Sorcha MacMurrough - Rakehell Regency 09 - The Model Mistress PDF

The Model Mistress
Book Nine of The Rakehell Regency Series

Sorcha MacMurrough
Forbidden Passion
Martin Jerome has been a broken man ever since he and his new
bride were attacked by highwaymen four years before. Left a widower
haunted by his loss, he drifts through life a grim shadow of his former
self until a chance meeting with lovely Eswara Paignton opens up a
whole new world of possibilities.
Exotically beautiful Eswara, a great healer from India, can sense
Martin's inner turmoil and despair. Though older than the handsome
Martin, she soon finds herself falling in love with the wounded spirit
tormented by his own inner demons.
Through his befriending of her teenage son, Martin finds himself
seeking out the alluring widow's company more and more. Both
silently ache for the other. Both know the potential consequences of
becoming lovers in their rigid society.
But the more they struggle against their attraction, the more certain
they become that the explosive passion which drives them is truly a
gift from the gods.
"You're easily the most beautiful woman I've ever laid eyes on,"
he said candidly.
"Thank you. But you need someone your own age to-"
"I don't need anyone now," Martin said quietly.
Eswara could see his face closing up again as it had before.
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"No, not now. True. But one day. In the meantime you have to
promise me you'll continue your explorations of your inner being
and self so that when it does happen you'll be ready. After all, I
stopped at your waist. There is so much more fun to be had."
She gave him a long look, causing his manhood to surge against
the sheets. "Just wait until you get to your feet. Toes can be
wonderful things." She winked, and thus managed to coax a
grudging smile from him. "More tea?"
"No, I think I can sleep now, if you'll do one more thing for
me."
"If I can."
"Stroke my face until I fall asleep? And a kiss goodnight, and
one from me thanking you for everything you've done wouldn't
been too terrible, would it? Between friends, right?"
"No, not at all. You first."
Martin pecked her on the cheek shyly, blushing.
Eswara debated with herself the wisdom of what she was about
to do. She could just peck him back and have done with it.
But this evening had been all about his pleasure. So she bent
her head and put her lips to his. Summoning up all her imagination,
and well-aware of his magnificent bare body right underneath the
covers, so close yet so far, she kissed him ardently.
She held off his hands lightly when he would have encircled her
to crush her to his chest. She teased him with her lips, tracing the
shape of his lips with hers, and then with her pointy pink tongue.
Martin groaned as the kiss deepened and she explored his
mouth thoroughly. She could feel his body vibrating underneath
the sheets. She lifted her mouth slightly to nibble his full bottom
lip, and sucked it into her own mouth.
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His breath came in heavy rasps and she had to admit her own
was none too steady. For kissing him was like nothing Eswara had
ever experienced, like a hurricane rushing through the room to tug
at her clothes, and blow all of her defenses down flat.
Reviews:
Sensual and exotic
"Martin Jerome gets a second chance at love in this remarkable
romance, part of the Rakehell Regency series. Exotic Eswara from
India introduces him to a world of sensuality he little dreams exists.
Still haunted by his devastating past, he has a hard time trusting any
woman until she shows him the healing power of love.
"But sinister forces at work and Martin's own naivete regarding the
rigours of Regency society nearly tear them apart.
"A wonderful cast of supporting characters take us right into the
glamorous but gritty world of the Rakehells. The love-scenes are
erotic, the suspense first-rate. Another real keeper from this incredibly
talented author." Evelyn Trimborn
Heady sensuality, remarkable characters
"No other author is able to create such a depth of characterisation
and such heady sensuality. Eswara is a revelation. The cast of
Rakehells lends their support, and Eswara's son Ash is someone to
watch out for in this as in the previous novel. Every time I think I
have guess what is about to happen next, I'm astonished. Exceptional:
suspenseful, sensual, and surprising as always.
"This is another triumphant novel in the Rakehell series which
captures all the joy and sensuality of falling in love. Martin and
Eswara are a magical couple with enough chemistry to blow up a
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science lab!" Under the Covers Reviews

Forbidden attraction, spicy and sensual
"Another fantastic novel in this series, heady, and erotic. Eswara
is an older woman coping with attraction for a younger man.
Something in the grim Martin Jerome speaks to her heart, and she sets
about trying to lift his spirits.
"His shocking secret, and even more shocking proposal, set them
down the path of self-discovery, their passion driving them ever
onwards to the ultimate bliss.
"Martin is naive enough to believe that he has all the time in the
world to tell Eswara he loves her. But the sands of time are running
out for them both. He must risk everything to save Eswara and her son
Ash from a fate worse than death.
"Voluptuous and exuberant writing, and the most fascinating
characters, make this another novel in the series you will not want to
miss. This is delicious treat as yummy as chocolate, with the most
sublime love scenes." Annabelle Stevens
Fascinating and unforgettably sensual
"Martin Jerome is a fascinating character. From his horrifyingly
dramatic entrance in the first novel of the series, The Mad Mistress, he
has been growing and developing, and is now ready for the gift of
love.
"Complex and captivating, we understand all the torment he has
endured ever since he was nearly murdered four years before. His
shocking tale of that fateful night should have Eswara running from
him in terror. Instead she lets him into her heart and home.
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"Her gift of love is a double-edged sword, though, for the more

Martin has, the more Martin has to lose. The Rakehells are in fine
form as Martin must race against time to save the new family he has
tried to create for himself, and the woman he loves more than life
itself.
"Only when he understands what true love really means can he win
Eswara for his wife. The passion between them sizzles the pages,
heady and sensual. This prodigiously talented author just keeps
getting better. A keeper to be savored." Erin Kennedy
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The Model Mistress

Volume Nine of The Rakehell Regency Series
Sorcha MacMurrough
HerStory Books
The Model Mistress

Sorcha MacMurrough
HerStory Books
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Dedication: To all my friends and family, and to the great winter

of 2002-03 in New York City for such wonderful inspiration.
Copyright USA, UK and Worldwide the author 2003
With additional material, 2009
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or
transmitted in any form by any means, electronic or mechanical,
including photocopying, recording, or by any information and storage
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright
owner.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents
are the product of the authors imagination, and any resemblance to
any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales, is entirely
coincidental.
ISBN: 978-1-58345-140-3
Published by HerStory Books
9511 Shore Road, Suite 514
Brooklyn New York 11209
www.HerStoryBooks.com
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CHARACTER LIST
The Rakehell Regency Series
Martin Jerome, Blake Sanderson's cousin
Samuel Jerome, his youngest brother
Ellen Jerome, his elder cousin
Georgina Jerome, his younger cousin
Eswara Paignton, Blake's new medical assistant, a widow,
originally from India
Ashoka (Ash) Paignton, her son
Cedric Paignton, Ash's English uncle
Cecil Paignton, Ash's English cousin
Dr. Blake Sanderson, a Rakehell, a doctor in London and
Somerset
Arabella Neville Sanderson, his wife
(for their story, see Guardian of the Heart)
Mr. Samuels, Blake's friend, an apothecary
Clifford Stone, a Rakehell, owner of Stone Court
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Vanessa Stone, nee Hawkesworth, his wife, a great scholar

(for their story, see The Mad Mistress)
Henry Stone, Clifford's brother, resides at Stone Court also
Josephine Jerome Stone, his wife, Martin's cousin
Gerald Hawkesworth, Vanessa's half-brother, a highway man,
now deceased
The Duke of Ellesmere, Thomas Eltham, a Rakehell, lives at
Eltham Castle
The Duchess of Ellesmere, Charlotte Eltham, nee Castlemaine,
his wife
(for their story, see The Missed Match)
Jonathan Deveril, a Rakehell, vicar of Brimley and Eltham
Pamela Deveril, nee Ashton, his wife
(for their story, see The Miss Matched)
Malcolm Branson, friend of the Rakehells and a local magistrate,
once engaged to Emma Jerome, now deceased
Geoffrey Branson, Malcolm's father, a local magistrate
Sarah Deveril Davenport, Jonathans youngest sister
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Alexander Davenport, her husband, a Rakehell, merchant, and

spy during the War
(for their story, see The Matchless Miss)
Michael Avenel, a Rakehell and former soldier, "The Grim
Reaper," an aristocrat
Bryony Avenel, his wife
(for their story, see The Model Master)
Alistair Grant, a Rakehell and barrister in London
Elizabeth Eltham Joyce, Thomass younger sister
Wilfred Joyce, her husband, a former soldier
(for their story, see The Scarred Heart)
Philip Marshall, a Rakehell and law student, a formed convict
now back from Australia
Jasmine Marshall, his wife
(for their story, see The Mistaken Miss)
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December 31st, 1816

Chapter One
"Damn and blast," Martin cursed, the mud sloshing up between his
thighs as he landed in an arctic puddle. His mount was already
galloping off into the distance at a breakneck pace, leaving him
stranded miles away from his uncle's house, Jerome Manor. He stiffly
tried to get to his feet, struggling for breath.
He made the mistake of putting weight on his left ankle without
testing it first. He immediately stumbled and slid back down into the
mire, saturating the knees of his fawn riding breeches. The cloying
mud gurgled down his boots and oozed between his fingers, coating
his hands.
"Perdition take it. I'm going to bloody well throw that horse myself
when I get hold of him. If I ever get hold of him," he muttered.
He was sure the skittish gelding his brother Samuel had given him
for Christmas was probably in the next County by now. Assuredly it
was fast, but with the disposition of the most ornery jackass he had
ever had the misfortune to meet.
"Good bloodlines indeed," he scoffed as he struggled in the slime.
"Capricious out of Fractious, and aptly named Fancy."
He sighed. Samuel had meant well. That was the trouble with his
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family. They all meant well. But a new horse, books, good food and
wine were never going to mend what ailed him. Restore him to the
man he had once been.
As if his predicament were not already bad enough, a flurry of
fluffy flakes now descended upon him.
Martin eased himself off his hands and knees in a gingerly fashion
and looked around. He had been so lost in his grim thoughts he hadn't
been paying attention to how close to home he was.
He had also completely lost track of the time. The dark had
descended so rapidly this New Year's Eve that he could barely see his
hand in front of his face, though it had to be scarcely four o'clock. He
leaned against a tree while he tried to get his bearings.
Eventually he grew certain he was on the road between Millcote
and Eltham, not all that far from his cousin Blake's house. If he just
went up this road, he would be able to pass through the forest with
ease and come out just about on the doctor's doorstep.
The forest....
The sound of flapping wings overhead sent a chill through him. He
told himself furiously to stop being so silly. There was nothing to fear
in these woods now. Those blasted highwaymen, may their souls burn
in hell forever, were all dead. And he certainly did not believe in
ghosts or spirits.
Still, being hurled down in the mud within a stone's throw of the
place where his entire life had ended four years ago would be
construed as some sort of omen by many people.
Martin looked around again, and asked for the millionth time why
God had been so cruel as to have spared his life that fateful night....
But spared him he had. So he had suffered and endured. Martin's
body had eventually healed after the vicious assault, but the
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memories, the horror, regret and self-loathing had not eased over time.
His handsome mouth twisted into a grimace of disgust, and he was
certain he could taste the metallic tang of blood. But no, it was all in
his imagination, he tried to tell himself, struggling against the inner
darkness which threatened to engulf him once more.
Martin could feel himself begin to tremble uncontrollably. With an
anguished cry, he lunged forward from tree trunk to tree trunk, using
each sturdy oak for support. He bent under each to search fruitlessly
for a branch to use as a makeshift walking stick, until at last he
calmed somewhat.
Finding nothing, he halted his panicked flight, and rested for a
time, his back flattened against the huge trunk of an oak. It was solid,
real....
The vision finally released its vice-like grip upon him. He took
another ragged breath and looked around once more. Where was he?
Where had he been? Where was he going?
He laughed aloud. Some very metaphysical questions, those. Ones
he had asked himself a million times in the past four years. Far more
than he ever had when he had been studying theology at university.
But he had lost his faith when he had lost everything else.
"Ah, nothing like the arrogant certainty of youth," he muttered,
rubbing his arms against the chill. "Or the foolhardiness."
He had only thought to be out for a short brisk ride, and had not
even worn his greatcoat. Now the weather had turned, catching him
completely unawares. He was injured, in the pitch dark, with barely a
clue as to where he was.
Martin toyed with the idea of stopping to wrap his handkerchief
around his already swelling ankle. But the snow had increased in
intensity to the point where he was almost blinded by the stinging
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sleet. No, he simply had to press on.

He looked around once more in effort to descry a light, or any hint
as to whether his instincts were leading him in the right direction. If
he had got turned around somehow, Eltham was five miles away
compared to Millcote's three. With the storm lashing down, he didn't
rate his chances out in the open for long. Not with a sprained ankle
and in mud-soaked trousers.
Martin stood panting and blowing on his hands for a time longer.
At length, peering hard in the darkness, he was sure he could see a
light through the trees off to his right. He moved forward, and was
relieved to see a track up from the main road.
It did not deserve the dignified name of drive, but it most assuredly
led somewhere. The leaves and mud underfoot showed signs of recent
riding activity, and the indentation of the wheels of a vehicle.
He looked up and down the road and shrugged. He couldn't afford
not to try at this point. The snow was falling heavily, already
obscuring any other clues he might have sought. He shivered once
more, pulled his jacket up around his ears, and limped up the path.
The house was of sturdy stone, the local red variety quarried
nearby. The front door was off to the right side of the house, leaving a
huge expanse of windows for the frontage. He could see candles
glowing and winking invitingly, offering an unspoken promise of
shelter from the fierce storm.
Eager now that he had found a haven, Martin tried to take a longer
stride. His ankle would not bear the extra weight, and he fell heavily,
feeling his knee twist as well on the way down.
"Drat. What a bloody fool I am. Out for a simple ride, not
bothering to wear my coat, the weather turns, the horse bolts, I get
lost, and practically break my own leg trying to get under cover," he
raged under his breath as he sat on the ground.
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Martin dragged himself to his feet once more, a fit of

uncontrollable shivering rendering him even more uncoordinated.
He forced himself upright, and took several tentative steps, careful
not to slip again. His boots were solid, but did not have the kind of
tread required for frosty conditions.
He put one foot in front of the other painstakingly, and soon came
close enough to the house to be able to look in through the
unshuttered mullioned windows.
What he could glimpse through the frosted panels looked like
paradise. The room was decorated in rich burgundy, gold, and fine
wood tones. He could see the shimmer of the fire in the hearth, but a
long look did not reveal any inhabitants.
Well, no one decent would leave a dog out on a night like this.
Whoever lived here had to be sober and respectable, if the drawing
room was any indication. He would introduce himself and ask for
help.
Martin hobbled the rest of the way up to the front door and
knocked. He waited for a time, getting colder and colder in the
process. He gave another rap, then another. Someone had to be home,
surely. The drawing room was all lit up. The shutters not being closed
was a bit strange. Usually they would be fastened once dusk took with
it any chance of daylight.
Well, it was unusually dark now even for this time of year, he
reminded himself as he stood there shivering, the flakes flying in his
face, freezing his features. Perhaps they had gone out for a visit and
been caught by the storm?
He rapped again. As he waited he tried to decide what to do for the
best. He was fairly certain the last fall he had taken had settled the
issue for him. This was not his cousin Blake's house, but he was
obviously not going to be able to get there under his own steam. It
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was too cold, the snow was already forming into drifts, and his knee
and ankle throbbed so badly he could barely stand on that leg. To
attempt to walk three miles home to Jerome Manor, even assuming
that he had a clue where he was going when he was almost snow
blind, would be the height of folly. Impossible.
A small germ of temptation sprang into his mind. Perhaps this was
a sign? To just give up the struggle? To go back out into the cold, find
the tree they had hung him in, and just lay down and...
A beautiful clear soprano voice singing one of his favourite Mozart
arias roused him in an instant. The need to be warm and meet the
woman who possessed such a heavenly voice was just too compelling
to be denied.
Martin furiously tamped down the seductive thought of bringing
about his own demise. Despair was a sin. If he had not killed himself
when his life had first been shredded into tatters, he was not going to
do it now.
Lay down in the snow and die like a dog? Not the Jerome way.
They were made of sterner stuff than that. No matter how bad things
were, he simply had to endure.
He tapped at the door once again, speculating as he did so. A
woman. On her own? Then it was only logical that she would not like
to answer the door on such a night as this. Unless of course she was so
busy with some sort of chores, was a maid or housekeeper left to mind
the place, that she hadn't heard him knock?
Martin tried once more, but the singing continued. Well, whoever
she was, with a voice like an angel, he felt sure she would understand
his plight and try to alleviate it.
He wondered if he should hobble around the back to what he
guessed would be the servants' quarters or kitchen, and rap there. But
his leg hurt like the Devil, and the flakes were coming down fast.
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Squaring his shoulders and dusting off as much as he could of the

swirling snow, he tested the latch on the door and lifted it.
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Chapter Two
With the wintry storm raging all around him, Martin dared to lift
the latch of the strange but welcoming looking house, and found it
open.
"Hello, hello, is anyone home?" he called, poised on the threshold.
The woman's singing turned to a hum, but there was still no reply.
The wind swept through the front entrance and he sprang into the
foyer and shut the door tightly. At last this got a response from the
resident of the house.
"There you are at last, darling," the woman called. "Go wash and
come into supper. It's your favourite. Lamb with garlic, and roast
potatoes and peas. And almond cake for dessert."
He raised his eyebrows heavenward. It was indeed his favourite.
"I've opened a bottle of claret as well."
Whoever the owner of the cottage was, he was a dashed lucky man,
he thought with a huge pang of envy.
The smells wafting throughout the house set his stomach
arumbling in an instant. The prospect of getting warm and cleaned up
was almost too enticing to bear. Not least because he was ashamed of
his wild appearance in front of a genteel woman who seemed to be
alone in the house and expecting her husband to return home at any
moment. He did not wish to frighten her, or intrude.
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But he was several miles away from home, injured, and needed
help. If he could at least get over to Blake's house he could get his
ankle tended by the good doctor. He was sure Blake would give him a
lift back to Jerome Manor in his carriage. Or he could stay the night at
the doctor's house. He wouldn't inconvenience this woman more than
necessary.
However, he could not help but be lured by the enticing aromas
which seemed to batter his senses, lamb, potatoes, and something
more heady. He looked into the drawing room he had viewed from
outside. It was a large chamber about twenty feet by fifteen, lit
invitingly with sconces and several candelabra.
A good fire crackled in the hearth. A lovely lavender gown was
laid out on one of the upholstered deep burgundy and gold Dombespatterned sofas, just waiting for a final bit of trim. Homey touches like
a fine quilt, worked cushions, two silhouettes on the walnut
mantelpiece, a set of decanters and glasses, a book of poetry lying
open on a low table near the gown, all bespoke the genteel comforts of
home.
Martin stopped himself just in time before he went over to the fire
to warm himself and take a sip or two of the beverages. He couldn't
dare presume-what on earth was the matter with him? Had he been so
long outside of any society apart from his own family that he did not
know what was proper?
"Hello?" he called again, still waiting for the lady of the house to
realise that she had made a mistake.
But she was singing again. Her only words came a short time later.
"I expect to hear that water running any minute," she said in a
playful tone. "There's plenty of hot if you want your bath now. I didn't
expect you so soon with this storm. You can take in a glass of brandy
to warm you up if you like."
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The still-shivering Martin took her up on her offer despite the fact
that he knew it had been made under the assumption that he was the
woman's husband.
Companion? Lover? he wondered as he took a gulp of the fiery
liquid. For there was something so beguiling about the room that he
felt as though he were intruding upon something very, very private.
Nonsense, he told himself. Of course it was private. It was a
glimpse into a stranger's home he would never normally have seen, he
told himself, seeing some rather lacy feminine garments peeping
alluringly out of the work basket.
He could smell the woman's perfume, a mixture of roses and some
sort of spice. Admired the deep red and gold patterned silk shawl
thrown over the back of a chair, the men's silken slippers by the fire, a
box of rich Belgian chocolates on a low table nearby, a couple of
exotic pictures of what he guessed to be India on the wall. Of men and
women dancing.
Not dancing, he noted with a blush, draining his glass and reaching
tremulous fingers for the decanter once more. No, certainly not
dancing. Most acrobatic and gymnastic, however, he thought with a
shudder, ashamed of himself for being so incredibly aroused by the
graphic portrayals.
They were no worse than anything he had been shown by his older
brothers, or mess mates when he had been in the Army. But the
luxury and intimacy of the room and the exotic setting, the silk veils
of the women and turbans of the men in the picture, rendered what he
would ordinarily have found either laughable or distasteful downright
titillating.
He drained the second glass, and tearing his eyes away from the
buxom doe-eyed women and well-endowed men, he sought the hall
once more.
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For a moment he was tempted to go out the front door and try to
start all over again. But the voice called, "Still not in the bathroom?
You must be frozen, poor thing. Dinner will be ready in about fifteen
minutes, though, so if you're still planning on a whole bath, Ash,
you'd better make a start."
Her voice was so warm and tender, Martin felt once again that
driving surge of jealousy for the lucky man who got to come home to
such a welcome every night. His soaking muddy clothes clung to him.
He was sure he had to be the most bedraggled specimen the
woman would ever have laid eyes on. The least he could do was try to
get the now-caked mud off his fingers, and no doubt face, before he
confronted her.
He walked down the passage and saw the white porcelain tiled
room just past the flight of stairs. Making his mind up at last, he went
in quickly and shot the bolt.
His decision now made, Martin stopped trembling so nervously.
The bathroom was delightfully warm and steamy, and he instantly
began to relax. Even his leg stopped throbbing so intently. He looked
around him in the light from the burning oil lamps set high upon the
wall.
Martin was delighted to see the luxury of hot and cold running
water from a gravity tank, and his nose caught the whiff of some
wonderful sandalwood soap.
He immediately filled the marble wash basin and began to scrub
himself, looking up into the mirrored wall at his pinched white face. It
certainly had been cold out there, he thought with a sigh.
But with the brandy coursing through his veins, and his hands
dabbling in the warm water, he began to feel more himself. At length
his shivering subsided.
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He drained the dirty water and refilled the sink. He scrubbed

himself again, and with his dampened handkerchief tried to get the
worst of the splatters off his jacket. He washed his face and neck and
retied his stock and cravat. He used the warm fluffy towel on the rail,
inhaling once more the delicate fragrance of the woman.
The thought of having shared her towel so intimately was such a
sensual one he could feel his arousal surge painfully against his mudhardened trousers.
Oh, marvelous, he groaned inwardly. He was going to end up
terrifying some young bride or some fearsome society matron with his
wild-eyed and rampaging appearance.
He tugged his jacket down over his loins as best he could,
blushing.
Returning the towel to the rail, he checked the bathroom one last
time to make sure he had not muddied everything in sight. He opened
the door a crack, poised to tiptoe out into the hall.
He had hoped that he could make it back to the front door and
pretend he had just arrived, but he lurched out of the chamber just as
the woman came down the passage.
Both started in shock, their backs against the wall as they jumped,
and stared at the other.
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Chapter Three
The two strangers stared at each other in wordless amazement for a
few moments.
She was evidently astounded that a complete stranger should be
emerging from her bathing room at that hour of the night when she
was all alone in the house, and backed away from him in alarm, but
with evident curiosity as well.
For his own part, Martin was stunned at the sight of the most
beautiful woman he thought he had ever seen, in real life or even his
most fevered imaginings. Whoever she was, she was certainly no
mature woman of the world or society matron as he had imagined.
Her elegant straight ebony hair had been woven into a complicated
crown at the top of her elegantly shaped head. Her eyes were a warm
gold with green flecks, deep enough to get lost in. Dainty arched
brows and incredibly lush long lashes gave her an even more wideeyed look. Her complexion was the colour of honey. He was almost
tempted to stretch out to kiss it just to see if it tasted as rich and sweet
as it looked.
Her fine straight nose, generous lips, and dimpled chin were
classically beautiful. Her elegant neck and shoulders were swathed in
transparent black gauze, giving him the most thrilling view of her
cleavage. Her slender but amply rounded figure, with its seductively
curving breasts, waist and hips, was clad in a loose wrapper in russet
with tiny black flowers interspersed lightly throughout. Her long legs
moved under the gown without a telltale rustling of petticoats,
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suggesting she was completely naked underneath. In fact, she was

even barefoot.
Martin's mouth went dry as he stared at her, completely tonguetied. She was so like the women in the erotic paintings, it was as if
someone had taken his manhood and squeezed.
Eswara was no less nonplused by Martin's appearance, for though
he was indeed a most handsome man, his presence in her house so
suddenly when she was alone was a most worrisome occurrence.
Unless of course he was a friend of Ash's? He looked strangely
familiar.
Well, he reminded her of someone, she amended. Surely if she had
ever met this man who appeared as grim as death for all his
spectacular looks, she would most assuredly have remembered him.
As tall as Ash, slightly more broad, it would appear that he too,
had recently recovered from some dreadfully debilitating illness.
The finely chiselled features jutted out from the taut pale skin.
Hard creases bracketed his full lips, which though lush and sensual,
were compressed into a permanent line. His aquiline nose was made
more pronounced by the thinness of his face, and thrust almost
violently from between the most remarkable pair of eyes she had ever
seen. The only word to describe them was silver. No, mercury, she
decided, for the grey subtly changed with the light they reflected, and
the emotions within, she guessed, seeing them stare at her and warm
perceptibly.
Eswara was used to male scrutiny. Some of it here in England had
occasionally been appreciation for her dusky Indian beauty rather than
contempt. But no man had ever looked at her like that before. As if he
were about to drag her up against him and....
And the truth was that no matter what he did, she would have
eagerly welcomed him.
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She blinked again at her terrifying thoughts, taking a step back, her
cheeks flaming. Who was he?! What did he want from her? And why
was she thinking the most lewd thoughts imaginable about a complete
stranger?
Martin held up his hands in a gesture designed to connote no
intention to harm her.
She watched him warily for another instant. She could see him
favouring his left leg, and took in his mud-encrusted clothing with an
all-encompassing glance. She also saw why he had been in the
bathroom apart from the obvious reasons. He had not done a very
good job of scrubbing all the mud off his hands, for it still nestled
under his nails and had spattered all over his cuffs.
"I'm so sorry to intrude upon you and your husband, Madam," he
said, finally finding his tongue. "I'm Martin Jerome, nephew to Mr.
Jerome of Jerome Manor. I'm afraid my horse threw me and bolted,
and the storm came upon me. My ankle is sprained. I didn't want to
look too disreputable. So when I heard you suggest I go in and clean
up, I'm afraid I took you at your word and tried to remove the worst of
the offending filth."
She smiled at him in relief.
His heart took a huge leap in his chest at the sight, and he had all to
do not to snatch her into his arms and....
She stepped forward. "I do understand. You just startled me. So if
you're one of the young Mr. Jeromes, you must be cousins with Dr.
Blake Sanderson? You're Samuel Jerome's brother? We've not had the
pleasure to meet yet."
He nodded in relief. She was not angry with him. "Yes to both
questions. I was actually trying to get to Blake's house. I suppose I
must have lost my bearings somehow with the dark and snow."
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"Yes, you turned right instead of left."

"So sorry. I shall be on my way then, and trouble you no longer."
Martin turned to go.
She put her dainty hand on his damp filthy sleeve. "No, wait, Mr.
Jerome. Don't be silly. You can't possibly go back out in the storm
like that. Listen to it."
The wind swirled all around the house, howling through every
crack in the windows and doors, and setting all the tree branches
outside to creaking eerily. He shivered anew.
She saw his trembling, and knew he must be exhausted. "You must
stay a while longer, if only to get out of those wet things and cleaned
up. I believe you can grasp how to work the hot water tap in the tub
without getting burnt? I shall go fetch you some of Ash's things to
change into. They won't be the world's best fit, but anything has to be
better than what you're wearing now."
"No, really I couldn't put you to so much trouble."
"It's no trouble at all, I assure you."
"But you were about to have dinner."
"True, except that Ash isn't here yet. No doubt he's caught up in
the storm as well. So go into the bathroom and draw the bath. There
should be plenty of water left after mine. If Ash needs a soak when he
comes in it will be easy enough to heat more."
She was already moving away from him and up the stairs, gliding
like a goddess she moved so silently on her delicate bare feet.
He stared after her for a moment, reluctant to part with her
company. And reluctant to remain alone in the house with a woman of
such incredible beauty. He could feel his already considerable arousal
surging almost out of control.
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He squeezed his hands together until his nails dug into his palms so
hard he almost drew blood. The pain calmed him enough to think
straight once more.
He might not wish to stay, but he had to admit Eswara Paignton
did have a point. He was unspeakably filthy and dashed cold. And he
couldn't sit in her cozy little house clad as he was, muddy before and
behind.
He was so hungry he could have eaten raw the lamb and potatoes
she had mentioned. What was the harm in staying?
So he returned to the well-appointed little room and did as she had
suggested, letting the tub fill whilst he began to yank off his ruined
clothes. He spotted again the superb men's dressing gown on the back
of the door he had noted in passing before, a luxurious wine and gold
silk confection.
Hastily stripping off the last of his garments, he wrapped it around
himself and tied the sash. It had been made for someone almost as tall,
a bit more slightly built in the shoulders, but it was warm and
comfortable. Sensual. Seductive.
Once again he got the odd sensation of having come home, though
he had never seen the house before or met the lady. Drat, he had not
even discovered who she was, or anything about her!
Well, formal introductions could be carried out when he was clean
and decently clad once more, he decided, his massive erection now
unfettered by his cloying clothes. The silk whispered over the bare
head of his...
Her tap at the door caused him to start and clutch the robe even
more tightly around him. Dash it all. He was done with desire, loathed
his male body, the piece of flesh he viewed with disgust as a
ridiculous appendage which made men, and women, do the most
insane things. "Yes?"
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"I have the clothes here for you. Have you found soap and
everything you need, Mr. Jerome?"
"Yes, thank you," he said, opening the door a sliver to take the
garments. "Thank you very much. I'll be out in a minute."
"No hurry. I'll hold dinner until you get out. I'll be in the dining
room. Straight on and to the left when you come out this door. Really,
do take your time. You must be very tired, and half-frozen as well."
"Thank you, Mrs. um-"
"Paignton, Eswara Paignton."
"Thank you, Mrs. Paignton."
"You're very welcome, Mr. Jerome. I shall see you later."
Martin closed the door and threw himself into the tub with
enthusiasm. His only regret was that it was not an ice bath to cool the
heat in his loins every time he looked at his hostess.
For she was most certainly a beauty. She must not have heard him
rapping because she had been having an evening bath. He thought of
her in the tub, naked. Of him in the tub with her, lathering those
magnificent....
Good Lord, what on earth was wrong with him! He had only met
the woman for five seconds. Not to mention the fact that she was
obviously married. Or at least had a man in her life, he thought with
another salacious twitch in his nether regions as he soaped himself.
The thought nearly unmanned him. The tension in his belly was so
unbearable he was almost tempted to...
Martin grabbed the washcloth and ran some cold water on it.
Raising himself partly out of the tub, he slapped the freezing flannel
onto his lusting loins viciously until the scorching subsided.
Shuddering once more, he repeated the procedure until his breathing
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evened. He began to scrub himself all over with almost vicious strokes
until he nearly drew blood.
Rubbed raw, the tension still crackling within him, Martin sprang
from the tub, dried himself with a few hard swipes of the perfumed
towel he had used before, and began to tug on the clothes, unable to
bear the sight of himself reflected in the mirror over the washstand.
His huge manhood was bad enough. Even the mottled appearance of
his ribcage and chest which had once been so smooth was grim.
But the sight of the raw red ring around his neck where the hemp
rope had dug into his tender skin was one reminder of his past that he
could have done without this evening.
He felt the familiar strangling sensation coming over him again, as
it did whenever he felt cornered, trapped. Whenever he allowed
himself to remember, remember and despise himself....
Remember and know he could never be normal, happy like other
men. Not knowing what he knew. What he had wanted to do. What he
had felt, done....
"Mr. Jerome, are you all right?" Eswara asked from the other side
of the door.
"Yes, fine, why?" he called.
"Well, it's just that your ankle is sprained, isn't it? I thought
perhaps you might like me to look at it."
"No, no, not at all," he said quickly, hauling on his shirt and
fastening it to cover the grim purple line. "I don't want to put you to
any more trouble than I already have."
"It's no trouble. I work with Blake, you see. As his nurse, and well,
a healer. I can tend to your injury just as well as he can. Then we can
see about getting you home."
Martin was surprised for a moment. But now that she mentioned it,
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he seemed to recall Blake having told him about a wonderful lady

assistant he had found recently to help him with all of his patients.
His ankle decided for him. It looked quite puce, and his knee was
quite obviously swollen as well, he noted, looking down.
"Let me just get the dressing gown back on and you can have a
look."
"That's fine. I'll just go get my bag. I was just worried you might
have slipped in the tub or something and hurt yourself further. You
were groaning."
"Oh, um, it's my knee too," he said quickly.
"I see," she said, wondering why the answer didn't quite ring true.
He had been making noise like a wounded animal in its death throes.
What was it Blake had said about one of his cousins? That he had
been through some sort of terrible ordeal, nearly died? She was sorry
she had not paid more attention at the time.
But that description certainly seemed to fit Martin Jerome. Judging
from his face, like that of an ancient man in some ways, if anyone had
been through absolute hell and back, it was this dark and brooding
man.
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Chapter Four
A short time later, Eswara returned to the bathroom with her bag,
and had Martin sit on the low stool whilst she ministered to his ankle
and knee. He tried to contain his embarrassment at showing his bare
legs in front of a woman, and clutched the robe to his throat tightly.
She could sense his tension and unease in her presence. He was
evidently not accustomed to being touched, although she was sure
from what she knew of them that the Jeromes were a very warm and
demonstrative family, and that in fact Martin had been married.
She sighed inwardly. People were often frightened by intimacy,
affection, especially if they thought there was something wrong with
them, their bodies.
She suspected he had been badly injured physically, which would
account in part for his ghastly appearance. She had never seen anyone
alive look so, so cadaverous. Yet she could have sworn she had
detected a warm appreciation for her as a woman.
Unworthy though it was, she wondered what his response would
be to a bit of mild flirtation. She began to work a subtle charm upon
him to bring him out of himself a bit more. She examined the knee
and ankle carefully, and applied ointment and wrapped them, resting
his foot upon her thigh. Her wrapper parted slightly, offering him a
tantalizing glimpse of calf and cleavage.
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He could barely take his eyes off her. When she smiled up at him
and said, "There now, how does that feel?" she could hear him
swallow hard before stammering, "L-l-lovely, thank you."
"Now I'm just going to massage the leg to ease the muscles, which
have been strained a bit as well. Then I'll do the other leg, which had
to carry all your weight and must also be sore."
As she worked her warm little hands over his flesh, he could not
even maintain the pretense of keeping up a polite stream of
meaningless platitudes, and leaned his head back against the wall.
"You poor thing," she said soothingly. "You must be so tired. Of
course, heading on tonight is out of the question, I can see. You're just
about all done in, aren't you? I think you should just have a tray up in
your room. No sense in overdoing things."
"I wouldn't want to put you to any trouble. Besides, what sort of
guest would that make me?"
"No guest, a patient, and as such, an injured, tired and half-frozen
one, I suppose. So please, don't trouble about social conventions. If
you're tired, eat and go to bed. I'll forgive you, I promise."
"What about, er, Ash, was it?"
She opened her mouth to reply when they heard a rattling and felt a
gust of wind. The front door shut firmly.
"I'm home in one piece!" came a shout from the foyer.
She smiled. "Speak of the Devil."
She flung open the door. "I'm here in the bathroom, love."
"The water had better be hot. I'm like an icicle. Hello, dear." The
huge dark-haired man appeared in the doorway for a moment and
swept the woman into his arms. He was almost as large as Martin, but
with a certain bony gangliness.
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Martin looked away, seething with jealousy over the intimate hug
and kisses on the cheeks they shared. He recalled grimly that his wife
had hardly ever even let him hold her hand. He seethed in even worse
agony when he saw the man's face, for he easily had to be the most
beautiful person he had ever laid eyes on apart from the lovely young
woman by his side.
"Ash, we have company. This is Samuel's brother Martin. Martin
Jerome."
The man's eyes lit up. "Ah, yes, of course. You look quite alike in
some respects. How are you? So very pleased."
He stuck out his hand. "Beastly storm, isn't it? I take it you were
caught too and came a cropper?"
Martin nodded as he shook hands. "Sprained ankle, twisted knee."
"Anyway, formal introductions. Ashoka, Ash, Martin, Martin,
Ash."
"Pleased," Martin said with a stiff nod, embarrassed by the arm
still looped around the woman's waist.
"Where are we with dinner? I'm that hungry."
"We were just deciding if Mr. Jerome should eat with us at table,
or if I should bring a tray up to his room."
"Oh, tray by all means," Ash said airily. "We'll come up and keep
you company. We have three trays, don't we? We'll all eat on our laps.
I promise to be butler. But can you pair hang on ten minutes whilst I
get my bath?"
"Surely. It will take me at least that to get him upstairs."
"Nonsense, dear, I'll do it." The man's gold eyes sparkled. "If
you're done with his wounds, that is?"
He looped Martin's arm around his shoulder before had a chance to
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protest, and was already half way down the hall when he asked,
"Which room?"
"Do you mind yours? It's just that Nelly had everything ready in
there for you, hot water bottles, a good fire and so on. I fear the guest
room will be wretchedly chill."
"No matter. We can fix it up later. I don't mind at all."
They had reached the bottom of the stairs when Martin protested,
"Really, I'm putting you and your wife to far too much trouble."
Ash chuckled heartily and shook his head. "No trouble at all, I
assure you. And my dear mother is going to laugh herself silly when
she hears what you just said."
"Your mother? Why, does she live here with you as well?" Martin
asked in confusion.
Ash laughed again. "I say, Mother, can you come here for a
moment?" he called out loudly.
Martin heard footsteps approaching and turned. His heart jolted in
his chest as he looked at none other than Eswara Paignton.
"Yes, dear. Do you need help?"
"Martin thinks he's too much trouble for us."
She shook her head. "Not at all. Only too pleased to help. I'm a
healer, and Ash is all set to study to become a doctor. In fact, don't be
at all surprised if he asks you to let him look at your ankle and knee.
Just don't let him do any bandage practice. Last time he talked
Jonathan Deveril into it, he frightened half the neighbourhood. They
all thought he was one of those Egyptian mummies Napoleon brought
back to Paris with him."
Both mother and son laughed fondly at the recollection.
At last Martin could see the distinct resemblance. Gold eyes, dark
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hair, her son's skin a couple of shades lighter. "Well, if you have no
objection. But your husband?"
The Paigntons exchanged looks.
"My husband John died four years ago. So you have no one to
worry about inconveniencing except the two of us, and of course
Nelly the maid. But I gave her time off to celebrate in the village.
New Year's Eve dance, don't you know."
"Which is where we should have been going, but the snow is
drifting so badly in places, I was lucky to get back from Brimley in
one piece," Ash said.
"Did you get the horse and gig into the barn at the back safely?"
"Yes, Mother, all is well." He began heaving Martin up the stairs,
hardly letting him put any weight on the bad leg.
Soon Martin found himself in a warm, cheerful, well-appointed
room in midnight blue and gold, with more of the erotic Indian art he
had recognised from downstairs.
"Yes, good, aren't they," Ash said when he saw him looking at
them. "Of course, they are not strictly correct in terms of proportions,
but as specimens of anatomical drawing-"
"Da Vinci would be a better choice, dear."
"But not nearly so decorative, Mother. Anyway, Martin, make
yourself at home." He put him down on the bed and immediately
helped him draw the covers up over himself.
Eswara checked the hot water bottles and busied herself looking
around the room to make sure the candles were lit, there was a ready
supply of them, and her son had not left any of the more creepy
variety of his specimens lying around.
"You know I haven't, Mother," Ash said in a wounded tone. "Nelly
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screams the place down if I bring anything in here larger than an ant."
"Just as well, really. Did you get soaked through?" she asked,
smoothing the bed.
"You bet," Ash confirmed. "It was snowing sideways."
He now began to strip off his jacket, waistcoat and cravat. Martin
assumed he would stop there, but in no time there was a considerable
pile of clothing on the floor, his chest was bare, and he began to yank
off his shoes and socks.
Martin felt sure he would halt at his trousers, but Ash yanked them
down in a clean tug with his drawers as well, rendering himself
completely bare and Martin speechless.
He had seen some male nudity at school and in the Army-he had
never seen anyone like Ash. He was like a classical statue in a
museum, all rippling muscles, though there was a certain wiry
strength in his body which betokened him a younger chap than Martin
had at first assumed. A slightly unnatural thinness.
Martin had also never seen the kind of display Ash was giving his
own mother.
But Eswara seemed unaffected by it, only remonstrating, "It's
rather cold, dear. Hurry up into the bath."
"Back for dinner soon!"
"We'll be up here," she said with a wave.
Martin stared after him, feeling his face on fire at having viewed
the ample attributes of a complete stranger.
"Sorry if he goes on a bit," she apologised, gathering all the soaked
clothing. "He has a habit of sweeping in and out of here like a
whirlwind. He studies Latin, Greek, religion and philosophy with the
vicar Jonathan Deveril over at Brimley. You do know him, of course."
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"Yes, one of the three founding Rakehells, along with the Duke of
Ellesmere and Clifford Stone."
"You're acquainted with them all, then."
"I know all of their set quite well except Mr. Stone." The wary
expression on his face increased tenfold.
Eswara wished she hadn't let her tongue get away with her. "Ah,
yes, just so," she recalled, for though Martin's cousin Josephine had
married Clifford's younger brother Henry, everyone knew that
Clifford's wife Vanessa had been sister to the vicious highwayman
who had attacked around the district four years before.
Half-brother, she amended, after wracking her brains for a moment
to recall all that Blake, another of the Rakehell set, had told her about
her new neighbours.
"It looks like Ash is going to be a Radical a la the Rakehells one
day. So how are your family, your cousins, I mean? We've met your
brother Samuel. Such a pleasant young man. I was trying to think who
you reminded me of when we first met."
"They're as well as can be expected," he said stiffly.
"I can't tell you how pleased I am you came to see us," she said,
fussing over him as she would over her son.
Or husband, she thought with a guilty start. She adjusted the
covers, plumped the pillows, gave the fire a vigorous poke, poured
him some lemon barley water, and finally turned her attention to the
matter of food.
"We have lamb with potatoes and peas tonight for supper. Will that
be all right?" she asked.
He nodded enthusiastically. "To tell you the truth, my mouth has
been watering since I came into the house."
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"Good. Nice to have someone with a healthy appetite to cook for.

It was supposed to be a bit of a festive occasion, between the holiday
and Ash coming home for a spot of leave from his studies. So it will
be all the more special for you being here to share it with us."
"I say, Mother, is my dressing gown in the wash?" Ash asked,
striding in completely naked, one towel slung over his broad
shoulders, his longish dark hair dripping. He flicked it out of his eyes
with a dog-like shake of the head which had her laughing as the drops
sprayed in her direction.
"As you can see, Mr. Jerome has borrowed your silk one. On with
the flannel one, or some night clothes. It's too draughty to dine au
naturel. Mr. Jerome will think you're a savage if you don't stop that."
"Mr. Jerome will think no such thing. He is a man of the world, I
can tell. In the Army, weren't you? Besides, he can't possibly be as
stodgy as Mr. Timberlake over Barton way. He's so Tory he probably
bleeds blue."
"My uncle on my mother's side," Martin said dryly.
Ash's handsome face fell. "Oh, I say, I'm sorry. I didn't mean--"
"That's all right. I find him a dreadful old prig as well."
"No, I meant, what a misfortune to have such a relative."
Ash gave such a cheeky grin that Eswara could not help but ruffle
his hair affectionately. "Now darling, that was a bit unkind."
"But true. He's-"
"Now, now, Mr. Jerome is our guest. And you know what I said
about never saying anything behind a person's back that you would
not say to their face."
"I would quite happily tell Mr. Timberlake what an old codger he
is right to his face, but I'm afraid he and I are not on speaking terms,"
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Ash said with a muffled sniff, for his head was already vanishing into
the shirt he was hauling over his head.
It was exotic-looking, a fine bronze silk with the most fabulous
embroidery on the long flowing sleeves and around the split neckline
which was open down his chest, with no fastenings. A pair of
matching loose silk trousers followed.
Martin stared. Ash appeared every bit the foreign potentate. All he
needed was a turban to look like one of the men in the erotic pictures.
Or with no clothes at all again...
"He can be a most difficult chap to deal with," Martin conceded. "I
hope he hasn't offended."
"Well, do you think we're niggers?"
Martin started at the word, his cheeks flaming.
"Oh, Ash," his mother remonstrated.
"It's just that I think I happen to be lighter-skinned than some of
the red-faced bloated old bulldogs he calls friends. And you of course,
Mother, are more golden than black."
Martin shook his head, mortified at the way they had been treated.
"I'm terribly sorry. He was a great embarrassment to us growing up.
He is awfully set in his ways, I'm afraid. I'm sure he doesn't even
understand-"
"Well, the anti-slavery issue is one very close to our hearts. I hope
you agree with the Rakehells in this."
"I'm not very political," Martin admitted to Ash sheepishly. He had
been too lost in his own world of suffering to pay much attention to
anything else for the past few years.
"Oh no," Eswara said, rolling her eyes. "You've let the dam open
now. Half an hour to convince him, love, and then we shall share
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topics more conducive to good digestion."

Ash leapt on the bed and sat cross-legged at the foot in his usual
yoga position. Martin stared, wondering how someone so large could
be so graceful.
He shot a look at Eswara. How could someone so young possibly
have a son this age? He watched her from behind as she headed out of
the room to go bring up dinner. The gentle sway of her hips was
enough to leave him gasping for air.
Here was beauty indeed. The fates could certainly be kind, and
cruel. For they had given him the one thing he had been wishing for,
warmth, the tenderness of a woman, but in a form so lovely, so
forbidden, they might as well live on other planets.
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Chapter Five
Martin's desirous thoughts as Eswara left the lovely midnight blue
room had him stammering an apology for not having heard Ash's
question.
"S-s-sorry. Should you not help your mother bring up the supper
for us?"
Ash's eyes lit. "Yes. You're right. Terribly thoughtless of me. I'll be
back in a tick."
With one bound he was off the bed and half way out the door.
What an unusual family, Martin reflected when he had gone.
Indian. But the last name was Paignton, decidedly English. So the boy
must have had a British father. A nabob, or a soldier?
The latter, more likely, though they seemed decidedly genteel.
There was no sign of the vulgar ostentation which one had come to
expect from the self-made men who had resorted to the get-rich-quick
scheme of going out on an East Indiaman for a land grab or peculation
in the spice or gem trade.
Martin was livid at what his uncle had said about them. Black
indeed. Were it not for the exotic pictures and Ash's clothes, he never
would have guessed. He imagined most people would not, but he
could see how such prejudice wounded Mrs. Paignton. Not so much
on her own behalf as her child's.
The more he learned of them, the more intrigued he became
despite himself. She was a real beauty, and as such to be avoided. But
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her personality....
Once mother and son arrived back with the food a short time later,
the evening passed by in a whirlwind. Ash tended to dominate the
conversation, though any comments Mrs. Paignton uttered seemed so
sound and full of remarkable perception that Martin felt as though a
thunderbolt were striking him.
They were certainly most ardent against the many social ills of
England, though they were not even from this country. Much more
concerned than he had ever been, and he claimed to be British.
Martin ascertained from their conversation that Ash's father had
been a soldier who had died of a stroke about four years before. He
had been a officer from a well-to-do background, a third son of four
who had eventually inherited by chance.
Eswara had helped make money for the family by investing in the
spice trade. She and Ash were well-off enough as they were, though
he was set to inherit a substantial property in Wiltshire when he came
of age at eighteen.
The meal was sumptuous, well-seasoned and with a variety of
accompaniments, including some exotically flavoured vegetables she
called curry, and some interesting flat breads called chapatis. The
almond cake was like a taste of heaven with some coffee, and the
claret they had imbibed throughout the meal was first-rate. Ash
brought him some brandy and a pair of cigars, and lit up in front of his
mother.
Martin blushed and tried to decline, but Eswara waved his chagrin
away.
"I like the smell. I've even been known to partake myself on
occasion. I adore pipes too." She took the second cigar, lit it and
puffed for a second. Then she put it to his lips in an intimate gesture
moment had him twisting the bedcovers as his loins went afire.
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"Are you all right?"

"Leg twinge," he squeezed out past his constricted throat.
"Do you want me to-"
"No!" he hissed. "That is, I mean to say-"
"It's all right, Mother. If he wants another leg massage I can do it,"
Ash said with a perceptive look that was not lost upon his mother.
She nodded, reading the unspoken message clearly. "Good then.
Why don't you boys play chess or something while I clean up."
Ash scampered off the bed to get his travelling set while she
stacked one tray with all their plates.
Martin watched her graceful movements, his eyes aglow, his
insides churning. He didn't know why the word 'boys' bothered him so
much. He was far older than Ash, nearly twenty-six to his sixteen.
That had to put his mother at about thirty-one or two, he guessed,
though she looked about twenty with her completely smooth
complexion and wide, long-lashed eyes.
She was closer to his own age, than he to Ash. Yet he felt she was
treating him in a motherly way. He wanted her to notice him as a man,
not a boy.
On the other hand, Ash was a diverting companion, mature for his
years and someone he felt comfortable with, could easily call a friend.
It might be unworthy of him, for it sounded mercenary, but to
cultivate the son would afford him an excellent chance to be with the
mother.
Then he shook his head. What on earth was the matter with him?
She was a respectable soldier's widow, for heaven's sake. They were
unconventional in some ways, but this was the privacy of their own
home he had intruded upon, been welcomed into by virtue of his
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being injured. He couldn't presume upon them due to an accident of

circumstance.
And he certainly didn't want to go anywhere near any woman, not
after what had happened to him four years ago. The very fact that his
body was responding to her so ardently was a sure sign that he should
stay away.
Yet she was so thrilling to be with. Her voice, eyes, hair, her
wonderfully rounded figure, so much more ample than his wife's had
been...
He had been deceived by Margaret there too, but there was no
mistaking this woman's ample attributes under the loose gown, which
afforded no chance to conceal any padding or corsets. She was lovely,
and oh so natural. Even her gentle perfume was wholesome and
without artifice, roses and cinnamon, he guessed as she returned a
short time later to sit by the bed to knit whilst they played chess, her
other chores complete for the moment.
So distracted was he by her presence that Ash trounced him royally
the first game.
Martin gave a feeble attempt at a smile. "I'm out of practice, I
fear." He prayed his voice would not betray his quivering excitement
at her nearness.
"That's all right. We can try again."
Martin had slightly better success next time, but was still
checkmated within half an hour.
"Perhaps cribbage?" Ash suggested.
"But not for money. He'll clean you out for certain," Eswara said,
patting her son's hand as he went passed her to fetch the board and
cards.
"Won't you play too, Mother?"
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"No, quite all right. I'm just finishing this muffler for you. The
gods only know what you did with the last one."
He shrugged. "I think it was that beggar in Bristol."
"I think you take Jesus' teachings a bit too far, darling, not to
mention the edicts against material possessions in the Gita. You know
how ill you were in the past. It would make me very happy if you
would take care of yourself a bit better."
"I shall. I'm fine. No need to worry," he reassured her.
"That's easy for you to say, my lad. But I've nearly lost you twice,
once as a baby when you and your father had the swelling sickness,
and once now. I never want to go through that a third time. Do you
understand? If anything were to happen to you it would kill me." She
gave him a warm smile, but the haunted look in her eyes told Martin
she was in earnest.
He wanted to know more about Ash's illness, but didn't like to pry.
He was most certainly curious to know more about her. Well, about
them both. He had a liking for the flamboyant, exceptionally
intelligent, and fun-loving boy. He was worth being friends with, even
if so many years younger, just by dint of being so clever. And he was
sure his mother could teach him a few things. She seemed so calm,
practical. Patient.
His parents were very good people, but simple honest country
types, well-off but not vastly successful in the world. He wouldn't
mind hearing more about the spice trade.
Well, about everything in their lives, he amended. They seemed
fascinating, even if disconcerting, he reflected, catching sight of
another of Ash's pictures and wondering how on earth it was possible
to...
At ten o'clock Eswara rose and said, "I think that's enough now,
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Ash. Mr. Jerome must be very tired. I'll just go fetch more hot water
bottles for you both, and we'll call it a night. Please stay in bed as late
as you like tomorrow, Mr. Jerome. Ring for breakfast whenever you
fancy. And do ask for anything you need, like help coming down the
stairs eventually. Ash, you'll show him where everything is? Be a
good host?"
"Yes, Mother."
"Good night, then. And Happy New Year to us all."
"Good night, Mrs. Paignton. Thank you for a delightful evening."
A New Year, he thought with a jolt. He had forgot all about it in
his thrill of being with her... Perhaps it was a sign of better things to
come in his life? Or was he going to have all his hopes dashed?
He shook his head inwardly. He didn't even know what he hoped
for any longer. He had seemingly had everything he wanted four years
ago, and lost it. But then, much of it had not been worth having after
all.
Eswara saw the welter of conflicting emotions warring in his
expression and said gently, "Don't mention it. You must come again
some time when you are feeling better and Ash is home. He's enjoyed
your company. It's hard having been an only child, eh, my lad?"
Ash shrugged. "I couldn't have had two better parents. I might not
have liked having to share. It was hard for you though, I'm sure.
You're the type of mother who would dote on a dozen." He gave her a
warm kiss and began to show Martin the facilities around the room.
Eswara returned a short time later with the bottles, took the cooled
ones away, and went downstairs to tidy the kitchen.
Ash came in a short time later with the rest of the remnants of their
repast which he had cleared away.
"Everything all right?" she asked.
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"Fine. The guest room has warmed up and I'm that tired parsing
sentences and helping Jonathan with all the church services for the
holiday season that I shall sleep like the dead tonight."
"That's good to hear. You look a bit pale. Stay in bed late, won't
you? And no reading all night."
"No, I promise." He pulled aside one of the curtains. "I say. Still
snowing out there. We're getting buried."
She looked out as well at the stark white landscape. "Oh dear. I
hope Nelly has enough sense to not come in the morning."
"I think she'll know to stay put."
"I did tell her before she left not to worry about us if the weather
ever got really severe. Besides, her Pa is a bit chesty these days from
the cold."
"I'll help with breakfast in the morning, then."
"Thanks, love, but I can manage. Now off you go."
He gave her another kiss and left.
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Chapter Six
Alone once more, the whole house silent save for the icy snow
outside tinkling on the window panes, Eswara went through the
downstairs of the house to make sure all the candles were snuffed and
the fireguards placed in front of each hearth.
It was part of her nightly ritual, and she never felt happier when
she was alone at night than knowing her son was upstairs sleeping
peacefully in his room.
It was a rambling old house, shaped like a backwards L. They lived
in the shorter of the two parts. It was far too large a place for just she
and her son, but it had become available about the time that Blake had
insisted she come help him with his new practice. He had ended up at
Dr. Gold's elegant old house, the two men having swapped lives and
houses from Millcote to London.
On the whole she loved the house, but it was huge. Eswara thought
of what Ash had said about adoring a dozen children. She sighed. The
gods evidently had not meant it to be, nor for her husband to survive,
so there they were, just the two of them, on a frigid winter night.
Well, not just the two of them, she reminded herself as she
returned to the kitchen to wash the dishes. She recalled that her son
was actually safely tucked up in the guest room because they had a
visitor.
And what a handsome man he was, even better looking than his
brother Samuel. But so much more serious. Still, if she were a few
years younger, or he a few years older....
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No. Not now, not ever. She had had one husband. That had been
more than enough. It had matured into a solid marriage based upon
mutual respect. All the other offers she had had since he had passed
away had been nothing but commercially oriented. She was not about
to put herself in anyone's power either materially or sexually. It had
been a huge burden controlling her desires for so many years....
But infidelity was a sin, and it had not been her husband's fault he
had been so much past his prime. She had just been grateful she had
been rescued from the life of debauchery he had taken her from after
she and her sister had been sold upon the death of her English father
and Indian mother.
Leela had gone to the carpet factory, which valued the tiny fingers
of a five-year-old girl even more than her feminine attributes. If the
poor child had lived she would have ended up a bibbi too. But she had
been killed in a terrible fire shortly after they had been separated.
Her husband had told her the heartbreaking news just after Ash had
been born. For a time she had thought she might not be able to bear
the pain. When Ash and his father had both become ill a few weeks
later, Eswara had torn herself out of her grief and nursed them back to
health, and had discovered her calling as a healer.
She had been told she had a calling as a bibbi as well, with her
natural beauty and sensuality. But whilst she had been made for love,
as her madam had put it, she knew that was not the lot of a prostitute
in a brothel which catered to the British soldiers in Bombay.
Some of the women she had spoken to admitted there was some
pleasure to be had with one's body, and had instructed her during the
hot days when there was relatively little trade.
She had learned the lessons well; it had been a form of rebellion, a
secret way to retreat from the life she had been sold into. To find
happiness amid the squalor had surely been a small but worthwhile
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victory.
She had of course been forced to learn about men's bodies as well,
though as a virgin and partly British and a very scrawny fourteenyear-old, her chastity had been preserved, though it had been a near
run thing.
She had been forced to learn and clean, but not to work with
clients. She had been kept in reserve for someone who would pay
well, and liked them built lean and boyish. She had kept the place and
herself clean, and prayed for a reprieve from the dreadful life sentence
which she had seemingly been condemned to.
But her father's best friend in the army John Paignton had come
back from his tour of duty up country only to discover his friend dead,
and the family scattered. He had eventually tracked her down at the
brothel before she had been ravished, bought her from the brothel
keeper, and married her to protect her good name.
A year of good food and caring treatment had seen her transformed
into the most lovely woman in the Bombay barracks. On her fifteen
birthday he had taken her to wife in earnest, his good intentions
regarding a marriage of convenience flying out the window as all the
soldiers had swarmed around her like flies to a honey pot.
She shuddered at the recollection. It had been awful, painful, over
in an instant, her husband so blinded by his own needs he had no idea
she even had any.
The experiences she had had in those early days at the bordello and
as a new bride had made her determined to be powerful, in control of
her life, her love.
She had been in control ever since. She had a wonderful son,
comfortable life, and a secret place she could go to in her mind
through her meditation. A secret place she could go to in her body if
she ever needed release from the tight coiling of desire.
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No, though she might admire the stunning Mr. Jerome, feel herself
become moist with desire as his molten silver gaze rested upon her
body, she was sure he was no different from most of the other men of
his age and class. Arrogant, rakish, selfish, viewing women as no
more than chattel, wives to warm their beds when they wanted, and to
bear children. Often to suffer the ignomies of abuse, adultery and
neglect such as her friend Bryony Avenel had had to tolerate in her
first marriage. Or as mistresses, 'convenients', for a few moments of
pleasure only before being forgotten as they pursued their other
worldy interests.
Oh, not that Mr. Jerome, Martin, had said or done anything amiss.
But this type of man had been her general experience in the past seven
years. Perhaps it was a superficial judgment. But to get to know any
of the men of that class on the really deep level that counted simply
wasn't possible.
English society seemed to throw men and women all together in
public in various forms of entertainments designed, if anything, for
ostentation rather than honest plain dealing. They were forbidden to
be alone with each other. If they were caught alone, no matter how
innocent or harmless the circumstances of their actions, they usually
faced censure. Especially the female, however blameless or unwitting
she might be.
Of course in her country, arranged marriages were the norm. In
England they were also common amongst the propertied classes. At
least she did not have to worry about that.
She sighed, dreaming about Martin's stunning face. There was no
harm in thinking about him, now was there? It might be foolish for a
woman her age, but she wanted to know what romance felt like.
Falling in love.
Perhaps when she was older and Ash was fully grown and happily
settled, she might take the chance to find out. But for the moment her
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son and her work were her whole life.

And her new found friends, she added. She found Millcote every
bit as charming as her new-found friends from Bath, Michael Avenel
and Dr. Blake Sanderson, had described when they had convinced her
to stay in the district, she admitted as she finished washing the dishes,
and began to dry them.
Blake's friends had all been most welcoming, and there were
always plenty of patients to see. It had been a wonderful thing to settle
down once she had stopped seeking restlessly every cure she could for
her son throughout the length and breadth of England.
Bath had been the place where he had made the most progress, and
where their new life had started thanks to a chance meeting with
Michael's wife Bryony.
She wiped the last dish and placed it in the dresser. She banked the
fire so it would last until morning, then snuffed all the candles except
one. She glided through the house, shivering as the wind howled
through the eaves.
Was it the wind? The noise got louder as she ascended the stairs.
The sound of thrashing from inside Ash's room had her entering in an
instant before she realised her mistake. That it was not her son who
was so afflicted with nightmares.
She stared at Martin for a moment, feeling as though she were
looking at something far too private, as though she had intruded in
some way.
Instinct told her to go out the door and close it behind her. But she
simply could not leave the poor man writhing there in torment.
"Margaret! Margaret! Damn you! Oh, God, no!" he shouted.
Eswara ran over to the bed, setting the candle far away from him in
case he lashed out. She put one hand on his shoulder. "Mr. Jerome.
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Mr. Jerome! It's all right. It's just a dream. Mr. Jerome! Martin! It's all
right! I'm here. You're safe."
He thrashed about in the bed for some time longer, but when she
moved her hand up to stroke his fevered brow he sat up wildly.
"Oh God!"
"It's all right. I'm here. You're safe. Nothing can hurt you here."
He hugged her tightly to his bared chest for a moment, then
slumped back against the pillows in relief, taking her down with him.
She pressed ineffectually at his chest for a moment, but the feel of his
strong arms around her was too powerful to ignore.
She ran her hands over his bare chest and up to his shoulders
where the silk dressing gown had parted, smoothing the fabric,
tucking it back around his shivering body. He had left the candle
burning, but the meagre light from the stump was enough to show her
the lived purple band left by the hemp rope which had nearly ended
his life.
She tugged the lapels of the robe together quickly, feeling more
embarrassed than if she had seen him completely naked. He look so
huge, yet so vulnerable. She stroked down his shoulders and arms a
few times until he stopped shivering, and his ragged breathing began
to even out.
As she did so she whispered repeatedly at a soothing tempo, "It's
all right. You're safe here. It was only a dream."
She was all too aware of her bosom pressed tightly against the
lower part of his broad muscular chest, and gently tried to disengage
herself. Eventually even he too became aware of it, she was sure, for
he grasped her shoulders and put her from him at arm's length,
blushing profusely.
"I'm so sorry. I can't think what got into me."
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"Don't mention it, please. It was just a bad dream. Have a glass of
water."
She went over to the ewer and poured it out for him. She brought it
back to the bed and held it out. Their fingers touched as she passed it
to him.
When she realised he was still shaking badly, she helped hold it to
his lips in a tender, intimate gesture. He drank thirstily, and lapsed
back against the pillows again with a tremulous sigh.
She touched his forehead. "You have a bit of a fever, I think. I'm
just going to get you some caraway and ginger, and some rosewater to
help you sleep."
She went downstairs for her supplies and came back a short time
later with them and a cup of milk. She mixed the spices into the cup to
make a posset and had him drink it all down.
When he had drained the cup she bathed his head with a cool cloth
sprinkled with the rose water.
"You're to stay in bed tomorrow, do you hear me? Ash can come in
to play chess or something, but otherwise you need to rest. Do you
want me to give you something for it?" She offered him a small bottle.
"No, I don't want to take any drugs-"
She shook her head. "It's all natural. Wild lettuce, valerian. It won't
make you dependent like opiates," she said quietly.
Martin looked at her doubtfully a moment. In the end he took the
bottle, his fingers brushing hers, setting them both atingle. He opened
the bottle and looked. It was a fine brown powder with a pleasant
enough taste.
"How much?"
"A pinch ought to do it." She fetched him more water, and he
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sprinkled in about a small nail's worth of the powder, swirled the glass
and drank.
He looked up at her concerned face. "I'm sorry if I awoke you or
your son."
She shrugged off the incident lightly. "He sleeps like the dead, and
I was still up."
"But you need your rest."
"I'm used to it. I'm only surprised I've had no one call me out.
Perhaps all the expectant women in the district are holding off until
the New Year. I expected three this past week but nothing has
happened. Still, we are snowed in."
He stared in surprise.
She nodded. "Well and truly. It's over a foot thus far and drifting.
So since you're evidently not going anywhere tomorrow, we'll just
make a little house party for ourselves, and you can stay in bed and
rest."
"Thank you. For everything." He stroked her arm lightly. "You've
been so kind and welcoming."
"Only too pleased to help. How are you ankle and knee, by the
way?"
"I'll know the next time I try to put my weight on the leg."
"Do you need anything? Are you warm enough?"
"Everything is perfect. Thank you." He gave her a warm grateful
look, his grey eyes glowing.
"I shall see you in the morning." She moved to snuff the candle,
but he halted her.
"Can you please leave it lit?"
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She did as he asked. "Would you like me to stay? Read to you until
you fall asleep?" she added quickly in case he might take her offer the
wrong way.
"Are you not too tired?"
"No, I'm fine. I'll just stay until you drop off."
She fetched one of Ash's favourite books of Indian fairy tales, and
opened to the first page she came to.
"This one is about the God Shiva the destroyer. This legend relates
to the story of Shiva's protecting a young man called Markandeya
from the clutches of death.
"Mrikandu Munivar worshipped Shiva and sought from him the
boon of begetting a son. He was given the choice between a gifted son
with a short lived tenure on earth, or a dunce with a long life.
Mrikandu Munivar chose the former, and was blessed with
Markandeya, an exemplary son, destined to die at the age of sixteen.
"Markandeya grew up to be a great devotee of Shiva. On the day
of his destined death Markandeya continued to worship his image.
The messengers of Yama, the God of death, were unable to take away
the lad's life, given his devotion to Shiva and his being engaged in the
act of worship then.
"Yama himself came in person to take his life away and threw his
noose around the young sage's neck. The noose landed around the
statue of Shiva. Out of it, Shiva himself emerged in all his fury, and
kicked Yama and killed Death itself. He then revived him, under the
condition that the devout youth would live for ever."
She knew she probably should not have chosen that story, but the
book had opened to that page, and she was a great believer in fate.
As she read, she thought of what he must have suffered. He too
had defeated death, emerged out of the noose a new being. Was he too
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favoured by the gods?

As Eswara had been reading, Mrtin's eyelids had begun to droop,
so that by the time she ever got near the end of the story he was
asleep, lulled into slumber by the sound of her lovely voice.
She waited a time longer in silence until she was sure he was
settled. She stroked back his hair and checked his brow.
When she was satisfied all was well, she tiptoed out of the room
and back to her own. She berated herself for her treacherous longings,
her long dormant body suddenly yearning to meld into his.
Martin Jerome, of all people, a fragile soul, English, and several
years younger. Not to mention a virtual stranger.
She shook her head, telling herself that no matter what, to share the
bed with the young man even for comfort's sake would be the most
dangerous thing she could ever do.
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Chapter Seven
The following morning dawned overcast and chill. Eswara dressed
in one of her warmest gowns, a deep blue wool with lace trim, and
dressed her hair into a glossy crown at the top of her head.
With an apron over her dress she prepared all of the downstairs
fires, and began to make breakfast. She brought the first tray up to her
son, who was just out of bed, stretching and yawning.
"Morning, Mother. I was just about to do my yoga."
"Eat first. And if I were you, I'd head back to bed. It's still
snowing."
"Gosh. It must be some sight." He went over to the window to
marvel at it. "Martin up?"
"I was just going to check."
"Did he have nightmares last night? I thought I heard something
odd."
"He was a bit feverish. He'll be fine."
A spasm of uncertainty crossed Ash's handsome features. "He's a
good man. But he seems, well, haunted. Or like death still has a hand
on his shoulder."
She nodded, and shivered at the thought of what she had seen last
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night. "I know. I can't remember the whole story-"

"It doesn't really matter, does it?" He shrugged. "I mean, he will
tell us when he wants to. In the meantime, he needs friends to bring
him back into the light."
"You're right, of course. But he is English after all, and a Christian.
There is much he would not understand, be shocked by, even."
"But I think he is looking for a lightness of soul. We can help, I'm
sure."
"Only if he asks us to."
"He did when he came here," Ash pointed out, dropping the curtain
and returning to his bed to sit cross-legged.
Eswara shook her head. "For his leg, not his regrets and horror
over the past, love. It is very commendable you wanting to help, but
don't press him to confide. If he wants to come to us ,he knows we're
here to help."
"All right, Mother. But I just know he's someone special for us.
You feel it too."
She felt a flush of hot colour rise to her cheeks. "I know your food
is getting cold. See you later."
She brought up Martin's tray a short time later, and tapped at the
door. "Mr. Jerome, are you awake?" she called softly.
"Come in."
She found him propped up in bed reading the book she had left
upon the bedside table the night before.
"I wanted to see how the story ended."
She smiled. "You enjoyed it?"
His expression was wary, but he nodded. "Yes. And look at this
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sumptuous breakfast," he added, admiring the bacon, egg, sausage,

tomatoes, mushrooms, black pudding, and a mountain of toast, with a
pot of tea which filled the room with the most divine scent. "Really,
you shouldn't have."
"No trouble at all. Eat up and give Ash a shout if you want
company."
"What about you? I mean, I know you're probably very busy, but if
you are knitting and sewing you can sit with me by the fire, can't
you?" he suggested.
He looked so wistful she did not have the heart to refuse. "All
right, if you're sure. I'll get things warmed up in here first, though."
"Thank you."
She bustled around the room, and Martin felt both burning desire,
and an utter peace at her soothing presence. In her simple but elegant
blue gown, with her hair glowing like burnished jet, and the perfume
which wafted toward him whenever she neared the bed, she was so
alluring Martin was tempted to reach out one hand to tug her into the
bed beside him.
He had a fleeting vision of his wife averting her face, shunning
him in the bed on their wedding night, and sighed.
He had made enough of an ass of himself having a nightmare last
night in front of the woman, and being almost afraid to sleep without a
light. His oppressiveness of spirit was almost more than he felt he
could bear.
He started as she put her hand on his forehead and stroked back a
damp tendril of hair.
"You really are unwell, aren't you?" she asked gently. "I mean,
that's the only explanation for not eating, isn't it? Or would you prefer
something else?"
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"Oh, no, it's lovely, I just don't eat very much in the mornings.
Especially not after that fine dinner last night."
"Do you want me to take the tray away?"
"No, I'll take a few more mouthfuls," he said, feeling himself
willing to do anything to please her.
Ash came in a short time later, polished off what Martin had not
consumed with a happy smile, removed the tray, and sat to chat. He
saw the book of fairy tales.
"Which one were you reading?"
"Shiva and the boy full of promise."
"Ah, Shiva the destroyer."
Martin frowned. "But in the book he gives the man a fine son, and
saves him from Death. Surely he is a life-giver?"
"Both. He is known as the destroyer, but also brings regeneration.
Death and rebirth. The cycle of reincarnation." Ash flicked through
the pictures and pointed. "You see?"
Martin blushed furiously. Before he could ask why on earth he was
showing him such a thing, Ash explained, "That's the statue of Shiva
the boy is worshipping, the Shivalingam. The phallus. Death and
birth."
Martin, despite himself, began to flip through the pictures. "You
certainly have some, er, interesting deities," he said, his face still
suffused with colour. He closed the book abruptly when it got to be
too much for him to bear.
"So what do you study with Jonathan?" he asked in what he hoped
was a normal conversational tone.
"Languages and comparative religions. India is a seat for many of
the world's religions, and so I've chosen to study them. I'm a man of
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science, but I would also like to be a man of philosophic thought. I

often wonder why people dwell upon their differences of belief, rather
than what they have in common."
"I suppose that's true."
Eswara, organising Ash's wardrobe in the far corner and searching
for some suitable things for Martin to wear, nodded. "If you consider
all the great religions' teachings, for example, they have a great
number of similarities."
"Yes, as Mother says, in Christianity, they tell us of the nature of
love, 'Beloved, let us love one another, for love is of God; and
everyone that loveth is born of God, and knoweth God. He that loveth
not, knoweth not God, for God is love.' In Confucianism, 'To love all
men is the greatest benevolence.'"
Eswara supplied, "In Buddhism their followers are told, 'Let a man
cultivate towards the whole world a heart of love.' In Taoism they
teach that 'Heaven arms with love those it would not see destroyed.' In
Sikhism they believe 'God will regenerate those in whose hearts there
is love.'"
"Yes, and in Jainism they declare, 'The days are the most profit to
him who acts in love.'"
"I must admit I am ignorant of most of these religions. But you are
Hindu, are you not? What do Hindus believe?"
Eswara gave him a warm smile. "One can best worship the Lord
through love."
"And what do they mean by regeneration, do you suppose? Ash
mentioned it before in connection with Shiva, death and rebirth."
"We believe in reincarnation. That the soul is is transferred. That
death is just a new beginning, similar to the way that Jesus died and
was resurrected. Only in the spiritual not corporeal sense."
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"How exotic."
Eswara shrugged. "Not really. The ancient Celts in Ireland
believed it too, thousands of years ago. Some people posit that even
the great monument at nearby Stonehenge might have something to do
with it."
"Fascinating. But I don't think I like the idea of having to come
back, do it all over again. It's been bad enough the first time," he
admitted in a quiet tone.
Eswara saw the grim expression cross his face once more. With a
significant look at her son said, "I think we've chatted away enough
for the moment, don't you, Ash? Mr. Jerome needs to rest."
"No, please don't go! I mean-"
He blushed, and Ash smiled and declared, "Nothing a rousing
game of backgammon won't fix."
As they played and his mother returned to the bedside to darn
socks, Ash looked knowingly from one to the other. They didn't
realise yet just how important they were to each other, but there was
no hurry. He would let them take their time to get to learn more about
each other. He could swap roles with his mother and act as her
chaperon. Though he had to admit that if the chance came for her to
be romantically involved with Martin, he would quite happily step out
of the way and let them have their chance.
His mother was still a lovely young woman. He would be fully
grown soon enough. The prospect of her being alone and unhappy
filled him with dread.
He wasn't sure that Martin could make her happy, but he was
willing to consider the possibility given the light that shone in his
mother's eyes every time she looked at the handsome man.
He wondered what it would be like to have someone look at him in
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that way and really mean it. Know him, not just his surface
appearance, which he knew was attractive.
But all the girls he ever met were only interested in soirees, balls,
parties, and how many percents per annum he earned, and the latest
on-dit.
Well, he had no intention of settling down soon, so that was fine.
He would remain chaste, go about his studies, but learn about himself
and the world. But one day...
Ash looked at Martin with renewed interest. He was sure there was
some sort of connection with him too. Like they had met before, as if
Martin were leading him down some path, the end a long way away,
but still one all three were going to journey together.
"What is it, Ash? Are you trying to let me win?" Martin asked in a
mild tone, wondering what was on his mind.
The younger man looked down and realised he had just sacrificed
two of his pieces which he had left open for no reason. "Oh, sorry. I
was lost for a minute there."
Martin won the game a short time later.
Eswara gave him a warm smile. "Now how about a good long bath
and then I'll look at your ankle and knee?"
"Yes, thanks. That would be grand."
"I'll help too," Ash volunteered, yanking the covers off Martin's
legs before he had a chance to ensure he was decent in front of
Eswara.
He blushed and tugged the silk flaps down over his thighs, and
avoided her gaze.
"Ash, a bit less exuberance please. He's supposed to be resting. In
any case I suspect he's a great deal more modest in his personal habits
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than you."
"Oh dear, not a prude like your uncle?" Ash gave a shudder of
mock horror.
"No, not a prude, but she's your mother, not mine," he said through
stiff lips. "Some things are simply not suitable for the eyes of ladies."
Eswara's eyes twinkled with suppressed amusement and not a little
desire. "And some things are more than suitable. But since I'm a
healer, I don't count as a lady."
"Now I am sure that's not true," he said gallantly.
"I was an Army wife for many years. Many times one of the only
people available to help with illness in the barracks. There is nothing
you can ever tell or show me which will surprise me at this point. But
I do have to admit it's one of the reasons I prefer to work with women
these days."
"Life, not venereal disease and death," Ash clarified upon seeing
Martin's puzzled frown.
"Oh dear." He blushed.
"But there is death too, for childbirth is a dangerous thing for both
mother and child."
"Though much less so in this district now that you're here. Some of
the midwives are a disgrace," Ash said with a shake of his head.
"Yes, well, I'm sure that Mr. Jerome doesn't want to hear all about
my work."
"Oh, but I do," he found himself saying, and he was not just being
polite. He really did want to learn as much as he could about the
lovely woman who had helped him so generously.
"Very kind, I'm sure," Eswara said with a little bow. "But I'm
certain Ash and I can provide you with much more amusing
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diversions."
She bustled from the room to get his bath ready, leaving him
feeling bereft without her, as though all the light had gone from the
room.
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Chapter Eight
After his bath, Martin dressed carefully in the warm clothes
Eswara and Ash had provided, save for his trousers, which he left off
in order for her to look at his knee and ankle once more.
The contact of her small delicate hands was so tempting, he almost
reached for her to.
But Ash came into the bathing chamber just then, and looked over
his mother's ministrations with an eye keen to learn.
"It's badly bruised," she said of the knee, "but this arnica and some
rest and keeping it up on a footstool will help." Then she moved
lower. "As for the ankle, it's only a sprain. Once again, don't put
weight on it, but do try to flex it a bit to keep it from getting stiff."
"Thank you so much."
"And now, trousers and food," Ash said with a grin.
"Food?" Martin said in surprise. "After the breakfast you just had?"
"Growing boy, don't you know, old chap," Ash said with a grin.
"And I happen to know there's plenty of almond cake left, and some
fresh gingerbread."
"Another of my favorites, thank you," Martin said, allowing his
gaze to rest lingeringly on Eswara.
"Don't mention it. But first we need to get you decently clad."
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"I'll help," Ash offered at once.

