Veils of Silk (66 page)

She caught her breath as joy spiraled through her. "I love you, too,
doushenka
, my heart and my soul. But I don't think luck had much to do with bringing us together. Kamala's astrologer said there were no accidents. Everything that happened was meant to be."

"You may be right—the last few months have been too improbable to be the result of blind chance." He tugged off his robe and tossed it on the floor. "Now that you and I have peeled away all the layers of each other's secrets and fears so that we are finally down to our bare selves, the only thing left is to be happy. And speaking of bare selves…"

As Laura laughed, he deftly pulled her nightgown over her head so that they were flesh to flesh. Voice husky, he whispered, "To everything there is a season…" As he eased into her body, His lips touched hers, warm and infinitely sweet. "And now is the season for love."

Scotland

August 1842

Still in her nightgown, Laura gazed absently out the window of her bedroom and mentally tallied everything that must be done before her visitors arrived in midafternoon. Realistically, she knew that she had done as much as humanly possible to make the old castle comfortable. She was enjoying the task, and the sale of one of Pyotr's gems had provided the funds to do the job right. Nonetheless, she had only been here three months, and much remained to be done.

She hoped that her first house party would go well. Not only would she be meeting Ian's formidable sister for the first time, but another couple was coming. The wife, Lady Sara Connery, was the daughter of a duke, and her husband Mikahl was some sort of Himalayan prince. As she considered the prospect, Laura reflected that she would have been wiser to enter the waters of social life at a less exalted level.

Suddenly her stomach turned disastrously. She barely had time to reach the washbasin before losing the tea, buns, and marmalade which had been served when they were still in bed.

Ian chose this inauspicious moment to return from his dressing room. "What's wrong, Laura?" he said with quick concern.

"I was thinking about our guests," she said feebly.

Ian poured a glass of water and brought it to her, then put an arm around her while she drank. "I knew you were a little nervous," he said, "but not this much. Really, Laura, these are all very nice people. There's no need to tie yourself in knots." He kissed her forehead. "And if any of them have any complaints about your housekeeping, they can damned well leave. Not that they will. You've done wonders."

Laura smiled, feeling much better, as much because of Ian's embrace as because of his words. "Thank you for the loyal support. You really are a most agreeable spouse." She tilted her head back so she could see his face. "However, while my hostess nerves are genuine, that isn't the reason I felt ill. You can stop worrying about whether you suffered any permanent damage when you were beaten in Bokhara."

When Ian stared at her, brows drawn, she elaborated, "I am just about certain, Lord Falkirk, that you have done your duty to carry on the family name."

With a whoop, he swept her off her feet. Almost immediately he stopped and set her on the ground. "Good Lord, you give me wonderful news and I promptly try to make you sick again. How are you feeling?"

"Don't worry, I made a very fast recovery." She grinned. "And what I feel is vastly pleased with myself."

"You should be." He touched her hair as gently as if she were fine porcelain. "How did you know that I thought that perhaps I had lost the ability to father a child?"

"I am Russki and I know everything worth knowing." She put on her best mysterious Oriental expression. "The priest who did our horoscopes in Manpur promised us a son. He didn't say anything about daughters, but most Hindus consider them not worth mentioning, so we might have one or two of them as well."

"I'm willing. I hope at least one of them looks exactly like you. And if this is a son," he thought a moment, "shall we call him Kenneth Peter, after your stepfather and uncle?"

"What a wonderful idea." Laura set down her glass of water, slid her arms around her husband, and wiggled her hips against him provocatively.

He grinned and lifted her in his arms. "Just how much better are you feeling?"

"Much, much better," she said demurely as he carried her to their massive four-poster bed. "But I thought you had to go see the bailiff this morning. And you're already dressed."

"The bailiff can wait, and being dressed can be remedied," he said as he laid her on the mattress. Within a minute, it was.

Laura never ceased to be fascinated by the subtle nuances of lovemaking. This morning, as they celebrated the new life they had made, the theme was tenderness. After fulfillment, they lay quietly in each other's arms for a time, stealing the minutes from what would be a full day.

It was a kind of theft Laura enjoyed, for she never ceased to be enchanted by the man she had married. Since the darkness within Ian had healed, his naturally buoyant nature had proved to be a perfect complement to her Russian intensity. She loved his exuberance; at the same time, the fact that he had looked into the abyss gave him remarkable depth and sensitivity.

If the Hindus were right about reincarnation, she must have done something very, very good in her last life to deserve him. She chuckled, drawing a questioning look from her husband. According to Ian, she was still very, very good.

Laura dreamily inserted a carnation into her flower arrangement, thinking that there was nothing like the successful pursuit of kama to dispel a case of nerves. The pursuit had put her behind in her schedule; however, once she finished arranging flowers, she would have just enough time to bathe, change, and turn herself into a model hostess.

