Veils of Silk

by Mary Jo Putney

The idea of becoming a real wife was terrifying. Yet it also felt powerfully right, in a way that Laura's desperate confusion never had.

  Her resolve was briefly shaken when she remembered Srinivasa's reference to Ian's imminent death. She felt another shiver of the childish terror that had ruled her life. Grimly she decided that she must suppress all memory of what the priest had said. Otherwise, she would go mad.

  Enough had been said about her problems, but Laura thought that it was a good time to ask about something else that had been on her mind. As they strolled through the woods in the direction of the palace, she said, "I never know what to make of the Hindu religion, Kamala. It contains much beauty and wisdom, but also things that I can only see as barbaric."

  "That's because Hinduism is not a religion in the western sense, but a way of life," the maharani replied. "There is not a single belief that a person must hold to be a Hindu— the only way to be Hindu is to be born one. You could not become one of us even if you sat at the feet of a guru for the rest of your life. Unlike Muslims and Christians, we do not try to convert others to our beliefs, for there is salvation in all true belief."

  She picked a golden flower and inhaled the scent. "Yet our way of life has room for everyone. For the simple people, there are primitive rituals, for the sophisticated there are noble concepts of great subtlety." She chuckled. "Me, my beliefs are somewhere in the middle. Not too high, not too low. I will not be freed of the wheel of rebirth in this lifetime, but then, I don't want to be. I would be happy to have a thousand more lifetimes like this, with Rajiv Singh."

  "Aren't you disturbed by things like suttee?" Laura asked, thinking of Meera. "Many women are burned against their will."

  "That is wrong, of course," Kamala said firmly. "Anyone who forces a woman against her will is a murderer who will pay for it in the next life. But for a woman who chooses it, suttee is a rite of great holiness. If Rajiv Singh dies before me, I will certainly accompany him to the pyre."

  "You, Kamala?" Laura was so surprised that she stopped walking. It seemed impossible to reconcile such a terrible death with the serene, beautiful woman beside her.

  The maharani smiled gently, as if talking to a child. "When Rajiv dies, my spirit will die with him. What is the point of preserving my body when we can be together in death and also in our next lives? When the time comes, I will go without doubts."

  "I hope it doesn't come anytime soon," Laura said fervently.

  "Srinivasa says we have many years still." After a few more steps, she added, "There is an old tale of a Rajput princess whose husband was called to battle on their wedding day. He was killed, and the next day she went to the pyre with him, virgin, bride, and widow, her nuptial flowers fresh on her breast."

  Laura shivered a little. "That is a story of great power, but I am too much of the West to truly appreciate it. I would rather live for my husband, or even die to preserve his life, than follow him into death."

  "Then live fully and without fear, Laura," the maharani said gently. "For him, and for yourself."

  They emerged from the woods onto the wide green lawn that surrounded a small open pavilion. Laura was admiring the structure when she saw a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. She turned her head, expecting to see a deer or monkey, then inhaled in horror.

  Somehow a black panther had gotten into the park. Swift as dark lightning, it bounded across the green turf toward the two women, its lithe muscles fluid with power. Struggling to keep panic from her voice, she gasped, "Kamala, we're in danger!"

  "Do not fear, Laura," the maharani said quickly.

  The panther swerved around Laura, then gathered its feet together and leaped straight at the maharani. Before Laura could scream for help, she saw that the panther was not biting, but butting. It drove its round head into Kamala's ribs so hard that she was almost knocked from her feet. Smiling, the maharani began roughly scratching behind the sleek ebony ears.

  Incredulously Laura said, "It's a pet?"

  "I'm sorry you were frightened, Laura," Kamala said contritely. "I forgot that you had never met Tika. Black panthers are very rare, and another rajah gave her to me when she was a kitten. I kept Tika in the palace when she was small. Now that she's full-grown, she has very fine quarters in the park. But whenever she scents me, she leaps the fence and comes immediately. Come, rub her chin. She is very fond of that."

