Her mornings were spent writing about the daily life of the palace and she felt, of all her stories, they were perhaps the best. So far she had heard nothing from the English publisher, and had almost given up hope of a reply, but she sent the latest stories with a flimsy confidence, hoping they were worthy of notice.
Her afternoons were spent with the Maharani and her entourage in the privacy of the Zenana, where they indulged in hours of lazy gossip, and where she wore the sari and went barefoot, luxuriating in the feel of her toes against the cool marble floors. Though in the evenings she reverted to western dress once more and, as though adopting armour, she put on the layers of silk petticoats and chiffon and piled her hair into the current style of the English fashion magazines. In this way, suitably equipped, she felt fortified once more against Ravi Sabran’s mysterious charm.
The Maharani made it more difficult for her by speaking often of Sabran with admiration. “He is a good man, even though he tries very hard to make us all believe he is not. Even his love for Maya is based on his kindness. He could not bear to see her treated the way she was by her brute of a husband, so he convinced her to run away with him. She is safe while she is protected by Monsieur Ravi, but her husband will stop at nothing to get her back, not because he loves her but because she belongs to him.”
“Monsieur Sabran must love her very much.”
“She is as beautiful as a flower, but for him I think it is not her beauty that draws him to her, it is pity, and love came afterwards. But for her it is a passion so deep it will only die with her death. That, I am sure of!” She emphasised her point by striking the fingers of one hand into the palm of the other. “Sometimes I wish they had never met; it is an impossible situation.”
“You might find she’s perhaps not so dependent on Monsieur Sabran’s love as you think. People do not die of broken hearts.”
“My dear Mrs Fitzroy, you have a lot to learn about love. That is clear.”
At this point Sara was silent; words had failed her. It was true; she knew nothing about love. Her unhappiness was proof of it.
Sabran announced his intention to leave almost without notice.
There was business in Pondicherry he must attend to at once, and he would leave as soon as possible.
There was a chorus of protests from everyone except Sara, who couldn’t help but be a little relieved to be free of his unsettling presence at last.
Champagne was called for to celebrate their final evening together, and as the evening wore on the Maharaja became more sentimental.
“If it hadn’t been for Monsieur Ravi, we would never have met,” he said, patting Sara gently on the hand. “‘You must ask this lady to your garden party’, he said. ‘She will interest you.’”
Sara looked at Sabran, who raised his glass to her and smiled, though she could see he was embarrassed by this revelation.
“And I shocked dear Mrs Fitzroy by telling her a great fib about a tiger and how my father used widows as tiger bait.” He laughed. “I can see her face now as she went pale with horror, but nonetheless remained the perfect lady.”
Sara laughed. “Then it was only a story after all! Thank heavens! I often worried about it. I didn’t like to think of your father as being cruel.”
“And we talked about my fondness for some English customs. The English manner of dancing is charming to me, and if I wasn’t so fat I would love to dance with our dear Mrs Fitzroy. But alas, it is not to be.” He patted his huge belly with his jewelled fingers. “But Monsieur Ravi, would you ask Mrs Fitzroy to dance so I can watch? I can pretend it is I.”
“Dance with Monsieur Sabran?” She was about to refuse when the Maharaja clapped his hands, warming to the idea.
“Yes, yes, a dance, if you would oblige me, my dear Mrs Fitzroy. I have a desire to see you dance. A waltz! I do love a waltz.”
Sara rose to her feet. It was not possible to refuse him now.
The Maharani hurried to the piano. “I had an English governess for a long time, a Miss Leach; she was very strict with me. Every time I put a note wrong she hit my knuckles with a ruler. But I have never forgotten.”
She began to play, thumping the notes with great enthusiasm even though the instrument was badly out of tune.
“Play the Strauss, play the Strauss.” The Maharaja was already tapping his sandalled feet.
“May I?” Sabran stood before her, his arms held out, his dark eyes watching her.
