SILK AND SECRETS (50 page)

A chill wave swept through Juliet and she began shivering. So finally the end had come.

Ross stood, then tugged her to her feet with the hand he still held. Raising her fingers to his lips, he kissed them once, very tenderly, then released them. “I’ll sleep in the room I stayed in on my first visit. Tomorrow, if you’ll give me an escort, I’ll leave for Teheran. The sooner this is over, the better for both of us.”

She bit her lip to keep from crying out, but nodded assent.

Ross turned and walked across the room, his footsteps inaudible on the thick carpet. She watched his retreating back, memorizing every detail. His height and smooth, controlled stride; the way the brown chapan swung from his wide shoulders; the crisp gold waves of his hair, which needed cutting and almost brushed the top of his shoulders.

He opened the door, stepped through without looking back, then pulled it shut behind him.

It was over.

Juliet was not sure how long she sat on the divan staring sightlessly across the room. Knowing that she deserved everything he had said and more didn’t make the agony any easier to endure. Strange how many kinds of misery could exist side by side, each separate and distinct. Stranger yet was that in the midst of so many deeper pains, there was still room to feel a very personal kind of humiliation over his refusal to spend the night with her.

The very walls seemed to radiate the anguish of what had happened in the last hour, and suddenly Juliet felt that she would suffocate if she stayed in the room an instant longer. After slipping on a pair of sandals, she went outside and crossed the wide courtyard, then climbed to the top of the massive wall that surrounded the fortress. Like a medieval European castle, the wall was wide enough for several people to walk abreast, and there was a parapet to protect defenders.

It was late, and most of Serevan slept, except for the handful of guards in the watchtowers. Juliet began walking along the wall, distantly grateful for the cooling breeze and the sense of openness. It was a beautiful scene, the light of a waxing moon silvering the rugged hills, but dramatic scenery was no antidote for a dark night of the soul.

From the western side of the fortress she could see the hills drop down toward the Kara Kum, whose sands then rolled off to Bokhara. Dully she turned away, not wanting to think of all that had happened since the last time she had paced these walls.

As she began walking again, she saw that someone else was out prowling the night. When she first saw the tall bareheaded figure leaning against the parapet, her heart gave a lurch of fear that it might be Ross. Then the man heard her footsteps and glanced in her direction, and she saw that it was Ian.

In the week since his rescue from the Black Well, they had scarcely talked at all, and not just because the arduous desert journey had not been conducive to casual conversation. Her brother’s imprisonment seemed to have changed him in some fundamental way; he had turned inward so much that it was difficult to remember the exuberance that had once been his most notable characteristic. Considering what he had endured, such change was not surprising, but now he was almost a stranger and she was unsure how to talk to him.

The last thing she wanted was company, but since he had seen her, she couldn’t turn away. With some reluctance she went to join him, hoping that the darkness would conceal the marks of distress on her face. However, the moonlight was bright enough to show that her brother looked much better: relaxed, shaved, and with his hair trimmed to European length. “Quite an improvement,” she remarked.

“Amazing what solid sleep, a good meal, and a visit to the bathhouse will do for one’s mind and body,” he said as he turned to face her.

She gestured at his right eye, which was now covered by a neat black patch. “Very dashing.”

“I don’t know about that, but at least I won’t frighten any small children.” Absently he fingered the eye patch. “This happened when the amir’s men tried to beat a confession of espionage out of me. The other eye was injured at the same time, but it healed without permanent damage.”

“Thank God for that,” she said fervently. “You were lucky.”

“So I was. Losing the sight in one eye is a nuisance, but losing both would be a disaster.” He turned back to the wall and gazed out toward the desert. “In a fortnight or so, I should be ready to go down to the Persian Gulf and take ship back to India.”

Juliet frowned, not wanting him to go before they had a chance to make up for some of the lost years. “There’s no need to rush—you can stay as long as you like.” She poked his ribs with a gentle forefinger. “I’d like to fatten you up. Also, Mother is waiting in Constantinople for Ross to return—she swore that she wouldn’t go home until he came back safely. At this season, it would take only a few weeks for you to go there, and she would be ecstatic to see you. Your survival will confirm her maternal intuition that you hadn’t died.”

