Her Master's Touch (21 page)

Eyes straight ahead, she nodded, certain that
if she tried to speak, no sound would come. "And here?" His hand
moved lower. Again she nodded. But when his fingers began palpating
the side of her breast, she couldn't resist looking down. She
should have voiced her outrage over his violation of her person,
because clearly, the red area was not on her breast. Yet she did
nothing, just stared at the large, sun-bronzed fingers that were no
longer palpating, but fondling her breast in a way that had nothing
to do with the swelling beneath her arm...

Then, he stood abruptly, and said to the
ayahs
, who had been gaping at them in prurient interest,
"Have cook prepare a paste of basil leaves and salt and see that it
is applied to Lady Ravencroft until the swelling has passed."

He hastily left, and he had not returned to
his bedchamber since…

Elizabeth blinked to check the tears. "It
makes no difference if Lord Ravencroft has gone back to
Begum
Mara," she said, spitting out the bogus title. "Our
marriage is not permanent."

Lekra looked at her, baffled. "I don't
understand."

Feeling confident that Lekra could be
trusted, Elizabeth explained, as concisely as possible, the reason
behind her provisional marriage. Lekra already knew about the
stolen opal and the dead gateman, and that Elizabeth had somehow
been involved, even though she had nothing to do with the deed
herself. But she was surprised to learn that not only had
Elizabeth's father once owned
Shanti Bhavan
, but that during
the years that Elizabeth was away from India, she'd been attending
finishing school in London, where her father owned a large
estate.

"So you see," Elizabeth continued, "as soon
as I am able to recover the opal, Lord Ravencroft will turn over
Shanti Bhavan
to me, our marriage will be annulled, and he
will return to England." She let out a little soft snicker. "And
Begum
Mara will have to cool her ardor with another woman's
husband. It will be interesting to see which one she chooses."
Although she tried to make light of it, the thought of a beautiful
Indian woman bedding Damon bothered Elizabeth more than she cared
to admit. But then, Damon had sexual needs that were not being met,
so she could not fault him for seeking the release he needed
elsewhere.

Still, she could not dismiss the image of
slender golden-brown hands moving over Damon's chest, and stroking
his belly, and fondling that part of him that awakened merely to
Elizabeth's perusal. Nor could she shake the jealousy she felt that
while she was familiar with that part of Damon from a forced touch
that lasted only moments, Mara knew it intimately. Odd that the
thing she once found repugnant, now made her restless and impatient
to experience that rush of pleasure just one more time. But the
means by which she'd found that pleasure with him, two years
before, would no longer do. It was silk-clad iron and throbbing
heat that she imagined awakening that private pleasure. And she
wanted it to come from deep within her feminine core.

Silk-clad iron sheathed in velvety
softness.

But now she could not imagine taking that
pleasure with any man but Damon.

And those were the kinds of thoughts she
would simply put out of her mind, because there was no place in her
heart, or in her life, for a man who considered her little more
than the kept woman he went to each night to satisfy his lust.

***

Although the household was running smoothly
under the supervision of the new head servant, Elizabeth was
becoming increasingly exasperated with the ubiquitous staff. All
she wanted was solitude, but it seemed that as long as she remained
at
Shanti Bhavan
, that would not be. Her patience finally
snapped at dinner one evening. Because Damon was late, she was
already seated at the table. He arrived just as the matey was
entering the dining room, carrying a platter of sweetbread
croquettes. After taking his place, Damon looked down the length of
the table at Elizabeth, and said, "How did you fare today?"

"
How did I fare!"
she scoffed. "When I
was in the garden, I found a dead crow among the marigolds, and
when I went to remove it, one of the half-dozen Hindu gardeners,
who follow me everywhere, stopped me, horrified that
'Missy
Sahib might defile herself
,' by touching the dead bird. So he
sent for the
masalchee
from the scullery, who rushed out
claiming it was the job of the sweeper. But the sweeper claimed
only a
dome
could dispose of the dead bird. I was so
exasperated by then I disposed of the bird myself. Now, the entire
staff is mortified over what I did." She nodded for the
matey
to slip a sweetbread croquette from the platter onto
her dish.