He put one shoulder under Martin's armpit and lifted him from the
small stool, while Eswara knelt and slid the trouser leg over the
bandaged ankle.
Both doctor and patient blushed at the suggestiveness of her pose
as he now sat, and her head was between his knees. She lifted his
other foot to flick the fabric over it, and said, "There now, I think you
can both manage the rest."
He was sorry for the loss of her company again as she rose from
her knees and slipped out of the room wordlessly.
But she was not gone for long. With Ash's help, he soon found
himself in the drawing room enjoying coffee and cake for elevenses.
"I had thought some roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, potatoes
and green beans for dinner if that's all right with you, Mr. Jerome,"
Eswara said as he served him. "We usually dine at two."
"Oh, er, yes. But surely I can make it to Blake's house if you will
lend me a horse or Ash is willing to ride over with me in the carriage."
Ash spoke up quickly. "But why leave when you are so
comfortable here?"
"But I'm sure your mother-"
"Is always happy to help, and have house guests. You don't mind
my new friend staying, do you, Mother?"
"Of course not," she said sincerely, though she could feel her
breath catch at the thought of this powerfully attractive man lingering.
"Not if Mr. Jerome wishes to stay. You may remain as long as you
wish, sir. You must stay until the snow clears and we can get you
back to the Manor safely in the gig at the very least. It still looks too
deep, though."
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Martin felt almost relieved at having such a good excuse to remain

with them. "Thank you. Well, if you really don't mind?"
"Not at all. Please, make yourself right at home. Books, the music
room, whatever you like. The two of you can have a splendid time."
"I want to make a snow hut," Ash said. "I've seen pictures of them
in books. Like the Esquimaux have in the frozen north. I've seldom
seen so much snow. Would you like to help me, Martin?"
"Oh, er, why not?" he said to be polite, little dreaming he would
enjoy himself. It was not something he was accustomed to these days.
Eswara warned, "You need to be careful you don't slip."
"He can sit on some sacking and help me form the snow blocks. I'll
get some tea chests from the stables."
"All right," she said dubiously. "But I am going to wrap you two
up warmly. Ash, you let him use your new greatcoat. He came out
yesterday without one. Your old coat is a bit tatty, but it does still fit
you. Hats, mufflers, gloves," she itemised as she bundled them both
up almost to their eyes.
Ash stooped for a kiss before went out the door, and for a moment
Martin was tempted to ask her for one as well.
But as he had said before, he was most definitely not her son,
though she treated him with amused indulgence as if he were no more
than an adolescent.
Which is how he was acting, playing games in the snow with Ash,
he thought to himself with a start. He was about to change his mind
and declare he would stay indoors when she gave him one of her slow
but dazzling smiles and said, "Have fun. I'll be out in a little while to
see how you're both getting on, and when I've dressed a bit more
warmly."
She patted his elbow, and began to shut the door against the chill
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wind.
So Martin began to pack snow into blocks, and got on well for the
most part, though occasionally Ash would declare it was time for a
duel and hurl a snow missile in his direction.
Of course Martin would grunt and fling one back, and their
garments soon became liberally encrusted with snow. But the snow
house gradually began to rise from its foundations, and when Eswara
came out about an hour later it was almost complete.
"Just a couple more blocks for the top, and we're all set."
"I like the door. Very clever," she admired. "Do you think you've
built it large enough for two?"
"Three, hopefully, if we all squeeze in."
"Well then, at least let me help with the blocks." She knelt down
beside Martin on the burlap ticking he was sitting upon, so close to
him that her thigh touched his knee and her shoulder occasionally
brushed his. Their gloved hands met from time to time as they packed
the snow into the tea chest to form the blocks.
She seemed oblivious to her effect upon him as he struggled for
breath and wondered how his desire could be so scorching in the
middle of such an arctic landscape.
If anything the cold made her glow more. Her face was framed by
a lovely black silk shawl, and her eyes were moist, her cheeks lightly
reddened, her lips more rosy and ripe-looking than ever.
Eswara could not help admire Martin as he sat beside her, the wary
and grim expression he usually wore easing as he played in the snow.
Poor man, he hadn't tasted any pleasure or joy for a long time.
Hadn't allowed himself to feel anything. Or was it that he felt too
much?
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From her own experience, she had discovered that it was not that
men felt very little. It was that they easily became overwhelmed by
their emotions and did not know how to respond to them.
Then they usually fled from them, retreated from the world to
regroup, lick their wounds. She could only guess at his emotions after
his tragic loss, about his wife, and about himself. His pain must have
been great.
Just the thought of him hanging in the tree for minutes....
Wondering if he was going to die. Every second must have seemed
like an eternity. She shuddered.
"Cold?" he asked softly.
"Just a bit of snow up my sleeve," she lied, tugging her glove back
up over her wrist more firmly. "It snows in the north of my country,
but I'm accustomed to warmer climes. This is a real novelty for me."
Ash flashed her a grin. "We shall have to give you the full
enjoyment of the whole experience. Duel!"
"Oh, no, Ash, not your mother. You might hurt-"
But Eswara had already scooped up a large handful and hurled it
straight at her son, and they threw several more before Martin tossed
one back at Ash.
"Help, Mother, I'm outnumbered."
Ash flashed Martin a grin, and threw one right at him. He tried to
duck, causing it to hit him square in the face.
"Oh, Mr. Jerome! Are you all right?" she gasped when he clutched
his nose.
"Fine. My fault. I moved down."
Her gloves were already off as knelt and held his face steady, her
warm palms on his cheeks, her breath caressing his face. "No
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nosebleed that I can see."

"No, it was the surprise and the cold. No harm done."
No harm indeed, for her lips were only inches from his own, and
no one had ever touched him like that before in his life. He felt as
though he were being consumed by a conflagration as she wiped the
snow away with her thumbs.
Her golden eyes gazed into his for a brief moment, and she saw
again the answering spark in his silvery eyes.
No, it had to be her imagination. A handsome man like Mr. Jerome
could have his pick of any woman he wanted if he sought their
companionship. Why waste his time with an old widow like her?
She removed her hands suddenly, just as he was about to reach up
to take them in his own. They both looked away from each other in
embarrassment.
"Do be a bit more careful with him, Ash. He's our guest and my
patient."
"Sorry, Mother," he said sincerely. "Now, can we get these last two
blocks done?"
They both forced themselves to concentrate, but wondered how
they could feel so heated amid the chilly snow.
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Chapter Nine
A few moments more of laboring together, and Eswara and Martin
finished the last of the snow blocks for the igloo.
Ash placed them carefully, and once the roof was on, it was time
for the fun of crawling through the snow tunnel.
"Martin, do you want to go in first?"
"Perhaps Mrs. Paignton ought to-"
She shook her head. "Oh no, you first, as our guest, or Ash. He as
the architect has to test its soundness. I don't fancy being buried in the
snow, do you?"
"Oh ye of little faith," Ash said in a hurt tone. "This great
construction will stand as long as the Pyramids."
Eswara laughed. "Only if it doesn't thaw here for several hundred
years."
Ash was already on his hands and knees, and his head and
shoulders soon vanished into the hole. A few moments later he
declared. "I'm in. Martin?"
"After you," he said to Eswara gallantly.
"Oh, no, you go in with Ash. I'll stay here."
"We all built it. We all go."
"All right, but you first. Be careful with your leg."
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"Come on, Martin, Mother. It's grand in here."

Martin knelt and began to crawl, and soon found himself jammed
up against the young man. How Eswara was going to fit he had no
idea. He turned to watch her progress and nearly swallowed his
tongue as she emerged from the tunnel and pressed against his chest in
order to fit.
He stared at her golden eyes, with tiny flecks of brown and green
in them, and her honeyed complexion, her shapely lips, which seemed
made for kissing.
"I am sure the Esquimaux must be much smaller than the two of
you if they fit whole families in here. Either that or they sit on each
other's laps."
"I think you're right. They're much smaller. And they take a bit
more time to construct them as proper homes for the winter season,
with a hearth in the centre and everything."
"Hm, interesting. I wonder how they would then stop the fire from
melting the whole building?" Eswara asked.
Martin reveled in the exquisite torture of her body pressed against
his. Even the many layers of heavy winter clothing did nothing to
dampen his ardour for her.
He was both grateful and dejected when she said, "Well, it won't
be such a tight fit with just two of you. I'm going to go make an
angel."
Nearly the whole of her front rubbed against him as she turned to
go back down the tunnel amid a flurry of petticoats and he caught a
glimpse of her ankles and calves up to her knees. He nearly reached
out to grasp her leg to pull her back into the warmth of his arms, but
Ash shifting against his shoulder reminded him of where he was just
in time.
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He blew out a trembling breath. What on earth was wrong with

him? Was he fated to be like this with all women, or was there
something special about Eswara?
Despite himself, he allowed a memory of Margaret to enter his
head for a moment. She had been laughing and flirtatious, enticing
him with a pert toss of her blond curls, leaning into his chest for a
moment, before pushing him away with a gay laugh and
admonishment not to be so forward.
They had become engaged, and she had been more enticing, but
also more capricious, giving him a light kiss one minute, and a slap
the next, cross because he had 'pawed her'.
Finally they had become husband and wife, and she had lain in the
bed right on the edge as if she would flee at any moment, and had
berated him for his bestial needs in wanting to touch her when her
painful monthlies were upon her.
Except that she had lied... Every word, every look, gesture, had
been false, calculating...
"I said, would you like to go make an angel?"
"Oh, um, yes, fine," Martin said, crawling back out slowly,
favouring his knee the way Eswara had asked him.
When he emerged from the snow tunnel he saw her lying in the
snow, and knew a moment's alarm. But as she worked her arms and
legs up and down, the angel took shape, and one single short sharp
laugh exploded out of him in spite of himself.
He had done it once or twice when a small boy, when they had
been allowed out of the nursery to enjoy the winter weather. His laugh
was cut short all too soon, however, by the dagger of desire which
slashed through him at the temptation to lie down right between her
spread legs.
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He ran a hand over his face, glad of his wet soggy glove.
Lord, what was happening to him? He couldn't be normal. Was he
as depraved as the rapacious highwaymen who had lusted after his
wife and snatched what they wanted with no thought for decency?
Ash went over to offer her a hand up, and she darted a few steps
and threw herself back flat to make another one. Ash joined her, and
called, "Come on, your turn. Unless your leg hurts?"
"No, I'm fine."
With a small shrug he threw himself down next to Ash and flailed,
then they all stood up to admire their work.
"Time for some tea or coffee," Eswara proposed, shaking the snow
off her for a moment before turning her steps back toward the house.
"Have you had enough?" Ash asked.
"Oh, er, it's been grand, but perhaps we should help Mrs. Paignton
get the hot drinks?"
"Aye, and we'll all have to change too."
They crunched back to the front door. Just inside, Eswara was
removing her boots.
"Here, allow me, please."
Martin helped her remove them and placed her slippers on her feet,
and began to unwind her from her layers.
She started to unbutton the top of her gown. "Nothing worse than
snow down your neck," she said, rubbing it hard. "I'll just get a dry
dress on and join you in the drawing room. Try not to track the snow
all over when you change."
"Can you bring some things down, Mother? There's nothing in the
airing cupboard here and we'll only get snow all over the stairs."
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"Yes, of course." She went up and came back a short time later
with shirts, trousers and slippers for them both. "See you in a minute."
She changed into a charming hunter green gown patterned with
tiny cream-coloured flowers, and redressed her hair in a more loose,
flowing style so that its damp tendrils could dry.
Martin, sitting to remove his second boot, looked up and stared as
she came down the stairs, for she looked so young and carefree,
without a line on her face. His wife Margaret had been a couple of
years younger than he, but she had looked so, so hard. Lines on her
forehead from frowning, around her mouth from pouting and
scowling.
But everyone in his mess had laughed and said that was what one
got when one flirted and loved such a tempestuous beauty.
Eswara's beauty was tempestuous all right-she caused a storm
within him every time she came into a room. But as for pouting and
scowling, well, she was like a bright day in June, not January.
How did that sonnet by Shakespeare go? Shall I compare thee to a
summers day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate." He would
have to look it up.
"I say, Martin, you'd better get the rest of your togs off. You're
dripping everywhere."
"Oh, sorry Ash," he apologised. He realised with a blush that he
had been staring after Eswara's swaying figure with his mouth
hanging open.
Once safely changed, with their wet clothes hanging in the kitchen,
Eswara shooed them into the drawing room and served them coffee
and spice biscuits.
"What would you like to do now, Martin?" Ash asked between
bites.
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"Mrs. Paignton mentioned a music room?"

Ash nodded. "We can play and sing."
"I don't sing any more," Martin said, his expression closing up.
"But I will play a little."
"Goodo."
"Are you coming, Mother?" Ash asked when she made no move to
rise.
"You can see I've got all my work around me here, and a good fire.
Don't stay in there too long if it's chilly. Besides, I'm sure you two
lads don't want me in the way of your little chats."
"You would not be in the way at all, Mrs. Paignton," he reassured
her.
"I can hear you both perfectly well from here. Go on, leave this old
lady to her roaring fire."
"I wish you wouldn't do that," Martin said quietly.
"Do what?"
"Speak about yourself as if you're old. You look almost as young
as my cousins."
"Kind of you to say, and very gallant, young man. But no one
wants their mother along like a gooseberry when they have friends to
stay."
"Am I not your friend too?" he said with a frown.
She blinked. "Yes, of course."
"So please come. Here, I'll carry your basket for you."
"And I'll get the fire roaring just the way you like it," Ash offered.
"Very well, I shall come."
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Their hands met on the handle of the basket, and Eswara hoped he
didn't notice the blush creep into her cheeks. He was a most charming
young man to be sure, very well brought up, but he couldn't possibly
have any notion of his effect upon her. Every time they touched, or he
looked at her with his mercurial dark eyes shining, her heart sped up
like a galloping racehorse.
But it wasn't his fault. He could not be said to be flirtatious in any
way. In fact, his whole posture and mien was so rigid she wondered
what he was going to be like when he eventually snapped. He would
either turn his pain within, making himself even more unwell than he
evidently already was, or lash out at others.
She considered him as he began to play, however, and decided the
former was more of a danger than the latter. He did not seem the
violent type, though he had been in the Army, and had fought tooth
and nail to save himself and his wife if all the gossip she had heard
was true. It was such a pity. The dark circles, the stiffness, were all
signs he was turning in upon himself.
Ash had said they should help him, but often unless a person was
willing to admit they had a problem in the first place, they did not
even know they needed to be cured.
And as she watched him, saw his near-guilt at enjoying himself, in
both the snow and here now playing Bach, she suspected he didn't
want to be cured. He wanted to feel unhappy, through some sort of
guilt or a more complex welter of emotions, if she had to guess.
Guilt over still being alive? Being a burden to his family? Being
disabled? She could guess it must have taken him quite some time to
recover from the almost fatal beating he had taken, of nearly being
hanged, let alone the emotional turmoil of the whole event.
In fact, she even wondered if his trip to the woods, his behaviour
last night, had been some sort of terror of the place. Had he been so
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keyed up the horse had sensed it and fled? Had he thrashed his mount
in anger?
She sighed and shook her head. She was not going to interfere. For
the closer she got to the truth, she suspected, the closer she was going
to get to the heart of Martin Jerome, and that would never do. Far too
much predicated against that sort of closeness, especially in a small
village like Millcote. Her house was secluded enough, but sooner or
later...
"What would you like to hear, Mother?" Ash asked a second time.
"Oh, anything you like. I'm not partial."
Martin came over to sit beside her on the small sofa. "I'm sorry my
playing didn't suit."
She started. "What on earth would cause you to think that?"
"I can tell you weren't listening."
"I was, I was indeed. Truth to tell I was wondering, well, I was
wondering how such a talented young man can be so, er-"
"So what?" he asked, his eyes wary.
"Forgive me, I have no right to-"
"So what?" he demanded.
"So unhappy. Plagued by memories. Frozen in the past."
He nodded. "Just so. Very observant of you."
"I'm sorry," she said, rising from the sofa. "I should not have
spoken so. I have no right to express such an opinion."
He rose too. "No, it's quite all right. You may express your
opinion. But do not expect any answers to your questions," he said
gruffly.
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She blinked, nonplused. "I have no right to expect any, sir. I'm
sorry. You can see now where Ash gets his forthright nature from.
Please excuse me."
He let Eswara go simply because to ask her to stay would have
been too much of a strain, and far too intimate given all she had just
said. She was right, though. He was plagued and frozen.
But for the first time he wondered what it might be like to be
healed. By this healer? Or thawed? The way she had warmed him
when he had come in from the storm last night, the way her delicate
palms had heated his face so intimately this afternoon.
Martin shook his head. Not possible. She was a woman, not to be
trusted. She was a widow, respectable, with a son to raise.
Fate had chanced to bring him here. But as soon as his ankle was
better and the snow melted enough to make the roads passable, he
could leave, and never have to come again.
There was Ash, of course. He was a good lad, fun to be with. But
he did not have to further the acquaintance. After all, it was not as if
anyone expected him to socialize in the neighbourhood. He spent time
at home, or at his Uncle's in the corners, on the fringes of society.
He couldn't recall the last social occasion he had attended. Blake
and Arabella's special ball, and their wedding, if he had to guess. Even
then he had only gone under duress, and they had been in Jerome
Manor, not out in public.
No, the Paigntons were lovely people, but he couldn't give up his
self-imposed solitude. He could not risk contaminating anyone. And if
his desire for a decent respectable woman like Eswara was anything to
go by, he could not be trusted in civilised company any longer.
He sat in the music room numbly, scarcely listening to the
Beethoven Ash was playing, or at least not at first. Gradually, though,
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he began to feel more at ease, not quite so tense and anxious.

He realized with a start that it had been hours since he had thought
about his wife, recollected anything about that fateful night. Relived
the horror as he usually did two or three times a day, always at the
most unexpected and extremely inconvenient times. He slumped
against the sofa back in relief.
"Do you want to play anything else?" Ash asked, watching his new
friend, and the display of emotions warring in Martin's bosom, plain
for all to see from the expression on his face.
"No, that's all right. I think I'm just going to rest here for a time."
"Fine, make yourself comfortable."
Martin stretched out and closed his eyes, and slept dreamlessly for
the first time since the attack.
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Chapter Ten
When his mother poked her head around the door to announce that
dinner was ready, Ash shook Martin awake with a warm smile and
told him to go wash his hands first.
Thus Martin got to be alone with Eswara in the dining room for a
moment whilst Ash disappeared off to the bathroom to perform his
own ablutions.
"Mrs. Paignton, I just wanted to apologise for being so surly
before."
"No need," she said sincerely, risking putting her hand upon his
sleeve in a reassuring manner for a moment. "I quite understand."
"I don't think so. And pray God you never do."
"Amen to that. But at the same time, Mr. Jerome, there are all
kinds of suffering in the world. Do you think you are the only one in
pain? Or who has experienced it?"
He stared at her. Before he had the chance to respond, Ash came
in.
Eswara soon turned the conversation around to the greatly
debilitating illness he had suffered not that long ago. Martin
shuddered as Ash described all the treatments he had been subjected
to, until he had come to Bath and she had taken it upon herself to cure
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him.
Martin got Eswara's point immediately-he was not the only one
who had suffered. Ash's anguish had been no less mental than
physical; as he said himself, there was always the fear he would never
get well, live a normal life. There was of course always the terror in
both their breasts that he would fall ill again, relapse in some way.
But as Ash declared, "I am not going to live my life worrying
about what has happened or what might happen. Every day is a great
opportunity for life, love, learning. Carpe diem. Seize the day. And
never look back."
Martin sighed. It was so easy for Ash. He was still young, not
plagued by regrets.
Eswara looked at Martin and said softly, "Regrets are futile. Any
single one of us can look back at a hundred points in our lives and say,
'What if I had taken the left path, not the right. Said this, not said
that.'"
"But do you not, well, fear divine retribution in your religion?"
She shook her head. "Not in the sense you do, no. We don't fear the
pit of hell for being a sinner."
"What do you believe, then?" he asked with genuine interest.
Eswara looked to Ash for help.
"Hindus believe that, when a person dies, his spirit is given another
earthly body, that of an animal, a person of another caste or social
level, or a god, depending on how he lived his current life. This cycle
or death and rebirth continues on and on until the person is finally
released through enlightenment. One's circumstances in life are
completely determined by his previous conduct, either in this life or in
previous lives.
"This is called 'karma,' or action. Everything good and everything
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bad that happens to us in this life comes as a payment for our own
past conduct. Nothing is ever the fruit of what others did, but always
the consequences of our own actions. By doing good deeds in this life,
therefore, one can improve his circumstances in the future, especially
in future reincarnations."
"I see. So no hell then."
"As Mephistopheles says in Doctor Faustus, 'This is Hell, nor am I
out of it,'" she quoted.
"So the soul just goes on forever?"
Eswara shook her head. "The final goal is to escape or be released
from the cycle of reincarnation through enlightenment, understanding
the true nature of things. We seek to be set free from birth, death, and
rebirth, so that we exist in a state of pure impersonal being without a
physical body."
"A being without a body?" Martin echoed with a frown.
She nodded. "We become so attached to physical existence we lose
sight of our real nature as Divine Beings. To be released we must
somehow recognize ourselves for what we really are and act
accordingly, thereby losing our attachment to our earthly existence."
"What we really are?"
"Part of the divine, as I said. You may not think you are a good
person, for example, but if you try to be, you most likely are, and will
get your reward."
"A state of pure impersonal being, you said. What would it feel
like, look like? Is it sort of like Heaven, or a paradise?"
Ash shrugged. "The exact nature of this final state is not clearly
defined. We are somehow absorbed into the eternal Being, the
Brahman. Some view it as a ceasing of consciousness, others as a
sense of bliss. To the Hindu, therefore, punishment consists of
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continuing to exist on earth. 'Eternal life' consists of ceasing to exist in

a bodily form. There is no concept of a bodily resurrection. Instead we
talk about transcendence, moving beyond the material."
"So how do you transcend? Just from the good works you just
mentioned?"
Eswara shook her head. "There are several ways by which this can
be done. Good works is the first, helping people with no thought of
any reward in return.
"The second means is austerity and self-denial. One must withdraw
from the pleasures and personal interests of life, live as a recluse,
putting no emphasis on possessions and other material things, so that
physical life loses its hold on the person's inner being. When one dies,
one is therefore released forever."
Ash said, "The third way is the gaining of knowledge. We Hindus
study our religious works, especially the Vedas, and through them we
come to understand that our true nature is part of the Diving Being. As
we fill our mind with such ideas, our thoughts and deeds are less
concerned with material interests. When we die, physical life has no
power over us, so we are released.
"Finally, there is worship and devotion to the Gods. If one
continually expresses love and dedication to God, he will become so
concerned for God that this wordly life loses its attraction. When he
dies, he is released from the reincarnation cycle."
"One god? I thought you had many."
"We do, but Brahma is the highest in the Hindu pantheon. The
creator."
"And Shiva?"
"The destroyer, and Vishnu, the preserver."
"Have you got such a thing as the ten commandments?"
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They both nodded. Eswara said, "The Hindu saint Manu outlined
the ten tenets of Hindu Dharma. Dharma can be translated as moral
and religious teachings and achievement. Our ten are patience,
forgiveness, inner discipline, not committing theft, purity of thought,
speech and action, self-restraint of the senses, wisdom, spiritual
knowledge, truthfulness, and freedom from anger." She counted on
her fingers as she spoke.
Martin said sincerely, "Fascinating. It's what you were saying this
morning about cultivating what we have in common rather than
worrying about our differences."
"In any event, it's polite of you to try to learn more about us. But
I'm sure you and Ash have many more stimulating things to discuss,"
Eswara said, rising from the chair now that they had all ceased to eat.
"Oh, I, um, no, not at all," Martin said in confusion, trying to deny
her accusation and get her to remain so that he could learn more.
These seemed much more practical goals than the Ten
Commandments--most of the thing in that list he had bever been
tempted to break.
But the ten tenets were something positive to work towards, he
who had been drifting for so long.
"Port and cigars for you two gentlemen. I shall see you later."
He stood and bowed, and cursed the absurd tradition which was
now taking the lovely woman he had become so enthralled by from
his side.
Martin declined the cigar, and thought he would scream as Ash
lingered over his. He drank two glasses of port, however, in an effort
to numb some of what he was feeling for Eswara. He was in an almost
constant state of awareness of her as a woman, and wondered if it
were his fault or hers.
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She seemed utterly guileless, yet had him panting after her like a
lovelorn swain. He who had foresworn love forever couldn't withstand
with any fortitude the waft of her perfume, the merest whisper of her
hand, even the tilt of her head as she spoke.
It was as though he were bewitched, and never wanted to wake
from her spell.
When they arrived in the drawing room some time later, Martin's
desire to be with her again was thwarted once more when she
announced that if they didn't need anything, she was off to bathe.
Once again, a vision of her naked was enough to set a shower of
sparks sizzling down his spine and through his loins.
His discomfiture only increased when she returned in her wrapper.
This time she had on slippers and stockings, but the uncontained
movement of her breasts and hips as she strode into the room and sat
had his body churning with desire all over again. Lord, if the poor
woman only knew what he was thinking, she would run a mile from
him.
"You next, Mr. Jerome, before Ash nabs all the hot water."
"Oh, I'll get into Martin's tub when he's done. We neither of us are
that filthy."
"Very well."
Martin told himself to contain his inner turmoil. It was not the
woman's fault, it was his own. He had been lusty enough before he
married, but had as a future vicar attempted to live the Christian ideal.
Then he had joined the Army in the hopes of fighting Bonaparte.
Now he was convinced that he had never really known his own
nature. For the passion surging inside had to be evidence of something
seriously depraved. The woman was lovely, but chaste, he was sure of
it.
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And now Ash was to share the bath water, so he could not even
fully relieve himself one way or the other. The one was appallingly
bad manners and sinful, the other evident to Ash if he came in and
found a frigid tub.
For a brief and laughable moment he had a vision of himself
making angels in the snow face down and stark naked. Drat it all, why
did he have to suffer all the dreadful indignities of lasciviency, and
none of the joys? And now of all times, in decent company?
Eswara had been wondering the same thing all day, ever since she
had put her bare hands to Martin's face to examine him, and had
thought about thawing out his frigid demeanour with the hot lust
which was tearing through her.
She had been doing her best to retreat, not spend so much time
with him, but one look of his incredible silver eyes was enough to set
her off again. Her fantasies of him soaping her in the tub, his huge
hands upon her breasts, had been enough to send her over the brink.
She had not thought about such matters for months. It did no good
to dwell upon them. As she had told herself on many occasions, the
possibility of finding anyone in the Millcote area whom she could
come to care about was exceptionally unlikely. Even if she had been
looking, which she most certainly was not.
The thought of any man disrupting the life she had built for herself
and her son was more than she could stand. The prospect of a man
fitting into a woman's world never occurred to her. Very few men
were willing to be equal, and she doubted she was so tempting in
herself that anyone would even wish to try.
No, most of them were after her money or her body, the stereotype
of the wealthy and lusty widow as well as her own attractions spurring
them on.
Once they found out she was from India, it often incited them
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more. But as Ash had pointed out, she had learned the fine art of
verbal duelling over the years, and could put any man in his place if
need be. Thus far in Millcote it had not been needed.
And if Martin approached her? she wondered with a sigh as she
watched him head off to bathe.
Easy. Their age difference, his grim suffering, which suggested he
could never make himself happy, let alone anyone else, would be
sufficient to dampen her desires, she was sure.
If only she didn't have this incredible longing to heal him. It was
partly because it was her job, and she felt sure she could help.
But there was enough self-interest in the desire to have her
worried. Her motives were supposed to be pure. But the prospect of
healing him with medicines and affection and even love, which
would, she was sure, yield her enormous pleasure, was almost more
than she could stand.
Oh, she had no doubt it would actually be quite difficult. Not the
seduction part-she had a feeling from the look in his eyes that another
night of comforting him during the throes of his nightmares could
yield up his body for the asking. It had so nearly happened last night,
she thought, shuddering again.
No, she didn't just want that, marvelous though she was sure it
would be. She wanted his happiness, wholeness. To engage in a
sensual relationship with a wounded soul like him would make him
turn even further in on himself.
On the other hand, there wasn't anything wrong with trying to
bring him out of himself, now was there? Even if he hadn't asked for
her help, it was an act of kindness which she felt made up in some
way for her rampant desires.
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Chapter Eleven
Eswara's decision to help Martin come out of himself more with a
bit of decent human kindness went into effect as soon as he returned
from his bath.
Once he had hobbled into the drawing room, she made a great fuss
over him, serving him brandy and wafers, and throwing one knitted
blanket over his knees.
"We don't want you to take a chill with that wet hair. Pray sit
closer to the fire."
She touched him lightly, his shoulder, his sleeve, his hand. It was
arousing, but she also knew the power of the healing touch. He
stiffened at first, but after the first couple of times he remained still,
and by the fifth time he actually looked almost relaxed.
"Let me know when you would like to have supper."
He looked at her in disbelief. "After that marvelous dinner? I've
eaten more in two days here than I have in, well, I don't know how
long."
"I'm glad. You two boys are both very thin."
He shot her a look of disgust at the word 'boys,' but gritted his teeth
and remained silent.
"Would you like to play cards whilst we wait for Ash?"
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"If you don't mind, I should like to hear more about your myths,
and about the work you do here in the area."
She smiled. "There are lots of myths, so why don't we start with
my work. I help Blake with the women patients mostly. Many men
would not want a lady doctor attending them. In any case I prefer to
work with women. They have many problems which I don't think
male doctors truly grasp. Which is only fair, I suppose, for I can't
imagine what it is like to be a man, and am very grateful for being of
the female gender."
Martin lifted his brows in surprise. "I ascribe to Wollstonecraft's
beliefs regarding the need for rights for women. Surely you do not
think it is fair to treat one half of the world as inferior?"
"No, of course not."
"Then how can you say you're glad to be a woman, when you have
no advantages to speak of? Nay, have so many obstacles to your
happiness?"
She smiled at his concern and liberal views. "Because firstly I'm
grateful for the ability to be a mother, a bringer of life. Secondly, I do
feel sorry for men to a certain extent. True, it is hard for women to be
crammed into certain roles, and to be treated like chattel. But not all
men treat women thus.
"However, most men are expected to be good providers, look after
their family, have sons. It cannot always be easy for them to have
responsibilities such as these, yet no one to share the burdens. Most
women in the upper classes, and even now the middle classes, are
being told they are mere ornaments. Wilting violets who faint at the
sight of a black veil, if popular literature is to be believed."
"So what is your solution?"
She thought for a moment, then said truthfully, "Both members of
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the couple equal, each doing what they can according to their ability
or means. For example, I have taught Ash to sew, knit, darn, cook,
tend babies. Those skills may all come in useful one day. If he is
better at them than his wife, should he one day be so blessed, why
should he not perform these chores, and she might be able to do
others? Keep the account books, run a shop, whatever."
"It's a novel way to raise your son." He lapsed into silence for a
few moments, then asked quietly, "Will you teach me to darn?"
"Oh, no, you don't have to-"
"Why not? It will pass the time, and as you say, it is a useful skill."
So they sat close side by side on the sofa, and though the quivering
in his loins was enough to render his hands almost palsied, he
managed to repair a hole in one of Ash's socks which was not too
obvious or nobbled.
When Ash returned, he set out the chessboard and grabbed some
socks to teach Martin on and to darn himself, whilst she resumed her
knitting.
After a time he asked, "May I try?"
She had taken out a spare set of needles and some extra wool, and
now taught him how to get started. "We can make a muffler to begin
with," she suggested. "It's always useful for someone, and the needles
are big enough for you to manage with such large hands. We start
with the basics, knit and purl."
He soon got into a hopeless tangle, but insisted he wanted to start
again.
"Here, watch me for a moment," she suggested.
"Oh, I'll never be able to do that."
"Of course you will. Patience, and practice."
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She rubbed his back soothingly, so that he closed his eyes and
sighed. After a time though, he gave himself a shake and sat up
straight, frightened of all the marvelous feelings her slightest touch
produced.
"It's practice, like everything else. Go on, try again. Keep the yarn
wrapped around your finger so the tension stays even."
"Better," she said after a time. "Much better. For that, you deserve
supper."
They rose from their seats and went into the dining room together.
Then mother and son ferried the food in through the small hatch
between the kitchen and the dining room. After Ash said Grace, they
all tucked into the hot food heartily, roast chicken with more her her
superb Indian seasonings, with stuffing and yams.
Ash entertained Martin with more myths and information about
India as they ate.
"And your names. What do they mean?"
Eswara smiled. "Ashoka was a third century B.C. Emperor of India
who has been remembered by our people as one of the world's earliest
and most important social innovators. After uniting by force the entire
Indian sub-continent, which so far as we can tell was all of southeast
Asia, Ashoka was stricken with remorse for the war he had brought,
and renounced all violence.
"Ashoka dedicated the rest of his life to the peaceful promotion of
social welfare, economic development, and tolerance for all religions.
He instituted the region's first medical services, launched a vast welldigging program, and developed the first comprehensive government
administration in southern Asia.
"Ashoka also planted thousands of shade trees along India's hot
and dusty roads. The ashoka trees are thought to be bridges between
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heaven and earth, the same as the oak tree or the rainbow in Celtic
thought. In Sanskrit, Ashoka means 'the absence of sorrow'."
"And Eswara?"
"It means God, a particular manifestation of our main Divine
being, Brahma. It's a pure spirit, like the holy ghost in your religion.
The absence of any material desires. It can be both feminine and
masculine, or perhaps one could say it can be without any gender."
He gazed at her, thinking she did indeed live up to her name, for
she was absolutely divine.
But as for the absence of any material desires, well, that was
impossible being in her company, for every movement of her supple
body sent at thrill through him. The spirit most certainly moved him,
but his thoughts about her most definitely could not be described as
pure.
He forced himself to chew mechanically and swallow so she would
not notice anything amiss. But he could scarely breathe, and wondered
if he was seriously ill, for he had never felt so out of control of his
own senses before in his life.
When they had finished, they all cleared away the meal, working
in tandem so well, it was as if they had been doing it all their lives.
"Now I'm going to suggest moving upstairs to get the beds ready.
Martin should elevate that leg, don't you think, Mother?"
"Yes, and I'll have one more look at it."
She poured out the hot water bottles and the men brought them
upstairs.
Martin soon found himself settled comfortably in Ash's bed once
more. Eswara examined him whilst Ash got out the backgammon and
set it up.
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After a time, she could see Martin looked weary, but was being too
polite to say anything.
"I'm going to say good night, you two," Eswara said as she rose. "I
have a few chores downstairs and need to meditate."
"May I have more of that sleeping draught you gave me last night
before you go?"
"Yes, of course, if you like."
She returned a short time later and let him dose himself. She
stooped to kiss her son. "Good night, boys."
Martin bristled once again at her pairing him with Ash as if he
were an adolescent. "Well, if we're both your boys, we should both get
a kiss," he said boldly, a glint in his eyes that she could not quite
fathom.
"Of course, Mr. Jerome. Like the kiss of peace in the Bible?" She
bent and kissed him on the brow chastely.
But it was most certainly anything but a kiss of peace, for the
contact scorched them both. Eswara could almost feel her lips burn
with the heat of his skin, and her eyes flew to his for a moment in
astonishment.
Martin smoldered at the contact. The sight of her lovely face so
close to his, the shadowy valley between her breasts as she leaned
over him, was almost more than he could bear.
Ash cleared his throat, and said, "Your turn, Martin," thus wresting
his attention back to the present.
Eswara went down to the kitchen to commence her evening ritual
of closing up the house, all her thoughts filled with Martin, his
warmth, presence, his incredible body. He seemed to fill any room,
fill her senses...
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Stop it now. He is a child. Perhaps not in age, but emotionally....

And dangerous. Very, very dangerous.
She was certain that to have any kind of relationship with him
apart from the politely distant one of his friend's mother would cause
the most cataclysmic upheavals in her world, a world she had worked
hard to cultivate, tried to ensure ran smoothly. If there were no high
points, nor were there any lows. All was even, in balance. To let
Martin into her life as a man would be to rip the world off its axis and
set it careening crazily. There was too much at stake for her to ever to
give in to the temptation, no matter how much they both longed for
each other.
Or how much he needed her. For needy he most certainly was,
there was no denying it. He drained her energy, sapped her strength to
resist him at times, even when she knew she was right.
She should never have kissed him. But she had not wanted him to
feel rejected. She had detected the strange undercurrent of emotion
running through him and been enthralled by it, wanted to get closer to
him, discover what lay beneath his gloomy visage.
Perhaps he would tell her one day. For now he was just a visitor, a
patient.
A patient with the worst nightmares she had ever seen, she
determined a short time later as a shout from his chamber sent her
charging up the stairs.
Drat, she had given him the sleeping draught, but nothing else to
make him more tranquil.
He writhed on the bed so violently that when she shook his
shoulders, he pulled her right in alongside him. To struggle would
only be to hurt them both, for he was fiercely aroused and unaware of
his own impressive strength. Yet she was not afraid, and stroked his
face soothingly until he calmed.
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"Damn, you how could you have done this to me, Margaret? Oh,
God, no. No. Stop. Let me go. Don't!"
"I'm not Margaret. I'm Eswara. I would never hurt you, do
anything to make you unhappy."
He began to weep against her, still sound asleep. She could feel his
arousal boring into the tender flesh of her stomach. Her own
reciprocal feeling was like nothing she had ever encountered.
Her passions swirled in a vortex as he ground his hips against her.
With one hand questing under her wrapper, she knew it was only a
matter of time before he wriggled free of the blankets and....
No, she couldn't. His huge hard maleness made her breathless with
longing. The chance of having something so magnificent as her own
for even a few minutes was almost unbearably tempting. He might not
wake up at all... It would be so wonderful.
But if he did, or ever guessed what he had done, where would that
leave him? She knew he would hate himself, might even hate or
blame her.
Then there was her son in the other roomThat thought sobered her instantly. She stroked Martin's face and
chest,
"It's all right, Martin. Rest now. Everything is fine. I'm not going to
hurt you. Everything is peaceful and happy here. You can let go of me
now. Rest, sleep. Everything is fine, you're fine. Safe. I'll see you in
the morning."
His convulsive grip on her shoulders relaxed. Though he was still
almost fully on top of her, their bare legs intertwined, she was able to
roll him back to his original position in the bed. She jumped out the
other side like a scalded cat.
Coming back around to approach him with caution, she tucked him
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in once more. He made no move to grab her this time, and she could
see that he was sleeping naturally once again.
Eswara got some rosewater and some lavender for him to inhale.
She bathed his temples, but he never stirred. With one last smoothing
of her hand over his cheek and neck, she left him.
Back in her own room she took solace in the loneliness of her own
bed. She told herself that it was better to be on her own than have a
man torment her with his own needs, his inability to give or receive
love.
Martin was too young and innocent in many ways. It wasn't
possible. However much her body had cried out for his as she had lain
under him, she was sure that to give in to her longings would shred
her serene world into tatters. To risk everything for love
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Chapter Twelve
A thaw the following morning had Martin talking about returning
home to see his parents over at Barton.
Eswara had brought him breakfast in bed, and now nodded. "So
long as you're feeling better. Ash can take you home in the gig."
"Not home, but Jerome Manor will be fine."
"If you're sure. He could always take you back to Barton and go on
to Brimley from there."
"But he is supposed to be home on holiday, is he not?"
"True, but he gets restive if he doesn't study, get out and about to
help with all of the Deveril family's charitable works."
"Well, if you're sure."
"It's you who has to be sure. If you're up to leaving, I mean," she
added, blushing.
"I ought to go," he said quietly, scarcely able to tear his eyes away
from her. The subtle sway of her hips, her hair still loose after having
so recently risen from bed, cascading down around her shoulders and
falling well past her waist, her innate grace, all made him long for her
to come closer to the bed, close enough to touch, to...
He sighed and gave himself a mental shake. Much as he hated to,
he had to leave before things got out of hand. It was getting harder
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and harder not to simply grab her and roll her under him in the bed.
He ate a few mouthfuls and gave the rest to the ever-hungry Ash
when he arrived a short time later.
He got up and dressed in more of Ash's warm things, and went
hobbling downstairs dressed to face the world once more.
"Have you decided at last?" she said, trying to quell the rising
sense of disappointment at his departure.
He bowed. "Thank you so much for everything, but I really should
go. Mother and Father will wonder a bit that I missed their New
Year's dance. Not to mention the fact that I was only supposed to have
been out for a short ride when that dratted horse threw me. They'll be
worried. I really need to go."
Yet now he frowned.
"What is it?" Eswara asked softly. She knew he had sounded as if
he were trying to convince himself.
He shrugged. "I don't want to leave here. I want to avoid facing
things, facing them. They are always trying to, well, jolly me along.
They can't understand where their former son has gone."
"It's difficult for them. They love you. They want to see you
happy."
He shook his head. "That isn't possible."
"Oh, I don't know," she said with a gentle smile, reaching out to
touch his sleeve. "Sometimes joy can creep into your life in the most
unexpected ways, if you're willing to let it in. At any rate, Ash will be
down in a minute to take you back to Jerome Manor and Barton in the
gig. You should at least let all your loved ones know you're all right."
"I will, thank you." He offered his hand to her. "Thank you for all
your help. It's more than I had any right to expect."
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"Nonsense. Thank you for your befriending Ash. He's had fun. I
hope you'll see more of each other. Jonathan and his wife Pamela will
be only too pleased to have you call upon him at the vicarage."
He felt as though the wind had been taken from his sails. Of
course. Ash lived over there more than he did here. And she had her
own life, duties, friends....
"Thank you. I hope to see all of you soon." He hobbled out the
front door to get into the carriage.
Ash came bounding down a short time later. "Sorry the stay has
been so short, but if I'm taking Martin back to Barton I might as well
return to Brimley."
"Yes, best thing for you in this weather."
She helped him on with his old great coat, and walked out with
him. She had loaded the small carriage with traveling rugs and hot
water bottles and a footwarmer, and she now made sure the two men
were bundled up well.
She kissed Ash on the cheek, and leaned over to put her hand on
Martin's. It moved slightly, so that her own hand landed squarely in
his lap. Both blushed at the intimacy of the contact-was that hardness
the stone bottle, or him?
"Goodbye."
"Goodbye, Mr. Jerome."
"Fare thee well, Mother." Ash flashed her a loving smile, blew her
a kiss, and then they were off.
Eswara stood watching the vehicle disappear off into the distance,
and returned to the house to resume her chores.
Nelly the maid was a good girl, undemanding, quick-witted, and
not too chatty. She returned from her father's just as Eswara was
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tidying the burgundy and gold drawing room.

They gave the house a thorough cleaning while their bread dough
began to rise, and Eswara said, "I'll go up to strip and remake all the
beds. Will you be all right down here?"
"Fine, Miss."
She never paused until she got to Ash's room. Once there, she
lifted one of the pillows. There was the faint whiff of her son in the
room, but for the most part all she could smell was Martin's clean
woodsy scent.
It filled her to the point where she could feel her nipples engorge.
She rubbed them against the pillow as she had unconsciously done to
his chest when he had rolled her under him. If only...
If she had it would have been madness.
She yanked the case off the pillow and threw it on the floor
petulantly. She was an old widow, past her prime. No one except her
foul brother-in-law Cedric, well into his fifties, and his flabby son
Cecil, about her own age, had ever made her an offer of marriage.
They had only done so in order to get their hands on their family
wealth, which had been left to her husband John as sole heir, and
passed from he to Ash upon John's death.
She shuddered with disgust. It was too awful. It was little better
than incest to marry her husband's brother, let alone one so detestable.
Cedric certainly did not have any of the Paigntons' better qualities.
She caught sight of herself in the mirror and sighed. So lovely.
Everyone said so. Yet so alone. Lovely enough to be a mistress, not a
wife. Wealthy enough to be a wife but not to any man she could ever
consider entrusting her whole life to.
She was an old widow, past her prime. Almost thirty-two. The
sooner she accepted that, the better. For then she might be able to look
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Martin in the eye without a telltale tripping of the heart.

Four days later, her resolve was put to the test when she heard a
rap at the door late in the afternoon.
Nelly was upstairs sorting Ash's jumbled clothes dresser and
unearthing anything which needed to be mended.
Eswara was downstairs in the small room off the kitchen she used
to hang and dry her herbs and put together her remedies. The room
next to it she used for consultations.
When she heard the tap at the door she assumed it was yet another
patient, and surveyed both rooms to make sure they were ready.
Since the thaw a few days before, she had had a rush of local
women all coming to consult with her on everything from chillblains
to severe lung congestion.
"I'll get it, Nelly," she called, smoothing down her apron and trying
to bundle her hair into some semblance of order.
She flung the door open, a wide welcoming smile on her face.
Only instead of one of the locals, Mr. Jerome stood towering in the
doorway, a bundle of clothes and a couple of bottles of wine tucked
under his arm.
"Good day, Mrs. Paignton," he said with a formal bow. "Firstly, I
wanted to return Ash's belongings, and give you these as an offering
for all your kind help last week."
"Oh, there was no need."
"But it's my pleasure. Secondly, I came to see Ash."
"Oh dear. He's still at Brimley."
He blinked in confusion. "I'm sorry. I just assumed he would be
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home."
"No, no, he is still at Jonathan's until tomorrow. Tuesdays and
Wednesdays, remember? Today is Monday," she said gently.
He struck his forehead with the heel of his hand. "Oh, what an ass I
am. So sorry for disturbing you."
But she could see from his bleak silver eyes, flat and unshining,
with dark circles around them, that he had come for more than just a
chat with her son.
"Do come in anyway," she said, opening the door wider and
stepping back to let him pass. "You've had a brisk ride, I can tell, and
I feel sure you would like some tea."
She called for Nelly before he had a chance to reply one way or the
other.
Eswara stepped into the drawing room and resumed her seat by the
fire. She indicated the sofa with a sweep of her hand.
"Please do sit down. Nelly is tidying and we're sorting out my
work basket. I would welcome some company. Honestly, Ash is
growing so fast he's all elbows and knees. And toes. I've never had to
darn so much in my life."
He had followed her into the room but made no move to sit.
"Really, it's very kind of you, but I'm not so sure about the propriety
of-"
Eswara stared at him for a moment, wondering why he was so shy
all of a sudden. "But we've been alone before, and I've never come to
any harm. Besides, I'm a widow, past my prime," she said with a
dismissive toss of her head.
"Far too old to worry about convention. Not to mention the fact
that these conventions are not ones I would concur with. I'm not
English. I don't understand the continuous preoccupation with who
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has danced with whom how many times, or who was seen having a
tete a tete."
"Were you raised so very differently?" Martin asked with interest.
"Yes and no. My parents were very loving and indulgent, and
wanted me to be happy. There are a lot of things similar in our
society, such as the dowry and system of inheritance, but the fixation
on gossip can be both destructive and amusing. I can afford to find it
amusing in a pathetic sort of way because I'm out of its reach. But I
imagine it must be very hard for people who really do care what
others think of them."
He raised his brows. "You don't?" he asked incredulously.
"There are very few people's opinions I value so highly that I
would change my deportment or sacrifice my happiness for them. We
are none of us perfect. Every single one of us has a secret or two to
tell, I'm sure."
Martin rose from the chair. "I don't."
She smiled at him gently. "Then you are most fortunate."
Eswara knew he was lying. And he knew she knew he was lying.
But of course, what had happened to him nearly four years ago was
not really a secret, now was it? All of the County knew how he had
ended up his grim shadow of his former self. How his whole life had
been taken away in an instant.
Once again he cursed his foolish youthful impetuosity which had
brought this all about. He felt the bile rise in his throat, the burn of the
rope around his neck. He sat down abruptly, feeling another of his
ignominious collapses imminent.
When Martin next felt coherent, he found a glass of Madeira
pressed to his lips, and Eswara looking at him with an apologetic
smile.
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"I'm afraid I've nothing stronger in the house at present. Ash

finished the last of the brandy the other day and I've not been
shopping yet. But you may use my vinaigrette if I can ever find the
wretched thing. Another problem with English society. Women laced
so tightly that they faint."
Martin took a final gulp of the wine, draining the glass. She
immediately rose to refill it. Eswara waited in silence while he drank
the second glass.
Realizing she might be making him uncomfortable, she poured
herself a large glass and sat down beside him, placing the bottle
between them on the low table.
She took two large sips and then added to her glass, raising the
bottle to him with a casual look. He nodded, and she refilled it.
She didn't know how she was going to deal with him if he ended
up so drunk he couldn't get back home safely, but she would cross that
bridge when she came to it. For now, it was enough to be with him,
drink in his presence, his wonderful woody scent.
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Chapter Thirteen
They sat in silence for some time, each lost in thoughts of one
another, the wonderful fragrance that wafted from their warm skin, his
like woodsy fern, hers roses and cinnamon.
The deepening twilight casting long shadows in the comfortable
nurgundy and gold drawing room. He took another sip of his wine,
sighed, and leaned his head back.
"That's what I love about it here," he said at last. "The tranquillity.
No one chatting idly, carping, gossiping. Just total peace."
She gazed at him directly but still said nothing. If he wanted to
talk, he would.
When he remained silent for some time though, continuing to sip
his wine, Eswara risked saying, "It is peaceful here. But sometimes
we carry so much turmoil inside us that we could not be at peace even
in so restful a place as this."
He nodded. "I carry my turmoil with me everywhere. The only
relief before you gave me that sleeping draught was alcohol or
laudanum. They bring with them a new set of problems. I would not
want to end up a poor debauched addict."
"Perhaps there is another way to achieve peace of mind?" she
posited.
"What do you mean?" he asked, his nerves suddenly aquiver. She
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really was a most lovely woman, whatever she had said about being a
widow past her prime.
She could see what way his thoughts were tending, and she was
glad she had anticipated his response and did not blush.
"Yes, physical oblivion is one way. For the English at any rate. But
I meant a technique we use in my religion which is called
transcendental meditation."
"How does one do it?" he asked with interest.
"There are different kinds."
"Is it difficult?"
"It can be, depending upon the person and the type."
"Do you think I am the kind of person who could do something so
difficult?"
"We all of us can but try. It is a lifetime's work for a person who
worships our religion. But you do not have to be Hindu to derive
benefit from it."
"I've not been a very good Christian, but I have tried. I want to
have faith."
"Meditation is partly wrapped up with faith and worship, but it's
also a way of clarifying one's own life. However, let's start with
something more concrete so you can see what I mean."
From off the side table she picked up a stone her son had collected
from outside on one of his endless explorations of the surrounding
countryside. Ash had been fascinated by the fern-like striations he had
seen upon it.
"I usually meditate in the evening after I've bathed, everything in
the house is quiet and Ash has gone to bed if he's here. Then I kneel
down and fix my attention on an object, and allow myself to feel the
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energy flowing through my body. The objective is to maintain an

unbroken continuity of thought and to not allow the mind to wander.
"So you are going to meditate upon this stone." She placed it upon
the table in front of him. "You are going try to think about it and only
it. Empty your mind of everything else. Do you understand?"
"I think so. But how do I start?"
"You can begin you meditation with the obvious physical
properties. Think of the stone. How large is it? Where was it quarried
and how was it carved? Colour, texture, temperature. You will find
that the mind will wander to unrelated areas, to concerns of the past or
worries of the future. When it does, bring awareness back to your
point of concentration-the stone. Go back to the start of your stream of
thoughts. When the mind once again wanders, use your will to bring it
back.
"This can be difficult at first. But constant practice will unfold new
knowledge from within yourself, knowledge that you never knew
existed and did not learn from the outside. When that happens,
concentration is strong and meditation is not far away. You should be
able to have twenty or thirty or fifty thoughts in sequence without the
mind being distracted."
After a time, he said, "Hah, twenty thoughts? I'm lucky to get
five."
"One of the other things that will help is if you learn to breathe
differently during these exercises. Deeply but naturally, without strain
or effort. By controlling our breathing, we simultaneously control
awareness."
He tried again. "Seven."
She smiled a little. "Ah, but if you're counting how many thoughts,
you're not fully concentrating on the stone."
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"Drat. I see what you mean by hard."

He tried again, but this time she could see his foot tapping almost
impatiently.
When he looked at her a short time later, she said, "You'll also
have to teach the body to sit still, to remain poised and not become
restless."
"Drat again. How on earth can I control all of that at the same
time?" he asked, his exasperation evident.
"I did warn you it might not be easy. If you're interested, Ash and I
can both help teach you. All of this will come in time, not
immediately.
"Be patient. Never become upset with yourself when distractions
arise, for that is still a greater distraction. Simply accept each
departure from your concentration as an opportunity to become
stronger and more focused. Then quietly and firmly bring your
awareness back to your subject, in this case the stone."
She handed it to him. "You can take it anywhere, meditate at any
time. Consider it a little gift from Ash and myself, for your
friendship."
She shivered at the touch of his fingers, and sprang away from him
almost guiltily as Nelly appeared with the tea.
They made small talk about the weather and their mutual
acquaintances while she poured and nibbled at a sandwich.
Martin felt unaccountably exhausted, but excited too. It was as
though he could barely keep his eyes off her.
At length he forced himself to stand. "Well, it has been a most
delightful afternoon, but I've taken up a great deal of your time. I
should go."
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"I don't mind a guest for supper."

"No, really, you've already done so much for me."
"It's no trouble."
He hesitated only a moment longer. "In that case, I accept."
Nelly brought their meal into the dining room a short time later.
Martin noted again the superb decor, burgundy and blue, with fine
walnut furnishings, and wondered how she had come to be so well-off
financially. The house was superb, though so large with the second
wing that it was far too big for only two people.
They were just sitting down when a rap at the door heralded the
arrival of a girl from the village. "If you please, Ma'am, me Mum says
it's time."
"I'm sorry, Mr. Jerome. It looks like I shall have to go as soon as
we've partaken of the food."
"Please, let me accompany you part of the way at least," he said as
he ate his meal quickly.
"No, please stay and enjoy-"
"I'm coming part of the way with you, and that's final."
She stared at his almost harsh tone. In the end she gave in. "All
right. If you don't mind saddling my mare I would be most grateful."
"Not at all."
They finished their meal within fifteen minutes. She wrapped up
warmly, fetched her bag, and checked the downstairs part of the house
to make sure all was well for the night. When she went outside a short
time later, Martin was standing patiently with both horses.
"Your ankle is well? And your knee? You don't seem to be
favouring either. I'm sorry I didn't ask sooner."
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"You are a talented caregiver. I'm very well."

"I'm glad."
He gave her a hand up, enjoying the contact with her slender leg,
and the glimpse of petticoats as she sat astride.
"Thank you," she said breathlessly. She suspended her bag over the
pommel of her saddle by its leather strap, and looked over to him.
"Ready?"
He nodded. He was not, of course, for he was most reluctant to part
with her company, and the prospect of being in the woods alone.... Of
her being in the woods alone, filled him with trepidation.
"I shall escort you to the house."
"Nonsense, it's out of your way. We can take leave of each other at
the crossroads."
"I'm going with you," he rapped out brusquely.
"Mr. Jerome, I don't understand."
"I was attacked in these woods. My wife was killed here. I would
feel much more at ease if-"
"I understand. Thank you," she said quickly, for his breath was
already coming in huge shuddering gasps and the last thing she
needed was for him to have a funny turn and fall off his horse. She
leaned over and gripped his hand. "It's all right. We're safe. No one is
going to harm us here."
He allowed himself the luxury of holding her hand for a moment.
"I'm all right now. Let's go."
He escorted her to the Smithsons', and got off his mount to help
her down. She slid unto the ground almost along the full length of
him.
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She was not even sure he was aware of what he was doing, for his
eyes still held that same glassy quality she had perceived before when
one of his attacks had come upon him. His every touch seemed like
the most thrillingly intimate caress. Yet they were also friends, two
people who evidently liked and respected each other.
She feared herself, her own nature, she feared Society pulling them
apart, and him not being ready for a loving relationship. But she did
not fear him. Not as a man, an incredibly virile being who could take
her to the heights of bliss. This was a fact in her own mind as clear as
that of her own name. But it wasn't possible...
She patted him on the shoulder in what she thought was a maternal
gesture. "Well, Mr. Jerome, here I am. Thank you for being such a
kind young lad as to escort me. I'm most grateful."
He knit his brows together at her words. The door opened behind
them again, and he could only manage to bow formally and say,
"Thank you again for tea and supper."
"I'm sorry our evening was interrupted."
"Not at all. You have work. I understand that. But if I may come
tomorrow to see Ash?"
"Of course, and stay to supper."
"Thank you. It was lovely. My only regret is the loss of your
company so soon."
She laughed. "Very gallant of you, my lad. You're starting to sound
as glib as Ash already."
He scowled. "I wasn't trying-"
"No, of course not. I didn't mean to accuse you of insincerity. But a
handsome young man like you need not waste his fine words on an
old widow like me. You're welcome in our home any time. Now I
must go. Good night."
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She turned and fled before she overcame all her practical reasons
for them not being together and threw herself into his arms to kiss him
senseless.
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Chapter Fourteen
The next day Martin got to the house before Eswara, for the lyingin at the Smithsons' did not go as smoothly as she had hoped.
In fact, she was so late getting home that Martin began to worry at
her continuing absence. The weather had set in for a hard frost, and he
feared she might have slipped or had something else befall her in the
dark, dire woods.
He tried to hold back his fears and memories. But in the end he had
become adamant about going out to look for her, even though Ash had
been sanguine about her safety.
"She can look after herself. And if it's a first baby they can take a
long time, over twenty-four hours."
"Still, I would feel a lot better if we at least went-"
The clop of hooves coming up the lane caused Martin to race to the
window of the drawing room and look out eagerly. "It's her. She's
back."
Ash gave his friend a long look, then inwardly shrugged, glad for
his mother and Martin, and said, "I'll tell Nelly."
Martin went out, and helped her down off her mount, holding her
much closer than the occasion warranted. "Where have you been? Are
you all right?"
"At the lying-in. I'm fine. Just very tired. What are you doing-"
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"Supper, and spending time with Ash, remember?"

She blinked and nodded. "Yes, of course. Not that it isn't lovely to
see you, Mr. Jerome, but I'm rather filthy and would not like to ruin
your suit. I also fear I'm not going to be much company this evening.
But Ash will be happy to play host."
He kept one arm around her as they headed toward the house.
"If you will allow me, I should very much return the favours you
bestowed upon me when I was ill. Come, you shall sit and have a
fortifying drink, have a bath, and we shall wait on you hand and foot
and put you to bed," he said, half-carrying her inside and sitting her on
the drawing room sofa.
Ash came in to give her a kiss, and declared he would go outside to
take care of her horse.
Martin poured her a brandy and plumped the cushions. He threw a
shawl over her shoulders and tucked it around her tenderly.
Next he brought over a hassock for her feet. He removed her boots,
though she protested she could do it herself, and helped her untie her
bonnet.
"Did it go well?" he asked.
She nodded. "A fine baby boy."
"I'm glad."
She drained her glass of brandy.
"Would you like me to fetch more?"
"No, thank you. I'm famished. It would go to my head."
"Shall I have your girl bring something in here?"
"If you don't mind?" She smiled wanly. "I say, you're being
awfully kind."
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"Nothing to it."
"I need to wash, though," she observed with a sigh.
"Here, I'll help you."
She raised her brows in surprise. But he had already picked her up
into his arms and headed for the bathroom.
Once inside the room, Martin sat her on the low stool and helped
her take off her filthy gown. She had a fine lawn chemise on
underneath, not very revealing, but enough to make her blush as he
took in her bare shoulders and the plump rounded tops of her breasts.
But she really was extremely dirty, and so she made no protest
when he slid it right down and undid the tapes of her petticoat. Her
dress and linens cascaded to the floor, leaving her in nothing but her
pantalettes, bodice and stockings.
He handed her her wrapper. Once she had donned it, he helped
scrub her hands with the little nail brush sitting on the side of the hand
basin.
"At least we will get you clean enough to have your supper. You
can decide if you are up to the bath afterwards."
"This is most kind of you."
"I'm glad to be able to help, look after you for a change," he said
sincerely. "I think you've spent your whole life looking after others.
Please let us look after you tonight, without being embarrassed?"
She nodded. "Thank you. It's just that, well, you evidently have
things which trouble you, so I feel guilty about taking up so much of
your time."
"Don't, please. The meditation has been very good for me. I've
tried several times since yesterday. And I've taken Ash's words to
heart from when we first met, and started to find out a bit more about
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the world around me and the number of injustices in the world that I
can do something about.
"I'm not vastly wealthy, but Father did set aside something for all
seven of us boys, and my uncle did too. I know in the end Blake
became heir to Jerome Manor, but it was because I declined."
She stared at him in surprise as she lathered her hands again.
"Declined, you say? But why?"
"Blake had the best claim. But it was also because I considered
myself a ruined man. Injured, haunted, not able to have a family, my
life in tatters. I'm not so sure that is not still true, but Ash is right. If
I'm alive it's my duty to help those less fortunate than myself."
"Not have a family?" she echoed in confusion. "But surely you
were not injured there-" She blushed. He had been more than aroused
the two nights she had comforted him...
"I will never marry again," he said in such a firm tone she did not
even dared question him as to his reasons for this conviction.
Oh, to have had someone like him so in love with her... The
deceased Mrs. Jerome had been a most lucky girl before she had met
her untimely end.
"I see. I don't know how badly you were injured, Mr. Jerome, but if
you want to consult with myself or Blake you know you have only to
ask."
He finished scrubbing her right hand and took her left. "Very kind
of you, I'm sure. But this will go beyond even your skill."
"I'm sorry."
He shook his head and sighed. "Don't be. It's no one's fault except
the people who did this to me, rendered me what I am now, and
they're all dead."
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She slumped against him wearily as he scrubbed her fingers. It was

indeed a most sensual experience, the warm water, fine lavender soap
he had chosen, and his hands slippery and wet upon hers, their fingers
interlacing. Woven together, knit, like husband and wife. One flesh.
She blinked in surprise at the fanciful bent her thoughts had taken.
He was just a friend. But her own husband in all their years of
marriage had never even done for her what this recent acquaintance
was doing now.
"By the way, I wanted to extend an invitation to you and Ash for
the end of the month. The Duke of Ellesmere is having a grand ball in
honour of his sister coming over from Ireland with her husband and
friends. I should very much like to show Ash around, let him get out a
bit more. I understand he is studying very hard. He needs to get out a
bit more, with young people his own age.
"My cousins shall be there, and quite a few of the other more
Radical men and women in our little community. I am afraid my uncle
Timberlake will be there though, and he usually has some shockingly
awful houseguests with him. But I promise you we shall cut him."
"No, please, not on our account. He is your relative, after all."
"A misfortune I try to dwell upon as little as possible. Anyway, I
shall take that to be a yes, and I shall look forward to seeing you in
your lovely new lavender gown."
"How did you know I"You were trimming it in the parlor New Year's Eve when we first
met, remember?"
"Yes, I remember," she said, returning the light squeeze he had
given to her fingers in the warm water. "I'm just surprised at you
doing so."
"I recollect everything about that night. I slept so well for the first
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time in ages, and woke up so warm and reassured and treasured, it

was like, like I was reborn."
He scrubbed at another nail a bit more diligently, before
proclaiming, "There, all done I think."
He held the hand down in the water for a time. A short while later
he lifted them both, lathered them once more, and rinsed with some
fresh poured directly out from the pitcher. He gathered her shawl and
put it around her shoulders.
"Finished?"
"Yes, thanks."
He looped his arms under her knees and waist, and brought her
back to the drawing room. He placed her on the sofa once more, put
her feet up, and threw the blanket draped over the back of the sofa
onto her lap, tucking her in.
Nelly came in with a tray and set it down on her lap. Martin helped
her cut up her meat, even though she protested that she could manage.
"You're so tired you can barely lift a fork. Let me."
She drew the line at his feeding her, however, and told him to read
aloud from her book of poetry. He selected some metaphysical poetry,
which was a good reflection upon his state of mind. First he selected
Donne's Song.
Sweetest love, I do not go,
For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter Love for me;
But since that I
Must die at last, 'tis best,
To use my self in jest
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Thus by feign'd deaths to die;

Yesternight the Sun went hence,
And yet is here to day,
He hath no desire nor sense,
Nor half so short a way:
Then fear not me,
But believe that I shall make
Speedier journeys, since I take
More wings and spurs than he.
O how feeble is man's power
That if good fortune fall,
Cannot add another hour,
Nor a lost hour recall!
But come bad chance,
And we join to'it our strength,
And we teach it art and length,
Itself o'r us to'advance.
When thou sigh'st, thou sigh'st not wind,
But sigh'st my soul away,
When thou weep'st, unkindly kind,
My life's blood doth decay.
It cannot be
That thou lov'st me, as thou say'st,
If in thine my life thou waste,
Thou art the best of me.
Let not thy divining heart
Forethink me any ill,
Destiny may take thy part,
And may thy fears fulfill;
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But think that we

Are but turn'd aside to sleep;
They who one another keep
Alive, ne'r parted be.
Eswara thought Martin had never looked more gloomy nor more
handsome as he read a second poem from the Donne section.
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
At the end of it he looked up, "Oh Lord. Sorry. Too grim. I'll try to
find something a bit lighter."
Once again Eswara felt a stab of jealousy over his love for the dead
woman he had lost through such tragic circumstances.
"No, that's all right, Mr. Jerome. We can just talk. Ash will be in in
a moment after all, and it's him you have come to visit."
He opened his mouth to protest at this, but clamped it shut again
when he realised what a capital error he had been about to make.
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Of course he was only here to see his friend. What on earth would
he be doing visiting a lovely woman such as Eswara? A man like
him?
He could feel his trembling beginning, and tried not to panic. She
had said meditation would help. He rammed his hand in his pocket to
seek out his stone, and squeezed it so hard it dug into his palm.
Eswara watched his crisis and did whatever she could to support
him in his struggle without intruding. She slid one hand out from
under the blanket onto his rock-hard thigh, and massaged him for a
moment. He was so caught in the throes of his living nightmare that
he allowed her hand to remain for some time.
At last his breathing eased, and he discovered its position because
he put his hand on her own to stroke the back of it.
He stared for a moment before shaking his head. He closed his
fingers around the tiny hand for a brief second, shutting his eyes.
Tenderly he put it back in her lap and rose from the sofa.
"I'll just go see what's keeping Ash."
She stared after him, and cursed herself for having interfered in his
paroxysm. She should never have touched him so. He had constructed
so many high walls around himself, that her breaking into them could
do him irreparable harm.
In any case, she had no right. Her question to him in the bathroom
had been unforgivable. But she needed to understand why he had said
he was not capable of having children, when a massive bulge under
the blankets and visible through his underclothing and the silk robe
was evidence that he was more than physically able.
She shook her head. Christianity could be such a religion of guilt
and fear. But what on earth did he have to fear? Death? He had faced
it once.
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The death of his young wife? It had been a nightmare to see her
raped and strangled, she knew.
But there seemed more to it than that. Perhaps he had been so
shocked about something within himself. Blamed himself for not
having saved her? Having survived?
She had met enough men with this syndrome in her time as an
Army wife, and especially once the British Army had been
demobilised from the Peninsula. It had been particularly bad after
Waterloo.
Whatever it is, something was eating Martin alive from the inside,
so much so that at times he could barely remain coherent.
Eswara picked at her food, wondering why she felt as though all of
the light had left the room.
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Chapter Fifteen
The two men returned a short time later with trays piled with their
dinner. Ash proceeded to eat with gusto, Martin with some appetite
despite his earlier upset, though he did it so mechanically she
wondered if he was merely consuming the food for the sake of
politeness.
Ash sat on the sofa with his mother, causing her to almost grit her
teeth in frustration. Though Eswara love her son, she discerned within
herself an almost physical yearning to be by Martin's side, feel his
touch.
On the other hand, with him sitting opposite her, she could study
him. And study him she did while he chatted to her son, trying to find
a flaw in his appearance.
The only one she could discover in the end was his most obvious
one, that he looked so utterly miserable it was a wonder he could
tolerate his despair. He never smiled, never laughed. This lack was
made all the more obvious by Ash's natural high spirits.
Like night and day, she thought, though they were physically
similar in that they were both tall, broad and dark. Her son with gold
eyes like the sun, Martin with silver eyes, like the moon.
Where Ash's power lay in his lithe grace, Martin's seemed to be in
his utter stillness. There was always the suggestion of some
suppressed raw inner energy in danger of being released at any time.
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She offered him more wine, and caught it as their gazes met. There
it was again, that mercurial spark of his eyes, a deep rumble in his
chest as he spoke, his slow deliberateness of movement which was
almost seductive.
It was a type of delayed reaction to things around him which
indicate thought, hesitancy, and something more. Wariness, as if
afraid to do something irrevocable, or something that would give him
away...
There was a sensual quality about him too, she had to admit. Most
men were boundingly aggressive, flitting about on business. The
image of Martin in bed making love to her with a breathtakingly slow,
leisured thoroughness caused her to gasp.
She sucked a drop of wine down the wrong way. Tears sprang to
her eyes, and Martin was over at her side in an instant before Ash
could even react.
"Are you all right, Eswara? Mrs. Paignton, I mean."
"Yes," she wheezed. "Fine. Just went down the wrong way."
Wrong way indeed, she thought, her cheeks suffused with colour.
But it was absurd. There was no possibility in this world...
His warm hard hand came up to brush her cheek lightly with the
backs of his curled fingers. "You look a bit feverish. Finish that, and
off to bed."
"No, really, I'm fine."
"You need to sleep. It's all right. Ash and I will be fine."
"Yes, Martin will stay the night, won't you? We'll both look after
you."
"Oh, no, I'm sure Mr. Jerome-"
"I'll be the best houseguest, not give you two any trouble, I
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promise. I would be only too pleased to stay."

