"Thank you." The answering spark in his eyes made her blush. But before she could look away he planted one finger under her chin. "The body is a beautiful thing. You have no reason to be embarrassed."
She raised her nose in the air. "I’m not."
"Then why pretend you weren’t looking at me? That’s the whole point of the dance. For people to admire one’s skill."
"It’s just, well, looking is one thing, but you’re standing so close and you’re so, well, naked . We shouldn’t."
"I’m sorry if I frighten you," he said, stepping away.
"No, it’s just —"
Two of his male dance colleagues now came up to him and handed him something to drink. They smiled down at her, and looked at their friend. An English Mem for Ash? Well, stranger things had happened. She was certainly most comely, and exceedingly shy if the peeps she was taking at them were anything to go by.
"Coming to eat, you two?" they invited.
"In a moment, as soon as I cool down and can get dressed."
Ellen might be shy, but many of the other women in the crowd were not so. They all came up to praise him lavishly. Or at least that was what she guessed, for they were speaking Hindu so far as she could tell. He nodded his thanks, pleased, but did not return the flirtatious banter.
In fact, he stepped even closer to Ellen as if to ward them off. She could sense the hostile looks of some of the women, and quailed. But he was here with her because he wanted to be, wasn’t he?
"If you want to go off to join all of your friends, Martin will make sure I get home safely," she said quietly.
"Don’t be silly. It’s only a dance, a bit of food. Why would I want to leave you behind?"
"Because those young ladies evidently have more in mind than a few chapatis."
He laughed slightly self-consciously. "I didn’t know you spoke Hindu."
"Lust is a universal language, apparently," she said with some asperity.
"In that case, the young men here must be speaking volumes to you."
Ellen shot him a stony look. "Do not mock me, sir."
He shook his head. "I’m not mocking you. In the same way my mother’s dark good looks were a magnet for men looking for the exotic, your fair hair is a novelty amongst my people. Not to mention the blue eyes. They all said how lucky I was to have such a charming companion, and praised you attributes mightily."
"It is a wonder they didn’t check my teeth while they were at it."
"No, hips and breasts were more than enough for what they had in mind, though teeth can be useful too," he said with a long sultry look she could not fail to interpret.
"You do that on purpose, don’t you?" she accused through tight lips. "Taunt me for being so shy and retiring. To shock and degrade me."
Ash shook his head quickly. "No, not at all! I’m sorry if I’m too blunt, Ellen. But would you rather think that no one found you attractive? Every man looks, believe me. To say otherwise is to be either a hypocrite or in your case a fool."
"Now now, children, no quarrelling."
"You wouldn’t look, would you, Martin?" she said snippily.
"Look at what?" he asked in confusion, glancing around him to see what he had missed.
"A woman, in that way," she said, tracing curves in the air with her hands.
He laughed heartily and shook his head. "My dear, the day I stop looking is the day they put me in a pine box and lower me six foot into the ground. There’s nothing wrong with looking. If only so I can be firm in my own mind that there’s no one more lovely than my wife. I love Eswara, but she doesn't expect me to go through life like a blinkered horse."
"No, indeed." Eswara gave her husband a loving smile.
"Looking isn’t acting, or touching, after all. You can do it too. In fact I feel sure you have. You could hardly fail to notice Ash when he was dancing, now could you? So stop being so missish.
"Besides, he likes to be noticed. And it’s good for him to be so comfortable with his body. So no need to be so twitchy. You look lovely in your gown and sari, so you should enjoy the adulation.
"Looking doesn’t have to mean anything more than that. And at the risk of offending you utterly, my dear, I have to say, since you have such lovely attributes, make the most of them while you're young. Stop hiding all the time. You’re far more attractive than your sister, because you have a good decent heart, which shows in all you say and do."
She blushed at the compliment, and wished she had not let her jealousy get the better of her.
Martin caught the gaze of his wife, and once again that warm spark in their eyes as they viewed each other lit up the space between them. "You see, just because I look doesn’t mean I would ever do anything untoward."
He took his wife’s hand and kissed her on the lips. She reached up her other hand to stroke his face.
Ellen now looked at Ash and sighed. "I'm sorry if I was rude or silly."