  Her heart still pounding with reaction, Laura obeyed and was rewarded with a very loud, very unnerving, rumble of pleasure. Not a true purr, she decided, perhaps panthers weren't equipped for that. More of a focused growl, a sound that would have terrified anyone hearing it outdoors at night.

  Laura had heard that black panthers were a variation of the regular leopard, and now she saw that the leopard pattern did indeed show up as blacker spots on the glossy fur. It was all most interesting. As Laura scratched the panther's chin, it closed its eyes in ecstasy and leaned into her hand so hard that she had to brace herself. It was much like a tabby cat, only larger.

  Much, much larger.

  Kamala glanced up from her pet. "Passion is very like this," she said seriously. "Treat it as a wild beast and it has the power to destroy you. But make it your friend and it becomes a source of great pleasure.''

  Laura looked down at the panther and smiled. "Perhaps Srinivasa was correct in saying that there are no accidents. Certainly Tika came at a perfect time to illustrate your advice."

  The panther was more than an illustration; it was an omen. As the two women resumed their walk to the palace, the panther twining between them, Laura realized, with a heady mixture of fear, determination, and hope, that she was going to follow Kamala's advice and try to make passion her friend. Then, God willing, she and Ian would find peace together.

  Chapter 27

  The maharani was making perfume. Her labors filled her private sitting room with a dizzying blend of aromas—flowers and spice, sandalwood and herbs. Not quite satisfied, Kamala blended a single drop of oil into her latest mixture, sniffed the result, then sighed rapturously. "Finally," Holding the ceramic bowl to Laura, she said, "What do you think?"

  After inhaling, Laura said, "Mmm, what a wonderful fragrance! Delicate, yet sensual."

  Kamala nodded with satisfaction. "A truly fine perfume must express the wearer, and this one is perfect for you. It evokes innocent dawn and sultry night, ravishing a man's senses with both lust and tenderness."

  "I hope so," Laura said. "It's wonderful of you to make such an effort on my behalf."

  "I enjoy making perfume. I've often thought that if I had not been born a Rajput princess, I would have done well in a caste of perfumers." Kamala summoned a servant from the far end of the room and gave orders for the scent to be bottled. "I'll write down the recipe so that you can make it in England. A woman should have a special scent for her person and garments. It will haunt her husband even when she is not there."

  "I'll think of you and Dharjistan whenever I wear it." Then, for the fourth or fifth time that day, Laura said, "Do you think the men will be back today?"

  "I hope so, but it might not be until tomorrow." The maharani sighed. "I understand your impatience. I shall be very glad to see my husband, too. Even five days of separation are too many, but I do enjoy the reunions. Oh, before I forget, take a look at this book. I think you'll find it intriguing."

  As the other woman began writing down the ingredients for the perfume, Laura opened the text, but at first she made no attempt to read the Persian script. Three long days had passed since her discussion with Kamala. In some ways, it would have been easier if Laura had been able to act immediately on her resolve to have a real marriage, for the waiting was difficult.

  Kamala, bless her, had decided to distract her guest by demonstrating aspects of the education of a Hindu lady. East and West agreed that a gently born female should be able to sing, sew, dance, and play a musical instrument.

  Laura was adequately skilled in those areas, but her knowledge of magic, sorcery, and cockf
ighting was sadly deficient, her ideas of how to adorn the female form were very austere by Indian standards. And she'd never once in her life made a couch of flowers.

  The sessions were interesting and sometimes hilarious. Laura had enjoyed learning how to mix perfume and make sherbet, and being massaged with scented oil had been delightful. That was one skill she would be glad to demonstrate on Ian, for it would be a perfect excuse to run her hands over every inch of his lean, muscular body. She thought that he would like it, too.

  The trick would be getting to that state of happy intimacy from the strained situation they were in now. Laura had not yet decided the best way to go about seducing her husband when she had just persuaded him that they must stay apart. It was one thing for her to be willing to lie with him, quite another to make the first move. But she was the one who had turned her marriage into such a muddle, and it was up to her to sort it out.

  She hoped that Ian would be back that night, because the delay was making her a nervous wreck.