Eswara, feeling muzzy-headed from the wine, gave in. "All right,
if you're sure."
Martin lifted her as though she were as light as eiderdown and
carried her up the stairs. "Top and to the left."
"I know. I mean, I was here for two days," he said with a blush.
He settled her down in the bed, lit a candle, and looked at her
consideringly for a moment. He reached up to pull the pins from her
hair, stroking it down over the pillow.
He did not even dare look around the room closely, for he did not
want to be accused of intruding, and he was almost frightened by what
he would see.
Some evidence of her being less than the perfection he imagined
her to be? Something so personal he would not be able to resist her
ample attractions and act upon or reveal his innermost thoughts in
some ghastly way?
He didn't know. But he did not dare find out either.
"Good night, Mrs. Paignton."
"Thank you so much for everything, Mr. Jerome. Good night."
He forced himself to shut the door behind him and headed down to
see Ash.
Nelly had already left for the evening, so the two men did their
best to clear away the detritus of dinner, and to make the house ready
for the night and the next morning. Hot water bottles, warming pans
were got ready, and Ash took up two bottles to his mother's room and
tucked them into the bed.
"How is she?" Martin asked when he returned.
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"She's sound asleep. That's the first baby of the local group. Two
more to go."
"She's a very dedicated woman."
"She is. I only hope I have her gift."
"You certainly have her brains. She's very intelligent, isn't she?
She makes me feel so, well, safe and certain and assured about things,
though that couldn't be further than the truth."
"What confuses you?" Ash asked conversationally.
Martin shrugged. "Everything. But she has started me on
meditation, and I think it helps."
"Good. Would you like to now?"
So they sat and meditated, and shortly afterwards began to play
chess and chat quietly.
A rap at the door signalled another emergency a short time after
they had begun.
"It seems to be a general rule that babies always appear at the least
convenient time imaginable," Ash said with a sigh.
"Surely not-"
"Afraid so. I'm going to need to wake her and get her over to the
Barnstable residence as soon as possible. She's been in labour for six
hours, but the midwife says she thinks something is wrong."
"Can't Blake go?" Martin suggested, his brows knitting. "She's
been up all night, after all."
"He's out on call. Mine accident, all the local doctors headed over
there to help, apparently. That was the second part of the message," he
explained as he headed for the stairs.
"You get her horse. I'll get your mother. And go with her."
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"No, really, you look about done in-"

"I'm fine. I hardly ever sleep more than a couple of hours."
Ash wondered if he should make a token protest about the
propriety of him being in her bedroom, but decided not to bother in
the end. He had no way to explain it other than that there was some
sort of spark between the two which was evident whenever he saw
them together.
He had adored his Pa, but he was gone. Though he had been a
good man, he had never been the soulmate he was sure existed
somewhere out in the world for everyone.
He wasn't sure if Martin was the one or not-he had obviously been
through hell and back, and was a wounded soul in torment if ever
there was one. But if anyone could cure him, it would be his mother.
He nodded. "I'll saddle all three horses."
"No, just two. I don't want her trying to sit one on her own. She's
done in and it's icy."
"What about the gig, then? She can sit on your lap and I can drive."
He considered the suggestion for a moment, then vetoed it. "The
roads are too rutted and slippery. I think the horses are our best
option."
He went upstairs to fetch her. Before he awakened her, he went
into her wardrobe and flicked through gowns, feeling their thickness.
He settled for a sable brown with black satin piping.
He looked at her clothes for a time longer in relief. They were
different from his wife's in every way. Like night and day.
Eswara might be dark-haired, but she shone so brightly....
"Mrs. Paignton, Eswara. Eswara? There's been another emergency.
They need you. Come, we need to get you up and dressed."
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Eswara came awake in an instant and flung open the wrapper in a

fluid movement, no cringing modesty there. He turned his back shyly,
but he had gazed longingly at her breasts in her filmy garments, her
drawers....
She donned a flannel chemise and petticoats and held still whilst
Martin put the gown over her head.
"Boots, cloak, my bag. What's the weather?" she asked as she
struggled into the frock.
"Hard frost."
"Hm, horses then, not the gig."
"Ash is saddling them now. He says the lady is having problems."
"Which one?"
"Barnstable, I think."
She frowned and shook her head. "Not one of my usual. I think she
uses that filthy midwife down the road a ways."
"And all the doctors are at the mines. There's been a accident."
Her gaze shot to his face for a moment.
He nodded.
"Drat, that means I'm going to get everyone until they're back.
Listen, I know it's a huge favour to ask, but can you come with me,
stay with me?"
He looked surprised, but nodded. "Anything."
"It's just that we'll leave a note pinned on the door here, and you
and Ash can go back and forth for whatever I need. I can't bring my
entire herbal with me. I also can't ignore everyone else needing my
help whilst I'm tied down for hours until the labour takes its natural
course."
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"I was planning to come with you anyway."

"One more favour, then? Grab those ribbons and pull back my hair
whilst it do the rest of these buttons."
He stared, but grasped the long mane, and pulled the brush he
found on top of the dresser through it about five times. He gathered it
into a long horse's tail and tied off the ribbon tightly. It was easily one
of the most sensual things he had ever done.
"Thank you. I never had a lady's maid before."
"I've never dressed and undressed anyone before. Let alone done
their hair."
She stared at him in surprise. "But you-"
"What?" he asked with a frown.
"You were married," she said quietly.
"Three days all told. Then she was killed."
The enormity of it struck her. No wonderHis breath started to catch in his throat.
Damn it, they didn't have time. She threw her arms around him and
held on tightly for a moment.
"I'm sorry. It must have been hell for you. I'm sorry. But now we
have to go, Martin, do you understand? Mrs. Barnstable needs our
help. Come on, Martin, we need to go."
When his hands finally came up around her to cup her body to his,
she knew she had got through to him and stepped back quickly.
She laid one hand gently on his cheek and looked up into his
molten silver eyes. "All right, lad?"
"Aye, but only if you stop addressing me like Ash all the time."
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"Force of habit. I used to do the same to his Pa."

Jealousy surged through him, but now was not the moment to have
any intimate conversation.
He helped gather her things and got her boots on, tying them while
she checked her stores.
"All set?" he asked.
"Aye," she said, putting the finishing touches to the note she
pinned up on the door.
She put on her cloak and muffler and strode outside. With a leg up
from Martin she mounted the horse. Martin hesitated, but since Ash
already had his leg in the stirrup of the other horse, he put his hand on
the pommel. "All ready for me?"
She nodded, not wishing to dwell for more than an instant on the
fact that sharing the horse with him, sitting upon it in such an intimate
manner, oddly seemed the most natural thing in the world.
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Chapter Sixteen
Martin felt in over his head from the moment they arrived at the
Barnstables', for Eswara was all business now.
The first thing she did was dismiss the filthy midwife, who was so
grimy she looked as though she doubled as one of the local chimney
sweeps. "I have my son and his friend with me. They'll help."
The prospect of seeing an infant born was almost more than Martin
could fathom. But Eswara was as good as her word and drafted him in
to sitting at the head of the bed and bathing the woman's face whilst
she and Ash tried to get the baby into the right position, since it was
being born face up so far as she could guess.
Toward the end of the third hour there, they got word that Mrs.
Simmons, the second of her own patients, had started.
"Ash, go over, find out what is going on, and report back. And we
will need to get someone to pin a note on the door at home saying we
will be going on there after everything is all right here."
Martin blanched as the woman's groaning became ear-splitting
screams. So like his wife's....
"Martin, stay with me. It's all right. Hang on to her hand, and when
I tell you, I need you to take the baby from me and begin to rub it with
this cloth."
"Oh, no, I couldn't," he said, trembling
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"Come on, love, you have to. There's no one else here I would
trust. Mr. Barnstable is already drunk and half passed out. So much
for the tradition of wetting the baby's head. And that maid is mentally
deficient. Oh Lord, it's coming.
"Martin, don't you leave me. Don't leave me now. Mrs. Barnstable,
grab his hand and shout the house down if you want."
The woman did, screaming foul imprecations which even shocked
Martin despite his time in the Army. Now he viewed the phrase 'to
swear like a trooper' in a whole new light.
Her insults were mainly directed at the husband who had got her
into such a condition in the first place, and he shuddered.
Men were beasts.... Women suffered because of men's savagery...
Eswara saw the way his thoughts were tending.
"She's in pain, beside herself," she said in a low tone. "She doesn't
mean it. A baby is a joyous occasion for the most part, I promise.
Painful, but joyous, if all goes well. You have nothing to fear or
reproach yourself for."
He mopped the woman's forehead, then his own, with trembling
hands, too disturbed to speak.
"It's coming. I can see the crown. Martin, get ready."
She helped ease the baby out of the birth canal. He stared as the
tiny thing appeared as if out of nowhere.
She hung it by its heels and cut the cord. He jumped to attention as
she handed it off to him.
He began to rub its delicate body as she had instructed. It gave a
feeble cry at first, which became a red-faced roar of outrage.
"It's a girl. A girl!" Martin gasped in delight.
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He was actually more proud of his role in her arrival than her
odious father, who spat and swore. "A girl's no bloody use."
Martin could barely take his eyes off the infant, with ten tiny
fingers and toes. But he had little leisure to peruse her, for a half an
hour of tidying up the mother and baby had them on the road to the
Simmons' house for the next delivery.
Ash was white-faced when they arrived. "It's bad. They tried to use
forceps to speed things along, and...."
Eswara doubted the wisdom of letting Martin into the site of the
bungled delivery, but she felt she had little choice. The baby was
wedged firmly in the birth canal, part of its head out, but seemingly
stuck by the shoulders.
Mrs. Simmons' husband said gruffly, "I'm guessing it is a boy from
its size. If it's a case of choosing between them, save the baby, not the
mother."
Both Eswara and Martin gasped at this cold-blooded statement.
Despite himself, Martin began to remonstrate.
"You care so little about your wife that you would discard her like
an unwanted brood mare once she's safely dropped her foal? You are
despicable, sir. Your wife is a decent human being and the mother of
your child. She deserves better than that."
Eswara felt sick to her stomach at the raw emotion in Martin's
voice. He must have truly adored his wife. Perhaps they had been
expecting when they wed? But he had said they'd been married only
three days...
Well, perhaps they had enjoyed each other before they'd wed
"It's none of your bloody business. Just do as I say," Mr. Simmons
hissed.
But Martin refused to back down. "I will not be party to murder,
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sir. If anything happens to your wife, I shall personally go to my

friend Malcolm Branson and have you charged with neglect, do you
hear me?"
Mr. Simmons scurried out of the way, leaving Eswara and Ash
alone with the white-faced Martin. She prayed he was not going to
have another funny turn.
Fortunately he did not. Rather, he went straight over to the woman
and said soothingly, "It'll be all right. He won't hurt either of you
again, I promise."
He took her hand and began to sponge down her perspiring face.
He looked over at Eswara, his eyes bright.
"Do what you can. Tell me how to help."
With time and patience, they were eventually able to deliver the
baby safely. She turned out to be a rather large and strapping girl. She
whimpered and cried feebly when Martin rubbed her, and he could see
Eswara's worried frown.
"What's wrong?" he asked quietly.
Eswara shook her head, "I don't know if she will be normal. Or if
her mother will be able to have any more children after this. Another
midwife bungling everything. Damnation. We should have them all
given proper certificates to show they are qualified. Otherwise anyone
can do it on the side and say they know what's what."
"But from what I hear, some doctors are no better," Martin pointed
out.
"True." She sighed. "I just feel so sorry for the poor little mite."
"And for the woman. Anyone can see he only wanted an heir,
would do anything to get it."
She sighed. "He wouldn't be the only one."
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"He has one now. A daughter," Ash pointed out.

"Aye, if she lives, God willing."
"Amen," Martin said fervently, feeling as though he had witnessed
yet another miracle.
As they left the Simmons' house, the first flecks of dawn were
coming up over the horizon.
Eswara swung up into the saddle and Martin got on behind. She
was grateful for his hard lean strength keeping her warm and steady in
the saddle as they headed back to the house.
Once they had dismounted, she said, "Baths first. You pair can
share the water. Just not too much horseplay, and try not to soak the
floor or get every towel in the house wet. I shall soak at my leisure
whilst you and Mr. Jerome help Nelly get the breakfast. And I want a
huge fire in the drawing room."
"I'll do the horse," Martin offered. "You run the bath, Ash, and if
you don't mind, Mrs. Paignton, can you please get the clean clothes?"
"Delighted."
An hour later they were all ensconced in the dining room tucking
into steak and eggs and gallons of hot coffee.
Martin waxed enthusiastically about all he had seen and done. His
eyes shone with a new fervour and rested so warmly upon Eswara's
face, it was almost as though he was caressing her, though there were
four feet of solid walnut table between them.
A rap at the door caused them all to start.
Ash scurried for the door while Eswara ran to the bathroom to
dress, muttering, "Don't tell me. Let me guess. It's lucky number
four."
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It was actually a broken arm, but it put an end to the happy little
family party for a time.
Ash and Eswara tended to the injury while Martin went sat reading
poetry in the drawing room. He availed himself of the opportunity
whilst they were safely in the other room to take a better look at the
erotic pictures. Not disgusting or laughable at all....
Martin came out into the hall when he heard voices.
Ash was taking the injured young serving girl home in the gig, and
waved to them both. "I'll see you soon."
They stood in the hall staring at each other silently for a few
seconds.
Eswara took the opportunity to thank him for all his help. "You did
exceptionally well. Helped save their lives. You should be justly
proud."
"I did so little."
"No, I believe your standing up to Mr. Simmons really helped."
"Do you think so?"
She nodded. "I know it. You put the fear of God into him, make no
mistake. They would have died if we had not come."
He ducked his head to avoid her gaze, too moved to speak.
He followed her into the drawing room, and stood by the hearth.
"What shall we do now?" he asked.
She stared. "Are you not tired? Wanting to go home?"
"Not at all."
"But you have other things I am sure you would rather be doing-"
"Blake is still tied up at Minehead, and Ash is gone. Are you sure
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you want me to go?"

"You need your rest."
"You do as well, you know."
"This is my job."
"I'm happy to stay. Let me just lie down on one of the sofas, or I
can crawl into the guestroom upstairs."
"Take Ash's room. You're used to it, and you two boys can go
bouncing in and out with your chess and so on."
He gritted his teeth at the word boys. "That will be fine. I can't be
too early getting into my house or they'll wonder what I've been up to.
They will imagine I'm out wenching or something. I mean, not that I
ever have. But, oh Lord-" He was blushing profusely by now, and she
shook her head.
"You don't have to explain yourself to me. I understand you're a
tender young thing with needs-"
"Young thing," he snorted, scowling blackly. "You obviously
haven't taken a very good look at me."
Oh, but she had, she thought with a sigh. "Yes, young. Younger
than me, your parents, your charming Uncle Timberlake."
That got a grudging lift of the corner of his mouth. Not quite a
smile but near enough.
"So just how old do you think I am?"
"I have no idea."
"Twenty-six. Seven next birthday in March."
"I see."
"And you?"
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"A lady never tells her age," she said with a lift of her chin. "But I
shall never see a score and ten again." So there were only five years
between them....
Stop it, she told herself. It wasn't just the age, it was the fact that
she was barren. She could never expect...
"How old is Ash?"
"Seventeen next birthday in May."
His mercurial gaze rested upon her for some time. "So my guess is
at most there are eight years between us. At least what, about five or
six. So please stop treating me like a contemporary of your son's. I'm a
grown man. Ash too, just about. So if you want a collective noun,
instead of lads or boys, try gentlemen or men. The last thing I want to
be, Madam, is your son."
He turned and strode up the stairs, leaving Eswara awash in
confusion. How could he have been so rude? And why? Had he meant
she was a bad mother?
Or, more incredibly, that he wanted to be the gentleman in her life?
She had made it clear she was older only moments before. How could
he...
But then age could often be relative. Ash was at home with people
much older than himself, and very few people took her for his mother,
often an older sister. Occasionally even a wife.
Ash came back a short time later.
Eswara told him he ought to be heading back to Brimley. "I say, do
you not need me to stay?"
"Your studies-"
"But I shall get hands-on experience."
"I know, but it isn't fair."
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"I want to stay. If Blake gets back I shall go, but otherwise I'm
staying right here."
"Martin is in your room."
"Has he had another funny turn?"
"I don't think so. He's just a bit cross with me," she admitted. "He
says I treat him like his mother."
"So you do, though that is no bad thing. But he isn't used to love
and affection, is he?" he pointed out perceptively.
"No, I suppose not."
He sat across from her near the fire and smiled."Then we just have
to get him used to it."
"I am going to lie down for a little while. You don't mind checking
on him, playing host?"
"Not at all. I'll wake you if anything crops up."
It did, but the men did not wake her. Ash told Martin he was
perfectly capable of setting bones and treating colic.
Eventually, they called her for dinner and she came down feeling
quite refreshed. She hugged her son.
"I think you two have been seeing my patients behind my back,"
she said when she noticed the door to her consulting room was ajar.
"Guilty as charged. But they were only little things and we wanted
to help. To let you catch up on some of your sleep from the night
before."
"Thank you both." She recalled what Ash had said about not being
used to affection, and gave Martin a quick hug.
Then she fluttered her eyelashes. "Oh sorry. I seem to recall when
we last spoke you said something about not wanting to be treated like
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my son," she said in a low tone.

"Oh, well, that's all right, I suppose," he said gruffly, and suggested
another game of chess with Ash.
She joined them in the drawing room, presiding over the tea tray,
and knitting as they played. She followed their conversation quietly,
most of it centering on how pleased Martin was to have been allowed
to help with her cases.
She wondered what sort of gift she could give him which would
convey her appreciation of all he had done for her. He seemed
genuinely interested. Perhaps she could teach him about herbs, being
an apothecary?
And he certainly seemed to adore Ash's silk dressing gown.
Well, his birthday was coming up. It was far too intimate for her to
give him, but Ash could give it without too much being made of it.
She could knit him a muffler in a fine heather herringbone. And he did
like cigars, and a pipe, apparently.
She crept into the bathroom where his clothes had been left in the
hamper for Nelly's collection, and took down the shoulder
measurements. She could calculate the height easily enough if he put
on Ash's again.
When she entered the room, both of them had nodded off over the
pieces, the strain of the long night finally having taken its toll.
She said quietly knitting and stared in fascination at Martin's face
in repose. When he was not preoccupied with all of his grim thoughts,
his face appeared almost boyish. She watched him for a time, hoping
he was not going to have another nightmare.
But no, he came awake naturally, and as he looked at her, his
expression seemed to ease even further for a brief moment. It was
almost as if he was able to forget for a short while his inner torment.
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She smiled at him. Her heart leapt when she nearly got an
answering one back.
A sharp tap at the door sent them both flying to their feet, the
magical moment lost.
Eswara ran to get the door. "Mrs. Marchant," she reported a few
seconds later. "Sounds like a possible miscarriage."
Both men began to gather their outer wear, but Eswara shook her
head. "One of you can stay here and fetch me if anything else comes
up."
"I'll go with your mother. You're much more useful for small
things for the patients."
"Tell Nelly to leave dinner for us in the warming oven. We'll be
back soon."
"Gig or horse?" Martin asked.
"Horse."
"One or two."
"I don't mind one if you don't."
"Not at all."
"Aye, it's dashed cold."
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. Once they were saddled
and mounted, they rode as one the three miles to the Marchant
household.
She tried to ignore his male presence, but the cocoon of sensual
warmth was almost more than she could bear.
She forced herself to concentrate on the matter at hand, helping to
guide the horse, and not on his magnificently muscled physique, his
broad thighs cradling her so intimately
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Eswara tried not to linger in his arms as they reached their

destination and he slid her down off the horse, for to do so would have
been to kiss him, and that would never do.
So she grabbed her bag off the pommel and entered the house. She
took one look at the woman, and knew that human intervention had
come into play here.
"I'm not going to tell your husband, but you need to tell me what
you took," she whispered to the terrified girl.
"Something I got from my man," she admitted tearfully. "My
husband has been away up north. He'd have known for sure."
"You should have thought of that before you dallied."
The wan woman wept. "It all seemed a little bit of harmless fun. I
was so lonely. I wanted to know what I was missing. Then I got
caught."
"Once you've healed I can tell you what you're missing. But you're
not going to find it by sneaking around people's backs and nearly
killing yourself, do you hear me?
"And if I ever find out who your male friend is, I shall have him
read out in every parish in a thirty mile radius, do you understand
me?"
Martin looked as grim as she had ever seen him. He had overheard
snippets of the conversation, and the bleeding was so profuse that he
could be in no doubt what had happened.
Damnation, were all women whores? He could feel his shuddering
beginning again.
"Drat it, Martin, you need to stay with me. More linens. Come on.
Martin! Martin!"
"My God, there's so much blood," he said in a daze.
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"It's like women's monthlies. It always looks a lot more than it is."
"I wouldn't know. I'm hopelessly ignorant about women," he said
with a shake of his head.
"Well, with all that's happened in the past few days, you're not any
more," she pointed out in a gentle tone.
He continued to stare at the mound of bloody wadding.
"Martin, are you with me, or do you want to go outside?"
He dragged his eyes away to her face. His expression was bleak,
but there was sense in it. "I'm with you, Eswara."
"Good. Find me some bricks. We're going to raise the foot of the
bed."
"I don't want to save it," the woman protested tearfully.
"Well, I'm not just going to leave you to bleed to death. I need to
stop that first. Then we can see where we are."
Martin was a huge help, easily moving the woman back and forth
between the floor and the bed, and lifting it up so Eswara could insert
the bricks under the two bottom feet.
"I can't do much here, I'm afraid. I'm just going to have to clean her
up and hope for the best."
"Are you sure? I mean, the poor baby. It's not its fault the mother is
a whore."
"I know, but she's going to die if we don't-"
"Maybe she deserves it."
Eswara gasped and shook her head. "That's the Old Testament way
of looking at it. I prefer to think she's been foolish and desperate, and
deserves our help no matter how wrongly we think she's acted."
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"So you would save the life of a murderer?" he rasped. "A harlot?"
Her eyes crackled with a fierce golden fire. "I would let justice be
done in the natural course of events. As for harlotry, they stopped
stoning fallen women several hundred years ago so far as I'm aware.
" If you don't want to help, just go back to my house and get Ash.
Otherwise I'm going to need you to get her hips to the end of the bed
and tie her legs to it so I can keep her still."
Martin scowled for several moments. Eswara was almost sure he
was going to leave her. She had told him to go get Ash, but she had
the feeling she was rapidly running out of time.
"Look, Martin, this isn't about your morality or mine. I'm asking
you to help save this woman's life. Are you staying with me, or not?"
Her hands were filthy, but she longed to touch him intimately. In
the end she stepped closer, and put her cheek against his bulging bicep
for a moment, resting it there whilst she turned her face up to him.
"Are you staying with me or not?" she murmured.
He heaved a huge sigh. "What do you need me to do?"
She rubbed her cheek against him. "Thank you."
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Chapter Seventeen
They left the Marchant household some time later. Both were
silent on the journey home, each lost in their own thoughts. They had
saved the woman's life, though not the child's.
Eswara was pleased on the whole with how well the desperate
situation had turned out, but she had seen an ugly side to Martin, one
which smacked of complete intolerance.
For heaven's sake, it could have been his own sister or friend
caught in such a bind. Did he not understand that men were as much
to blame as women?
Martin could feel himself drifting in and out of his nightmare.
Harlots, the whole pack of them. Not to be trusted, even when they
were married.
Not that the man didn't deserve to be horsewhipped as well. But to
destroy the life of an innocent babe for a moment of blind lust... It was
unthinkable.
When they got in the house, Ash opened the front door and called,
"I say, Mother, we have another patient here."
Eswara went into her examination room and gasped despite
herself.
The battered woman was one massive bruise from head to waist.
Martin could feel himself trembling as he stared at the woman. It
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truly was the last straw. "I'm sorry. I can't do this-" he said, pushing
past Eswara and fleeing the house.
She did not blame him. It was pretty shocking even for her.
"Who is she?" she asked her son.
"One of the local maids is my guess. She hasn't said. Someone
dumped her at the foot of the drive."
"Drat. I hate this. Hate it."
They made the girl as comfortable as possible, and told her she
could stay as long as she liked. "But you need to tell us who did this."
"It's more than my job is worth," the girl blubbered through bruised
lips.
"You aren't going to have a job after this, child. You can't work in
your condition. You'll be off work for a couple of weeks at least. Your
hand is broken, your ribs cracked. They won't take you back.
"If it's the master of the house, you won't want to stay. Why run the
risk of this happening again? And they won't give you a reference
unless you keep your mouth shut. So tell us who did this and we can
get the magistrates-"
"No. He'll kill me next time. They all will."
"All?" Eswara and Ash echoed.
Realising she had said too much, the girl clamped her lips shut
tightly.
Eswara sighed. "All right. It's your life. But remember, if this
happens again, I'm not going to treat you unless you tell me the truth.
I'm a healer, true. But there isn't a lot I can do for someone who is
willing to throw their life away for no reason."
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The battered young serving girl stayed with Eswara for a week,
and disappeared one morning as abruptly as she had arrived.
Eswara sighed. It had been a brutally difficult spate of illnesses,
births and deaths, but Blake was back from Minehead now, and ready
to take on his fair share of the local cases.
She was relieved to have the house to herself. Nelly made her
some tea, and she wrapped herself in the blanket in the drawing room
and lay down on the sofa with her eyes closed, thinking over her
week.
There had been no sign of Martin since the girl had arrived. Ash
had gone back to Brimley; she wondered if Martin had visited him
there.
But when her son came home later than evening he shook his head.
"No sign of him. I'm sorry. Something really rattled him that night."
"I can't imagine what."
"The case before?"
"Well, yes, he was upset then, too."
Ash sighed and shook his head. "I don't know what it is, Mother.
We just have to leave him to come around to the real world again in
his own time. He's carrying a lot of grief and anguish inside."
She nodded, and tried to turn her thoughts to other things. But it
seemed very quiet in the house without Martin, and the friendly
chatter she had begun to so enjoy.
She sighed. It had been a mistake to drag him into her world. Well,
he had offered to help. But he had said he was not a child. He'd been
wrong. He had not been able to cope and had fled.
She didn't blame him for that, but she did blame him for staying
away.
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But perhaps it was for the best, she told herself with another deep
sigh. For if he had risen to the occasion, she knew she would have
been completely lost in her love for him.
Also, he had not even bothered to come see her to try to mend
fences, explain. It was just as well. It was over before it had ever even
really begun. Whatever it might have been.
All she knew was she had never felt so close to any man before in
her life. If what she felt for Martin wasn't love, then she had no idea
what it was.
And if it was love, it was doomed from the outset. He had loved
his wife to distraction. That was obvious from the way he grieved for
her, even after so many years.
Why would he ever take a second look at her except as a curious
specimen, something unusual to be examined under a microscope like
Ash's pond samples.
Even if he did have any feelings for her of a romantic nature, he
was not ready. He probably never would be, not from all the things he
had said.
She heaved another sigh. What was the point in thinking about it
now? He was gone in any event.
If he did ever come back, she would be politely distant. She could
never let Martin Jerome suspect for even a minute how deeply in love
with him she had almost allowed herself to fall.
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Chapter Eighteen
Ash headed back to Brimley at the end of two days, leaving
Eswara on her own with Nelly once more. The grim winter weather
continued to dominate the Somerset landscape.
Eswara was shivering and trying to bank up the fire in the drawing
room in the early evening when she heard a tap at the door. It was a
night she would not even let a dog out in-who on earth could it be
now?
She half-dreaded, half-hoped it would be Martin for a moment, but
told herself not to be so silly. Over a week had passed without so
much as a word, not even a note. Why would he...
Her heart leapt into her mouth as he entered the room.
"Thank you, Nelly. Why don't you head home? It's a hard night
tonight."
"I'll check the fires once more."
"Thank you. Good night. And if it is ever really bad in the
mornings, don't risk yourself coming here."
"No, Ma'am, thank you. Good night."
She dared to look at Martin, who was standing by the chair with
his usual coiled stillness.
"I'm sorry I've not been around to see you. Family duties and a bit
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of indisposition on my part must be my somewhat feeble excuses."

"That is quite all right. You don't owe me any explanations, Mr.
Jerome," she said stiffly. "I know Ash missed you, but of course you
can see him at Brimley any time. He headed back there this afternoon,
so if you would care to visit him tomorrow he will be delighted."
"I shall, gladly. But it's you I've come to see, Mrs. Paignton. I feel I
behaved badly the last time we were together and I wanted to
apologise."
"Don't be silly. You can't help how you feel," she said sincerely.
"That may be true, but with the meditation you've taught me, I've
tried to master some of what's been troubling me for so long. But I
think it's gone beyond that. I need-"
His breathing had grown stertorous, and she said, "Please, sit, calm
yourself."
She poured him a glass of wine and pressed it into his cold fingers.
He drank it in one gulp, but when she offered to refill it he shook
his head.
"Nay, 'tis not the oblivion I need now, but the clarity. I need to tell
one other living soul the terrible truth about what happened that night.
"I know we don't know each other very well. I'm sorry for
burdening you. But I want you to understand why I behaved so
abominably last week. I don't want you to think badly of me."
She shook her head. "No, never. We all make mistakes, Mr.
Jerome. And you have suffered so much. Whatever you want tell me,
I'm willing to listen."
He leaned back in the chair by the fire and closed his eyes as if
steeling himself for a dreadful experience. He feared she would not
live up to her words, that she would cast him out....
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His words, when they finally came, were barely audible. "We
quarreled."
"I beg your pardon?"
"We quarreled that night. We were arguing in the gig. That's why
the highwaymen surprised us."
"I see." She looked at him carefully. "So you blame yourself for
not seeing them?" she guessed.
Martin shook his head. His breath was coming in almost painful
spasms, and she feared he would nearly faint as he had in the past.
She grabbed his hand and ordered, "Deep breathing, from the
middle here." She touched his solar plexus, and held her other hand
there to steady him. "Relax, focus."
She was relieved when he didn't pull away, and she next
commanded, "Deep, even easy natural breaths. Don't rush."
When she was sure he was steady once more and not about to go
off into that deep dark place he vanished to whenever his eyes went
flat, Eswara said, "So you quarreled. Would you care to tell me why?
No word of what you tell me shall ever leave this room."
His breath wheezed through him once more.
She squeezed his hand and hung on.
Finally he blurted out in a gut-wrenching rush, "She never loved
me. She was pregnant with another man's child. That's the only reason
why she flirted with me, and agreed to elope to Gretna Green."
Eswara's brows flew Heavenward. "Oh no, Mr. Jerome. Are you
sure?"
He nodded, his lips twisting into an ugly caricature of a smile. "I'm
sure. Margaret told me herself."
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"Oh no, surely she only said it because you were arguing."
He shook his head. "No, it was the truth. She was pregnant. He left
her. One of my mess mates. I was a good bet with a nice fortune. End
of story. She lied to me, tricked me. We never even-"
"Even what?"
He struggled to keep his respiration even. "You know." He
gestured.
She felt the colour fly to her cheeks. "Oh."
"She said she was indisposed, that it was her time of the month, in
order to avoid our wedding night. She was killed the third night.
Married three days, and in hell for the past four years, and forever
after."
Eswara shook her head, still holding his middle to get him to
breathe in a regulated manner so he would not faint. "I don't
understand. How on earth did you find out?"
"She let slip. Something about a baby in a few months. I
challenged her. She confessed. I read her diary, after the attack. After
she was dead. I was sorting through her more personal things, keeping
a few tokens to remember her by.
"Oh, I'll remember her all right. How could I possibly ever forget
the woman who betrayed me, the woman I killed," he panted, yanking
her hand away from his abdomen and trying to stand.
Eswara clung on to his hand, realizing his moment of crisis was
truly imminent. He was in such a grim dark place, she simply had to
try to help.
"No, Martin, no," she said softly, risking the use of his first name.
"You don't know what you're saying! You couldn't have- It was the
highwaymen! Everyone's told me so!"
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He turned on her, his eyes blazing. His lip curled into a snarl. "But
I wanted to. Don't you see! I was so furious I wanted to beat her, hurt
her. Kill her, even. I wanted to plant myself between her thighs and
ring her neck the way that damned highway did! I wanted her dead.
And then she was."
He broke down completely now, weeping as though his heart
would break.
Eswara stared at him for only an instant before she threw her arms
around him and cradled him to her bosom.
He clung to her fiercely, his entire body trembling on the verge of
collapse. The front of her gown was soon soaked with tears.
She stroked his hair soothingly until he slumped against her
wearily at her next words.
"You were angry, Martin. Who wouldn't be after discovering they
had been so betrayed? But you didn't kill her. It was a momentary
thought only. You would never have-"
"How do you know?" he barked. "How can you be so sure? And
didn't the thought give birth to the deed?"
She shook her head vehemently. "No, no! Those men were
murderers, rapiners of women, vicious criminals. You were a jealous
husband in love with his wife. You had just found out she had let you
down badly. You might have thought it, but you didn't mean it. You
would never have done it."
"But I might have, given the chance. If they hadn't beat me to it,"
he said, trying to sit up once more.
She held him to her tightly, trying to still his trembling. "You can
never know that," she said firmly. "They killed her. She's gone. Why
torture yourself, keep killing her over and over in your mind? She's
gone.
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"It was a sad waste of a life, two lives. But it's over. Forget about
what you might or might not have done. They killed her, not you."
He tried to sit up again. Because he was a bit more calm she let
him, still keeping hold of his hand in a firm grip.
"But what sort of person does this terrible anger make me? I feel
such a fraud. Everyone thinks I'm the grieving widower, that I adored
my wife and could never even look at another woman. The truth is I
hated her, and I could never even look at another woman and be able
to trust her. I would simply wait to be betrayed, just as Mrs. Marchant
betrayed her husband.
"And if I were so foolish as to try to trust again, and discovered I
had been betrayed, would I not do to the woman the same as what
happened to that poor little maid?"
She shook her head. "This is all conjecture. Why torture yourself
with things that might never happen? You were furious and had no
time to think. It all happened so suddenly. Perhaps when the shock of
what she had told you had worn off-"
He rubbed the back of his neck as though trying to stop his head
from rolling off his shoulders. "I certainly would never have been able
to forgive her. I confess it now, killing her was just one of the many
ways I was thinking of how I could get rid of her. Make her suffer.
Drag her through an annulment or divorce for one thing, or disgrace
her in front of everyone. Cast her off. Proclaim myself a cuckold and
a fool for all to see. I didn't know what I wanted. I was in such a red
rage I didn't know what to think, what to do. I was furious and numb
at the same time.
"Then we were attacked." His voice took on a trance-like quality as
he forced himself to remember. As if he could ever forget....
"Two of them beat me while the third stopped her from running,
and began to tear her clothes off. I was so busy struggling to save
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myself from the vicious blows, I never even thought about her.
"They tied me up, forced me to watch while they took turns on her,
over and over again. It was terrible. I can still see it in my mind's eye,
still hear her screams..."
He shuddered and she stood and pulled his head to her waist. His
arms went up around her, holding her close.
"I saw what they did to her. That Gerald Hawkesworth, as he
turned out to be, had killed her. Just for one tiny second I was actually
relieved she was gone. My problem was over. For one tiny second I
hated her so much I told myself that she deserved the horrible thing
that had happened to her for having been such a whore.
"I've hated myself for those disgustingly unChristian thoughts ever
since. Hated myself for surviving. I don't know how they ever found
me and dared to take me in, the old lady and her daughter, but I lived.
"Well, if you can call it that." He laughed harshly. "I was too much
of a coward to face death, you see. I should have killed myself long
ago and just ended all this."
"No, never!" Eswara declared earnestly. "Where there's life, there's
hope. And you know suicide is a sin. Please, Martin, what happened
to you was dreadful. I can't even begin to imagine the pain and
despair, and the time it even took your body to heal after they beat and
hung you.
"You haven't told me about that, but I think it must have been as
terrible if not worse than seeing her raped. Yet you've said nothing
about your feelings over being left to die so cruelly. You're no
coward. You faced death. Faced it and defeated it. You're no coward,
and certainly not a murderer. Just a sorry sinner like so many of us."
She stroked his hair back from his sweating brow.
He sat upright again, almost shaking her off in his fury at himself.
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"And a damned bloody fool," Martin spat. "I got my head turned by a
frilly piece of skirt without a shred of decency. She was as unchaste as
the day is long. I was flattered. Lusted after her like a mindless idiot.
She never even liked me, was interested in me. She liked it rough.
Despised me for being a soft touch. And I only spent three days with
her, but the truth is, oh God-" He shook his head.
"Go on. You might as well tell me all of it."
"The truth is I actually already despised her. Wondered how I
could have been so blind. She was vain, spiteful, stupid. I was so
desperate to lose my virginity I took to wife the regimental whore and
never even knew it."
She squeezed his hand hard. "Oh, Martin, surely she wasn't that
bad-"
"It's all in the diary. She was. I'll let you read it if you like. It's
fascinating. It might even make for a nice racy pornographic book to
titillate the Ton. The sexual excesses of Mrs. Jerome. It would be the
perfect title," he sneered.
"Stop it, stop it right now!" she scolded, shaking his shoulder. "I
know you've been hurt. But none of us have any right to judge who
she was or why she did it. I'm not defending her. The Lord knows she
hurt you. That was inexcusable, not something one should do to
anyone, least of all one's husband. All I'm saying is she had reasons.
Just as you had reasons for wanting to marry her, and hating her when
you found out the truth."
She sat on the low table in front of him, and took both his hands.
"I'm glad you told me. It helps me to understand why you've been in
this dreadful limbo, why you have those peculiar turns. They're you
getting paralyzed by the reminders that pop into your head every so
often, aren't they?"
"Yes," he admitted tightly.
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She stroked the back of his hand in soothing circles with her
thumb. He closed his eyes and slumped back in the seat again.
"In that case we need to work on a different kind of meditation to
clear those out, or at least keep them at bay. And we need to work on
some meditation about your own inner self. Who you really are,
Martin. Even beyond what's happened to you. The essence of your
own true self. What you were like before that night. What's left from
the death of your old self that's worth preserving. What elements of
your new life are not worth keeping. Ash and I will help, you know
we will.
"And Blake. He helped Michael Avenel a great deal when he was
suffering from the aftereffects of the war. He didn't just imagine he
killed. He did kill. Revelled in it as a soldier, by all accounts. It was a
hard thing to remember, and hard to forget. But he and his wife are
happy now. I know you are going to howl in derision when I say this,
but you're still very young. A virgin," she said with a blush.
"There is so much ahead of you, Martin. So much to enjoy. A
woman out there who really will love you for who you are. But you
also have to know her. You married a pretty face, a lively strapping
wench, didn't you? It was her, her breasts, face, hips that all attracted
you, wasn't it?
"But what was she really like? Did you even know about her
parents, childhood, the things which made her the licentious woman
you discovered in the diary? Or did you just read the spicy bits and
burn with jealous indignation?"
He blushed and yanked his hand away. "What do you take me
for?"
"A very confused and self-reproachful young man," she said
quietly. "I'm sorry if these questions are uncomfortable, but they need
to be asked."
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"No they don't," he growled. "She's dead. It's over."

She shook her head. "It will never be over as long as those
memories have so much power to hurt you. With knowledge comes
understanding, and perhaps even forgiveness in time. That might even
include forgiving the highwaymen. Believe me, Martin, I would much
rather you had never gone through all of this hell.
"But suffering can transform us, our lives. Some people would
even say it's all part of God's plan. I don't know. I've never liked the
idea of the gods toying with us like small boys pulling the wings off
flies, as Shakespeare said."
"'As flies are to wanton boys, are we to the gods; They kill us for
their sport.' King Lear. Act Four, Scene One. And while we are on the
subject I can safely say of myself, 'You are not worth the dust which
the rude wind blows in your face.' Act Four, Scene Two." His lips
twisted in a grotesque parody of a smile and he rose to leave.
"Where are you going?" she asked, alarmed.
"To take my disgusting presence from your lovely home," he
growled.
She ran after him. "It's dark and freezing. Please, Martin, don't go
off half-cocked like this!"
"How can you bear to be in the same room with me knowing what
you know? Are you not frightened?"
"No, not at all."
"Well you bloody well should be!" he hissed.
"No, not at all," she repeated stoutly. "You would never hurt
anyone. I'm sure of it. And certainly not Ash and myself. We're
friends, are we not? I would never hurt you. Friends don't. They try to
help."
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"Oh no, more meditation," he mocked.

"Yes, or just talking about what you've revealed to me now that it's
all out in the open."
"I think I've pretty much said it all, don't you?" he said with a wry
twist of his lips. "I never loved my wife, and I'm glad she's dead. I got
her killed. I watched her die, and was almost glad."
Eswara shook her head. "No, that is your harsh and guilt-laden
outline of what you think happened. But the reality is somewhere in
there. And it isn't the whole story, it's just the beginning. The surface,
not the reality deep down.
"You've been living your life as though that's the only thing that's
ever happened to you, the only thing that's important. But what about
before? You had a life, family, friends, a career."
He shrugged. "I lost the career before it ever really started. Got
invalided out of the Army after the beating I took. Now of course the
war is over. There are so many half-pay and forcibly retired officers,
there's nothing for me there any longer. Besides, the prospect of
killing is now more than I can stomach."
"What did you study at Oxford?"
"Divinity, but I lost my faith."
"Were you ordained?"
He shook his head. "I was supposed to have been, after I got
married and before we shipped out to the Peninsula. I'm not interested
now. I would feel the worst sort of hypocrite telling people to turn the
other cheek, now wouldn't I?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck
again to try to relieve some of his unbearable tension.
She put her hand up to rub his shoulders as well. "The Christian
way of life is an ideal to be aspired to. Even the apostles lapsed from
time to time. Perhaps if you spoke with Jonathan? Or another
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clergyman."
"I might. But for the moment, I'd like you to explain something to
me," he said in a sharp tone, staring daggers at her.
She raised her brows in surprise. "Yes?"
"Why are you being so nice to me, Mrs. Paignton?"
She frowned. "I'm a healer. It's my job. You need my help."
"Why, does Indian medicine have anything to cure this?" he
scoffed.
"In Ayurvedic medicine we believe in all things being balanced
and in harmony. In the red and white tantras, we believe in love as a
means of getting to know God.
"You need help so I am giving it. You've needed help ever since
you came in that door the very first time. Something led your steps
here that night, instead of to Blake's. He can heal your body. Ash and
I can help you heal your spirit, your mind, if you will let us."
"Red and white?"
She blushed. "Sexual and non-sexual. Ash can explain, if you
would prefer to talk to a man about this."
"But he's a child!"
"Sixteen is not a child. Besides, he's had good teachers. Not just
me but other Tantric practitioners in London. Men to instruct him, and
women to practise chastely with. He is a man now. He needs to know
about his body, his boundaries. His ethics and morality. I trust him.
Perhaps if you had been taught about your body you might not have
made the mistake you did marrying a woman you were dazzled by."
He sighed. "You make it all sound so simple. Like you have all the
answers."
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She shook his head. "I don't have all of them. But I know I don't,
and keep looking. You thought you had them, realized you were
wrong, and stopped looking."
With a visceral twist of self-loathing Martin acknowledged that she
was right. He sat down in the chair nearest the door with a thud,
feeling as though all the wind had been sucked out of his lungs.
When he felt he could trust his voice again, he conceded, "All
right. Let's just say that you're correct. Where do I start?"
"With yourself. Let's start by getting to know you. The basics.
Simple things. Are you hungry?"
He shook his head, still tasting the bile in his throat. "Not really,
no. Thank you, though."
"Thirsty, then?"
"Aye."
"Good. Let's go into the kitchen, then, and get started."
He watched her get up and leave the room. Feeling as though his
heart would explode in his chest, he wordlessly followed her.
For he was sure that if anyone could heal him, it would be Eswara.
The question was, did he dare allow himself to heal? To feel pleasure
again? To dare hope that he could have a future after all?
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Chapter Nineteen
With a small frown of misgiving over what was about to happen
next now that he had made his dire confession to her, Martin followed
Eswara down the hall to the back of the house.
Once he was in the neat little kitchen, she settled herself in the
chair by the hearth.
"You can help yourself to anything you like in here, but it has to be
something you really enjoy. Go on, don't be shy. Prepare yourself
something to drink. Chocolate, tea, wine, anything. If you don't know
how to make it, I'll help. Just look through the cupboards and take as
many things as you like. And there is a new bottle of brandy as well,
in the dresser."
He hesitated for a moment, but she gestured, and he began to look
around him more intently, and at last did as she had suggested.
He found the brandy and the chocolate, and took up the pitcher of
cold milk. He found a good bottle of wine he wanted to try, and from
there he found some cheese, fresh bread, and a lemon chess pie. He
located some bacon and eggs, and some marmalade.
There were some shortbread biscuits in a tin, and some homemade
mango chutney which he sniffed and then also put on the table. He
stopped then.
"Anything else?" she asked quietly.
"No, those will do for now."
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"Are you sure? I said anything you liked."

"No, I'm sure."
"Would you like me to help you cook the bacon and eggs?"
"No, I think I can do it myself."
"Make the chocolate?"
"Yes, please."
"How do you like it?"
"Rich, thick and very sweet."
She nodded. "All right. You tell me if I make it right. If you don't
like, it change it."
A few minutes later he proclaimed it perfect.
"Where would you like to eat? In here or the parlor, on the table or
the floor, on a blanket or upstairs in one of the bedrooms?"
"In here, on a blanket in front of the fire. That's where they used to
put me when I was small, for I always loved to watch what people
were doing, making," he recalled with a small light in his eyes.
She digested the information in silence. "What kind of blanket?"
"It was a great plaid wool one, green and red."
"Will you be all right down here if I leave for a minute to go see
what I can find?"
"Yes."
"And do you want to stay dressed or undressed?"
"Pardon me?" he gasped.
"I meant, would you want to stay in your suit, or get yourself more
comfortable in Ash's dressing gown or some night clothes?"
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He reddened. "Oh no, I um-"

"There's no one here except us, Martin. If you want to change, stay
the night so you don't have to head home in the inclement weather,
you're welcome to."
"What are you going to wear?" he asked, his eyes darkening
mercurially.
She met his gaze without flinching. "I'll stay in this until I have my
nightly bath before my meditation. But you can do what you like.
Even have a bath first before you eat if you want."
His eyes lit up. "May I?"
"Yes. Use as much of the hot water as you like, take as long as you
need. I'm going to go find those blankets, and will give you some
different clothes to choose from, or just the dressing gown and
slippers if you prefer. I'll be back soon."
She came down a short time later and spread the blankets for their
impromptu picnic in the warm spacious kitchen.
"I put the clothes in the bathroom. Have fun."
"Are you having fun, Mrs. Paignton? Eswara?"
"Don't worry about me. The point is you are supposed to be having
fun."
He looked doubtful, but did not pursue the matter.
"Do you want more chocolate? Take the cup into the bath with
you. Or the brandy?"
He did as she suggested, pouring off the rest of the cocoa into his
steaming cup, and taking the brandy and a small glass. "See you in a
minute?"
She gave him an encouraging smile. "And don't forget to have fun
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in the bath. Splash, blow bubbles, play with the soap, relax, breath
deeply, bring the paper in with you to read, shave, even touch yourself
intimately if you want."
His face flamed-had she seen him that first time he had been in the
tub?
"I know we're told it is a sin, but I did say to please yourself. Even
the most innocent child discovers the fun that can be had when they're
tiny. Ash was quite a show-off in his day, as you can imagine.
Fortunately we were living in India, so it wasn't so bad. Much hotter
climate, you know. Stirs the blood."
She grinned, and he could not help laughing slightly.
"What would please me is if you would tell me more about India
while we were eating."
"Surely. But go and have your little paddle in the tub first. Don't
forget to search in the cupboards and find whatever soaps and things
you like."
She picked up the newspaper and handed it to him. He nodded,
tucked it under his arm and vanished.
He returned half an hour later in Ash's dressing gown and slippers.
She noticed in surprise as he walked that he had not put on anything
underneath. His leg was bared right up to the top of his thigh.
She tried to appear nonchalant as she asked, "More cocoa?"
"Yes, please, and more of this wonderful brandy. I'll cook the eggs.
How do you like them?"
"Whatever way you do. The bacon too."
"All right."
"What else would you like to do for entertainment? We can play
cards, go into the music room..."
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"Cards, I think."
She returned a short time later with a couple of decks and some
paper, a pen and ink.
He fried the bacon crisply, made the eggs scrambled but runny,
and toasted the bread. "The limit of my culinary skills apart from
beefsteak. You need to show me how to make the chocolate like this
again."
She showed him and then warmed the plates whilst he gave the
food once last turn in the pan. She moved the food he had placed on
the table down onto the blanket, and sat cross-legged on the floor.
He joined her, folding his long limbs awkwardly.
She did not know where to look as he forgot what he was wearing
and his robe parted right up the front. Her eyes flew up to his face to
see if he was aware of what he had done.
But he seemed blissfully unconscious as he tucked into his eggs
happily.
She also caught sight of the dreadful rope mark on his neck, and
despite herself she shivered.
"It's a hard frost tonight. I'm just going to get a shawl," she said,
almost suffocating with desire for him.
Her husband had been the best of men, but never in her wildest
imaginings could she have ever called him beautiful.
Martin was like a god descended from Mount Olympus, or manly
perfection personified. His legs, hands, his broad chest rippling.... The
incredible manly attributes underneath the silk.
She returned a short time later. To her relief he had straightened
his legs to put his toes closer to the fire. They were still long and bare,
and she could still see the outline of his tumescence under the robe,
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but he seemed happily unaware of her viewing of him. He had pulled

the top of the robe together, however, she noted.
She took another blanket from the pile she had brought down.
"Do you want to wrap that around yourself? It's pretty chilly
tonight even by the fire."
"Mmm, yes, thanks."
"How's the food?" she asked after a time.
"Lovely. Who was it who said the only way to eat well in England
is to have breakfast three times a day?"
She grinned. "Whoever it was, he was a smart chap."
"Shall we open the wine?"
"Of course. You do want it, don't you?"
"I'd like to try a glass. I mean, I'm not a toper or anything."
She nodded. "I know. Wine is fun. I might even have a bottle of
champagne in the cellar we can open if you'd like me to go look."
"Oh no, we couldn't."
"Why not?"
He shrugged his now-blanketed shoulders. "It's not a special
occasion."
"We like to think that there's joy in little things every day. So every
day is really a special occasion. I'll be right back."
She found three bottles in the cellar and brought them up.
"You choose."
"Are you sure?" he asked hesitantly.
"Anything you like."
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He picked the one he said he had never tried, and uncorked it

deftly whilst she got the flutes. "Lovely."
"Yes, very nice indeed." She took another sip and began to eat her
eggs with some toast and cheese, her eyes never leaving the
magnificent man by her side.
"You promised to tell me about India."
"Are you asking me about the country, or my life?"
"Both, I suppose," he said around a mouthful of bread. "And Ash's
too, of course."
So Eswara told him, but kept to facts about the country, not
wanting to distract Martin from his own self-examination and
exploration of his own pleasure principle.
He had said he wasn't hungry, but he consumed what he did eat
with relish, and certainly enjoyed the champagne. So much so that she
suggested he open the second bottle while she made room on the
blanket for them to play cards.
"Something simple like vignt-un," he suggested. "And no winners
or losers, just fun."
"That's right." She smiled, and for the first time since they had met,
he gave a genuine smile back.
He had beautifully white, even teeth, and his cheeks actually
dimpled. There was even a tiny sparkle in his eye, though they were
still deeply shadowed.
He was truly breath-taking in every way, and she was delighted
when he sat up cross-legged again and she got more peeps of his
spectacular body. He certainly was a most splendid man.
How could his wife have been such a fool? If he were hers, she
would treasure and worship him every opportunity she got for the rest
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of her life.
She gave herself a mental shake. He was a young man, tormented,
her son's friend. He was not to even be thought of in such a way,
however magnificent his body.
They played for a time, until he said, "Oh, but you were supposed
to have your bath."
"That's all right. If you're having fun here-"
"Actually, I thought I could go play in the music room while you
did."
"If you want. Are you warm enough?"
He glanced down at himself and suddenly realized he had been
completely heedless of his modesty in the silk robe. "Oh, crikey." He
pulled the flaps together and jumped up. "Lord, I'm sorry. What on
earth must you think of me."
"That you were comfortable. I'm no prude. Ash does it all the time,
remember? Starkers. I know that your past might make you think that
the body is an ugly, nasty thing, but it's lovely. You're lovely. Anyone
would think so, man or woman. Even more beautiful than my son, and
he's probably the best looking man I've ever seen."
"And have you seen many?" he asked with a gasp.
"I'm a healer." she said patiently. "When Ash was very ill not so
long ago, he could barely walk. With massage, we helped cure him.
Him and Michael Avenel, in fact. I've even seen his wife naked. And
the Sandersons. It is therapeutic, healing massage. There is the sexual
kind too, but I'm a widow now. I can instruct, but I don't-"
"We?" he asked, taking a sip of the wine and relaxing a bit more.
"You said we healed him. You and Blake?"
"No, other healers, and Michael's wife. I taught her on Ash. She
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saw him naked. She had had a terrible marriage. It helped heal her too.
Taught her not to be afraid of men's bodies. Not everyone is violent
and cruel. Not all men are despoilers of women, after all. The body is
a lovely thing, made for pleasure. In turn she taught Michael that he
was beautiful despite his injuries."
"And me? Am I beautiful?" Martin demanded, parting the robe to
show his neck and ribs.
She nodded and said truthfully, with a catch in her voice, "I think
you are. It's sad to see it your wounds, but you're so perfect in every
other respect it offers a contrast, and a reminder that one takes the
good with the bad."
"A very kind and diplomatic answer, I'm sure," he growled,
tugging the lapels of the robe back with an impatient jerk.
"I can see you don't believe me, and this topic is obviously not a
pleasurable one for you, so let's just forget it for now. More wine or
champers?"
He lifted the champagne glass and she poured.
"What about some pie now?" she offered.
"Good idea." Martin sat back down on the blanket, and after one
taste his wary expression receded once more.
He ate two pieces and nibbled some shortbread, then dipped a
spoon into the marmalade and ate a big mouthful. "Used to drive
Cook mad my doing that."
Eswara giggled. "Ash does it too. It must be a typically male thing.
Like women licking cake bowls."
"I loved doing that too."
"And playing with the bread dough, I'll bet."
He grinned. "Guilty as charged."
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"We can make some bread another time. Do you have any other
brothers besides Samuel?"
"Oh my, yes. Five elder. I'm number six. All born pretty much in a
row. All real strappers. I was lucky I was big myself or I would have
been pounded into the ground during all our games."
She filled his glass and offer him more pie. He declined, but spread
more marmalade on the shortbread and ate it, then tried the chutney.
"Mmm, this is good. A recipe from India?"
Eswara nodded. "I make it myself."
"You'll have to let me take home a jar if you have any spare."
"With pleasure. So why the Army?" she asked.
He shrugged. "It seemed a good idea. Lots had gone. It seemed a
good chance to fight for what I believed in."
"Which is?"
"And end to tyranny and oppression."
She raised her elegant brows. "But does killing someone you
disagree with solve things? After all, war isn't the common soldier's
fault. He's simply obeying orders. Would we not be better off just
trying to assassinate Napoleon?"
Martin stared at her. "My, you are an unusual woman, aren't you?"
"Person. I fail to see what my gender has to do with anything," she
said with a sniff.
"Except that it is easy for a woman to be a pacifist. She would
never be expected to fight," he said with a dismissive wave of his
shortbread piece.
"Do you not think all the poor women in Spain and Portugal were
fighting in their own way? Or that women do not fight every day for
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food, clothing, shelter, equal rights? Men don't have to fight as hard,
for they already have the power. They are only fighting over who gets
it, keeps it, wields it."
All of Martin's embarrassment over his unconscious bareness
vanished as he gazed at her sparkling golden eyes. "You know, I
never thought about it quite that way before."
They drank the wine in silence for a time, Eswara pacing herself to
ensure she would not be so drunk she couldn't help Martin to bed at
some point.
"Do you want to go have that bath now?"
"If you don't mind being on your own for a time."
"No, I'm going to play your pianoforte," he said with a decided air,
rising to his feet, then reaching down to help her off the floor.
"I'll see you soon, then," she said with a smile, suddenly loath to
part with his company. He was so wonderfully male
She performed her ablutions quickly, so he was still tinkling the
keys contentedly, working through a complicated Bach piece, when
she came out in her wrapper and returned to the kitchen, where she
began to tidy away some of the remnants from their impromptu feast.
She brought the wine and champagne and brandy into the drawing
room and banked up the fire. She carried in the blankets and spread
them down on the floor.
She extinguished all the lights in the kitchen, and checked the
bathroom, hanging up his clothes so they would not be hopelessly
wrinkled in the morning.
A short time later she sought him out by the piano.
"You play very well."
"Will you play for me?"
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"I can't. Ash learned. I didn't have a chance to growing up."

"Oh, I see."
"Sorry."
"No, that's all right. It makes me realize how lucky I was to have
doting parents. And how good you are to your son. What was his
father like?"
She smiled fondly at the memory. "A good man. They adored each
other."
"How old were you when you married?"
"Fourteen."
He nearly jumped with shock. "Very young."
She shrugged. "It's not uncommon in India to marry even
younger."
"And your husband. How old was he?"
"About forty."
Martin stared. "Good God."
"It's not so bad. At least he was a good, mature and sensible man."
She stood up from the chair. "But you're supposed to be having fun.
So what would you like to do next?"
He thought for a moment. "Go in the drawing room, read poetry
together, and play cards."
"Then we shall."
After a time, the second bottle of champagne was empty, and he
looked at her and said, "You know, I can't recall the last time I just did
what I felt like without having to account to anyone. At home or my
uncle's, we have a routine, we do the same things day in and day out."
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"How do you spend your time these days?"

"I look after my business interests and spend the rest of the day at a
loose end."
"Business?"
"Check my stocks, shares, consols. Do my paperwork. Read, ride."
"Pay calls?"
He nodded and sighed. "My family try to drag me. But I have such
a big family, it's a privilege to have the house to myself sometimes."
"And your own family one day? Would you like to have children?"
He considered the queston carefully. In the end he shrugged. "I
would have said yes once. Now I think the world is a pretty ugly place
to bring them up in. I do like them, though. And your Ash is a
remarkable young chap. Very bright. And the Rakehells' children,
when I get to see them."
"Should we open the last bottle of champers?"
He shook his head. "No. We'll save it for another time. We still
have the wine and brandy, and I've noticed you're not drinking very
much yourself."
"It's not my night for pleasure, it's yours. And I still have to
meditate. It gets in the way a bit."
"Don't let me stop you."
"Will you do it with me?"
He gave a slightly tipsy grin. "I have no idea where my stone is."
"We can use the champagne bottle then."
She put it between them and he tried to focus his attention upon it.
But his mind kept straying to the woman at his side, the rise and fall
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of her breasts, her voluptuous curves under the wrapper, the fact that
she had seen him bare under the dressing gown for some time and
never said a word.
She was a most unusual woman. Or was it just that she was
treating him with the same indulgence that she did her strapping
teenage son?
But he was closer to her age than to Ash's. She had said she found
him beautiful.... And this despite him having told her the truth about
his marriage.
The truth? It was such a fluid concept. Eswara was right about one
thing, though. Often he had no idea who he was any longer. Ever
since the night he had faced death....
He waited for the familiar choking sensation to crush him, but
surprisingly it didn't come. But then he had consumed a lot of alcohol.
That usually helped, though the hangover the next morning was
pretty rough. He only hoped he was not going to end up sleepless all
night, or like a raving lunatic in the throes of a nightmare the way he
had the last time he had stayed in the house.
Martin felt a creep of unease run through him. He was sorry now
that he had agreed to stay. Oh, the food and wine had been fun, but the
shame of having told her the truth, and worse still, to show her just
what a pathetic person he was, spineless and weak, was not something
he was looking forward to. Except that he recalled all too well what
her body felt like next to his in her lovely thin wrapper.
"Are you still thinking about the bottle?" she asked softly.
"No," he said, blushing. "But I did manage to think about the night
I was attacked without choking."
"That's a good sign. By the way, any time you'd like to head up to
any of the rooms you want, you have only to say."
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"Any room?" he asked softly.

"Yes."
"And what if I were to ask you to share one of those rooms with
me?" he asked with a bold silvered look.
She met his gaze levelly. "We're sharing a room now, are we not?"
"I think you know what I mean," he murmured.
She shook her head. "I would be very flattered, of course. Thank
you kindly. You certainly know how to be gallant to an old woman
like me. But as your friend I have to say that that isn't what you need
right now."
"Then I would say you didn't get as good a look at me under this
dressing gown as I thought," he muttered.
"Oh, I did." She grinned. "But you're not ready. You don't know
enough about yourself to know what you want, let alone make anyone
else happy. Sexual relations aren't just a one-sided thing, taking
without giving. Not that you always have to give. The whole point of
this exercise has been to know what gives you pleasure. From simple
little things, up to the big sexual questions. It's not a question we stop
to ask very often when we get so busy, absorbed with material cares.
Now that you know some of it, you need to keep working on your
self-exploration. You need to heal. Like I said, you should talk to
Ash."
"Not you?"
She shook her head. "No. I'm not a man, for one thing. I know I am
a healer. I understand a great deal about male anatomy and how it
works. But can't really grasp completely your needs or the mechanics
in the sexual sense as well as another man could."
"And the other reason?" he asked gently, staring at her lips as
though he were about to devour them.
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She shrugged. "I have so many more things to teach you, that any
clouding of my role of teacher or mentor would be a bad thing. I don't
want anything to, well, spark between us though some misguided
sense of gratitude."
"Not that I'm not grateful, Eswara, but the last thing I think of
when I look at you is gratitude."
She smiled. "And would you like to know what I see when I look
at you?"
He licked his lips. "Yes," he breathed.
"Then let's go up to the bedroom and find out."
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Chapter Twenty
Martin was tempted to ask Eswara to use her bedroom, but he was
afraid of overstepping the few bounds of Regency propriety he had
not already trampled right over.
She could sense his hesitancy, however, and reminded him, "Any
room. Besides, mine has a full-length mirror, so this will be easier
there."
He followed her timidly up the stairs, both terrified and exhilarated
by what was about to happen. He had no idea precisely what it would
be, but just being with Eswara was so thrilling....
He was curious to see her room in more detail, and in the glow of
the multiplicity of candles she now lit, it did not fail to impress.
It was decorated in lush gold and olive green with red accents, with
rich fabrics and textures, cushions, and a magnificent four-poster bed
draped with silk hangings and a matching spread.
She lit a few more candles and he could see a silk scarf on the
dresser, a crocheted blanket. Sensual but comforting, he decided, his
heart calming somewhat as he looked around.
"Make yourself comfortable on the bed so you can see yourself in
the mirror, and do whatever you want with the robe. Part it one way or
the other, top or bottom, whatever you're comfortable with, or just
take it off altogether. Anything that happens to you in this room
tonight is your choice."
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Martin hesitated again. But in the end decided there was no point
in being coy. She had already seen him in various stages ot undress,
after all. And he wanted to be naked, something he rarely indulged in,
except when he was exchanging one set of clothes for another, or
bathing.
So he stripped the robe off entirely, and resisting the instinct to cup
his hands to hide himself from her warm golden gaze, he laid full
length on the bed against the pillows.
Eswara sat in a chair nearby, swallowed hard at the sight of the
utterly spectacular aroused male in front of her, and told him to breath
deeply a few times.
"Are you just going to sit there? Clothed?" he asked in surprise.
"We're concentrating on you, your pleasure, Martin. So watch
yourself in the mirror, try to see what I see. You can touch yourself
too, though do try not to for the first few minutes at any rate, so you
can concentrate."
He blushed, but she ignored it and began. "I love when you blush.
It's an unusual trait for a man. Your eyes are so unusual too. Like
molten silver one minute, mercury the next. They darken and move
when you become gripped by some powerful emotion.
"I can tell you haven't slept for some time, for there are dark circles
under your eyes. I know you're haunted by your nightmares. I just
don't know if you keep reliving the same scene over and over again, or
if you're having other disturbing dreams."
"No, it's always the same one," he said with a shudder.
"I see lovely black hair with tiny flecks of red, and ivory skin. I see
the fine bones of your face, but you're still far too thin for a man your
size. I see the tension in you, like a coiled spring. Apart from this
evening, when was the last time you smiled, or laughed with anything
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other than bitterness?"

"It's been a long time," he admitted.
"I see a wonderfully elegant pair of cheekbones, and dimples when
you do smile. Can you manage one now? Think of something really
fun you did when you were a child."
"Sledging down the hill in the snow," he said after a time.
"Why was it fun? Describe it for me."
So he talked about his memories, describing his home and siblings,
and the fun they would have every winter. Soon he was actually
smiling even more broadly than he had done down in the kitchen.
"There, you see how handsome you are when you smile, Martin.
You light up the room when you look like that. You ought to make the
most of your youthful and boyish good looks. They're still there under
the frowns. The girls must have adored you as a young man.
"Smiling also releases tension. If you sit up in the bed and move
your shoulders back and forth a bit like this, it ought to loosen up a lot
of your body, let the energy flow instead of being sited in one area
and causing you pain."
He did as she demonstrated. "And where do you see pain?" he
asked.
"All over. But we can work on one part at a time. They're called
chakras."
"Is there one for the loins?" he asked quietly.
"Indeed, yes. But as out of balance as that one is, the higher mental
one is worse. You've been in a very dark place."
He nodded. "I still am."
She smiled warmly. "I don't think so at the minute. Now you're
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sitting in candlelight with me, completely bare and open to my gaze.

Why would you want to put on your clothes and go back into hiding if
you didn't have to?"
He looked surprised by the question. "Because that's what society
expects me to do," he answered at last.
"Fine, but the truth does actually set you free sometimes. In any
case, Martin, you don't need to worry about that here. You're free to
be and do whatever you like without fear of judgment or censure. Do
you want to put your clothes on and leave?"
"No, not at all," he said firmly, almost worried at the prospect.
She gave him a reassuring nod. "Good. So what do you want?"
"To visit you, stay with you, you and your son, if you would be so
kind as to let me, so that you can work with me. To unblock things, I
think you said." His eyes sparkled at the prospect of at last being free
from the past, of having joy for the first time in so long, a joy even
greater than the freedom she had bestowed upon him already.
"But I would be a liar if I didn't say now that I would also love you
to touch me, Eswara, kiss me at the very least."
Her dark gaze mingled with his. "Kiss you where?"
He blinked. "On the mouth, of course."
"Why of course?" she asked.
He shrugged.
She smiled. "There are hundreds of places to kiss a person, dear
boy. And to touch. So you need to be a bit more specific."
"All right. I'd like you to kiss me on the lips, and touch my face."
"I think we might be able to manage that. But I need to finish the
rest of your body, and then we'll see where you are."
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"Where I am?" he asked in confusion. "I'm right here. And far too
comfortable to go anywhere," he said stretching on the mattress as
lazily as a cat.
The sight of his huge bare form in the bed so naturally virile and
unconscious of his amazing power cut off her air for a moment with
the force of a body blow. She had known what way her thoughts were
tending, but she had viewed him as she would a masterpiece:
wonderful to look at, but scarcely available for her to touch, let alone
possess.
Now there he was asking for her touch. Possession would be all
too easy if the touch were the right one.
But Eswara knew she was right; he wasn't ready. If they were to
make love, all of his guilt and unpleasant associations with his
sexuality might well propel him into an even worse state of mind than
he had been in before.
"That's good. So long as you're comfortable."
He patted the bed and gave a boyish smile. "It's a lovely bed. Why
not come try it?"
She gave him a wicked grin back. "Because if I'm there with you, I
might get distracted, and won't have a completely unimpeded view of
your splendid attributes. They are, you know. Your broad shoulders,
the rippling muscles of your arms, so huge both my little hands
wouldn't fit around them.
"Your hands. Like something from a classical sculpture. So lean
and hard. Your wonderful fingers, possessing strength and gentleness.
You should feel them the way I have. Feel your huge palms, so
enormous you could cradle each of the babies you helped deliver into
one of them. Or a whole litter of tiny kittens. Or of puppies. You have
some hard parts to your hands, but that just makes them even more
alluring."
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She smiled as he closed his eyes and began to explore his hands as
she had suggested, and the mention of puppies and kittens made him
smile as well.
She could sense he feared his own strength, though in her
experience large men were generally gentle. The small men she had
met had tended to be that in both body and spirit, little bantam
roosters always out for a brawl.
"Feel the lovely little sensitive places at the base of the fingers, and
the thumb. That's right. Lovely, isn't it. Nice warm skin, good solid
flesh and bone, strong, reassuring, gentle. Stroke the backs of your
hands the way a lover would. Now harden the touch. See which kind
of touch you like best. Where it feels best. Left to right, right to the
left. Feel them both. Take your time."
"Is this part of your meditating?" he asked softly, his eyes still
closed.
"It can be. It's also part of the Tantra, discovering yourself so you
can share with others."
"It's nice," he admitted, swallowing hard.
"You get nothing but pleasure tonight, remember. Only happy
thoughts, the smooth glide of skin on skin. Now, since you're so
relaxed, would you like to touch your face, see what pleases you?
Forehead, brows, nose, cheeks," she directly slowly.
After his initial hesitancy he did as she suggested, and slowly felt
his face right down to his chin. "Now your scalp, the backs of your
ears, earlobes. Feel it all, alternate hard and soft touches. See what
pleases you. Then you're going to tell me."
He felt his face for a time longer, before asking, "Can you touch
me now?"
She moved the chair closer to him, noting the light gleam of
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perspiration on his ivory skin, his fierce arousal. But he wasn't ready,
that was for certain. All had to be relaxing, peaceful, pleasing, and
without guilt.
So she said, "Take my hand and show me how you like your face
to be touched. No, don't touch my face, yours."
Their warm fingers interlaced. She felt his heated brow as he
started at the top of his forehead and stroked her fingertips down
lightly with his own. But soon he left her to her own explorations, his
breath coming in wheezy gusts.
"Breathe deeply, naturally, in, out, in, out," she whispered. "You
can control this when you want to, your desires, or just let them flow.
Most people have no control. You can stop and pick up again without
a huge zenith."
"I don't think I can," he groaned.
She took his hand. "You can. I'll show you. Just relax."
Careful not to touch him herself, she stroked his hand upwards
over his massive erection. He gasped and bucked on the bed, his eyes
flying open.
But before he could go any further, she placed his index finger at
the base of his shaft and pressed hard, then cupped his hand around
his lower parts and pulled them away from his body.
Immediately he relaxed back onto the bed with a thud and groan.
"My Lord. How did you-"
"You did it. I never touched you. That's what I mean about
learning about yourself. You have the power, Martin."
"Show me again," he said, more intent on knowledge now that his
surging desire, still bubbling just below the surface, was no longer
consuming every sense and rational thought.
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She instructed him on a number of ways to control himself, but

cautioned at the end, "That is not to say it is going to work every time.
Or that there is anything wrong with climax. It's just that for the man
it is literally that, the end in most cases.
"Orgasm can be continuous, and multiple, a constant state of
singing awareness and delight for a man as well as a woman. Of
course, the climax can also have consequences depending on the
woman you are with, whether or not you want to prevent conception. I
can get Ash to take you through that part of it. All coupling has
consequences of one form or another though, which is why the Tantric
emphasis is upon worshipful sharing."
"Hah. No one in the Army mess ever talked about that, believe me.
Just about how insatiable women are."
She nodded. "I believe you. It's because we take longer to become
aroused, and are capable of the most wide variety and multiplicity of
pinnacles. Sad, isn't it, that men fear that. Rampant promiscuity just
depletes your energies and life force.
"All those Rakes in the Ton rogering everything in sight, or trying
to, or boasting that they have even when they haven't, is a waste of
precious energy. It's all sound and fury, and certainly not love. It
makes them an object, a tool, a weapon even. It reduces them to about
four inches of flesh as if nothing else is important. Or about ten inches
in your case," she said with a wink, causing him to blush again. "In
the Tantra though, it's the lingam, the wand of light. Not darkness,
Martin."
"The wand of light," he repeated, considering for a moment.
The desire was still fizzing through his entire body as if he were
awash with the champagne they had drunk. But he did not feel
disgust; rather, he was happily at ease and curiously without shame
considering what he had just done, or almost done in front of this
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lovely woman. What she had just shown him.

He became more and more aware of her body now, however, as he
caught a whiff of her warm perfume and saw that her face was
flushed, her eyes lambently moist.
"And you? What does the woman have?" he asked softly.
"The yoni, the sacred space to be worshipped. And Tantra is the
web or weave." She illustrated by lacing her fingers together. "The
way we all fit together both as people and within the universe as a
whole. It is not just raking around dipping in every well. It's
understanding that a truly satisfying relationship is a lifetime
commitment to making the other person happy.
"Or at least attempting to make that commitment. Often it doesn't
work out for reasons outside the couple. But the intent is there to give
and take, not just take selfishly and move on."
"Is there such a thing, do you think? I mean, did you have it with
your husband?" he asked, hoping he did not sound like a jealous fool.
She nodded. "We were happy enough, yes. I think the relationship
was more important to me than to him. A man can easily be distracted
from his home life and loving tenderness as a couple with worldly
cares, duty. His career in the Army came first, Ash second."
He stared at her and whispered, "I can't imagine anyone not
wanting to put someone as lovely as you first."
She shrugged and stood away from him before he touched her in a
more lover-like manner. "Social conditions tell us men have to
provide for their families, worry about business, inheritance. Men
compete with each other to be more successful. The ability to drive
and battle toward material success in a ruthless manner is seen as an
admirable trait. But there are very few men who get any praise for
being a good family man, an excellent loving husband.
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"If the male lover is valued in our society, he is some well-dressed

roue who collects women like hunting trophies. The secret isn't in
pleasing hundreds of women. The secret is in pleasing one woman a
hundred different ways."
His arousal was surging now so vastly he wasn't sure he was going
to be able to contain it. "Ah, Eswara, I'm-"
She grabbed his hand and guided it, until at last he stopped gritting
his teeth and fell back upon the pillows once more.
"No clenching your jaw, Martin. You need to relax, not struggle.
It's not bad, dirty. It's pleasure, pure and simple, like drinking
chocolate in the kitchen in front of the fire in a silk robe. Warm and
sensual, tender and fun."
He smiled at her then, and actually laughed long and throatily, his
head thrown back. "Hmm, now that you mention it, it is a bit like that,
when I don't, um, well, I guess the word is panic, struggle. I do love
chocolate."
"I think most people do. It lifts the mood like tea. Or coffee in the
mornings."
A warm rumble like a purr came from his chest. "Mmm. I wouldn't
mind a cup now."
"I can go make some, but as a general rule, it keeps people up at
night. So if that's one of the reasons you're not sleeping, you should
give up having it after dinner."
"You could be right. I will."
"I can give you some herbs for a tisane if you like, to make you
sleep, and to help with digestion. I suspect you often have a tummy
ache."
"Yes, I do," he said in surprise. "Not tonight though."
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"Good. All the tension in your belly isn't good for you. Relaxation
and balance is the key to a healthy body. Would you like that tea
now?"
"Yes, if it's not too much trouble, and doesn't taste like boiled
boots."
"No," she laughed. "It doesn't. Get under the covers or throw the
blanket over you to stay warm. I'll be back in a minute."
She returned shortly afterward with the hot tea and his clothes. She
noticed he had got under all the covers and was comfortably lying on
the pillows looking as peaceful as a small child, only his shoulders
bare. And looking very much as if he belonged in her bed. As if he
had always been there.
He opened his eyes when she approached, and sat up. He took the
cup and sipped.
"Very tasty. Not like boots at all."
"A good night's sleep will also do you a world of good. And there's
no hurry about getting up in the morning. If you want another bath,
you know where everything is."
"Won't we shock Nelly?"
Eswara shook her head. "She knows she has to be discreet about
patients."
His eyes shone with an odd light. "Is that what I am, then?"
"And a friend."
"Just how many other patients have you done this for?" he asked
with a sweep of his hand, trying to quash his unreasonable jealousy.
She looked directly into his eyes, sensing his thoughts. "None. I
don't usually work with men in this way. I specialize in women's
medicine."
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"You could have fooled me."