There was a moment of confusion and little shocked gasps from the Maharani’s sister when he put his arm around her waist and drew her to him. He took her free hand and held it in his own. At once, a powerful tingling sensation seemed to shoot from his body into hers, and she had to steady herself. She looked around, sure everyone must have noticed her discomfort. The Maharaja seemed unaware, and only smiled and clapped loudly in time to the music, though the Maharani and her sister, who had joined her at the piano, both stared and whispered enough to unnerve her.
She kept her eyes fixed on her own hand as it rested on his shoulder, determined not to be captured again by his hypnotic gaze.
“My secret is out,” he whispered as he held her close, causing a shiver to run down her back. “I confess to wanting to know more about you. Is that so very bad?”
He waited for her answer, watching her with his heavy-lidded eyes, his face almost touching hers, but she was determined to remain silent.
She straightened her back and bit her lip. It was dangerous to be so close to him. She must put a stop to it at once. “If you will excuse me, I think we have amused their Majesties enough.”
He removed his hand from her waist, though his eyes were still fixed upon hers with a burning gaze.
The Maharaja sat, unaware of the drama unfolding around him, still tapping his foot in time to the piano. The Maharani exhausted herself at last and creaked to a halt.
Sara curtsied before them both. “Will you forgive me if I retire to my room early tonight? I’m very tired.”
“Of course, my dear Mrs Fitzroy. You have had enough of our nonsense, I’m sure.” The Maharaja tried to rise to his feet but gave up almost at once.
“Not at all … Monsieur Sabran, I won’t see you before you leave in the morning, but thank you …” She could think of nothing more to say.
Sabran kissed her hand while bestowing on her a look, unsmiling but intent. She hurried away, cursing herself for her awkwardness and lack of composure.
Chapter 31
In the privacy of her room she paced back and forth, oblivious to everything except her thoughts pounding at her brain. Over and over again they taunted her. Was it obvious to everyone he had a disturbing influence over her? Why did she have to make such a fool of herself by leaving the room in such a way? Why did she flush with colour every time he looked at her? He must think her a complete fool. She tugged at the tight stays of her dress. Malika was nowhere to be found. It was impossible to rest after such a day. She hurried outside to continue her pacing by the fountain in the courtyard. She was beginning to think she might be ill again.
“Malika!” she called out, pulling at the back of her dress. She saw the courtyard door was open onto the terrace.
There was a figure, standing alone, watching the going down of the sun. She could see at once it was Sabran but, before she could hurry away, he turned and saw her.
“Monsieur, excuse me. I was looking for Malika.” She made a move to leave. It was impossible she could be alone with him. He unnerved her too much. She was afraid her shaking voice had already given her away.
“Don’t go. It’s such a beautiful evening. It’s almost as bright as day.” His voice was natural and calm. Perhaps he was unaware after all.
Malika appeared on the terrace and stood between them, her eyes watchful. It was plain she disapproved of her mistress being alone with a man other than her husband. Sara knew she liked Sabran and there was no danger of gossip but, even so, she was instantly on her guard.
“I must speak to you
about something of great importance, but it must be private. There is a place I go to meditate, if you would do me the honour to accompany me.”
“We are alone here; please speak freely.”
“It is a very sensitive subject …” His intense grey eyes flashed about, as though someone might hear them, and, even though she was afraid to be alone with him, her curiosity grew.
She nodded, for a moment not being able to speak.
He led her through a gate in the palace wall and she followed him in silence, puzzled as to why he was so secretive, through a high walled garden thick with the fragrance of a strange jasmine that was known to only bloom at night. The little bunches of waxy, trumpet-shaped flowers seemed to glow in the moonlight, sending out their heavy scent in perfumed waves to intoxicate and ensnare any creature foolish enough to succumb to their spell.