  Telling herself to stop brooding, she looked at the manual the maharani had given her. Within a minute, her eyes shot open. People actually wrote such things down? "Kamala, does this say what I think, or am I no longer understanding Persian?"

  The maharani looked up with a smile. "I thought you would find the Kama Sutra interesting. The pursuit of pleasure, kama, is one of the Four Aims of life, so the sage Vatsyayana wrote a treatise on the subject. Since sex is one of the great pleasures, a good part of the book is devoted to it."

  "The sage seems to have a passion for counting and classifying," Laura said weakly.

  "It's rather tedious to read about the eight kinds of love bite and the eight stages of oral intercourse," Kamala agreed. "And he cheats by counting mating after the fashion of deer, asses, and horses as different positions for intercourse. To me, those positions seem much the same."

  "I haven't got that far yet. But tell me, is this even possible?" Too embarrassed to read the passage aloud, Laura showed the page to her friend.

  "Ah, very difficult. Really only suitable for a trained acrobat," the maharani observed with a twinkle. "If you wish to try it, the sage Suvarnanabha recommends practicing in a hot bath, so that neither of you hurt yourselves."

  Laura gasped. "Is that why Indian bathtubs are so large?"

  Kamala laughed. "One of the reasons." Her expression sobered. "Don't take everything the Kama Sutra says seriously, Laura, but I thought that reading it would expand your horizons. Though the book is interesting and covers many topics other than sexual congress, it's not half so romantic as a verse of fine love poetry. Still, it's useful to know some of the techniques."

  "Oh, indeed," Laura agreed, still a little dazed. "I had no idea there were so many possibilities."

  "If you were Indian, your education would have started much earlier. In the temple, young girls see and handle lingams, stone phalluses, so that they become accustomed to the idea." The maharani chuckled. "Though your education began late, I think Falkirk Sahib will be pleased with what you have learned."

  Laura hoped so, too. As she returned to the book, she remembered his Indian mistress, Leela. He must know all about these interesting and athletic maneuvers. She stopped and reread one passage. As Kamala had said, there was nothing romantic about the blunt description, but the thought of doing it with Ian made Laura tingle in spite of her embarrassment.

  The maharani rose to her feet. "I must hold audience now, but first I will give you something to aid your endeavors."

  "You've given me so much already," Laura protested.

  Kamala's elegant brows arched. "It is easy for me to give, and I take great pleasure in it. Will you deny me that pleasure?"

  Laura laughed. "Put that way, I don't suppose I can."

  The maharani signaled to the servant. Knowing what was expected, the girl came forward and presented Laura with a folded length of exquisite, lavender-colored silk.

  "It's a sari," Kamala explained. "The fabric is so fine that it can be drawn through a ring." She removed one of her gold rings and demonstrated, pulling the whole length of gauzy fabric through the circle. It came out none the worse for wear.

  "Thank you, Kamala. It's exquisite." Laura stroked the gossamer silk. "This color is perfect for me."

  "I know," the maharani said. "The sari is a very graceful garment, and one as fine as this will drive a man to madness." Her dark eyes sparkled. "I speak as one who knows."

  Laura laughed, though she would wait before wearing the sari for Ian. It was too blatant for her at the moment, since she was still the next thing to a virgin. But she was willing to change that.

  * * *

  By midevening, Laura had given up hope that Ian would return when he unexpectedly walked into the apartment. Even dust-covered and fatigued, he looked good enough to eat. The thought brought the Kama Sutra to mind, so she said hastily, "You're home! I'd decided you wouldn't be back until tomorrow."

  "Rajiv Singh was anxious to return tonight, so we rode through rather than stopping."

  Laura considered giving him a welcoming kiss, but decided against it. Though her husband seemed pleased to see her, there was a wariness in his expression that did not encourage her to come closer. She would wait until later, when he was more relaxed. "Shall I order a bath for you?"

  "Splendid idea. And some food as well." He ran a tired hand through his auburn hair. "I might as well take advantage of the fact that we're staying in a palace. After a few nights of camping, I'll look back on this luxury with longing."

