—33— #2
A small, pained laugh broke through my fury. “I suppose not.”
“I am glad, Elsie. Your fire is powerful.”
All at once, I was overcome. Overcome by the sheer fact that he was here, in England, after so long a time; overcome by his physical presence, by the particular scent of him, sandalwood and the hibiscus in his hair and some note I would have recognized anywhere as purely Tanveer.
My throat tightened, and I squeezed his arm, tears welling up like a waterfall from some hidden spring in my soul.
I kept my head down until we cleared the portal of the doors to the wide terrace beyond.
A pair of men chatted in low voices at one end, but we had our portion to ourselves, and walked to the balustrade without speaking.
I struggled to control my absurd emotions, but they spilled wantonly.
Tanveer gave me his handkerchief.
“I apologize,” I whispered. “I did not expect to be so overcome by your presence.”
“Look at me, Elsie,” he said.
When I did, feeling embarrassed, still wiping my tears away, he said, “You are not alone, Mehram. The world is watching, and I am attempting to be discreet. But”—he shook his head—“there is an earthquake inside me.”
“I thought—” I cast about for the right words. “Time and distance would have cured me of . . . all this.”
“Did you think so?”
“Didn’t you?”
“No.” In the low light of the gloaming, I spied the shine of emotion in his eyes. “I tried.”
The scent of roses and freshly mown grass filled the air, and a low sun hung gold above the horizon. Music drifted through the open doors, laced through the sound of conversation and laughter. Somewhere in a tree nearby, some birds sang in whistling conversation.
In Urdu, I said, “One small beauty is standing here in the twilight, looking up at you.”
He replied in the same tongue. “Your eyes shine like stars.” His fingers tightened. “Hai, Rabba, I have missed you so much.”
“I was so afraid we would feel awkward.”
His eyes crinkled. “Somehow I did not fear that.”
“Why?”
He glanced toward the open French doors, to the men still engrossed in their fierce conversation, and said, “Shall we explore the garden?”
“Yes.” I gripped his arm, and we swept across the lawns, to the rose gardens, and then past a hedge. I turned, intending to ask—
But he turned toward me at the same instant, and before I could speak, he wrapped me in a full embrace. My face pressed into his shoulder, his hands around my back, and I breathed in the shocking pleasure of his scent, something I could not have labeled, but knew instantly.
“I missed you,” he whispered in Hindustani, bending to press a kiss to the side of my neck. Dizzy, I held him close, returning the words in the same language, then English.
He whispered against my skin, “The world has color again.”
I closed my eyes, gripping his arms, alight. We pressed closer and closer, as if we could somehow mend the torn place inside each of us where we’d missed the other.
So much feeling rose in me, buzzing through my temples, my throat, that at last I broke away and pressed a hand to my chest. “It feels the same.”
“More,” he said.
“And yet,” I said with a small twist of my lips, “nothing at all has changed.”
He shook his head, very slightly. “No.”
A howl rose in me. “Then what is the point to—this?” I pushed against his chest, not truly pushing him away, but feeling tangled nonetheless.
“Will we go so quickly to arguing?” He glanced toward the house, music still audible. “Can we not just take these stolen moments together?”
I closed my eyes. I couldn’t breathe.
With a slight sound, he cupped his hands around my face and kissed me. I gripped his coat and opened to his hungry mouth, and then we were lost on waves of connection, weaving back what had been torn by time and distance.
He lifted his head, and we pressed our foreheads together. “All I have thought of is kissing you,” he said with some despair. “All the way across the ocean, every day and every night, kissing you. I want to kiss you ten thousand times before we are parted again.”
“It’s madness,” I breathed, but I could only look at his mouth. I felt his thumbs on my face.
“It has ever been madness.” He kissed me again, and we fell into that wilderness and might never have returned if not for a pair of lovers crying out on the other side of the hedge.
We halted, suddenly aware of the world around us. “We must return before we’re missed,” I said. “My brother is here.”
“And my father.” He gripped my hands. “How may I see you?”
“I will meet you at Hyde Park tomorrow at noon, by the bridge. Can you get there?”
His laugh, soft and warm, spilled through me. “I cannot wait. Will you show me your new paintings, Elsie?”
My heart soared. “Of course.”
He squeezed my hand and let go. “I will think of nothing else.”
Nina spied me as I came in separately. “Your brother is looking for you. Shall we find some punch?”
My body weighed less than feathers, less than sunlight. Only my hand on Nina’s arm anchored me to the world.
“You did not tell me,” she said, pressing punch into my hand. “Drink. And you must eat.”
I did as I was bid, gulping down the sweet juice, surprised I was so parched.
I could not help looking over my shoulder for Tanveer, who had been swept up by a balding gentleman asking a serious question.
It reminded me all too accurately that Tanveer had not come here for me, but to learn who the players were in this cat-and-mouse game of Indian independence. I must not distract him.
But even as I thought it, he caught my gaze across the room, and I felt his lips on mine in the garden, the heat of our bodies pressed together, and knew that he’d come here as much for this as for politics.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Nina asked.
“I did.”
“No, you did not tell me he is your lover. You must be more cautious,” she said, turning my body from the room, moving me toward the doors. “When you look at each other, nothing is hidden. Your brother will marry you to the highest bidder before you can whisper another word.”
“Did he see?”
“Of course he did. The whole party saw. Flames were shooting from the top of your heads.”
I closed my eyes, swooning in the memory of kissing him, and in fear of what we might have revealed. “We have been friends since we were children.”
“Mmm.” She turned toward the gathering. “Take some time to calm yourself.”
As I did so, smoothing my skirt, touching my hair, she said, “I shall have a little gathering, shall I? Intimate, only the closest of our friends, to welcome the prince.”
I looked at her. “Would you?”
“Of course. It shall be private, and no one will know. Otherwise you’ll wreck everything for yourself. And for the good prince.”