Veils of Silk (15 page)

"Very true." His mouth twisted with surprising bitterness. "You're perfectly safe with me."

She knew that—and she resented the fact as much as she was grateful for it. Keeping her voice gentle, she said, "Try to get some sleep. You look tired."

He shook his head. "I'll get up now—I've had enough dreaming for one night."

She nodded and crossed the tent, but before she could raise the flap, he said, "Tomorrow we'll reach Baipur. I just want to say… thank you for being someone whose company I can bear."

Laura gave him the ghost of a smile. "I must thank you, too, for doing so much for someone who was a stranger to you. You've been a godsend this last week." Her smile deepened. "Not to mention the fact that you saved me from becoming tiffin for a tiger."

She turned and was about to leave, but his voice stopped her again. "If I write, would you answer?" he said uncertainly. "I—I'll want to know that you're all right."

Her fingers tightened on the folds of canvas. "Of course I would. I'd like to hear from you." Then she slipped out into the night.

Notice of Kenneth's death had been sent ahead, so when they arrived in Baipur the small British community immediately drew Laura into its warm embrace—literally so in the case of Emily McKittrick, the judge's wife. After a long hug, Emily suggested that Laura stay with her and her husband rather than be alone in the Stephensons' bungalow. Laura refused. As she explained to Emily, she had a great deal of packing to do and decisions to make, so she might as well get on with it.

Another, unmentioned, factor was that Ian would be spending the night at the McKittricks' before heading west to Bombay. Being under the same roof with him would prolong the pain of separation and increase the risk that Laura would do something foolish. Better to make the break now.

She said a quick, formal good-bye to Ian, for they had made their true farewell the night before. Then she went to the bungalow she had shared with her stepfather. Greeting the servants who had been left behind and directing the unpacking kept Laura busy for the rest of the day.

It was an emotional afternoon, for every object in the bungalow had associations with her stepfather: the Indian chess set that they had used; his favorite upholstered chair, which had taken on the contour of his body; the rose bushes that she had carefully nurtured in a hostile climate because he had loved the blossoms; the books they had discussed. There was no end to the memories. Soon Laura stopped trying to suppress her tears and just let them flow, changing to fresh handkerchiefs as needed. The more she wept, the sooner she would heal.

The only member of the British community who had not been available to offer his condolences earlier was Emery Walford, who had been visiting an outlying village. He remedied his earlier absence by calling on Laura as soon as he returned to Baipur.

Glad of an interruption, she went to the drawing room and greeted him warmly.

Clasping her hand, he said, "You have my deepest sympathy, Laura. Your father will be greatly missed."

His sincerity almost brought on fresh tears, but she managed a smile instead. "He told me once that there might be cleverer men in the world, but none more honorable than his colleagues in the civil service. He knew that the future would be secure in hands like yours. He thought highly of your work, you know."

"I'm honored. Your father was a model of the kind of official I want to be—wise, kind, and honest to the backbone." When Emery's eyes adjusted to the indoor light, he said with quick concern, "You've been crying. Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head. "Thank you, Emery, but I imagine I'll be crying on and off for some time to come. Everywhere I look, there are memories of him." To alleviate his worried expression, she said lightly, "I must look a fright. Weeping elegantly is one of those ladylike skills I've never acquired."

"You look beautiful," he said intensely. "You always do."

"You flatter me," she said, touched. Knowing that he would want to be of assistance, she continued, "Later, after I've decided what I'm going to do, perhaps you can help me arrange for shipping the things I want to keep."

"Of course." After a long pause, Emery said, "Laura, I know that it's inappropriate to speak of this when your father has only just died, but I'm concerned for your future." He swallowed hard. "You must know how I feel about you. I intended to wait until I was promoted, but now your father's death has left you alone in the world." He took a step closer. "Give me the right to support you, Laura. I love you, and I want you to be my wife."

Her stomach knotted with sudden anxiety as she recognized the hot pressure of desire emanating from Emery. She should have seen this coming, but she had been so absorbed by thoughts of her stepfather that the proposal caught her off balance. As she groped for a kind refusal, he stepped forward and put his hands on her shoulders, then bent and gave her a tentative kiss.

