Her Master's Touch (22 page)

But for now, no matter how hard she tried,
she could not set aside her bizarre longing to be the one to give
Damon pleasure in the ways a woman could pleasure a man, in the way
Begum
Mara had been trained to do from an early age.

Determined to give no further thought to her
errant husband, Elizabeth grabbed her riding crop, snatched her
riding hat from a hook on the wall, and headed down the stairs
toward the courtyard. Her morning ride was her one time in a long
tedious day that she could be alone with her thoughts, though she'd
had to be brusque with the syce to allow her to do so. He did, but
only with Damon's permission, which Damon grudgingly gave.

As she cantered her mare alongside the jute
fields, she breathed in the sweet scent of the fresh morning air
while savoring the exhilaration she felt on being free from the
flurry of servants scurrying about. And with both Lord and Lady
Ravencroft away from the house, it was a time when the staff would
be given no fodder for gossip...

Except for the fact that Lord Ravencroft
never accompanied Lady Ravencroft on her morning ride because His
Lordship was busy bedding
Begum
Mara in the bungalow.

Eyeing a well-worn trail leading into a grove
of banyan trees, Elizabeth pulled the mare to a halt. She'd never
taken the trail before and found herself eager to know where it
led. Turning the mare, she set out at a brisk trot. But when she
came to a clearing beyond the grove, she was surprised to find a
middle-aged woman sitting at an easel, painting. Beside her stood a
bearer holding an enormous umbrella over her head. And a short
distant away, servants busied themselves around several tables, one
table prepared with a crisp white cloth and tableware, another
holding food hampers, and yet another with griddles and pots with
steam curling upward, carrying with it the aroma of onions and
spices.

The woman looked across the meadow at
Elizabeth, and smiled. "Good morning," the woman called out. "I
hope we have not overstepped the boundaries of your
plantation."

Elizabeth smiled. "You have but you're
welcome to stay. May I see what you're painting?"

"By all means. And please take tiffin with
me," the woman said. "I would enjoy having some British
companionship."

Elizabeth tied her mount to a tree and walked
over to where the woman sat putting finishing touches on a painting
of the meadow before her. But in her painting, the meadow was
bedecked with flowers that did not exist. As if picking up on that,
the woman said, "I long for sweet peas and snapdragons and
petunias, but every time my
mali
tries to get them to grow,
the hot weather sweeps down on the tender plants and withers them
overnight. So I enjoy them this way." She touched her brush to the
painting several times, leaving a trail of pink sweet peas. "That's
fine now," she mumbled, then immersed her brush in a tin of solvent
and removed her apron. "So, shall we see what my Punjabi cook has
prepared this morning? I suspect those are
parathas
on the
griddle. I hope you are hungry."

"Yes, I am. And I am delighted to join you,"
Elizabeth said, wondering what the woman's reaction would be on
learning exactly who she'd invited for tiffin.

The woman called to the servants to set
another place at the table, then indicated for Elizabeth to help
herself to soap and water at a wash basin. After they'd taken their
seats opposite each other, the woman offered her hand across the
table, and said, "Please excuse my poor manners. I am Blanche
Bourke."

Elizabeth took the woman's hand, and replied,
"And I am Elizabeth Ravencroft." When Lady Bourke gave no
indication that the name Elizabeth Ravencroft was a name to
disdain, Elizabeth wondered how it was that this woman, of obvious
high social status, had not heard gossip that seemed to have
reached every British ear in Calcutta.

Lady Bourke draped her napkin across her lap,
nodded for her server to place a
chapatti
on her dish, and
said, "Then your husband is a planter, Lady Ravencroft?"

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, jute. The fields
surrounding us are his."

"Then they are also yours," Lady Bourke said.
"I am a firm believer that what belongs to a husband also belongs
to his wife." She eyed Elizabeth with curiosity. "Am I wrong in
assuming that you are a new bride, Lady Ravencroft?"

Elizabeth laughed lightly. "Is it that
obvious?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. I fear you have not yet
settled in. But you will. India has a way of stripping away all of
your frailties. And please, help yourself to a kabob. I think out
here in the hinterland we can relax the rules of propriety
some."

