Текст книги "Tiger Prince "

Jane in bed with Kartauk, writhing beneath him as he plunged in and out of her body . . .

Rage tore through him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides. God, what was happening to him? He had never felt jealousy over any woman. Passion had always been a pleasant game to be indulged and then forgotten. Yet now he was in a fever over the thought of a faceless stranger plundering the body of a woman he had never even possessed.

Perhaps he would kill the bastard.

"Colonel Pickering told Ian the maharajah's private railway car is supposed to be quite something to see," Ruel said casually as he helped Jane onto Bedelia. "Will you show it to me?"

She looked at him in surprise. She was nearly stumbling with weariness, and she had not been pounding spikes all day as Ruel had done. Yet he appeared as tough and energetic as when he had started work that morning. "Now? Aren't you tired?"

"I've been more tired." His eyes twinkled as he mounted his horse. "As someone recently told me, if you don't think about it, it goes away. Will you show me the car? The new station is on the way to the bungalow, isn't it?"

"Yes, there are two cars at the station. One is the maharajah's private car and the other is a passenger car for his guests."

"But it's the private car that has the golden door?"

Her gaze flew to his face. "You've heard about the door?"

"I'd have to be deaf not to have heard about the door that's the talk of Kasanpore. You don't run across golden doors every day."

"I guess not." She hesitated. "Wouldn't you rather wait? I received word last night the locomotive is on its way downriver and should be delivered tomorrow afternoon. You could see them both."

"The locomotive doesn't interest me." He raised a brow. "Unless it has a golden boil$r?"

She laughed. "No, though we made sure it has plenty of flash." She paused. "The maharajah will be there and has invited practically everyone in Kasanpore to see it."

"That changes the situation. Will you be able to introduce me to the maharajah?"

She shook her head. "I can't risk annoying him. He's not going to want to concentrate on anything but his new locomotive."

"Too bad. Then I'd rather see the door now, when I have leisure to study it. I have a great fondness for gold in any shape or form."

"I know someone else who feels the same way." Her smile faded. "Actually, I know two people who—" She kicked her horse, and the mare sprang forward. "If you want to see it, let's hurry and get it over with."

The sun had almost gone down by the time they came within sight of the station, but the last weak rays caught the brightly burnished brass adorning the two scarlet railway cars and set them ablaze.

"The maharajah is clearly not a retiring man," Ruel said as he reined in before the station and dismounted. "I imagine all that brass is fairly blinding in full sunlight."

"Yes." She got off Bedelia and followed him across the platform toward the cars. "As I said, he likes a bit of flash."

"And where is this famous golden door?"

She gestured toward the second car.

He moved quickly past the first car and up the four metal steps of the second car. "The sun's almost gone down. I can't see it properly. . . ." He took down the lantern hanging on the hook beside the door, lit it, and held it high. He gazed at the door in silence for a moment. "Magnificent."

"It's supposed to represent the Garden of Paradise. The door itself is bronze that's been heavily gilded with gold." She frowned. "But it still cost us far too much money."

The blasted door had caused her a mountain of trouble as well as money, and lately she had not been able to look at it with the appreciation it deserved. Now she found herself seeing it through Ruel's eyes.

Two flowering trees framed either side of the door on which intricately carved tropical blossoms draped the branches and burst in luxuriant profusion over the entire golden surface. Through the screen of flowers glimpses could be caught of a tiger and gazelle romping playfully together before a sari-clothed woman. The woman was gazing at herself in a hand mirror and completely ignoring the beasts.

"The workmanship is superb. Who did it?"

"Just a local craftsman." She asked quickly, "Have you seen enough?"

"No." His gaze suddenly focused on the bole of the tree on the left side of the door. "What's this?" He started to laugh. "Good God, it's a serpent."

She had hoped he wouldn't notice the serpent coiled around the bole of the tree. "Isn't there always a serpent in paradise?"

"So I've heard." He smiled curiously. "But never one this cleverly presented."

His absorption in the snake made her uneasy, and she tried to distract him. "I thought the tiger was done quite beautifully."