“”For once, her instincts were right.“ Ian smiled a little, the pale moonlight illuminating his thin face. ”I’d like to see her, but I can’t take that much time. Remember, I’m an army officer and must return to duty and report on what happened. Besides, I have… other obligations in India.“

“I’m sorry, I forgot that Ross said you were engaged. Tell me what your fiancee is like.”

“Georgina?” He hesitated. “Beautiful and charming. Blond hair and blue eyes. Her father’s a colonel, so she’ll make a wonderful army wife. She always knows exactly what to say and do.” After another pause he added, “She was the most sought-after girl in northern India.”

Depressingly, her future sister-in-law sounded like the sort of female who would disapprove of Juliet. “Will Georgina and I like each other?”

“Well, I don’t think you will dislike each other.” Ian shook his head, then braced taut hands on the top of the stone wall as he said with sudden frustration, “Every day in that damned hellhole I thought of Georgina. She became a symbol of everything clean and sane and whole— of everything I was afraid that I would never feel again. Yet in my mind, her face is a blur—I can’t even remember what she looks like.”

“That’s hardly surprising, considering that almost two years have passed since you saw her,” Juliet said soothingly. “India must seem distant and dreamlike now, but when you return to your old life, everything will fall into place.”

“I don’t know if I can return to my old life,” he said, his voice low and bleak. “Everything I believed in has been broken, and I don’t know if the pieces will go back together again.”

Her brother’s despairing words made Juliet feel closer to him than at any time since they had met in Bokhara, for in their sorrow they were truly kin. She laid her hand on top of his where it rested on the cool stone. “Give it time, Ian,” she said softly. “You’ve been free for only a week. And after all you’ve been through, it won’t be surprising if the emotional damage takes longer to heal than the physical.”

She had wanted to comfort him, but to her horror, her words undermined her own frail self-control. As grief surged through her, she bent her head in a vain attempt to hide her tears.

Distracted from his own misery, Ian said with concern, “What’s wrong, Juliet? Something to do with Ross?”

“He’s leaving for England tomorrow. I don’t suppose we’ll ever see each other again.” She wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her silk caftan, then said helplessly, “Oh, Ian, I’ve made such a mess of things. A dozen years ago I left Ross in a fit of temporary insanity, then compounded my mistakes until they were unforgivable. Now it’s too late.”

“Ross won’t take you back?” Ian said, surprised. “I’ve always thought he was one of the most understanding men I’ve ever known, and he certainly seems to love you still.”

She shook her head. “He wants me to go with him, but I can’t. He doesn’t know what really happened, and I can’t bear to tell him.” Her voice broke. “I’m hurting him terribly, but telling him the truth would hurt him even more.” For a moment, her husband’s words repeated themselves in her mind:
I can’t think of a single damned thing you could reveal that would make me feel worse that I feel right now.

The problem was, Juliet knew better than that.

“What happened?” Ian asked gently. “Is it something that you could tell a brother, if not a husband?”

Juliet considered pouring out the whole sordid tale, but her stomach curdled at the thought. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t tell anyone. I just can’t.”

“Try,” Ian said crisply. “If you have a secret that affects Ross, it’s selfish to keep it to yourself. Let him make up his own mind.” His voice softened. “More than that, happiness is a fragile commodity, easily lost and not easily regained. Don’t throw it away because you did something stupid a dozen years ago.” His arm went around her shoulders. “When you wrote and told me you were getting married so young, I thought you were insane,” he said reminiscently. “Then I came for the wedding and met Ross, and decided
he
was insane for wanting to marry a hellcat like my little sister.”

Hurt, Juliet tried to pull away, but her brother’s arm tightened around her. “Show the head of your family some respect, vixen,” he ordered, a trace of humor in his voice. “The fact is, you two are uniquely suited to each other. It was true when you married and it’s even more true now. Don’t let something so precious be destroyed without trying your damnedest to save it.”

No longer able to control herself, Juliet began to cry, deep, painful sobs that racked her entire body. Her brother’s other arm came around her, warm and reassuring. In spite of his thinness, he had the tenacious strength of steel wire.