Elizabeth laughed, enjoying Lady Bourke's
easy manner. She lifted a kabob to her mouth and nibbled at a piece
of lamb. After chewing thoughtfully, she said, "And your husband,
Lady Bourke. What does he do?"

Lady Bourke smiled graciously. "Lord Bourke
is Viceroy of India."

Elizabeth stared at the woman in stunned
silence. When she'd finally found her voice, she said, "Please
forgive me, Lady Bourke, I had no idea. Lord Ravencroft and I do
not discuss politics."

Lady Bourke chuckled. "Good heavens, I should
hope not. It would be a sad start to your marriage if your husband
resorted to discussing politics at this early date. Cooing,
cuddling and silly bedchamber talk are more the standard. Just
enjoy your husband while his focus is still entirely on you, before
life and his career get in the way."

Elizabeth tried to imagine what it would be
like to cuddle with Damon, to have him coo sweet nothings in her
ear and touch her in the ways a loving husband would touch his
beloved wife. Or to even look at her as if she truly mattered.

Lady Bourke nodded for a server to fill
Elizabeth's cup with spicy tea, then looked at Elizabeth, and
said,. "How long have you and Lord Ravencroft been married?"

Elizabeth hadn't kept track. The nuptial date
meant nothing, the exchange of vows too cold and unfeeling to
reflect on. But Lady Bourke was expecting an answer, so she
replied, "A little over two months."

"Oh, you are a fresh bride," she said,
grinning. "Were you married here in India?"

"No, we were married in London," Elizabeth
said. Well, technically on the steamer, she silently amended, but
that was neither here nor there since it was a bogus marriage.

Lady Bourke smiled knowingly. "So your
honeymoon was spent travelling by steamer to Bombay and, I presume,
by train to Calcutta. But there's no better way for a young bride
to get to know her husband." She laughed lightly. "If she still has
one iota of modesty after spending a month in those close quarters,
then the marriage is in trouble."

Elizabeth laughed nervously. "Yes, I suppose
it would be." If only Lady Bourke knew the indignities she'd been
forced to endure in those close quarters because of Damon.
Certainly not cooing and cuddling and the gentle touch of a caring
groom introducing his bride to the marital act. Though he had, in a
sense, introduced her to it when he'd pressed her hand around his
aroused male member, and the feel of its silken sheath against her
palm made it seem less threatening. Oddly tempting in fact. That
incident, coupled with her memory of the private pleasure, left
little to the imagination. Mercilessly, that which was left taunted
her when she was alone in bed at night, knowing Damon was using
that
part of him to bring pleasure to another woman. She'd
had a sample of that pleasure, and now she couldn't put aside her
longing to experience the fruition of it with Damon.

Lady Bourke snickered. "Well, my dear, now
that all that newly-wed folderol is over, I expect you'll be having
an announcement to make in the near future. Many children are
conceived on the trip between England and Bombay. It helps pass the
time."

"Yes, it did help pass the time," Elizabeth
said, then realized she'd just admitted to something that never
happened. Strangely, the thought that she had missed out on a kind
of initiation into marital life that was as old as time saddened
her. Ironically, while on the steamer she could not have imagined
passing time with Damon in such an unappealing way. When she'd
first seen that part of him rise up from it's nest of dark bristly
curls and grow large, she'd been appalled. Why on earth would any
woman want such a repugnant-looking thing inside her, she'd
thought? Not only was the thing ominous in size, but the whole act
seemed entirely one of male gratification. Only now could she
entertain the possibility that there could be some pleasure for the
woman as well. With that thought her pulse quickened, heat crept up
her face, and she realized too late that she was smiling.

Lady Bourke snickered. "I will not say to
you,
'a penny for your thoughts
,' because they are quite
obvious. I look forward to meeting your husband in the near future.
Tea?"

"Oh… um… yes, please…"

While lunching on meat curries, and halva,
and an assortment of breads and cheeses, Elizabeth was so
comfortable with Lady Bourke's warm manner that she was tempted to
tell all, but refrained. She was surprised, though, when after
asking Lady Bourke how she managed to keep up with all the social
engagements that being the Viceroy's wife would entail, Lady Bourke
replied, "Social engagements are no problem. In fact, being British
India's first lady can be quite lonely. I'm in a fog as to why
women feel intimidated by me, but they do. They rarely invite me to
their social events, and they avoid sitting by me, or even talking
to me at gatherings."