"My dear, you sound almost jealous. Like a lover. But may I
remind you that we're friends. We don't have the sort of relationship
that allows for jealousy. Nor is it possible for us to."
"Why not?" he demanded.
She shook her head. "Because I'm your healer and your friend, not
your mistress or wife. I'm far too old, and there would be no future in
it. We come from two different worlds, hemispheres."
"Old?" he snorted. "You're easily the most beautiful woman I've
ever laid eyes on."
"Thank you. But you need someone your own age-"
"I don't need anyone now," he said quietly.
Eswara could see his face closing up again as it had before. "No,
not now. True. But one day. In the meantime you have to promise me
you'll continue your explorations of your inner being and self so that
when it does happen you'll be ready. After all, I stopped at your waist.
There is so much more fun to be had."
She gave him a long look, causing his manhood to surge against
the sheets. "Just wait until you get to your feet. Toes can be wonderful
things." She winked, and thus managed to coax another grudging
smile from him. "More tea?"
"No, I think I can sleep now, if you'll do one more thing for me."
"If I can."
"Stroke my face until I fall asleep? And a kiss goodnight, and one
from me thanking you for everything you've done wouldn't be too
terrible, would it? Between friends, right?"
"No, not at all. You first."
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Martin pecked her on the cheek shyly, blushing.

Eswara debated with herself the wisdom of what she was about to
do. She could just peck him back and have done with it.
But this evening had been all about his pleasure. So she bent her
head and put her lips to his. Summoning up all her imagination, and
well-aware of the magnificent body right underneath the covers, so
close yet so far, she kissed him ardently.
She held off his hands lightly when he would have encircled her to
crush her to his chest. She teased him with her lips and tongue, tracing
the shape of his lips with hers, and then with her pointy pink tip.
He groaned as the kiss deepened and she explored his mouth
thoroughly. She could feel his body vibrating underneath the sheets.
She put his hands down on his abdomen on top of the sheets. He
would have to decide for himself what he wanted to do. She lifted her
mouth slightly to nibble his full bottom lip, and sucked it into her own
mouth.
His breath came in heavy rasps and she had to admit her own was
none too steady. For kissing him was like nothing she had ever
experienced, like a hurricane rushing through the room to tug at her
clothes, and blow all of her defenses down flat.
But he was a wounded soul. To travel any further down the path of
his own sensuality with him was far too risky for her and him. She
had not been lying to him; she was sure they had no future.
Eswara knew what she was to Martin, indeed to most Englishmen.
She was something exotic to be controlled, to be sublimated, yet never
really included as part of their world. She was apart, different. It was
hard enough for her; even harder for Ash, she thought, though he had
been in England ever since he was nine. She was a symbol of the
exotic east, something ripe for colonial exploitation, not partnership
and mutual respect. A bibbi, a prostitute.
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She had not spent that much time at the brothel in the end, for her
husband had come to rescue her after he had discovered her mother's
brother had sold her as a virgin to be availed of by the highest bidder.
She had been saved just in time, but all of the other women there
had not been so lucky. There had been no loving Tantric practices
there, just the despoiling stroke and payment, then on to the next
woman.
She had been a good, respectable and devoted wife to her husband,
and never behaved in a less than circumspect manner. Even taking
care with her comportment, she had had enough offers even from her
own husband's supposed friends over the years to know that this man
would be no different in the end. Or even if he were, his friends and
family would not be.
No, it would be the most fatal error in the world to let her growing
love for Martin ever show. To let her desire peep out to colour their
relationship, change it irreparably.
She lifted her lips at this thought and rose before he could hold her
back.
"Oh my," he said shakily. "That was, well, that was a kiss. Nothing
else I've ever had before is worthy of the name."
She smiled and rose. "Good night."
"No, wait," he said almost desperately.
She turned back, but said, "You need to sleep."
"I know. I just feel afraid all of a sudden, like this is all going to
vanish. Like it's been a dream."
She smiled and shook her head. "It won't vanish if you carry it
inside of you, the capacity for joy. When you're feeling gloomy you
can remember this night, the cocoa by the fire, for example. Or you
can massage your hands the way I've taught you to release the tension
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and give pleasure. As I have told you, I've given you the knowledge.
Only you can practice."
"But I'm weak."
"We all are. But we can get stronger."
"Will you just sit with me until I fall asleep. Hold my hand?" he
asked softly.
"Gladly." She moved over to sit on the other side of the bed. She
took his hand in one whilst stroking back his hair with the other.
He smiled again, all of his tension released in an instant. The
warmth rolled off him in waves, almost searing her own skin.
She knew he had also allowed himself a complete release, and
remarkably had not seemed to worry about it all. She was glad for
him. He was so seething and roiling underneath she wondered how he
was able to appear so calm on the outside.
But then, he was so gloomily forbidding-looking that most people
wouldn't come close enough to him to even suspect all the anger and
turmoil beneath the grim exterior. The guilt and blame.
She twitched the covers slightly to the left to ensure she moved the
damp ones away from his body, and pulled them up to his neck. Now
he looked almost untroubled by a care in the world. Only the livid red
mark of the hempen rope marred his perfection, reminding her of his
tragedy.
She smiled softly and gave his cheek one last kiss as she left the
bed and went to her son's room.
She had longed to stay. Just put her head down on the pillow next
to his, breathe in his wonderful scent, revel in his warmth soft skin,
the ripple of his steel under velvet.
She settled under the covers and sighed. Eswara reminded herself
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that however much she longed to curl up in the bed beside Martin, she
knew that to even sleep with him one whole night would change her
life forever.
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Chapter Twenty-one
The following morning Martin greeted Eswara shyly. She gave
him a bright smile as he entered the dining room. "Did you sleep
well?"
"Like a baby," he admitted. "Thank you for-"
She shook her head. "No need. I'll never mention any of what we
discussed again. We will never speak of it if you don't wish to."
"And what if I wish to have another picnic some time?" he asked
with a cautious smile.
She gave a pert toss of her head. "Then I need to go shopping for
more champagne."
"Speaking of which, the Duke's ball is in three nights. You did say
you two would be my guests."
"That's very kind of you. We shall look forward to it. We'll need to
pick up Ash from Brimley, though."
He nodded. "That's fine. Would the two of you like to stay the
night?"
"Oh, no, I wouldn't like to put anyone to any trouble."
"In that case you shall go as part of our party. My parents and my
cousins."
She stared at him, stunned. "Oh, but-"
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"I insist. I want them all to meet you, become friends."

"That's very kind."
"No more than you deserve. I'm not going to thank you again
because I know how much it embarrasses you, but I really do feel so
much better. I was ashamed of the way I acted that night at Mrs.
Marchant's house, and with that poor girl.
"I didn't come again because I thought you would hate and despise
me. But then I considered my whole plight and knew that you of all
people deserved the truth. I just needed to work up the courage to tell
you. So now that we have that out of the way, can I make two
requests?"
"Yes," she said, steeling herself in case he was about to ask for
more of the rather intimate contact they had shared the previous
evening.
"The first is, next time you make bread, can I help? The second is,
well, I know I was a bit of a disaster at the Marchants' house, but if
you could perhaps teach me about herbs, I would like to help make up
your medicines, poultices and so on. I would like to be more useful
around the district."
Her heart lifted at his offer. He truly was coming out of his shell at
last. "You were very useful. Just a bit shocked. You were superb with
those newborns. I was very proud of you. So the answer is yes to both.
In fact, I was just going to put the dough up to rise now. If you would
care to stay, we can do that first, and afterwards head into the
dispensary."
"Yes, I would love it. Let's eat, and get started."
Though he never touched her in a suggestive way, she felt
completely atingle with his presence as they worked side by side
companionably. Their hands met, elbows touched, and they brushed
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against each other in the confines of the kitchen and dispensary.

Eswara was growing so comfortable in his presence she could
hardly recall a time that he was not with her.
Yet she was also so fiercely aroused she had all to do not to tug his
lips down to hers. Their one kiss last night had been incredible. In
fact, she shared his opinion. It had been so moving, she was sure she
had never been kissed before.
When she had finished renewing her supplies in her medical bag
and on the shelf, he said, "I rather fancy a bit of fresh air. I'm going to
go play with your woodpile."
"Be careful, and wrap up. The wind is rising."
"I will. Back soon." He gave her a cheery wave.
When he returned from chopping wood he tended to all of the fires
in the house. Soon they were ensconced in front of the drawing room
fire. She knew a moment's unease as he sat down on the sofa next to
her.
"Would you mind awfully if, well, I put my head in your lap while
you knitted? And you could stroke my hair occasionally. I think I can
sleep again if you do."
"All right."
She stiffened slightly when he laid down his huge form on his left
shoulder, put his right hand around her back, and turned his head into
the curve of her belly, but almost as soon as his head touched the skirt
of her gown he was asleep.
They were not disturbed by any patients, so that it was only at
supper that he blinked and rose again at last.
His hands stroked down her back briefly before he sat up and
moved away. It was unusual, but there was nothing lover-like there,
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she told herself.

Or tried to, for she had been incredibly moved looking at his
wonderful face, so boyish and handsome when he was asleep. It was
so tempting to offer to give him another sort of oblivion.
She thrust the thought from her violently. She couldn't. They had
no future, and he trusted her. Friends didn't take advantage of each
other's vulnerability.
"Hungry?"
"Mmm. Could we have some more chutney, and is there any of
that pie left?"
"Anything you like."
At the rate he had begun to eat in the past few times he had visited,
she hoped to have him filling out in no time. Not that his body wasn't
magnificent, but his leanness had been too readily apparent, as Ash's
had been when he had been so unwell. A healthy body often went a
long way toward a healthy mind and spirit, she knew.
His spirits could almost have been called high as he sat at the table
in the dining room whilst Nelly, who had arrived at noon, served them
a fine roast and some claret. He spoke of the ball and touring the
Castle, and gave her a brief description of each of his family.
"I'm sure you've heard all about Ellen. She was engaged to Adam
Neville, who ended up shooting himself with his own musket. There's
more to that story than anyone ever said, for Blake and his wife
Arabella act odd every time he's ever mentioned. But I don't like to
pry, I just feel sorry for Ellen being so retired from the world now.
"My other cousin Georgina was engaged to Adam's brother Oliver.
He went to serve at Waterloo with Blake, and never returned. Their
engagement was broken off, and she's been in a state ever since, poor
pet. She has no idea why he ended it. He scarcely said goodbye, and is
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now in London nursing the wounded at one of the Army hospitals. In

his spare time he's studying to be a surgeon.
"Uncle Timberlake you know of, but we shall avoid him. And
Samuel you've met. I'm sure he and Ash will be good friends too upon
further acquaintance. It's just, well, it might be best not to mention I've
been here so often. I mean, I, well, I'm reluctant to share all the special
things we do here, the three of us."
Her cheeks flamed, but she nodded. "I understand. It's very nice
when it's just the two or three of us. Adding more people can be a
problem sometimes. But you've been seen by my side working with
me. People are going to wonder how it is you've become involved in
doctoring. Blake is your cousin. Perhaps we ought to go over and see
him? Explain?"
"All right," he agreed, but she could see his reluctance.
"Not now. Tomorrow. On your way home if you're heading back."
"Oh, um, yes, I have taken up an awful lot of your time."
"Not at all. It's just you do have family, and business. Everything
in balance, remember?"
He sighed heavily. "I know you're right. It's just been such a long
time since I've felt any, well, lightness of heart. Do you mind if I stay
tonight, just one more night, and we, well, talk about my toes?" He
smiled shyly.
She nearly flung herself into his arms for an impassioned kiss.
Instead she contented herself with a light stroke of his cheek. "If you
like."
Their supper finished and their baths complete, they went up to her
bedroom and he laid on her bed in front of the mirror as he had done
before.
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She could feel her arousal rocket as he stripped off the dressing
gown as if it were the most natural thing in the world to appear in
front of her bare. His own arousal was fiercely apparent, and her eyes
glowed. He happily began to explore his toes, before she put her
hands upon him and gave him a massage with some lotion laced with
peppermint.
"Such hard feet, like you never pay attention to them. Look at
these nails. Oh, and these lovely little bits between the toes."
"Oh, no, I'm-"
"Not oh no, oh yes, if you like. Stop struggling and allow yourself
to enjoy."
She quickly gave him a small towel she had brought up with her
for just such an eventuality. He managed to get himself under control,
however, but kept it near.
By now his eyes were glowing darkly, and as he lay on the bed she
thought of the powerful warriors in the local churches rendered in
effigy upon the tombs. He was every bit as huge and proud, and as
perfectly carved.
She moved up to his ankles, and took some almond hand cream
from off her dresser and began to use that instead of the peppermint.
"The peppermint helps ward of chillblains and keeps everything
fresh, sweet and cool. I'll give you some of these creams to take away
with you," she offered. "You need to take much better care of
yourself. Set aside more time during the day to be what we call
mindful. Think about yourself, your body. You've been ill a long time.
Now you need to think about yourself as a well person, with needs
like everyone else. Needs that have to be satisfied one way or the
other. If you aren't at ease in your own body, all the tension builds and
makes it worse and worse. Sore back, stomach, head..."
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"Yes, all of it. Will you make me more of that tea?"

"Surely."
"And I'm just about out of the sleeping draught."
"You were using it? Did it help?"
He nodded. "It did. I managed to get some sleep since I last saw
you, though it's been pretty hard. I thought you were going to hate me"
She continued massaging him without missing a stroke. "First of
all, hate is a very strong emotion. I would like to think I would never
hate anyone. Strong aversion, perhaps. You don't disgust me at all. I
think you know that. Secondly, it isn't for me to judge you. You
haven't hurt me, Martin. You haven't hurt anyone except yourself.
"I pity you your terrible turmoil, but the only person you've
wounded is yourself. Your wife is gone. Her killers are gone. It really
is over if you will let it be. Especially now that you've finally admitted
the truth. Would you consider telling your family-"
"No!" He laid back on the pillows. "Not yet, anyway. Maybe one
day. Just not now."
"Yes, I don't think you're ready. You will only upset them blaming
yourself so bitterly. I'm sure they will say the same to you as I did.
But there's no sense in alarming them," she said as she rubbed
upwards along his right calf.
When she had reached the knee, she changed legs, and started on
his left ankle.
He closed his eyes and sighed.
"Back to the pleasure state? I'm sorry if I upset you."
"No, I was the one who brought it up. You're right. I'm just not
ready."
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"It's fine. Remember, no one will make you do anything you don't
want."
He gave a ragged sigh. "Right now, to tell you the truth, there's
only one thing I really want."
"Oh?" she said, keeping her voice neutral.
"Well, two things. Some of your tea, and one of your kisses."
She smiled. "I shall be right back."
While he sipped the tea, she resumed working on his feet, until he
was in such a fever pitch of excitement she stopped with one hand to
fling the towel over his surging loins.
He clamped it down over himself and begged, "Please kiss me
now?"
She sat on the bed and put her hands to his face, and kissed him
even more passionately than she had done the night before.
He clung onto her weakly, the fingers of one hand laced in her
raven hair as he juddered for a time and at last lay still.
His face was hard with passion, but relieved too, more open. He
had not struggled, and his kiss now gentled into a slow, sensual glide
which had her bones melting.
"Thank you," he whispered. "You make me feel, well, so alive."
"I understand. But you must know we can never-"
He kissed her softly again. "I know," he said with a resigned sigh.
"This is already far too much for me to have-"
"With me, yes, but with another-"
He shook his head and sighed, already tensing. "No, never."
"You've already shown how badly you need-"
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"No. I can't. I won't."

He looked so like a small boy stamping his foot, or putting on a
show of aggression because he was afraid, that she could not help but
smile.
"Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much."
He scowled, but she could see the corner of his mouth lift slightly.
"Not much of a gentleman," he said, swabbing himself with the towel.
"Especially not last night. I must have made-"
"Don't even think about it. Besides, I'm a healer and teacher. I can
hardly blame you if you put my teachings into practice. Now, we're
going to go see Blake tomorrow, and explain you want to learn more
about medicine, being an apothecary. That's if you're really interested.
He has a friend over in Bristol who could teach you."
"You can too. Can't you?"
"Yes, of course, though my methods tend to be more of the natural
herbal variety. It is always good to have more than one treatment
available."
"And what is to be my course of treatment for what ails me?" he
asked quietly, his gaze meeting hers.
"I think you need to do more work with yourself. And as I have
said, I will help you as far as it's possible for a friend to-"
"Friend. Such a cold little word," he sighed.
She shook her head. "It's been my experience that my friends have
done more for me than family ever did. Or husband even, at times.
You'd have to admit that was true of your wife, would you not?"
He snorted sourly. "Oh, for certain. She was no friend to me."
"Then don't dismiss being my friend so lightly." She stood up to
go. "I don't have that many close ones whom I would be willing to
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give-"
"I'm sorry. Please, I didn't mean- Please don't go."
"It's late, and you're already falling asleep."
"Can't you stay, come here?" He had been moving under the covers
and now patted a spot next to him.
She did not point out that this completely contracted everything he
had said about not wanting any woman in his life. His struggle to
grasp her concept of friend rather than his own based upon his
obvious desires also belied his stance.
Oh, one day he would be ready for another woman. How she
envied that lucky girl. Envied and feared for her. For Martin was not a
whole person. Even all of the work on himself on the world would
probably never entirely remove the taint of what had happened to him.
If the woman didn't love him as she did"I have to go," she said, her cheeks flaming.
"Please don't be angry."
"I'm not. I'm sleepy," she lied. "You had a nap today, remember?"
"Oh, yes, sorry. Good night." He lapsed back onto the pillows with
a sigh.
She stepped back to the bed and kissed him on the cheek. She
stroked his lids with her thumbs for a brief second. "Good night, lad."
He growled playfully in the back of the throat. "Don't do that."
"What, touch you, kiss you?" she said with a grin.
"Call me lad. Not unless you want to see just how much of a man I
am."
She rose and made her way to the door before rejoining, "Oh, I've
seen it all right. You're as much of an exhibitionist as my son.
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Impressive. Thank you for sharing. Better than going to any museum."
He blushed, and she waved goodnight, reminding herself as she did
so that she could never ever take him up on his tempting offer.
At the same time, though, as she got into the huge empty bed in
Ash's room, she wondered where on earth they were going with their
relationship.
He had not pressed to be her lover, but the things they had shared,
that she had encouraged him to explore, went far beyond the bounds
of propriety.
But a relationship? Becoming his lover? She hadn't touched him in
any inappropriate way, but to continue on...
She sighed, and decided to let things unfold in whatever direction
they would. She loved him, wanted him happy. If he made his own
desires obvious, touched her, she was not going to walk away,
however much prudence dictated that she should actually flee as fast
as she could. She loved him...
Being his lover, having him do and say the most tender things to
her, well surely it could be heaven on earth. She just to had be patient.
They had all the time in the world. He would see he needed her,
cared for her, and all might be well....
It was a risk, she knew, but it would be worth it for the paradise of
sharing with a man she loved, and desired too.
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Chapter Twenty-two
But the love Eswara felt growing between she and Martin was
shredded to pieces within a few short days, on the night of the ball she
had looked forward to with such high hopes, no less.
With hindsight, Eswara told herself she ought to have known that
reality would intrude. That all of her reasons for them not being
together were valid ones. That she had been a fool to ever allow
herself to let Martin so far into her life, into a relationship so intimate
that he couldn't understand or trust it given his past.
Martin awakened the following morning, tugged on his clothes,
and came down to breakfast in the dining room looking well-rested
and refreshed.
He kissed her warmly on the cheek, his eyes glowing with that
mercurial spark she had come to love so well. As they ate breakfast,
Eswara indulged herself in the fantasy that they were married, living
there together.
She served him, and allowed her affection free rein, touching his
sleeve, his shoulder, and giving him a peck on the cheek as she rose to
bring the dishes into the kitchen.
"Here, let me help you," he had said, jumping to his feet to help
clear the rest of the table.
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Since it was such a bright fine morning, they walked over to

Blake's. When she took his hand, he beamed down at her and put it
into the crook of his arm with a proprietary air.
Once they had explained their errand, the tall handsome ravenhaired doctor was happy to help, and offered to take Martin to Bristol
at once.
"Oh, um, but-" He looked to Eswara.
She smiled encouragingly. "I'll see you when you get back. Blake,
leave a note for your patients to come see me."
"We'll be back tomorrow," Martin said softly, already missing
Eswara.
"Are you going to Thomas' ball?" Eswara asked the doctor.
"Yes, we are. But not staying the night. Are you?"
"Yes."
"We can go together then."
"Oh, but I-" Martin said, then lapsed into silence with a blush.
She smiled at him gently. "We'll go with Blake and meet you there.
There's no sense in taking you and your whole family out of your way.
So long as Blake doesn't mind picking up Ash in Brimley, that is."
"Delighted."
"Well, have fun you two." She headed back down the path with a
wave.
Martin watched her go with genuine regret.
Blake observed the young man closely. So that was the way of it.
He was surprised they even knew each other, but a few careful
questions in a casual manner told him pretty much all he needed to
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know.
On the whole, he was rather inclined to approve. Oh, he could see
the obstacles--the slight age difference, her being non-English,
Martin's tragic past.
But if the poor chap was finally ready to climb out of his slough of
despond after all that had happened to him four years ago, he couldn't
think of a warmer, more deserving woman. One who would be able to
lighten the darkness that clung to his handsome cousin like a miasma.
As Blake spent more time with Martin in the carriage, he saw how
much his heavy heart had lifted.
If Eswara could have wrought such a vast transformation in only a
few weeks, that Martin would be willing to attend such a prominent
social event as the Duke of Ellesmere's ball, he had to be well on the
road to recovery. Far be it from Blake to discourage him in his quest
for a new career, or his attempts to win one of the finest women in the
district, for all she was foreign.
Mr. Samuels in Bristol welcomed the grim young man, and over
tea got to know him and his reasons for wishing to undertake the
course of study he had requested.
On the whole he was inclined to believe he was in earnest, but he
could see there were other reasons. A woman? His own health, which
had evidently been quite poor?
But was he a danger to himself? That was the question. Having
access to all sorts of potent medicaments could prove too great a
temptation to someone who was moody or unstable.
So in the end he said, "I'll be glad to take you on, but after Easter. I
have an apprentice at present, you see. You would need to live in or
nearby, and I simply have not got room at the moment. It's a bit too
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far to go back and forth every day to Barton. But if you work with
Blake's assistant Eswara, she can start you off on the basics, and there
will be much reading to do. I hope your Latin is good?"
"Yes, it is," he said without any false modesty, for it was one
subject he had loved at school.
"Good. By the time you come to me at Easter you will be ready for
the advanced studies. Blake, you won't mind taking him through
diagnosing, that sort of thing?"
"I think between us that Eswara and I can give him a good variety
of patients to see, and medicines to blend."
They stayed for dinner in order to go over his first month's worth
of reading. After the simple meal they headed to the inn across the
square to bed down for the night. Blake requested two rooms before
Martin had time to say a word, and thus he was able to have a
chamber to himself.
It was just as well, for his head was in such a whirl over everything
he had discussed with Mr. Samuels and Blake, and the books that the
apothecary had loaned him, that he wondered if he would even be able
to sleep.
He looked around the room. It was small and snug, quite
comfortable and clean. It was perfectly fine, but it seemed so empty
without Eswara there.
He rose from the bed and patted his jacket pocket. She had given
him a small jar of foot cream and one of hand cream. He summoned a
servant and requested a bath. After a good long soak he began to
meditate, sitting in the center of his bed staring at his stone. He was
getting better, he was sure of it. Twenty, yes, it had to be twenty
thoughts, he told himself proudly.
When he had finished he began to rub his feet and ankles, and
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moved on to his hands. He was sorry he had not got any more of the
sleeping draught or the tea, for he was sure he was too excited to
sleep.
But the dawn chorus told him he had not only slumbered, he had
actually been out for hours. Blake was already banging on the door
trying to rouse him.
"Are you all right in there?"
Martin stretched his naked body under the sheet. "Mmm, fine,
thanks. Good bed here."
"I need to shop for a present for my wife. I'll be back soon and then
we'll go."
"All right. Take your time," he called back.
Once his cousin had left, though, he was sorry he had not gone
with him to buy a present for Eswara. She had given him so much...
But no, she would feel awkward. It was something far too loverlike to even contemplate. They were friends... He couldn't possiblyBut the more he tried to talk himself out of it, the more he began to
think that perhaps it was not such a ludicrous idea after all. She liked
him. They had shared all sorts of intimate things. He knew he had
sworn he would never marry again. But perhaps a marriage of
convenience, in which they could share all sorts of things withoutThen eventually with? When he had healed fully the way she had
said? In body, mind and spirit?
His loins surging almost out of control under the sheet told him
that his idea of a marriage of convenience was laughable. The truth
was he wanted her. He had desired her on a visceral level ever since
he had seen her face, met her clad only in a loose wrapper, barefoot.
He wondered now if all the things she had done to him she would let
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him do to her. Her face, her feet...

He teetered on the brink of release and went over it as he thought
of her own loins. Wondered if he could arouse her with just a look or
word as she had done him. It was all very shadowy and unclear-he had
learned something of women from pictures, and most recently from
helping her. But to touch her? It was almost unthinkable.
The passion was truly thrilling, he was sure. But the consequences
gave him pause. Pregnancy? Complications like miscarriages....
He shuddered slightly and got up to perform his ablutions and
dress, feeling as trembling as a newborn colt. There was so much he
didn't know. It was exhilarating and terrifying. Perhaps Blake couldOn the coach ride back, Blake provided him with a wealth of
anatomical information which had Martin's cheeks flaming.
"But surely you know all this," Blake said, his brows knitting as he
stared at his cousin. "You were in the Army, and married."
"Only for three days," he said between stiff lips.
"Oh, I see. I'm sorry, I hadn't realised it had been so brief a time."
"And I was no rake," he said hotly.
"I understand, really. Arabella was not my first, but she is most
certainly my one and only. Everything else was dross. And disease is
not to be-"
"And you? Were you her first, and only?"
Blake scowled furiously. "Of course! What are you implying?"
"No, I didn't mean-" Martin stammered, reddening even more.
Blake looked furious. "Then what the hell-"
Martin dragged in a ragged breath. "It's just, well, my wife turned
out not to be chaste," he admitted. "I, um, I don't know what to do
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about a woman who is, well, more experienced than myself."

Blake subsided, and his glare became a look of compassion. "More
experienced in terms of quantity of lovers, or duration of time, or
what?"
"My wife, the sheer quantity boggles the mind. I found out later
from her diary. Now, with the new woman in my life, one man, a long
time."
Blake shrugged. "Every woman is different. Anyone in particular?"
"No, no, not at all," Martin said, horrified he had let his guard
down so badly.
"I just meant that I hoped you were not going to launch into
anything hasty without first being sure. I made a lot of mistakes
because my loins drove me to it. Rosalie Stanton and Leonore Ross.
You heard all about them, I'm sure."
"Yes, I did. I'm sorry." He blushed.
"I'm only too glad I never went to bed with Rosalie as a desperate
young man, for I would have caught the pox for sure. At least I found
out in time before she and I married. Leonore Ross had a large
number of lovers, but she was not quite so vicious. It depends on what
you want. I mean, that's obvious," he said with a wry smile, "but you
do have choices.
"For example, if you want to have your fun and move on. Or do
you want something which can begin with the intention of it being
long-term, and build over time. Take my word for it, if you want it to
build over time, go slowly.
"Above all, be honest and share with each other. Really get to
know her. Loving someone, being intimate, is wonderful, but not
without risks. It's hard to risk being so close to someone, I know. I
was terrified to admit I loved her
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". But Belle filled my life so completely in every way, it was

unthinkable to spend even one night away from her. I tried to fight it. I
took almost too long with Arabella, and it nearly cost me everything.
Honesty is the key. If you care about the lady, tell her."
"And if she doesn't feel the same?" Martin asked quietly, and held
his breath for the answer.
"Has she said-"
"She's said we're good friends."
Blake nodded, satisfied. "That can grow into a lot more. Be sure
you're ready before you take the next step is all I would suggest. And
listen to her. Tell her the truth.
"Also listen to what she wishes to tell you. Any good marriage I've
ever seen has been based on a lot of time together sharing everything,
especially talking."
"Thanks, Cousin. You've been a big help."
Blake smiled and patted his cousin on the shoulder, then looked
out of the carriage window for a short time. At length he said, "I'm
glad to see you're coming out of yourself more. And your new career
prospects are quite delightful from my point of view. Anything I can
do to help, you have only to ask."
"Thank you, you've been very kind.
Martin lapsed into silence as they drove back to Millcote. His head
was awhirl with all that Blake had told him. The more Martin thought
about it, the more he was convinced that the ball would be the perfect
time to tell Eswara how he truly felt, where he thought their
relationship was leading.
He didn't believe in love, but he did know he wanted to be with
Eswara night and day.
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If only he could be sure of her feelings.
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Chapter Twenty-three
When he arrived back at Millcote, however, Eswara was out on
call. Martin wanted to wait, but in the end he felt so on edge he simply
left a note saying he would see her the following evening at Castle
Eltham.
He was in far too much of a turmoil about his feelings to see her
without blurting out what he felt. But that would never do. He wanted
his discussion, his proposal of sorts, to be warm and romantic and
beautiful. With flowers, champagne and perhaps a nice piece of
jewellery-a ring?
He sucked in a huge trembling breath. A ring...
No, he was not willing to go that far. Not this quickly. But a
bracelet? Better still, a necklace. It would have to be something
special, designed to show how much he treasured her. Something
golden like her skin... With sapphires? Better still, amethysts to go
with her lovely lavender gown....
Early morning found Martin on his way to Bath, where he combed
the jewellery shops until he found the perfect gift, with delicate
alacanthus leaves and the gemstones interspersed. The stones were of
the most superb quality, with the telltale flashes of red and pink
throughout the gem which he knew denoted the highest quality.
Delighted with his purchase, he headed back home to Barton and
waited in an agony of suspense until it was time to leave for the ball.
He had bathed, meditated, massaged his hands, but the prospect of
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seeing Eswara was almost too much for him to bear. He seethed with
impatience as his cousins Ellen and Georgina seemed to take forever
to get ready. They were late, no doubt about it. He only hoped Eswara
didn't think he had let her down...
Eswara had been in an agony of impatience to see Martin again.
She longed to hear from him first-hand about how he had got on with
Mr. Samuels in Bristol. She was sorry he had not stayed behind to
wait for her.
As it turned out it had taken a lot longer than she had thought to
tend to Mrs. Daniels, whose pregnancy was not going as well as she
could have hoped. The poor woman had gone into a false labour.
She had managed to stop the contractions and eventually got the
woman calmed. She was at eight months;,not an ideal time to have a
baby, but not so bad as at seven months in certain respects.
She shook her head, dispelling the gloomy thoughts. She looked at
herself in the mirror in the lavender gown she had made herself, and
was pleased to see herself looking so well.
She imagined Martin's silvery eyes resting upon her, looking at her
with admiration. Friendship... It couldn't possibly be anything more,
could it?
She smiled to herself. He had been so warm yesterday morning,
she might almost have thought....
Then she squared her shoulders. She had been affectionate with
him. She was just reading things into his regard. A man like him? He
could never possibly want to marry her. There were half a dozen good
sound reasons why it would be folly on both their parts, and he was
not a foolish man. Besides, he had sworn he would never marry again.
She picked up her reticule and fan, and gathered Ash's evening suit
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for him to put on before they headed over to the Castle. She went
downstairs to wait for her friends impatiently.
As luck would have it, Blake and Arabella were early. The two
women embraced, and the doctor helped them both into the carriage.
They chatted mostly about business, though at one point Blake
ventured to say, "I must thank you for taking Martin under your wing.
Mr. Samuels seems to think he will be most promising with the right
training and some diligence on his part."
"Glad to hear it."
"How did all this come about?" he asked gently.
She shrugged. "He's become interested in medicine and meditation.
He looks as though he's suffered a lot."
"Not as much as he's going to. The poor lad is most definitely in
love," Arabella said with a laugh.
Blake scowled and shook his head. "I'm sure not, dear. I believe his
first marriage was a most hastily got up affair. I certainly hope he will
not be running off to Gretna Green again."
Eswara remained silent. In love?
"I have it on the very best authority that he bought a most exquisite
necklace in the best jeweller's in Bath today. Went up specially to
select it. Did he give any hint to you, Blake, as to whom he was
nursing a tendre for?"
"Really, Arabella, I don't think-"
But his wife was in high spirits. "Best thing for him, really. I do
hope it's Georgina. The poor thing is just pining away to a shadow
these days. I know he's awfully gloomy, but who wouldn't be after
what he's been through. I'd like to see them both happy."
"I think he's much more serious-minded than you are giving him
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credit for," Blake said, trying to flash his wife a warning look, sure
Martin's feelings were tending toward the lovely golden-eyed woman
sitting across from him looked as though she had been slapped. "I
doubt a girl so young would suit. Besides, they've know each other for
years and-"
Eswara told herself it was all just a bit of gossip. In any case it was
none of her business.
All the same, when she and Ash were in the ballroom for over an
hour and a half, being introduced around to everyone in the crush, and
there was still no sign of Martin, she began to wonder if there was not
more to the story than Arabella had said.
Yet he had declared time and time again he would never wed a
second time...
Perhaps the delicate blond had set her cap at him? His family were
moving the match along? Cousins were often paired so.
But she could never allow Martin to suspect for a moment that she
was jealous. She fixed a permanent smile to her face though inside she
felt crushed, and tried to look as though she were having a wonderful
time.
She danced with her son and all the Rakehells, never suspecting
that she was being watched from the shadows.
She met Elizabeth Eltham Joyce and her husband Wilfred, the
guests of honour, and felt a pang of envy, for surely she had never
seen a couple more in love. The dainty dark-haired beauty and tall,
fair-haired man radiated peace and contentment, surrounding
everyone with their warmth.
She finished the quadrille with the dashing former rake Philip
Marshall, who eagerly rejoined his wife Jasmine with a warm kiss.
She noted as he very gallantly led her from the floor that the Jerome
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party was arriving. The two dark-haired younger men, Martin and
Samuel, were paired off with the two blond girls Georgina and Ellen.
Martin was so breathless seeing Eswara again in such a lovely
dress he was bereft of speech, and so was not able to protest
effectively when Georgina dragged him off to dance.
Samuel was kind enough to make the rest of the introductions. She
tried to keep her mind on the conversation whist watching the petite
blonde move like an angel in Martin's arms.
At last the exquisite torture ended and they came to rejoin their
party. Ellen nabbed Martin's arm in an instant, and he gave a small
shrug by way of apology.
"I'll see you later, Mrs. Paignton. Ash."
"I say, Georgie what a superb new pearl and diamond necklace.
Wherever did you get it?" Arabella said with a significant look at her
husband before they moved off.
Blake shook his head at his wife-would she never stop trying to
match-make? But then she wanted everyone to be as happy as they
were, and could have no suspicion of the way things were tending
with Martin if his guess were correct.
"Ah, now that would be telling," the girl said with a smile, before
moving away out of earshot.
Eswara sighed. Cousins. It was what everyone wanted, expected.
She had been a foolBut worse was to come as she turned to look for her son. A prickle
of fear crept up her back as she recognised the short, portly man now
talking to Ash.
He had tried to lure him into an alcove so she would not see him,
but there was no mistaking the garish ginger whiskers of her brotherin-law Cedric. And where precisely was his pasty-faced son Cecil?
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She stalked over to Ash, now as fierce as a tigress.

"Eswara, how pleasant to see you," Cedric said, baring his teeth
like a shark.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded in a low tone. "I
thought I warned you-"
"Warned me, my dear? What harsh words to someone who only
wants to help-"
"Yourself to my son's fortune. Ash, please go get me some punch."
"I think I'd rather stay, Mother," he said, eyeing his uncle with
evident distaste.
"No, love, really. I'm fine."
Her son gave her a doubtful look, but did as he had been requested
and headed off to the refreshment room.
"Eswara, why do you persist in fighting me? Fighting your fate?"
She raised her chin and looked Cedric squarely in his beady little
eyes.
"Because we make our own fate, myself and my son."
"You've led me a merry dance, having had to follow you from
place to place. So you see I have found you again. I ought to be vexed
that you seem so determined to hide from me. Or is it that you are so
determined to try to escape your past? Very admirable my dear, but
we know a zebra never changes its stripes. And even if it tries,
well" He shrugged. "Alas, as you have discovered, the past has an
unpleasant tendency to haunt one. But I know all about you, my dear,
and don't hold it against you. The offer of looking after poor Ash, of
decent marriage to you still stands-"
"And I've already told you, I wouldn't consider marrying you or
letting my child have anything to do with you or your debauched son
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if my life depended on it. We have a good living at Millcote and want

for nothing. I'm sorry you're so hard up, but you have only yourself to
blame."
"Hard up! Who have you been speaking to? What have they been
saying?" Cedric demanded.
She gave him a measurng look."Nothing at all. But do you really
think me a fool? Your touching concern for Ash's health was never
present before. Yet here you are now he is on the mend? Your visit to
this district, your hounding me about the country, your repeated
proposals these past few years since John passed away? You're
forgetting that you've assayed my virtue before and got absolutely
nowhere. You dare to pretend your lust for me is really a concern for
my welfare? Your mother must have played your father false, for I
have no idea how my kind and decent husband could ever have a
brother who was so unspeakably low."
His eyes narrowed. "Mark my words, missy. If you don't marry
me, I can make your position here very untenable indeed. And by the
same token, Ash's as well."
Eswara refused to be cowed. "Do your worst. Anyone who is a
genuine friend won't believe a word you say," she said airily.
She swept away to dance with her next partner, none other than the
Duke himself.
Martin bowed to Eswara as she left the group with Thomas. She
gave him a warm smile, which was not lost upon Cedric.
Martin stared at her receding back, his mouth dry. The next dance
was his, and then....
He checked the black velvet box nestled inside his inner jacket
pocket and gave a small smile.
Cedric watched the tall, grim-faced man watching the dark-haired
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beauty. Evidently he was quite taken with his sister-in-law. Well, he

would soon put a stop to that.
Still seething and even more outraged to think that the little whore
and her son were traveling in such august circles whilst he and his son
were having a hard time scraping two pennies together, Cedric began
to spread his venom.
Sidling up to Martin, he introduced himself as Eswara's brother-inlaw. After some general remarks about the weather and the ball, he
got around to what he had really wanted to say in the first place but
could of course not simply blurt out.
"The Duke is obviously a most indulgent and congenial host. I
understand him to be a Radical?"
"Yes, indeed. Member for Brimley and Eltham."
"Ah. Congratulations are in order. But if that were the case, what
with the Tories and Whigs bandying power back and forth so much, it
is a wonder he can be so careless of his position."
"Careless?" Martin asked in confusion.
"Unless of course he is a man with a roving eye, if you take my
meaning."
Martin stared at his companion. "The Duke of Ellesmere is a most
devoted husband and family man. What in Heaven's name could
possess you to-"
"Why, the lady he is dancing with, of course. Of course, the word
lady is not exactly apt, now is it."
"What on earth-"
"Certainly very clever, though. Obviously got someone to make
the introduction. She's nothing if not ambitious, take my word for it."
"Excuse me, sir, but am I to understand that you have some issue
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with your sister-in-law's conduct with the Duke?" he demanded

coldly.
"Well, if he is as decent as you say, he will not be tempted. But
very few men are ever able to resist her tricks." He shook his head.
"I take it you have only just met the woman recently. Everyone
knows she is the hottest little thing to ever come out of a Bombay
brothel. My brother was foolish enough to marry the little bibbi. Fine
son, though. Pity he's black.
"Still, I would do something for them both if she ever allowed me
to have anything to do with the lad, eh Cecil?" he said to his son, who
had now just lumbered up sweating after his unsuccessful attempt to
lure Ellen Jerome into a corner.
"Yes, Father. She is most unreasonable in not letting him come to
stay with us. After all, it's not Ash's fault what his mother is."
"Anyway, delighted to see you are so friendly with him. He needs
a good firm hand. She certainly has some odd notions on how to raise
the boy. Lets him study all sorts of bizarre things to do with anatomy,
I believe. Not to mention those disgusting things he collects from
ponds. Wants to be a doctor, he tells us. Disgrace. Dashed waste of his
talents, a young gent like that. A couple of years in India, he'd be a
nabob in no time. After all, he does speak the language. India's a gold
mine just ripe for the digging, so it is."
"Just like his mother," Cecil sniggered.
Fortunately, the odious little worm moved away to claim his next
waltz partner before Martin had time to bury his fist in the young
man's flabby face.
Mr. Paignton bowed and went to get more punch, already clutching
his flask to liven up his libation a bit more. He congratulated himself
on his success in the start of his campaign to blacken Eswara's
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reputation in Somerset.
Martin stood thunderstruck. He was sure he was going to be ill.
Could it possibly be true? If it were, it certainly explained a great deal
about her unconventional behaviour. God, he had been enjoying her
company so much, had thought her a friend.
And all the while she had been trying to ensnare him? Use him as
an entre into the upper echelons of society? Used Blake too?
He clutched the black velvet box in his pocket to steady himself for
a moment. God, what a despicable fool he had been yet again! He had
almostHe felt himself trembling as badly as was his wont when he had
one of his terrible flashbacks. It couldn't be true. It just couldn't....
The dance at an end, Eswara gave one of her slow smiles and
thanked the Duke, who bowed politely and sought out his wife.
Martin watched them both like hawks. No assignation there....
Unless she was so cleverEswara stepped up to her son and accepted the cup of punch he had
fetched for her, and stood in the circle of his arm. She had numerous
invitations to dance, but declined them all, pleading fatigue.
He felt himself grow calmer, but his emotion were so raw and
churning that when she finished her drink and handed the cup back to
Ash, he strode up to her and said in a harsh whisper, "I need to speak
with you. Now."
She did not even remind him that it was supposed to be their dance
at last, which she had so been looking forward to.
She stared at the harsh lines of his face, his suddenly prominent
cheekbones and churning darkened eyes, and immediately put her
hand on his sleeve.
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"What is it, Mr. Jerome? Are you ill? Having one of your turns,
perhaps?" she asked in a low tone.
He shook her hand off him as though he feared contamination.
She blinked owlishly for a second, but one sight of her smirking
brother-in-law on the far side of the room was enough to tell her what
had happened.
She sighed. What on earth had he told Martin that would cause him
to look so wild? Surely the usual wouldn't make him"Yes, of course," she said, stepping toward the hearth, which
afforded the only chance for relative privacy amid the crush. "What
would you like to tell me?"
"Only that I had a most edifying conversation with your brother-inlaw and his son."
"Indeed," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "And what
fascinating topic engaged your interest so?"
"It was about you, Madam."
"I see. Well, out with it. What diverting little tidbit did he drop in
your lap?" she said breezily.
Martin's teeth ground together audibly even above the music. "He
said you were a bibbi."
She was not horrified by the accusation. Cedric had thrown it in
her face before, and she had no doubt he would again. No, what
shocked her was the way Martin was glaring at her, the way he had
shaken off the hand with which she had attempted to mollify him. He
was seething! ButHer head snapped back as though she had been struck a physical
blow. She stared at Martin coldly.
"I see. And I am guessing he translated the word for your
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edification? Or are you asking me what it means?"

"He told me. I just can't believe-"
She shrugged. "Then don't." She half-turned away from him to
look at the dancers, but he grabbed her elbow and shook her.
"Is it true?" he demanded fiercely.
"How dare-"
His gaze practically scorched her. "I asked you, Eswara, is it true?"
"Yes, yes, I used to work in a brothel," she said with a sigh. "So
there is no need to try to defend my honour, since I apparently haven't
got any."
She gathered her fringed silk shawl around her, suddenly chilled to
the marrow.
"I see," he said quietly.
"Do you really think so?" she said, her tone mocking. "You don't
even know who you are, Mr. Jerome. You dare to presume to know
me?"
He clapped his hand to his chest as though he couldn't breathe. At
length he replied, "You're right, Mrs. Paignton. I don't know a damned
thing about anyone any more, least of all any woman."
Martin turned on his heel and strode away through the crowd
without so much as a backward glance.
Eswara stared after him for a long moment, completely stunned.
She had thought they were friends. At least he could have asked her
the circumstances, what had happened to which might cause her to....
But he had stalked off without trying to get to the heart of the
matter, the heart of her.
She sighed. That was just foolish, mere wishful thinking. He was a
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wounded soul with his own problems to worry about. He probably

didn't imagine for an instant that a man and woman could ever be
friends without there being something fully sexual involved. He had
become frightened of what they had shared, and was retreating at the
first excuse.
She fiddled with her shawl, fighting back the tears. But then, that
was part of the problem with their relationship. He had good reason to
be frightened, for their times together had been most intense. She had
been in love with him almost from the first.
Oh, what a complete fraud she had been to have ever tried to
pretend she was helping him only out of the kindness of her own
heart. The truth was she longed for him, however wrong she felt it
was to desire a man younger than her.
Ash came up to her, his earnest handsome young face now creased
with worry. "I say, Mother, are you all right? Martin looks as though
he just chewed broken glass. Did you two quarrel about something?"
"It's all right. Your uncle and cousin were here a short time ago,
spreading their usual ordure."
"Oh no! He isn't going to fight them over-"
"No, of course not. One doesn't fight a duel over a mere whore."
"You're not telling me he believed him?" Ash said incredulously.
"He asked me if it was true I was a bibbi. He wanted only a simply
yes or no. So I told him yes."
Her son rolled his eyes heavenward. "But Mother, surely you told
him-"
She shook her head sadly. "Just leave it, love. If that's what he
thinks of me, we're no longer friends. Besides, it's none of his business
anyway what I do with my body. I'm sick of this absurd double
standard, with most of the men of the Town patronising brothels or
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raking with every obliging woman while their own wives are
supposed to pine away at home and knit. If it's for pay, the woman
should be pitied for having no other way of supporting herself. If it's
an active choice, why can't a woman have a happy and fulfilling
sexuality?"
Her son smiled indulgently. "Because weak men fear strong
women. They want to control, mold them, get them to conform to
some sort of acceptable stereotype instead of look at them as people.
You taught me that."
She drew her arm into his. "Clever boy. I didn't think you were
paying attention."
"I was. I've remembered everything you taught me."
She smiled up at him. "You're the brightest young man I've ever
met, and I met a lot in the Army and the East India Company. I can't
tell you how proud I am of you."
"And I you." He sighed. "I'm sorry to lose Martin's friendship, but"
Her eyes widened. Oh, this was just too bad. Why did Ash always
have to suffer because of her? "You mustn't cut him on my account. I
mean-"
"No, really. If he is so narrow-minded he is no better than any of
the horse-faced Tories in this crowd. Come, Mother. I think we should
just have another waltz and forget all about Mr. Jerome."
Eswara took his arm and danced with her son as if she hadn't a care
in the world, though she was sure she was bleeding inside at the way
Martin had cut her so callously.
She sighed. She knew that to forget about Martin Jerome was like
trying to forget an erupting volcano. The more she had tried to ignore
him, the more he had scorched her life, leaving her emotions in
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cinders.
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Chapter Twenty-four
Martin departed from the Elthams' ball without even stopping to
collect his evening cloak or hat from the gentleman's dressing room.
Bare-headed in the freezing cold, he paced up and down on the
pebbled drive in an agony of impatience whilst the Castle staff
brought a gig around for his use.
If they were surprised by his abrupt departure, they said nothing to
the grim-faced young man. Everyone knew Mr. Jerome had been
through hell, and steered a wide berth as he stalked back and forth like
a caged panther. The driver did not even dare speak to him after he
barked his order to take him back to Barton, just whipped up the horse
and headed off.
Martin hardly even notice when they pulled up to his front door,
scarcely was aware of climbing the stairs to his room, and slamming
and locking the door. He shucked off his jacket and stared balefully at
the black velvet box protruding from his breast pocket. He tugged it
out and pulled it open. He gazed at the necklace for a moment, its
incredible loveliness an acute reminder of the beautiful woman who
had betrayed him.
He snapped the box shut and hurled it so savagely at the mirror
across from him which seemed to mock him that the glass shattered
into a million fragments. Just like his world.
He threw himself in a chair by the window, and stared out
unseeingly at the blackness of the night.
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Martin assumed his feelings about what he had learnt of Eswara

would calm in the ensuing days after the ball, but if anything they
seemed to intensify. He told himself a million times that she had lied
by omission, duped him, sought to drag him into her debauched world
under the pretext of helping him.
The Devil was always attractive, tempting. If He appeared ugly,
He would not have the power to seduce. Who only knew what sort of
filthy vices he would have been lured into trying if he had gone to
visit her again?
He had a quite natural terror of venereal disease given all he had
learned in the Officer's Mess. He had tried to be a good Christian until
his wife had been killed. He had been relieved he had not
consummated his marriage when he'd read of her excesses in her
diary. Eswara seemed clean and wholesome. She was a healer, after
all.
Blake worked at a clinic for fallen women in London. Was that
how they had met? He had known her to be a prostitute, yet still
befriended her? Introduced her around decent society?
Yet she had spoken of her husband warmly, and her son obviously
admired her and had never said anything which had indicated
anything improper. Well, except for those pictures and the lessons she
had mentioned....
So a reformed whore then. Not one now. He sighed raggedly. No,
not one now. Her comfortable home in this sleepy little backwater was
not exactly the best place to ply such a trade. Even if there were ample
numbers of interested clients, her activities would not go unnoticed
for any length of time. She had been there for some months, and
everyone he met spoke highly of her. Not to mention the fact that she
was friends with the vicar of Brimley, Jonathan Deveril, whose sister
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also helped run Blake's clinic in London. Her son studied with
Jonathan. The better to keep him out of the way for her activities?
Stop it, stop it, he told himself, flinging his weary body onto the
bed. He had visited at all hours of the day and night and never found
anyone there who was not female and a patient. He had accompanied
her on visits and found only women to tend.
Why then was he so riled?
Because, he at last admitted at the end of three days, he had desired
her ever since they had first met. When he had assumed her to be a
respectable widow, a decent, well-brought up woman, he had told
himself his desire for her was inappropriate. Never ever to be acted
upon without the sanctity of marriage.
The necklace had been a first step toward reaching an
understanding with her that if he trusted her enough, after a decent
interval they would eventually wed. It had been a pledge, him staking
his territory against other claimants, a promise of a future with her
some time soon.
Now he saw her in a whole new light, a fallen woman, albeit
reformed. A deceiver, just like his former wife. Not someone to ever
marry without becoming a laughingstock. But most certainly someone
he still longed to possess.
She was so incredibly enticing he could scarcely contain the
tumescence in his trousers. He felt profoundly ashamed, and cursed
himself for his stupidity. Did he never learn? Had not his experience
with his wife taught him all he needed to know about women? And
himself? They were all unfaithful, not to be trusted, sexually
immoderate.
Yet she had said that his pleasure was a good thing. He recalled the
lifting of the heart he had experienced in her kitchen, almost as
powerful as the lifting of other parts of his anatomy when she had
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kissed him.
She had had him completely bare in her bed twice. She could most
certainly haveThe question was, why hadn't she? And more importantly: what
could he do to convince her to?
He shuddered at the prospect, and tried to breathe evenly. He
despised himself. Would despise her if she was indeed willing to
agree to the shocking thing he was contemplating. Her teachings, and
his residual lessons from childhood warred in his breast. Of course she
was doing it to encourage him to sin. It was how women like Eswara
made a living.
Yet there had been something so joyous about being naked,
playing in the tub, fondling his fingers and toes. A lost innocence
reclaimed for a brief time. A pushing back of his inner darkness. His
own sense of his soul regained, all his self-loathing in abeyance as she
had made him feel loved and treasured.
He had gone to her empty-handed, and yet she had given him so
much. Surely it had not all been an act? Had not all been calculation
and trickery? Surely she had to admire him just a little.
She certainly did not desire all men. He had been able to read her
well enough at the ball to sense her subtle withdrawal from people she
did not like. And especially from her brother-in-law and his son. From
the rakish Tobias Parke, who had ogled her like a blancmange from
the supper table.
If she were that much of a whore, would she have been so choosy?
Would she not just take whatever was on offer? It was all supposed to
be commerce after all.
His emotions bubbled and churned and he thought again of King
Lear:
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"Thou rascal beadle, hold thy bloody hand!

Why dost thou lash that whore? Strip thine own back;
Thou hotly lust'st to use her in that kind
For which thou whipp'st her."
He reached for himself, and then groaned. Damnation! Was this
her fault? Or his? The tempter or the tempted, who sins the most?
He flung himself off the bed and went over to stare out the
window. It was a sin, it was folly, madness...
It had been divine, such fun. At last his life has started to make
some sort of sense.
He gazed out the window, but the only thing he saw was Eswara in
his mind's eye. Damn him for a fool, the worst sort of sinner, he
thought as he swung away from the casement and stalked through the
room and out the door.
Downstairs, Martin shrugged into his greatcoat as he strode out of
the foyer and around the corner of the house to the stables.
His more rational side told him to wait, think things through. His
more base instincts told him if he didn't get some relief from his plight
he was going to pound something to dust.
He swung into the saddle and tore around the countryside in an
ever-widening circle. Finally he gave up the struggle, and spurred his
horse for Eswara's home at a breakneck pace.
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Chapter Twenty-five
Another half an hour of frantic galloping had Martin's lathered
steed in Eswara's small stable at the back of the house. He contained
his desire long enough to see to the blown horse's needs.
After currying it and giving it water and fodder, he stamped around
to the front door and pounded upon it impatiently with the heel of his
hand.
Now that he was finally here though, he began to quail. How could
he have the bold-faced cheek toBut then, his wife had lied and deceived him, promised him a
happily ever after ending, when all she had wanted was a respectable
faade for her depraved actions. He could dress it up fancily, try to
woo the widow, seduce her. But she was a woman of the world. Even
if she was so foolish as to succumb to his blandishments, she deserved
his honesty. She had demanded it of him even if she had not given it
to him herself. So she deserved no less than the truth from him.
My dear Eswara, I can't stop thinking about your luscious...
No, that wouldn't quite do either, he admitted to himself as Nelly
the young serving girl opened the door.
"Mr. Jerome, isn't it?" she guessed, looking as skittish as a young
colt. He was a most awe-inspiring man, but looked absolutely wild.
"I'll announce you, sir. But you might like to tidy yourself a bit,"
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she whispered. "That is, unless you're ill." She gestured, indicating his
wild hair and perspiring face.
He flattened his hair with the palm of his hand and swiped at his
sweaty brow with his handkerchief. "Thank you."
"Better," she said with a nod. She opened the door of the drawing
room to see if Eswara was at home to the guest.
But Martin pushed past the tiny maid before she could announce
him, and stormed in with one long stride, taking Eswara completely
by surprise and removing any chance of her refusing to see him.
She jumped up, scattering her sewing notions in every direction.
She cursed herself for her lack of composure and clumsiness.
"Mr. Jerome," she gasped. "Ash is over at Mr. Deveril's until
Tuesday. He'll be sorry to have missed you."
"It's you I have come to see, Mrs. Paignton," he said quietly. He
drank in the sight of her in a Turkey red gown with the barest hint of
decolletage. The very fact that the dress was so demure only made
him desire her more.
She noticed he did not quite look at her despite his words. She
stooped to pick up the spilled spools of thread. "After our
conversation at the ball last week, I can't think we have anything to
say to each other-"
"Just hear me out."
She blinked at his desperate tone, her gold eyes registering her
confusion. "If you are trying to apologise, well, thank you very much,
I'm sure, but I have no intention of-"
"Please, just hear me out," he said, pacing in front of her like a
caged panther. "I haven't come to quarrel with you or berate you over
your lack of moral fibre. I'm here now to ask for your, your help.
Before you fly off the handle, please listen?"
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"My help, you say?" she asked, staring at him in confusion.

Martin nodded.
She motioned to Nelly to shut the door, and sat back down.
Now concerned, Eswara was all ears. She had to admit she had
never seen him looking so ghastly. Far worse even than when they
had first met and he had been half-frozen and exhausted.
She assumed therefore that he had come to discuss with her a
medical problem of some sort. Thus she indicated a chair for him with
an incline of her head. She finished gathering her scattered supplies,
then perched herself on the sofa edge and waited patiently for him to
begin.
He sat for a moment perched uncomfortably on the edge of the
chair, then rose and began to pace anew. "I can't believe I'm coming
here like this to ask-"
"What is it, Mr. Jerome? Please, we were friends once. Well, I
considered you to be one. You can be assured your trouble will be
dealt with in the strictest confidence, of course. I would like to help if
I can."
He took a deep breath and sighed. He paced in front of the bow
window for a time longer in an agony of indecision, feeling a fool for
ever having come. For having tried to approach his overweening lust
like a problem to be solved reasonably over a glass of Madeira.
He bit back the hysterical laughter which he could feel welling up,
and flung himself back in the chair.
"I have told you about my disastrous marriage," he began at last.
Oh Lord, she thought. Not some dreaded venereal disease..... But
he had said"Yes, yes, I remember," she said, telling herself to not jump to any
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conclusions.
He sighed again. He forced himself to keep his tone even, without
any telltale emotions. "I shall get to the crux of the matter so as to not
waste anyone's time. The truth of the matter is...
"Well, the truth is I find that my virginity and lack of any sexual
experience, any natural outlet, has become a huge burden for me. One
I am not able or willing to contain for very much longer, I fear. My
needs have burgeoned forth so unexpectedly now that my body has
fully healed, I believe, that I feel my control is ebbing fast despite all
you have taught me."
"I see," she said, staring at him.
"But the last thing I want to do is make an imprudent mistake
through being concupiscent. I am well aware of the appalling
consequences in our society of sexual licentiousness."
"I understand," she said quietly, a shiver running down her spine as
all her instincts leapt to attention. Surely he wasn't going to...
But he was.
"The fact is I'm asking you to help me. You have before. More
than you know. I'm asking you to help me by becoming my mistress.
To teach me about sexual relations and all about my own body, which
I've started to discover. And about yours too."
Eswara stared at him, outraged fury warring with tender love.
"Your mistress," she repeated in a whisper.
"I'll pay you anything you ask, of course. And I will be the soul of
discretion. No one will ever know from me-"
She tossed her head. "Things like this have a habit of getting found
out. A stray word, an idle boast-"
"No, I swear. What happens between us will be private, secret."
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She continued to stare at him. "But that is part of the thrill, is it

not?" she asked sharply. "To have me right under everyone's nose."
He trembled with barely suppressed desire. "Yes," he rasped,
"though I wouldn't have put it quite in those words."
Her golden eyes narrowed. "If I were to take you on as a, a client, a
student, I would expect honesty from you. So how would you put it?"
"For us to enjoy one another without any interference or
expectations. Marriage, family. Why can't it just be for pleasure? So
we can share what we need. When we've had our fill, we can move
on."
"Do you think you can share something so intimate and just walk
away?" she asked quietly.
His grey eyes fixed on her face at last. "I don't know. You once
worked in a brothel. You tell me."
She felt as though she had been slapped. There was no doubt in his
mind, no quest for her side of the story, just a blind belief in what her
brother-in-law had said, despite not even knowing the miserable old
fart. Men all banding together...
She tamped down her wrath at his blind stupidity, reminding
herself that Martin was sadly lost and confused, and had been through
something so horrible that she couldn't even begin to guess all he had
suffered. After his experience with his wife, she could not entirely
blame him.
"That was a long time ago. I was a decent and respectable wife for
the whole of my married life, in case you were wondering."
She knew he had been wondering-the relief on his face was all too
evident.
"Why should I want to go back to that kind of life, Mr. Jerome?
I'm well provided for, with status in this district, not driven to take
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your offer because of economic desperation."

"Then do it for fun."
She stared at him open-mouthed. "You think women prostitute
themselves for fun?"
"No, no I suppose not, when you put it like that. Oh God, I'm going
about this completely the wrong way." He shook his head and made a
beeline for the door.
She jumped up and stayed him with one hand upon her sleeve. "I
don't imagine there are many right ways of asking someone to become
your lover," she said dryly. "So what did you mean?"
Martin sighed, and looked around the brugundy drawing room for
some sort of clue as to how to proceed. His eyes lit on one of the
pictures. "Just that my wife said-"
"Said what?"
"How much she had loved being with the other man. Enjoyed him.
Enjoyed them. She took money, but she did it for entertainment too.
Loved the power, the conquest. It was all in the diary. Lots of society
women do it. I had offers before-"
Martin blushed and avoided her gaze.
She folded her arms in front of her breasts, only too late realizing
her movement was only going to enhance their fullness as they peeped
above the bodice of her gown.
"If you've had other offers, why come to me?" she demanded.
"Why offer to pay me when you can have your fun for free?"
He sighed shakily and shook his head, unable to tear his eyes away
from her emerging cleavage, though he hated feeling so weak, so in
thrall to his passions.
"Because I have a feeling it wouldn't really be free. That there
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would be strings attached, repercussions, a higher price than I'm

willing to pay. And I don't trust any woman I've met in this
neighbourhood or London enough to give them any power over me,
give myself in that way."
He cleared his throat and at last looked back up at her face. "I also
fear ridicule. I mean, I've never- What if I hate it, or do it all wrong.
Men are supposed to know all about these things, but I'm so
confused."
He cleared his throat, and began to pace anew. "I'm sorry I'm so
weak and foolish, but the truth is, well, you're the only woman I've
ever met that I feel I can actually trust.
"I mean, I know you lied to me about your past, or at least not told
me the whole truth, but I know now. And you've taught me so many
other things. In your bedroom." He blushed. "The kitchen too. Why
not teach me about this? And I thought, well, maybe, oh God-"
"You thought what?" she asked softly as she saw his trembling
grow even worse.
He paused by the hearth and rubbed the back of his neck with one
broad hand. "I thought maybe you might actually like me. Not just as
a person, your son's friend. As a man, I mean. From what you had said
to me that night in front of the mirror.
"And so I thought that you might enjoy it too? You're a beautiful
woman, so, so curvaceous. You're-" He swallowed convulsively.
"You're ripe and luscious, like the women in these pictures. Beautiful,
and made for loving."
"Is that how you see me?" she asked softly, before gesturing for
him to sit back down.
He nodded weakly, hardly daring to look at her, fearing rejection
so badly he felt as if a huge weight were crushing his chest.
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His loins had been on fire ever since their fight at the ball, and he
obeyed her wordless command and sat down on the chair nearest the
door to prevent himself from falling or making a lunge at her.
"I see."
She was stunned at the force of his words. Her heart hammered in
her breast and she could scarcely breathe. This was what she had been
longing for, had it not?
Of course in the normal way of things, if he had not come to her in
such a manner, she could never have acted upon her desires. She still
had her doubts with the age difference between them.
But it had been so long.... And even when she had been married,
her husband had been so much older...
Just the prospect of a bit of affection, being kissed and held was
worth it.
Still, there were risks. Pregnancy, certainly. But having only had
the one child in so many years of wedlock, she was fairly certain she
was barren.
No, there was a far greater risk than that. For as she had told
Martin, one could not be intimate without there being consequences.
Especially since she was already completely in love with him, though
for the life of her she couldn't grasp why he moved her so, when he
was so aloof, closed off. If he ever found out her true feelings, he
would despise her, and it would be over.
On the other hand, a tempting little voice reminded her, as the
sacred texts said, if you could keep a man happy and fulfilled, he
would want to be with you, be faithful forever...
She stood poised on the brink of the most momentous decision of
her life, and squared her shoulders. "Excuse me, please," she said,
rising.
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She strode to the door and stepped into the hallway before he could
stop her. Was she leaving him forever?
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Chapter Twenty-six
"Nelly," Eswara called, once she was out in the hall and away from
Martin's burning gaze.
The girl came quickly.
"Can you lay an extra place for supper?" she instructed in a low
tone, aware of the all-too aroused man on the other side of the door
expectantly waiting for her next move after his indecent proposal.
"And don't forget to light the heater for my bath. Then you can
head home early. They say there's to be a hard frost tonight, perhaps
even some snow."
"Yes, Miss, thank you, Miss. I'll see you tomorrow morning."
"It's your half-day tomorrow, isn't it, Nelly?"
"Yes, Miss."
"Take the whole day off, dear. I can manage in the morning with
just myself." She gave an encouraging smile, and prayed she didn't
look as guilty as she felt.
But the mousy lass seemed not to notice anything amiss. "Oh thank
you, Miss. Pa will be pleased."
"You're a good girl. You deserve it. Off you go."
Martin started when Eswara came back into the room. He was
standing by the door, his hand about to lift the latch to either run after
the object of his desires, or leave.
He had started to have second, thrird, and even fourth thoughts
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about what he had dared to say to her, and grown increasingly sure
that Eswara had gone upstairs and would not venture down until he
had gone. He had said the most awful things to her.
Yet here she was now, looking more lovely than he had ever seen
her, and he had just offered her the most gross insult.... His heart
lurched in his chest.
"I have considered your offer, and am inclined to accept, provided
we can come to terms."
His heart felt as though it had surged up into his mouth now, and
down to his He was both distressed, and so relieved. "Anything,
anything," he babbled, grateful she was even willing to speak to him,
let alone "I'm not as wealthy as-"
She shook her head. "No money. No gifts either," she said quickly.
"All I would ask is that when Ash is home, you befriend him. Be the
man in his life. Hunting, fishing, that sort of thing. Visit him for tea at
the vicarage. He misses his Pa, and he's inclined to overdo his studies
at times. Everything in life must be in balance. I won't ever expect to
interfere, of course. Just the two of you.
"You can't touch me unless I say so. I am your mistress, and will
cater to your every whim within reason. We can't ever sleep together.
You can come visit during the nights he is away in Brimley with
Jonathan, but you must be gone before Nelly comes in at eight. You
can sleep in Ash's room if it's too late to venture back to the Manor or
you're too tired. She won't notice you being in there during the week,
and Ash is too generous to care."
He nodded, trying to get his breathing steady. "Fine, fine.
Anything."
"If I find out you've told anyone, it's over. What we share will be
between the two of us only, and I don't want to make my position here
in Millcote where we've been so happy an untenable one."
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"I understand."
She fixed him with a hard look. "I also expect fidelity from you,
and promise you exclusivity in return. No draining of our powers with
meaningless entertainment, as you call it."
He laughed shortly. "I have never had one woman, let alone two or
more. I promise."
"Finally, you will follow my instructions, learn what I have to
teach. But you'll also admit to me if you're afraid or worried. I would
not have your soul damaged any more than it already has been."
"We're talking about my lust, Madam," he laughed shortly. "What
has that to do with my soul?"
"You Christians would say lust was one of the seven deadly sins,
would you not?"
Yes," he admitted, puzzled.
"It damages the body and jeopardises the soul. The mindless
seeking and taking of gratification with no thought for the other
person makes one cold and selfish. Christianity is supposed to be a
religion of love for other people. In my religion too, love is the
highest form of worship of God. The physical act is a form of
worship. It's not just a roll in the hay, as the English say.
"It's a spiritual blending, a meeting of hearts and minds, a strong
desire to please the other person intensely. It takes practice and
discipline. I have not practiced for some time. Ash as you know is just
now beginning to learn. There are books you can-"
He snorted. "Madam, I cannot take my eyes from your voluptuous
breasts for an instant, and you want me to read a book?"
She laughed in spite of herself. "Well, perhaps not today. I was
simply pointing out that there are other ways to learn besides barging
into my drawing room in the middle of tea and asking me to rescue
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you from your chastity."