For an instant Laura responded, her lips moving against his. He was young and strong and his ardor enfolded her like a goosedown comforter. How lovely it would be if she dared marry, if she had a husband who would hold her like this, who would care for her as she would care for him…

Her momentary yielding was all the encouragement Emery needed. His arms came hard around her. As his kiss became more demanding, Laura was jolted back to reality. She could never marry, not this handsome young man, not anyone. She tried to pull away, but Emery was too absorbed in sensation to notice that her response had changed. Sharply she turned her face away from his. "Please, Emery, let me go."

Instead of complying, he pulled her tighter. "I've loved you ever since I met you, Laura," he whispered. "You're everything
I've ever dreamed of finding in a woman. Beautiful, kind, understanding…"

Laura began to struggle in earnest, but Emery's sporting pursuits had given him muscles that she couldn't match. She gasped, "Emery, stop this!"

She shoved against his chest and drew her breath so that she could call the servants. Before she could, the front door opened. Then a familiar deep voice swore, "Damnation!"

An instant later Ian wrenched Emery away from Laura. Expression savage, he spun the younger man around and struck him with devastating power, first in the jaw, then in the stomach. Emery made a strangled sound as he crashed into the wicker sofa, then pitched to the floor.

Ian hauled the magistrate to his feet and was preparing to hit him again when Laura cried out, "No, Ian, don't hurt him!"

For a moment she feared that Ian hadn't heard and that in his fury he might kill Emery. Barely in time he checked his next blow. Instead of striking, he shoved the younger man back so that he sprawled across the sofa. "You despicable young swine," he snapped, "How dare you assault Miss Stephenson! I should stake you out as tiger bait."

"It was mostly a misunderstanding, Ian," Laura said unsteadily. "Emery proposed, and I guess I didn't make it clear enough that I wasn't interested."

Emery sat up, arms folded over his injured stomach, his face ashen. "I'm sorry, Laura," he gasped. "I didn't mean to frighten you, but I was overcome by the force of my feelings." He lifted his gaze to Ian. "You have every right to chastise me, sir, for my conduct was unpardonable."

"Yes, it was," Ian agreed caustically. "Infatuation is no excuse for assault."

Laura intervened again. Emery had given her a few bad moments, but his feelings were genuine and his intentions honorable. She knelt by the sofa. "You've paid me a great compliment, Emery, but I can't marry you. I should have said so sooner, but I didn't want to jeopardize our friendship."

"Can you forgive the insult I offered you?" he asked, his expression wretched.

"It was not meant as an insult, so no forgiveness is needed." She stood, sorry that he was hurting. Though his love for her might be rooted in the fact that she was the only eligible European female in the district, she would not demean his feelings by saying that. "We'll forget what happened today. I won't speak of it, and neither will Major Cameron."

With a feeble attempt at humor, Emery said, "My stomach won't forget in a hurry. You have a punch like a mule, Major Cameron." After a pause, he stammered, "Thank you for stopping me. For as long as I live, I'll never forgive myself for frightening Miss Stephenson."

"Let's not have an orgy of guilt," Ian said dryly. "Just don't do it again with another girl."

With what dignity he could muster, Emery left the bungalow.

As soon as he was gone, Ian moved toward Laura, concern on his face. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine." Though she longed to go into his arms for comfort, in her present state, she didn't dare. Sinking onto the sofa, she buried her face in her hands. Dear God, how could she have enjoyed the embrace of a man she didn't love, especially when she had spent the last week mooning over Ian Cameron? She really was shameless.

When she had regained her control, she lifted her head again. "That was my fault. I've always been able to keep Emery from being difficult, but today I was careless."

His brows raised. "Don't blame yourself. That young idiot was the one who was out of line."

She smiled humorlessly. "Yes, but they say that men are more prey to their passions. It's a woman's responsibility not to say or do anything that might be misinterpreted."

"You're hard on your own sex, but that is neither here nor there." He looked down into her face, frowning. "I'd come to say good-bye, but perhaps it will be better if I return tomorrow, when you've had time to recover from your experience. If you take an early morning ride, may I join you?"

Surprised, she said, "Aren't you leaving in the morning?"

"There's no need to go first thing." He was watching her with a strange intensity that was a little unnerving. Laura turned away, thinking that he only wanted to assure himself that she had recovered from the scene with Emery.

After settling what time he should come for her, Laura resumed her work with an inward sigh. Earlier in the day she had wisely decided not to prolong their parting, yet here she was, willing to do just that. Where men were concerned, she really had no willpower to speak of.