"Very nice." His gaze was still on the serpent. "An exquisite abomination," he murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing." To her relief, his stare finally left the serpent and shifted to her face. "May I see inside the car?"

"Of course." She quickly pulled out the ring of keys from her pocket, then hesitated as she remembered what lay beyond that door. "There's nothing unusual about the furnishings. Haven't you seen enough?"

He studied her. "What's in there that you don't want me to see?"

"I'm tired and hungry." She gestured impatiently. "You wished to see the door and you've seen it. This is a waste of time."

"Why?" he asked again.

"Oh, for heaven's sake." She unlocked the heavy door and flung it open. "Look, if you like. I don't care."

"Thank you, I shall." He entered the car. "Coming?"

"I've seen it all before." When he merely stood looking at her, she moved reluctantly forward to stand beside him. "Hurry."

"Oh yes, I remember, you're hungry." He lifted the lantern and glanced around the car. The light played over crimson-velvet-cushioned divans, polished teakwood tables, tasseled curtains draping mother-of-pearl inlaid windowsills. He lifted the lantern higher, and his gaze fell on the eight pictures gracing the walls. He whistled long and low. "I think I'm beginning to develop an appetite myself."

"They were the maharajah's choice," she said quickly. "He had the paintings brought from the palace."

"The concubine quarters, no doubt. Kama Sutra . . ."

"Kama what?"

He stepped closer, examining the painting directly in front of him. "These are really quite well done. Zabrie showed me some paintings in a book, but they were all concerned more with inciting than depicting emotion. Notice the tender expression on the man's face?" He raised the lantern nearer to the painting. "And the texture of the woman's buttocks looks as smooth and plump as peach halves. This position is fairly pleasurable if the angle is done right. . . ."

She found she wasn't looking at the painting but at the play of light on the finely molded line of his cheekbones. Though they weren't touching, she could feel the heat of his body and was acutely aware of the earthy fragrance of salt, soap, and sweat surrounding him. She was finding it hard to breathe. The intimacy of the car seemed to be smothering her, weakening her. "Shall we go now?"

He glanced curiously at her. "Are you blushing? I wouldn't think a woman who frequents Zabrie's would find anything shocking in these paintings."

"I'm not blushing." She knew the heat in her cheeks belied the words and deliberately made her tone brusque. "I don't find them shocking, merely unbelievable. Men don't . . . There's no gentleness. It's not like that picture."

His gaze narrowed on her face. "No? What is it like?"

"Hard and fast," she said baldly.

He chuckled. "I can't deny it's hard. You should—"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Why not? I'm finding the discussion fascinating. Tell me more,"

"You're making fun of me."

"Perhaps. Your experience must be somewhat limited."

"You're wrong," she said fiercely. "I spent the first twelve years of my life in a whorehouse. I know all about—" She stopped abruptly. Then she turned on her heel and strode toward the door. "I've had enough of this nonsense."

"A whorehouse?" The strange thickness in his voice caused her to glance at him over her shoulder. All humor had disappeared from his expression and he was tensed, arched like a cat about to spring. "Is that where Reilly found you?"

"Yes."

"It seems I misjudged him. I wouldn't have guessed his tastes run to children. I'm beginning to find the sot not quite so tolerable."

"It wasn't like that– I have to get back to the bungalow."

"That's right, you mustn't be late." Stinging ferocity underlay the silken tone, and his light eyes glittered through half-closed lids. "I'm sure your Patrick is desolate if you keep him waiting for even a moment."

"Be quiet!" Her hands clenched into fists. "Patrick may not always be sober, but he doesn't mock or try to hurt people. He's not cruel like you are." She turned and threw open the door.

"Jane!" He muttered a curse and was suddenly beside her, his hand grasping her arm.

She tried to pry his fingers from her arm. "Damn you, let me go."

He immediately released her and held up his hands. "See, I'm not touching you. Now may I say something?"

She glared at him.

"I admit I did try to hurt you. I felt the flick of the whip and instinctively struck back."