Damon eyed her with vexation. "You've lived
in India. You should have known."

Elizabeth sliced off a piece of croquette. "I
lived with gypsies. They don't have staffs of servants." She popped
the croquette into her mouth, barely aware of it's succulent
flavor, so agitated she was over the whole incident, and with Damon
for his insensitivity.

"But your father had servants when you lived
with him in London," Damon said.

Elizabeth gave a sharp snort of disgust.
"
But they did not run my life!
Here, I have
punkah
coolies to fan me,
durzis
sitting cross-legged on the floor
of my bedchamber stitching away on my gowns, the
bheesti
bursting in at all hours with water, two
ayahs
to help me
dress, one to brush my hair, three to bathe me. I'm about to go
mad. I do not like having hands all over me." She sliced off
another piece of croquette.

Damon took a slow sip of wine. "You did
once," he said. "The night I found you dancing around the lantern
you made no move to stop what I was doing."

Elizabeth looked up and found him watching
her, intently. "That was different."

Damon held her gaze. "In what way?"

"I allowed you to do those things so I could
recover the opal." She popped the piece of croquette into her
mouth, annoyed with the direction of the conversation and
determined not to let Damon goad her into saying more.

"I did not have the opal that evening and you
knew it." Damon took another slow sip of wine, his eyes holding
hers. "You allowed me to do those things because you discovered you
enjoyed the feel of my hands on your body and my lips on your
breasts."

"You can believe whatever you wish,"
Elizabeth clipped. "It makes no difference to me." She turned her
attention to the
matey
, who'd entered with a serving bowl
filled with curry and rice, and nodded for him to place a portion
on her plate.

After Damon had been served, he took a
mouthful of curry, chewed thoughtfully, and said, "Has the swelling
under your arm gone away?"

Elizabeth looked up, surprised at the shift
in conversation. He'd not so much as inquired about her wellbeing
since the evening of the incident in the bath tub the week before.
He'd left the room in such a hurry after that, she hadn't known
what to make of it. "I'm fine now," she replied, "but you never
said what you thought caused the swelling."

"It was obviously an insect bite," Damon
replied. "There was a red dot in the center of the swollen area.
Did you know when you were bitten?"

Elizabeth nodded. "It was when I was in the
garden that morning. I was on my hands and knees picking larkspur
and snap dragons when I felt something bite sharply. The area
became swollen and started throbbing. I worried that it might have
been a poisonous spider and thought about sending for a doctor to
take a look. But after several hours passed and nothing happened, I
decided the thing was not venomous and gave it no further
thought."

"There are no poisonous spiders in India,"
Damon said, "but any bite, even that of a mosquito, can get
infected. You should have come to me and told me about it."

Elizabeth offered a cynical smile. "Why? So
you could examine my breast and take liberties I would not have
otherwise let you take?"

Damon's eyes darkened. "No, so Cook could
make a poultice for you to put on it." He sat silently staring at
her for the stretch of several seconds, then said in a low, wistful
tone, "Did the touch of my hand bother you so much?"

Elizabeth held his unwavering gaze. "It
wasn't right. You're not my doctor, and you're not my husband. Not
really," she said, disturbed that he was pressing her to admit a
longing she did not want to recognize. And angry with herself for
her weakness.

Damon leaned forward slightly, as if to make
sure she understood, and said, "That's why I'm staying in the
bungalow, Elizabeth, so I will not be tempted again."