"I find that surprising," Elizabeth said,
with candor. "I also feel honored that you are so gracious as to
have me join you this morning."

"Well, my entourage and I are, in fact,
trespassing." Lady Bourke reached across the table and patted
Elizabeth's hand. "But having you join me for
tiffen
makes
this one of the most pleasant mornings I can remember. I hope we
can do it again soon. In fact, I'd be honored if you and Lord
Ravencroft would join us as our special guests at the masquerade
ball to be held at Government House next week. I realize it doesn't
give you much time to prepare your costumes, but I'm sure you can
work something out. The theme this year is gypsy queens and pirate
kings."

Elizabeth stared at Lady Bourke in shocked
surprise, wondering if this was some kind of a joke. Then she
quickly dismissed that notion. She'd only just met Lady Bourke, and
nothing about the woman's persona suggested that she was anything
but a sincere courteous woman. As for the ball, she could certainly
slip into the roll of a gypsy queen. And she doubted there was a
man in all of British India who would make a more convincing Pirate
King than Damon, if not for his wickedly handsome looks, than for
his reputation for acquiring rare and exotic gems.

Lady Bourke laughed at Elizabeth's reluctance
to reply, and said, "I am just not that intimidating, Lady
Ravencroft. Now, you and your husband must come."

Elizabeth shook her head and said, wistfully,
"It's very gracious of you to ask, but if my husband and I were to
attend your ball, your guests would be horrified. You see, Lord and
Lady Ravencroft are quite the topic for gossip in Calcutta."

Lady Bourke leaned forward, looked directly
at Elizabeth, and said, "Is your husband an honorable man?"

Elizabeth silently pondered that. Until now,
she'd considered Damon anything but honorable. From the moment he'd
arrived in London and learned who she was, he'd been intent on
humiliating her. But then, she'd stolen a precious gem from him
that set his life back significantly, if not permanently. And
although he was her legal husband, he'd held to their agreement,
making no attempt to exercise his husbandly rights. There was also
the issue with Cedric Hadleigh. Damon had defended her honor in no
uncertain terms. "Yes," she at last replied, "my husband is an
honorable man."

"Then it makes no difference to me if tongues
wag," Lady Bourke said. "Besides, I can think of no better way to
stop those wagging tongues than for you and your husband to be
personal guests of India's Viceroy and his wife. Now I shall hear
no more about it."

Although Lady Bourke didn't ask, Elizabeth
felt obligated to inform her that Damon had been forced to flee
England, and why. Lady Bourke had not so much as batted an eye, nor
was she shocked when Elizabeth mentioned that she was Anglo-Indian.
The rest, Elizabeth decided, could wait. For now, she and Damon
would attend their first social event as Lord and Lady Ravencroft,
and oddly, she looked forward to it. Short of Lord Ravencroft
arriving at the ball with Lady Ravencroft on one arm, and
Begum
Mara on the other, there was nothing more the
gossipmongers could add to further sully her reputation.

Then she remembered that Lord and Lady
Ravencroft would be arriving at the ball as a pirate king and his
gypsy queen. Tongues would indeed wag. Oddly, the dark humor in it
brought a smile to Elizabeth's lips, along with a bizarre sense of
anticipation for the party to begin. Perhaps a bit of Eliza Shirazi
was starting to surface. An intriguing, thought. She was ready to
take on that persona again, if only for one evening at a masquerade
ball.

***

Two
ayahs
hovered over Elizabeth,
arranging her hair—a cascade of curls interwoven with multi-colored
beads strung onto numerous pencil-thin tresses. Perched atop her
head was a small crown. She'd found the gaudy thing at the bazaar—a
diadem of glass and gold beads winking at her from its velvet
pillow—and purchased it at once, knowing it was the perfect accent
for her costume. It was also the kind of tawdry thing Eliza Shirazi
would have worn for such a grand occasion, if only to taunt a
certain lord.