Every now and then he would stop to wait for her till she caught up with him. Once he held out his hand to help her, but she refused to take it, knowing it was dangerous to do so. They came at last to a small bungalow set apart from the main buildings of the palace, where candlelight flickered through the wide-open windows and cast a beckoning glow on the veranda surrounding the house. Here the scent of jasmine was almost overwhelming.
“Come.” He gestured towards the open door.
She hesitated at first. His eyes were so intense, so penetrating, she began to tremble all over. Then a feeling of carelessness took over and she told herself there was nothing wrong with being alone with him, and she stepped inside.
A wide divan covered in cushions and surrounded by muslin curtains stood in one corner of the room. A book lay half open on its front where he had left it. She turned her head away. She wouldn’t be able to bear being in this place; it was too intimate. It was almost indecent for her to be there.
An unreasonable anger crept over her. It was unfair of him to compromise her in this way. She took a look at him out of the corner of her eye but he seemed unmoved by the situation, only watching her with an eager expression on his face, happy to be showing off this beautiful place to someone, anyone.
She relaxed a little but kept her eyes towards the other end of the room. Bowls of fragrant white flowers stood on every surface and the seductive perfume of jasmine filled the room. A fine ivory statue of the dancing Shiva stood alone on an exquisite antique table in the centre of the room.
“Charming, non?” he said, opening his arms wide and grinning.
“Very.” She laughed, but it sounded awkward and almost shrill.
He gestured towards two low divans facing each other near the open window, then clapped his hands and a servant appeared.
“Will you have chai?” She nodded her reply, then the woman disappeared as quickly as she had come.
Sara stared down at her hands twisted in her lap and was overcome by shyness. Her whole being seemed electrified and her head swam. Even normal sounds were amplified, and the clatter of the servant in the background as she made the tea seemed deafening, straining her nerves to breaking point. When she felt she couldn’t stand the tension any longer the woman reappeared, for a moment cutting the current running between them.
She placed the tray on a table between the divans, then, after taking a sly look at Sara, she left them alone.
“Shall I?” Sara asked, relieved to have something to do with her hands, though they trembled as she reached for the teapot and her voice came out a husky squeak.
“Please do.” His voice was calm, but he too seemed to find it difficult to relax. He crossed and uncrossed his legs several times while watching her as she struggled with pouring the tea. He darted forward to take the cup before it crashed to the floor.
He held the cup with both hands before settling back on the settee. He took a deep breath and began. “You are aware of a series of events that have linked us together?”
“Yes, I have noticed a strange string of coincidences.”
“They are not coincidences. Something else has occurred and it has made me uneasy.”
Sara put down her teaspoon with great care, for fear of drawing attention to her shaking hand. “You won’t tell me what it is?”
“No, I can’t. You’ll find out when the time is right. It is not for me to tell you.”
“This is very mysterious, monsieur. Then what have you brought me here for?”
He frowned and gave a deep sigh, then ran his fingers through his hair as though he could drive the troublesome thought away. “To tell you …” he hesitated, unsure about continuing “… to tell you that, despite everything and everyone else in our lives, we must be together. There is nothing anyone can do about it, because it is fated. All the signs point that way.”
“Oh!” She could say nothing else, though she felt a rush of joy so intense she was sure she would faint. She stared at him, breathless, while he gave an exasperated sigh, then his words poured out in a rush.
“I also wanted to tell you I love you, and to ask you if there is any chance you might return my love.”
She stood to face him, her knees trembling, with her hand on the back of the divan supporting her. “Do you love me only because it is fated that it must be so? It seems the idea of loving me is distasteful to you. I don’t understand.”
He too seemed shaken. He stood opposite her, flexing his hands and biting his lip. “I don’t understand it myself,” he said. He added bitterly, “This is not something I wished for.”
“Then I won’t stay to hear any more!”
She turned to leave, almost distraught, then she felt an overwhelming compulsion to look at him one last time and her hesitation, and something in her expression, caused him to spring forward and take her in his arms.
“No, please … Let me go … I must go …”
He held her gaze with his own and she found herself unable to look away. “The barrier separating us is almost gone,” he whispered.