Now it was his turn to laugh. He put one hand over his eyes to
cover his shame. "God, I'm such an ass. I should go. Forgive me."
Martin stood up to leave, but she shook her head and pressed him
back down in the chair. He nearly leapt out of it again as she sat in his
lap. She could feel his huge erection even through the thick broadcloth
of his trousers and all of her layers of skirts.
Enjoyment would indeed be hers for the asking, she thought with a
delighted little tremor at his nearness, the smell of him. He was
certainly magnificent, his rock-hard thighs, his broad chest, strong
arms.
She recalled him naked in her bed and the slow burn she felt
whenever he was near soon became a scorching inferno at the
prospect of all this for the asking.
"No, don't grab me, Martin. No touching me without permission,
remember," she said. "You can learn about my body later. Put your
arms on those of the chair, close your eyes, relax and breathe deeply
the way I've taught you. I'm going to touch your face. Tell me when it
feels especially good."
She began to stroke down his forehead, nose, cheeks and chin with
feather-light fingers. He sucked in a breath and she could feel his
bulge towering under her. The poor man, she thought.
"Now that you're more relaxed, you can feel my face. But no
kissing," she added as he tried to grab her. "And no removing of your
virginity until you've been initiated a bit more. So you needn't act as
though you're about to be sacrificed upon some pagan altar tonight. Or
indeed several more nights to come. We'll go slowly, take our time.
When we're sure we're both ready-"
"If I were any more ready I'd-"
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"You know you have the power to control it. Breath in. Think of
that happy sensation of the champagne fizzing, the cocoa by the fire.
If you can have that for hours on end, isn't that better than a minute or
two of writhing torment?"
"It just gets so urgent," he admitted.
"And you fight against it. You could just touch yourself and have
done with it. But you struggle because you're full of guilt and selfreproach, and that only makes it worse. But there's nothing to fight
here. Not yourself, and not me."
She put her head on his chest, and listened to his staccato
heartbeat. "Breathe deeply, evenly. I've agreed to become your
mistress, so you don't have to fear I'm going to change my mind, flee
from you."
"I ache to be with you."
She shook her head. "You ache to possess me like a child wants a
sweetmeat, Martin. But if you gobble it greedily, then where will you
be?"
He nodded. "I'm a fool."
"Not a fool," she said gently. "I admire, respect and desire you, or
else I would never even consider being with you in such a manner. Do
you understand? But I'm not a wife or fiancee and never shall be, now
am I?" she asked, her heart sinking.
"No, never. For I shall never-"
"Society and your family will expect it. But you're safe with me.
Safe. You can be sure of me, that I won't reject you. I mean, unless I
have a really good reason, like a painful monthly or something, but
that has never been my experience. You need to tell me what you
want, and trust me when I teach you."
His grey eyes glowed. "If you will also tell me what you want. I
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want to know all about you, the taste of your skin, the silken feel of
your hair."
He kissed her cheek, his warm mouth shivering over her skin. He
ran his hands through her hair, pulling the pins from it slowly,
remembering what she had said about the greedy child, and thus
forcing himself taking his time.
Her own body went afire now. So much for her good resolutions.
No one had ever"Supper and bath, or lesson first?"
"All three," he whispered against her throat. "I want to bathe with
you, see you bare, reclining in front of me, your wrapper framing your
lovely shoulders, and nibble at delicacies and be with you in bed."
It was a compelling fantasy. She nodded. "And in bed?" she
whispered.
"The candles glowing, and your sweet perfume, or some incense
Ash let me smell. And you can teach me all about my knees and
thighs. We haven't got to those yet. And praise my male attributes all
over again. Let me praise your attributes. I mean, I'm not very good
with words, but I have a feeling they will be something to wax lyrical
over."
She smiled. "It sounds like an excellent plan."
She stood and took his hand gently. She led him to the kitchen,
where they gathered their supplies. He ferried them upstairs while she
got the bath ready and took out some incense.
She made the hot chocolate for him just the way he liked, adding
some cinnamon to enhance the experience. She got out a bottle of
champagne, and one glass, and some plums the Duke had been kind
enough to send over from his hot house.
She knew she ought to have been nervous. But somehow having
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Martin there with her seemed so right, so natural, that even the
prospect of having to move from teacher to lover was not as daunting
as she thought it would be.
She heated some aromatic almond oil for a massage. When he
came back down she gave it to him along with the incense and asked
him to bank up the fire in her room. "And you might want to bring up
some more wood for both rooms, just in case."
He nodded, his gaze warm but a little dazed-looking, almost as if
he couldn't believe what was happening to him. She caught his hand.
"It will be all right. Beautiful."
"I know. That's what frightens me."
She slid the tips of her fingers over his cheeks in a gesture meant to
reassure. Then she frowned slightly. "You'll need to shave, dear."
"Surely. Anything. Just let me go get the upstairs ready and I'll be
right down."
She used the time to strip off her clothes in the bathroom and put
on her wrapper. She knew part of the allure was in sensuality. Seeing
her struggling out of her gown would not be it, and he was too
nervous to undress her. Or even himself.
He smelt strongly of horses and sweat, and she could only guess at
the turmoil which had brought him to the door in such a wild state.
She simply had to calm and relax him and give him some release,
some oblivion.
And some control, for she could see he really was beside himself
with desire, and thus a real danger to himself. He was lucky he hadn't
broken his neck coming over here if his disheveled appearance was
anything to go by.
When Martin came downstairs he was all for stripping off his
clothes and jumping into the bath, but she undressed him slowly,
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sensually.
When he was completely naked she went on a journey of
exploration. "Stand still and don't touch me. I want to smell you," she
said quietly.
"But I'm all-"
"To know something you need to understand it in all of its aspects.
Like a woman. Girl, wife and mother, old woman. Sometimes one of
those, sometimes all three. So too with a man."
She inhaled him deeply, his neck, underarms, his groin, and her
senses went afire. She reveled in his scent, warm, woodsy, with a light
tang of sweat, and something more underneath. A hint of musk, a light
citrus. She took her time, making him feel admired, as if she had
nothing more important in her world than him.
At last she told him to get in the bath and immediately began to
scrub his back. Gradually she gentled to a more sensual touch, and at
last she touched him intimately, providing him with an instant release.
"I'm sorry," he gritted out.
"You take what you need. It's nothing to worry about. But the next
time, try to hold back. If climax is a ten, try to keep your passion
sizzling at about a seven with the controls I've taught you. You're
going to have to endure a great deal more than that."
He shivered at the prospect, his erection already reviving. He was
not quite sure what she meant, but he had heard his mess mates talk
about the sorts of things accomplished prostitutes could do...
"Martin, I said seven! Martin!"
"Lord, I-"
"What on earth were you fantasising about?"
"What, oh, er, no fantasy, I was just thinking of your hands."
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Her golden eyes sparkled, and she grinned. "Liar. You were
thinking of other things I was going to do to you. Which one excited
you the most?"
"You kissing me."
"The way I did in the bed the other night?"
"Yes, and being on top of me," he admitted.
"Not tonight, Martin, but soon. All that and more."
It was the 'and more' part that he could not even begin to grasp. He
had never quite believed that women actually did any of those things.
But since men evidently enjoyed them...
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Chapter Twenty-seven
Enjoy seemed such a weak word, he thought the following
morning as Eswara at last left him. She had massaged him from head
to toe with the warm oil, omitting only his most intimate areas. He
had no idea his back and buttocks were the seats of such pleasure.
They had shared the champagne, sipping from the same glass and
each other's mouths. They had eaten the plums together, biting off
small pieces and feeding them to each other, her licking any stray
drops of juice which fell upon his body, and his fingers when he had
finished. He had lost count of the pinnacles in his delight.
Martin did not take her up on the offer of breakfast. He was still
deeply ashamed of his proposition to her for all the pleasure they had
shared, and was so sizzling with excitement at the prospect of
returning that night that he was sure he couldn't get down even a
swallow of coffee.
The second night she gave him a lingam massage, which led him
to a state of near collapse.
"The goal isn't climax," Eswara said with a shake of her head.
"Sorry, it's just that-"
"You're still alternating between struggling and release. Try to
even out your breathing and -"
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"Oh Lord, I'm going to -"

"Stop yourself. You know how. You're going to make yourself ill
if you don't stop panicking."
When Martin had calmed once more he laughed shakily. "I'm
sorry. I don't know why I'm like this. I just seem to perpetually be on
fire. And yet one part of me still says this is bad, that we shouldn't-"
"There is nothing bad about it. We like and admire each other.
We're here by choice. Besides, we haven't yet, not really. We've
barely scratched the surface," she said with a smile.
"And the whole of your sexual life is not centred on your genitals.
You can have an orgasm from any part of you being touched, or from
watching me even without touching me."
"You won't let me touch you, so that's easy enough," he said
petulantly.
"You can't concentrate as it is. In a couple of days you can do some
of these things to me. For now though, I think you need to rest."
"Please, before I go into Ash's room, will you kiss me?"
She moved her mouth over his sensually, the kiss so powerful that
when Martin next opened his eyes, it was morning, and he was still in
her bed flat on his back as though pinned there. He shook his head.
What on earthHe scrambled for his clothes, got dressed, and bounded down the
stairs, ready to leave before the maid arrived.
"Do you want coffee?" she asked with a gasp, seeing how
disheveled and wild he looked.
"No, no. What on earth happened to me last night? Did we-"
She smiled indulgently. "No, we didn't. Not yet. Practice your
meditation. And try not to fight it. It's all natural and normal, and
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beautiful."
He reached for her to kiss her thoroughly, but the sound of Nelly
coming in caused them to spring apart with a guilty blush, and with a
light stroke of her cheek, he was gone.
That night Ash was home from Brimley, and Martin felt like a
hungry tiger, unable to be alone with her for more than a few
moments, and terrified to touch her for fear of losing control.
He had had more than enough pleasure with Eswara, yet still he
felt it burgeoning rather than diminishing. His eyes smouldered, and
she could read his mind like an open book as she had to endure the
torment of supper with him and her son.
The second night of Ash's sojourn was not so bad, for she was
called out to a confinement, and thus left him early. He returned to his
own home and paced up and down in his room.
He scowled at the broken mirror which had not been replaced, and
the black velvet box sitting atop the dresser to remind him of his
foolishness. He still longed to give it to her. But she had said no
payment for services rendered.
He shoved the box into his bottom drawer, unable to bear its
seeming reproach. If he had given it to her, he would have been
shown up as a flaming fool. But then he wouldn't have experienced
the joys she'd given him already.
He quaked with anticipation at the joys which were still to come.
No, he couldn't commit himself so irrevocably with a gift so rare. He
would return it to Bath on the morrow.
On the other hand, he thought, opening the drawer to take it out
and admire it once more, he would be hard put to find another piece
like it which would suit her so well. As though it were made for her.
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Well, she might have said no presents, but surely she had a
birthday like everyone else. He would find out from Ash when it was,
and give it to her then.
Apparently the stricture of no presents did not apply to Eswara, for
when he arrived for supper that evening, she sat him down in the
parlor with a new pipe and a wonderful aromatic mixture of tobaccos,
with a hint of mango and vanilla.
"My favourite. But how did you know?"
"A good guess."
That evening she also guessed one of his dearest fantasies, for she
made love to him with her mouth until he collapsed with exhaustion.
The next night she gifted him with the new muffler she had been
making for him, and massaged him everywhere, saving the lingam
massage for last.
The fourth night, she had made him a special dinner, roast lamb
just as he liked it, with champagne. That night, though, he requested
she allow him to see her completely bare, touch her.
Eswara knew the moment of truth had arrived. Thus far she had
managed to keep her distance and some clothing on, but her senses
were so inflamed she felt perpetually aroused by his very presence. I
t had been the hardest thing in the world to try to maintain her
guise of woman of the world when all she wanted was for him to plant
himself between her thighs and make time stand still for them both.
"I'll let you bathe me," she said with a whisper.
She looked for some sign of disappointment when at last he saw
her fully naked, but the surge of his arousal was such that she took
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pity on him, laid him down in the tub, and rubbed her slippery wet
belly over him until he gained his release. He hung onto her, but she
moved her head when he tried to kiss her on the lips.
Then she turned to sit in the space between his thighs and let him
soap her back, shoulders, breasts and stomach. When they were both
relaxed and she felt she could breathe evenly, she let him dip his hand
lower, and he gasped.
"And can I massage you too? You know, the way you did to me?"
"Yes, there is a Yoni massage. But I'm supposed to be your
mistress, pleasure you," she said quietly.
"You do, all the time. You can't have failed to notice. But I need to
know about you. Women, I mean. So I don't get it all wrong."
"Why don't we start with a full body massage, and see where the
rest of it takes us?"
Now it was Eswara's turn to go on fire, for his hot hard hands, after
the first tentative strokes, seemed to know what she wanted and
needed even before she did.
Her son had rubbed her shoulders and back, but even the lightest
touch there from Martin was like a whole new experience, a
quickening of the senses which left her gasping almost as desperately
as he usually did.
His own arousal was vast. But when he was concentrating on
pleasing her, he seemed to be able to keep it under control, at a slow
burn which caused her to start as he turned her over to look at her.
He tried to kiss her, but she moved her head away, planting her
mouth on one of his nipples to tease it lightly. Her action and the sight
of her breasts caused him to dip his mouth to hesitantly lick one
nipple. She was torn between wanting to finish the massage and
wanting his moist mouth upon her delicate peaks.
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"Mm, nice. Lovely massage. You did that so well, pleased me

greatly. That thrills me so much too. You can nibble a bit with your
teeth, not too hard though. See how much she likes it?"
He laughed as the pert little nipple almost danced for his attention.
"And don't forget the other one. She feels lonely."
He alternated between her breasts delightedly, almost like a child
with a new toy. She smiled down at him warmly, stroking his hair. His
massive erection thrust at her leg, and she held him lightly by the
velvety tip until he rubbed against her one last time and sighed.
"You're so lovely," he breathed against her ear. "From the moment
I saw you fresh out of the bath. I have to admit I was fascinated by
your bare feet."
"You can play with them if you like."
"In a minute. I'm still completely awed by your breasts."
"You're scared of the other parts though, aren't you?" she asked
softly.
"Yes and no," he admitted, his eyes never leaving her body. "You
also said to go slowly, so I don't miss out on anything. I want to know
really know your breasts. What pleases you about them."
Everything was the answer, if he was the person fondling them.
"Mmm, that's so nice. Your hands are just magnificent," she praised.
He gave a warm smile and tried to do even better, gentling his
strokes.
She stared. Such a smile. Worth all of her, body and soul, she was
sure. If only he could relax, trust her.... Trust himself.
The following night he gave her a yoni massage so fantastic she
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was sure he must have been studying all of Ash's books upon the
subject of love. Everywhere he touched her made her feel as though
she were caught in a raging inferno.
He was so tentative at times though, that she was sorely tempted to
initiate him into love's sweet mysteries. The only reason for her not
pressing forward was that she knew he was still not ready.
She allowed herself to go all the way to climax so that he could see
and feel what her response was like. He stared in awed fascination,
and was determined to explore her even more intently.
She blew out a shaky breath. "No, Martin, not again. I can't-"
He stared at her in surprise. "You said we were both capable of
multiple pleasures."
"But I'm supposed to be concentrating, teaching you," she said,
trying to keep her voice impersonal as she sat up and swung her legs
over the side of the bed, trying to tamp down the rising sense of panic
that she might have said something to betray her true feelings.
"That might be true, but seeing you like that, well, it's got me
incredibly excited. And I like to touch you. If I can't there again, may
I at least cherish your breasts?" he asked wistfully.
She tried not to melt against him, but in the end he brought her to
yet another quivering peak of delight. It had been a long time, she told
herself.
It had never been like this.....
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Chapter Twenty-eight
A week of similar sensual explorations passed happily enough for
Martin and Eswara, only interrupted by Ash returning home for his
usual two-day visit. They had by now settled into a thrilling if
comfortable routine of bath, supper and bed, and hours of exploration
and conversation about what they enjoyed.
Eswara tried to keep it impersonal, couching her lessons about her
own body in a manner which suggested she was simply telling him
what he needed to know for the future.
She managed to hold back most of the time when he massaged
her, but she also let herself go from time to time to show him her
response, and thanked him most humbly for the pleasure he had
bestowed.
On the eighth night, he said shyly, "Can I make a special request?"
"What would you like?" she asked, thinking it was going to be
another intimate massage.
"Can we just kiss each other, the way you kissed me that first night
when we had our picnic? That was really wonderful."
She gave him a warm smile, seeing little to concern her in the
request. "All right."
She moved back up the bed and nestled comfortably at his side,
then began to trace his lips with her tongue. Soon he was kissing her
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back, imitating the slow glide of her tongue and nibbling and sucking
her bottom lip, before angling his head to kiss her ever more deeply.
At one point he lifted his lips enough to whisper, "I never knew
anything so simple could be so pleasurable, so erotic."
She hadn't either. The contact seemed to set her on fire, though at
first he had not even touched her with his hands. Now they were on
her shoulders, kneading them lightly, his thumbs lightly caressing the
hollow of her throat, stroking along the hollows of her collarbones,
treasuring her.
His palms traveled down to cup both breasts, and the lambent
moistness which dewed between her thighs every time she was with
him now grew to a torrent.
Her hips began to grind against his thigh of their own accord, hotly
seeking. Her hands flew everywhere, savouring every inch of his
flesh.
She hadn't planned on reacting so powerfully. This was supposed
to have been about his own needs. Though surely there wasn't
anything wrong in allowing herself a little loss of control.
But as one of his hands traveled down further over her hip and
thigh, his fingers gliding unerringly to her most sensitive spots as if he
had them memorised, the little loss of control became a paralyzing
climax which all the deep breathing in the world could not dispel
completely.
She could feel herself so engorged below that every touch of his
fingers vibrated through her. She knew then that they could not wait
any longer.
She could feel her own urgent need knocking at her ribs again,
tearing at her womb, and it was unlike anything she had never felt
before.
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"Martin," she gasped.

"Yes."
Eswara let Martin roll her onto her back, and with his seemingly
innate knowledge of her body he pressed against her.
He was massive against her own distended flesh, and for a moment
she was not sure if her long dormant body was going to yield to his
powerful stroke. But the force of their attraction had rendered them
both wonderfully moist. He slipped up and down for a moment,
dewing himself with her pearly essence.
There was only a brief second of hesitation, and then he was filling
her. She could sense from his ragged gasp that he was already
finishing.
"Oh, Eswara, it's-"
"All right. Only natural for a first time," she whispered. "You're
beautiful."
He thrust into her with such power she nearly rocketed off the bed.
But his huge weight held her hips pinned flat. She groaned weakly as
her own climax tore through her, wringing him even more tightly
within her until they both collapsed into each other's arms.
Martin wept tears of joy and kissed her. "I knew it would be
wonderful, but that was a taste of heaven, I'm sure."
"It was," she agreed. "You were magnificent. Pleased me so
much."
It was no lie she told. Praise and reassurance was so important for
him, but it had to be sincere. There was no sense in faking anything in
the bed-after all, if she weren't satisfied and never told him, whose
fault would it be if she wasn't happy?
In fact she felt so happy she was sure she was grinning from ear to
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ear. "It was explosive, but I was more than ready for you. You were
right about the kissing. I never knew how, how joyous it could be
either."
"Still can be, love."
"Mmm," she agreed, opening her mouth as his lips and tongue
renewed their quest.
She twitched in surprise as he moved against her, for he was
already desirous of more.
She tried to push from her mind her last seemingly disloyal
comparison with her former husband. She had attempted to teach him
something of what she knew, but perhaps his age had been a factor.
Or he simply had not had Martin's unique power of concentration.
Or perhaps by some twist of fate, they really were made for each
other? she wondered once again.
At times he seemed to know her body even better than she did, she
thought in awe. He stroked the back of her neck and scooped her hips
even more tightly to him to increased the friction against her loins,
unerringly rubbing her pearl of pleasure as he throbbed into her.
Whatever the reason, it was easily two hours later when at last he
climaxed powerfully one finally time, thrusting up into her as she lay
astride him, her legs straight out against the length of his, angling her
hips for deep penetration and glide.
"Oh, Lord, give me a minute, Eswara, and I'll be back for you," he
panted.
She stroked his hair back from his face and moved up until she
could rest with her forehead upon his. With one sweet kiss she rolled
off him.
"No, you'll be sore if you keep this up, as will I be. I've not done
anything like this for some time. Not since long before my husband
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passed away."
His eyes darkened with worry. "I'm sorry. Did I do something
wrong?"
She shook her head. "No, it was lovely, all of it. You were
splendid, kind, considerate, perfect in every way. But at the rate you're
going, you're going to be raw if you're not careful. And some say
overdoing it can reduce sensitivity. There are other ways besides
working so hard. You need to relax." She eluded his grasp. "And the
other ways are for another lesson, so rest now."
"Can I kiss you?"
She grinned. "That was the way all of this started."
"True. Do you mind?"
She shook her head. "No, of course not. I just want you relaxed
and happy, though. No worries, or fear about performing as if you are
some sort of trained pony." She gave a wicked smile. "Though your
attributes would certainly not be misplaced between the legs of a
Derby winner."
He chuckled. "And you, my dear, could give the furniture a zenith
just by sitting on it."
She snuggled against him for a moment, stroking his face and chest
reverently as he traced her mouth with his tongue, before kissing her
deeply.
"I have a confession to make, though," he said a short time later,
planting nibbling little kisses all over her face.
"What?" she murmured, trying to contain the panicked sensation
which lurched in her breast.
"I was actually wanting to kiss you in a couple of other places too.
Your breasts, and then lower."
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"You don't have to-"

"You've done it to me. I really do want to. I know I don't have to. I
want to taste you, smell you. Your perfume is like an aphrodisiac for
me. Roses and cinnamon, and honey."
He had already begun traveling down her with his clever mouth. It
now fastened gently on her breast, elicting a gasp from her.
The men who had pawed her in the past at the mess dinners and
dances had grabbed and squeezed as if they were checking her for
ripeness.
Martin's touch was reverent, and took in the side and delicate flesh
underneath in a tender demonstration of regard which had the blood
singing in her veins all over again.
Each breast in turn thrust into his moist seeking mouth as if more
than willing to accede ownership to him and him alone. Even her
body betrayed her, for as she tried to maintain some semblance of
aloof detachment from this man who had said he only wanted her as a
mistress, one hand on her hips was enough to spread her legs wide for
his head and hand to nestle in.
"Beautiful. A dusky rose colour, so exciting now. Glistening only
for me. You are so gorgeously lush, my dear." He inhaled deeply
before gliding his tongue along her sensitive rosebud while the fingers
of his right hand began to tease her.
My, he certainly had been paying attention to her needs, for in no
time at all he had her panting furiously. As he inserted a second finger
inside and curled it, the heated sensations she had been struggling to
hold in check flew sizzling up from her toes to her head and she
shouted his name.
He looked up at her in surprise, his eyes swiveling upwards, his
tongue never leaving her. He could see her parted lips, her flushed
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cheeks, and felt proud, truly powerful for the first time in his life.
This was a true miracle, the gift of himself and what they shared.
She had been so generous with him. He was so glad he could repay
her. With interest, he thought with a smile as he nibbled delicately
with his teeth until she begged, "Come inside me, please?"
He was more than ready. In fact, he was almost painfully hard at
the thrill of seeing her so lost in her peak of pleasure. Like the women
in Ash's paintings, she was indeed made for love.
He grasped the thin silk she had discarded earlier, and draped it
over her torso from breast to hips, so that when he moved to join with
her, they glided together. The silk and his own soft chest hairs set her
nipples afire. The fabric whispering over her belly was as powerful as
one of his massage strokes. Her body rose up to receive him, and both
were sure the molten heat of their desire had fused them into one.
He grasped her bottom with his huge hands, angling her even more
closely into him until she was arched like a bow under his body, the
sensitive tip of his penis right at the top of her, her rosebud of desire
stroked by his crisp dark curls and pelvic bone. Every nerve ending
sizzled and hummed.
She trembled as he kissed her throat, poised on the brink of the
most powerful climax she had ever yet had. Then he moved to kiss her
lips, and it all changed again, grew even more intense, like a
whirlwind of colour and sound and sensation.
Martin could feel her heart beating within, and held back the urge
to weep. It was life and love, and she had given it all to him. As he
was bestowing it upon her. But she had said she didn't want them to
be sore.
Then he understood what she had meant about other ways, for as
deeply as Martin had gone, as he pulled her to him and she arched
further, he could move tiny fractions, and also side to side on the
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slippery silk. His discovery was so compelling they both gasped and
soared. Eswara raked his buttocks and back with her fingernails as
they poured into each other like molten lava and then at last were still.
"Oh, my," she laughed shakily. "I think we're going to have to
ration your kisses. That was wonderful."
"You do it to me. Just when I think I can stay calm, you surprise
me."
"You've certainly surprised me. You've been studying me very
carefully, haven't you?" she murmured, wondering why the thought
was so thrilling yet so terrifying.
Because the more he know about you, the more likely he is to find
out you love him...
His brows knit. "That's not wrong, is it?"
"No, not at all. It will be good for when you decide to marry, or at
least have someone more than a paid companion," she said.
He pulled away from her, scowling, tense once more, and sat up as
though he had been burnt. "But I'm with you now. And promised you
exclusivity, I believe the word was. Just as you have me. Haven't
you?" His silver eyes bored into her.
"Yes. Yes, I have."
"Then I have a rule of my own for our arrangement," he said
gruffly. "As long as we're in this bed together, the rest of the world is
banished from it. My wife, your husband, and any other potential
lovers for either of us. No past, no future. Just here and now. Do you
understand, Eswara?"
"Fine. Fine," she said again, when his face remained like granite.
She reached out one hand to him but he stiffened. She stroked the
back of his and he relaxed slightly. She came up on to her knees like a
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small kitten to nuzzle against his shoulder, where she planted a warm
kiss, and then draped the silk scarf over his neck. "You can take that
to bed and meditate on it."
He grinned in spite of himself. "I might do more than meditate on
it if you keep stroking me like that."
"Bed, dear. You must be tired."
He nodded. "I'll see you soon." He nuzzled her cheek for a
moment, his breath hot and thrilling on her sensitized skin.
She kissed his brow the way she would her son, subtly dismissing
him so she could be alone with her thoughts.
When she made no move to keep him, he gathered his dressing
gown with an inaudible sigh and left the room with two long strides.
Relief flooded through Eswara once he had gone. She shivered at
her fevered recollections. How had he got so far under her defenses?
He was supposed to have been the virgin, but he had evoked in her
a sensuality and sweetness she had never suspected was possible.
She laid back down in the hollow vacated by their bodies, and
pulling up the covers over her, she replayed the events of that evening
and the magical kiss which had propelled them to the heights of
passion. What was it about his kisses?
Martin was no less in awe over what happened, but tremulously
fearful that he had committed some sort of error. He had hoped she
would ask him to stay, but she had treated him like a pupil dismissed
from his lessons.
Yet she had enjoyed herself, he was sure of it, much more so than
when he had simply thrilled her with his hands and lips in the past.
Why did women have to be so unfathomable?
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But she was right. She was his mistress, not his wife. He wanted to
please her. She had to please him. It was her job.
He wished he had never been so crass as to ask her to be his lover.
If he had been a braver man, he might have been able to study her,
spend time with her, find the key to her heart.
But the prospect of anyone else having her had filled him with
such outrage. The thought that she had initiated others such as himself
almost made him ill.
He told himself it was not her fault. However, she should have
been honest with him that night in the kitchen. But then, they had not
been talking about her past, only his.
He sighed. She had been a good friend that night. And every night
before and since. He had never met anyone so kind, so willing to give.
He had seen her with others, men and women, and admitted to himself
he was jealous of them all. Even her son. He wanted to hide away in
this snug little house, keep her all to himself....
Marry her? Have a family with her?
He thrust the insidious little voice away. No. It was too irrevocable
a step. Disaster had accompanied his first marriage in less than a
week. It had given the common phrase 'putting his head in the noose' a
whole new level of meaning, he thought with a shudder. And he could
never, ever give his heart to anyone again.
This was good healthy lust, plain and simple, he told himself as he
toyed with the silk scarf around his neck, revelling in the scent of her,
the softness of the fabric reminding him of Eswara's skin, hair, long
lashes, delicate feminine curls.
He could feel himself harden again, and breathed deeply, not
feeling any guilt now over his desire. Eswara was certainly a most
worthy object of it. It was onlynatural to want such exquisite beauty,
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he thought, recalling her face as she had surrendered to him utterly.

He might never be able to marry her, but he could at least keep her
happy for as long as possible, so that she would never even consider
looking for another man.
He would, through his lovemaking, set a stamp upon her, render
her as incapable of thinking about anything but him, just as he was
unable to contemplate anything without her surrounding him.
He touched the scarf again as he drifted off to sleep. For the first
time since he had been so grievously injured, he never even felt the
ragged flesh upon his neck.
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Chapter Twenty-nine
After the magnificent lovemaking they had shared, Eswara did not
expect to see Martin for some time. He knew Ash was coming home
for his couple of days' sojourn, and from what she had been led to
believe about the way the world worked, once a man got what he
wanted, he tended to not stay around for very long afterwards.
She had been leading up to their lovemaking carefully as much
because she needed to be sure he was ready, as because of her secret
fear that once he tasted her joys, he would vanish.
She had no concept of herself as an alluring woman that men
would want for more than a temporary diversion. Even his proposition
of her being his mistress was something she had imagined was only
going to be for as long as he felt he needed her.
Once Martin learned what he wanted to know, he would move on
to pastures green, a tame little English rose who would be swept off
her feet by his virility, or perhaps one of the predatory women of the
world who lurked on the corners of society, unhappily married, but
certainly on the prowl for someone to share their loneliness and
boredom with.
Perhaps a variety of both types, for many men craved multiple
partners. She was fortunate to have been his first, but she would bet
all she owned that she would never be his last.
Eswara rather hoped for Martin's own sake that he would take the
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totally adoring English rose, for though they could wreak

unimaginable havoc on men's lives, at least most of them were fluffbrained enough not to be too dangerous or vicious.
Blake had told her what his two former liaisons had almost cost
him. She shuddered to think of someone as sensitive as Martin being
treated like a mere piece of flesh for their entertainment.
But it was of course his choice, she thought with a sigh as she
finished tidying her room, and stroked the sheets one last time as if
they were Martin's own bare flesh.
"Hello, Mother!" Ash called from below just as she was finishing.
She skipped down the stairs to receive his hearty kiss. He swung
her around and told her how well she looked, then began to unpack his
valise to sort his laundry.
"Always the nicest presents for your old mum," she teased, looking
at the muddied trousers he hauled out of the bag
"It's amazing what you can find in the ponds even at this time of
year. Just wait until it warms up," he said with his usual boyish
enthusiasm for his scientific discoveries.
She wondered again at the gift the gods had given her in this
incredibly bright son. She wondered if Martin had been like this
before he had been damaged so cruelly by life.
She prayed her son would be spared such torment. But she knew
that already he had suffered, for to be different was no easy thing
when society dictated conformity. Ash was an exotic hot house flower
surrounded by stolid cabbage roses and daisies. How could he not
stand out? But how could he ever fit in?
It was a question she had asked of herself often enough. But at
least Ash had had the advantage of an English upbringing, though the
schooling experiences he had been exposed to had been much less
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than satisfactory.
She shuddered as she recalled his returning home bloodied but
victorious on numerous occasions. Then his illness had laid him low,
but through it she had been fortunate enough to meet Blake.
"All right, Mother?"
"Yes, fine. I was just wondering if you were happy over at the
vicarage, or if you wanted to go back to school for your prep-"
"No chance. I would die of boredom. And get beaten up, or have to
fight to defend myself, which of course I don't wish to do unless
absolutely necessary. I wouldn't mind going to be tutored a bit more in
Hindi some time, perhaps in the summer, and some Tantra if I have
time, but please spare me from English public school."
"Yet the Rakehells adored Eton."
"Yes, but they're English, and wealthy, titled even. We're middleclass at best, and I'm black."
"Slightly cream would be my estimate."
"But you're my mother, so are inclined to view my imperfections
charitably."
"If you had any, I would, love. But you don't." She hugged him
warmly.
Eswara started as she heard a booted foot scrape on the floor
behind her son.
"Hello, Mrs. Paignton. I hope I'm not intruding," Martin said with
a tentative smile. "Welcome home, lad."
Ash shook the proffered hand. "Hello. Not intruding at all,
Martin," he replied.
"I was just passing and wondered if you might like to take a ride,
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perhaps come to the Manor for a spot of shooting."

Ash looked at his mother. "I've only just got in the door this
minute."
She smiled at him indulgently. "And handed me your laundry to
do. So off you go, pet. Have a good time, and I'll see you for dinner at
four. You are of course welcome to join us, Mr. Jerome."
"Thank you, Mrs. Paignton. I would be only to please to share your
meal."
His regard was so warm and glowing she felt herself blush.
Fortunately her son appeared completely oblivious to any nuances in
the room. With a hearty buss on her cheek, he went to get changed
into more tweedy clothes.
As soon as he was gone Martin stepped closer. "I wanted to see
Ash, of course. But I also wanted to see you, to thank you for last
night. For your generosity of your time, your lovely person. You are
really the most gorgeous woman. It was wonderful last night, better
than my wildest imaginings."
"Thank you as well. Your magnificence is also not to be
underestimated." She gave a warm smile, trying to dispel some of his
evident tension.
"I know he's with you for a couple of nights now, but, well-"
She stared at him. "What?"
"I thought perhaps we could-"
"Could what? He's just down the hall from my room!" she hissed.
"No, I meant-" He blushed again, and she wondered what on earth
had him so tongue-tied.
"I thought perhaps tomorrow we could go on a trip to Bath
together, all three of us. Stay at the townhouse and go to the concert.
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The Elthams invited us and-"

"Us?" she echoed in confusion.
"They said I could use either of the houses at any time, and bring
Ash and you. They know Ash from Jonathan, of course, and the ball.
Wanted to include him in their set. There are actually two separate
houses at Upper Crescent. There would be nothing improper. Then we
could drop Ash back at the vicarage whenever he liked. I've got my
own carriage now, a small four-seater. It just came this morning."
"I see. Well, it's very kind of you. We shall ask Ash when he
comes down. It is his holiday, after all."
"Ask me what?"
Martin made his suggestion, and the young man accepted with
alacrity. "So long as you take me to Sally Lunn's for tea cakes, I'm
your man."
"Good. I'm sure the two of you will have a wonderful time."
Both faces fell. The more lined and careworn of the two
demanded, "Aren't you coming with us?"
"Oh, no, lads together. I don't think-"
"Please, Mum, you must come. You hardly ever go anywhere
except to visit your patients. Not to mention me not getting to see you
if I go. So I won't if you don't."
She sighed. "Oh well, in that case I suppose I shall have to say yes.
I'll need to tell Nelly to refer all my patients to Blake though, and give
him fair warning. So shoo, you two. And bring back something edible,
darling."
"I always do," he said indignantly.
She made a wry face. "Alas, my tastes don't run to the French style
of cooking, frog's legs and snails."
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They all grinned at each other, and with a last kiss for Eswara, Ash
left the kitchen.
Martin stepped out, and a moment later returned. With a swift
glance over his shoulder, he cupped the back of her head for a warm,
open-mouthed kiss.
"Good morning," he whispered. "And a bien tot." With one last
blistering kiss he left her.
Eswara clung to the table, her fingers pressed against her lips. She
shook her head, trying to clear it. Just what was it about something his
kisses? How could so simple become such an utter act of....
ravishment.
Her nipples pressed against the fabric of her gown in taut peaks;
her frilly undergarments were almost unbearable against her sparking
flesh.
She forced herself to sort her son's wash, and tried to steel herself
to face Martin with equanimity over the dinner table. Let alone a
whole day in Bath amongst his friends.
Fortunately Eswara did have some good gowns appropriate to the
elegance of Bath, and she packed her bronze silk trimmed with black
lace as well as her lavender, and checked her russet gown with cream
sprigs in the mirror the next morning. She had dressed warmly but
stylishly, and swept up her hair with some matching ribbons in a
simple but elegant style.
She looked so lovely and vibrant that everyone they came across
wondered who on earth the lovely young thing was flanked by two
such impressive men. Her assurance that she was indeed the goldeneyed young man's mother was greeted with complete surprise.
She was convinced they were all being flattering, but Martin's
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warm regard when they were in the carriage on the way to the Baths
was enough to convince her that she did look well.
But then, she felt well. The thrill of his lovemaking was still just
below the surface of her consciousness, and fizzled every so often as
they touched accidentally or their gazes met.
The simple act of handing her in and out of the coach, or helping
her off with her cloak was enough to make her catch her breath, and
his respiration seemed no less affected by her nearness.
At one point when he took in a deep breath she was sure he was
inhaling her perfume. He looked down with a small smile, causing her
to blush as she saw her breasts thrusting against the confines of the
woollen gown. The tip of his tongue peeped out to circle his lips
suggestively.
She blushed to the roots of her hair and released his hand so
abruptly that she would have fallen flat on her face off the coach step
if he hadn't caught her waist and pressed her to him.
"No, not here, it's too much," she hissed, conscious of all eyes
upon them in front of the Pump Room entrance, and the treacherous
rising of her fleshly desires.
He stared at her nonplused. "My dear, calm yourself," he said in a
low tone, "I'm not about to let you fall in the mud. The tabbies would
really gossip about that."
Once her feet were on terra firma, she stepped away from him and
began to stride away.
"You go in the Pump Room with Ash," she said over her shoulder.
"I'm going around the corner to do some shopping in Cheap Street."
He followed on briskly. "At least let one of us walk you over there
and fetch you back. You seem a bit, well, feverish," he said with a
puzzled frown, seeming blissfully unaware of the cause.
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If only he knew, she thought to herself. But then, it wasn't the same
for men... They could say they were completely smitten with a
woman, yet forget about them for days at a time.
"I'm fine. I can go myself. You stay with Ash."
She had gone half way down the street before he could say another
word.
He stared after her for a moment, before calling to the young man,
"I'm going to walk your mother over to the shops in Cheap Street. I'll
be right back."
The young man nodded and waved.
He ran to catch up with her. "Mrs. Paignton, Mrs. Paignton, please
wait."
"What are you doing?" she hissed.
"Walking you to the shop," he said in confusion, for it should have
been all too apparent as he took her arm.
She shook her head. "It is altogether too, well, intimate. I can
assure you, even though I'm widowed I can actually walk down a
street by myself with perfect ease."
He blinked, open-mouthed. "I'm sorry. You are right, of course.
But I would do no less for any other woman if I thought they had
reason to fear for their person."
She stared. "It's broad daylight in Bath, a most civilised town.
What on earth would I have to fear?"
"I know men only too well. An elegant lady such as yourself-"
She rolled her eyes in exasperation. "I too know men, and kept my
virtue during the whole of my married life. You do not need to
attempt to look after it for me. Especially since most people would
find the notion of my having any absurd."
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"Why?" he asked foolishly, at a genuine loss.

She shook her head, and explained quietly, as if to a simpleton,
"Because I've been your lover. Your mistress. Perceived by one and
all as a lusty widow regardless of whether I am or not."
Her words hit him with the force of a slap.
She looked at him narrowly. "Or is it that you believe the
stereotype? Trust me so little you fear some tryst amongst the
tapestries?"
He scowled. "Your pardon, Madam. But all the same, if you would
like an escort back to the townhouse with your purchases, I should be
only too pleased to send the coach for you in an hour."
She eased her stiff shoulders. "That would be most welcome. Ash
is always in need of yards of shirting. I shall join you in the Pump
Room after I have dropped off my things."
"I shall see you then." He bowed stiffly and left her at the door of
the shop.
He turned back to the Pump Room with a heavy heart, wondering
how on earth her simple words had wounded him so badly.
She was right, of course. He knew only to well the stereotype of
the insatiable widow as well. The ravenous older woman.
But she wasn't like that! He had been the one who had"What on earth is the matter with you, Martin?" Ash asked
worriedly, seeing his companion's white-faced expression and
unseeing stare.
"What? Sorry? Oh, just something I forgot to do this morning. Say,
listen, now that we are just two men alone together, can I ask you a
few things about, well, men and women? In um, love? The Tantra?"
he whispered.
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Martin expected Ash to laugh, but he said seriously, "Yes, of

course. I mean, I'm still a virgin, but if we start with it the subject
from the scientific point of view...."
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Chapter Thirty
Scientific view of sexual relations or not, Ash was a veritable font
of information, factual and sensual, some of it based on his own
personal observations.
After the detailed conversation in hushed tones, Martin was even
more eager to see Eswara again. Though if he was being strictly
truthful, he wouldn't have minded experimenting a bit upon himself
first.
On the other hand, he didn't want to do anything that would get in
the way of his pleasure with Eswara, diminish him in any way. But his
own limited experience told him they were both capable of vast joy.
Once she rejoined them, he felt as though he could barely keep his
hands or eyes off her. So once they got to Sally Lunn's and placed
their order, he got out his stone from his pocket and began to
meditate.
Eswara wondered at his mood, but Ash devoured hot buttered tea
cakes with gusto, and asked about her shopping, leaving her little
opportunity to speak with Martin. They also discussed the concert that
evening, and what they would wear.
"Not too many, love, we still need to have dinner when we get
back," she cautioned after the third impressively large cake.
"Very well. Anyway, back to the townhouse. It will be a late night
for you tonight, Mum. You ought to have a nap before your dress for
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the evening."
"What a good idea," Martin said, repressing a grin at the sudden
thought which popped into his head. Did he dare?
The townhouse was indeed divided into two, but joined in two
places, the ground floor foyer and the attic spaces. The foyer was out
of the question, for there was always a servant at the ready. But
upstairs....
He chatted with them both about their accommodations and told
them of his own room on the way back in the carriage. He had a pretty
good idea of the layout of the houses, and was delighted to find
Eswara had taken the largest second-storey room. Easy.....
Thus after dinner when everyone was otherwise occupied with
resting, reading, or bathing, Martin crept up the stairs, over and down
to the room he was sure Eswara was in. He gave a hasty tap and
entered, startling her for an instant.
"Martin, what are you-" She had been lying on the bed in nothing
but her wrapper, thinking the most licentious thoughts about Martin.
Now here he was in the flesh, and her desire nearly suffocated her.
"I couldn't bear being without you a moment longer, Eswara."
"But it's broad daylight! The servants," she hissed.
"I'll close the shutters, lock the door."
"Is this why you brought me here?" she asked indignantly. "To
take advantage..."
"No, I swear. But now that you are-"
She shook her head, thrusting her hands out in front of her. "I don't
give you permission to touch me. This is madness."
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" His face was a mask of passion, his cheekbones slashes of colour,
his eyes glistening with the strain.
He was broiling with need, his flesh so hot her hands felt scorched.
"All right, but we need to be quiet. No creaking the mattress and
roaring. No touching me. No."
"But how can we if I don't touch you?" he asked, groaning with
need.
"You'll only touch me in the one place. We need to concentrate for
this one. It's called the Mare's Trick. I use my muscles to literally
wring your essence from you."
He laughed in embarrassment. "That's easy. A couple of touches of
your hand are all I ever seem to need, darling."
She shook her head. "No, not my hand. My inner muscles. I can
control the rippling to pull the pleasure from you."
He stared at her wide-eyed. "Surely you jest."
"Really. But you need to let me meditate to clear my mind, and let
me do the work, concentrate."
"All right," he agreed, already tearing his clothes off eagerly before
reaching for her wrapper.
Since he was already nearly naked there was little point in
protesting that he ought to stay dressed. But if anyone did tap at the
door at least she would be presentable. "No. I'll leave it on."
She raised it slightly and sat back on the bed cross-legged, leaving
room for him. "We can meditate together. This time, though you are
not thinking about the stone. You're attempting to not think of
anything at all. To have your mind completely clear and free of any
worries or cares. A lovely peaceful emptiness of thought and
sensation."
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"Drat, I only just got good at concentrating on the stone," he

whispered.
"You can continue to do that as much as you like. This is just
another way to try to know the universe. Lie down and we can begin."
He was going to gather her into his arms, but she kept him at half
an arm's length. "On your side, and close your eyes."
He did as she instructed. Concentrating on his breathing, he
allowed himself to relax despite all of his excitement at the prospect
of what she was about to do. He moved his head on the pillow for a
moment to shake the last of his clinging thoughts free, and focused on
the air he was inhaling and exhaling.
A drowsy numbness overtook him, so that when she put her hand
upon his shoulder he started. His eyes flew open as she moved against
him, the heat of her skin wrapping him in a cocoon of bliss as she
merged into one with his flesh, taking him only part of the way into
her delicate core. She held his hips still when he would have thrust,
and sure enough he could feel her tightening upon him in rippling
waves like the tide ebbing and flowing on the beach.
Her mouth glided over the lightly-bristled bare flesh of his throat,
jaw and chin before coming to rest on his mouth. Her tongue licked
his lips in a sultry circling motion and slipped in. He sucked it
greedily, and he could feel her ripples intensifying. She moved down
even further for a moment until he was so deep he was sure he would
explode.
She lifted her hips again until the head of his penis was lodged
against what felt to him like the ring of firmer tissue he had felt when
she had clung to the fingers of his hand for her release. Now the
rippling was even stronger. Though he tried to struggle against it, his
orgasm was wrung from him inexorably until she pulled her mouth
from his to concentrate on enhancing his pleasure even more.
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She squeezed her muscles even harder. With her eyes closed she
let her hand travel down his back in a sweeping caress from nape to
buttocks, holding his hips in position firmly with her other hand
splayed around his lower back.
"Oh Lord, Eswara," he gritted. "Oh please, I can't take any more,"
he gasped, trying to thrust into her.
She locked her arm between them so he could not push or pull
closer, and still she shimmered over the engorged head of his penis.
She cupped her hand over his mouth to silence his cries and wrung
every ounce of pleasure from him until he could barely speak except
to exhale her name and beg her for a kiss.
When she was sure he was finished, she kissed him tenderly once
more. He snatched her to him convulsively. His head on her breasts,
he collapsed exhausted by the intensity of what she had given him,
and slept the sleep of complete and utter peace.
She watched him for what seemed an age in the dusky twilight,
and then sighed. He had to leave before anyone guessed, anyone came
to see her. She should never....
But it had not been much of a choice. Saying yes, he thought her
even more of a whore. But if she had said no, he would have felt
unloved and rejected.
She shook his shoulder a short while later. "Martin, dear, you need
to get up and bathe and dress for the concert. No, stop that," she said
with a caught breath as he kneaded one breast.
"No touching. You need to get dressed and go quickly. The abigail
will be here soon to check on my hair and so on, and I still need to
bathe."
"I want to bathe you," he murmured, nibbling along her warm
neck. "I want to touch you all over, but you won't let me."
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She could detected some strange shift in his emotions. "Martin,

what's got into you?" she demanded, getting up out of the bed.
"You. You fill my senses. It's worse than the most powerful
opiate."
He swung out of the bed with one powerful movement and grasped
her by her elbows. She gasped as he bent her back over the footboard
until she was unable to do anything other than cling to his shoulders.
"No, Martin, please, someone is going to come in," she said in a
near panic.
"And if they weren't, would you say yes?" he rasped.
Her gown slithered up her calves sensually, to her knees and
upwards, until her waist was bare. He ease the curve of her back
enough to free the gown fully until he could draw it straight over her
head. Now both naked as the day they were born, he rubbed his entire
body against her like a cat and reached down to bend one of her knees
and draw it up to his waist.
"No, Martin, the servants- Or Ash," she gasped, his hands all over
her, branding her with their heat as his possession, his alone.
"Again, if they were all gone, would you say yes?"
"Yes, yes," she panted.
"Since you've asked so nicely...." he purred.
In an instant he was moving inside of her, his legs straight while he
wrapped hers around his waist and carried her back to the side of the
bed. Once there he pulled her knees apart and pressed them up parallel
to her breasts until he was so deep inside her she saw stars.
"Hold them there," he ordered, taking his hands from her until she
nearly shouted with frustration.
"What?" she asked in confusion.
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"You said before, no hands." Planting his palms on either side of

the mattress he stood on the floor and began to move and circle.
In an instant she was wild for his touch, his kiss, reaching for him
with overweening urgency.
He shook his head. "No touching. Otherwise our little friend here
will take you at your very first word and leave."
"No, please don't go, Martin," Eswara begged, trying to clasp one
buttock and pull him further in. "Please kiss me."
Martin evaded her grasp and put her hand under her bent knee.
"Keep it there or I'm leaving."
She had no idea what game he was playing, why he had suddenly
become like this, but she was terrified he was as good as his word.
With her desire already rushing through her like the raging ocean she
simply couldn't let him go.
Just when she thought she was going to tip over the edge she
moved her hand to shove her fist in her mouth. Instantly he began to
withdraw from her.
"No, please. Martin, please, I was going to stuff it in my mouth
before I scream," she panted. "Please don't go."
"All right," he said in a throaty whisper. "But like all women,
unless you are kept firmly under control, you can't be trusted." He
flipped her over on her stomach in an instant, and rammed a pillow
under her head. "Stuff that in instead."
He lifted her onto his massive erection, impaling her until she
gasped, before withdrawing to massage the tip of his penis against the
sensitive first inches of her entrance to paradise. He swelled and
throbbed inside her once more, circling maddeningly, but without any
other touch but that.
Well, Ash had said there were many ways to please a woman. He
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had learned what she enjoyed from his massaging her. And from what
he had read in his wife's diary, women liked to be surprised. Swept off
their feet. He had the power, he had to learn how to use it.
Martin also felt as though he could not afford to let her have all the
control all the time. What she had done to him was incredible. She
was indeed a most skilled courtesan.
But he wanted to be skilled too, skilled enough to keep her from
seeking out another. His wife had said he was a soft touch who had no
spine. Perhaps that had been true once.
Now he wanted Eswara badly enough to use his rod of steel for her
delight. If he had to fill her night and day to keep her from seeking
another, he would. He was damned if he was going to give her up to
any other man without a fight.
His unreasoning jealousy and primitive possessiveness drove him
on to delve into her deeper and deeper. At last he touched her with
some other part of him. He dragged his nails down her back lightly
from shoulders to buttocks.
She writhed as he ceased circling and thrust further, taking all of
him into her at last. He reached to clasp both of her breasts, and she
nearly devoured the pillow as she soared. Her sob of passion sent him
over the edge a moment later. He collapsed onto the bed and dragged
her around to face him, kissing her like a man demented.
A few moments later, with a last almighty heave, he hurled himself
from the bed. He yanked on his trousers, shirt, and jacket, and without
even pausing to fasten any of them, he half-stumbled out the door and
was gone.
Eswara sat up trembling, her limbs, her whole body feeling as
though they belonged to someone else. What on earth.... How could
she have lost control so completely like that? And him
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She lit and candle and looked at the room. It was as though a
typhoon had surged through it. He had left his underclothing and
socks behind, his waistcoat, his boots. Her wrapper was dangling from
the wall sconce, and there was no mistaking what the bed had been
used for. The entire room smelled of wet, torrid passion. Her body
still vibrated with it, her thighs dripping.
She hauled her wrapper back on with a sensual shiver.
Consequences indeed. She had agreed to teach him, and opened the
floodgates of his passion. But now he had already begun to change the
rules of the game she thought she would be able to control.
She ran one trembling hand over her face as she hid his things in
her valise, which she fetched down from the top of the wardrobe. She
gathered her own possessions together to head for the bath and dress.
She looked at herself in the mirror of the wardrobe. A woman well
and truly tumbled stared back at her. What on earth had come over
him?
It certainly wasn't the cherishing devotion she had tried to nurture
in him. It had been raw, him acting upon his own sense of how men
were supposed to behave. His jealousy, which though perhaps
forgivable in terms of his past, was nevertheless dangerous, and had
been provoked without any cause whatsoever apart from her leaving
him for a short time to go shopping.
It had not been an act of loving, but a competition against an
imagined rival. He had behaved like the classic rake, performing,
taking his pleasure, and driving her on. Then leaving.
Driving.... not always taking no for an answer, she thought with a
worried frown, though in her case she had gladly said yes to him once
her fears about someone finding out had been cast to the four winds.
She sighed. Poor man. She realised now she had underestimated
the depth of his hurt, his inner turmoil. She would have more than
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welcomed him if he had not been so impetuous, had perhaps waited

until the evening to come to her room, when the servants were all
safely abed.
Despite Eswara's worries, a satisfied smile curved her lips as she
replayed the events of the afternoon. Perhaps it had been foolish of
her to ever try to control the magic between them. It was like trying to
harness the wild wind.
He might well have changed the rules, and turned her own
restrictions back upon herself. But his little surprise had been awfully
arousing.
And two could most certainly play at that game.
In fact, it was certainly more fun with more than with one
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Chapter Thirty-one
Eswara's 'revenge' for Martin's visit to her room was swift and
devastating. After the concert, during which she had deliberately
leaned forward to display her cleavage, used her knees and side of her
thighs to brush against him at every opportunity, and stroked his
manhood under the cover of the concert programme, she had visited
his bedroom for some rapid and ruthless oral delectations designed for
maximum impact which had left him prone weakly on the bed when
she turned to leave as silently as she had arrived.
Martin still looked dazed the next morning at breakfast. Eswara
smiled warmly and avoided him, sitting at the far end of the table with
the Duchess and cooing over her newest baby so tenderly he would
have sold his soul to get her to make such a fuss over him.
He knew his jealousy toward everyone was unreasonable, as had
been his conduct yesterday. He just couldn't seem to help himself.
He should never have lowered what they had together to the level
of a furtive assignation behind his friends' backs. She had certainly
paid him back in kind. He still couldn't quite believe what a quivering
wreck she had reduced him to last night with just a few well-placed
caresses of her lips and tongue.
Yet he wanted so much more. He thought again of the magical
kisses they had shared. The long hours of tenderness and loving. He
could see now what she had meant about the rakish lightning-fast
tumblings diminishing the power of what they could create together
with patience and control. But men were supposed to be in control, in
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charge...
The Duchess was speaking of their plans for the evening with
Eswara and now Ash, who had just come in to join them.
"There is to be a ball this evening. Would you like to accompany
us to the Upper Rooms, or must you head back to Millcote?"
"It's up to Ash. It's his day off, after all."
"I would love to go. You, Mother?"
"I don't see why not. I have my lavender gown with me. It'll be
fun.
Her spirits were dampened, however, when several new arrivals
appeared at the townhouse, Martin's brother Samuel and their two
pretty cousins.
Her heart sank as the lively Ellen and Georgina threw themselves
upon Martin, and Georgina stroked his cheek and told him how well
he was looking.
Eswara looked away. It was all just too intimate for her liking.
There was a far greater age difference between Martin and his little
cousin, but that was the way of the world-older man, younger woman,
not the other way around.
"And you simply must dance with me if you are going," Georgina
was saying.
"And me," Ellen put in. "I adore dancing, but certainly hate being
pawed.
"I am of course at your disposal," Martin said politely, his face
closing up.
Georgina seemed oblivious to his discomfiture, and took his arm.
"And now, shopping and tea cakes."
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Ash and his mother sat in the corner, all but forgotten as the girls
fussed and giggled getting ready.
Ash stared at the girls, and seethed inwardly. "It's as if we don't
even exist," he muttered under his breath.
"Oh, but they're very young, and don't know any better. Like all
young people, they're selfish."
"I hope I'm not like that, Mother," he said, looking daggers at the
flirtatious young Georgina as she dusted Martin's lapels off and fixed
his cravat in a manner suggestive of a wife.
He stiffened and suffered the attention, no more, but it was still
painful to watch.
"There, almost human now," Georgina said gaily.
Martin winced, and looked over at Eswara for relief.
She gave him a small nod, and turned her attention back to the
Duchess.
"Are you not coming with us, Mrs. Paignton?" Martin asked
almost desperately as Georgina began to drag him out the door.
"La, you know your carriage only holds four," Georgina said.
Before the Duchess could offer her own larger vehicle, they were
gone.
"What appalling rudeness," Ash grumbled as soon as they had
gone.
Charlotte Eltham shrugged. "They're young and very spoilt by their
parents. Georgina in particular, being the youngest. She was all set to
marry Oliver Neville last summer, but it all fell through, and she's
become even more frivolous and flirtatious than before. She has
dozens of suitors, and never keeps a one.
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"Ellen, on the other hand, keeps all the suitors at bay most of the
time. She might occasionally dance with someone other than her two
cousins, but soon she panics, and I don't entirely blame her.
"Adam Neville turned out to be a most unsuitable man. It seems
she attracts rakes and roues like a flame does moths, poor child. It has
got to the point where she rarely goes out except with her family."
"I imagine her family are trying to pair her off with one or the
other of their two young male cousins?" Ash observed quietly, with a
look at his mother which she caught but was unsure how to interpret.
"Yes, though for the life of me I can't see why. Martin is not ready
to marry again. Any fool can see that. And surely Ellen would be the
better choice for him even if he were.
"But no, Georgina leads him around by the nose, and makes a great
sport of him, trying to jolly him along, I suppose. You would scarcely
credit it now, but he was very like Jonathan Deveril in his day. Very,
well, flamboyant, full of joie de vivre, exceptionally good-natured, the
life and soul of any soiree. Extremely obliging to all, and yet very
religious with it. Much more so that Jonathan at that age. Jon found
his God during the war in Spain. Martin lost his God at the end of a
rope."
Eswara shuddered, but remained silent.
"Though I think there is more to it than that," Charlotte continued.
"I mean, the death of his wife in such a shocking manner was of
course appalling, but he seems to have lost not only her and his faith,
but his own, well, sense of himself, direction.
"He's been haunting the Jerome drawing rooms like a disembodied
spirit for the past four years. I'm astounded that he is even here. But I
suppose we have this wonderful young man to thank for that," she
said with a warm smile for Ash.
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The Duke entered a short time later. "I say, darling, what on earth
was all that noise?" he asked as he stooped to kiss her.
"The giddy Georgina Jerome for the most part."
"Are they gone?"
"Yes, dear."
"Phew. She wears me out just by looking at her." He looked
around. "I suppose Martin has been dragged off by them?"
"Afraid so."
"Ah well, Ash and Mrs. Paignton can come with us to the Abbey."
"No, really, if you have things to do-"
"Nonsense. We talked of it yesterday, but I suppose it must have
slipped Martin's mind." He frowned slightly.
Ash said stiffly, "I'm perfectly capable of escorting my mother. We
would not want to inconvenience you or any of your guests."
Thomas stared at the young man. Why was he being so prickly?
There must have been more to the Jerome girls' arrival than he
thought.
In fact, as he looked at them sitting in the corner, he could see how
insulted they had both been to have been overlooked as if they were
not in the least important. Something must have been said and done
badly by the Jeromes. They were good people, but as with many large
families, extremely clannish.
"Inconvenience? Nonsense. Darling, let me have Baby to put down
for his nap, whilst you get ready, and then we shall take Bath by
storm."
"No, really," Eswara put in at last, finally able to speak without
bursting into tears at the manner in which Martin had treated her. "I
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had thought to see Michael Avenel and his wife today."

"Of course. We should be delighted. But we can visit the Abbey
too, and make the time to carry out any shopping you or Ash might
care to do."
"I did mine yesterday, but Ash-"
"I'm fine, Mother. I should very much like to see Michael and
Bryony." His gold eyes shone.
"Very well. All settled. We shall meet in the foyer in about fifteen
minutes," the Duke said, before turning to his wife. "Darling, can you
find some treats for Bryony's sons, and some presents for her? I shall
get out some wine to take as a gift as well."
Eswara tried not to long for Martin's presence, but despite her
pleasure at getting to see her old friends once more, she couldn't help
but picture the lovely young couple together, and burned with
jealousy. She went to get her cloak and bonnet with a heavy heart.
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Chapter Thirty-two
Less than an hour later, Eswara and Ash, and the Duke and
Duchess were on the Avenels' doorstep at their snug house outside of
Bath, with a large hamper of goodies Charlotte had managed to throw
together in Thomas' hands.
Bryony opened the door herself, looking rather flustered at the
company.
"Darling, it's the Elthams and the Paigntons," she called loudly,
twitching the skirt of her gown down almost nervously.
Eswara grinned and winked at her. "I can see married life still
agrees with you," she laughed in her friend's ear as she embraced her
warmly.
"Indeed," Bryony said with a broad smile.
"And if I didn't know better," Charlotte said with a warm hug, "I
would guess you're blooming with child as well."
"Yes, about four months along now. We didn't want to say
anything until we were sure."
"We understand. Well, come lass, don't just leave us standing on
the stoop," Thomas said with a laugh of delight at his friends' news.
"This basket is for you, but it's a bit heavy."
"Oh, er, yes, thank you. Please, put it down over there. One of the
servants will take care of it. It's their half-holiday, and Michael and I
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were just, um, resting."

Ash winked at her. "Pity it takes so long to get back into one's
clothes compared to getting out of them."
"Oh, still as much of a wag as ever," she giggled, giving her friend
a big hug.
"Still as lovely as ever." Ash smiled at her fondly.
Eswara's heart gave a lurch. She wondered if he would ever again
find any woman he admired as much as Bryony. But he was young; it
was calf-love, she was sure of it.
In fact, she became more concerned when he began to improve his
acquaintance with the Duchess, talking Radical politics in a most
animated fashion with the lovely Charlotte. Was he fated to keep
falling in love hopelessly with older, married women?
That thought brought her back to her own predicament, for Martin
was younger than she, with a similar age difference she had frowned
upon when Ash and Bryony had become friends.
But they had been fifteen and twenty-two respectively, versus
Martin's nearly twenty-seven to her almost thirty-two. Ash had been
far too young to settle down, and ill. He was still too young.
Martin onthe other hand was a man full grown. And what a man.
And a man with a very pretty sixteen year old cousin in tow.
She felt her stomach lurch, but rammed that thought to the back of
her mind as they at last entered the drawing room, and Michael came
in a short time later, still using a walking stick but looking
exceptionally well. With hearty hugs all around, he sat and they spent
a delightful afternoon catching up on all their news.
Eswara wished with all her heart that Martin had been there to
meet her friends, but told herself to stop being silly. She was his
mistress, not his intended or his wife. He had no reason to wish to
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meet the Avenels, except insofar as they were Blake and Arabella's
friends too.
The morning and afternoon passed so pleasantly, with elevenses,
coffee, and then a high tea of pasties, pies and cakes, that it was only
when the clock struck six that Thomas recollected the ball in the
Upper Rooms, and his new passle of guests.
"I have no doubt my servants will have made them feel welcome,
and done something about dinner if they were home, but we really
ought to be getting back," he said, rising. "It's been so lovely to see
you both again, and please use the Townhouse at any time. And come
see us at the Castle. My sister and her husband are touring the south
coast at the moment, but they will be back in about a week's time."
"Yes, you must come," Charlotte seconded.
With many hugs and kisses they took their leave.
When they returned to the Townhouse, Martin came out of the
small drawing room scowling. He did not look at all like a man who
had had a pleasant day.
In fact, he had actually returned to the house shortly after being
dragged off by his cousins. He had informed them he did not wish to
shop or pay calls, and had gone back to the house to seek out Eswara
for some more restful company, some intelligent conversation with
Ash. But by the time he had come in, the party of four had already left
for the Avenels.
Thus he had been in the house alone all day, restively telling
himself they would be back at any moment. The any moment had
stretched to the whole day, with Martin getting more and more jealous
at each passing hour. Who was she with, what were they discussing...
He had already worked himself up into a frenzy by the time they
ever walked into the door. His desire for a passionate fight such as he
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had had with his former wife was thwarted, however, when Charlotte
shooed Eswara upstairs immediately to get dressed, and Thomas led
him into the drawing room for a drink and chat before they went to
perform their own evening toilettes.
Martin felt even more thwarted when his brother and cousins
commandeered he and his carriage, leaving Eswara and Ash with the
Elthams in their brougham.
Once at the Upper Rooms, there was a vast crush, and his cousins
hung on to him like limpets, ever eager for an assured dance partner
with no bad intentions towards their persons or fortune.
Georgina in particular was talking such nonsense, trying to cheer
him up after he had sulked and stalked away from their shopping
expedition, that anyone who didn't know who they were proclaimed
him a most lucky man to have such unstinting adoration from such a
lovely young thing.
Eswara overheard the comment more than once, and gritted her
teeth, telling herself it would be a fine thing for them both, and was
only to be expected given the nature of Regency society.
"I say, Martin, if you've taken all the trouble to come to the ball,
you might as well try to have a good time, eh?"
"Yes, Georgina," he said dutifully, trying to look over all the heads
in the crowd to find Eswara.
So far, so good, for she was still at the wall with her son, her only
forays on the dance floor having been with him.
"Here, drink some punch, and tell me all about where you've been
hiding these days. Uncle tells me you're rarely at Barton any longer,
and you aren't with us. Have you defected? Is it possible you have a
new woman in you life?" Georgina said with a coy flutter of her
eyelashes.
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"And you a new man? I notice that necklace you are wearing
doesn't look like a family heirloom."
He put his hand upon it, noting the quality, secretly pleased it did
not compare in the least with the gold and amethyst one he had bought
Eswara. He would have to discover when her birthday was, and gift it
to her then. He would ask Ash at his earliest opportunity.
Georgina put her hand to the necklace and tittered. "La, what sort
of woman would I be if I accepted a gift like this from an admirer?"
Martin felt as though he had been punched in the gut. What sort
indeed.
"I am not ready to settle down, so such things are out of the
question. No, I persuaded Papa to let me have it as an early eighteenth
birthday present. Very early, I will own since it is some time away,
but it was a prodigious bargain. Sally Henshaw's father gambled
heavily last month, and she had no blunt for her quarterly allowance.
So she was willing to part with the necklace for an excellent price,
especially since she's got so vast it doesn't even fit around her neck
any longer."
"Very nice, dear, but on second thoughts," he said, looking at the
necklace more closely, "I would say that the gold is really gilt, and the
stones paste.
Georgina's eyes sparkled furiously. "The Devil, you say!"
He put one arm around her soothingly. "I'm afraid so. I would need
to scrape the gilt off in an unobtrusive spot on the necklace just to be
sure. If it's real gold, the setting might be worth something, but the
stones are most assuredly fake."
"Oh bosh," she said petulantly. "Do it now."
"What?"
"Do it now. I can't bear the suspense."
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"But we're in the middle of-"

"Pretend you are helping to fix the clasp. Scrape it at the back, on
the underside, and let me know now before I scream."
"Very well," he agreed with a sigh, seeing her temper about to
flare. "Though to be fair to Sally, I don't think she set out to cheat you
deliberately. It is possible the necklace was always a fake and she did
not know any better, or it was once real and her father switched them
when he was at low water."
"I don't care how cucumberish the old man is. He oughtn't tamper
with a young lady's jewels."
"No, indeed," he sighed, wondering how any man could ever find
Georgina attractive when she was continually so fatuous.
He wished she would behave better; he knew she had a good mind,
but ever since her broken engagement, she had flung herself into an
endless pursuit of pleasure which was going to end badly if she didn't
learn how to control herself. She was so likeHis wife Margaret, he thought with a lurch.
What was it Eswara had said about trying to understand her, rather
than judge her, or even try to forgive her?
"I'm sorry, Georgina. It's most definitely gilt only. Worth no more
than a few hundred pounds."
"Hare and hounds! Just wait until I spread this about. I'll ruin the
fat little minx," she hissed.
Martin grasped her shoulders and turned her to face him. "Surely
you don't plan to cry rope on the Henshaws. Even if Sally is to blame,
it will only make you look foolish as well to have been duped so."
"I don't care!" she said, stamping her foot.
"You jolly well should. I would not like to think of you
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encouraging on-dit about anyone. Lord knows you provoke enough of

it yourself with your ways. You've been acting like a, a bit of muslin
ever since Oliver vanished into the army without a word of
explanation."
"How dare you! What gives you the right?" she gasped, colouring
to the roots of her hair.
"My friendship for you, my love for my aunt and uncle, your
parents, who have spoilt you dreadfully. And don't go storming off in
high dudgeon," he said, giving her shoulders another little shake.
"I am telling you this for your own good. There are men out there
who will not keep their hands off your ripe young figure displayed to
such advantage. All this flirting will bring you to a bad pass. If you
persist in acting like a Bird of Paradise, you can hardly complain if
you're then treated like one."
She suddenly leaned up against him so boldly that the heat of her
breasts bored into his shirt front.
He gasped and took a step back, but was surprised as well as
pleased to see that he had no physical reaction to her whatsoever apart
from mild distaste.
"What do you think you're doing, Georgina?" he spat, just
managing to keep his voice low so no one would overhead.
"Don't you want my ripe young figure?" she purred.
He shook his head. "Oh no. I'm not playing these games with you."
"Everyone wants us to be together. Mother, Father, your parents.
You know they do."
He shook his head, and put her at arm's length, hoping no one had
seen what she had just tried to do.
"I'm sorry. That may be true, but I don't. Nor, I think, do you." He
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looked hard at her, and suffered a jolt of shock at what he discovered.

"You still love Oliver, don't you?"
She lifted her nose in the air loftily, but with his eyes boring into
hers, she could not maintain the pretense for long.
Her face began to crumple, and he immediately led her away from
the pillar to a more private corner of the Assembly Rooms.
He gave one last longing look at Eswara, still standing with her
son, her eyes meeting his, her expression inscrutable. It never
occurred to him that she had seen the entire exchange with the
necklace and her flirtation, and put a completely different
interpretation to what she had seen than what was actually happening.
He hurried off with Georgina before she made even more of a
scene than she had, and longed for the days when he had had his
beautiful Eswara all to himself.
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Chapter Thirty-three
Though he ached to be with his beloved, Martin wasted no time,
but got his overwrought young cousin Georgina into the refreshment
room before she made a further spectacle of herself with her modish
dress and indiscreet ways, and sat her down firmly in a chair. "Stay
there. I'll be right back."
He returned with some lemonade and made her drink it. When he
saw some colour come back into her cheeks, he began gently, "I'm
sorry you've been so unhappy. I suppose I remind you of him, tall and
dark. But I'm so much older than he, and you, Georgina. Even if we
were not cousins, I could never consider a closer relationship with you
than that. You're too much like my former wife."
"So I remind you of her in a painful way?" she asked sadly.
He nodded. "Yes, very much so. But not in the way you think." He
sighed. "I despised her. She married me for money and position, and
because her sexual indiscretions had caught up with her."
Georgina gasped in horror and shook her head.
Martin nodded. "Her unchaste behaviour had got to the point she
would never manage to make a good match unless she found some
poor fool she could trick. You remember me, I think, lively, jovial.
But a virgin, waiting for the sanctity of wedlock. She came after me
like a hound after a fox, and I was run to ground. Floored would be an
even better word. To think that so much beauty would want me."
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He reached up to pat her cheek in a brotherly way. "I hardly knew

her. Or she me. But she knew what I represented. Safety and security
for her and her child.
"But she got it wrong. We were on our way here to see all of you
when she was killed. Her road to happiness became the path to her
untimely demise."
"But how do you know she had played you false?" she asked,
wide-eyed.
"She let it slip. She left a diary. It was all there for me to read."
"Oh God, Martin. I'm so sorry," she gasped. "Do Samuel and your
parents know?"
"No, and they're not going to, at least not yet," he said firmly. "I'm
only telling you this to warn you to stop whatever folly you've been
perpetrating since your broken engagement. You may think you are
fly to the time of day, but there are plenty of more worldly people
than you, both men and women, willing to take advantage of you one
way or the other. Your vanity, your need for attention to prove to
yourself that you are attractive, that anyone in the world would want
you, even if Oliver did not."
She sighed heavily, and admitted at length, "You're right. That's
exactly what I have been doing. As well as flirting with you most
shamelessly because, well-"
"Because?" he prompted softly.
"Because I felt sorry for you, thought you looked so miserable. I
remember the way you were, and wanted to you to be happy like that
again."
He patted her on the shoulder. "That's very kind of you, even if
badly executed. If I can ever manage it, it will be wonderful. But I'm
afraid it's not in your gift, but that of the woman I love."
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"You're in love?" she asked in surprise.

He ducked his head, blushing. "It's early days yet, so I would
appreciate you not saying anything to anyone, least of all Samuel,
who will twit me shamelessly and watch my every move."
"No, I won't say a word. Or flirt with you again." She took a deep
breath and looked at her cousin. "I'm sorry I've been such a fool, and
so selfish."
He frowned. "Selfish? You just said you flirted with me to get me
to be happy again."
"I did. But I also did it because I knew you were safe. That I didn't
need to fear you doing anything to act upon it. You're far too much of
a gentleman."
He laughed bitterly at that.
"What, what did I say wrong?"
"Nothing. You've just proven to me how little we can ever really
know another human being."
"I don't think that is true. You're a good man, you've just had a
terrible thing happen to you which"And what if I were to tell you I had taken a mistress to relieve me
of my virginity? Would you think me such a gentleman then?"
She didn't even blink. "Is it the same woman as the one you said
you loved?"
"Yes," he admitted with a nod.
Her eyes met his levelly. "Then I would say you were deceiving
yourself and her because you can't bring yourself to trust her. Now
that I know the truth about Margaret, I can understand why. There is
nothing wrong with being with her, so long as she doesn't get hurt. Or
you."
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"She won't. It's a business arrangement for her."

Georgina shook her head. "You think I haven't been offered socalled business arrangements? Unless she is as hard-hearted as the
flighty girl you had the misfortune to marry, no woman can ever do,
well, that with a man if she doesn't feel she's in love with him."
Martin's face closed up completely. "We're talking about you now.
Not me. I've told you as much as I have in confidence to try to save
you from yourself. Please, Georgina, think about what you're doing.
Don't say anything about the necklace, or try to get even with Sally
Henshaw. And she is not fat, merely well-rounded. You need to grow
up, try to be the kind young woman with the same heart of
compassion as the one I remember, who used to run her own animal
hospital for puppies and kittens."
Georgina laughed merrily at that, and hugged him around the neck.
Ash and Eswara, just entering to get some refreshments, both
stared and retreated.
"I find I am not so thirsty after all," Eswara said, tight-lipped.
Ash could see her distress. How could Martin be so foolish? Ellen
was all right, the little he knew of her, but Georgina was a hussy of
the first water so far as he could see.
"I shall get you some all the same. Please, stay here on this bench.
I shall be back in a moment."
He gave the pair a curt nod as he entered and strode over to the
back wall.
Martin recollected himself at once. He had not had a chance to
speak with Eswara nearly all day, and the prospect of dancing with
her had him aroused in an instant. He could find out from Ash where
she was, bring her the lemonade himself, and...
"Thank you, Martin. I'm glad we had this little chat, and I promise
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I will not tease you any longer, and will try to behave better."
He kissed her hand then, earning himself another furious gold stare
from Ash.
"I say, Ash, would you mind terribly? Georgina would like to
dance, and I want to find Mrs. Paignton. Can you tell me-"
"Just outside, I should think."
But when he got there, the Duke had already whisked Eswara into
the top set for the quadrille. Once she had danced with him, everyone
in the room wanted to make her acquaintance, to discover who she
was and how she knew so prominent a man.
Just as she had had to endure the sight of him being fawned all
over by his two cousins, now Martin had to watch whilst every single
rake and man of the world in the Upper Rooms began to make
themselves charming to her.
She waved her fan and tried not to look bored, and she managed to
move from partner to partner easily, making clear her lack of interest,
but without causing bad feeling.
However, it was more than enough for Martin. Never mind that she
had stood out most of the evening when not dancing with her son.
Now her few dances and minutes of small talk were a black mark
against her which grew larger with every passing moment that
Martin's own desire to be with her was thwarted.
Finally he could bear no more. She was close enough to the edge
of the ballroom and a small alcove off of the cloakroom for him to
pounce and drag her off with barely a civil word to the young doctor
she had been chatting with about his new practice in Bath.
"Mr. Jerome, what on earth-" she gasped.
"I would speak with you, Madam, and am weary of vying for your
attention. I believe our little arrangement entitles me to be permitted
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to come first with you. Nay, to be the only, if your words are to be
believed. If any woman like you is to be believed."
Her outraged retort was cut off as her back hit the plaster of the
alcove wall with no little force, his right hand in the shadows grabbing
her most intimately.
She snatched at his wrist and dragged his hand from her breast.
"For God's sake, Martin. It's a dance. Men and women! If I don't
dance or speak with anyone but you we really will get talked about.
As will I if I refuse everyone except you. Or try to dance with a
woman.
"Pull yourself together. It's a dance! Fully clothed. With gloves on,
even. Not one ounce of bare flesh. You can hardly take exception to
my gown. And I will go home in the carriage with the Duke. I will
even stand at the same pillar all night if you want to be certain I
haven't crept off for a quick quiddle in the corner."
She tried to utter her words it in a light bantering tone in case
anyone should chance to come close enough to hear the timbre of her
voice if not the actual words.
This only seemed to make him even more livid. "Do you dare
mock me, Madam?" His hands were like a vice on one wrist, trapping
her so that she could neither flee nor look away. His lips were
perilously close, too close.
"Please, let me go!" she hissed. "If anyone hears me speaking you
in an argumentative tone they are going to wonder what is between us.
I've warned you, Martin. If anyone finds out it's all over, do you
understand?
"Now let me go. I may be a whore, but I refuse to be treated like
I'm cheap, something to be pawed any time you finally condescend to
pay attention to me."
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She reclaimed her arm and left him standing silently seething in
the alcove.
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Chapter Thirty-four
As soon as Eswara had gone, Martin calmed, and wanted to kick
himself for the manic way in which he had acted.
She was right. Every word she had said to him had been the truth.
He had been off with his cousins the whole of the evening,
seemingly not caring a jot for what she did, until he had seen her
come away from the wall and then dance with men he did not know.
But it hadn't been like that-he knew what his family hoped, but he
could no more consider marrying Georgina than he could becoming
the King of England. He was never going to marry...
And Georgina was lovely, fair of hair and blue of eye like his wife,
but now he wondered why he had never realised the power of darkhaired beauties before. Not to mention the fact that if were even the
remotest possibility of a spark of passion between them they would
have discovered it long ere now.
No, as he had said to his cousin, he had no interest in her, even
though she had made herself more than available. He had been a fool,
and ended up showing himself to Eswara in the worst possible light.
And to try to dance with Eswara and mend fences now would be
the height of folly, he could see. Her entire posture the couple of times
he tried to catch her eye was stiff and unyielding.
He blinked back a few drops of moisture. What on earth was
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wrong with him? Nearly weeping at a ball?

He ran one hand over his face and went to sit in the gentlemen's
cloakroom to gather his confused thoughts for a moment. He had hurt
her, hurt himself. He tugged his stone out of his pocket, and at length
he calmed, and felt ready to face the rest of the world.
He returned to the ballroom, and saw Eswara once again standing
by her usual pillar, her cheeks high with colour, her son at her side
pressing a cup of lemonade into her hand.
Martin sighed. He did not dance, for he felt he could not trust
himself to stand upright, he was so aquiver with desire for Eswara.
Even the bolder women who came right out and told him they were
interested in more than just dancing got an apologetic shrug.
One bold red-headed beauty shook her head. "Well, Mr. Jerome,
all I can say is, you don't know what you're missing."
He shook his head. "Very kind, I'm sure. But I have everything I
could ever want."
The woman's eyes narrowed. "Who's the fortunate woman?"
He shook his head. "No one you'd know."
She shrugged, and with one last long look at the exceptionally
handsome man, she departed in with her nose in the air and a twitch of
her skirts.
It was no lie he had told. If only he could control his fury, and his
memories, he thought to himself regretfully.
Eswara saw the red-headed woman practically rubbing herself
against Martin, and bit her lower lip so hard she nearly drew blood.
Eswara had rejected her original thought to become his mistress
that very first night on the grounds of impropriety and age difference,
but it would appear that many of the ladies of Bath had no such
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qualms. And Georgina...