Ian held her until her tears had abated. Then he murmured, “When we were children, I thought you were the bravest person in the world, and it pushed me to the limits of my courage to keep up with you. Use that bravery now. Don’t let fear prevent you from telling Ross the truth. He may well surprise you.”

Juliet made a noise that was somewhere between a laugh and a hiccup. “You thought I was brave? When I followed you on your escapades, I was usually terrified but didn’t dare admit it for fear you’d be disgusted and never let me go with you again.”

“Really? Then it’s a miracle we didn’t get killed while trying to prove our fearlessness to each other.” He brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of his knuckles. “Go and be brave, Juliet. Cowardice costs more and hurts worse.”

She closed her eyes and laid her head against Ian’s shoulder, hoping that some of his tempered strength would flow into her. Telling Ross what had happened was not what would take the most courage, though God knew that confession would be excruciatingly difficult.

Yet tell him she must. Because the subject was so painful that she was incapable of reason, she had never, until Ian had pointed it out, seen how selfish her secretiveness was. She had not wanted to have Ross hate her, yet hatred was the one thing that might persuade him to end their marriage.

As he had said, she owed him the truth, and in a very real sense the truth would set him free. Not her; she was imprisoned in a cage of her own forging, but for Ross’s sake she must find the strength to reveal all that had happened in Malta. Not only would it free him, but it would also reduce his anguish, for he would no longer grieve so much for what might have been.

It would be a strange gift of love, but it was the greatest one within Juliet’s power, and it would be the ultimate test of her courage. Opening her eyes, she said unevenly, “Very well, Ian, once more you’ve shamed me into pretending that I’m braver than I really am. I’ll do what I should have done long since.”

“Good girl. I always knew you could do anything.”

“Fooled you again,” she said with a watery chuckle. Then, with a surge of tenderness, she exclaimed, “I’m so glad you’re alive, Ian.”

“So am I.” He hugged her shoulders. “Amidst all the high drama of escaping from Bokhara, I never said a proper thank-you, but believe me, I am intensely grateful for what you and Ross did, and Mother too. I’m lucky to have such a family.”

More words were not needed, for the silence was warm with the closeness Juliet had feared was gone forever. For that, if for nothing else on this dreadful night, she was profoundly glad.

Knowing that her resolution would not last long, Juliet went to her bedroom only long enough to comb her hair, splash cold water on her face, and fortify herself with several handkerchiefs—large businesslike ones, not the frilly decorative kind. Then she took an oil lamp and made her way through the dark passages to Ross’s room.

The door was unlocked, so she entered and hung the lamp on a hook, then went to the bed and looked down on her husband. Even in sleep, his face looked strained.

When she touched his shoulder, his eyes opened instantly and his whole body went rigid, but he did not move. After a long moment of mutual study he said, “I sincerely hope that this is not a misguided attempt to seduce me into temporary compliance.”

Ross wasn’t going to make this easy for her. “No such thing. I’m here because I decided that you were right, I do owe you the truth, no matter how painful it is.” Her voice wavered. “Just don’t say later that I didn’t warn you.”

“Then what happens?” He pushed himself up in the bed, the rumpled sheet falling about his bare waist. The honey-toned lamplight delineated him with heart-stopping clarity: the broad shoulders, the hard muscles, the gilded hair where a narrow bandage covered the wound he had received the day before. That and the ugly blue-black bruises he had suffered in his fall were all that kept him from appearing inhumanly perfect.

Wrenching her gaze away, she said, “That’s up to you.” She began to pace fretfully across the room, keeping to the shadowed end. “I’d better say this quickly, before I lose my courage.”

“Go ahead.” His voice was very low, as if he feared that a hard word would make her take flight.

Hands clenching and unclenching, she said, “What I said about being afraid of losing myself if I stayed in England was true. Sometimes I feared that I would be engulfed by you, would vanish entirely—not because of anything you did but because of my own weakness. Growing up, I had to struggle constantly against my father to be myself. I managed, but nothing prepared me for marrying you—for being so much in love that, if you’d asked for my soul, I would have given it to you in an instant. Still, in time I think I would have gotten strong enough to be both your wife and myself.