"I wasn't striking out at you. I don't even know what you're talking about."

"I'm trying to apologize." He grimaced. "And obviously doing it very badly. I suppose that's to be expected since I can't remember the last time I so humbled myself. God knows, we all have to do what we must to survive. I had no right to judge you. Will you forgive me?"

She felt her anger ebbing away. "You're a strange man."

"Without doubt." He took a step back and gestured for her to precede him. "Go on. I'm feeling a little savage at the moment and it would be better if you weren't around me. I'll see you in the morning."

"Is there any point in suggesting once again that you give up on laying track for the railroad?" she asked haltingly.

"None." He didn't look at her as he moved past her and down the steps to the platform. "It's too late for that. We have to get on with it and finish it."

"On with what?"

"I used to know," he said harshly. "Now I'm not so sure anymore."

A moment later he had mounted his horse and trotted off toward town.

"Li Sung isn't in Narinth," Ian said. "He hasn't been there since he visited the town some two months ago with Jane Barnaby."

"Then the next question we ask is why she lied?" Ruel murmured. "And where the gentleman is at present."

"And why you've had three whiskeys in a row since you walked in the door," Ian added mildly.

"I was thirsty." He smiled recklessly. "And it's good Scotch Whiskey. You should approve. Isn't everything even remotely touching on Glenclaren worthwhile?" He threw himself in the chair. "Wonderful, splendid Glenclaren. Tell me, have you heard from Maggie lately?"

"You know I have not."

Ruel lifted his glass to his lips. "No doubt she's still nursing her father and being the dutiful daughter. As I remember, MacDonald made Maggie's life hell on earth. I always thought he was malingering just to tie Maggie to his bedposts and keep her slaving."

"So did I. He has no liking for the idea of giving Margaret to a man with little means."

"Haven't you ever been tempted to push the old bastard over the edge?"

"Frequently."

"And?"

"It's a mortal sin. We can wait."

"Shall I do it for you?"

Ian's eyes widened.

"Shall I?" Ruel repeated.

"You're joking."

"Am I?" Ruel wondered himself if he had made the offer only to shock Ian or if he actually meant it. He was in a mood for violence, and MacDonald's nagging, torturous enslavement of his daughter seemed to him to be far worse than the mortal sin of which his brother spoke. "How do you know?"

"I know you."

"Not anymore."

"It's only the liquor speaking." Ian shifted his shoulders uneasily. "Now, stop talking nonsense."

"As you like." Ruel took another drink. "Tell me if you change your mind."

"Why are you like this tonight?"

"Like what?"

"Wild."

"It's the nature of the beast."

Ian shook his head. "You're on edge. Why?"

"I'm not on—" Why deny it when Ian wouldn't believe him anyway? He had hoped the liquor would dull the sharpness of the jealousy, anger, and pity Jane's words had aroused and had not lessened since he left her. He wanted to strangle—who, for God's sake? Patrick, Kartauk, those men who had made her childhood a nightmare? Oh, what the hell. He poured another drink. "I saw the gold door tonight."

"And?"

"It's a splendid depiction of the Garden of Paradise . . . with Abdar's face as the head of the serpent."

"What? Are you sure?"

"It's very subtly done, but you can't miss the resemblance."

"An exquisite abomination." Ian chuckled. "I believe I'm beginning to like this Kartauk. The man has a sense of humor."

Ruel's reaction had been the same, and he had been fighting it since the instant he had seen that devilishly sly serpent. "The maharajah must not be overly fond of his son if he permitted that particular bit of humor."

"That was Colonel Pickering's opinion, if you remember."

"They're delivering the locomotive to the station tomorrow, and Jane said the maharajah will be there. Why don't you go down with the colonel and see if you can't get an introduction?"

"An excellent idea. You're giving up looking for Kartauk?"

"I didn't say that, but it's always wise to explore every avenue." He started toward the door, taking his glass with him. "Though, from what I saw of his taste in art in his car tonight, I sincerely doubt if the maharajah and you will have much in common."

"This must be a great day for you."

