Stranger in My Arms(41)

“I knew a number of Indians who had the audacity to believe they could actually govern themselves.”

“Did you?” There was a long pause, while Tyler’s gaze suddenly acquired a malicious gleam. “How interesting.

According to your reputation, you’ve rejected the idea of provincial autonomy for the natives.”

“I changed my mind,” Hunter snapped.

“The Indians have proved that they are not ready for such responsibility,” Tyler rejoined. “A society which is rife with widow-burning, infanticide, brigandage, idol worship-” “None of which have been helped by British intervention in matters that are none of our damned business,” Hunter said, ignoring the gasps around the table at his profanity.

“What about Christianity? I suppose you’re going to claim that the Indians haven’t benefitted from that, either?”

Hunter shrugged. “Let them have their gods.

They’ve done well enough with them. I doubt the average Hindu or Muslim is worse than any so-called Christian of my acquaintance.”

The entire table was silent at the sacrilegious statement.

Then Captain Tyler burst out laughing, providing relief from the tension, and smiles appeared as the group tacitly decided to treat the debate as a joke.

The rest of the dinner passed without incident, although Lara found it hard to keep from staring at her husband. She had rarely discussed politics with Hunter, as he’d had no interest in a woman’s opinion on such issues. However, there was no doubt that he had once wholeheartedly approved of the British interference in India. How was it that he now apparently held the opposite view?

It took an eternity for the dinner party to end, with the rituals of after-dinner port and tea passing slowly, the guests staying until after midnight. Finally the last one had left, and the servants began to clear away the remaining plates and glasses and silver. Lara made an attempt to slip away to her room, reasoning that Hunter had drunk too much to notice or care where she went. Just as she reached the grand staircase, he caught her arm in one large hand, startling her.

Lara spun to face him, her heart jumping high in her throat. Hunter reeked of port, his eyes were glazed and his color was high, and he wasn’t quite steady on his feet. “Drunk as an emperor,” her father would have put it. Some men in that condition were as mellow as cattle, while others were loud and boisterous. Hunter was neither of those things. There was a sullen curve to his mouth and a dangerous moodiness in his expression.

“Where do you think you’re going?” he asked, his grip firm on her arm.

With a stab of alarm, Lara realized that he had every intention of eeing their bargain satisfied that night. She would have to find some way of putting him off. With him in this condition, she was not about to display herself in a provocative negligee.

The worst nights of her life had begun like this, with Hunter drinking heavily and forcing himself on her.

“I thought I would leave you to enjoy another glass or two of port,” she said, forcing her trembling lips into the semblence of a smile.

“And hope I would drink myself into a stupor,” he finished for her, returning her faltering smile with a sardonic one of his own. “You won’t be that lucky, sweet.”

He began to pull her upstairs, like a tiger dragging its prey to a convenient location for snacking. Miserably Lara stumbled along beside him. “You haven’t seemed yourself this evening,” she ventured, then reflected inwardly that he never seemed himself-it was impossible to know what to expect from him.

“Why did you take such an exception to Captain Tyler?”

“Oh yes, the Tylers.” His voice was smooth and controlled, but somehow it stung like a whip. “Tell me, my sweet… how did they come to be at my table this evening?”

“They’ve leased Morland Manor,” she said uneasily. “I’d heard that Captain Tyler had served in India, and I thought you would enjoy meeting him.”

They reached the top of the stairs, and he jerked her to face him.

Lara winced as his gaze raked over her face. He looked furious, accusatory, as if she had somehow betrayed him. “Hunter,” she said softly, “what have I done wrong?”

After a moment some of the rage left him, though his eyes still contained a dangerous glitter, and he seemed to be battling ugly memories. “No more surprises,” he muttered, giving her a little shake for emphasis. “I don’t like them.”

“No more surprises,” Lara repeated, hoping that the storm had passed.

Hunter took a deep breath and let go of her. He scratched his head with both hands, dragging his fingers through his hair until the thick locks were a disheveled mass of sun-shot gold and brown. He seemed weary, and Lara thought suddenly that he might go to his bed in search of sleep.

Hunter punctured her budding hopes with one curt sentence. “Go and change into the negligee.”

She was left stuttering. ..... . but you couldn’t possibly…

I think another night would be…”

“Tonight.”! He smiled slightly, his face dark and satyric. “I’ve been waiting all day to have a look at you. A barrel of wine wouldn’t be enough to stop me, much less a bottle or two.”

“I’d rather wait,” Lara said with a pleading gaze.

“Go now,” he murmured. “Or I’ll assume that you want me to help you change.”