She had berated him for his own jealousy, but inwardly she was
seething. To be fair, it had not been his fault. His family were trying
to be kind. They did make a most attractive couple, and the necklace
he had evidently given her was lovely.
It was a family arrangement, but it still hurt, and made her wonder
about her future. Was it over already? Had she lost him so soon, after
only a few mights of bliss? Had she opened the dam and he was now
so uncontrollable he was raking all through Bath?
But no. She was overreacting. Martin had not responded in any
way that she could see to the red-head's machinations. Unless She
knew only too well what was under his elegant evening suit, and drew
closer to look at him. She knew his body so well it would be easy
enough to tell...
Nothing. Nor did he leave his pillar, nor accept any other bold
invitations that a half dozen or so other ladies issued to him as she
watched.
They stared at each other intermittently throughout the night,
Eswara only dancing twice more, with the Duke and her son when
they each insisted she come away from the wall.
As the final dance was announced, Martin moved toward her, but
she gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head and headed for the
ladies' cloak room before the crush.
She gathered their party's outer garments and waited by the
entrance, whilst Martin did the same in the gentleman's cloakroom.
Ash came to find his mother and help her on with her things. Thus
Martin had no opportunity to speak with Eswara for the rest of the
evening until he deliberately positioned himself to help both of the
ladies out of the second coach.
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Charlotte Eltham got out first, then Eswara. She looked up at

Martin with a smile of seeming thanks, but said through her gritted
teeth, "And don't even think about coming to my room tonight, for the
door will be locked."
"But Eswara-"
"Coming, Mother?" Ash asked, getting out of the brougham last
and taking her arm.
"Yes, thank you." She swept inside, her back rigidly stiff, and they
went straight up to their rooms without even pausing to remove their
evening cloaks.
The Duke watched them both vanish and shook his head
imperceptibly at his wife.
Martin and Mrs. Paignton. Who would have ever thought it?
But then, she was a dashed fine woman. Mr. Jerome could do a
dashed sight worse. In point of fact, Mrs. Paignton could do a dashed
sight better.
The young man was acting like a jealous fool. He did not hold with
it-where there was no trust, there was no love.
He recalled the early days of his marriage with horror. He had been
cruel to Charlotte once through jealousy for another man and as a
result had nearly damaged their marriage irreparably.
He was about to go after her when the Duke's words arrested him.
"Martin, surely you will join me in a nightcap," Thomas said in an
imperious tone which had Martin's skin crawling with unease.
"Oh, yes, er, certainly."
Thomas kissed his wife and told her he would see her shortly. With
a knowing look, she left him to go see to the welfare of her distressed
guests.
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Chapter Thirty-five
As soon as the door shut behind them, Thomas said, "You will
forgive the impertinence, Martin, for speaking so openly of your
private affairs, but I really can't remain silent after what you've done
today with regard to my guests. Guests that you actually wanted me to
invite, may I remind you."
"Yes, I know"
"This afternoon was bad enough, with you galloping off with your
young cousins without so much as a backward glance for your
supposed friends. They treated Ash and Eswara as though they were
no more important than mere specks of dust, and you went along with
it."
Martin sat down heavily in the seat the duke offered, and sighed.
"I should have curbed them more"
"But that pales in comparison with what I just saw with my own
eyes, " the Duke pressed on, outraged at how badly Eswara had been
treated.
"Tonight was really badly done. You flirted with Georgina so
shamelessly, toying with her and her necklace, it's a wonder you have
not compromised her entirely. Then I saw you pursue Mrs. Paignton
around the room like a rake in rut."
Martin opened his mouth to defend himself, but Thomas stayed his
excuses with one raised hand.
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"There is nothing you can say that will mitigate your actions
tonight. I don't know what's come over you. I knew you as a decent
young man when Josephine and Henry Stone first became acquainted.
It's a pity to see you've gone to the dogs altogether. Any of the
Rakehells can tell you, I hold no truck with a man who treats women
as though copulating with them were the best sport this side of
boxing. Do I make myself clear?"
"Y-y-yes," Martin stammered, shocked at the Duke's anger.
"You and your cousins are both welcome here, but separately, is
that understood? If you are not going to make an offer for the girl,
then stay away from her, and do not permit your cousinage to allow
you further liberties than you have already taken with a child barely
sixteen."
"I never did!" he protested. "She was flirting with me."
Thomas' mouth twisted with distaste. "That maybe true. But it does
not excuse you from being so weak as to permit it to continue
unchecked. You are supposed to be older and wiser. Pray start acting
as such."
He moderated his tone slightly. "Do you think you are the only
person who has lost, who's suffered? Who's faced death? You know
Jonathan. You know his story of how he found God when Clifford
and I nearly died at Cuidad Roderigo?"
"Yes, I know," Martin said glumly.
The Duke gave him a piercing emerald glance. "I know you hold
no truck with Clifford, but he's part of your family whether you like it
or not, and a decent man. One I am proud to call my friend, my oldest
friend along with Jonathan Deveril. His wife is a good woman, despite
her half-brother having been completely dicked in the nob. You
cannot blame her for what that madman did to you and your wife.
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"If you will recall, she brought him to justice when she found out
what he had done to you and Margaret, even though she nearly lost
her life for it. Clifford may be married to Vanessa, but he would never
behave in the manner you have done.
"I know you've suffered. That you loved your wife. But move out
of the darkness. Don't let it contaminate everything you touch! If this
is the way you're determine to behave, then you are better off
skulking around on the fringes of your family, and staying at home
brooding."
The Duke drained his glass in one gulp and sloshed more brandy
into it with an impatient gesture.
"Well, nothing to say for yourself?" he demanded when Martin
toyed with his glass silently for some time.
Martin shook his head. He alternated his snifter between his hands,
and at last he tossed off the contents and rose. "Nothing at all, except
that you're right. About everything."
The Duke raised his brows in surprise. Perhaps he wasn't as bad as
he had thought after all...
Martin took a deep breath. "I would like you to affect an
introduction to the Stones' house. Some time in the near future. I don't
think I'm ready quite yet."
"But surely your cousin Josephine can-"
He shook his head. "Yes, but I think it will require your, er,
perspicacity when it comes to people and social situations to help
mend fences. You and your wife. I know she and Vanessa are great
friends.
"As for Georgina, we had it out this evening, actually. I had not
noticed how bad things looked, did not realise what she was doing.
That she was trying to forget Oliver Neville by throwing herself at
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me, and chose me because I was safe, the only gentleman not willing
to toss her on her back for a quick quiddle."
Thomas scowled. "Oliver? Pah. A bad business, that. Take my
word for it, she's better off without him."
Martin gazed at the Duke steadily. "I am aware there is more to the
case than anyone has let on, and I will not pry. Suffice it to say that
she is still in love with him, for all she knows it is impossible. I have
told her in no uncertain terms that I will not be so weak as to allow her
to engage in such havey-cavey business any longer."
Martin reached for the handle of the door.
"And Mrs. Paignton? She is a guest in this house and as such
entitled to my protection. I will not have you harming her. She is a
decent, respectable widow-"
"Not a Haymarket trull from Blake's clinic?" he said with a
sarcastic drawl.
Thomas lost all patience then and grabbed him by the lapel. He
shook the huge man like a terrier shook a rat, and slammed him
against the door.
"Whoever told you that is a bloody liar, and should be called out
for it. Just as I have half a mind to slap you silly for ever even
repeating it. Let alone believing it to be true, as you apparently do.
Good God, man, is that what you think of her? What on earth"
Then he paused, shoved Martin against the door, and let go as
though he couldn't bear to sully himself with the contact.
"No, let me guess. That odious Cedric Paignton and his son.
Friends of your Uncle Timberlake, I believe. They loathe Ash and his
mother because Ash inherited and they haven't a sixpence to scratch
with. They think to hang on Ash's and Mrs. Paignton's sleeves. She
will not remarry, though they've both badgered her, and she is Ash's
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guardian. They want to remove him from her care."

Martin stared, but said nothing. Could it be true
Thomas went back to the decanters, poured another thimbleful of
brandy, and tossed it back. Then he shook his head and fixed Martin
with an emerald glare.
"You're a fool, a bally fool, man. You think you're in love with her,
yet you trust her so little that you could treat her as you have done
tonight, and have the gall to repeat such calumnies? I take back my
invitation for you to use this house. You have no respect for women
and their rights. You are not someone I would wish to have my wife
or friends associate with. You may leave in the morning whenever
you are packed."
"So she's turned your head too?" Martin sneered, despite himself.
"Even a sensible man like you? She must have some quite prodigious
talents."
Thomas moved like lightning. He shoved him hard into a small
side chair and threw the door open. "You aren't even worth flinging a
glove at. You're a coward. You may have been in the Army, but the
way you have acted for four years, the way you've treated Mrs.
Paignton, you have no steel in your spine. You would let everyone
else in the world tell you what to think, what to do, like some
mindless automaton. Come see me again when you've grown up."
He strode through the door without a backward glance, leaving
Martin wishing he had thrashed him. He couldn't feel much worse
than he already did.
He dragged himself out of the chair and up to his room, the Duke's
words echoing in his head, feeling more alone than he ever had in his
life.
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Chapter Thirty-six
As soon as Eswara had got up the stairs after the dreadful ball at
the Upper Rooms, she told Ash, "We're leaving in the morning. Early.
Come to my room to write out the instruction and give it to the butler.
Then go to your room and pack. And I would appreciate it if you
would sleep in here tonight. I would feel much better if-"
Ash patted her on the shoulder. "You don't need to explain. I can
read between the lines. I'm sorry, Mother. It's a bad business. Pull out
the trundle bed and I shall be back soon, I promise. I'll just grab my
things out of my room now and you can help me fold them.
Afterwards I shall go down to speak with the butler. Keep the door
locked. I'll give five taps to signal it's me."
Eswara hugged him hard. "I've been such a fool."
"Not a fool. It's just a case of everything working against you. I'm
sorry. I had such hopes for you to finally be happy."
She patted his cheek. "Oh, darling, you mustn't ever think I'm
unhappy."
"All right then, happy as a woman, instead of as a mother and
healer."
She sighed. "It's all part of who I am. I can't parcel myself out into
little pieces."
He nodded. "I know that. But then, I love and trust you."
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The unspoken contrast hung in the air.

He kissed her on the brow. "I'll be back soon."
They were both infinitely relieved when Martin made no move to
see her, and did their best to settle down to sleep.
After a restless night, Eswara rose and dressed. At six in the
morning, without even breaking their fast, they got into the carriage
and started out for Brimley.
Jonathan and Pamela were glad to see them as always. If they were
surprised at the early hour, they gave no indication. Over tea and
crumpets they chatted pleasantly, catching up on each other's news.
When Eswara had eaten her fill, she insisted on going up to Ash's
room to see what sort of squalor he was living in. Apart from his
drawers being untidy, however, his room was most neat, and not full
of mud and specimens as she had feared.
"I'm very proud of you. This is so pleasant-looking. Not a newt in
sight."
"That's because they've given me a lean-to next to the kitchen," he
admitted sheepishly.
"Oh? Show me."
It was a neat little shed lined with shelves with dozens of bottles.
The desk contained in pride of place the microscope she had given
him some years before.
Eswara stared in horror. "Ash, this place is a health hazard. I mean,
mouldy bread, and these tadpoles and, ech. Leeches."
"Most doctors would tell you being cupped was the prime
treatment for most diseases."
"And I say it is dangerous and only weakens the patient. Please tell
me you're not feeding those wretched things yourself," she begged.
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"Afraid so. But all in the name of science. Their saliva has the
most remarkable anti-coagulative properties."
"I don't care if it turns lead into gold!" she exclaimed in
exasperation. "I will not have you tampering with your own health,
Ash! Do you understand me?"
Ash stared at his mother in shock. He could not recall her ever
scolding him, let alone raising her voice to him. Or anyone else.
"I'm sorry," she apologised, white-faced.
"No, I am. You're right. You nursed me so tenderly, you and
Bryony and Blake. I'm a fool to run the risk of weakening myself."
"I am glad you see it that way," she sighed. "But you know I'm
also upset over Martin. I didn't mean to shout."
"I know. But I have no wish to pry. If you want to tell me, though,
I'm always happy to listen."
She shrugged one shoulder and sighed. "There's nothing to tell
now. I'm sure it was just a passing phase for both of us. If it's not over,
it soon will be."
Ash hugged her. "Don't underestimate him, or yourself. There is a
great deal going on under the surface which you have yet to even
touch."
Eswara smiled wryly. "I doubt it."
"It's your life, of course, to do with as you wish. I will only say that
where there is no love, there is no power to hurt."
She gave him a big bear hug, and they went back into the house so
Eswara could say farewell to the Deverils.
"Are you sure you won't stay?" Jonathan asked.
"No, no, I need to relieve Blake."
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"We'll see you soon, I trust," Pamela invited, giving her a hug.
"Yes, soon. Bye, love. See you Tuesday." She blew her son a kiss,
and left.
Eswara slept in the carriage back to Millcote and thought she had
never been so relieved to see the snug little village in her life. It was
remarkable how quickly it had become home.
She stopped in at Blake's to tell him she had returned, then got
back to the house, and told Nelly fetch her tea and go up and unpack
for her.
When the girl came down a short time later, she instructed her to
head off on her half-holiday.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I'm be fine. I'm just going to have a nap. I'm rather sleepy
after all the excitement of Bath."
"All right, Miss. See you tomorrow."
Eswara sighed, and went into the drawing room. She tried to knit
for a time, but dropped so many stitches it began to look more like
crochet. She ripped out the row angrily and flung the needles aside.
She stretched out on the sofa and stared out the window at the bleak
winter's day, trying to meditate to quell her inner turmoil.
And to think she had fantasised about a lovely romantic interlude
in Bath with Martin. They had now been to two balls with one
another, and he had not even danced with her once.
She was fine to futter with behind people's backs, but not to stand
up with in public...
A loud pounding at the door startled her out of her reverie. She ran
to the door, her heart hammering in her breast.
"What on earth-" she exclaimed when she saw who was standing
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there. "What do you think you're doing?"

His look of relief when he saw her was unmistakable. "I'm sorry,
Eswara, So sorry. I didn't meant to pound like that. I just, well, I just
had this odd sensation that I wasn't going to find you here. Don't ask
me why."
"Where did you think I would be? With my whole other string of
paramours?" she asked, quirking one delicate brow and crossing her
arms over her chest protectively.
"No, but-"
She smiled coolly, squeezing her arms tightly to quell their
trembling. "I do think it a terrible double standard for you to not have
wished me to dance in Bath. After all, if I'm as much of a whore as
you seem to think, I shall need to have something to do now that you
and your cousin seem to have-"
"My family all mean well, but they have no idea what I feel or
think," he said angrily. "You have no cause to be jealous."
She shrugged. She had more than enough cause, judging from all
she had seen last night, but no right. Not now, not ever. She was only
in his life for a short time-sooner or later he would let her go. Or she
would have to let him go.
"Jealous," she said with a mocking laugh. "Why would I be
jealous, my dear? It makes perfect sense. Two broken-hearted young
people finding solace-"
"And you? What drives you to find solace?" he asked hoarsely.
"I don't need solace. Women like me don't have a heart, feelings.
They are too much of a luxury in my line of work," she said with a
dismissive wave of her slender hand, though she was sure she was
dying inside.
For a moment Martin considered grabbing her and wiping the look
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of indifference from her face. He recalled their first night together, the
way she had glowed with an incredible inner fire. He wanted to see
that look again.
But the rampant urges hammering through his loins were not the
way to go about it. No, it had to be patience and tenderness, the wand
of light, not the rod of steel he had used to try to control her in Bath.
"Well, since you're the one who brought up the subject of work,"
he drawled, his eyes never leaving her face, "I think a couple of days
and nights in Bath with your son entitles me to a bit more of your
professional time, don't you?"
She gave him a long appraising glance, her fingers itching to slap
him, but knowing if she did it could well be all over.
Besides, violence didn't solve anything, and she would only hate
herself for it even if he didn't. He was just a child, she told herself. He
didn't know what he wanted. He was confused, angry....
Eswara wasn't sure why he seemed so furious. Perhaps he didn't
even know himself. His emotions seemed to churn up so rapidly he
seemed to have a hard time knowing what he thought from one second
to the next.
But she could teach him another lesson he would never forget.
"We'll include our little interlude at the townhouse to settle this
account, will we?" she asked coolly.
"Aye, if you like," he agreed with a curt nod. "So long as you can
spare me some time now."
"Very well," she said with a long look at the clock on the
mantelpiece which he couldn't fail to catch. She was determined to
make him pay for his crude reminder of her supposed status in his life.
"Supper, bath, and bed, or just straight to bed?" she asked quietly.
"Bath and bed. And I get to touch you."
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She shook her head. "Bath and bed, but no touching me. I want to
massage you tonight."
His eyes sparked. "Please lead the way, Madam."
Just as he was about to climax several hours later, her having
alternated him between seething arousal and subsidence for hours
with her lips, hands and body, giving him everything from the
massage to several positions designed for his absolute delight, before
cutting him off ruthlessly with a press or tug to cause him to diminish,
Eswara pulled away and stood up, retrieving his watch from his fob
pocket.
She dangled it from her hand and placed it atop the dresser. Her
golden eyes sparked. "Time's up. Good night."
"Wha- What?" he gasped, his eyes round as saucers. "But-"
"You're the one who told me to settle the account. But your time is
up. You can finish yourself. Goodbye."
She sped into Ash's room, locking the door tightly behind her.
She could hear Martin cursing a prodigious streak as he shouted
his way through her room and down the hall to Ash's door. He
pounded on it. "Eswara, please, I'm going to go insane."
"We both are if you keep up this madness," she replied quietly
through the portal.
She heard him suck in a breath. After a time he said quietly,
"You're right, I admit it. I'm sorry. I just can't seem to help myself."
"Then meditiate, get yourself under control. I thought becoming
your mistress was going to help you. It's only made you worse. I told
you before, Martin, the last thing I want is to damage your soul any
more than it already is."
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"I know you told me, but I'm lost, Eswara. Scared. I don't know
what to do," he confessed.
The anguish in his voice was enough to make her unlock the door.
She gazed at him for an eternity until he calmed. "For starters you
can stop flinging our bargain in my face. For another you can stop
being so angry and jealous all the time. That is a sure way to drive
someone away. Not trusting them. And you can stop trying to redirect
the flow of the river. Just let it happen. No more games."
"No, I think I learned my lesson about that at the townhouse."
She reached out to stroke his face.
He kissed her palm. "I'm sorry, really."
"So am I," she said, her tone gentle.
He sighed raggedly, stepping away from her. "I'm exhausted. I
think I'm going to turn in. Do you want your own room back?"
"No, it's all right.You can sleep in there. Dream of me."
"As if I ever dream of anything else," he said with a shaky laugh.
She stared at him in surprise. "Nothing else?" she asked softly.
"No, not recently," he admitted with relief. "Not since our night
with the cocoa."
"I'm glad."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. You don't seem to be any happier about this
new state of affairs, if you will pardon the phrase."
He shook his head dejectedly. "No, you're right. The games, the
struggle for control. It's like, well, when we're making love. I mean it
is wonderful with you under me, as well as you being on top, but it's
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even better if we just share. Do what feels nice for both of us, not
fight about who's in charge, or about following any rules."
"I'm glad."
He turned to leave.
"Do you want me to come back?"
"No, you're tired too."
"Do you want me to come back?" she asked again.
He gave her a little smile. "Only if you want to."
"Lesson over," she said with a smile, taking his hand.
Once back in her room, he settled in the bed under the covers,
holding her close. She stroked him tenderly, and held her breath as she
waited for the joy only he could give. At length he seemed to sense
her needs, and rolling slightly over her, he kissed her.
The simple contact burst into a conflagration which went on for
hours, with endless paroxyms of delight, until the dawn halted them at
last.
"Good God, it's nearly seven. If Nelly gets here early-" she gasped,
unable to believe they had so lost track of time.
He lifted his head in a daze, shuddering with cold and barely
contained need. It was as if the more they were with each other, the
more their longing increased.
Martin dragged himself out of the bed, kissed her on each of her
eyelids, and was gone.
Eswara opened her lips to call him back, but stopped herself in
time. He could never belong to her. Forever was simply not a
possibility where Martin was concerned. She fell back on the pillows,
exhausted and tearful, and slept at last.
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Chapter Thirty-Seven
After the raw emotions evoked by the ball and its aftermath, and
his quarrels with both Thomas and Eswara, Martin knew he needed to
get himself under control once and for all. For that he needed to be
truthful with everyone, at least about his past. As for Eswara, well,
that was still too private and special for him to want to share with
anyone yet, but soon
After he dragged himself away from Eswara, he went home to
Barton, where he spent hours penning letters to his family, his parents,
aunt and uncle, and his brothers.
He also penned a note to the Duke apologising for the ghastly
manner in which he had behaved, and asking for permission to call
upon him.
He also enclosed a second letter, a copy of the ones he was giving
to his family, in which he explained at least part of the reason why he
had been so devastated after the highwaymen's attack.
In the letter, he stated the bare facts. Margaret had been unchaste,
he had found out, he had felt guilty. But as Eswara had pointed out,
there was more to it than that. It was only one part of the story. His
story, but not hers.
So he forced himself to unlock the bottom drawer of his desk and
take out the incriminating diary. Only this time he really read it. He
learned of her family, humle but educated, her parents well-meaning
at first, until her mother had had so many miscarriages, she had not
been able to
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He read with a churning stomach about how she had loved school,
her only escape from the abuse she had endured from her father and
then step-father, the neglect she had suffered at the hands of her
mother.
How her mother had blamed her for her fallen state, though she
had been but a powerless little girl, and thrown her out to earn a life
on the streets as soon as a little boy had been born to her and her new
husband.
How she had been tended to by a kind enough older woman, who
had used her in the same way, for whatever the clients wanted. The
mother and sisters he had been introduced to when they had wed had
been no more than her madam and two of her co-workers.
As for their marriage, she had made the mistake of falling in love
with his mess mate Charles. He had actually figured out the truth, said
he loved her, didn't care. That she could have a new life. He had lied.
Or perhaps got frightened. Martin couldn't be sure. The girl had hardly
known herself.
She had plied her trade ever more diligently in an effort to forget,
but with a baby on the way, she had wanted security.... And he had
seemed a good bet-a parson, ready to offer Christian forgiveness and a
decent home.
Reasons... All good ones. She had not been such a bad person. She
had been a good friend to the other girls from what he could tell. Had
been looking forward to leaving her old life, being a mother and wife.
Had wanted to try to take things slowly with him, not act like a
trollop. Still, she had needed to be in control, holding him off just to
lead him on.
Reasons. Well, it was not as bad as he had feared. She had actually
respected him as decent, even if too soft for his own good. She had
not made a complete mockery of him. The poor girl. She had had such
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high hopes. And Gerald Hawkesworth had ended them.

But if she had told him the truth?
He sighed. He would have run a mile.
He could admit it now. He had not loved her. He had been
impressed with her verve, that was all. And now he had run the risk of
losing his friends, his family, and Eswara because of the foolish way
he had behaved.
Because of the scars his wife of three days had left, when they had
never loved one another, and she wasn't even worth Eswara's little
finger.
Yet he had berated Eswara for being a whore. It was all so
confusing.
He stacked the letters on the desk and considered whether or not he
should even send them. On the one hand, he wanted to be truthful.
On the other hand, did it really make much difference? It was all
over now. Margaret was dead and buried. No one need ever know
what a fool he had been. Did he really want to dredge all of this up
from the murky depths? Upset his family so badly?
He wavered, and sighed. In the end, he took the coward's way out.
He didn't have to decide everything straight away. There was time,
time to think more carefully before he acted.
He was still overwrought after Bath, and in any event there were
more important things to worry about. He had waited this long to tell
his family and friends; surely he could wait a bit longer.
He rammed everything into the bottom drawer, letters and all, and
locked it.
He packed a small valise and strode down the stairs, where called
for his carriage. "I'm off to see Mr. Samuels in Bristol. I shall be back
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tomorrow or the day after."

Once in Bristol, he went to the apothecary and asked if he would
take him on immediately.
"But I told you-"
"I know. But I'm willing to stay at the inn across the way if you
really can't accommodate me, and will travel back and forth to
Barton."
"Surely Mrs. Paignton would help-"
"She has already helped me a great deal. But she has many
patients, and I want to study hard to qualify as quickly as possible."
"May I ask why?"
"You may. I want to help people."
"Any other reason?
"I love Mrs. Paignton and would like to prove worthy of her."
The apothecary stared, but focused on the business at hand. "Not a
good reason."
"It may not be. But it has got me out of the pit I've been living in
for years, and I need to think of someone else besides myself for a
change."
The older man looked at him. "Very well, I can give you three
days a week, Monday to Wednesday, until Easter. And I think we can
find a cupboard for you under the stairs."
The cupboard turned out to be a small but comfortable chamber
with a single bed and a shelf, with a few pegs for his clothes. As he
told Mr. Samuels' wife Grace, it was perfect.
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He laid in a supply of candles, and spent the next three days

studying until all hours in his room or in the shop with Mr. Samuels.
"You're going to wear yourself out, son," the old man said quietly
on the third morning after he arrived.
"Best thing for me. I've sat around for four years doing nothing but
being a self-indulgent twit. I might as well be useful."
He not only studied, he chopped firewood, helped in the kitchen
and scullery, and generally made himself so much a part of the family
that they were hard pressed to let him go at the end of the week when
he announced his intention to head home for the weekend to see his
family and friends and get more things to move into his room.
He stopped off in Barton and Millcote to say hello to his family
and flick through his correspondence. An hour at his uncle's saw him
heading to Eswara's home. He couldn't wait to see her, having missed
her desperately whilst he was away, but telling himself he needed to
be put in the crucible, needed to be tested and found worthy of her in
every way.
Eswara was surprised and more than glad to see him after their last
meeting. In fact, each time she saw him, she was sure it would be their
last time together ever.
She wondered at the change in his appearance. If anything he
looked far more sleepless and thin than before. What on earth had he
been doing to himself?
Yet despite his exhausted appearance, he was far more
demonstrative, sweeping her into his arms to hold her close, stroking
her hair tenderly and kissing her on the brow.
She was sorely tempted to ask where he had been, but she knew
she had no right. The main thing was he was here now, and she
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wanted to cater to his every whim.

She helped him off with his boots and made him some cocoa, then
served him a plate of spice biscuits.
"I need a nap, if you don't mind. Can you come do some sewing or
something?" He patted the sofa.
She did as he asked, and once again he wrapped his arms around
her and fell asleep with his head in her lap.
He woke up refreshed a few hours later, and a bath revived him
considerably. In fact, he was so amorous that Eswara was hard put to
keep him under control with the slippery soap, for he seemed to want
to touch her everywhere. She could feel her desire scorching through
her, and could deny him nothing.
After a most torrid reunion in the tub which barely got their desires
back under control, she dragged herself off of him and said as she
towelled off, "I think we ought to resume our lessons, Martin, to
round out your education a bit more. I seem to recall we talked about
different positions."
"Whatever you like. I don't want to make you or myself sore,
though. I want to make the most of our night together, and I don't
want to be selfish. I want you to enjoy it as much as I do."
"I'm your mistress. It's my purpose to serve you-"
"You're a woman, and entitled to have pleasure too. So tell me
what you want."
She tried to gauge his expression, but his eyes gave nothing away.
All she knew was she had to get control of the situation once more, or
else she was truly lost.
Clad in their dressing gowns, she led the way upstairs, and
shivered and struggled to keep hold of her shredding sanity as he
swept her robe off her shoulders and began to feast upon her rosy
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nipples.
The hot length of his sex pressed into the tender flesh of her belly
until she could barely speak. She shivered once more and squared her
shoulders. In a tone similar to that of a school mistress she said, "Time
for your lesson, Martin. Kneel in the middle of the bed with your legs
together."
He did as she instructed.
She knelt with her back to him, and sat her bottom on his lap. His
arms immediately went around her, and with a small rising and falling
movement she slid onto him with a throaty purr. He moved one hand
over her breast, while his other hand slid down to her navel. She
coaxed it down a bit further to touch her sensitive rosebud of desire.
"Very good. Now concentrate, see how you like this, what it does
for both the woman and the man."
The position she had chosen allowed them the freedom of
movement to not only caress each other all over, but to move up and
down easily, with the most amazing penetrating glide.
Martin pressed so deeply into her that he was sure he was going to
faint. He began to nibble her neck, shoulders and back until she
groaned. All too soon he felt her inward quivering wringing his
response from him once more.
Delighted to be pleasing her, but not wanting her to squeeze his
pleasure from him too soon, he parted her legs even further and
massaged her purposefully with both hands.
She sprang upwards in shock at the unexpected and all too
compelling contact, but he clung on and traveled with her as she
landed on her elbows and knees.
She began to crawl away from his alluring rock hard-flesh, but he
hauled her back by the waist and thrust hard.
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"No you don't, Eswara," he rasped. "You're not getting away that
easily this time, love. I want you to lose control the way I do. I want
you to scream my name until you're hoarse. I want to fill you with
pleasure, fill you with my seed until you can't walk. Until you can't sit
or lie or stand without feeling the imprint of my body deep inside you,
a red hot brand proclaiming you mine, and only mine."
She shuddered forcefully at his erotically possessive words,
teetering on the brink of a climax so powerful she was sure her elbows
would collapse.
But Martin moved one hand to grasp her shoulder, and scooped her
into him hard to hold her up with his other hand on her thigh. Her
quick intake of breath told him she was losing her battle to remain in
command of the situation or her own body.
His other hand moving again down to her waist, he straightened his
back until he was fully upright and drove into her with blinding force.
The surging which she had felt now flooded through all her limbs,
until she gasped his name against the blanket she had yanked against
her chest to support her and stifle her impassioned cries.
Her whole body trembled now like a taut bow. Wanting more than
anything to kiss her, he released her just long enough to turn her over,
splaying the small of her back upon the abandoned folded blanket as
he spread her legs wide. Rubbing her engorged seat of desire, thrilling
at the torrid dampness, he filled her with one surging stroke.
One hand lifted and steadied her bottom to absorb the next stroke,
while he licked the fingers which had fondled her. "Delicious. You
smell so divine."
He drove his tongue into her mouth to mimic the pacy but deep
rhythm of his hips. The hot glide of his turgid flesh in a complete act
of possession above and below was more than she could resist. She
gave herself up to the sensation completely, freeing her mind of all
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other thought or sensory perception.

Martin's release, when he finally succumbed to it, was even more
powerful than usual. When he was at last able to think clearly enough
to reflect on the sublime experience, he realized it was because he was
so happy that she was pleased. Her response had fed his to the point
where he had not been able to think of anything else except her body
quivering with need. He still couldn't.
Martin withdrew from her, causing her to cry plaintively as he slid
out of her innermost core. He could already feel himself stirring again.
But his curiosity and need to find out all of her secrets, what truly
thrilled her, was enough to hold his own needs in abeyance. She who
had given him so much deserved no less than his all.
He emptied his mind as she had taught him, and began to worship
her body with long languid strokes of his tongue and hands. His
nimble fingers over her already sparking flesh soon had her gasping
and writhing.
Just when she was sure her breasts couldn't withstand any more
attention from his hotly seeking mouth, he moved lower, planting
nibbling kisses deeply into her belly.
She sobbed in delight and spread her legs further, so that his lean
hard middle finger pressed deeply within, searching, seeking for the
seat of her release. He explored in fascination for what seemed an
eternity, his finger hard, soft, gentle, aggressively pressing, one finger,
two, then three, with his thumb on her rosy nub.
The huge pressure and glide of his thumb caused her to climax in
an instant with great shuddering sighs. His hand by now dripping with
her essence and his comingled, he slicked it all over the head of his
penis, thrilling himself for a brief moment as he allowed himself to
rub the velvety tip of his manhood against her lovely mound.
He moved back down the bed, and still working his finger deeply
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within her, he used his tongue and teeth to delight her. Martin locked
over the secret seat of desire concealed by her soft curls, nibbling and
sucking for a moment, before he slid his tongue down one side and
then the other.
He wiggled his finger inside her as he formed his tongue into a
hard point and licked the entrance to her paradise in a lazy circle
several times before it finally plunged in, nearly taking her right off
the bed. He removed his finger as he cupped her bottom in both hands
and sipped from her as from a cup of ambrosia. His hard chin ground
into her, his thumb roved over her whorl, taking her ever higher.
Eswara tried to pull his head away from her, but he only laughed
triumphantly and thrust his tongue in ever deeper whilst pressing
down upon her abdomen.
He watched in fascination as her golden skin glowed, a fine sheen
of perspiration covering her from belly to breasts to forehead in a
rolling tidal wave of desire which threatened to engulf them both. For
the sight of her tossing her raven locks from side to side as her head
lolled, and her hands twisting the sheets or clutching his hair made
him even more libidinous than he had been before.
He watched her climax with great powerful shudders for a few
seconds before sliding up into her to travel to the end with Eswara. He
moved so far up on her body that his tip was almost parallel with her
mound now. He pressed in with an up and down rather than an in and
out movement which titillated her distended flesh anew. Her muscles
wrung his pleasure from him in an instant, and as he reached his own
zenith he slid the entire lower half of his body against her incredible
wetness and kissed her blisteringly.
She clung to his shoulders and cried out into his mouth. Then she
was sobbing against him in both joy and fear. For having tasted such
rapture, how could she ever possibly give him up?
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But give him up she must. Her age, their vast differences in terms
of culture and expectations...
She was delighted at the thought he would one day marry again,
find a woman who could love him unreservedly despite his tormented
past. He would be a wonderful husband and father, of that she was
sure. With the right woman, of course.
His cousin Georgina was a pretty little thing, a lot more tough
within than many people gave her credit for. With what he had
learned from her, they could be as happy as any couple if they worked
hard at it.
But the thought of never seeing him again, of him sharing this all
with another woman, was more than she could bear. The tears flowed
despite her best efforts to hold them in check.
"I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" he asked worriedly, smoothing her
tousled hair and discovering with alarm that her cheeks were damp.
She saw his crestfallen expression and shook her head quickly.
"No, not at all, Martin," she hastened to reassure him, her voice
catching in a sob on every third word as she tried to still her breathing.
Still the quivering within her. "Not hurt, just overwhelmed. I suppose
I was trying to hold back too much. It's not you."
"But I'm tired now," she said when he made no move to leave, "so
why don't you go to Ash's room for a little sleep?"
"Are you sure you're all right? You look, well, I don't know.
Different somehow. Not ill or unhappy. Just, well, different." He
continued to stare down at her, their heads close together on the
pillow.
"No, really, I'm fine."
But inside her mind was racing. What on earth was happening to
her? She had never felt such pleasure in her life before, never been so
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insatiable. Was she ill? She was supposed to be the experienced one,
in control. Why then did his slightest touch send her soaring?
"If you're sure," he said quietly, stroking the last of her tears away
with the ball of his thumb.
She managed a tremulous smile. "Yes, I'm sure I'm all right."
"And the other?"
"What other?"
Martin's silver eyes shone, but in addition to the passionate spark
she usually saw there, was a new light in his eyes which she could
have sworn was almost tender regard for her. She put it down to
wishful thinking on her part, simply her imagination.
"Are you sure you don't want me to stay?"
Eswara despised herself for her need and weakness. But she
couldn't help herself. "Yes please, Martin. Stay with me a little while
longer? Hold me?"
He smiled then, and she could have sworn he had been holding his
breath. He almost crumpled against her, his forehead pressed against
hers, his body running along her full length.
He tugged the covers up over her and snuggled into Eswara, one
leg entwined between her own. "I'll stay, then, just until you fall
asleep."
He gave her a tender kiss on the brow which nearly set her to
weeping again. She would let him stay a time longer, but really, she
had to get control over this situation between them once more.
For if she were ever so foolish as to lose the upper hand in their
relationship, if he ever suspected for a minute she loved him, she was
sure she would lose him forever.
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Chapter Thirty-eight
Martin crawled out of bed before dawn, and watched Eswara sleep
for a time. Stroking her from her cheek down to her abdomen for a
moment, he was sure he had never seen anything more lovely in his
life.
But she had said not to sleep in the same bed with him. As much as
he longed to linger, he did not wish to have her any more angry with
him than she had been after the ball.
He went back to Ash's room and began to meditate. Then he
looked on his bookshelves and found some books on chemistry which
he started to read.
He sat up with a jolt when he heard her pad out of her room at
about nine. He rammed the books back on the shelf and bounded out
onto the landing.
Eswara was there, just about to descend. "I was about to make
coffee. Would you like some?"
Her hair was loose and flowed over the silk robe she had put on. It
was a rich peacock blue, and clung to her every curve. He had never
seen her look more voluptuous, or more vulnerable. With her face still
gentled by sleep, she looked all of fourteen. The age she had been
when she had married, he recalled with a lurch of dismay. Reasons.
"I'll make it. I know where everything is. You go back to bed."
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"I'm sorry, I gave Nelly the day off today."

"It's fine. We are here alone, the door is locked, we can do
whatever you want."
Her lips curled into a seductive smile despite herself.
"Whatever I want?"
"Yes."
"Coffee first, then we shall see."
After the coffee was a bath, and some breakfast, both in their silk
robes. Once they had finished, she asked for a full massage, and he
eagerly complied.
From the massage it was a natural progression to him titillating her
with his hands and mouth, and from there, riding the crest of her
passion to the thrilling conclusion for both of them.
Yet never once had she said a word. Instinctively he had known
exactly what she wanted and needed. Not for the first time, she
wondered at the powerful mental connection they seemed to share,
with the simplest touch and kiss conveying so much more meaning.
Now she spoke, and was lavish in her praise. "That was wonderful.
You are a most magnificently generous lover. I adored all of it."
"Surely you must have a favourite part?"
"I'm not sure. You?"
He nuzzled her breasts, and admitted, "No, all of it."
She smiled gently. Then she sighed. "Are your family expecting
you back tonight?"
"No. I'm here with you, and here I stay."
"Oh, but you must be exhausted."
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"Why do you say that?"

She blinked. "Because you look as though you haven't been
sleeping. Nightmares back again?"
"No. Just taking care of some unfinished business at home that I
should have taken care of a long time ago. Putting my house in order,
so to speak."
"I see."
Feeling incredibly insecure all of a sudden, as if he were gliding
away from her already, she gave him one of her special warm kisses,
and clung on tightly as the whirlwind of their passion swirled all
around them, obliterating any questions or answers either had been
about to utter.
Martin left, ostensibly for Barton, and Ash came home. Eswara
tried not to feel as though time were hanging heavy on her hands
without Martin there. She needed her sleep after the two nights he had
been there. She kept dozing off at all sorts of odd times of the day or
evening, earning herself a bit of light-hearted teasing from her son.
A spate of patients also helped pass the time, so that she was
exhausted by the time Thursday evening ever came. She tried to tamp
down her disappointment that there was no sign of Martin, but she did
have another present for him, a puppy.
One of her patients had offered her one for Ash, and she decided a
boy and girl might be just the thing. She would let Martin choose and
give Ash the other, and perhaps he might even let them grow up
together with Ash and Nelly looking after them.
He was thrilled, and took the little female golden retriever as his
own. "I need to come up with a good name for her. And you can name
the boy."
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"Oh no, Ash can name him. I'm just going to be their foster
mommy. You're their daddies now, you and Ash."
They played with the puppies for a time, until a tap at the door
signalled another patient. Martin waited in the music room for her,
playing his favourite Bach.
When at last he heard the front door close, he headed back to the
drawing room, and found her fast asleep on the sofa. He threw the
blanket over her and put her head in his lap, and stroked her hair. A
vast wave of tenderness washed over him, and he shook his head,
filled with regret and confusion.
He had hurt Eswara. Been unkind, not trusted her. He was sure he
loved her, but wasn't sure of her love for him. He would do anything
he could to earn it, but somehow he didn't think it was the same things
as doing chores in return for pecuniary gain. She was still so distant
with him, wary.
Only when they were in bed and he was able to slip under her
defences did he seem to see the real Eswara, and it confused him.
Was she really a skilled harlot, with every move practiced and
contrived? Or were his little surprises for her a clear demonstration
that for all her experience, she was a novice at loving and being
loved? If only he could be sure.
They awoke refreshed some time later, and decided to head for the
tub. He bathed her and even washed her long hair before taking her
upstairs to nestle together on some blankets in front of the fire so she
could spread it out to dry.
"How are you feeling?" he asked after a time.
"Well. You?"
"All the better for seeing you."
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"You still look so tired. Any hints as to why? Would you like a
sleeping draught or something?"
He nuzzled her cheek. "No, thank you. I want to be awake as long
as possible tonight to enjoy being with you. Thank you for the pup.
She's adorable. I had a dog from the time I was small. It died just
before I went into the Army. I've missed it."
"Ash was always finding strays to give good homes to. But he
never really was able to keep a pet of his own. We would end up
moving, and give it away. He was always such a sunny little boy,
though, he was never sad for long."
"And you? Were you a sunny little girl?"
She nodded. "When my parents were alive. When they both died,
well, everything changed."
"What took them off? Fever?"
She sighed. "In my father's case, yes. In my mother's, she pined
away for him. Left me and my sister all alone."
"Sister?" he asked softly. "Where is she now?"
"Killed in a carpet factory fire."
"Oh my. How long ago?"
"She was five. It was a long time ago. Nearly twenty years."
"You were a child yourself then?"
She shook her head. "I was just married."
He looked stunned, but nodded. "Oh, I see. But what was she
doing in a factory?"
She took a ragged breath. "In my world, if you didn't work, you
didn't eat. Not so very different from the lower classes here in
England, now is it."
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A gradual stirring of understanding came to him, but she looked so

bleak he did not pursue the conversation as he should have.
Instead he began to kiss her eyelids so tenderly that she held her
breath. From there he trailed down along her cheek, before kissing her
ear, nibbling its lobe delicately until she shivered.
Then he kissed downwards to her mouth, and she soared. She had
never felt so treasured in her life. Her nerveless fingers refused do
more than stroke his cheek. He had evidently decided to take the
initiative between them, and she decided she didn't care any longer. It
was all love, plain and simple, and if he wanted to shower her with
kisses she would let him.
But soon his deep kisses were accompanied by some rather
thrilling caresses of her most tender flesh. She would have protested,
but she want him so badly there seemed little point in depriving
herself by trying to gain the upper hand once more.
He stroked his hands through her hair, and leaning her against the
foot of the bed, he pulled her into his lap. He parted her silk robe, and
caressing her breasts, he moved deeply within her with the subtlest of
pressures. He propelled her to orgasm over and over again, biting
back the words of love he longed to say but was sure would be
laughed at.
Finally he released his passion inside her, and collapsing utterly,
they succumbed to their exhaustion and slept.
Eswara was the first to gather her wits about her the next morning.
"Oh crumbs, Nelly is downstairs," she gasped.
"Hmm?" he murmured, clinging to her slender waist as he opened
one eye. They were still on the floor in front of the fire, which had
now died in the hearth, leaving her shivering apart from the warmth
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from his bare body.

"Nelly. She's down there. And you're still here."
He shrugged and kissed her. "I'll just go into Ash's room and we
can say I was poorly. Though it's you who don't look well, my dear,"
he said in alarm, his eyes fully open now as he looked at her tense
pale face.
"It's nothing, it's just, well, I'm freezing apart from you, and my
arm is asleep and -"
"It doesn't matter, dear. Come here." He rubbed her arms and
embraced her tightly, then scooped her up into the bed and pulled all
the covers over her.
"You stay there. I'm going to get dressed, go down, and bring you
some coffee. Surely you can't be so frightened of what Nelly thinks?"
"No, not really," she said, her face shining with perspiration. "It's
just I think I'm going to be-"
He managed to grab the wastepaper basket just in time, holding her
head over it as she wretched violently.
When she had disgorged all of her stomach contents, he handed her
a glass of water to rinse her mouth out with. "You've been working
too hard and picked up some sort of illness, sweetheart. Toast and tea
and bed for you, and me waiting on you hand and foot. Me and Nelly.
I'll just say I stayed because you were ill."
"Oh, no, really-"
"Do you want me to send for Ash?"
"No, I'll be fine. But the toast and tea will be lovely. And thank
you for being so kind. It's more than I deserve."
He stared. "Why would you say that?"
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She shrugged, and blushed. "Well, it isn't exactly romantic, now is

it. I mean, I'm turning out not to be the exotic mistress you wanted
after all, now am I."
"You're more than exotic for me, dearest," he reassured her. "And
may I remind you, we were friends before we became lovers. Friends
help each other. So you're not to be embarrassed or ashamed of being
ill."
He placed a shawl over her shoulders and kissed the top of her
head. "I'll be back with that food soon." He shrugged into his robe,
picked up the bin to empty it, and left.
Nelly did not give any sign of thinking it odd for Martin to be
there, and she was most solicitous when she heard the mistress was
sick. Toast and tea was served post haste.
Then Eswara lay back weakly on the pillows and began to slumber
anew.
Seeing her so weak, Martin grew worried. He curled up in the bed
beside her for a moment, and stroked her awake, his hand gentle on
her face.
"Eswara, can you hear me?"
"Mmm."
"Darling, I'm going back to Barton for a little while, but I'll be
back this evening at the latest."
"I don't think I'll be able to-"
He put one finger on her lips. "I wouldn't leave you now, but I
have some business. Besides, I want you to promise me you'll sleep.
I'll see you later."
"I promise." She closed her eyes and dozed.
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Martin returned to Barton to get her necklace. He could not wait

until her birthday to give her her gift. On his way there, he also made
up his mind to send the letters he had written after all.
He was not sure why he had decided to proceed. In the end he
concluded that it was the only way to clear away the last four years of
despair, with a view toward a happy future with Eswara. He didn't
want anyone to think that he was marrying her for any other reason
than that he truly loved her.
Marrying? He pulled himself up short at that thought. No, it was
too sudden, too soon. He still was not worthy. He had to at least
qualify as an apothecary, and from there he had to push on to make
other arrangements. A good home...
He sighed. He loved her house. It felt more like home to him that
either Barton or Jerome Manor.
Well, they would have to talk about these things some time in the
future. For the moment, he pulled all of the letters out of his drawer,
and with a last long look at his first wife's diary. he brought the letters
downstairs to be posted.
Then he headed to Brimley to see Ash and offer to bring him home
in his carriage.
Ash was most alarmed when he heard his mother was unwell. He
was surprised that Martin was bringing him the news though, as he
was not sure what the state of affairs was between them after the ball
at Bath.
Martin said, "I say, Ash, I wouldn't mind a bit more male advice."
"I'm not so sure you made very good use of it the last time," Ash
said, his expression grim.
"I'm an idiot. But trying to do better. The truth is, well, I bought
your mother a present a number of weeks ago, to thank her for all her
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help when I was injured, when we first met. I've had it for weeks and
not had the courage to give it to her. Do you think she'll like it?" He
flicked open the black velvet box.
"It's lovely. She would adore it if she knew it came from the heart.
Wasn't a, well, a payment for services rendered," Ash said quietly, his
eyes glittering.
Martin knew then that Ash knew. Knew, and approved, though
with obvious reservations. Those had been his fault, he admitted. So
he said, "Yes, it is from the heart. Though for a time I wanted to
forget that I ever had one. And I'm not sure that organ is completely
intact yet. But if anyone can heal it, it's your mother."
"The Gita says, 'Ignorant men believe that to gratify the senses
unto the end of life is the prime necessity of human civilization. Thus,
there is no end to their anxiety and tension.'"
Martin stared at him for a moment. "Does that mean I ought not to
give it to her now?"
"Yes. Wait a bit longer, until she can understand the gift is being
given for the joy of it, not for any other reason."
"I acted like a fool in Bath. I even quarreled with the Duke over it.
Do you think she's forgiven me?"
"'Kshama virasya bhushanam'. Forgiveness is an ornament of the
brave."
"And I suppose she has to be brave to take me on."
"You've been brave trusting her as far as you have. That too has
taken a lot of courage. But I get the feeling, well-"
"Yes? Go on. I won't take it amiss."
Ashe sighed, then said, "I understand that you're lovers, but I think
you don't really know her. And it's not my place to tell you what you
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ought to know. It's right in front of you. I understand you've been in

the darkness a long time. Perhaps Mother shines so brightly she
dazzles you. Makes you afraid.
"You need to stop being afraid. You can only do that if you break
down the light into the parts of its sum. Like a prism refracting the
light to render red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet.
Learn her facets, her shades, her hues. Let her learn yours. Black, after
all, contains all colours too."
"Spoken like a true scientist," Martin said with a warm smile, but
he thought about what Ash had said, and resolved to try.
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Chapter Thirty-nine
Eswara was delighted to have her son home, and sorry she had
been thinking uncharitable thoughts about why Martin had left.
She had feared he would run away from her being unwell, but in
fact he stayed with her for three days and nights looking after her
most tenderly until it was time for him to go back to Bristol.
"But I won't leave unless you're sure you're better," he offered,
even knowing he needed to go back to resume his studies with the
apothecary.
"It was just a tiny bit of a stomach upset, that's all. Really. Off you
go back to your family. And yes, if I become ill again, I promise I'll
go see Blake."
"All right. Off I go then. Ash, are you coming?"
"In a minute."
"Are you sure you're all right?" he asked his mother.
She nodded. "Really. I swear it. Now off you go. I'll see you
Tuesday. And thank you for coming home."
Eswara shook her head after they left. She had been delighted to
have them with her, but she had longed to be alone with her
tumultuous thoughts.
Was it possible? Surely not. Not so soon.
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As the days passed and her queasiness disappeared, she thought it

had been a stomach upset. When a light bit of staining came at the
usual time a few days later, she decided she had panicked over
nothing, and put it out of her mind.
She soon had other things to worry about, for the Duke and his
wife paid a visit to her one day in the middle of the following week.
"Hello, how are you?"
She stared in surprise. "Very well, your Grace, Charlotte. To what
do I owe the honour?"
"We just wanted to make sure you were all right after everything in
Bath."
"Everything in Bath?" she asked in confusion. "The trip was
delightful. I did send you a thank you note. I hope you received it. It
was kind of you to invite us through Mr. Jerome."
"And Mr. Jerome. Is he well?"
"I, um-" She felt a treacherous blush creep over her cheeks.
"It's just that he sent us a most extraordinary letter. We've been
trying to contact him, but his family haven't seen him for weeks."
"Oh, well, he must be at Jerome Manor-"
He shook his head. "No, not there either, according to Ellen. We
are all most concerned."
"He was a bit out of sorts at the end of last week," she lied, "and
came here to stay with myself and Ash, but he left Sunday night."
"Well, if you hear from him, please tell him to stop at the Castle
any time. We would also very much like to have you some time
soon."
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"Oh, thank you, that's very kind, but you know how busy I can be
with the practice and Blake and I taking turns."
"Nevertheless, you and Ash shall come when the weather is more
fine. We shall find much to entertain you, I am sure," Charlotte said
with a warm smile.
"Thank you, you're more than kind."
They took their leave, saying they were heading off to the Stones'.
With a last bow, Eswara closed the door behind her, wondering what
to make of the visit.
The message seemed more than clear-they knew. And were
warning her off? But no, they had extended such a gracious invitation.
Yet at the same time, they had said no one knew where Martin
was. Therefore, she could only conclude they were warning her off
him-that he might seem to be fine, but there was a great deal she didn't
know.
And was not about to discover, either, apparently, for when she
mentioned the visit to Martin when he returned on Thursday evening,
without so much as a note in the meantime asking how she was, he
looked exhausted and merely shrugged and changed the subject.
But his look when she had repeated the part about him never being
home had been most furtive, and she sighed.
But she was not going to quarrel with him. They had not been
together in an intimate way since the night they had made love and
fallen asleep in front of the fire.
All of her senses were alight at the sight of him, and though she
had to wait until he had taken a nap before he was sufficiently awake
to cater to their needs, once he was out of the bath he was more than
ready for her supposed lesson.
Eswara had her suspicions about where he had been, what he had
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been doing, but to voice them would be to break the fragile peace they
had managed to forge for themselves.
So she put his body to the test, to see if he had been wearing
himself out with anyone one else. Once again, her lesson was more
than she bargained for, though it started out well enough with her in
firm control.
"Now, where were we? I seem to recall we were trying the
kneeling position when you got a bit carried away."
"Are you complaining?" he asked, raising his brows.
She blushed. "No, not at all. But I'm supposed to be teaching you
what you asked to learn. Discipline and concentration, remember?"
"And pleasure too."
"Yes, pleasure too," she admitted, her resolve to be his harsh and
aloof teacher breaking down under his molten silver gaze.
She leaned over to give him a kiss that took his breath away, and
nearly proved her undoing.
"Damn the lesson, just let it all wash over us," he murmured
against her lips, reaching for the back of her head to deepen the kiss.
She was sorely tempted, but she had lost control so utterly that last
time that she feared the consequences of another unbridled display of
her true passion. He was going to know she was in love with him if
she didn't maintain the pretense of being a courtesan only out to edify
her client.
"Concentrate. Kneel, legs together, one hand on breast, one hand
on my waist like so," she said in a tone reminiscent of an army drill
instructor.
She sat on his thighs again, and tried to keep her mind on what she
was supposed to be doing.
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Once he was deeply inside her as he had been before, trying to

ignore the incredible surging of the flesh which raced through her at
his slightest touch, she asked him, "Nice?"
"Lovely. You're lovely," he breathed against the side of her neck,
his hot breath tickling her ear.
"The sexual contact is lovely. I'm just the instrument of your
pleasure," she forced herself to say, wriggling her hips downwards
until he filled her with an almost unmerciful pressure.
To distract herself from her rampantly rising orgasm, she said,
"Right, we know how this one works now. So next I need you to take
my left ankle and bring my leg parallel with your side. I'm going to
slide head first off the bed. This will be the wheelbarrow."
He protested at this, but not on his own account, trying to turn her
to face him. "No, love. I don't want to drop you on your head or hurt
you."
"I'll be fine. I'm an experienced paid companion, remember?" she
said, trying not to choke on the words. "It'll be fun. You'll see. You
can enjoy a good view of my nice round bottom wriggling. So grab
my ankle."
She inverted herself over the bed, and stifled a gasp as he filled her
like an arrow.
"Oh yes, I see what you mean," he said in a seductive tone, his
manhood throbbing into her until she had to bite back a scream of
pure unalloyed delight.
Martin trapped her leg against his body with his arm while he put
both hands on her bottom and began to massage her.
"I adore your buttocks. So beautifully round and alluring. A honeysweet and delectable pair of globes. But then of course there are your
breasts. Like the most succulent pair of ripe melons," he praised as he
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reached down with one other hand to twirl one finger lazily round and
round her nipple.
"But you're not supposed to touch me like that," she gritted out, her
voice muffled.
"Ah, but you're not in much of a position to stop me now, are you,
darling?" he said with a little chuckle. "So just enjoy it."
Poised so deeply within her, and with her hands taking a fair
amount of her weight, she was almost powerless to resist the contact
without allowing herself to fall on her head. So she had to endure his
caresses and the subtle rhythm set by his slightest movement back and
forth and from side to side.
"Oh, Eswara, you're so gorgeous," he gasped, his breathing
growing more and more fractured as he moved side to side, back and
forth, up and down, as fascinated as a child with a new toy at the
vision laid before him.
She damned herself for a fool for ever allowing Martin to get
control over the situation or her body. Of course, she could just bend
her elbows and wriggle off the bed. She was about to, when his hand
moving around to her front to stroke her pearl of pleasure proved her
undoing.
She could feel her body go rigid with shock before the blood,
already rushing to her head due to her inverted position, flooded her
face as her passion tore through her in great shuddering spasms,
rendering her arms powerless.
Martin caught her more tightly to him as she began to slide
downwards until her hip bones rested on the edge of the bed. He
pinioned her there with one hand on the small of her back while he
hung onto her haunch and drove into her like a man demented.
Only sheer willpower kept him hanging on to his sanity by a
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thread, just enough to stop her from landing face-first in a heap on the
Turkey carpet. He could barely even hear or see. The breathless
wrenching cries in two keys echoing around the room scarcely even
registered. The only sensation was the addictive glide, the perfect
fitting together of their bodies as if there were no beginning and end.
"Dear Lord," he cried out when at last he could restrain himself no
longer.
All of the air went out of Eswara's lungs as his final thrust drove
downwards through her, upwards so deeply into her that her last
passionate gasp was a tiny cry like the mewling of a kitten.
She trembled so violently he had to push her hips harder against
the bed to stop her sliding off. She could feel every blessed inch of
him prodding into every single erogenous spot she had ever known
she possessed.
And even a few she hadn't know about which he had discovered in
his tireless explorations of her lithe body. With one last desperate
attempt to control the situation, she pushed back up with her arms and
tightened her inner muscles, until they both gave a desperate cry and
climaxed one final time.
At last some semblance of coherence returned to Martin. He
immediately hauled her onto the bed once more by her waist and arm
and began to soothe the tumbled hair back from her flushed face. He
began to smother her eyelids cheeks and lips with warm, openmouthed kisses, running his fingers through her hair until her scalp
tingled.
Eswara surrendered to him utterly then. They had no future
together, she knew, but when he held her in his arms so tenderly, what
was the point in fighting against her love for him any longer? What
was the harm of pretending for one night?
"My darling, Martin. My love," she whispered against his lips.
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His heart soared, and he melded into her arms, feeling completely
at peace. He reveled in her body as he made love to her anew,
fascinated by the uninhibited response his least little touch evoked.
He stroked her lip; she sucked his finger into her mouth. He
nuzzled her ear, she covered his neck in kisses, rubbing up and down
against him like a cat.
He licked between her breasts, she wrapped her legs around his
waist and writhed against his crisp hair and solid shaft until he pushed
her knees flat against the mattress and filled her until she shouted his
name.
Poised on the edge of the fulfillment of his dearest fantasy, he
hesitated for only a moment before taking the plunge. He surrendered
to the powerful pulsing within him, yet even as his climaxed finished
at last and he was sure he was going to collapse, he raised his body off
Eswara enough to rub her sensitive whorl while he drove himself as
far into her as it could go. Martin took her wrist and drove her hand
between his thighs to clasp his delicate pouch and squeeze gently. In
an instant his desire burgeoned forth once more.
Her eyes flew open in stunned surprise. Surely he couldn't mean
to"My love, no, we can't-"
"Apparently we can, my treasure. I'm certainly not going to let
anything stop me. This is my dream come true, my ultimate fantasy,
hearing you cry my name until you're hoarse. Me filling you with
pleasure, with my seed until you can't walk. Until you can't sit or lie
or stand without feeling the imprint of my body deep inside you."
"I do. I do, it's all you, Martin," she gasped in utter surrender to the
enthralling rotation of his hips. "Every part of me is yours. I close my
eyes, all I see is your face. I listen, and all I can hear is your voice.
The only perfume in my nostrils is the aroma of your heady scent. I
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taste your flesh, your tongue."

She reached up to place one cool palm upon his flushed cheek.
"My hands ache to feel your soft skin, to feel you whole body caress
mine. To press inside of me, to share with you this act of love, of
worship, this scared oneness I never dreamt I could share with anyone
the way I have with you.
"I feel you inside me, all around me and my heart sings. And a
little voice whispers deep inside of me that this is forever, eternal.
That our two souls have met before, and are destined to meet and love
again and again. I just can't tell what sin I ever committed in the past
to lose such a love as this. All I can do is pray to all the gods that I
don't lose it again."
She sucked in a ragged breath as his tempo increased. "Yet even as
I pray for the eternal, I know this is only evanescent, a blink of an eye
in your life before you move on to-"
"No, no!" he grated out harshly. "Is that why you've been-"
His body froze as he choked on the surge of emotions all warring
within his breast. Dear God, what had he done?
In trying to insulate himself from pain and loss he had wounded
her, been driving her away. Caused her to be so wary she had not been
able to trust him fully, had kept her distance even when she held him
in his arms.
It was all so clear now he couldn't fathom why he hadn't seen it all
before.
But then he had never been in love before, only in lust. He had
been stumbling around like a blind fool. It had made him blind to
anyone else's feelings but his own. Blinkered him so that the vision he
saw in front of him was the only one, never mind the fact that it was
distorted. Twisted. Fragmented. Just as his life had been until the
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night he had staggered in from the snow storm and she had welcomed
him into her life and her world in the same way she had welcomed
him into her supple body. Generously, reverently, lovingly. With no
thought of her own needs or desires.
Eswara stroked his cheek and he realised with a shake of his whole
body that she was purposefully rippling against him once more. Even
after having admitted she was sure he was going to end their
relationship, she was still concerned only for his pleasure. Not
because she wanted to entrap him, or because this was what she had
been trained to do, but because she loved him, wanted him to be
happy.
Happy. He had thought he would never feel that emotion ever
again. With Eswara he had felt all that and more. An inexpressible joy
every time he was in the same room with her, every time she did
something as simple as kiss him, hold his hand.
Martin forced himself to clear his brain of all the swirling emotions
and just relax. When he felt the blankness wash over him, he began to
meditate on her. Her skin, eyes, what made her so special to him.
With the peace was a new arousal so powerful she gasped, for he
filled her now as never before, until she was sure she couldn't take
him within her any longer. The vast pressure of his swollen manhood
deep within her body was so intense even the tiniest movement made
her see stars. Her whole world swirled around in a vortex, its center
firmly fixed at the core of her body.
Martin kissed her, and moved within one final time. The world
flew off its axis and into the void. The stars of heaven came
shimmering down all around them until they both collapsed into
exhausted repose.
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Chapter Forty
Martin had most certainly got his ultimate fantasy, Eswara thought
to herself ruefully the next morning. She could barely stand for the
trembling of muscles she never knew she had.
Every step she took produced a heavy dragging sensation deep
within her womb, both a reminder of his passionate possession, and an
incitement to seek him out for even more of the same.
But she had her duties to attend to, and Blake had gone off to Bath
with Arabella for a few days, thus doubling her work load.
In any event, she was certain it was over now. He had been
outraged by her confessing her feelings and fears to him. He was no
doubt appalled at her admission that what had started out as a healing
path for him had become an infatuation for her.
What a silly word to describe the soul-shattering longing for him
within her. But then the word was related to fatuous. It was most
assuredly the height of folly to have fallen in love with Martin
Jerome.
"Drat! Don't you think I know that?" she muttered to herself as she
polished the furniture with beeswax.
Down on her knees on the cold hard stone floor of the foyer, she
had a vision of him entering the room, entering her as she knelt....
"Oh no, stop it, stop it," she groaned, heaving herself to her feet.
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Going into the kitchen was no better. A vision of him laying her
out on the table and feasting upon her sprang up in her mind's eye.
The sight of the parlor only reminded her of the hours they had
spent there practicing and chatting like genuine friends as well as
lovers.
Her own room was no better. Even just the thought of lying in the
bed she has shared with him, smelling his scent on her sheets, was
enough to set her off.
Why, oh why had she ever embarked upon this madness?
Because she had loved and wanted him from the first. From the
moment he had stepped out of the bathroom almost into her arms. She
had seized upon the opportunity to be with him with no thought for
the consequence. She had been well and truly satisfied and fulfilled.
More than she had ever imagined.
But there was a price to be paid. It had not been a right action. She
had had a taste of paradise, but would simply have to give it up.
Well, it had been worth it, hadn't it? Better a few day and nights of
bliss than a lifetime of wondering what she had been missing out on.
All the same, the prospect of never seeing him again, or worse still,
seeing him about Millcote in the arms of another, was almost more
than she could bear.
Martin longed to be with Eswara with every fibre of his being. But
he knew he could not put off his interviews with his family
indefinitely. The only lift to his gloomy spirits was when he thought
of Eswara, what she had said to him the night before. The magic they
had shared.
He still felt a cad for not having seen before how badly he had hurt
her. He had been so outraged and obsessed when her brother-in-law
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had accused her of being a prostitute, that he had not thought about
what his request for her to become his mistress had done to her. Made
her feel uncertain, unimportant. Made her into the very thing he had
accused her of being.
His course of action in setting his life to rights was undertaken
solely with a view to he and Eswara being together eventually. Sadly,
it only served to pull them further apart.
He of course had no clue what her thoughts were about the
necklace incident with Georgina in Bath, for he had no idea that
Arabella Sanderson had gossiped about him buying a fine necklace all
those weeks ago. He had no notion that she could possibly be burning
with jealous insecurity, for so far as he was concerned, he had done
nothing wrong.
He could be forgiven for his caution in not blurting out his love for
her, not when things were still so unsettled. But soon...
For now he had to clear up what had happened so long ago, what
he had been doing and thinking for the past four years. His family
were all most sympathetic, and they cried a few tears together as he
hugged them. They asked a few questions about Margaret and the
night he was nearly killed, and he was able to answer them calmly.
In the end Martin said to them all, "I'm sorry. I've been a selfindulgent fool. I'm not the only man who has ever made a mistake,
married the wrong woman. And with what so many suffered in the
recent war, I really ought to be ashamed of myself for being so
foolish. I can only apologise for my fit of madness, and hope you can
forgive me. Try to understand the new path toward happiness I'm
choosing."
"I'm sorry, Martin. I should never have treated you like a tame
escort to trot out at will. Any chance you've had to meet a good
woman has been thwarted," Ellen sighed.
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"Not entirely," he admitted with a small smile.

All eyes stared at him in shock. He gave Georgina a little nod.
"Let's just say that all will be revealed in the fullness of time."
Samuel caught the nod, and misinterpreted it. "Well,
congratulations, old man. I hope you two will be very happy."
"We will, eventually. But I need to get a few more things in place
in my life, be worthy of her. I shall confide in you more fully at
another time. Right now I have to go mend fences with the Duke of
Ellesmere. I behaved rather badly at the ball in Bath and need to make
amends."
"Very good, son. We won't keep you," his father said, offering his
hand to shake.
He returned the pressure warmly, then threw his arm around him
for a hearty hug. "I'll be back soon. And perhaps we can have some
champagne at dinner? My treat? After all, every day should be a
special occasion when one has such a loving family."
They all nodded. "We will see you later, at four," his mother said,
hugging him hard.
"I'll walk you out, Martin," Georgina offered, and took his arm.
"That was well done," she whispered, smiling up at him. "You
were very brave."
"Thank you."
"I think I'm going to follow my heart too."
He glanced down at her. "What do you mean?"
"I think I want to find Oliver. Discover what happened-"
His face fell. "Oh, no, sweetheart. The Duke said-"
She spun to face him, her hands on his forearms. "What did he
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say?"
Martin shrugged. "That it was a jolly bad business, and you were
well rid of him. I don't know anything more than that."
Her blue eyes sparkled with unshed tears. "Will you help me find
out? Help me find him? I need to know the truth."
"Oh, Georgina, I-"
She gave him a little shake. "I need to know if it was him, or me."
"It had to be him. After his brother's suicide-"
"I need to know. All of it."
Martin shook his head. "But I'm studying at the moment, in Bristol.
I have little free time."
"Please. I know he's in London. We can go up, find him."
"I don't think this is such a good idea. You're very young, you
know. There will be others."
"I don't want any other. I want Oliver Neville," she said tearfully.
He shook his head vehemently. "Georgina, you're breaking your
own heart just as I have mine. The truth may not be what you really
want. It may be a Pandora's box that you will have to live with for the
rest of your life, wishing you had never opened it. If my wife had not
told me about the baby by accident, who knows what might have
happened that night? I might have managed to remain in ignorance,
been happy for a short time. But then I never would have met the
woman I love now. Never been able to say I love you and know what
the words really meant."
His brother can out into the hall now and exclaimed, "I say, you
two, that's enough whispering. Aunt needs Georgina, and you have an
appointment with the Duke."
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He grinned from ear to ear, having caught the last ten words or so
of Martin's conversation, and concluded there was indeed an
understanding between his brother and Georgina.
Martin looked up. "You're right, of course, Samuel. Georgina,
mark what I said."
Her blue eyes flashed. "I will think on it. But I still believe I'm
right."
"I hope so." He gave her a warm hug and departed, leaving Samuel
staring after him, beaming.
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Chapter Forty-one
Upon his arrival at Eltham Castle, the Duke was most gracious,
and Martin apologised at once for his stupidity and crass behaviour in
Bath.
Thomas waved his words away airily. "What I really want to know
it, have you got things straight with Mrs. Paignton?"
"Yes, I think so. You were right. I was fool to ever listen to that
old buzzard."
"And Clifford and Vanessa. Are you really ready to go over for a
visit?"
"Now?" he whispered.
"Yes. No time like the present."
He took a ragged breath. "It's just, well, the house has memories.
It's where he died, after all."
The Duke nodded. "Yes, on the back terrace. You don't have to go
there if you don't wish to."
When the young man remained silent, Thomas said, "Or if you
prefer, we can wait until Eswara is with you. It might be easier to face
if you don't have to do it alone."
He shook his head. "No, I can do this. I want her to be proud of
me. I can do this."
The strain of meeting with the Stones was not easy, but with his
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cousin Josephine there, he felt a great deal more calm. In the end, he
had realised his hatred had been directed at a dead man. Gerald was
long gone-what was the sense in holding a grudge?
He offered his hand to them immediately, not even trying to
disguise the reason he was there under the pretext of a social visit.
"I'm sorry I've cut you both at every turn. It was badly done. I can
see now why Thomas considers you such a close friend. You're a
good man. Willing to forgive, as I should have been. You did nothing
but try to help.
"Vanessa, I am only too grateful for all your assistance. If you had
not acted when you did, and helped bring your half-brother to justice,
I doubt I would still be alive. He would have found me and killed me
for certain to make sure there were no witnesses to their crime."
The lovely auburn haired woman gave a tearful smile. "I'm just so
glad you are all right. And so sorry for your loss."
"Not as sorry as I've been for myself. I didn't love my wife as I
ought. My grief was no more than guilt and relief."
"Oh, Martin," Josephine sighed.
"I'm sorry to hear that. But we all make mistakes, feel guilt and
self-reproach," Vanessa said gently. "If I had acted sooner-"
"Or if I had, my love," Clifford said, his blue eyes sad. "He nearly
killed you as well, remember? I knew he was wild, yet I said nothing.
Didn't think he could possibly be as vicious as all that. My mistake
cost who knows how many people their lives. The widow Marsters
and her daughters for certain."
They all shuddered to recall how the unfortunate women had died,
tortured, raped and then burnt alive in their humble cottage not far
from the woods where Martin had nearly met his end.
"But you at least were saved."
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"Aye, and your family rewarded well the family who saved you.
They are now living down at Lyme," the Duke put in.
Martin nodded. "Yes, Lyme. You come from there, do you not,
Vanessa?"
She smiled. "Yes, lived there with the aunt who raised me, God
rest her. She was another of Gerald's victims, you know."
Martin stared at her. "My God"
"But there's no point in repining over what can't be changed. One
has to look to the future. Hating him gives him too much power over
me. So I let it go, and try to forgive."
"As am I."
Vanessa gave him an encouraging smile. "Lyme is a lovely place.
You should go. Go see them and thank them."
He nodded. "Perhaps I shall. One day when the weather improves."
It would make a nice trip for Eswara, he was sure. If he could
persuade her to go...
By the time he finished his visit at Stone Court and went back to
Jerome Manor for dinner, once more fully in the warm bosom of his
family, it was too late to be in the warm bosom of Eswara.
He went up to his room and sighed. He patted the black velvet box.
Soon, soon. When he was qualified. Able to make her proud.
Then he blinked. The necklace was a lovely gift, but the wrong one
for what he intended. For surely if he was going to marry Eswara, he
needed a ring
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Chapter Forty-two
The next morning he asked Georgina to accompany him to Bath.
She looked surprised, but was convinced it was to do with what they
had discussed the previous day, and accepted gratefully.
Once in the carriage, he explained his errand. His cousin was
delighted. "But you must show me the necklace. Surely we can get
everything to match."
"A good idea."
"Oh, lovely," she admired when he had opened the box. "Lucky
girl."
He returned to the jeweller's shop in which he had bought the
amethyst and gold collar necklace, and Georgina helped try on rings.
"My lady's hand is a bit more slender than yours, Georgina. If you
can't get that one past your knuckle, it should be just about right for
her."
"Goodo. Now, what about these ear bobs, and this bracelet?"
"Yes. Oh, and those pearls." He pointed.
"Does she wear much jewellery?"
"Hmm, come to think of it, no."
"How strange."
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"Hm, most strange indeed," he said with a frown. What had Ash
said about gifts from the heart?
But the jewels were all a perfect match, and the wedding set, with
its stunning diamonds and one large amethyst in a gold filigree
setting, seemed as though it was made for her.
"I'm not sure about the earrings, though. The girandole setting, or
the pendeloque?"
"It would help awfully if you gave me a hint as to the identity of
the most fortunate woman."
Martin shook his head. "Not yet. Soon, I promise."
"Very well. I shall do my best with the little I have to go on. Are
all three stones in the girandole of equal quality?" she asked.
He looked through the jeweller's loupe.
"Yes."
"Then the girandole."
"But as you said, if she does not wear much jewellery, perhaps the
single fine stone from the pendeloque would be best?"
"Well, if you are so undecided, and can afford it, buy both."
He nodded and smiled. "I will."
He was just about to pay for all his purchases when his eye was
caught by a magnificent cameo en esclavage, the three rows of draped
chain between the three black-backed plaques studded with pearls.
"Oh, I say, look at that."
"Oh, my, very fine indeed," Georgina admired. "Does she like
cameos?"
"They are all the fashion. I should imagine she does."
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Without hesitation he added it to the pile, along with a fine pearl

bracelet and a ruby brooch. "There, I think this is as good a start to a
bridal set as any."
"Indeed, you've been more than generous."
"Do you think so?"
"What woman could fail to be impressed?" Georgina asked with a
giddy laugh.
Arabella Sanderson most certainly was, for she came into the shop
just as they were examining each black velvet box before wrapping it,
and heard the high-pitched tittering.
She stared. The young fool was spending a fortune on that flighty
young thing who had turned the head of every man in the district, only
to dance on their hearts and leave them dangling.
She shook her head. She had hoped it would be someone more
worthy....
She told herself she was being unfair-it had most definitely
knocked the girl for six when she had discovered her engagement to
Arabella's own cousin Oliver to be over. Who was she to blame
Georgina for trying to cheer herself up, feel more attractive by making
a steady stream of conquests? But her own sober and haunted cousin?
It was just too bad.
Arabella thought they would start guiltily or act shy at having been
caught thus, unchaperoned and in the midst of buying the most
sumptuous wedding set this side of the one her own darling husband
had given her.
But Georgina actually acted glad to see her. Ignoring Martin's
urgent looks to be careful, Georgina said warmly, "Why, Arabella,
how good to see you. What news of you and Blake?"
"Nothing in particular. Work, settling in to the house, and of
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course building our new one slowly but surely. But then, you would
see it more than me, with the workmen coming in and out all the time
up the drive at Jerome Manor."
"It will be such fun when you are closer. But tell me, what news
from Oliver these days?"
Her face closed up instantly. "Still studying and working hard. He
has little time for social engagements, or even letter-writing. Blake
hears from him from time to time via the London clinic, where he
volunteers when he is not nursing or studying. He is well, and I'm sure
he wishes you every happiness."
"Forgive me asking, but I am not sure of my position with regard
to having been pre-contracted. If I wish to marry another, he is not
going to contest it, is he? I mean, I would hate for Papa to be slapped
with a breach of promise suit."
Arabella relaxed. She was not going to have to warn the girl off
Oliver after all. She was just making sure of her position vis a vis her
impending nuptials to Martin, she guessed.
"I am sure my cousin ought to have written to you before now. But
I can safely say he will not take it to a court of law. He has no desire
to marry anyone at present, or in the future. I know he is sorry for the
way things have turned out, and would wish you every happiness with
another. More than that I cannot say."
"You have said enough," Georgina replied with a sniff.
"I am sorry. But it has all worked out for the best, has it not?"
Arabella said, looking over the girl's shoulder to where Martin was
standing with the pile of jewel boxes.
"I suppose," Georgina sighed, still pensive.
"Then I wish you every happiness. Goodbye." She offered her
hand, then turned and fled.
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Arabella made her escape from the shop before Georgina asked
any more awkward questions, and elected to write to Oliver at once
asking him to write to Georgina freeing her from any further
obligation at his earliest opportunity.
She didn't want anything to stand in the way of Georgina's pending
marriage to Martin. They had both been through so much, they
deserved a bit of happiness at last.
When Arabella got home, she hurried to the study for pen and
paper, and mentioned the incident to her husband in breathless tones.
"Oh, surely you are mistaken," Blake said with a frown.
"I am telling you, I saw the wedding set with my own eyes, and
she asked me if she was free of Oliver or not. If they're not marrying,
then what on earth were they playing at?"
Blake's brows knit. "I'm not sure, but there is something fishy
about this business."
But soon it became the talk of the neighbourhood, that Martin was
going to marry his cousin Georgina, for the jocular young Samuel had
seen nothing wrong in spreading what he believed to be the good
news.
It even reached the ears of the Duke, who exclaimed to Charlotte,
"This is a bad business indeed. I thought he told us he had resolved
matters with Eswara. Now I find he is engaged to that flighty little
miss and doing what, showering them both with jewellery and
planning to keep her as his mistress? I am appalled. I thought he had
learned his lesson about both women."
Charlotte sighed. "You're a true romantic, darling, that's your
trouble. You want Eswara to be happy after the hard life she had led,
and that is admirable. But surely you can see as clearly as she the
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many obstacles to such a match.