  "Did the maharajah persuade you to take over his army?"

  "He tried, but finally accepted defeat." Ian smiled. "We played chess several evenings. I managed to beat him about half the time, which apparently doesn't happen often. It made him even more regretful that I was unwilling to enter his service, but he's been a gentleman about it." He glanced at the journal Laura had been reading. "Have you found anything interesting?"

  Grateful that she had been studying Pyotr's papers rather than the Kama Sutra, Laura said, "There are lots of interesting things. I may try to publish Pyotr's memoirs in London. He's very witty and he led an incredible life. But so far, there's nothing like what we're looking for."

  "Maybe there's nothing to find," Ian said. "But I like the idea of publishing some of his work. Memoirs of a Russian Secret Agent has a ring to it. My brother-in-law Ross is a writer. Perhaps his publisher would be interested."

  Laura nodded absently before she made the connection. "Good heavens!" she gasped. "Is the Ross who is your brother-in-law the travel writer, Lord Ross Carlisle?"

  "Yes, though he's become the Marquess of Kilburn since his last book was published.''

  "His work is excellent," Laura said, more awed by the writing than the lordly title. "I've read all his books. It's not just what he says, but how he says it."

  Ian grinned, more relaxed than when he first returned. "Tell Ross that and you'll make a friend for life."

  Laura made a face. "I don't know. He now sounds as intimidating as the alarming Juliet."

  Ian smiled and went into his bedroom. Laura summoned a servant and ordered a bath and food. While her husband cleaned up, she changed into her prettiest nightgown and robe and brushed her hair out. She wanted to look desirable, in an unobvious way.

  Apparently she was successful, for when Ian came into the drawing room, his expression shuttered after a single glance. As he ate supper, he avoided looking at her and hardly spoke except for a few terse comments about his trip.

  While glad that he wasn't indifferent to her appearance, Laura was also frustrated, for she had no idea what to do next. She couldn't quite bring herself to say, "By the way, Ian, I've changed my mind about lying with you. Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?" A pity that the Kama Sutra's varied advice didn't cover this particular situation.

  As soon as he finished eating, Ian got to his feet. "If you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed. We were up riding before dawn to get back to Manpur today."

  Part
of Laura advised waiting until tomorrow, when Ian was rested, but she couldn't bear another day of delay. Maybe the best approach was to hope that proximity would do the work, as it had in the past. If Ian was too tired, the moment could pass without embarrassment for either of them.

  Rising to her feet, she moved around the table until she was standing beside him. Tentatively she laid one hand on his wrist as she looked up into his face. "I've missed you." With relief, she felt his desire kindle, sparking between them like heat lightning. This wouldn't be hard after all.

  She opened her mouth to explain her new understanding, but Ian gave her no chance to speak. Face thunderous, he twisted away as if scalded. "You'll have to do better than this," he said grimly. "Remember what I said! I can't control both of us."

  He pivoted on his heel and vanished into his bedroom. Before Laura could think of what to say, it was too late. She was left standing alone with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

  She should have known that the line that had been so firmly drawn between them could not be easily crossed. Once more she had misjudged Ian's willpower, and her failure would make it harder to try again.

  But try again she must. She had no choice.

  After taking a long, slow breath, she retreated to her own room. She might be a fool and she had certainly been hopelessly confused about passion, but she had at least one quality on her side: Russian stubbornness. Since subtlety hadn't worked, next time she would try head-on assault.

  * * *

  The next morning, Ian left their suite before Laura was even out of bed. No doubt he was going to find something to keep him busy and out of her dangerous clutches all day. That gave her time to plan the next stage in her campaign.

  A few minutes later, Meera arrived with a cup of tea, a proper English custom performed by an exotically lovely eastern nymph. After taking a sip, Laura said, "Meera, my husband came home very late last night, so tonight, I'd like to give him a proper welcome—something he'll never forget. Do you have any suggestions? If something exotic is required, the maharani will help."