"Neither. You're allowed to feel whatever you wish." He tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "Martin's right, though. You do have the most lovely hair."
"So do you," she said shyly. "Like dark fire. Those little deep red flecks. And your eyes. Like molten gold."
"Ash! Supper! Bring all your friends!" Eknath called, beckoning with one arm.
Ash dragged himself away from her ruby lips, so tempting he felt as though he were on fire. "Well, now that we have placated Tandu the god of dance, let’s eat."
Martin’s words echoed in her head as she took Ash’s arm and joined his friends at a roadside stall set up to serve a variety of dishes. Ash got a huge thali containing numerous small bowls for them all to try, and some hot spiced chai.
"This is delicious. What’s in it?" Ellen said, smacking her lips in delight.
"Milk, cardomom, cinnamon and so on. My mother would be able to give you the full recipe."
"Mmm, I would love to have
it every day," she said, licking her lips to enjoy every drop of the cinnamon and cream she tasted.
He grinned. "As I said, talk to Mother. I’m sure it can be arranged."
They spent the rest of the evening eating and gathering around the different bonfires mingling. Though Ash was the perfect companion, attentive and respectful, Ellen wanted to kick herself for having damaged the intimacy between them with her shyness.
She had longed for the sensual contact. Why had she not simply touched his broad bare chest when she had the chance, and seen what happened next?
Back at the townhouse, as he escorted her up to her room along with the other couples, she said quietly, "Thank you for bringing me. I’m sorry if I was difficult before. You’re a very kind person. I know you wouldn’t taunt me on purpose."
"I’m sorry for shocking you. I really do try to behave as you would like me to. I just despise these absurd social conventions, this ridiculous assigning of roles. How men and women should behave.
"There are what, about five thousand aristocrats and their families in the country? How many people are there in the rest of the world? How many different modes of living? Different societies. Even, I might add, societies in which the woman is in charge."
"No, it’s not possible," Ellen said in surprise.
"I assure you it is. But that is a subject for tomorrow. I need my rest for the races out at Waltham. And you would love to see the Abbey, I’m sure."
"Yes, indeed." She nodded with enthusiasm.
"Then good night, my dear. Sweet dreams."
He bowed over her hand.
She brought her other one up to stroke his silken hair. He looked up at her in surprise, and traced his tongue over the back of hers, causing her to shiver in delight. Even more thrilling was when he turned it over and kissed her palm warmly, lingeringly.
Ellen’s breath caught in her throat, and she gasped, "Oh, Ash. Ash, do we have to? Do we have to say good night?"
He swallowed audibly, and nodded. "For now. But one night soon—" He caught himself before he said anything further which might shock or damn him in her eyes.
"Good night, Ellen," he said again, and ascended to his own chamber and his lonely bed, leaving her to retired alone and replay the whole evening over again in her mind.
Especially Ash in that magnificent dance…..
Chapter Sixteen
Ash was up with the larks. To be more accurate, he was painfully aroused, so much so he was foced to get out of bed lest he overindulge in self-gratification.
He had never really been asleep, so excited had be been after the events of the evening. His self-imposed celibacy was becoming more and more difficult to bear.
Every time Ellen was near, he felt such a painfully sweet surging in his loins he wasn’t sure how he even managed to form a coherent sentence.
He washed in cold water and dressed, and felt somewhat calmer, ready to face the day, until he headed downstairs to join his family party.
The vision of Ellen in the breakfast room, standing by the sideboard clad in a pale blue sari shot through with silver, her midriff bared, and her arms, was almost more than he could tolerate.
"You’ve outdone yourself, Mother. You all look divine," he said when he could finally speak.
Each of the married women were in much darker colours, and Charlotte Eltham looked exquisite in a sapphire silk which matched her eyes.
The Duchess gave a flirtatious little twirl and handed Ash a matching silk hankie. "You are to wear my colours today, for I am determined you shall beat Pradnesh this year."
"Pradnesh?" Ellen echoed, feeling oddly jealous of the older woman, and wishing she had a colored hankie of her own to bestow.
"He was my main rival in the horse racing," Ash explained. "For the last four years, ever since I became well again, we’ve duelled against each other in the races. For the past two years I’ve won. I’m determined to make it a third year in a row."