Jane turned to see Ian MacClaren standing a few feet away and felt her spirits rise as she saw his warm smile. "Good afternoon, Lord MacClaren."

"Ian." He took a step closer, his tall figure blocking out the crowd of chattering men and women milling around the small station house. "What are you doing hiding in here? I would have thought you'd want to be out on the platform, basking in the maharajah's approval."

"I did my part by supervising the transfer of the locomotive from the boat." Her glance went to Patrick, who was standing on the platform beside the maharajah and gesturing to the brass cowcatcher on the front of the locomotive. "Patrick's better at this kind of thing than I am. Is Ruel with you?"

"No, he's laboring on your behalf at the site. I came with Colonel Pickering." Ian nodded at a big man with steel-gray hair and an impressive array of medals decorating his uniformed chest. "Have you met him?"

"No, but Patrick has mentioned him. He's been very helpful using his influence with the maharajah."

"That's what Ruel hoped would happen today, but I don't believe we're going to have any luck." He smiled. "Getting that behemoth of a locomotive here must have been no easy task. You deserve a reward. Come with me to the buffet table and let me get you a glass of fruit juice."

"No!" She took an involuntary step back. "I mean, I'm not thirsty."

"In this heat? You have to be thirsty." Ian took her gently by the elbow. "Come along and we'll ..."

"No." She jerked her arm away. "I said I wasn't thirsty." He was staring at her with such bewilderment she finally said, "Can't you see? I don't belong there. They all look at me as if I were some strange creature." She lifted her chin. "Not that I care."

His gaze went over the loose shirt and denim trousers she wore. "You appear neat and clean. I'd be honored to escort you."

"Cleanliness isn't enough. They can see I'm different." She turned on her heel. "I can't waste any more time here. I have work to do. Good day, Lord MacClaren."

"Ian," he said again. "I don't believe formality is appropriate when I've given you the shirt off my back."

She looked at him, stricken. "Oh, dear, I forgot. I meant to return it. I'm sorry, Lord—" She stopped as she met his gaze. "Ian. I'll give the shirt to Ruel tomorrow to return to you."

"No hurry." He fell into step with her as she left the station house, effortlessly cleaving a path for her through the crowd on the platform. "You're not going to the site today?"

She shook her head. "It's too late now. It would be sundown by the time I reached the gorge. I'm going to the supply yard and check to make sure a shipment of rails came in with the locomotive."

"Then permit me to escort you." He made a face. "I'm clearly not going to be able to arrange an introduction to the maharajah in this mob, and I may not be as ferocious as my brother, but my sheer size sometimes deters aggressors."

"I don't need protection." She paused. "And I'm not certain Ruel's purpose is really to protect me. Sometimes he reminds me of a great cat ready to pounce."

"Tiger pad softly, tiger burn bright," he murmured.

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's a line from an old Scottish poem. It rather suits Ruel, don't you think?"

"Yes." She smiled. "A Scottish poem? I didn't think there were any tigers in Scotland."

"We have our share of the two-legged variety. My illustrious ancestor, Alexander MacClaren, was one of that ilk. The rascal could have given Ruel lessons." Ian glanced at her soberly. "And I believe you're wrong. I'm sure Ruel does wish to protect you. Even if he doesn't realize it himself."

"I've never met anyone who appears to know more what he's doing than your brother," she said dryly.

"He's had a hard life. It gets in his way sometimes, and he can't always see himself clearly."

"But you do see him for what he is?"

"Oh, yes, I've always known."

"And what is he?"

"A giant," he said simply.

"What?"

"He's one of the heroes of the world. I've always believed the world is gifted with a small number of heroes in every generation. Men who are capable of tremendous acts of self-sacrifice. Men who have the strength and boldness to take life by the horns and conquer it. Ruel is a hero. But he refuses to accept his fate."

She chuckled. "And are you also a hero?"

"Oh, no, I'm very boring. I just plod along, doing my duty and trying to live a good life."

"I don't believe that's boring," she said gently.