Elizabeth wanted to tell him that she knew
precisely why he was staying in the bungalow, and it had nothing to
do with avoiding temptation with her, but said instead, "You should
not have touched me there at all. No, not touched," she corrected.
"You fondled me as if you were inspecting a concubine you intended
to purchase for your harem. But I had no choice but to allow you to
do what you were doing. You and I are already a prime topic for
gossip among Calcutta's bluebloods, so I could hardly shove your
hand away as I wanted to do, with a half-dozen
ayahs
staring
at us. Not only did I feel violated by what you were doing, but I
also felt violated by the spectators who were watching you fondle
my breast in a way that had nothing to do with the swelling under
my arm." She let out a short, cynical laugh. "At least the
gossipmongers will not be able to say that Lady Ravencroft shuns
Lord Ravencroft's touch."

Damon looked at her thoughtfully. "Maybe some
day my touch will feel right."

Elizabeth slapped her napkin on the table,
fixed her eyes on his, and said, "We will not be together long
enough for that to happen. The gypsies will be here in three weeks,
and if they have the opal in their possession, I will get it back
for you, in which case you will return to England, and I will stay
here. If they don't have the opal, I will return to England, and
you will stay here. Either way, this marriage will be over, and
your touch will no longer be a threat to me." She shoved her chair
back and stood.

Damon rose out of respect, looked across the
table at her, and said, "I behaved badly on the steamer, Elizabeth.
The things I said were cruel and vindictive and I apologize for
that. And for the incident during your bath. I had no right. Will
you ever forgive me?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "You've behaved badly
ever since I first met you, though I've been partly to blame for
your poor behavior. I believe we bring out the worst in each other,
which is why I'll be glad when this alliance is over. Now, if
you'll excuse me, I want to be done with all the bedtime nonsense
with my
ayahs
and go to sleep." She turned and left the
room, and Damon didn't try to stop her. But before the issue of the
opal would be settled, he was determined that she would welcome his
touch, and him as her husband.

The thought of another man's hands on her was
not an option now. But he had little time left to change bitterness
and hatred to love and desire. But change it, he would.

CHAPTER NINE

To pass the days while awaiting the arrival
of the gypsies, Elizabeth set about planning an English garden for
the day when
Shanti Bhavan
would be hers. The garden would
be an intricate maze of brick walkways that would wind among plants
and shrubs and be accented by stone benches and bird baths. There
would be a brick wall around it, with a locking gate that only she
could access. It would be a place where she could go for seclusion
and complete solitude.

But while she was laying out plans on her
sketch pad and making copious notes on the features she wanted to
include, buried memories began to emerge—recollections of gathering
herbs with her mother in the garden, and crouching beside her while
filling pots with pansies that reminded her of little faces. And
she remembered her mother's small stone idols that she kept hidden
in a shed in the garden, a shed that had been replaced by a small
gazebo. Those memories were as clear as her memories of Madam
Chatworthy's in England. Yet, all memory of the days leading up to
her mother's disappearance remained buried. It was as if one day
her mother was hovering over her, and the next her father was
packing her off to school in England…

"Missy
Sahib
," a young coolie called
up to her. He stood in the courtyard below the veranda, holding
Elizabeth's mare. "You ride now?"

Elizabeth set aside the sketchpad and nodded.
"I'll be right there," she called down. Before leaving, she
finished her spicy tea and took one last mango tart from the bamboo
tray. For the past several days she'd had morning meal on the
veranda off her bedchamber. Although she'd initially requested
doing it as a means of avoiding having to eat with Damon, she was
beginning to look forward to it. The pearly light of dawn was an
almost mystical experience, especially when surrounded by the calls
of doves, and jungle crows, and the ever present brain fever bird.
Even in the middle of the dreaded hot weather, such as it was, the
day still began with this magic.

But after two days of eating alone in the
dining room, Damon requested that morning meal be brought to him at
the bungalow. Which was best, Elizabeth decided. He could cool his
ardor with
Begum
Mara until late in the morning, and she
could use that time to plan her flower garden, undistracted,
undisturbed, and unaffected by Damon's presence. Once her garden
would be in full bloom, and Damon back in England, she'd give no
further thought to what went on between the silk sheets in the
bungalow.