"But he doesn’t always race fairly," Charlotte said, her eyes glowing. "Last year he tried to put a burr under the blanket so that when Ash vaulted into the saddle it would throw him off. He hung on, just, and managed to dislodge it. Then he rode on to victory."
"I see. Well done, Ash."
"I hope to make an even better showing this year, without Pradnesh resorting to trickery."
Ellen stared up at Ash’s determined expression. He was replendent in black pyjamas, a white kurta , black vest, and a red sash. Charlotte now tied her silk scrap on his upperarm.
Eswara, seeing the young girl’s expression of chagrin, took up Ellen’s bag of colour, which had been red, the colour of good luck as it turned out.
"He is wearing the Duchess’ favour, but he shall wear your colours. Give him a tilak on his forehead, and then we shall be ready to go."
While the rest of the party grabbed buttered toast, rolls and muffins, and filed out of the room toward the front door and waiting carriages, Ellen planted her thumb in the powder. Ash bent at the waist for her to apply it. She had to restrain the urge to caress his lashes and stroke his cheeks.
"Thank you."
"Good luck. And do please be careful."
He reached out for his own bag of color, which was yellow, and decorated her forehead in turn. "Never fear, my dear. I have every intention of coming home to you in one piece."
His broad hand cupped her cheek lightly, so that her lashes fluttered down and she leaned into him, almost begging for a kiss.
Once again his thumb caressed her ripe lower lip, and unable to resist, he gave her mouth a featherlight peck, before gliding across her cheek to her ear.
"I can’t wait to hold you in my arms at the dance tonight."
"Oh, Ash."
"Come on you two, the carriage is waiting," Martin called.
Ash took her arm and led her to the foyer. He helped her on with a royal blue dupatta and they were ready at last.
On the way out into the Essex countryside, Ellen asked him to tell her more about the unusual societies he had referred to the night before.
"Ah, yes, you mean the matriarchal societies."
"Yes, with the women in charge. I can't believe such a thing exists."
He nodded. "Oh yes. We have two in our country alone. There are others around the world. The Khasi and the Garo are agricultural peoples who live in hill districts in Meghalaya state in North-Eastern India. They practice wet rice or paddy agriculture.
"As opposed to the Aryan Indians, the Khasis speak a Non-Khmer language, and the Garos a Tibeto-Burman language. They are both known as hospitable, mild and well-humoured people. Both inheritance of property and succession to tribal office run through female line, passing from mother to youngest daughter.
"Among the Garo, one daughter, usually the youngest, is chosen as heiress. For the heiress, the husband is selected by her parents, and the groom ceremonially captured. The groom may even run away twice. Most of the time he is pleased to be chosen, though.
"The youngest son-in-law comes to live in his wife’s parents’ house and becomes his father-in-law’s nokrom, or clan representative in the mother-in-law’s family.
"If the father-in-law dies, the nokrom marries the widowed mother-in-law, thus becoming the husband of both mother and daughter. The marriage has to be consummated, by the way. This custom is now falling into disuse with contact with Western peoples, but it ensured that the older woman is looked after, and also ensures she does not end up on the funeral pyre the way so many Indian women do. The Garos usually live as extended families in large longhouses."
"Oh my. Sharing a husband? How very odd," she said, deeply shocked. "I don’t understand about the funeral pyre, though."
"Most Indian wives are supposed to commit suicide at the death of their husband. It is supposed to show that her life is over without him. Absurd, really."
Ellen sighed. "Oh, I don’t know. I can see how it has taken Henry losing my sister."
"I’m sorry. I was not referring to the depth o
f grief, but society’s expectation of how the woman is supposed to behave."
"It’s all right. I’m not offended. So tell me more about the Garo."
He smiled. "The wooing is always done by the Garo girl. Boys behave demurely and fight shy of entering into wedlock without social pressure. However, no able-bodied adult must remain without a mate in their society, to help continue on the clans. Replacement marriages are arranged in case of death or dissolution of the marriage. Incompatible marriages can be dissolved easily."
The Rakehell Regency Romance Series Boxed Set 5 Page 52