"You're very kind." He grimaced. "But I'm a dull fellow. It's a wonder Margaret even looked at me."

"Margaret?"

"Margaret MacDonald. We're affianced."

"Then she's very fortunate."

"I'm the one who is fortunate." His smile made his homely face almost handsome. "As you'd know if you met her. She's a remarkable lass. I told Ruel you reminded me a little of my Margaret."

"Me?" She looked at him in astonishment before shaking her head. "No, I couldn't be like her."

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not . . ." She waved a hand at the station house. "Because you're a lord and she's probably like them."

"In what way?"

"I don't know." She thought about it. "Gowns with bustles and lace at her throat . . . soft hands. She wouldn't like me. I'm different."

He burst out laughing. "That's not Margaret. And God made us all different. You mustn't be ashamed of what you are."

"I'm not ashamed." She could see he didn't understand. "I'm proud of what I am. None of those women could do what I do and not many men either. It's just wiser not to force myself in where I'm not wanted."

"Because you meet cruelty and intolerance when you do?" he asked quietly.

She nodded jerkily. "And your Margaret would be the same."

"You're wrong. Ask Ruel. Ruel was always considered an outcast, and she never treated him with anything but fairness."

"Why was Ruel—" No, she didn't want to know any more about Ruel than she did already. She had spent an uneasy night after he had left her yesterday evening, and he was occupying far too much of her thoughts. She smiled with an effort. "Then I must be wrong and your Margaret everything you say she is." They had arrived at the supply yard and she pulled out her key ring. "Thank you for accompanying me. I won't keep you any longer. I know you want to get back to the other guests."

"It was my pleasure. I find your 'difference' far more interesting than their 'sameness.' "

Warmth surged through her as she realized there was no mockery in his tone. He was not like Ruel, whose every word must be examined and weighed for hidden meaning. "You have unusual tastes." She unlocked the gate. "I'm sure you—"

"Do you always keep your supply yard locked?"

"Yes."

"Why?" he asked curiously. "I wouldn't think anyone would dare steal anything from a project for the maharajah."

She quickly glanced away. "I suppose I became accustomed to guarding our supplies in England."

"I see." He bowed slightly. "Well, I'm sure you do it very well. Margaret believes in guarding her own too."

She gave him a tentative smile as she opened the gate and strode swiftly into the supply yard.

"You're right, she doesn't lie well," Ian said slowly.

Ruel shot him a glance as he turned away from the washstand. "Something happened today at the station?"

"Not exactly."

"Ian."

"She feels very much alone, you know."

"We're all alone."

"She thinks she's different from other women."

"She is different."

"No ... I believe she's been hurt a good deal."

"Are you going to tell me what happened today?"

Ian didn't answer for a moment, and then said reluctantly, "The supply yard. She keeps it locked at all times and I don't think it's because of thieves."

"You think Kartauk—"

"I didn't say that. She just seemed uncomfortable when I mentioned her locking the gate." He grimaced. "I didn't want to tell you. I feel as if I've betrayed her."

Ruel frowned thoughtfully. "Kartauk can't be there. It would be taking too much risk when rails have to be moved from the yard to the site every few days."

"Good," Ian said, relieved. "Then I must be wrong."

"Perhaps. Watch the yard for a few evenings to make sure."

"I'm not comfortable with this, Ruel."

"I know." Ruel smiled. "You're afraid your soul is going to be damned to perdition."

He shook his head. "I'm afraid I'm going to hurt the lass."

Ruel's smile faded. "We're not going to hurt her, only find Kartauk."

"It may be the same thing."

He stripped off his shirt. "Get out of here. I have to get some sleep."

Ian rose to his feet with a sigh. "I'll watch the yard, but I hope I'm wrong." He moved toward the door. "And I believe you do too."

"The hell I do."

Ian smiled and left the room.

Ruel muttered a curse as he stared at the closed door. He wouldn't give up searching for Kartauk because of some idiotic twinges of conscience, nor would it stop him from taking what he wanted from Jane. Christ, if he'd had any sense, he would have eased this blasted lust in the railway car yesterday. He couldn't go on like this much longer, heavy and hurting whenever he was with her.