She didn’t reply. It would be contemptible to reprove him for something she longed to hear.
She felt him shiver; the tremor passed through his body into hers, then her head fell back as he pressed his warm lips on the nape of her neck. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he murmured. “That little mark is so tempting.”
She found the courage to turn to him, terrified she would succumb to her own almost blinding desire, and the first time she allowed herself a long luxurious moment to appreciate his exotic charm. She smiled at the heavily lashed grey eyes filled with passion and longing.
“You give me no time. I need time.” Her face was extremely pale, and her eyes glittered as though she had a fever.
“Sarianna, this was meant to be. There is nothing either of us can do about it.” His voice was hypnotic and she was mesmerised. Then he lifted a strand of her hair from where it lay around her throat and put it to his lips. A shiver ran down her back and she began to tremble. He kissed her very gently at first, playing with her top lip, luxuriating in anticipated passion till her lips opened. His kiss was deep and crushing and filled her with warmth.
They both let out a deep sigh and clung together, amazed and thrilled at finding themselves so alive to each other. They were unable to still their bodies, frantic for the touch they both craved but feeling as though their desire could never be fulfilled.
“My darling, I can’t help it,” he murmured, then, taking both her hands he pulled her towards the divan.
They fell back under the muslin canopy and allowed themselves to be enveloped further into their own world. Her mouth tore at his, all the while rejoicing in the feel of his hard body pressing into hers. This was what she had wanted from Charles but would never have.
She whispered, panic in her voice, “Ravi … Ravi …”
“What is it, my darling?” His voice came out of the mist as he played with her long hair.
“Is this love?”
He laughed and raised his face to look at her. “It is for me, and I hope it is for you.”
He kissed her again and a
gain. Deep, soft and all-consuming, till she felt she would faint from pleasure.
Then he pulled back, wanting to enjoy her at his leisure. He lifted her dress, smiling to see so many petticoats. He felt the delicate white lace between his fingers. “So many clothes …” He laughed. “How charming, how erotic all this can be … It’s driving me mad.”
She struggled to hold the skirt down, but he took both her hands and kissed them and said firmly, “Non!”
She sighed and gave herself up to the moment. Her eyes closed as she lay back on the cushions, her cheeks flushed, watching him, mesmerised.
“So lovely …” he murmured. “So lovely.”
She moaned aloud, then thrust her fist into her mouth, feeling a sudden shame at her pleasure. He took her hands again and pressed them down into the pillow above her head, before kissing her once more and crushing her with his body; feeling the strength and power of him she knew she had only just tasted.
The moon filled the room with light, illuminating their bodies on the bed. He said nothing but he moved his hand to the place where the top of her stocking met the flesh of her thigh, feeling the soft skin. He pressed his face into her thigh, biting playfully and licking, moving his mouth to where the curve of her thigh met the lace of her silk panties. He laughed as he slowly untied the thin black ribbon around her waist. “So feminine, so pretty,” he murmured as he pressed his mouth against her warm belly. His warm hand on her thigh thrilled her beyond anything she had ever felt before.
“If you want me to stop, you must say so now. In a moment it will be too late.” His long black hair fell forward around his face. He pushed it back, impatient, his eyes burning, waiting for her answer.
She answered him with her lips, soft and yielding, and in an instant he had pulled her body towards his, his hands tearing at her silk panties. She cried out as he entered her, and he covered her mouth with his, whispering, “You are too small for me … Open a little wider …” She let her trembling legs fall further apart and he moved deeper inside her. “More,” he whispered as he ran his forefinger gently around her sex. She’d never been touched in such a way before and she rejoiced at her rising pleasure. He pushed harder, at the same time enveloping her in his arms, almost hurting her now as he took his pleasure, not holding back till sweat glistened on his golden skin, while she lay prone, unable to move from his weight, her lips apart, dazed with joy.
The Jasmine Wife Page 26
