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But then her mother had told her so many different stories, changing with her mood and her need for the drugs on which she’d been dependent. Keira pushed her laptop away from her with an awkward panic-stricken movement that betrayed what she was feeling.
She was not like her mother. She was her own self—an individual who had the power of authority and choice over what she did. No man could make her choose to want him against her will. No man—but what about her own emotions? Emotions? What Jay had aroused within her had nothing to do with emotions. Her desire for him had been sexual, that was all. Nothing more. That was impossible. Just like desiring him in the first place had also been impossible?
Keira’s panic increased. She got up and went to the window, but looking down into the courtyard was a mistake. It might be bathed in sunlight now, but inside her head she could still picture it shadowed by moonlight, with Jay’s body and her own shadowed along with it. In those shadows they had touched and kissed, and she had—but, no—she must not think of that.
She had an appointment in half an hour, to meet up with the fabric merchant, who had telephoned her to tell her that her samples had arrived. He had offered to bring them to the palace, but Keira had told him that she would go to him.
She had fallen in love with the city, and readily used any excuse to see more of it. She felt so at home here, so at peace—or rather she would have if she hadn’t been dreading Jay’s return.
The city had been laid out in a geometric grid of streets and squares. From the main square, opposite the palace, a network of narrow pedestrian streets branched out from the straight ceremonial main road that led to the city’s main gates, along which in previous centuries the formal processions of maharajas and other dignitaries had passed.
It was these streets, with their stalls and artisan workshops, that fascinated Keira even more than the elegant palaces of the rich. Behind them lay the bavelis, the townhouses of the city’s original eminent citizens, each of them an individual work of art in its own right.
As always, the rich mingling of scents and sounds absorbed Keira’s attention. The sound of temple bells mingled with the laughter of children and the urgent cries of shopkeepers wanting to sell their merchandise.
Knowing she had time in hand, Keira made a detour from her destination that took her past the bazaar, famous for selling rose, almond, saffron and vetiver-flavoured sherbets. In the flower market workers were busy weaving garlands and making floral offerings for templegoers, and when she cut through the jewellery quarter of the bazaar Keira had to force herself not to be tempted to linger outside the shops of the lac bangle sellers.
These were the sights and sounds of Jay’s home—the place where he had been born, the place where his family had ruled for so many generations. Where his family still ruled. Jay wasn’t merely a successful and wealthy entrepreneur, he was also a member of one of India’s royal families. His brother was the Maharaja. It was no wonder that he had that air of arrogance and pride about him. No wonder that he believed he could command others to his will.
But it wasn’t the command of his royal status that she feared. Rather, it was the command of his essential sensuality—and he would have had that no matter what rank he had been born to, she suspected.
The merchant greeted her with great ceremony, bowing his head so much that Keira momentarily feared for the fate of his ornate turban. His daughter-in-law brought them tea, her sweet, shy smile echoing those of her children. She looked outstandingly pretty in her crimson and blue embroidered ghaghara gathered skirt, her odhni tucked into the waist of her skirt. She pulled the odhni round to drape it modestly over her head, her movements delicate and graceful, her hands and feet carefully patterned with henna.
When Keira saw the fabrics the merchant was spreading out on the floor in front of her she felt her heart skip a beat in delight. She studied the samples that were so excellently in tune with her own ideas, combining as they did tradition with a certain stylish modern twist.
‘My cousin would like to invite you to visit his factory, so that you can see more of their work,’ the merchant told her.
‘Go to his town?’ Keira queried excitedly ‘Oh, yes. I would love to.’