"You and I are not bigoted, but there are many people in the world
who are. You have to accept the fact that Eswara and her son will
never be accepted by some people, especially not in a sleepy little
backwater like Millcote."
"But I didn't think the Jeromes would be like that."
"Aye, but look at Timberlake, his uncle. A more reactionary old
fool never lived and breathed."
The Duke nodded. "Aye. Ghastly man. Abuses his servants
dreadfully. Treats them like cattle. In fact, the cows in his field are
better off, for at least they are not sexually harassed they way his
serving maids are. Though come to think of it-"
"Thomas! Do not even think to finish that appalling sentence."
He flashed her a grin. "Sorry, my love. But you've heard the
rumours about debauched antics with his guests."
"It's enough that he is a Tory and friends with Eswara's odious
brother-in-law. I don't need to know about all their sexual peccadilloes
as well. It makes me shudder."
"Rather. In any event, back to Martin. What can he be thinking?"
"I don't know, but it is not our place to interfere. Eswara is no fool.
She'll be able to cope, I'm sure."
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Chapter Forty-three
Eswara felt as though the heart had been torn from her body.
Martin marrying Georgina.
Well, she had suspected as much ever since she had heard about
the fabulous necklace he had bought his cousin that things were
tending that way.
But they were not married yet. She held no sympathy for adultery,
but until he was wed...
Oh, who was she trying to deceive, she thought with a sigh. She
ought to end it now, once and for all. Before things went any further
than they already had. Way too far
Ever since they had first made love, she was seeing him less and
less. Why not just tell him their arrangement no longer suited, that
they were obviously not compatible in that way, that some people had
guessed...
But when he came to the door that evening after tea, she did not
have the heart to turn him away. Not when he threw his arms around
her and carried her into the living room, and proceeded to smother her
face in kisses.
"My, how I've missed you," he breathed against her hair.
"Kind of you to say, but I'm sure a man of business like yourself
has much to keep him occupied."
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He frowned at her cool tone. "Look, I know I've not seen you very
much the past couple of weeks, but I promise we're going to have
some more time together soon."
Now it was her turn to frown. "What do you mean?"
"Once I get all of this family business out of the way. And in the
meantime, I wondered, well, if you could get away for a few days. I
wanted to go down to Lyme to see some people, and thought you
might be willing to accompany me as my, well, guest.
"You can have a separate room and everything if that makes you
feel more comfortable with our, um, arrangement," he said with a
blush. "But I would very much like you to come, whatever your
terms."
"When did you want to go?" she asked quietly, eyeing him with a
wariness which made his heart sink.
"As soon as the March weather starts to improve. The week after
next, perhaps?"
"We shall see."
He did not press her, for the light shining in her gold eyes was
unfathomable. If he didn't know better, he might have said she was
angry.
But she didn't get angry in the normal way of things, and so he
kissed her hard, and asked where Nelly was.
"Just left. And tomorrow is Sunday, so she will be off to church
until noon."
"Are you feeling up to a lesson?" he asked quietly?
"A lesson, or something more?"
"I was hoping for a massage for both of us. Some meditation. I feel
like there are all sorts of voices swirling in my head, nagging at me."
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"I see. Then we should certainly have a nice hot bath and
massage."
Upstairs in the bedroom, feeling relaxed after the warm bath and
sensual strokes he had delighted her with using his soapy hands,
though always stopping short of full lovemaking, she sat on the backs
of his thighs in front of the fire, and rubbed warm oil all over Martin.
She took her time, becoming more and more aroused as she
explored the body she had come to know so well, and yet still found
full of surprises.
He might well be marrying Georgina, but he was here with her
now, and she was determined to make this a night they would never
forget.
He protested as she began to give him a full lingam massage,
alternating right and left, up and down, until he protested he simply
couldn't hold back any longer.
"Eswara, darling, I want you to feel-"
"I do. You have no idea how wonderful it is for me to be able to
unleash your awesome power."
She pressed his sacred spot with her left hand and covered the
velvety soft head to tease it.
"Oh, Lord, Eswara, what am I going to do with you."
She smiled bitterly. More like what will you do without me.
When he quieted, he immediately grasped the oil and began to rub
her both front and back as she knelt before him.
"Lie down, love," he instructed.
"You don't have to-"
"I want to. Need to. I need to know all of you. I can't do that if
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you're sitting up there instructing me. Just let it flow, remember?"

She still had her doubts, and residual anger over his engagement,
but no man wanted a pouty and complaining mistress. She had heard
her husband's friends complain about that often enough.
So she took a deep breath and let her mind soar free, focusing only
on his hands upon her body, and the exquisite pleasure he gave her as
he stroked the almond oil up and down, and gave her a yoni massage
at last.
But try as hard as he could, she held back, until he was almost
raging with confusion and despair.
"I don't understand, Eswara. Why don't you just let yourself go?"
"It's more powerful if I don't, so that when I finally do-"
"What do you want me to do?Anything," he rasped.
I want you to love me. Marry me, her heart cried inwardly. "I think
you already know."
He shook his head, his eyes dark. "I'm trying. I can't-"
Her lips curved in a sad smile. "Concentrate. You know what my
fantasy is."
He stroked his hand over her belly, and then he knew. It was the
same as his.
He lifted her into the bed and began to kiss her from head to toe,
almost devouring her most secret places like a starving man,
uncovering all of her most sensitive spots with his questing hands, all
the while with his eyes open to watch her response.
He couldn't understand fully why she was refusing to climax. She
had never struggled so hard to remain in control before.
But then, he sensed her fear, her uncertainty. Her doubts. Her
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conviction that they were ending, because he had been spending less
time with her and had been keeping his studies in Bristol a secret to
surprise her with.
But there could be no love without trust. If he needed to trust her,
she most certainly needed to trust him.
He raised himself from between her thighs and knelt, pulling her
around on top of him. A few quick thrusts right at the entrance to her
body had her breathing coming in short gasps. A few more deep
thrusts as she sank fully onto him had her panting his name.
Then he shifted her leg up and hung her over the bed, though she
tried to tug out of his grip.
"No, no, Martin."
"Trust me."
"But-"
"You told me to trust you last time. I won't let you fall."
She hated the feeling of being out of control once more, but she
could sense from his tone, even beyond his words, that this was about
more than a simple sexual position.
It was also about her having absolute faith in him, as he had to
have in her. And it was about the fantasy-him filling her with joy until
all she could do was call his name. All she could feel was the imprint
of his body upon hers.
But she couldn't touch him, not with her hands on the carpet three
feet below him. Or could she? Taking all the weight on one hand, she
reached back and sank her finger into his sacred spot.
His thumb upon her pearl of pleasure missed a beat, and with both
hands on her waist he heaved her back into the bed and pulled her on
top of him.
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"I give up. Whatever you want, love, you can have it," he panted.
"I don't want to fight any more."
"I wasn't aware we were fighting," she said softly, though she
could still feel her own stiff tension despite his wonderful massage.
"I wasn't either," he said in exasperation. "But you seem to be
angry with me, I think, and I have no idea why." He shook his head.
His eyes glistened with barely restrained passion. "I missed you,
wanted to be with you. You're here with me, but it's as if-" He threw
one wrist over his eyes and sighed.
"As if what?" she murmured, nestling against his side despite
herself, marveling at the perfect fit of their bodies.
"I don't know, Eswara. As if you're trying to punish me. For
something I've done, didn't do, I don't know. I want to know you, but I
can't even get close to you tonight. You're in my arms, I'm right inside
of you, but you're not, well, intimate with me.
"Please, Eswara, I want to make you happy. I can't be happy if I
don't. Whatever it is I've done wrong, I admit it. I'm sorry, I'm a fool.
Take that for granted, and we'll be fine."
"No, not a fool," she said, relenting. "A lovely if confused young
man."
He removed the wrist covering his eyes to look down at her.
"Please, Eswara, won't you tell me what's bothering you?"
"Perhaps I feel the same. That there are parts of your life I can
never touch," she said after a time.
"I understand. But I'm not good at sharing. It isn't second nature to
me the way it is to you. I am trying, though." He stroked his hand
down her back. "I want to be closer to you. But there's an invisible
barrier. Your rules. The declared ones, and a few you haven't told me.
Aren't there?"
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"Yes," she admitted with a sigh.

"Because?"
"Because I don't trust this thing between us. It's too powerful," she
confessed at last.
"Trust it, or trust me."
She stroked his face and sighed. "Oh, Martin, I don't even trust
myself."
"Neither do I. So we're even, then." He remained silent for a time.
Then he asked, "Do you think we can make one rule for tonight only,
and see how it goes?"
"Which one?" she asked warily.
"That there are to be no rules. And no more fighting. Just you and I
and as much pleasure as we can give each other."
"All right," she said, but her tone rang with doubt.
He shook his head. "No, love, you need to be sure. Absolutely
certain."
She raised herself to move over him, needing him more than she
ever had anything in her lifetime. "Yes," she breathed, and kissed him
sensually, as she had done the very first time.
His arms came up around her, and instantly the raw pleasure which
had eluded her returned. He pulled her astride him, ramming down her
hips whenever she lifted them, until her cheeks suffused and she
panted her name between her moist, parted lips.
He half sat up and began to feast upon her breasts, and cupped her
bottom with both huge hands.
Her fulfillment, which had been building ever since their bath so
many hours before, was now rung from her in great shuddering
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spasms, and she could feel herself explode as he did.

Some Tantric practitioners had told her it was possible, but she had
never believed it until now. The unleashed power was like nothing she
had ever know, ever even dreamt of.
But then, in Martin's arms, all sorts of miracles showered down
upon her. Even when she thought he could not keep going, he took a
deep breath, and plunged ever onwards.
Finally she rolled onto her back, taking him with her. She raised
her legs around his waist, and grasped his buttocks hard. "Now,
please, end it."
He pounded into her until she was sure she would be split in two,
yet even as he plummeted her hips rose to take each powerful stroke
with a joyous gladness which left them both utterly spent.
Martin groaned a final time, and his heavy weight pressed her into
the bed as he lay prone.
"I'll get up in a moment," he mumbled into the pillow, hating to
leave her, but knowing her rules.
She shivered at the thought of him leaving. She had said he was
not supposed to sleep in the same bed with her. She had been fearful
she might do or say something to give her true feelings away.
But now as he made to drag himself from her side, certain sleep
was upon him as well as her, she reached out for his wrist gently.
"Please, Martin, please stay."
His look of elation was unmistakable. He bounded back into the
bed and pulled her into his arms with one fluid movement, wrapping
himself around her like a warm blanket until she caught her breath.
For it was as if every inch of his skin touched hers, and she could
feel the most intense yearning shimmering through her. He put one
hand between her legs and one on her breast, and slept.
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Eswara lay there in an exquisite frenzy of passion for several

moments, sure she wouldn't be able to sleep for the unbearable
excitement. She took a deep even breath, and allowed her most
treasured fantasy to unfold in her mind.
That they lived in this little house together, that they were a family.
That he was the first thing she woke up to in the morning, and the last
thing she saw and felt when she finally drifted off to sleep at night.
That he knew her most cherished longings, and did whatever was
in his power to fulfill them. That he loved her body and soul. That
they were married.
It was all an impossible dream, she knew, but what was the harm
in allowing herself the luxury of contentment for a few minutes....
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Chapter Forty-four
She woke early the next morning to the incredible sensation of
Martin pressed along the length of her back and thighs. His arms were
around her, one hand stroking her nipples and aureoles in a featherlight caress, the other tracing her belly and hip in a sweeping curve.
She let out a gasp of delight and moved her bottom backwards
against his towering erection. It was scorchingly hot under the covers,
not least because her fierce arousal from last night still had not
diminished entirely.
He glided into her in one sensuous long caress which caused her
muscles to clench around him of their own accord.
He drew back and pressed in with delight, and lifted her leg
slightly to massage her mound. Desperately seeking appeasement, she
rammed her hips down hard, but now it was he who gentled her
impatience.
"Easy, take your time. We have all the time in the world, love."
"Martin-" she gasped.
"Easy." He lifted the hand which had been stroking her nipples to
frantic peaks, and turned her head for a soul-stirring kiss.
Her climax was rushing through her with such urgency she was
insensate with need. He seemed to sense her desperate desire and
caressed her cheek tenderly.
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His tiny sensual movements massaged her within and he held her
tightly as her passion overwhelmed all thought or control. Still kissing
her deeply, he turned his sobbing lover into his arms and joined with
her once more, smothering her face throat and breasts with kisses.
He sensually licked away her tears and she shuddered and gained
her urgent release again in a paroxysm which seemed to go on
forever.
Still he stayed with her, his gentle cherishing of her body easily the
most thrilling thing she had ever felt in her life. But then of course,
she loved him.
And as he worshipped her with his flesh, she could hear the words
almost as though he had spoken them aloud.
He loved her too. Always had. From the first. That he was sorry he
had ever asked her to be his mistress when all he had ever wanted was
for her to be his wife. That they belonged together, would find a
way....
She shut her mind to it, too frightened to dare hope, believe. Had
he somehow sensed her hopes and dreams last night? Was he just
telling her what she longed to hear because he felt he had to?
"Easy, Eswara, easy," he urged more and more loudly, his hands
now on her shoulders.
She blinked. Looked down at her stiffened body, their posture. She
had been desperately trying to get away from his questing embrace.
"What, what is it?" he demanded, worry evident in his tone. "Did I
hurt you?"
"What, no, no." She shook her head and relaxed her tense muscles,
lapsing back into the warmth of his embrace. "It was just so powerful,
I had to stop." She forced herself to take a deep breath and gave a
wavering smile.
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"Do you want me to leave you? I mean, it is almost dawn," he said

quietly.
Her eyes flew to his face, and she saw his wounded expression, his
conviction that once again she was going to send him away.
She kissed him tenderly, and whispered against his lips, "You can
stay as long as you like, right here with me."
He gave a beaming smile and rolled her under him, filling her to
the brim with ecstasy beyond measure.
The shutters having been left open by accident the night before, the
sunshine soon began to blaze into the room. She watched in awed
fascination as his skin glowed almost blindingly in the light.
He was like some ancient fertility god in his perfection, lushly
silvered, his proud manhood finding its seat in her own body,
completing her in every way, filling her with new life and energy and
the gift of his soul.
With a jolt, she knew, knew what she had not dared even think.
What she had suppressed ever since the first night they had been
together, become lovers.
The knowledge was both devastating, and yes, overwhelmingly
exciting and joyous too. The only other thing she had feared apart
from losing him was upon her now. But since it was, she had nothing
to lose...
Now Eswara became the golden fertility goddess as she rolled him
over onto his back and rode him like the wind, pressing him in so
deeply he was certain they had fused into one. She had been the most
compelling woman to be with ever since he had met her the night of
the storm.
But as she leaned back to place her hands flat on the mattress on
either side of him and he brought his hand up to stroke her breasts and
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felt the hammering of her heart, he had never seen her look so
beautiful.
With the sunshine streaming in on her naked body, now
completely exposed to him at last, she looked like a perfect statue
rendered in solid gold.
Except she was so hot, not cool to the touch, and her luxurious
dark hair swung down her back in time to their lovemaking, vibrant
and alive and oh so human.
Vulnerable too, he thought tenderly as he saw her lick her lips and
give a little shiver which he knew presaged another tumultuous
climax. Woman of the world? No. She was someone warm, loving
and tender, willing to give of herself and never asking for anything in
return.
Even his 'payment' for her services had actually been for her son,
her rules for him designed for his pleasure, not hers. Well, he could
pay her in other ways now, and in full measure now that he knew her
so well.
He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax his taut
abdominal muscles as he watched her in the morning glow. She was
his golden goddess. He was more than happy to worship at her shrine
for as long as she wanted or needed. Only in her sacred space could he
find the solace he sought, the bliss he believed lay in love.
With a puckish smile, Martin set himself the challenge of passing
the day with her in unalloyed delight. Eight hours at least, he
challenged himself inwardly.
He watched her with stupendous satisfaction as she climaxed
against him. He immediately brought his hand down to rekindle the
fires anew.
He was not going to stop unless she did. Eswara had, after all,
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taught him well....

But then he had been a most enthusiastic and happy pupil. And
would be forever if she would only have him for her own for all time.
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Chapter Forty-five
Tearing himself away from Eswara that afternoon was the hardest
thing he thought he had ever had to do, but Martin needed to get back
to Bristol, and needed some sleep.
He was tempted to linger a second night and head to Mr. Samuels'
early the next morning, but with a last kiss he dragged himself out of
Eswara's bed and began to dress.
As he did so, Donne's poem that he had read to her so many weeks
before came to mind, and he recited,
"Sweetest love, I do not go,
For weariness of thee,
Nor in hope the world can show
A fitter Love for me..."
"Then why are you going?"
"Business."
"With Georgina?" she said softly, so that he caught the words but
not the sarcasm.
He looked at her in surprise. "Er, yes, partly. A few other things as
well. But I'll see you Thursday, maybe even Wednesday if you're
missing me that badly."
"Whatever you think best. I know men's outside interests-"
He kissed her hard and stroked the tousled hair back from her face.
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"Wednesday. And Lyme as soon as the weather clears. Goodbye,

dearest. Take care of yourself. Have a good sleep."
He contented himself with one last kiss, and headed back to Bristol
via Barton, leaving Eswara more in love with him and more confused
than ever.
But Wednesday and Thursday passed with no sign of Martin, and
Eswara told herself it was finished at last. He was sensing something
amiss, she was sure of it.
And to have it out with him over Georgina like some jealous
fishwife was out of the question entirely. She did have some dignity
left, even if in all this time he had never once bothered to ask for her
side of the story as to what had happened to her in Bombay.
The truth was that Martin thought he had already guessed, and in
any case it didn't matter to him what had happened. That was Eswara's
past. It made no difference to him now. He only needed to know one
thing about her. That she was his future.
But first he had to deal with Georgina's importunate pleadings for
help. As soon as he got home from Barton on Wednesday she said, "I
remember the morning that Adam shot himself, Malcolm Branson and
his father were here. If you were to come with me to speak with him,
we could find Oliver. Or at the very least discover what happened to
him."
"There's Blake too. I mean, he did go off to Waterloo with him,
and works at Blake's clinic."
"But if we ask him, he will tell my parents, I'm sure of it. Besides,
I doubt he would tell more than he already has. We could try Arabella,
but she would tell him, or my parents. No, I would much rather leave
them both out of this except as a last resort."
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"All right, but I don't think Malcolm is going to tell us very much.
Official business, you know."
"But we're all still friends after my poor sister Emma's death. He
loved her. He'd want to help us."
Malcolm, tall, thin and dapper, with dark brown hair now flecked
with silver after his grievous loss over a year ago, scowled blackly
when they went to see him on Thursday morning, and shook his head.
"It was a confidential matter. I'm not at liberty to say more than
that, except to advise you to drop it. Oliver Neville is not the man for
you, my dear."
Georgina tossed her blonde curls arrogantly. "You know me,
Malcolm. I need to find answers, why Oliver left without so much as a
word of explanation."
He sighed. "Because he was guilty of certain criminal acts which
he confessed to of his own free will. Because he was in debt up to his
eyes and only Blake bailing him out stopped him from ending up at
the Marshalsea. He was as bad as they come, apart from Adam, who
was far worse. Ask Ellen if you don't believe me," he maintained
when she shot him an incredulous look. "She knows something of the
truth."
"She said gambling debts-"
"Yes, but I am talking about the other, the criminal acts."
Georgina rose to his defence at once. "He would never harm-"
Malcolm shook his head pityingly. "Ah, my dear, that's where
you're wrong. Go to any library in this district and read the papers for
spring of last year when they were here in the area, and around Bath
and Bristol, and you'll go some way toward uncovering the truth."
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"Very well, Malcolm. Thank you. And take care."

They turned and left.
Malcolm stared after them, Georgina a painful reminder of the
fiancee he had lost, and Martin a painful reminder of the first
investigation he had ever worked on with his father, bringing those
vile highwaymen Gerald Hawkesworth and the Cavendish brothers to
justice.
Emma had been engaged to one of the brothers before all had been
revealed. Why was it the Jeromes, such a pleasant family, seemed to
be so unlucky in love?
"Will you take me to investigate or not, Cousin?" Georgina
demanded as soon as they were out of the Bransons' house.
"I will, but pray calm yourself, child. Getting so excited is not
good for your constitution. We shall go to Brimley now, and Bristol
and Bath tomorrow."
"Is the library at Barton open today also?"
"I think so."
"Very well, then, we shall go there as well."
"Fine, but pray settle yourself, and do please pull up the window
before you catch your death."
Georgina did as she was asked, catching sight of Eswara Paignton
on horseback just coming onto the road with her medical bag. She
waved, and shut the window.
Eswara was sickened by that triumphant little wave. She could see
clearly that there was only one other occupant in the coach leaving the
Bransons', someone she knew very well.
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So much for seeing her Wednesday

Or Thursday, for he did not come that night.
Nor did he arrive Friday, for once in Brimley, he and Georgina
went to visit Jonathan Deveril and stayed to tea with Ash and the
vicar's family.
On Saturday they were in Bath at the Duke's townhouse, and
Sunday was his day for returning to Bristol.
"You can have my room at Mr. Samuels' and I shall sleep at the
inn. You can search the library to your heart's content, and the
carriage shall take you back to Millcote."
"I still can't believe-" Georgina said, her heart heavy like lead at all
she had learnt thus far, but still compelled by some inner demon to
seek the whole truth.
"I'm sure he's not responsible for all of those attacks, deaths, else
he would have been prosecuted to the fullest extent the law would
allow. But don't you see, at the very least he must have been an
accomplice?" Martin said, penning a note to Eswara in which he
apologised for not seeing her and sent Ash's best wishes.
"His brother made him-"
"Please, dear, as if anyone could ever make you do anything. He is
a bad 'un, just like the Duke said. Just let it go."
Georgina raised her chin stubbornly. "I can't. Not until I know for
certain."
"And how do you think you will be able to do that when you seem
unwilling to believe what is right in front of your face in black and
white?" he asked with a sigh as he gazed out the window at the
darkening sky and missed Eswara with an acuteness bordering on
agony.
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"I need to see him. Hear it from his own lips. And you're going to
take me."
His brows lofted skyward. "Up to Town? Out of the question. I
have my studies, and my lady-"
"Mr. Samuels will let you make up the work, I am sure, and as for
your lady, well, she will understand."
"Aye, but I won't. Every minute away from her is torture," he
confessed.
"I know! I know. Don't you think I feel it too?" she said, near tears.
"I need to see Oliver, clear all of this up."
"And if you find out he was an accomplice? Surely you can see
how impossible it would be to ever trust a violent, dangerous man like
that."
"And do you not think sinners can atone?"
He sighed heavily. "I believe they can. But I most certainly would
not want one of them of his ilk to be married to my youngest and most
tender and gently reared cousin. Please, Georgina, give up this folly."
She shook her head. "I need to know why he left."
"Surely you can see why! Blake and Malcolm would have exposed
him had he stayed."
"But does it not show nobility of character to renounce me because
he felt himself unworthy?"
"Perhaps, but he is unworthy, do you not see? He was after your
fortune! Why this man, and this man only?" Martin's eyes bulged. "Oh
no, you didn't- Oh, Georgina, you gave yourself to him? You were
scarcely more than fifteen! What kind of man-"
"One in love."
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"Hah. Lust, more like," he said in dismay. "I saw enough of it in

the Army, believe me. So now you've ruined yourself over someone
not fit to wipe your boots."
"Don't say that! It's not true!" she shrieked, near tears.
"I'm sorry, pet, but this is a bad business indeed. But it would be
worse if you compounded your error by marrying a man who is
almost as bad as the highwaymen who attacked me."
"I shall never marry if it isn't Oliver Neville," she said with a
defiant lift of her chin.
"Child, a London Season will get you any number of wonderful
suitors, perhaps even good men who will overlook-"
She glared at him. "And I shall go into the marriage unequally, the
fallen woman who has to be condescended to, always had her nose
rubbed in her disgrace. No thank you."
She sat back with a flounce, crossing her arms over her bosom, not
thinking for a moment that between what had happened, and her own
frivolity, it might well be too late already.
Martin's heart lurched in his chest. Was that what Eswara had had
to endure all the years she had been wed? She had said she and her
husband had shaken down well enough, but it was evident she had felt
no romantic love for him.
Was she to suffer that now? Always condemned, labelled?
He cursed the awful Cedric Paignton for ever pouring his poison in
his ear. If he had not been at the Duke's ball, their lives would have
been so much different
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Chapter Forty-six
But even worse was to come for Martin, for the nasty Cedric
Paignton was the first person they met at Bristol when Martin had his
carriage pull up at The Monk's Hood to secure a room for himself
before heading over to Mr. Samuels'.
"I'll get the room and be right out for you and the luggage," he said
to Georgina as he stepped down.
"Well met, young fellow. Your Uncle Timberlake sends his
regards," the ginger-headed older man said with a smirk.
"Oh, er, Mr. Paignton, hello," he said grimly.
His beady little eyes were already peering into the interior of the
carriage. He looked almost surprised to see Georgina, having hoped
he might catch Eswara in some disgraceful act.
All the same, he was thrilled, and grinned broadly. A new little
filly already, his cousin, no less.
Well, it was commonly done in families. Lucky man, he thought,
licking his lips at the sight of Georgina's generous display of bosom.
So Eswara had been cast off by the young buck. And by extension,
all of his powerful acquaintance had turned their back on the little
bitch as well.
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How delightful. Not that it was not fun staying with Timberlake
and all of his wonderfully accommodating servants, but a woman of
the world like Eswara, now she would be worth having in his bed all
night, every night.
Not to mention her wealth.... And a return to his family home for
he and Cecil. An accident to the sickly Ash, and all would be well.
Mr. Paignton was so lost in his lustful thoughts that he was still
half-blocking Martin's way.
Martin cleared his throat, but still the man kept staring. He
followed his gaze, and saw his cousin's pretty face in repose. The old
lecher
"If you will excuse me, sir, the hour grows late and my cousin and
I have business."
"Oh, yes, my boy, I'm sure you do," he said with a smirk, and went
to find Cecil in the public room, eager to spread the news about what
he had just seen, and his new plans for his sister-in-law and her son.
True to form, Cedric hastened to Eswara's the next day, and
naturally 'let slip' who he had run into.
He made it sound like they had been there for days and days,
which coincided with what she had seen with her own eyes, the two of
them in the coach heading for Bristol several days before.
Eswara sent him packing quickly enough with a pre-arranged
signal with Nelly to pretend an urgent summons had come from one
of her patients.
She did not allowed Cedric enough time to broach his real reason
for coming. With any luck he would have the sense to stay away. He
had just come to gloat, but he couldn't possibly be so daft as to think
she would ever give in to him and accept his proposal of marriage.
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Once Eswara was alone again she sank to the sofa and sighed,
trying to hold back the tears. Well, it was no less than what everyone
had been saying, but it didn't hurt any the less for all that. She sighed
once more and tried to meditate.
But there was no inner peace this time, just a nagging little voice
wondering where she had gone wrong, and what on earth she was
going to do.
She loved Martin more than life itself, had given him everything it
was possible for a woman in love to give, yet still he had turned away
from her.
They days passed, and with no sign of her lover, all hope began to
die in her breast. She told herself it was for the best, that too much
stood in the way of their ever being happy. Her optimism and love
were not going to win against the determined Georgina and the
expectations of English society.
Martin might well have desired her in bed once, but even were he
to come back to her, men seldom married their mistresses, no matter
how model and perfect they were.
And to share him once he married his cousin was out of the
question. No one was hurt at the moment by what they shared; no one
except herself.
But adultery destroyed families, wounded people no matter how
much it was argued that it would only harm if people found out.
No, Eswara would just have to steel herself for the inevitable, even
though she felt as if she were dying inside.
A second week passed, with Martin studying hard at Bristol and
Georgina more determined than ever to go to London for the answers
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she sought when he came home to see the family at the weekend.
"I'm not going to take you," Martin said again after their family
obligations had been met and they had a moment alone.
"It will only mean more heartache. Don't put yourself through such
torment for someone so unworthy!" he argued with her on Wednesday
evening after supper, too tired to see Eswara, his eyes about to drop
out of his head.
All of the hours he had spent studying and haring around with
Georgina on her quest for the truth about Oliver Neville were finally
taking their toll.
"I'm going one way or the other!" she threatened.
"It's pointless."
She fixed him with a daggerlike stare. "I don't think so."
Martin ran the fingers of both hands through his hair in frustration.
"You will only be more hurt seeing him, hearing the truth. It will be
over regardless."
"Perhaps not."
He stared at her in horror. "Oh, no, please! Georgina, please don't
think that your love is going to be some miracle which will reform
him! This is madness."
"Stranger things have happened. Philip Marshall and Jasmine-"
"Philip was a rake, not a ravisher of women, nor a killer."
"We have no proof except those newspaper clippings and some
vague hints!" she fired back.
Martin sighed raggedly. "All right! All right! If you will be
satisfied with nothing less than to hear his own depravities catalogued
for you from his own lips, then we shall go. Just give me leave to
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write a few notes and pack my bag."

"What, we will leave now?" she said in surprise.
"But you're exhausted, and-"
"Aye. You've been at me about this long enough. The sooner we
go the sooner this matter will be resolved. Tell your parents you are
visiting an old school friend and doing some shopping in Town. I
shall do the same."
She nodded. "Very well. And thank you. You are a great friend."
He sighed. "So long as you promise me faithfully, Georgina, that if
Oliver admits to any of this and tells you the two of you have no
future, you will forget he ever existed, and never look back, no matter
what happened between you in the past. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," she said promptly. Too promptly.
"Yes what?" he urged.
She nodded and sighed. "Yes, I promise. If he tells me he was
culpable, I shall forget I ever knew Oliver Neville."
Martin prayed she would keep her word, and left to pen a note to
Eswara saying he would see her soon. Then he began to pack with a
heavy heart filled with longing for just one of her delicious kisses.
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Chapter Forty-seven
Another half hour saw Martin and his young cousin on the road
toward the capital to see her former fiance.
Another four days saw them in London. One day of rest, one brief
interview with Oliver, and it was all over. Georgina was prostrate with
grief and horror. It had been worse than even Martin had feared.
The young man had spared her no details, and even included a list
of all the women his brother Adam and he had victimised in London,
and all the way to Bristol, which Georgina had known nothing about.
Oliver himsefl had not killed, it was true, but his assumption that it
had all been a bit of harmless fun had soon turned to appalled horror
at what his raking had led him to be party to.
So far as Martin was concerned, it was good riddance to bad
rubbish, but he grew genuinely terrified for Georgina's health as she
refused to eat, drink and sleep.
Dr. Gold, their former doctor at Millcote whom they knew well
and trusted, was most helpful, but it was clear the poor young girl was
devastated. She had never known such villainy existed. Even if she
had suspected, the fact that she had nearly married such a debauched
man horrified her.
"Just like Emma. She nearly wed that fiend Cavendish," she
sobbed.
"But Malcolm loved her. He was a decent man who didn't think
any the less of her for-"
Georgina shook her head. "I'm sure Emma didn't-"
"None of us can be sure, child. She might have. We'll never know.
The fact is you made a mistake, were deceived. Seduced, even. He
admitted himself it was all for your and Ellen's fortunes. Just think
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what a lucky escape you both had, and put it behind you."
"The way you did your marriage?" she sniped.
Martin sucked in a breath and scowled. "The way I'm trying to. It
isn't easy. I had the mental horror of what I saw, and my own guilt. I
had the physical horror of the hanging, and being racked by constant
pain for almost two years after the pounding they gave me. A smaller
man than myself would have died for certain. Or a less stubborn one.
"I burned for revenge, do you see, poisoned my soul with thoughts
of what I would do it only they were in my power. I'm lucky I didn't
get a chance to take it, else I really would have dangled at the end of a
rope until I died.
"You have nothing to reproach yourself for. You're young, healthy,
a bit foolish. You allowed him liberties, but at least you didn't end up
pregnant. Just forget about all of it. Pretend it was a bad dream, and
come home."
"I can't. Mama and Papa will take one look at me and know I've-"
"I can't leave you here! Dr. Gold is a good man, but he's a
bachelor. People will talk, worry. I need to get back to Bristol to
study. I have examinations coming up. I need to see Es-"
"Go, just go!" She burst into a renewed fit of weeping.
Martin mastered his raging emotions and spoke to her patiently,
though he burned with fury at Oliver, and himself for ever allowing
Georgina to talk him into helping her.
"We either both go, or we both stay. Now come. Dry your eyes,
and let's go out shopping. A new frock will-"
"I'm not some child to be bribed with treats!" Georgina wept.
He spread his hands out at his sides in a gesture of supplication. "I
know that, dear. I'm just a poor feeble man who has no clue about
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women, doing the best he can."

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I know you're doing your best, and must
miss your lady friend. When do we get to meet her?"
"Soon. As soon as I can get engaged to her in good conscience."
"Why not now?" she asked, wiping away her tears.
"I need to be sure. The magic I feel whenever I'm with her, it's so
dazzling. I need to know it's real. I was dazzled by Margaret,
remember, and look how that turned out. My heart tells me this is it.
That I will never love anyone as much as I love this woman. My head
tells me that no woman is ever to be trusted. I need to find, what is it
she always says? I need to find balance. Peace."
"I hope you do."
"You sound as if you doubt you ever shall."
She nodded. "It's just too horrible. I remember the good things,
even knowing what he did." She began to weep anew.
Martin shook his head, and fished his handkerchief out of his
pocket. "Here, yours is hopelessly soggy." He touched his stone in his
pocket, and brought it out to peruse it thoughtfully for a moment.
"I've found peace through meditation. Perhaps you'd like to try it?"
She mopped her face, rubbing her eyes almost viciously.
"Meditation?" she repeated. "What's that?"
He put his talisman on the table in between them both. "Well, you
start by looking at the stone..."
Another four days in London of meditation, and some excursions
shopping and to the opera, were enough to render Georgina more
sanguine, and almost prepared to go home.
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Martin had written to Eswara daily, just brief notes apologising,

telling her how much he wished he could be with her, how he was
eager to see her.
But when they drove through Millcote on his way to Bristol, he
missed Eswara, for she was out on call, and he had to get back to Mr.
Samuels' to cram for his examinations.
Nelly let him leave a note, and then he was back on the road, his
heart bursting in his chest with loneliness.
Ten days in Bristol were enough to get Martin caught up on what
he had missed, and he decided to stay until the start of the month so
that he could take the trip he had planned to Lyme.
He shook his head in disbelief as he looked at the calendar. He had
no idea where the entire month of March had gone. Not having seen
Eswara in almost five weeks had him in a decidedly bad temper. He
couldn't wait to see her, and loaded the carriage with flowers,
delicacies, champagne. The amethyst necklace was once more in the
breast pocket of his best burgundy wool jacket.
Eswara was overjoyed to see him, even knowing where he had
been, who he had been with. But the sight of all the flowers and wine
gave her pause.
He saw his mistake at once when her face fell. "I know you said no
gifts," he said quickly, "but I missed you so. I just want to pamper and
make a fuss over you. Please, indulge me?"
He tried to move to kiss her passionately, but she held him at arm's
length.
"Don't I always?" she said stiffly.
He held one hand out to her in supplication. "Ah, well, in that case,
let me indulge you. And that can continue on to Lyme. I know I said
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we would go last month, but with Georgina going up to Town to see

her friend and falling ill, and my business at Barton and elsewhere, we
never got to go. But now-"
"No, really. You must be so weary of travelling," she said, turning
her back to him to pour him a glass of Madeira so he would not see
how devastated she knew she looked.
London and Bristol with Georgina. How could he?
"But not so weary that I can't see the benefits of whisking you
away for a couple of days," he said, his voice transforming into a
throaty purr.
"What about next week, or the week after?" she suggested coolly,
trying to put him off.
He stared at her, wondering at her less than enthusiastic greeting
after so long away, but not entirely blaming her for feeling neglected.
"Hmm, the week after next would be good. I'll be all finished with"
A rap at the door interrupted what he was about to say. "If it's a
patient, send them to Blake."
She shook her head. "I can't do that. I have several babies on the
way."
"Drat this." He grabbed her to him for a kiss behind the door.
Nelly poked her head in a moment later. "Mrs. Paignton, girl here
says Mrs. Bradshaw is ready."
"All right, Nelly." She turned to Martin. "I have to go."
He reached for his coat. "I'll come-"
"No, you're all done in," she said, looking at his drawn features
with concern. He appared as if he hadn't slept for weeks, and she jolly
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well knew why.

Her stomach churned. "Why don't you stay here and get some rest?
I'll be home soon."
He stared. "Are you sure, Eswara? I really-"
"Yes, I'm sure. This could take hours."
"But it would be hours we could sit together," he murmured,
showering her face and throat with kisses.
"A nice idea, but you look absolutely fagged out." She allowed
herself one passionate kiss on the mouth, and pulled away from him
panting and trembling a moment later. "Rest now. I'll see you soon."
"All right, Eswara, I'll stay here," he said reluctantly, still
wondering why she seemed so radically altered to him, her face,
expression, her eyes.
"But when we get back, you and I need to have a conversation
about the future."
Her heart sank. He had come here to end it at last...
Her golden eyes crackled, causing his silver ones to widen in
alarm. "Whatever you want, Martin. I'm always yours to command."
With an ironic curtsey she departed, leaving Martin staring after
her, wondering at her sudden change of mood.
Only when he was gone did he clap his breast pocket with a start
and realise he still hadn't given Eswara her necklace.
Soon after she arrived at the Bradshaws', where the labour was
proceeding slowly, an urgent message came from Stone Court. Nelly
answered the door and sent the servant on to Eswara at the
Bradshaws'.
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Martin, sound asleep up in Ash's room, had not even heard the rap
at the door.
Nelly had not thought to inquire more deeply into the matter and
grasp that the message was one he would have needed to hear as well.
Josephine Stone was very unwell, seemingly ready for her lying-in at
only seven months.
Eswara shivered to the depths of her soul when she heard the news.
Premature labour was never a good sign. Regularly spaced
contractions and the fact that she had had miscarriages before despite
being very careful did not make her hopeful.
Eswara felt as though she were being torn in two. Mrs. Bradshaw
needed her, but Josephine did too. Josephine was Martin's cousin,
someone he cared about and would be very sorry to lose.
There wasn't much she could do to hurry along the course of things
with Mrs. Bradshaw, but she might be able to stop what was
happening to Josephine.
She wished desperately now that Martin had come with her. In
fact, she had been longing for him ever since she had left her house.
She asked the serving maid who had brought the message to get
Martin and tell him to meet her at Stone Court.
She paced up and down for a few moments in an agony of
indecision. What on earth was she to do?
Blake was gone, out to a farming accident all the way over by
Barton. Ash was at Brimley. He could help here if Mrs. Bradshaw
held on a bit longer
She checked her patient once more. Another hour or two at least
was her best guess. To Brimley and back with a message-three hours
at a good speed. But then he might be useful at Stone Court. Or if
Blake got back soon....
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She penned two more messages and told the servants to ride like
the wind. Then she asked them to send for the midwife Mrs. Cray.
Better her than no one-she was the best of the local women and would
know just to sit and wait.
"What do you mean, you're leaving?" Mrs. Bradshaw exclaimed
between contractions.
"There is a life or death emergency at Stone Court. I'll go see what
I can do, and try to come back."
"How can you?" she groaned. "How can you leave me here like
this?"
"The baby may not be here for hours. I need to try to help Mrs.
Stone, stop what's happening to her."
"All right, all right. I understand, even if I don't like it. I'll try to
hang on- Oh God!" Her bloated red face was suddenly awash with
sweat, and she gasped in horror. Eswara looked down and saw the
sheets soaking with blood.
She felt completely desperate as the crimson tide flooded the bed.
"You've hemorraged. I've got to deliver the baby now. Do you
understand? Don't push until I tell you," she ordered.
All thoughts of leaving for Stone Court flew out of Eswara's head
as she struggled to save mother and baby. She hated the use of
forceps, but in this case she had no choice. She gave her patient a
whiff of one of the gases she had discovered they had been
experimenting with in London to ease pain.
Once Mrs. Bradshaw was more calm, she cut her above and below
the birth canal, and patiently worked the baby out as quickly as she
could. Then she began to stitch her up below.
But Mrs. Bradshaw was very weak from the loss of blood, and it
was at least another hour before Eswara got her cleaned up and she
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was sure the poor woman was holding her own. The baby was a
healthy boy, and she prayed that the child would be fortunate enough
to keep his own mother.
"Thank you. Thank you," the pretty young woman whispered
gratefully.
"You're not to move, do you hear me? Not even to use the
chamberpot. I'll be back as soon as I can, or I shall send my son to
check on you. But you don't move, not even to try to feed the baby, do
you hear?" Eswara insisted. "Have the servants send for the wetnurse
immediately, and you rest."
"Aye, Mrs. Paignton, I hear."
She gathered her things as quickly as she could, and was relieved
to see the midwife had arrived just as she was heading down the stairs.
"Stay with her, dont let her move an inch. Watch for any bleeding.
I'll be back if I can, but Mrs. Stone is in labour at only seven months."
"Dashed shame, that. I'll keep an eye out here though, never you
fear, dearie." Mrs. Cray gave her a gap-toothed grin and began to
ascend to the birthing chamber.
Eswara threw on her cloak and walked out of the house straight
into a torrential storm. The rain teemed down so heavily she could
barely see through her streaming hair as it tumbled down around her
shoulders, yanked about by the fierce wind.
She was soaked within an instant, her every move laboured in her
saturated clothes as she headed to the stable to retrieve her horse. She
tried to mount, slipping and sliding as she attempted to grip the
pommel and get her foot into the stirrup.
She heaved herself up into her saddle and made her way down the
road toward Stone Court as fast as the skittish horse would go. The
wind groaned through the trees ominously, and Eswara thought once
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again of the dreaded highwaymen.

"If it's any consolation, I hate rain too," she muttered through
dripping lips as the rain cascaded down her face.
She tried not to think of Martin's hands caressing her cheeks, the
way he had bathed her face in kisses the last time they had been
together. She had a job to do, and do it she would. But how she longed
for him to be there with her.
Every plodding step seemed to take forever, but Eswara told
herself it was one step closer to her destination. However, when she
got to the ford in the Millcote River, usually quite shallow and easy to
cross, the horse refused to go down into the gully.
She looked around in despair. To ride around to the next
crossroads would cost her another hour. To wade through might cost
Eswara her life.
The water was easily five feet deep and swirling with the fury of
the storm and all of the run-off from the prodigious amounts of snow
they had had all winter. The river boiled and bubbled like an evil
witch's brew, churning with mud and debris. The wind howled, and
she shivered. Darkness was coming fast; she needed to decide now,
one way or the other.
Eswara swung down from the saddle and yanked off her boots,
tying the laces and suspending them around her neck, then stuffing her
stockings into them. She tentatively put one foot in the freezing water
and tested the bottom. Stone and lots of mud and silt, she guessed, but
it seemed solid enough. She hauled up the back of her gown to the
front between her legs, and tied it in a knot at her waist. At least the
wet flapping material would not cling to her legs and trip her up as she
tried to cross the ten-foot wide river bed.
She tugged off her cloak, folding it across her saddle to try to stop
it from floating away, and sucked in a deep breath. She slapped a
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handful of the frigid water onto the back of her neck, and took two
steps in, leading her horse by the reins.
He pulled and whinnied, tossing his head fractiously. She took two
more steps, and the water was already swirling around her knees.
Discretion and common sense told her to go back, take the long way
around. Her urgency, the sensation that time was running out for
Josephine, drove her on.
Another two steps had her up to her thighs, gasping with the cold
and struggling with the horse, who jerked on the reins so hard he lifted
her right off her feet.
"I g-g-guess they c-c-call it horse sense for a r-r-reason," she said
between chattering teeth. "Oh, God. Oh no."
Her bare feet had lost their purchase on the river bottom. She went
from vertical to horizontal in a matter of seconds, with no chance to
cling onto anything other than the horse's bridle. He chose that
moment to rear and scamper backwards, and she went sailing
downstream.
Eswara was not the only thing to be swept away by the churning
torrent. The rotted tree stump hurtled straight for her.
"Oh, god above, help me!"
Eswara's last conscious thoughts were of Ash and Martin as her
whole world went black.
Martin's whole world had gone black. He had rushed to Stone
Court upon receiving Eswara's message to meet him there.
But the hours had ticked past, with no sign of her coming to help
his poor cousin. He knew she had had another patient, and tried not to
blame Eswara, but it was hard to stomach his personal loss. Vanessa
Stone and the housekeeper had done their best, but to no avail.
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Josephine was delivered of a tiny girl, and died without more than
the briefest struggle. With last one touch of her hand for each of her
devoted family, she had gone.
Henry was devastated, and howled with grief like a banshee, all
joy at the prospect of a child swept away by his grievous loss. His
wrenching sobs were most piteous to hear, and Martin felt so bereft he
wanted to join him.
Josephine had been a lovely woman in every way, kind, patient,
gentle. Her death made their whole world a much less bright place.
His aunt and uncle were devastated. Here was yet another child gone,
leaving only Ellen and Georgina, who were hysterical over the loss of
their eldest sister.
Martin's brother Samuel and he were given the task of consoling
them as well as each other, and forced them to return to Jerome
Manor.
Thus he missed Ash, who had gone to Mrs. Bradshaw's, where he
had found the poor woman very weak but still alive, but his mother
nowhere to be seen.
He had driven around in the gig to the Stone residence to see if he
could help. A quick discussion with the servants at Stone Court told
him that his mother had not been there, and Martin and his cousins
had already left.
He returned home to look for her. Finding her absent, he headed
over to Blake's.
"I don't understand where she's got to," Ash said with a frown.
"She could be at Willesden, or got another call," Arabella said to
the dripping young man on the doorstep.
"Even more urgent than Josephine Stone's? I don't think so."
Ash headed to Jerome Manor, but when he arrived the servants
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told him the house was in mourning and no visitors would be

received. "Mr. Martin's orders, sir. I'm sorry."
Ash opened his mouth to argue, but the butler gave him one long
assessing and hostile look which spoke volumes, and without so much
as an ounce of compunction, shut the door on the soaked young man.
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Chapter Forty-eight
Ash, raging at the prejudiced treatment he had received at Martin's
servants' hands, had no idea what to do except go back to wait at
home.
The dawn found him sitting by the dying fire waiting for Blake to
return and give him some idea of where his mother might have gone.
By ten in the morning, he was out searching every house in the
district for some sign of her. By the end of three days, no one had seen
or heard from her, and he was beside himself with worry.
The butler at Jerome Manor had refused to convey his message to
Martin the second time he had gone, and his note had been not been
delivered by hand as he had requested, but simply added to all of the
other correspondence pouring in over the loss of poor Josephine.
But Mr. Paignton and his son had heard the news of Eswara's
disappearance as Ash had combed the countryside. They were only
too delighted at this turn of events. They came down from Barton like
two swooping vultures, ostensibly to offer their condolences. It did
not take them long to see the lay of the land, and set their plan in
motion.
Pouring him a glass of Madeira, to which old Cedric added a
liberal dash of sleeping draught, they pretended to try to console the
young man.
"A terrible loss, son, just terrible. But you will simply have to bear
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up, and face your responsibilities as the owner of Paignton Grange. A

suitable memorial service-"
"She's not dead! She's not! I'm telling you, she's alive. I would
know if she were gone! She's injured, in pain, lost somewhere, ill.
She's not dead!" Ash grew more and more hysterical with each word.
"No, of course not, son."
Cecil smirked. "We understand how you feel. The loss of one's
mother is most dreadful. But you simply have to bear up."
Ash drained the glass, barely tasting what he drank. "You can't
possibly know. She wasn't just my mother, she was my friend! The
best of friends, the best of women. Yet you hounded her, lied, told
people that she- When you knew full well that Pa-"
He blinked. His tongue felt numb. What on earth? He panicked for
a moment, thinking his debilitating illness had returned from the strain
he had been under.
"There now. I don't know what lies your mother told you, but we
don't blame you for her foibles and weaknesses. We only want what's
best for you. I shall be your guardian now, and your cousin here shall
be your closest friend."
Ash's head began to swim. "What did you-" He gasped and fell
sideways on the sofa, out cold.
Cecil smirked. "Poor lad, suicidal at such a grievous loss."
"No, not yet," his father said with a shake of his head. "We need
him to sign over the papers to us first. If he dies intestate, all the
money and house would be tied up for months, if not years. Our
creditors are never going to wait that long."
"Drat the little bastard." He thumped him in the kidneys hard to
vent some of his feelings.
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"Don't worry. You can do away with him soon enough. Let's get
him back up to Wiltshire."
"He will never-"
"He will if he thinks he has a hope of ever seeing his mother
again."
"And if she's still alive, she'll have us arrested for kidnapping."
Cedric smirked with marked self-assurance. "No, she won't. She'll
marry me and be grateful he's still alive."
"Marry you?" his son snorted. "She would rather die."
"Probably. And that of course can be arranged. But Eswara will do
anything to save her son. Just as Ash will do anything to save her.
Checkmate."
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Chapter Forty-nine
Eswara was in a lovely warm place. It was by the fire at home in
her own room, and Martin was with her. His arms came up around
her. Instantly the raw pleasure which his every touch evoked flooded
her from tip to toe.
He pulled her astride him, pressing down her hips whenever she
lifted them, thrusting upwards at the same time, until her cheeks
suffused and she panted her name between her moist, parted lips.
bottom with both huge hands, arching her backwards so that the
friction between her thighs made her gasp and shiver all the more. Her
zenith raced and burst through her like a rocket in flight.
His unleashed passion matched her own as he filled her, wrapping
his arms around her supple waist as though he would never let her go.
The power and force of his love surged like the sea, and she knew
once again that this miracle, of love like nothing she had ever know,
ever dreamt could exist, was hers. All hers for the asking, if they
could just reach out andBut the miracle eluded her, for everything went dark. The surging
seas of their sensuality swamped them, separating them. Hard as she
sought, she could no longer see or feel him. The tumultuous tide of
their need had blinded them both to what was real and true.
Their love for each other was supposed to have been an act of
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worship, part of the divine within them both. Instead they had lied,
both lied, and now they were to pay the price.
And not just them. Ash would pay too. Yet even knowing this, she
was powerless to prevent the pain they were all about to endure.
The bedroom melted away and became a vision of the lovely day
they had had in the snow together, she and Ash and Martin. But it was
cold, bitterly cold. So arctic her head hurt and she could barely
breathe.
Once again she was in the little ice house they had made. Only this
time she was alone. The roof came in on her, crushing her, burying
her alive. Rendering her as she had been before she had met Martin,
her heart frozen solid, as his had been. Her body a block of ice until
he had thawed her with the warmth of his love.
Did he love her? She wasn't sure. Wasn't able to take the leap of
faith to trust that he did. That he would for all time.
Yet to not trust him was to face certain death. To lose everything
she had ever cared about.
"Ash! Martin! Ash! Martin! Please help me! Help me! I don't want
to be buried alive."
The old man and his wife looked at each other in consternation.
"Ash?"
"It must be someone's name. Like Martin."
"Well, it's a clue, anyway. We need to find her people."
Eswara continued to thrash on the bed in the ramshackle cottage in
the throes of delirium. "Ash! Martin! Please!"
The old man sighed while his wife applied cold compresses to the
woman's fevered brow. "The rain hasn't let up for days. But I can try
to hitch up the cart and get into Bath. Tell the magistrates there we've
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found a woman. At least they can try to find out who she belongs to.
She has a family somewhere. They'll be worried sick."
"They'll be even more upset if they see her like this. No sense in
getting anyone's hopes up. Poor thing ain't long for this world by the
look of her."
"Lovely woman, though. So pretty. What eyes."
The old woman nodded. "Aye, anyone who has ever met a woman
like her will remember."
"Golden eyes, just think of it."
"Aye, had a black cat just like her once. Afore I married ye. Pretty
little thing, it was."
The old man shook his head. "This ain't no cat. Though I pray she
do have nine lives, for she'll need all of them to pull through this. She
needs a doctor, medicine. I've got to try to get through the roads, even
if Jenks the smith tells me they're all washed out. This is more than
even your nursing can fix, Mother."
"You can't go. You might be killed. Then where would we be?" the
old woman exclaimed tearfully.
"I don't want to go, but I have no choice. She'll die if I don't. I can't
have that on my soul, no matter how afraid I am. I'll be back as soon
as I can, with some medicine and some help if I can get it."
Martin sat numbly in his room at Jerome Manor staring out at the
worst spring storm Somerset had ever seen. He sipped the last of the
brandy in his glass, and reached for the bottle. Seeing it empty, he
hurled it into the wastebasket with a crash.
He sighed, and looked around the room. A tornado of grief had
swept through it, but letting himself go to the dogs altogether was not
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going to solve anything. He rubbed his sandpapery eyes, and finally

bestirred himself to see about alleviating the squalid conditions he had
permitted to prevail in his chamber.
He had gone through the rituals of grief-the wake and the funeral,
and the breakfast afterwards, which had made him wish to never see
food again.
He had tended his cousins as he had been asked, doing his best to
be strong for them, when inside he was sure some part of him had
died along with Josephine.
It was not just the loss so soon after the Jerome siblings Emma and
Alfred; the grief also took him back to his own bereavement. All of
the negative feelings he had thought he could cope with now that he
was getting his life back in order. Or trying to.
He was going to missed his exams after all if he didn't pull himself
together and get back to Bristol soon. He knew he ought to go, but he
had somehow lost much of his motivation. What was the point of all
his studies-death got everyone in the end.
"Death, be not proud" he muttered under his breath.
His remembrance of the poem reminded him of his other source of
emotional turmoil. Eswara had not come anywhere near him once in
all these days and nights of his crushing grief. She had not had the
courtesy to attend the funeral. Had not visited once. In fact, he had not
had a single line from her or even Ash, despite the fact that everyone
for miles around had come to pay their respects or send some sort of
message.
Martin tried to tell himself that he was ignorant of their ways, so
perhaps they were ignorant of his. As Hindus, they perceived death as
a new beginning, not an end. They couldn't possibly understand how
grievous a loss his childhood friend had been. Their respective
marriages had separated them for obvious reasons, and he burned with
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fury that Gerald Hawkesworth had damaged that as well. Had caused
him to avoid Josephine because she had married into the Stone family
and become Vanessa Hawkesworth's sister-in-law. Even beyond the
grave, the bastard had done him harm.
Not least because he had been unable to trust Eswara unreservedly,
and now she was staying away, no doubt thinking herself unwanted,
when all he needed in this world was to put his head in her lap and
have her stroke his hair and tell him it would be all right. That he was
beautiful, and that she loved him.
She had said that, hadn't she? It was so long ago now, he wondered
if he had only dreamt it. It had been so long since he'd held her in his
arms in the bower of bliss which they had created in her sensual
bedroom. He reminisced about their special times together as he hung
up the pile of jackets he had let heap up all over the furniture.
As he reached the burgundy one on the bottom, he laughed
bitterly. He felt the lump in the breast pocket. The black velvet box
again. He had been about to give the necklace to her when the call had
come from the Bradshaws....
He couldn't blame her for having stayed there. By all accounts
Eswara had been set to rush to Stone Court when Mrs. Bradshaw had
taken a sudden turn for the worse. If she had gone two minutes
sooner, both women would most likely have been dead.
For Martin was certain that nothing could have saved Josephine. It
was better than tormenting himself with all sorts of 'what ifs' as he had
done when his wife had been killed and he had been so ill.
Or when Georgina had tormented herself wondering what had
caused Oliver Neville's defection. Well, she was certainly better off
without him, just as he was better off without Margaret.
And Eswara? For to love someone as Henry had loved Josephine,
as he loved Eswara, was to risk losing all. But to hold back as both he
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and Eswara had tried to do with each other was unthinkable as well.
Just the thought of embracing her once more had him breathless with
anticipation. He would enfold her to his heart and never let her go,
and the Devil with what anyone said.
He hung the last of his jackets in the wardrobe, and looked at
himself in the mirror. My goodness. If she saw him now, she would be
terrified. He took out a black jacket which was not too badly crumpled
and some black trousers and a black edged shirt, and headed for the
bathroom for a long soak and a close shave.
He looked at himself in the mirror again. He looked terrible, but
who could blame him? He just had to see her, propose. Tell her how
much he loved her before it was too late.
Carpe diem. For one never knew when devastating loss could
sweep one's most cherished friends and family aside.
He fished out the ring box and pocketted it and the necklace,
determined to see Eswara and ask her to marry him immediately
before he took the coward's way out once again.
He was just tying his black cravat when he heard Samuel call,
"Martin, are you in there?"
"What is it?" he shouted, instantly on the alert.
"It's Auntie. She's taken a terrible turn for the worse. Apoplexy, we
think."
Martin, trembling like a man with palsy, flung open the door and
ran.
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Chapter Fifty
Ash's golden eyes crackled with fire. "And I'm telling you, you can
stuff your bloody papers, you bastard. I'm not signing a damned thing
until you let me see my mother."
"But she's very ill, and decisions have to be made now."
"I don't believe one word coming out of your lying mouth, you
swine," Ash rasped, "so stop wasting my time. Tell me where she is.
Either bring her here to me, or take me to her. You'll get nothing until
you do. Do you hear me, nothing."
His uncle smirked. "Then neither will you."
Ash's stare bored into him as he squared his shoulders and sat back
away from the ricketty table serving as a make-shift desk. "You can
starve me, beat me, kill me, even, but you are never going to get me to
believe that she's ill or dead, and that I should sign over everything to
you."
"We can be made your legal guardian, even if she's still alive.
Declare her unfit," he threatened. "Then all of your suffering will have
been for nothing anyway."
He ignored the pistol muzzle they shoved into his face as though it
were not of the least consequence. "That all takes time. Go on, do
your worst."
"Believe me, you haven't see our worst yet, cousin," Cecil sneered.
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Ash managed to gather enough saliva in his parched mouth to spit

at his cousin, hitting him squarely in the eye.
Nice to know his formal schooling had yielded some positive
results, he thought with an almost hysterical inner laugh.
Thus far he had been in Wiltshire a week, six days without food or
water. He had managed to eat some of the paper and drink the foul
tasting ink, and devoured some carpet lint and some twigs which the
birds nesting in the eaves had dropped. He had been a bit slow to
catch on to his uncle's true intentions, and regretted now that he had
not begun drinking his own urine sooner. Horrendous though it was,
he knew this was a matter of life and death. He need to stay alive and
keep his wits about him.
If he signed those papers, he was a dead man. He knew that the
solicitors had his signature on file, and would immediately alert the
authorities to any attempt at forgery. They knew it too.
The more frustrated they became, the more violent with the young
man they had locked in the upper chamber of the old house. The
pistols they pointed at him had made him cooperative for a time, but
Ash was now getting to the point where he knew that to wait any
longer was to leave himself so weak that any attempt to escape on his
part could well be his one and only.
Ash felt a curious detachment as his cousin backhanded him,
sending his head snapping with a crash into the crumbling wall
behind.
Turning in on himself to meditate, he asked the question he had
been asking for the past ten days, and began once more his litany of
prayers. "Mother, where are you? Martin? Please, help me."
"What do you mean, she's gone?" Martin demanded a fortnight
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after Josephine had passed away, and his aunt was resting comfortably
after her mild stroke.
Blake shook his head. "She was on her way to Stone Court, but she
never made it. They found her horse over by Eltham, but no sign of
her anywhere."
"That's miles out of her way!"
"I know. Even assuming the ford was flooded and she took the
long way around, she wouldn't have gone that way. The horse either
bolted, or-"
Martin went white. "God, no. Not highwaymen, not again. Oh
God, no."
"No, not this time," he reassured him quickly. "We're guessing she
actually tried to wade across the river. We've found some footprints,
signs of scuffling along the bank. But it doesn't look good. I mean, I
am pretty sure she can swim, but-"
"And Ash? Where is he? What does he say about this?"
"He's gone too."
Martin felt as though he were about to be ill. "What? They can't
both be gone. Ash must be out looking for Eswara."
"Nelly says two men went to call on him. The older one said he
was his guardian now. That Ash was beside himself with grief at the
death of his mother."
"She 's not dead!" Martin barked. "She's not dead, do you hear
me!"
"Her supposed death, then," Blake said quickly. "They took him
away."
"Away where?" he bellowed. "And who are we talking about?
Those two bastards I met at the Duke's party?
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Blake nodded. "I think so."

"What does Thomas say about all this?"
"I'm sorry. He and Charlotte went to Wales with Elizabeth and
Will the day of the storm, escorting them back part of the way to
Ireland. They'll be back soon, but-"
Martin thumped his forehead with the heel of his hand. "And to
think all this time I thought she was angry with me, or didn't want to
intrude upon my grief. Now I find she's been gone for nearly two
weeks! I can't bear this."
Blake scowled. "Forgive me, Cousin, but considering you're
supposed to be marrying Georgina, I find your expression of grief a
bit too much to stomach."
Martin's mouth dropped open. "Marry Georgina? What on earth
gave you that idea?"
Blake fixed a gimlet stare upon him. "Oh, nothing really," he said,
his tone dripping with sarcasm, "just the jewels you bought in Bath,
the trip to Bristol where you were seen staying together at an inn, the
trip up to London where the two of you lingered for days. Those were
just a few of the little hints. And Samuel told everyone as well."
His horrified expression could not possibly have been feigned.
"Oh, lord, no! Hell and damnation! I can explain-" he shouted.
Blake shook his head and growled back, "I'm not the one who
needs to hear it."
"Oh God, no. Eswara would have heard this too, I suppose?"
"Aye. She would have, of course. This is a very close-knit district.
Everyone knew. About you and Georgina, and about you and Eswara.
It's been the talk of the County for weeks."
"Everyone except me and Georgina, apparently!" He ground his
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teeth together. "Gods above, Eswara never once said a word. She told
me she loved me, and she never once said a word." He wrung his
hands in despair, near tears.
Then he rose from the sofa. "Blake, you need to help me, please.
I've got to find her. I've never been much of a country gent. Who
knows this area of Somerset well? Can give me a map, tell me where
the river goes, lets out?"
"Clifford Stone is my best guess. Or Malcolm Branson."
"Then we get them both and we find her," he said, shrugging into
his coat and heading for the door. "She must have got washed
downstream, pitched up at a farm or something. She's not dead. She's
not, so you can stop looking at me like that!
"We need to get everyone out to search. I also want to press
charges against the Paigntons for kidnapping Ash. Find out where the
Paignton estate is. I'll complain to Malcolm's father Geoffrey. Get all
my brothers, and all the Rakehells as well. Meet me at Eswara's house
in an hour. I'll see if Nelly can help, tell us what we need to know. I've
got to get them back. They're my whole life. I just pray God we're not
too late."
Blake nodded, and strode for the door. "All right. I'll help. And add
my prayers to yours."
Eswara opened her eyes with a start. "Ash!"
"No, it's Michael," he said, squeezing her hand. "You're in Bath, at
my house. You're safe."
"Ash?" she gasped.
She could see from the look on his face that the news wasn't good.
"They've taken him," she stated flatly.
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He frowned in confusion. "Who?"

"His uncle and cousin. To get the Grange for themselves. It's just
outside of Devizes." She was already struggling to get out of the bed,
heedless of her own nudity.
Michael had the good grace to cover his eyes as she struggled out
of bed on onto her trembling legs.
"It's a big old property, ramshackle, set back from the main road up
a long drive. There's a big gate with eagles on each post. We have to
get him, save him."
"But Eswara, you've been ill and--"
"Don't argue with me, Michael. If you've ever cared about me as a
friend, get your servants and order around the carriage. My son needs
me. If he signs over the estate to them he's a dead man, do you
understand?"
"Surely they wouldn't-"
She nodded. "They would. I know it. It's an old house. Accidents
happen. Or they could say he was distraught, because they think I'm
dead. That he did away with himself."
Her golden eyes glowed fiercely. "Well, I'm not dead. I'm the
tigress protecting her young. If they harm him, I'm going to rip their
hearts out and eat them. Now get me a gown to wear, or better still,
one of your serving lad's suits."
He came back with the trousers, shirt and jacket she asked for
simply because it was the easiest thing he had to hand in the
downstairs part of the house. She rammed her feet into a pair of
Bryony's boots she found in the cloakroom and stalked to the carriage
despte the fact that her knees were buckling with every step.
Michael hobbled after her. "I've left a note for my wife and sent
one of the men to fetch the authorities. The rest are coming with us."
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They all crammed into the coach and onto the box, and she was
glad to see several of them had guns.
She held out her hand for a pistol, and checked it carefully.
"Thank you. I knew I could count on you."
Once they were under way she asked, "How long have I been ill?"
"I'm guessing about two weeks. An old farmer and his wife found
you, asked around to see if anyone knew a black-haired woman with
golden eyes. We never dreamed it really could be you, but Bryony had
a feeling. That was two days ago. You've been drifting in and out of
consciousness ever since. Calling for Ash and, well, Martin.
"We contacted Ash, or tried to. No word. Jonathan hasn't seen him
for days. Finally we tried Thomas and Blake . Thomas is away, and
there's been no word from Blake as of yet, so we thought something
very bad must have happened. They must all be out combing the
countryside for you both, if Ash really is missing as you seem to
think."
"Cedric's got him, I know it," she said, tight-lipped with fear. "Pray
God we're not too late."
Michael nodded. "I'll do anything I can to help. And add my
prayers to yours."
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Chapter Fifty-one
The ride in Michael Avenel's carriage was the longest of Eswara's
life. She tried to recall what the Grange looked like, how many rooms,
where they could be keeping him a prisoner. Down in the cellars?
She shuddered. The house was old, had not been used for years,
and the one time she had ever visited she had been reminded of the
Black Hole of Calcutta, it was so dank and depressing.
Her husband had hated the place he had been raised so strictly, and
shunned it like the plague. She had never even considered living in
such an appalllingly grim place, but Cedric had been as attached to the
foul place as to his own sin.
Servants did the bare minimum to maintain the lands, and it
brought in a small income which Cedric and his son had been eagerly
trying to take for themselves for years.
Where was her son? If not the stinking cellars, then up at the top of
the house, the garret room? Knowing the way her foul brother-in-law's
mind worked, that seemed to make more sense.
It was at the top of three flights, and when the time came it would
be easy enough to say he had been mad, and fell from the window
trying to escape from their well-meaning tending of him. Or that he
had thrown himself out of it, grief-stricken because of her death.
Surely Ash couldn'tbelieve her gone, though? He had to feel her as
clearly as she felt his danger, felt his agony. An agony that was
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growing by the day. She could feel a dreadful burning in her stomach
all the time, far worse than the morning sickness she had been trying
to keep at bay ever since that morning she had collapsed in Martin's
arms.
But she wasn't going to think about the baby within her now. She
had to think about Ash first. She would deal with what to do about the
infant she was carrying later. So long as Martin didn't find out, she
would be fine.
The gates of the Grange were locked when they arrived, which she
took as a sure sign that her son was being held against his will within.
But there were enough breaches in the crumbling walls for her to
get up and in easily enough, even given how light-headed she felt. As
if she hadn't eaten in weeks...
Then she saw it all in an instant, the crumbling tower room, the
threats and beatings, the starvation, the indignities Ash had suffered in
order to stay alive, and she burned with fury.
"I have to get to the tower room. If you keep them all busy down
below, I should be able to get to him quickly," she whispered to
Michael. "Are you up to this? They could be very dangerous."
"I can't climb the stairs easily, but I'll kill anyone who tries to harm
a hair on your head." He looked down the sights of each of his pistols
with a cool mastery which chilled her.
No wonder they had called him the Grim Reaper during the war
against Napoleon
They crept closer and closer to the old grey stone house, which
looked to Eswara like something taken directly from the pages of a
Gothic horror novel. The six men and Michael and Eswara drew into a
semi-circle to storm the front door.
At a signal from him, his two large footmen smashed the rickety
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door off its hinges. Michael was immediately in the thick of the
action, and felled two of Cedric's servants in an instant, wounding
them in the legs so they would not pursue.
Eswara raced up the stairs, her pistol at the ready, as Cedric's other
servants began to attempt a defense of their breached fortifications.
Eswara struggled, smashed, pummelled, bit and clawed her way
from landing to landing, up to the first storey, then the second, and at
last to the third, leaving Michael and his men far behind. She could
hear the sounds of scuffling growing louder rather than diminishing,
and panicked, fearful that she was running out of time.
She kicked in the door at the top of the stairs and froze, for the
sight of her son being hung out the window by his cousin Cecil struck
terror into her soul. One fale move, and"Call your men off or out he goes!" Cedric demanded, levelling his
gun at her.
"I can do that, but you know you'll never get away with any of this.
Kidnapping, torture, I'll see you hang," she hissed, seeing her bloodied
and bruised son.
Cedric bared his teeth into a fiendish smile. "You can't prove
anything. We can say he was ill. Out of his mind with grief. All you
have to do is marry me and-"
"I'll see you dead first."
"Brave words for someone with a pistol pointed at her and her son
about to splatter onto the paving slabs below. Call them off!"
Ash was continuing to struggle, but she couldn't run the risk. She
took two steps backwards. Her eyes never leaving Cedric, she shouted
down, "Michael. Ash is up here. He's all right, but we need to stop
fighting if we want to keep him that way. Do you understand? Call off
your men, now."
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At last the sounds of loud scuffling ended, and her heart sank for a
moment. It was all up to her now. She only prayed she would be equal
to the task. She had to save Ash, even if it meant sacrificing her own
life. She just wished she could have seen Martin one last time, told
him how much she had always loved him.
"All right, I've done as you ask. Now bring him back into the
centre of the room where it's safe."
"You don't give the orders around her, slut. I do," Cedric sneered.
"You need to mind your manners, learn who's lord and master now.
Put down the gun, and we can parley for terms."
She sighed and hung her head as if resigned. Cecil clung onto her
son, one arm like whipcord around his throat from behind, the other
holding him half out the low window so that a single shove would
send him flying.
Ash struggled with both hands against the arm choking off his
breath, but still could not break free. Eswara was certain Cecil would
push her son out head-first if she didn't at least make a show of
obeisance.
She sighed and put down her weapon. "All right, I agree to
whatever terms you want. Cecil, let him go. Ash, come away from the
window now."
"No, Mother, you can't!"
"It will be all right."
"Of course it will," Cedric said with a broad grin, beginning to
gloat already. "You won't regret this. You'll have everything you
could desire. Your son, a good home, comfort, security, and a man or
two to share your bed. I don't mind so long as you're discreet, though
you have to make sure you get the best bargain you can. In London, a
high-class Incognita like yourself can command hundreds a night. But
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of course that will only be after I've worn you out."

Eswara glared at him. "You disgust me utterly. Berating me for
being a whore, yet you want to be a bawd to me?"
"Needs must and all that. Might as well make as much as you can
while you still can. You won't be young forever."
Her eyes glinted with fury. "That may be true, but at least I'll be
alive. I look forward to seeing you hang from the end of a gibbet."
"Do you think they will do a thing to me once we're married? A
wife can't testify against her husband. Not if she wants to keep her son
alive, at any rate."
"Don't listen to him, Mother! Get out while you-"
Cecil smashed him in the mouth and let go of his neck, shoving the
upper half of Ash's body further out the window.
The sight of Cecil abusing her son was more than she could stand.
With a growl she grabbed Cedric's right hand and raised it, ramming
her thumb onto the trigger as she pivoted. Cecil had heaved Ash so far
out that his right side was completely exposed.
Eswara steadied Cedric's hand and squeezed before he could drop
his arm. The shot roared out of the pistol and blew a hole right
through Cecil's chest. The air flew out of him with a wheeze, and his
dead weight toppling sideways sent Ash the rest of the way through
the casement.
"Ash! Ash!" She could see his hands clinging on, but she had
seconds to decide what to do next.
Eswara, deafened by the blast, knew her brother-in-law had not
forgot about her weapon. They both dived for it in an instant.
Desperation and fury warred on the carpet. At last her desperation
won through.
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Eswara hauled her fist back to punch Cedric in the throat. She
grabbed the weapon and fired, winging him in the shoulder.
"Damn you! Damn you!" her brother-in-law swore, struggling like
a madman, beside himself with wrath at the killing of his son and the
foiling of all his plans.
She brought the empty gun to strike a swingeing blow, breaking
his nose and cheekbone in the process. Then she was scrambling for
the window to grab her son's wrist.
"Ash, hang on."
"Oh hell, Mother, I'm slipping," he gasped, his golden eyes wide.
"Oh God."
"I love you."
"No, love, hang on, hang on!" she wept, feeling him slipping out of
her grasp. She hung on with both hands, her nails digging into his
flesh as her fingers scrabbled for purchase on his bare arm. "Oh God,
help me, please!"
"I've got him! I've got him!" a voice shouted up from below. It was
Martin!
Ash thanked all the gods in the pantheon as he felt his legs and
waist being seized.
Martin and his friends had been the second wave of attack Eswara
had heard as she had ascended. Malcolm Branson, bringing up the
rear, had seen Ash in danger.
Martin had gone to the floor below to try to effect a rescue from
there, and he and Clifford were hauling him in through the open
window underneath.
Eswara, hardly believing her ears, tore down the stairs, smashing
into Blake in her haste to be with her son. She tumbled with a crash
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onto the lower landing.