Why the hell shouldn't he take what he wanted? He was no saint like Ian. Dammit, he was through waiting and biding his time.

"Where are the rails?" Jane demanded of Patrick when he walked into the bungalow that evening.

"I think the maharajah was pleased, don't you?" Patrick strolled over to the cabinet and poured himself a drink. "He was preening like a peacock over those brass lanterns."

"The rails were supposed to be delivered with the locomotive. Where are they?"

"I had to delay the shipment until I could arrange another loan from the bank." He took a long drink "God, it was hot out there in the sun."

"I need those rails."

"And we'll get them. In three days. I took care of everything."

"I thought you told me the bank wouldn't give us any more credit."

He scowled. "I told you, I took care of it. Now, go see if that lazy Sula's bothered to make us any dinner."

He wanted to put an end to her questions, but she couldn't permit it this time. "We'll be at Lanpur Gorge in a week. I'll need those rails."

"You'll have them." He dropped down on the easy chair and closed his eyes. "Trust me."

She had no choice. She would have to trust him, she realized with frustration. "I'll tell Sula we're ready to eat."

She turned and walked away from him. God in heaven, sometimes she didn't think she could go on. She was weary of fighting these constant battles with Patrick and the maharajah, and now Ruel MacClaren had appeared on the scene to disturb and perplex her. She quickly shied away from the thought of Ruel. She had enough problems without remembering the expression on his face as he had looked up at that blasted painting.

She noticed a subtle difference in Ruel at the site the next day. He scarcely looked at her and betrayed no hint of the sensuality he had exhibited in the railway car, and yet there was something . . .

The first time he spoke was when they were walking back to their horses at sundown. "You've been nervous all day. Would you like to tell me why?"

"I'm not nervous. I just have work to do. You may have time to indulge your whims, but this railroad is no joke to me."

"Stop attacking and tell me what's wrong. I may be able to help."

"You can't help."

"How do you know? I'm a very resourceful fellow. I find answers to most questions."

She whirled on him. "Can you stop the monsoons from starting next week?" she asked fiercely. "Can you find me a hundred workers willing to work free? Can you keep the maharajah from plaguing me with demands to get the blasted railroad completed? Can you—"

"No, I can't do any of those things," he broke in. "And neither can you, so why not accept it and tell the maharajah he's not going to have his railroad completed on time?"

"Because he won't pay us, dammit." She smiled bitterly. "He, too, indulges in whims. If we don't perform to his satisfaction, he could ruin us."

"Don't you have a contract?"

She nodded. "But it's not worth anything in Kasanpore. We're helpless to enforce any contract against the maharajah."

"Then why did you take the job?"

"Patrick thought it was—" She untied the mare and mounted. "Why should I bother to answer your questions? You don't care about my problems. I don't even know why you come back here every day."

"Do you really want to know why I labor so devotedly at your side?"

"I've asked you often enough."

"I'll give you one reason." He paused and then said deliberately, "I plan on trying that position we saw in the painting in the railway car with you."

Her gaze flew to his face. His expression was impassive, his tone so casual she wasn't sure she had heard correctly. "What?"

"Oh, yes, it's become something of an obsession with me in the past few days. I think about it all the time. How I'd position you on your hands and knees, how I'd cup your breasts in my hands. How I'd slowly slide in and feel you tighten around me," His voice hoarsened. "How I'd start easy and then push harder, deeper, how I'd make you scream when I—"

"Stop! I don't want to hear this," she interrupted, moistening her lips. "Go back to Zabrie if you need a woman."

"I don't want a woman." He paused. "I want you."

"One woman is as good as another for what you want."

"That's what I used to think. I've changed my mind."

"Well, change it back again. I don't want . . . that."

"I could make you want it. I believe you discovered at Zabrie's that we were very compatible." His gaze suddenly shifted to her face. "Perhaps too compatible. Did I frighten you?"

"You?" She tried to make her tone scoffing. "You've never frightened me."