She was in a small workroom full of brilliant blooms that the gardener had cut for her. Clipping the stem of a rose, she added it to the vase. She was never able to look at roses without thinking of Kamala and Dharjistan and flurries of petals.

At first she had worried that Ian's actions in preventing a rebellion had ended her friendship with the maharani, but the week before, a letter had arrived from Dharjistan. Kamala had borne a son. Reading between the lines, Laura guessed that finally having an heir had alleviated much of Rajiv Singh's resentment of the Sirkar, for the royal throne of Dharjistan was secure for another generation. She was glad for both of them.

In fact, babies seemed to be the order of the day. A month earlier, a letter from Meera had informed her that Zafir's confidence in his virility had not been misplaced. A little Pathan was expected in the autumn, and Meera had sounded just as pleased as Laura felt.

She was finishing her fourth arrangement when an unexpected occupant of the workroom subverted her efforts. A huge, staggeringly ugly ginger cat leaped on the table and proceeded to knock over all of the vases. "You miserable beast!" she shrieked, her serenity vanishing, "We Russians have ways of dealing with insolent peasants like you."

Unmoved by the threat, the one-eyed tomcat settled in the middle of the table and began washing his face. "You're taking advantage of the fact that I have a weakness for you because of your resemblance to Ian," Laura grumbled as she got down on her knees and began retrieving fallen flowers. "But Ian is much better-looking."

She was crawling under the table to collect the last elusive bloom when the workroom door swung open. Expecting a servant, she looked up, right into the eyes of a very tall, very confident, very red-haired woman.

Hastily repressed mirth in her gray eyes, the new arrival said, "You must be Laura."

As their gazes met, Laura cringed. "And you're Juliet." So much for her intentions of impressing her new relatives with her poise and elegance. Instead she was wearing her oldest gown and crawling around on the floor after having lost a battle with the castle mouser. She gave serious consideration to going back under the table and staying there for the next fortnight.

Her sister-in-law smiled. "Right the first time, though I look so much like Ian that you don't get much credit for guessing." With a graceful flutter of skirts, she knelt so that they were eye to eye. "I'm
so
glad that you aren't the stuffy sort who is always perfect," she said warmly. "When I last saw Ian, he was going to marry a female named Georgina who sounded like the most appalling pattern card of propriety. I knew that she would despise me."

Laura sat back on her heels and began to laugh. "Actually, Georgina isn't a bad sort, though Ian is
much
better off with me. But how could you be intimidated by a mere female? From what Ian has told me about your adventures, it's hard to imagine you concerned about another woman's opinion."

As they both got to their feet, Juliet said dryly, "Only my brothers and my husband have ever appreciated my unusual talents. Most people merely think me hopelessly unladylike."

The comment gave Laura instant insight into her sister-in-law's mind. Yes, they would be friends. "Your brothers and your husband," Laura remarked. "Isn't that enough?"

Juliet smiled fondly. "Yes, it is."

Ruefully Laura examined the wreckage of her flower arrangements. "Ian will be back soon, but now he's off with the bailiff. We thought you wouldn't arrive until after luncheon."

"We rode ahead of the carriage," Juliet explained. "My fault—today I was impatient to see Falkirk and Ian again."

"No such thing, my love," a deep voice said from the doorway. "Today wasn't exceptional—you're
always
impatient."

Laura looked up into the amused face of the handsomest man she had ever seen. Weakly she said, "Lord Kilburn, I presume?"

"Ross to members of the family." He bowed. "Sorry to have disrupted your domestic arrangements. My mother always said that an early guest is among life's worst disasters."

Juliet looked stricken. "I'm sorry, Laura. Having lived at Falkirk as a girl, I think of it as my family home, with no formality required. That's why I decided to go searching for you and Ian rather than waiting." She glanced apologetically at Ross, who smiled at his wife with startling intimacy.

Laura watched in fascination. Did she and Ian gaze at each other like that, as if the two of them were alone in Eden? Very likely. Suppressing a grin, she said, "This
is
your family home, Juliet, and you must continue to treat it as such.

At that moment, Ian appeared in the doorway, his auburn hair windblown and his tanned face glowing with good health. "I saw the carriage in the distance and hurried back. I should have guessed you'd arrive early, Juliet."

"Ian!" Juliet spun about and launched herself into the arms of her laughing
brother. As they hugged, the two Camerons began talking simultaneously, their faces showing identical expressions of vivid happiness.

"They're very alike, aren't they?" Laura said softly. "A remarkable capacity for joy."

Ross nodded deep satisfaction in his eyes. "After Bokhara I was afraid I'd never see Ian like this again. But now he looks like he's his old self."

She smiled, "No. Better than that."

*
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