"My God, Eswara, are you all right?" Blake gasped, running down
and kneeling by her side.
"I'm fine. My son. I need to see my son." She grabbed his forearms
to steady herself as she heaved herself to her feet.
Then she was in Ash's arms and Martin's as they hugged and wept.
"Thank you, thank you for saving him," she said, her golden eyes
swimming with tears.
Martin had never seen her looking so dreadful, or so lovely. He
reached out one finger to stroke her cheek.
Just then Ash began to crumple to the floor. Her knees buckled
under the weight and she cradled his pitifully thin body against hers as
she laid him out on the filthy floor. "You're alive. Thank God, thank
God."
"I knew you'd come. Both of you. I never doubted it for a minute,"
he whispered. His eyes rolled up in his head and he lapsed into
unconsciousness.
Blake stepped over to examine him, laying him flat and putting
Eswara gently into Martin's arms. "He's been badly beaten. I have no
idea the last time they gave him any food or water. Clifford, can you
see what you can find in the kitchens below? Martin, can we see if we
can find a decent chamber anywhere?"
It was only later, after the excitement of tending to Ash's had died
down, that they ventured upstairs. Cecil was well and truly dead.
But Cedric Paignton was nowhere to be found.
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Chapter Fifty-two
Martin thought his nightmares of the highwaymen's attack had
been bad, but they were as nothing compared to what he suffered at
the thought of having come so close to losing Eswara and Ash.
It had been his own fault, he knew. But he was going to try to
make it up to Eswara. Even if he had to beg and grovel, he was going
to make her see they were made for one another.
He had to admit he felt left out, jealous again, for she scarcely left
her son's side. Once Ash felt well enough to travel, Michael Avenel
insisted they return to his house at Bath to be looked after by the
whole Rakehell clan, his wife, and his bevy of servants.
There was seldom a moment for him to be alone with either mother
or son. They had been given a sunny room on the upper floor and the
endless stream of visitors catered to their every whim.
Eswara was glad of Martin's presence, but so tense around him,
and the house so crowded with people trying to be helpful, that she
managed to keep him at arm's length.
Finally he was actually forced to ask her for a formal audience.
Michael told her to use his study, and nodded to Blake. They liked
Martin, but he had hurt Eswara in the past. Thus as soon as the door
closed behind the couple, they stood at the ready just in case they
were needed.
Once inside, Martin fingered his neck cloth nervously, and blurted
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out, "I need to ask you now, before I change my mind and take the
coward's way out. Will you marry me?"
She stared at him, astounded by both his words and the cavalier
manner in which he was proposing, as if it weren't an occasion to even
try to mark in any special way.
In fact, it was being put forward even more bluntly than his
suggestion she become his mistress.
She shifted in her chair slightly, her brows knitting. "Marry you? I
don't understand."
He laughed tensely. "It's a simple question, which requires a yes or
no answer. Yes, preferably. Will you marry me?
"But why?"
He blinked, stymied by the question. Wasn't it obvious? "Why?
Why would I want you to marry me? To make you mine, take care of
you, spoil you, shower you with gifts."
He took out the necklace he had been longing to give her for so
many weeks, opening the box and holding it out to her as though they
were making a bargain in a shop.
She gasped at the sight of its beauty, but shook her head and
backed away. "No, no, I can't."
He stared at her horrified expression. This wasn't the reaction he
had expected at all, and felt completely nonplused. "Why not?"
"Because I'm not what you want or need."
His silver eyes sparked. "I think I've proved amply how much I
want you."
She shook her head. "Yes, as a mistress. But not a wife. And for
how long now that you've sampled my wares? A month, two, three?
And what sort of relationship are we to have? Am I to see you only
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when it suits you to condescend to drop by?"

He shook his head and opened his mouth to protest, but she held up
one hand to forestall him. "Think of all the weeks we've been apart,
Martin, and you'll know I'm not exaggerating or being pettish."
"Ah, yes, but there's a reason for that," he began in his most
sensible tone.
However, now was not the time for him to start behaving rationally
where she was concerned. "Yes, and I know what it is. I know all
about Bristol," she spat.
He looked surprised, but shrugged as if it were unimportant. "I
suppose Blake must have told you," he said, believing she was
speaking of his studies with Mr. Samuels.
"Everyone in your family knows. If not the entire district."
"Yes, my brother Samuel does have a rather loose tongue. But in
any case you can't possibly hold that against me."
"Oh, can't I?" she said flatly, her eyes glittering with barely
suppressed fury.
He shrugged. "No, I mean, I was confused, needed to get my life
and emotions onto some sort of even keel. Work a few things out of
my system, deal with my family difficulties. But I did it all for us, to
make our new family happy one day."
She shook her head. What on earth was he talking about? She
didn't know everything about English customs, but she was fairly sure
bigamy was against the law. Unless he had had enough of Georgina
already, had decided he'd sown his wild oats, and now believed he
really did want her after all, and not the pretty blond teenager half her
age?
His reasonable tone galled her. He sounded like the most arrogant
man of the world trying to couch excuses for adultery in the most
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logical terms, as if she had no feelings upon the subject and would be
foolish to even try to gainsay him.
She rose from the chair and paced in front of him for a few
moments, trying to contain her wrath. "You have the nerve to speak to
me thus? About your life, your needs? Being married is about building
a life together, about both of our needs.
"I cannot believe you would have the audacity to tell me the way
you've carried on all these weeks ever since the Duke's ball has been
all for me! Martin, I admire and like you, I even love you, but I can't
possibly ever consider marrying you. It would be the height of folly
for me to ever even try to make our relationship endure."
"But why?" he asked, getting the distinct feeling that this interview
had run away with him despite his best intentions, though he had no
clue as to how or why. "I know I'm young and nave, but not so
young, and not so foolish that I think I know everything. But I'm
willing to learn."
"There isn't anything to learn. You lied, I lied. Our whole
relationship has been nothing but falsehood, hasn't it?"
He searched her face for some sort of clue as to what she was
blaming him for. "Falsehood? I don't understand."
"That's the trouble. You have no idea what's real, what's illusion.
Let's start with me, shall we? There were two lies, one from Cedric,
and one from me."
His expression was completely blank. "I don't know what-"
"No, and you never tried to find out the truth either, did you?
That's what you thought of me, of our friendship. You never even-"
The tears began to spill down her cheeks. She dashed them away
impatiently with her wrists, and evaded his attempt to touch her. "No,
don't. Leave me alone!"
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"Eswara, please, tell me. What I did wrong? I honestly don't

know!" His eyes were wide with terror now. "Please, tell me?"
She glared at him. "The night of the Duke's ball, you demanded a
yes or no answer to your question, without ever once trying to get to
know me, know the truth. So I said yes. It's true I worked in a brothel.
But I wasn't a bibbi. I cleaned there. I was a virgin when I got married.
I was being trained, and they were waiting for me to be old enough,
and for a wealthy gent to come along who would be willing to pay the
right amount to avail himself of me.
"Except that my father's friend John Paignton found me in time,
and married me. I've been with one man in my life other than you. I'm
no one special. Not a bawdy Bird of Paradise at all. I'm just an
ordinary middle-class house wife who used her imagination, some
whispered information from other women, and what she read in
books."
He stared at her. "I don't understand. You told me that you had
been-"
"You assumed. You believed Cedric instantly. You never doubted
him, only me! I just let you go on thinking it. You never even
bothered to ask me my reasons, any more than you asked about your
wife's. You just jumped to conclusions, and were judge, jury and
executioner against both of us."
She sighed and shook her head as he continued to stare at her with
something akin to horror in his eyes. How had he got it all so very
wrong?
"I don't understand," he rasped, feeling as though he had been
punched in the gut. "If you were chaste, why did you say yes to my
abominable proposal?"
Eswara threw up her hands. "I don't know. A fit of madness,
perhaps. You were so angry the night of the ball, I was sure that I
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would never see you again. I thought I had lost you forever.
"Then you came to me and asked me to be your mistress. Since
that seemed the only way I could ever have you, I took the chance.
Accepted your terms, even knowing it was wrong, and that I was
lying.
"I didn't do it for money, I did it because I wanted you with every
ounce of my being. I'm sorry. I didn't want you to feel obligated to
me. The plain truth is I knew from the moment we first met that I
loved you."
He tried to clutch her around the waist, but she darted behind a
chair to evade his embrace.
"I wanted to be selfless, let you have what you needed to get
yourself back into some sort of semblance of a normal life without
bitterness, regret, and relentless self-reproach. You could do things
with a mistress that you never could have with a wife, even had you
been willing to consider the possibility of remarrying.
"And I wanted you so badly I was willing to accept your terms.
Terms no decent English housewife would be permitted to accept. But
a reformed Indian whore? Well, why not?"
His stomach rebelled. He clutched his handkerchief to his mouth to
stifle the bile rising up to choke him. "Oh God, no, not a whore," he
sobbed through clenched teeth. "Never that. Not a whore, but the
woman I wanted to be with night and day."
"That's easy for you to say now, when you feel guilty for having
almost lost me after neglecting me for weeks. But look at us! I'm five
years older than you, a foreigner, not even a Christian, a middle-class
widow with a grown son. What man in their right mind would want to
marry me? What family would want to welcome me into their home
as one of them?"
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"Me. My family!" Martin insisted. "Eswara, I'm asking you most

humbly if you will please do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
She tried to run from the room, managing to get the door partly
open, but he was there in an instant, and slammed it shut again. He
planted his back against it to stop her flight.
"You must listen to me. Marry me!"
Eswara shook her head. "No, please, you don't know what you're
doing, saying."
He put one hand on her shoulder. "You're the woman who
completes me. The only person who makes me whole. I'm asking you
to marry me, make our lives together divine. I can't see how I can be
more clear than that."
"You are only saying this because you feel obligated-"
"Obligated! Don't be absurd."
"But you're supposed to be marrying Georgina. Everyone knows-"
He shook his head. "That was all a mistake. Do you honestly think
I could ever share one-tenth of what we have with any other woman?"
"You apparently have. I gave you the tools, the lessons, and you
went to London and Bristol with-"
"Damn the tools and the lessons. I don't care about any other
woman in the world. I only want you."
"It's not possible. You don't know what you're saying. All of this
has been a great shock. Your cousin's death-"
"I won't give you up. You belong to me!" Martin insisted.
She bristled and shook off his questing hands. "I belong to no one.
Not any more! No one gets to buy and sell me, no one! No one gets to
force me into marriage or intimacy, not John, or Cedric or you. No
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one tells me what to do with my body, how to think or feel!"

He raised his hands to show he meant her no harm. "I'm sorry,
love. Poor choice of words. I meant we belong together. I would never
reject you because of-"
She sighed. "You might not do it consciously, but in time-"
"Never."
She looked daggers at him. "You say that now, but you're blind!
Do you know what my son told me? The butler at Jerome Manor
slammed the door in Ash's face not once but twice when he came to
you for help. Tried to tell you I was missing, wanted your help. What
does that tell you about how most people feel about us?"
Martin was livid. "Then he will jolly well get the sack," he barked.
"That's not a good reason to refuse me."
"But if he hadn't done that, things would never have turned out the
way they did, with Ash snatched by his uncle and nearly killed. And
while you cannot be held entirely to blame for that, I can give you
another reason not to wed.
"I'm not even sure I want to remain in England. Not after
everything that happened. Cedric is still out there to cause trouble for
Ash and I. As long as he's free, he will never relent. We aren't
English, and the incident with your butler just seems to point to the
many reasons why we should go back home."
"Then I'll got back to India with you."
She shook her head at once. "And be an outsider constantly
yourself? Not to mention the heat, the disease. No, I could never-"
He sighed heavily. "There has to be some sort of compromise. Can
we not simply move to London? If as you say there are some Indians
in the larger cities, we can find them,.I can learn-"
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"I'm older than you. Your family won't approve, will cut you off."
"You look younger than you are and I look older. There is only
five years difference between us. No one is going to accuse you of
robbing the cradle, love. Besides, you're the one who told me that
there are old souls and young. We're obviously both old ones. And as
for my family-"
"They all want you to marry Georgina."
"Georgina still fancies herself in love with Oliver Neville. I was
only trying to help-"
"Very generous, I 'm sure," she seethed, "but you don't owe me any
explanations. It's over. Please, I thank you for your help and
friendship with Ash, and for helping to save him, but it's over between
us."
He was more furious than she had ever seen him. "I won't you give
up, Eswara. I'm not going to let you walk out of my life without a
fight. You belong by my side. Flesh of my flesh, bone of my bone."
He kissed her, and she could feel herself weakening. She pushed
against his chest. "No, Martin, please. Don't. I can't."
"Why not!
"Because we have no future together."
"I'll make one for us. You know I've been trying! You said you
knew all about-"
"It's finished. I can't do this any more, fight with you all the time,
never be sure of your feelings, or if I'm ever going to see you again.
Go, just go," she shrieked.
"But Eswara-"
"I say, Martin, that is enough," Blake insisted, stepping into the
room and shielding Eswara with his large frame. "As her doctor I'm
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asking you to leave. If she doesn't want to marry you, be enough of a

gentleman to accept her answer and not upset her further."
Martin would have argued, but Michael entered the room as well,
and took Eswara's hand as she cowered away from Martin.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"Fine. But after everything he's done, everything that's happened, I
can't marry him. Please tell him to leave."
He saw they were all adamant. He had no idea why they were all
behaving so oddly toward him, when so far as he was concerned he
had done nothing but try to help, and was making an honest proposal
of marriage.
However, it was apparent he was not going to win this battle at
present. He raised his hands over his shoulders in a gesture of
surrender.
"All right. I'm leaving. But this isn't the end. I'll be back when
you've had time to recover fully. I shall call in on Ash, and hope you
will at least consider allowing me to inquire after your health."
Eswara turned her face away.
That one simple movement cut him to the quick and he gasped, "I
don't understand. What have I done wrong?"
Blake shook his head and grasped his arm to conduct him to the
front door. "If you don't know, then you're the biggest fool I've ever
met, and now is not the time to tell you."
He escorted him to the front door, and practically thrust him out of
it. "Go home to Barton and wait for word from me. If Eswara wants to
see you I'll send for you. If not, we need to talk. Or at least you need
to listen."
He shoved Martin onto the stoop and shut the door right in his
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face, leaving him staring at the portal feeling as though his whole
world had come to an end.
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Chapter Fifty-three
Eswara and Ash remained at the Avenels' home for another day,
until she so longed to see her own little house that she insisted on
borrowing the carriage to go home to Millcote.
It had been a week since her son's rescue from the Grange, and
Ash was filling out once more, though his eyes still looked haunted,
and she knew that often he was only pretending to sleep.
Their little red house was the most welcome sight she had ever
seen. Nelly greeted them warmly with big hugs and kisses before
relapsing into her usual shy reticence.
But they were hardly in the door before Geoffrey Branson and his
son Malcolm came on official business.
Eswara forced herself to remain calm so as not to disturb her son
unduly. She could tell from their grim, unsmiling expressions that the
news was not going to be good.
"Nelly, can you please get Ash settled upstairs with some tea and
toast, and then I think some roast lamb and potatoes for dinner."
"Yes, Madam. Come on, lad."
Ash winked at the little maid, for she was only a couple of years
older than he, but determined to make a motherly fuss over him.
Eswara led her guests into the drawing room and sat down wearily.
"I'm guessing this isn't a social call."
Geoffrey Branson shook his head. "I won't beat about the bush,
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Mrs. Paignton. Your brother-in-law is filing charges for murder and

attempted murder against you. He is also trying to get Ash taken away
from you. He is asserting that you are unfit, and he should be declared
your son's guardian and custodian of the Grange until such time as
Ash is of age.
" I'm sorry, Madam. I know he won't prevail, but he can make
things dashed uncomfortable for you until Ash turns eighteen. And
even after that if the charge of murder sticks."
"Malcolm, you saw my son being hung out of the window. What
Ash looked like when we rescued him! How does Cedric explain all
of that?"
"He says, ahem, he says you were off with your lover, Martin
Jerome. That you've been spending all of Ash's money on your own
selfish pleasures. Left Ash to starve, and he was only trying to help
rescue him.
"That you came back from one of your trysts, and when you saw
your comfortable lifestyle vanishing into thin air, you took matters
into your own hands, and tried to shove your son out of the window."
"I've never heard such a preposterous-"
"We know. And believe me, all of us who were present on the day
will testify on your behalf. But he has also bruited it about that you
are a notorious whore. That all of the men who have helped you have
done it because they are under your spell. Including me."
Eswara seethed. "That bastard. I should have shot him right
between the eyes when I had the chance."
Malcolm nodded. "More's the pity you didn't. But the fact is he's
still alive, and will come after you as long as he feels he has
something to gain."
"Can I buy him off?"
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"Not now. It's gone too far for that."

"I see." She considered for a time. "Am I allowed to leave the
country?"
The Bransons both looked at each other. Finally the elder spoke.
"We will of course fight your case for you in absentia. If you hurry,
you can go with no one being any the wiser. Not Ireland though, as it
would still be under our direct jurisdiction and they could pursue
you."
She lifted her chin, faced with the prospect of losing her home,
friends, patients, or Ash. There was no decision to be made after all.
"Then I shall just have to go somewhere far enough away that they
will not pursue me. Back to India with my son."
Malcolm nodded. "It's a big step, though. I mean, in a few months
it might all blow over."
"On the other hand, Ash will not come of age for a bit more than a
year. Even when he does, Paignton will cause trouble. And India is
home in many respects. It is after all where we were born."
"You need to think for a time, discuss it with your son."
"Think you they will send me to Newgate for murder?"
Geoffrey Branson nodded. "It is likely. If they convince the court
that you are dangerous and vicious enough. As it is I'm supposed to
take you into custody within forty-eight hours from the time I get the
official order.
"I can give you a bit more time, though. Not everything has been
signed and sealed yet. We found out what was happening through
Alistair Grant, the man who has been appointed by the King's Bench
to conduct the trial. He will be glad to give you any help you need in
finding a good barrister and solicitor to assist you.
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"But in this instance his hands are tied, much as he would like to
help you personally. Still, he is a good, honest man, one of the
Rakehell set, and Blake, Michael and the Duke of Ellesmere have
spoken so highly of you, he thought you deserved to be warned what
was afoot."
"How long do I have, do you suppose?" she asked quietly.
"I can give you about a week to settle your affairs. After that, well,
I will have to arrest you whether I want to or not."
She sighed. "I'd better go, I think. I haven't got the resources to
fight him or protect Ash the way he needs to be. I'm only a lone
woman. That fiend nearly killed him. I will not have my son in
danger, and I can't bear to be separated from him indefinitely."
Malcolm cleared his throat nervously. "There is one other course
of action open to you. You could always marry and file the papers for
Ash to be adopted by your new husband."
She stared, then shook her head. She was not going to lie to themthey knew. "Marry for the sake of Martin's protection? No, thank you.
I want him to marry for love or not at all. To wed Martin under these
circumstances would make our marriage and everything I feel for him
a sham."
Malcolm sighed. "Very well, you had better start getting all of your
affairs in order. You will need to make a sworn deposition, both of
you, and find two berths on an East Indiaman as soon as possible. And
one other thing. The fewer people who know you're leaving, the
better."
Her eyes flattened and looked so bleak, the Bransons thought it
was as if the sun had been eclipsed by a black thundercloud. "I
couldn't agree more."
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Eswara broke the news to her son as gently as she could. He had
most certainly learnt the virtue of patience, for he did not even try to
dissuade her from the course of action she had chosen. He did,
however, make his own feelings known.
"Oh, Mother, I'm so sorry. I know you and Martin care about each
other. I'm sure of it. but I don't think he's ready for marriage and-"
"No, no marriage. He proposed, I refused. If anything, I have even
more reasons to refuse now. The last thing he needs is to be embroiled
in this sorry state of affairs. This is not his concern. This is about
what's best for you, and me.
"The sad fact is that your uncle is an evil man and a desperate one.
As long as Cedric thinks he has a chance of controlling you, he wil
keep after us. I would hardly be able to let you out of my sight after
what nearly happened. I dare not risk going to jail, us being separated.
Your coming of age in May of next year means he is running out of
time. Only by being your guardian can he clean out the remaining
wealth of the estate with impunity.
"So we need to leave. I would even suggest that you sell the entire
wretched place so that he can have no hope of inheriting it, and
publish your will to make it known and ensure that if you die the
money will be left to some charity with an unimpeachable reputation.
But all this can be done once we are safely away from England."
"I agree, Mother. But are you sure about India?"
She nodded. "I am. I know we can go to the Americas, or even the
Continent now. But what better place than to go back home where you
were born, where you can continue your studies, practice your
religion-"
"I know. But there will be things I miss about England too. And
there are my plans and schooling..."He shrugged.
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She nodded. "I'm sure there are people we can contact through
Jonathan's friends in the missionary society who will be able to help
once we get home. And of course there will be some of my old
colleagues as well who wil be more than happy to help with your
studies and training."
"Yes, Mother. Really the only thing I am worried about is Martin.
Once we're gone, his despair will be vast."
She smiled at him wanly. "I know. But he has made great strides
forward on his road to recovery. We've taught him what he needs to
know, and some day he will be a better and happier man. I love him,
but it was doomed from the start. So many things predicated against it,
I should never-"
"You couldn't help yourself."
A winsome smile played about her lips. She looked around the
room where all three of them had been so happy.
"No, you're right, I couldn't. And the love I shared with him was
wonderful. Even if it did end badly, it was still the world to me while
he was mine.
"As for us, you know we must go. I'm writing to the East India
Company now in Bristol to see what ships are leaving soon, and
whether there are two cabins, or even one cabin available."
He sighed. "I hope so. I just feel so guilty about all this-"
"No need. It's my choice, to keep us both safe."
"But we're both giving up so much."
"I'm not. I have everything I need right here." She took his hand.
"Kind of you to say, but I know you love Martin."
"But he doesn't love me. Not really. He was obsessed for a time,
but even that faded."
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Ash looked pensive, and shook his head. "I don't think so. I told
him not to be scared of your power. I think he's frightened, trying to
control something so powerful it's greater than both of you. Truly a
gift from the Gods."
She nodded. "I know. I understood it all at the end, when it was too
late to go back and undo things between us, tell him the truth, that I
had always loved him. I tried to control it too. The force was so great
it almost ripped us both in two."
"That's because you were pulling in opposite directions, instead of
embracing it."
"It's too late now. He's not come to see us, and we're leaving."
"But you will tell him, won't you? You will say goodbye?"
"Yes, of course, Ash," she said in a light tone, but held him close
so he could not see the expression on her face.
In the end she told Blake only, for of course he would have to tend
to the house whilst they were gone, and find another assistant. She
informed him of her plans in a tone which proclaimed she had made
up her mind, and he did not even try to dissuade her. He put one arm
around her, and gave her a warm hug.
"I can't tell you how sorry I am things turned out like this."
"I know."
"I shall give you Belle's brother Peter's address in Mumbai. Make
sure you look him up when you get there. You know you're always
family, no matter what happened with Martin."
"Or didn't happen. You will say goodbye to everyone for me, won't
you?"
"I will. But I have to say, you know, that whole thing with
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Georgina was just a mix-up. Arabella read things into what she saw.
The necklace he bought all those weeks ago was amethyst and gold,
not the gold and pearl one Ash told me they made such a fuss over at
the ball in Bath."
She flinched inwardly, realising that Blake was talking about the
necklace Martin had offered her which she had seen as only payment,
not a gift from the heart. All those weeks ago? The night of the Duke's
ball, when Cedric had ruined everything? No wonder he had been so
distraught.
It had been intended as a gift of tender regard, and suddenly been
rendered into something so sordid he had been shocked. He must have
felt a fool. Blamed himself and taken it out of her own hide. But it
was all too late now. She shrugged. "Kind of you to say so, but I know
you're only tring to make me feel better. Really, it doesn't matter now.
It's over."
"But he can protect you and Ash."
"I want Martin to marry me for love, plain and simple. But I don't
think Martin knows the meaning of the word."
"Maybe not now. But in time?"
Eswara shook her head. "Time is the one thing I've run out of."
"I know. I'm truly sorry. But listen, you must let my carriage take
you to the docks. It's the least I can do. Belle and I would love to see
you off as well if-"
"No, really. I'll be fine. Just the carriage, thanks."
"Well, I suppose this is it?"
"It's not goodbye, it's just au revoir," she said, though her heart
sank at the lie. Ash would be able to come back, but she, never.
"Listen, you will take care, won't you? And anything you need,
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you write and ask."

"Thank you, I will keep in touch. And I promise to look up Peter,"
she said with a smile when she saw him open his mouth to admonish
her again. "Here is the second set of keys to the house. Perhaps you
can find a nice family to let it to?"
"We'll come over to the house to say our last goodbyes to Ash. Let
us know when you need the carriage. And don't worry, everything
shall be just as you left it when you return. I might get another
assistant, but this is your home."
After Eswara left to begin her preparations for departure, Blake
was in such a dither that Arabella could not fail to notice something
was amiss. "Darling, whatever is the matter with you? Are you ill?"
"Aye, you could say that," he grunted. "I'm sick to my stomach at
what's happened."
Her eyes widened. "What's wrong? Tell me!"
She heard him without comment until he reached the end of his
narrative. "Darling, Eswara was such a good friend to Michael and
Bryony and has been to us, too. There must be something we can do
to help her and Ash. We can't let that swine Paignton drive them
away. Why doesn't she expose him for what he really is? That he and
his son tried to murder Ash for his fortune?"
"She doesn't want to start a fight she might lose. She's a woman,
alone, not even English, or Christian. She feels inferior, unsure of
herself and her position. You and I know she isn't inferior in the least,
but it is her attitude which counts, not ours.
"And I think the whole situation with Martin has left her in despair.
I am not so sure she wants to stay in England after the way the foolish
young buck bodged his proposal utterly. I mean, Eswara is a woman
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of sense and discretion. But no matter how clever a woman is, she
wants true tomance. To be told that she's loved, treasured."
"He does love her, I'm sure of it!" she protested.
"That wasn't the way he made it sound. You should have heard
him. He sounded like, like a possessive fool staking his claim to a new
territory."
Arabella shook her head. "Then like the knights of old he is going
to have to redeem himself. Ride to her rescue, prove his love for his
lady fair."
He stared. "But how?"
"Tell Martin what's happened. See if he can help."
Blake thought about it and sighed. "She'll never forgive me if I
do."
Arabella's eyes glinted as she gazed at her husband. "That may be
true, darling. But then, I'll never forgive you if you don't."
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Chapter Fifty-four
Six days later, the morning of their departure, Eswara was sure she
had never been so ill in her life. She knew it was partly nerves and
regret, and fear over the enormity of what she was about to do.
They had to go before Geoffrey Branson did his duty and arrested
her. Her stomach churned at the prospect of prison, of being separated
from Ash, unable to protect her son.
She was sure it was also the morning sickness she had allowed to
get the better of her because she had not been taking care of herself
ever since Ash's ordeal and Geoffrey Branson's news.
When her violent wretching did not cease even after a minute, Ash
barged into her bedchamber and held her shoulders until she leaned
weakly against him, unable to vomit any more. Then he put her back
in bed and brought her a cup of tea.
She began to apologise, but a fit of dry retching silenced her.
He gazed into her eyes. "Don't even try to tell me it's because
you're upset, Mother. I've suspected ever since Martin came to fetch
me from Brimley all those weeks ago. I've just been waiting for you to
say something." He sat next to her in the bed and put his arm around
her shoulders.
She slumped against him in relief. "Yes, it's true. But what else is
there to say? We're leaving today. End of story. I can't go to Newgate,
expecially not in my condition. The worry and the squalor would kill
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us both for sure."

She rose from the bed weakly, tugged on her underclothes, and
took off her robe to don a clean gown. She took up her favourite, a
gold sprigged muslin which she had embroidered at the hem and
sleeves with some of the flora and fauna from India. It seemed a
fitting gown to wear on the first leg of her journey home.
"But what about Martin? Doesn't he care about the child at all?"
"That's enough, son. The carriage is going to be here soon."
"But-"
"Ash, that's enough," she said with asperity. "We'll talk about this
later. I need to get cleaned up and we need to leave. Things will seem
much brighter and more promising once I do."
She finished dressing with her back to him so he could not see the
tears in her eyes.
He took out the chamberpot and returned with some burning
incense to help cleanse the room of the odor. Then he headed back to
his own room to check through it one last time.
The rose fragrance of the incense brought back the times she had
shared the room with Martin, and she wanted to throw herself on the
bed, curl up and die. But her son was counting on her. She couldn't
leave him, even if it did feel as if her whole life was over.
She dashed away impatiently the tears running down her cheeks.
Nonsense. She had a new baby on the way, a new life. Perhaps it
would even be the little girl she had always wished for.
Her life wasn't over. It was just beginning, a whole new phase. No
longer a wife, but certainly a proud mother, independent, and not
willing to let anyone control her or stop her from determining her own
life.
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Liar, she scolded herself. Hypocrite. The odious Cedric was

controlling her. And if Martin had only been sincere in his proposal, if
he had ever once told her he loved her, she would have been glad for
him to determine the rest of his life so long as she had got to spend it
by his side.
She heaved a huge sigh and looked around once more to make sure
there was nothing she had forgot. Their trunks were downstairs
already; only a few last minute things in each bag, and she would be
all set to go.
They had had such high hopes for this splendid house. She stroked
her silk spread and sighed. Putting her nose down to the pillow, she
thought she could smell one last lingering trace of Martin.
She resisted the temptation to strip the case off and bring it with
her. No, she needed no sensual reminders of all she had lost. She
patted her stomach. No matter where she was, she carried Martin
inside her always.
She moved over to her dressed and looked in her small box of
trinkets, eyed the few brooches and pins. Her religion dictated that
material things were not supposed to be of interest. However, that was
not say she didn't have a few tokens of regard from her husband over
the years. As for fine jewels, she smiled. The secret of a successful
gem dealer was in resisting the temptation to keep them for oneself.
She lifted out the pouch containing her latest shipment.
She would have just enough time to stop in Bath and bargain with
her usual jeweller in Bath. He was always most appreciative, and if
Eswara was not mistaken, some of the stones she had sold him had
ended up in the exquisite necklace which Martin had tried to give her.
Full circle.
She gave a frigid grin. If Cedric had ever once suspected how
wealthy they truly were, he would have hounded them unmercifully
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long before now. She had determined, however, that to even try to buy
him off was pointless, not least because knowing him he would only
keep causing trouble no matter how much she gave him.
Besides, it was too late with the charges which had been filed
against her. All too late.
A short time later, Eswara finished packing up the last of her
things in her portmanteaux. Ash returned to see if she needed any
help. His increasingly long face told her he would be sorry to leave in
many respects, of course, but he understood her predicament, even if
was not entirely sure she was going about solving the problem the
right way.
"I'm sure he loves you, Mother. You should tell him. It's his child
too, you know. He would want to know, to help."
"To feel obligated, you mean. I don't want that. He was the one
who said he didn't want a family. Has been going along with his
family's plans for he and his cousin Georgina to marry, see if they
couldn't settle for each other since they are both obviously so
damaged by the past. If he can simply settle for a loveless life, who
am I to interfere?
"Some people aren't ready to love and share. To be a father. Your
Pa was. He was forty and thought it about time he settled his life, had
a family. Martin is too young. He still doesn't know what he wants,
and doesn't deserve to feel caged or cornered by me."
"I think he loves us as a different family. Somewhere he can
escape to-"
She sighed and shook her head. "Reality always intrudes. You
know that. I simply can't go on as his mistress. It would be
impossible. A disaster for all concerned."
He nodded. "I know. He would have to make a choice. It would be
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devastating for everyone no matter what he decided. But what about

you? Are you so sure you want to go back to India? I mean, you're
going to be worse off there, a widow with no status. No one will wish
to ever marry-"
She clutched her chest, struggling to hold back the tears. "I could
never ever consider loving another after Martin."
"Never is a long time for someone as young as you, Mother. Not to
mention the fact that something could go wrong. You're going to be
pregnant on board a ship and-"
"We need to take you home, get you settled. You need to try to
learn about your home and heritage, as you've asked."
He nodded. "It's a big sacrifice for you, though. And there are a lot
of things about England I'm going to miss." He lifted the
portmanteaux and began to head downstairs to the waiting carriage.
"We still have this house. Your inheritance. My trading, my
portfolio of investments in case- Well, you know. You can always
come back once you're of age. You have a whole world of choices,
son.
"I never really thought you would end up in Wiltshire. You've
studied so hard with Jonathan, you've not had time for anything else.
You'll fall in love and marry one day, set up a home of your own.
Never have the struggles your Pa and I had." She sighed as she looked
around one last time.
"I always thought this would be my home. But Martin and I can't
go on the way we have been, and I'll soon begin to show. It's best if I
just go now."
Ash looked at his mother more closely now, wondering why she
did not meet his gaze. "You didn't tell him we were leaving, did you!"
"No," she admitted with a shake of her head. "We need to go."
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He stared at her as though seeing her for the first time. "I never
took you for a coward, Mother."
"Not a coward, no," she said, shaking her head vehemently. "I just
don't want to do or say anything to hurt Martin."
"And you think this won't hurt him?" he asked incredulously.
She shrugged one shoulder. "He just wanted me as a mistress. He
only asked me to marry him because he was overwrought about what
happened with Cedric.
"It's pretty apparent to me that he'd already ended our liaison
before that. I hadn't seen him for weeks, and he's been unfaithful with
Georgina. Is engaged to her."
Ash's eyes widened in disbelief.
Eswara nodded. "Arabella saw them buying the wedding set with
her own two eyes. He never even tried to disguise the fact that they
were in Bristol and London together. He's treated me with utter
contempt and disregard.
"So I'm not the coward, son, he is. He wanted it over, but didn't
have the nerve to tell me. Or perhaps he was simply wanting to have
his cake and eat it too."
Ash shook his head slowly. "I can't understand it. I mean, I know
they came to the vicarage together for tea, but it didn't strike me that-"
Eswara gave an impatient sweep of her hand. "It doesn't matter. It's
finished. I mean, I've left a note saying goodbye, to be delivered by
Nelly after we've gone. So that will be the end of it."
Ash shook his head. "I think you're wrong about him, Mother. But
it's your life. I can't tell you what to do."
"You can do something for me, though. Promise me that if
anything does happen, you'll tell him. I would never want my infant to
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be sold the way your sister and I were."

Ash nodded. "I promise. If anything were to happen to you, I
would unite Martin with his son or daughter no matter what. The hell
with social convention and what people think."
"You've been spending too much time with that Radical parson
Deveril," Eswara said in her best imitation of Martin's dreadful Uncle
Timberlake.
Ash laughed bitterly. "And dashed proud of it I am too. Mark my
words, Mother. England hasn't seen the last of Ashoka Paignton yet.
I'm going to kick them all in their complacent backsides. And anyone
who has ever called me a black bas-"
"Yes dear, please don't repeat it. You're far more pale than I am."
"Sorry, Mother. Come, lock the door and let's go."
The baggage loaded, they both got in and took up their places in
the coach. Eswara felt her heart sink as her delightful little red brick
house vanished from view.
"Goodbye, Martin," she whispered, allowing a few tears to fall
down her cheeks unchecked.
Ash offered her his handkerchief, and threw one arm around her
for a bear hug.
She curved her face into his shoulder and wept as though her heart
would break.
Martin checked his valise and pockets for the tenth time, trying to
make sure he had everything. Ever since he had been thrown out of
Michael Avenel's house after his crass attempt to propose to Eswara,
he felt as though he couldn't think straight, he missed her so.
He had stormed off to Bristol to sit his exams, and had been
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overjoyed to find that in spite of all he had been through, he had

passed. Nay, more than passed, he had got one of the most impressive
scores possible.
He patted the little certificate Mr. Samuels had given him, before
rifling through the papers tied with red tape. Government bureaucracy
was notoriously slow, but the Duke of Ellesmere had pulled in every
favour he could to nip Cedric Paignton's case against Eswara in the
bud.
When Blake had told him the news first, he had been set to hunt
down and kill with his bare hands the old bastard who had harmed his
family.
But then he had pulled back. There was more than one way to
pluck a chicken, and the bugger was nothing if not a coward. A few
well-chosen questions put to his Uncle Timberlake's servants, and the
assurance of never having to work in such a horrible place again, had
been enough to get them all to give depositions to Geoffrey Branson.
It had soon emerged that Ash had not been the only person Cedric
had tortured and beaten. Not to mention raped. Including the poor girl
whom Martin had met briefly when he had first been helping Eswara
with her patients, who had been thrown at the foot of Eswara's lane
like a discarded piece of rubbish.
The girl had gone back because she had had nowhere else to go,
but she remembered the kindness she had received from Eswara and
Ash, and was more than willing to send all the men who had been
involved to prison, including Martin's uncle.
Martin gave a grim smile. Served the nasty old reprobate right.
With all of the sworn evidence on Eswara's behalf as to where she
had been for the fortnight she was ill, where he himself had been, and
what had happened the day they had rescued Ash from the Grange,
Alistair Grant had made a case for not only dropping all charges
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against Eswara, but prosecuting Cedric to the fullest extent of the law.
If he didn't hang, he would most certainly be transported for life.
Martin sighed in relief. Thank God for Blake. He had also told him
about the misunderstanding with the amethyst necklace caused by
Arabella's seemingly harmless bit of gossip about Martin being in
love and having bought a necklace. And about what everyone had
thought when he had taken Georgina to Bristol and London, and to
Bath to help select Eswara's wedding jewels.
He felt a fool, even though he had had no idea that people had
misinterpreted his friendship with his cousin so wrongly. No wonder
Eswara had been so furious with him. She had been convinced he had
been unfaithful to her, when all he had been doing was studying hard
at Mr. Samuels'.
Well, no woman liked to feel neglected, no matter how practical
the reasons. A fact that he was going to remedy every day for the rest
of his life if only she would have him.
He looked out the window anxiously, and was thrilled to see the
little red house come into sight at last. He would do it right this time.
Tell he loved her, explain everything. Let her know that she didn't
have to leave England, that Cedric would never harm her family
again.
Their family. Not only his son Ash, but more children, a boy, a
couple of girls at the very least. He knew she had said she was too old,
but miracles happened every day.
In fact, as he thought about her nausea in the mornings when she
had been at Michael's, and when she had been so sick the morning
they had awakened by the fire, his heart gave a huge lurch.
Was it possible? The more he thought back to the time he had
spent with her, the more he grew sure. She had not been femininely
indisposed. He would have known. So if she had not been, she had to
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be...
"Hurry up, Wilson, please!" he shouted to the driver.
"Yes, sir."
He leapt out of the carriage and halted as he saw a tall blonde man
in a travel-stained cloak standing in the front doorway of the house.
"Can I help you?" Martin asked.
The man turned and smiled pleasantly. For a moment he looked
vaguely familiar. "I knocked, but there was no answer. I'm Peter
Davison, Arabella's brother. Recently home from India on the Hope.
I'm going to be settling back in England with my wife Leela, and was
told by one of the East Indiamen back in Mumbai that a Mrs. Paignton
would be an excellent person to learn all about the gem and spice
trade from.
"Imagine my surprise when I consulted the directions I had been
given upon arriving here, and she turns out to be living right next to
Blake, and is a friend of his."
Martin nodded and offered his hand to shake. "Yes, very good
friends. She works with him as his assistant. And I'm studying to be
his apothecary. Martin Jerome, Blake's cousin."
"How wonderful. So pleased," he said, returning the pressure of his
hand firmly. "I've heard so much about your wonderful family.
Though you've had a great deal of tragedy, have you not?" he said,
recognising the name and recollecting the story of his sad loss several
years before.
"I have," Martin said, with none of the crushing despair he had
once felt. "But it's all over now. I'm going to be married again, and
happy. Forgive me for asking, but is your wife, Leela, is it, from
India?"
"Yes. Indian mother, English soldier father."
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Martin smiled. "Just like mine. I certainly hope we shall all be

great friends."
"Yes, though it seems we are both out of luck for the moment. No
one appears to be home."
"Perhaps she's with Blake?" Martin guessed.
"No, he's out on call with Belle. We only just arrived from Bristol.
My wife is lying down resting. I thought I would come to take care of
business while she did."
They were about to head over to the doctor's house together to see
if Blake's servants knew anything as to their whereabouts, when a
tearful Nelly opened the door at last. "I'm sorry, I was in the back.
Wasn't sure if I heard rightly."
"What is it, what's wrong?" Martin gasped when he saw her
looking so woebegone.
"I'm allowed to be sad about Mrs. Paignton and the young master
being gone, aren't I?" Nelly sniffed.
"Gone you say?" he gasped. "What do you mean? Where? When?"
"About two hours now. Mayhap three. In the doctor's carriage."
"Where?"
"Bristol. To go home to India. So that nasty man can't put her in
jail."
"Oh God, no. No! It's all over, Nelly, she's safe," Martin said,
beside himself to think that all of his efforts to help her might be for
naught.
Even if she never married him, she couldn't simply run away from
Cedric. It was just too cruel and unfair to uproot her from her splendid
home. "Do you know the name of the ship? When it's leaving?
Anything?"
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Nelly shrugged and wiped her nose with the sleeve of her dark
gown. "I do have a letter she left for you." She dug it out of her
pocket.
Martin waited for her to fish it out impatiently and grabbed it with
trembling hands.
He shredded it open and read,
"My darling Martin,
By the time you get this Ash and I will be journeying home to
India. I feel sure that one day the two of you will see each other
again. But for us this is goodbye forever, at least in this life. You
and I are old souls, destined to meet and part in a never-ending
cycle until the gods see fit to complete the circle and give us peace
at last.
I would have liked to enjoy the peace on earth of being in the
warmth of your embrace as your wife, but alas, it is not to be. You
will no doubt hear soon, if you have not already, that Cedric
Paignton is determined to have me tried for the murder of his son
Cecil. I will do anything to protect Ash, who will not be safe with
me confined to Newgate, so we must go now while we still can.
Thank you for the gift of yourself, for however short a time you
bestowed it upon me. The memory and joy we shared will last me
a lifetime, if not longer. I will always love you, and wish you well
with your new bride.
yours, E.
Martin groaned. "I've got to go! I've got to find her, stop her."
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"Do you need me to come with you?" Peter Davison asked,

alarmed at his companion's pallor.
Martin shook his head. "No, go look after your wife. And if you
love her, never ever let a day pass by without telling her."
He wrung Peter's hand and leapt into the carriage, leaving the
soldier and Nelly staring after him.
"Wilson! Bristol, now. Hurry."
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Chapter Fifty-five
While Martin's carriage thundered toward Bristol, Eswara and Ash
ascended the gangplank onto the Hope, clambering over the cargo and
passengers all scrambling about trying to finish the last-minute
preparations for getting underway.
They had paid a last call to Michael and Bryony in Bath, who had
done their utmost to convince them to stay, and eventually taken
reluctant leave of them and the children to travel to Bristol.
Eswara had kissed them both and held them close, and thought
about her own child within her. Bryony had fled her gilded cage in
Wales to keep them safe. She could certainly do no less for her own
children.
"Take care, my dears, and thank you for everything."
"No, thank you," Michael said, kissing her warmly. "We have you
and Ash to thank for me ever recovering from my injuries after the
war, let alone being so happy together in marriage. You truly are a
healer."
"Your words mean more to me than I can say, just like your
friendship."
Bryony hugged her tearfully. "I had hoped you would be here
when the baby is born, but"
"I will be, in spirit, you know that. And after all, India isn't so very
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far away. And a lot can happen in a year, once Ash reaches his
majority and I'm not his guardian any longer. Old Paignton can't do a
thing to us then. So this is not goodbye, it's just farewell."
"I hope so," Michael said with a smile. "Otherwise, we will have to
come see you."
"We'd love that," Ash said, hugging them both as well.
"Yes, no matter where we are, we're family," Bryony said with a
sniff.
"That means more to us than we can ever say," Eswara said with a
sniff. "But you both have families of your own, you know. Mayhap
the loss of poor Josephine Jerome Stone is a lesson to us all. Perhaps
it's time to forgive those who wish it, and ourselves too," she added,
thinking of Martin, as well as Michael, both so tormented by their
pasts.
"Which is why you should try to come to some sort of deal
with"
"No Bryony, no. And thank you for offering to help, Michael, but
there's no stopping what Cedric has done now. If I don't leave, the
authorities will arrest me. But the two of you, you're innocent. Your
children need grandparents."
The couple looked at each other guiltily.
Michael said with a sigh, "You're right, of course, but it isn't only a
question of forgiveness, but protecting those we love, as you know.
But we promise to think about it."
"Your parents and brothers you have remaining would be
delighted, I'm sure. I can't tell you what I would give to be able to
have had a bit more time with my sister before she died. I had no
choice, my dear, but you do. The war is over now, Michael. And
every one of us has done things we regret."
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He patted her on the shoulder. "Karma, right? The consequences of

our actions."
"Aye. But if it was right action, you have nothing to fear. It's
always the intention behind the action, even if the results are
unfortunate."
"I've never known anyone like you and Ash. You always act with
the best of intentions," he praised. "So all right, if you're sure you
want to head back to India, I'm not going to argue with you any
more." He offered his arm and led her and Ash to the carriage, with
Bryony on Ash's other side.
With a few last words about taking care, the couple got mother and
son into the carriage, and waved goodbye as they set off for Bristol.
Now on the deck of the ship about to take her away from her
beloved forever, Eswara felt as though all the wind had been taken
from her sails.
The gulls screaming overhead as the sun beat down, the musty
stench of the ship, the reek of rotten fish and seaweed, was enough to
render her faint before she ever got anywhere near the tiny box which
was to be their cabin for the next several months.
"Good God, Mother. I can't let you sail like this," Ash protested.
"It's all right. I'll be fine. It's just the heat."
She flapped a hankie in front of her nose and partly rolled up the
sleeves of her summer-weight gold gown while he loosened her cloak
and bonnet strings.
"I'm going to sit on this crate out of the way for a moment to get
my breath. Can you please make sure the bags all get stowed?"
"Aye, but I don't like leaving you."
He didn't sound fully convinced at her explanation, either, she
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noted, his gold eyes boring into her.

After a moment, he asked, "What is it, Mother? What's really
wrong?"
She admitted with a sigh, "I've just had the most crushing sense of
loss. Like when I discovered my sister had been killed in that carpet
factory fire. Or when you and your father were so ill with the swelling
sickness just after you were born. Like I've lost something I'm never
going to be able to recover."
"You don't have to go-"
"I need you to be safe. If we stay I really will lose you. So come,"
she said with a brave smile up at him. "Let's go see the delights of our
cabin, shall we?"
"I think we need to sign in with that gentleman over there. Why
don't you just sit for a minute and watch all the excitement while I go
speak to him, find out where our cabin is."
She nodded, for truth to tell, she wasn't sure if her trembling legs
would be able to hold her upright. "All right, I shall. You always did
adore ships. You were a real little sailor when we came here from
India."
He son flashed her a warm smile, and waved. He headed over to
speak to the man in the dark blue coat.
She dragged in a few deep lungfuls of air, and then began to
observe her surroundings with less trepidation and more interest.
She watched all the luggage and stores coming up the gangplank,
or being lifted by a rope and pulley system. Huge sacks of potatoes,
crates, furniture. Livestock such as sheep, goats and pigs and cows
squealed in terror as they too were loaded on and put in their
respective pens.
The ship would be like a miniature floating city for the next five or
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six months, and she hoped she had packed everything they would
need to pass the time and stay well on the arduous journey.
Well, she would certainly have plenty of time to sit and sew baby
clothes, she thought ruefully, patting her stomach.
The bright May sunshine made her sleepy, so tired that she was
sure she was dreaming, for when she next peeped open her lids to
discover where her son had got to, she saw Martin's face only inches
from her own, his grey eyes silver with barely suppressed passion.
She had never seen him look so handsome, for the lines that had
creased his face when she had first met him were all gone, leaving
nothing but the masculine beauty she had seen beneath his grim
exterior.
She reached out her hand, and started as she touched his cheek. He
was solid. Real. His eyes glowed and she knew her ultimate fantasy
had become flesh.
Yet despite her joy, she was terrified.
"Martin, what are you doing here!" she gasped, trying to rise from
the crate.
He placed his hands upon her shoulder to arrest her flight.
"Coming to ask you to marry me again, Eswara. I went to the house,
and Nelly gave me the note. How could you!" he demanded angrily.
"Sneaking away as though I meant nothing to you!"
"It wasn't that, it's just that things were so difficult, complicated. I
didn't see the point in putting myself through-"
"What about what you've put me through? Oh, I admit it, I've been
a fool. But you've hurt me and yourself by not being honest with me,
trusting me. Trusting that what we have together is truly unique, a gift
from the Heavens, a blessing I never want to have to ever live
without."
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He cupped her chin in his hands, and she was sure he was going to
kiss her. Then she would be well and truly lost.
She pulled her head away from his warm fingers."But Martin, you
don't understand-"
"I know everything. It's you who don't understand, Eswara. Please,
just listen to me for a moment without speaking. Just listen to what I
have to tell you."
She stared and nodded.
He opened the valise and laid out the papers one by one on the
crate beside her. "I know all about Paignton. But he can't hurt you any
more. He's on his way to Newgate awaiting trial for what he did to
Ash and all of my uncle's servants. Blake told me, asked me to sort it
out, so I did. There isn't anything I wouldn't do for you or Ash. All
you would have had to do was ask.
"And you told me you knew all about Bristol. But you didn't, my
love. You thought I was being unfaithful with Georgina. There was a
lot of gossip, but it was all wrong. I never bought her a necklace, I
bought you this one."
He began to put it around her neck as he continued to explain.
"The necklace you saw us discussing was a fake she bought from a
friend in damned low water. You weren't looking at a lover's tiff, you
were seeing her burst into tears because she was still in love with
Oliver Neville.
"I promised to get to bottom of why he had left. We went to Bristol
and London to discover the truth. I was away for so many days and
nights not because I was in love or unfaithful, but because I was
studying with Mr. Samuels in Bristol to pass my first set of
examinations as an apothecary. I wanted to be with you more than
anything, but I also wanted to be worthy of you."
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Her eyes widened as she began to dare to hope

"As for Georgina and I getting engaged, we never were. All she
did was help me select the wedding jewels I wanted to buy my future
wife. You, Eswara. You and only you. Never anyone else. It's always
been you, Eswara, from the moment we met."
He took a few of the boxes out of the valise to show her. They all
matched the necklace he had bought. He was about to bring out the
wedding set, when she shook her head.
"Oh, Martin," she sighed. "I'm so sorry. But surely you can see that
this is impossible. We can't-"
"But everything is fine now. You're a free woman. Paignton can't
hurt you or Ash again. I want you to come home with me and-"
"I'm going home, Martin. To India," she said quietly.
Unconsciously the whole time he had been speaking, she had been
rubbing the small mound of her stomach.
Now he heard her words, saw her gesture, and knew all of his
suspicions were true. Even worse, that she knew, and had chosen not
to tell him.
"You're taking my child away from me, aren't you?" he demanded
furiously, planting his hand on her belly possessively.
He cast a look over at Ash, standing by the railing taking in
everything on the bustling dockside. "Both my children! My
friendship with him wasn't just an empty gesture, or payment for your
services rendered!"
She cringed away from his fury, putting her hands to her ears.
"Damn it, I love you, Eswara. Why won't you please listen! Marry
me!"
She stared at him, and the dam burst at last.
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"Because I love you too much, Martin! Because I'm afraid!

Because everything I've ever cared about I've lost. I can't bear to think
of you one day looking at me with indifference or even contempt. You
will, you know. They'll wear us down. They'll try to separate us."
He pulled her into the warm circle of his arms, cradling her against
his chest tenderly. "It's not true. I only met Peter Davison for five
minutes and he showed me that there are good people out there who
don't care who or what you are except another human being who
deserves kindness and respect."
"I've seen that with our friends the Rakehells. But they're the
exception, not the rule."
"If we have love and faith we can take on the rest of the world," he
insisted.
She looked up and him and began to pull away. "Spoken like a
true optimist. But your servant slammed the door in Ash's face. That
won't be the first time it's happened, nor the last. For Ash, or for this
new child within me."
"We can face all of this together. We're stronger as a group, with
good friends, than broken up and scattered all over the world."
She shook her head. "It is getting harder and harder for Ash to try
to keep his heritage, increasingly difficult for him to he happy here, or
have a chance of being happy back in India. He will be neither fish
nor fowl if he doesn't make a choice soon."
Martin made a low sound in his throat alarmingly like a growl. "So
what will you do, just run away? That's the solution? Turn tail and
flee? No my love, I'm tired of running, tired of hiding what I really
think and feel. Tired of playing in front of everyone in the County the
role of the grieving widower for a woman who wasn't worth your little
finger."
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She wanted to believe him, but it was just so hard.

She stepped away from him, moving toward the railing to look out
over the harbor, too uncertain to risk him touching her again.
"Please, Eswara, let's try it at least. We have nothing to lose. We
have a wonderful life at Millcote, friends all over the district. I know
what my mother's brother said. But he's a Tory, for Heaven's sake.
Obviously deficient in brain cells. Not to mention an old degenerate
who uses his servants like prostitutes. Why would you care about the
opinion of a wretch like that?
"Besides, he loathes everyone. You think what he said to you was
bad, let him discourse on the French for a few minutes. Then you will
know what vitriol really sounds like."
She laughed in spite of herself, and leaned against the railing,
shaking her head. "Us being together, marrying. It's madness," she
sighed.
He took her face in both his hands and rubbed his open mouth
along her eyes, cheeks and lips. She shivered at the thrill.
"Aye, Eswara, loving you is madness. The way my whole body
and mind soar whenever we're together. The way you've crept into my
life, under my skin, into my heart and loins.
"You've taken root there so firmly, that to have you leave now
would tear my heart from my body. Not being able to hear the sound
of your voice, take your hands, touch your hair, your eyelashes, would
be a living hell worse than any I've already been through. If this is
madness, I don't ever want to be sane again."
He had illustrated his words by taking one hand, while the other
began to demolish her coiffure as he pulled her even more tightly to
him, his thumb stroking her eyelid tenderly, in a butterfly kiss.
"You've never said you love me," she pointed out quietly.
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"Love you! God, is that what this has been all about?" he
exclaimed in exasperation. "I didn't think I needed to say it. Or
perhaps I thought I already had. I've certainly said it in my mind a
million times. I've never been very good with words. But if that is the
only thing that will convince you, then I shall remedy my remissness
now."
He took both her hands and kissed their backs and palms. "I love
you, Eswara. Love you heart and body and soul. I worship you inside
and out. There is no part of your person or body or character I can find
a flaw in.
"Believe me, I've been so stung by the past that I've tried very,
very hard. And failed miserably. You've been the blessing of my life
ever since we met. I never want to be parted from you or our children
for even one minute of the day.
"I'm a hopelessly selfish man, I know, but I need you more than
life itself. When you walk out of the room, it's like you take all the
light from it. When you walk in, you take all the air, for I can scare
breathe for looking at your perfect beauty."
She shook her head. "Now you're being excessive."
He stroked her cheek tenderly. "You asked me at the start of our
relationship to be truthful. I'm trying. What is the secret of falling in
love? I'm only guessing, but I think I found at least some of the
answers I've sought. All the men who meet you can see your beauty.
That's obvious. Only I'm able to see that secret something about you
that can only be viewed with eyes of love. The heart within you, the
secret fire.
"I don't know precisely what it is. All I know is I can't live without
it. Without you. Marry me, darling Eswara. Make my life complete.
Perfect. Let me do that for you as well. Please?"
He got down on one knee right on the splintered, weather-beaten
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deck. She looked over in confusion, and could see her son beaming
and nodding so enthusiastically that everyone else on deck turned to
see what he was staring at.
The passengers and crew immediately began to offer sage advice.
"Go on, Miss, don't keep the poor man waiting. Say yes."
"Oh, look how sweet."
"What a lovely couple."
"How romantic."
"Just like the time you proposed to me, dearest. I just wish I were
half as lovely as that young girl," a woman who had to be Eswara's
age sighed nearby.
"Go on, luvvie, anyone can see he's mad about you. Just say yes!"
She gazed up at his earnest silver eyes, swirling darkly with
passion, and took the ultimate leap of faith at last. "Yes, Martin, yes!"
Martin flung his arms around Eswara and kissed her until she was
breathless. Everyone aboard the Hope cheered.
Even a few of the people on the quay looked up and shouted their
congratulations to the stunning couple so much in love.
With trembling fingers Martin fumbled the ring out of his pocket
and slipped it on Eswara's finger. "You won't regret this for a minute,"
he vowed.
"Every day will be filled with warmth and love, every night with
passion. You've been a model mistress, the most devoted and loving
woman a man could ever be fortunate enough to have in his bed.
"But I don't care if you never do another trick in your wonderful
book, darling. The love we make together just speaking, just holding
each other drowsily in the bed, is even more erotic than your
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wonderful inner muscles and all the gymnastic positions in the world.
Just be yourself, be exactly what you are. Perfect without even
trying."
She put both of her palms on his face to give him what she thought
was a sweet kiss. But then, there had never been such a thing between
them. It had always been fiery, passionate. She felt the heated desire
flame from her face to her ankles in a sweeping caress.
The kiss set him alight in an instant as well, so much so that he
wasn't sure he would even be able to make it down the gangplank.
"Oh, Lord, love, we need to get to the carriage quickly. And Ash is
going to have to ride on the box."
She giggled shyly. "We'll drop him off at Jonathan Deveril's on the
way home. He'll understand."
"But we will have a celebration with the whole family tomorrow,
all right?"
"You family and mine?" she said worriedly.
"Ours from now on."
She nodded wordlessly and took his hand.
"Ash, come on, help me get your things. We're going home."
"Hurrah! I can't wait to get back to my frogs and leeches."
"Oh, you," she giggled, and accepted her son's hearty hug before
he headed off to reclaim their baggage and tell the man in the blue
coat they would not be making the trip to India after all.
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Chapter Fifty-six
The coach ride back to Millcote passed in a haze of ecstasy as
Martin brought Eswara to peak after peak of shivering delight with his
mouth and hands. But he refused to make love to her fully until they
got home.
"I'm going to scream the place down and frighten the horses and
Ash if we do," he rasped against her dainty ear as he nibbled it
intently when she had quietened for a moment.
"They won't mind."
"Well I do. Some things should be private, remember?"
"They know what we're doing. Ash is a smart young man you
know, with some experience and a good imagination."
"Still, there's no sense in rubbing his nose in it, after all."
"True."
Ash got down off the box at the vicarage, and kissed his mother
through the window. "Be happy, you two." He winked. "But then, you
already are. Congratulations. Martin, can I call you Pa now?"
Martin could barely get the words passed his suddenly constricted
throat. He clapped the young man on the shoulder. "It would be an
honour. We shall celebrate tomorrow. We'll come pick you up on the
way to Barton."
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Ash hugged and kissed him too, and called up to the driver. "See
you tomorrow." He waved goodbye as the coach headed off.
Martin smiled at her, and she could see the tears shimmering in his
eyes. "My son. Sons." He put his hand on her stomach. "You were
right all along. Love begets love. The more you give, the more you
receive."
She melted in his arms once more, and it was only with the most
extreme exertion of his willpower that he pulled away from her just
before they reached the outskirts of Millcote, and began to fasten his
clothes.
"Almost there. Then you can unfasten them all over again," Eswara
said pertly.
"Tell Nelly she can have the rest of the week off," he said, moving
to button her gown and covering her with her cloak despite the heat of
the day.
Giving Nelly her new orders only took a moment. Once the door
safely closed behind her, Martin swung Eswara up into his arms and
carried her to her room.
They stripped each other's bodies bare in a frenzy of desire, surged
against one another, and climaxed in an instant. There were no
refinements, there was no titillation. One stroke and it was over. But
neither of them were complaining. It was just the first course in a
banquet of delights they knew awaited them. It had served to take the
edge off their hunger long enough for them to think straight, and relax
at last.
As Martin said when he rolled onto his back with a smug grin,
"This is what you do to me every time you look at me, love. It's raw
and wild and very very earthy and real. I mean, I adore the treasuring
part, but I love it even more when you just melt in my arms. When
you just kiss me like this."
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The honeyed sweetness of the kiss set them off once more, and
they made love again like two starving people who hadn't eaten in
ages. Every touch, stroke, kiss, set them higher and higher, and if
either of them had any doubts about themselves or each other, they
were put to rest at last through the powerful mystical union that knew
no beginning, and no end.
At one point they rolled perilously close to the edge of the bed and
he laughed throatily. "Oh no you don't, love. No more wheelbarrows
for you, my darling little mistress. Soon to be wife. Not until after the
baby is born at any rate." He sobered. "When do you think it will be?"
"About another five months."
His jaw dropped. "Oh lord. All this time... Damn, no wonder I
never realized. You must have become pregnant the first time we
ever..."
"It certainly looks like it." She smiled ruefully. "So much for my
barren widow too old to conceive theory."
He stopped thrusting and cradled her against him tenderly now,
panting, "I couldn't be more happy. We'll pop over to Brimley and
have Jonathan marry us-"
She shook her head. "But I'm not a Christian, remember? I don't
know what the rules are-"
He stroked down the long curve of her back soothingly. "Neither
do I, I have to admit, but we'll solve the problem together. We can ask
Blake's brother-in-law Peter. He and his wife Leela had to go through
the same thing, I'm sure. They'll know what to do."
She shifted her hips away from him at last to relax against him and
let them catch their breath. "I know it will be a big step, but I don't
mind converting if you think-" Then her breath caught in her throat.
Martin carried on, failing to notice her altered expression. "No. We
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don't pay lip service to anyone or anything. We don't conform if we

feel something is wrong. Or at least not right for us, do you
understand? Loving me doesn't mean you have to give up any part of
yourself that you don't wish to relinquish."
"Did you say Leela?" she asked through numb lips.
He considered for a moment. "I'm pretty sure that's what he said."
"Where are they now?" she said urgently, recalling the bizarre
sensation she had had whilst sitting on the deck of the Hope.
He looked at her in confusion. "Who?"
"Arabella's step-brother and his wife."
"Staying with them, I think."
Eswara leapt out of the bed and dragged her gold gown back over
her head, not even troubling with underclothing or shoes. She was
already half way down the stairs before Martin even thought to follow
her.
"Eswara, love, what on earth-"
"I need to know. I need to see if the circle really is complete."
"What?"
But she was already out the front door. She ran through the woods
as fleetly as a deer, hardly daring to hope.
Martin follow on as soon as he could, not quite decently clad in
only a flapping shirt, trousers and boots, but alarmed at his wife's
sudden flight and determined to follow her.
Twilight was setting in, and the old trees creaked ominously in the
breeze as he headed down the drive and onto the road.
The road which had first led him to Eswara. The road which had
led his wife and nearly himself toward death.
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But death was also rebirth-Eswara had taught him that. Now the
darkness and shadows were not so fearsome.
Of course, now he knew he was not alone. That he was loved. And
capable of loving as he had never loved before.
Eswara's breath was coming in great spasms by the time she ran up
to Blake's door and pounded with all her might.
Arabella answered the door, a look of surprise on her face when
she saw Eswara on the door step, her hair tumbling around her
shoulders, clad in an exquisite golden gown, barefoot, panting and
wild-eyed. "What on earth-"
"Your sister-in-law. Leela. Where is she?"
Arabella felt a sudden chill. What was going on? "T-t-they went
for a walk in the woods before supper. They'll be back soon-"
But Eswara was already haring off deep into the forest as fast as
her trembling legs would carry her.
Martin caught sight of her through the trees, heading straight for
the clearing he had dreaded for so long.
"Eswara, my love, wait for me!"
Martin tried to run, but froze for a moment in shock, almost
blinded by the dazzling brilliance of the last rays of the sun. They
illuminated the rainbow which soared over the clearing.
He shook his head. It had been dry all day, without so much as a
drop of rain. He blinked and stared, and blinked again.
For now he looked at the gold clad figure of the woman he loved,
and it was almost as if Eswara had been split down the middle,
transformed into not one but two radiant creatures. He had to be
seeing things.
But no. One gold-clad figure was now flanked by a tall man in a
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bright red coat.

Fear lent him speed as he raced for the clearing. "Eswara!"
Eswara hardly dared touch the being before her. She drank in the
long dark hair, the golden eyes. The figure was both a mirror image
and the other half of herself. The part she thought had died with her
innocence when they had been split apart by her evil uncle. When she
had been sent to the brothel and her sister to the carpet factory.
At last she found her tongue. "It is you. Leela. My sister."
The young woman stared back, the heart grasping what the mind
could scarcely believe. "Mrs. Paignton? Eswara?"
She nodded, her heart too full to speak.
Then they were in each other's arms and began to weep, while the
two men stared at the alchemy which had wrought two so similar, yet
so very different women. Their wives.
Eswara was the first to come to her senses. "Come, come home
with us, and tell me everything," she said, holding out her hand to her
sister and her new brother-in-law.
Peter grinned as he squeezed his wife around the shoulders. "I'll go
tell Blake and Belle what's happened, and be right over."
Martin held out his hand for the young soldier to shake, and smiled
broadly. "Tell them to come too. We're all family now."
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Chapter Fifty-seven
Many hours later, after the sisters had talked themselves almost
hoarse catching up on almost twenty years in only a few hours, Peter
insisted it was time to put his exhausted wife to bed.
Eswara didn't want to let Leela out of her sight for an instant, but
Blake convinced her that the Davisons would not be going anywhere.
"They're staying, and Peter is resigning his Army commission. I
think between the two of us we can manage to help them make a good
home for themselves here in Somerset."
They all kissed good night warmly, with assurances that they
would see each other first thing in the morning.
At last Martin had Eswara all to himself once more. He closed the
door and swung her up into his arms, and took the stairs two at a time.
"I adore your sister Leela, darling," he told her as he laid her down
on the bed gently, "but I worship you and want to have you all to
myself. Does that make me a bad person?"
She stroked the back of his neck and face. "Not at all. I just can't
believe how lucky I am. In all this time I never imagined Leela could
still be alive. Let alone that I would ever see her again even if I had
known."
"And did you notice where you met today, darling?" he asked,
stripping her golden gown over her head, before baring his own body
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to her glowing gaze.

"The clearing." Understanding dawned in her eyes, and alarm.
"The clearing. The tree. Your tree!"
He nodded. "Except now when I see it I will always think of the
vision of your radiance and your sister's. Two golden goddesses
chasing back the darkness, the twilight. The rainbow. I love you so
much, Eswara. I can't wait for us to be married."
She sighed as she snuggled against his lean warm frame. "It's such
a big step, darling. I just don't want you to ever feel you've sacrificedMartin shook his head. He began to shower her face in kisses as
light as thistledown. "You've give me everything, Eswara. The only
thing I've had to sacrifice is my anger, bitterness and regret. In return
I've found such love and joy and a new family that my heart is full to
bursting."
"It might not be like that forever," she warned with a sigh. "Every
couple faces problems, and with our children-"
He lifted his head to look at her, his silver eyes radiant with love.
"Our life together will be wonderful. I'm sure of it. I know my grasp
of the concept of reincarnation is shaky at best, but from what I've
read and understood, I sincerely do believe we've know each other
before in a past life. We recognised each other's inner being, animus,
in some sort of a shadowy way, I'm sure of it.
"I was so fiercely attracted to you as a woman that first time we
ever met, I didn't even know what was happening to me. Nothing had
prepared me for the cataclysmic nature of true love. My whole body
vibrated. My whole soul was aquiver from the moment I laid eyes on
you. Heard your voice even, right through the front door of the house
as I stood outside longing for warmth and shelter. You were singing,
remember?"
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"Aye, my darling, I remember everything. It was the same for me,

love at first sight."
"That first time we made love, it was like, like the night of the
snowstorm when I walked into the house. It was my coming home at
last. Warmth and tenderness and excitement, passion, mystery. A
mystery I don't ever hope to be able to fathom, but will be glad to
delve deeply into for the rest of our lives," Martin said with a loving
smile, moving his hips to illustrate his enthusiastic words.
"Oh, my love," she breathed, kissing him as she had done that very
first time.
Her soul and body rose up to greet his, to revel and bask in the
warm glow she had felt once before from within, and fled from in
fear.
Now Eswara opened herself to it fully, and as Martin joined as one
within her she could hear all his thoughts, feel all his emotions and
desires in an instant.
His arms came up around her. Instantly the raw pleasure which his
every touch evoked flooded her from tip to toe.
He pulled her astride him, pressing down her hips whenever she
lifted them, thrusting upwards at the same time, until her cheeks
suffused and she panted her name between her moist, parted lips.
bottom with both huge hands, arching her backwards so that the
friction between her thighs made her gasp and shiver all the more. Her
zenith raced and burst through her like a rocket in flight.
His unleashed passion matched her own as he filled her, wrapping
his arms around her supple waist as though he would never let her go.
The power and force of his love surged like the sea, and she knew
once again that this miracle, of love like nothing she had ever know,
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ever dreamt could exist, was hers. All hers for the asking, now that
they had had the courage to reach out to each other with hearts open
fully to love.
The miracle no longer eluded her, for everything was bright, shiny,
full of hope. The surging seas of their sensuality supported them,
buoyed them up for more bliss. There was no longer any seeking, any
anguish, any threat of separation.
It was all here, her five senses filling, even as he filled her to the
brink.
Martin shared this perfect peace amid the storm of their passion,
free from the past, all his secrets laid to rest. The tumultuous tide of
his need had blinded him to what was real and true, but he had seen it
in the glade that evening, the dark glade illumined by a rainbow, and a
love so pure it had spanned the earth and two decades of separation,
only to burn more brightly than before.
Now he could see that despite his claim to love her, he had never
opened up to Eswara fully. But there was no holding him back now.
Their lovemaking in the past, cataclysmic as it had been, was
supposed to have been an act of worship, part of the divine within
them both.
Instead they had lied, both lied, and had nearly paid the ultimate
price.
But the gods had seen fit to spare them, and as Martin had vowed
after the loss of his poor cousin Josephine, he would seize every
moment he got to spend with this incredible woman, and never take a
second of it for granted.
He kissed her with a heart full of love, promising forever. She
returned the kiss with all her heart, and the promise too.
All their doubts about each other, but even more, about
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themselves, about their life, past, present, and future, were removed at
last. Eswara and Martin knew the circle of their karma was complete.
They had found their nirvana within each other, and would never be
parted in this lifetime, or a thousand more.
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Author's Note:
As a romance writer, I feel that an essential part of my work is to
capture fully what I feel is the essence of falling in love: The true joy
and mystery, the miracle of two souls touching in a uniquely intimate
way.
Having been fortunate enough to have experienced it in my own
life, I'm sure I'm not the only one who can relate to these feelings, and
to the marvelous alchemy of two people meeting and sharing a bond
which is both physical and metaphysical.
No matter what one's religious beliefs, the importance of love is a
central tenet in all major religions. And while Tantric sexual practices
are gaining in popularity in books (and popular fiction), let me just
say here that even if a person is not in a romantic relationship, there is
also the white Tantra, sharing of oneself in a non-sexual way which
Ash begins to explore.
What is the point of complaining about not meeting 'the right guy,'
or not being satisfied, if you have no idea of what makes you happy?
And what is the point of holding on to past hurts if they prevent one
from feeling present or future bliss?
The joy of making another happy is actually one of the most sure
ways of finding happiness yourself. I hope you've enjoyed seeing poor
Martin find bliss at last, and Eswara come into her own as a fully
fledged heroine ripe for love.
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As the series has continued, I have tried to keep to a

straightforward chronology for those books which take place in
England. Arabella Neville Sanderson's step-brother Peter Davison's
story of how he came to meet Eswara's long lost sister Leela also
needs to be told, but my inspiration is not always as logical as I would
like it to be. Rest assured, it is coming soon!
Ash is of course a very sexy young chap, so we shall see him later
in the series when he falls in love the woman who will make his life
utter rapture. We will also be seeing other old friends (and enemies?)
along the way!
Will Michael Avenel's mysterious past finally be revealed, so he
can be reunited at last with his family? What new Rakehells will be
coming home to London and Somerset?
Until next time, I am always delighted to hear from my fans at
http://www.herstorybooks.com.
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Sorcha MacMurrough
HerStory Books
502

Sorcha MacMurrough - Rakehell Regency 09 - The Model Mistress PDF

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The Model Mistress

Book Nine of The Rakehell Regency Series

science lab!" Under the Covers Reviews

"Her gift of love is a double-edged sword, though, for the more

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Dedication: To all my friends and family, and to the great winter

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Vanessa Stone, nee Hawkesworth, his wife, a great scholar

Alexander Davenport, her husband, a Rakehell, merchant, and

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December 31st, 1816

sleet. No, he simply had to press on.

Martin dragged himself to his feet once more, a fit of

Squaring his shoulders and dusting off as much as he could of the

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He drained the dirty water and refilled the sink. He scrubbed

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suggesting she was completely naked underneath. In fact, she was

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"Yes, you turned right instead of left."

he seemed to recall Blake having told him about a wonderful lady

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"Good. Nice to have someone with a healthy appetite to cook for.

topics more conducive to good digestion."

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"Are you all right?"

being injured. He couldn't presume upon them due to an accident of

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son and her work were her whole life.

favoured by the gods?

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night. "I know. I can't remember the whole story-"

sumptuous breakfast," he added, admiring the bacon, egg, sausage,

science, but I would also like to be a man of philosophic thought. I

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"I'll help," Ash offered at once.

Martin felt almost relieved at having such a good excuse to remain

nosebleed that I can see."

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"Come on, Martin, Mother. It's grand in here."

He blew out a trembling breath. What on earth was wrong with

"Mrs. Paignton mentioned a music room?"

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he began to feel more at ease, not quite so tense and anxious.

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continuing to exist on earth. 'Eternal life' consists of ceasing to exist in

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Stop it now. He is a child. Perhaps not in age, but emotionally....

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tidying the burgundy and gold drawing room.

Martin in the eye without a telltale tripping of the heart.

"I'm afraid I've nothing stronger in the house at present. Ash

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energy flowing through my body. The objective is to maintain an

"Drat. I see what you mean by hard."

"I don't mind a guest for supper."

"You are a talented caregiver. I'm very well."