"I'm myself right now. That's why I'm warning you."
"We're getting along very well. Of late, I've even noticed a certain affinity."
"For God's sake, don't you know that that's where the danger lies?" The sudden violence in his voice sent a flicker of apprehension through her.
"What do you mean?" she whispered.
"Think about it." He looked down at the mold. "And don't come back, Margaret."
Margaret. It was the first time he had used her given name. Such a little thing, and yet she experienced an odd shock of intimacy.
"Kartauk." She moistened her lips. He, too, had a given name and she wanted to use it, feel its cadence on her lips. "John . . ."
He stiffened at the table, but his head did not lift. She felt another surge of panic as she realized she wanted him to raise his head, to look at her as he had a moment before. She instantly rejected the thought, her emotions swinging wildly in the opposite direction. She wanted him to close her out, to free her as he had a hundred times before. He did neither. He sat at the worktable, staring down at the seal she knew he did not see, holding her, chaining her.
Then he started to lift his head and she felt her heart lurch. "No!"
The next instant she was jerking open the door, running down the long, gleaming corridors toward her own chamber, running toward Ian.
Lust.
Dear God, she wanted him, desired him in that animal way she only pretended with Ian. She had given Kartauk the response she owed only to her husband.
Betrayal.
The flames curled around the platform, at last consuming the silk-wrapped body of the maharajah. The fragrance of burning sandalwood lay heavy on the air as the funeral pyre set his father's soul free by returning his body to air, fire, water, and earth.
It was almost over, Abdar thought. The sorrowful wailing of the spectators rose, drowning out both the crackling of the flames and the screams of the bound concubines chosen to join his father in death on the pyre.
Pachtal was a trifle pale, he thought as he gazed appraisingly at him through the thick haze of black smoke. Oh, well, it was of no consequence. No one would question such an appropriate physical response at this time of bereavement.
He dared not smile, but he nodded slowly at Pachtal and then turned back to the flames. All was going well. He must just be patient.
Kasanpore custom decreed three months of mournmg before he could mount the throne.
Three more months before he could turn his attention to Cinnidar.
Perhaps.
But was it not the right of Kali's true son to destroy custom and create his own laws?
"You're very quiet tonight," Ian said as he lifted his cup of tea to his lips. "Tired, Margaret?"
"Perhaps a little." She forced herself to smile as she settled herself more comfortably on the stool by his big chair. "But it will pass."
"What's Kartauk creating these days. Another statue?"
"No, a seal for his majesty, King Ruel of Cinnidar." She pulled the plaid blanket higher over his legs. "I told him it was a mistake to pamper the rascal's self-love to such an extent, but he won't listen to me."
Ian chuckled. "I don't agree. It will amuse Ruel, and he needs something to lighten his humor. He's been working like a galley slave lately."
"He enjoys it." She looked away from him into the fire. "But it could be you're right about me being overtired. As a matter of fact, I've decided to end this foolishness of working with Kartauk. It takes too much of my time."
"No," Ian said quietly. "I won't have it."
She lifted her head, startled. "What?"
"If you're doing too much, spend less time with me. I won't have you cheated of your pleasure."
"Pleasure? When Kartauk isn't having me fetch and carry, he sets me to making unimportant trinkets or ignores me entirely. What pleasure could I derive from that?"
"Enough to make your step lighter and your smile brighter when you come back to me."
"Truly?" If what Ian said was fact, then her decision to abandon her plan was wiser than she had thought. How blind she had been not to realize the subtle changes that had taken place within her in the past weeks.
"You need such distractions." Ian smiled wearily. "God knows, I give you nothing to lift your spirits."
"You lift my spirit just by being with you."
"You lie." Ian smiled. "But it's a kind lie. I give you nothing but worry and hardship."
"Oh no." She lifted his hand to her cheek. It was thinner now, almost transparent in the firelight. "Worry yes, when you won't help me fight. But not hardship. Love doesn't recognize hardship."
His hand gently stroked her hair. "Well, I recognize it and I won't have you cheated any more than you are already. You'll go back to Kartauk's studio tomorrow morning and fashion me a seal like the one he's making for Ruel. It will make me feel quite grand to affix a seal to my letters to Glenclaren."
"No, I don't want—"
"I don't need you," he interrupted gently. "Don't you see that, Margaret?"
She could see it and the knowledge filled her with fear. He was growing further away from her every day. "If you love me, you will—" She stopped. She would not burden him with guilt when he carried so many other burdens. Besides, appeals would do no good at this point. He needed a motivation stronger than she could furnish him.
The child.
Was she giving herself excuses for the sin of adultery? she wondered desperately. At first she'd had no doubts as to the purity of her motives, but now she could not be sure. It could have been lust guiding her toward Kartauk all along. "I don't want to go back," she whispered.
"Of course you do. If you won't do it for yourself, go to please me." He smiled teasingly. "I need that seal for Glenclaren."
And he needed a child for Glenclaren, a child to keep him alive. Even if being with Kartauk gave her a lustful pleasure, wouldn't she be forgiven if she could save Ian? Oh, she did not know.
"Margaret?"
"Very well." She buried her face in the soft cashmere of the throw across his lap. "You'll have your seal."
Dear God, but what would she have when this was over?
Margaret hesitated outside the door of the studio, then quickly opened it and sailed into the room. "Good morning, Kartauk. How are you today? I know I'm a little late, but I had to—"
He was coming toward her, and his expression . . .
She didn't want to acknowledge what was revealed in that expression. She lowered her eyes to the gleaming white mosaic floor. He had stopped before her and she could see his broad, strong feet encased in brown leather sandals, smell the familiar scent of wax, wood, and plaster of Paris. She moistened her lips. "I suppose you're going to lecture me on coming back here. It will do you no good. I thought long and hard about it. Ian is going on' about my needing distraction, and I decided there was no reason why I shouldn't when he—"
"Hush." His voice was thick, almost guttural. "I don't want to hear his name." His hands tangled in her hair and he jerked her head back to look into her eyes. "You should not have come back."
"I told you, I wasn't going to, but . . ." She couldn't take her gaze from his face. He was staring at her with the same consuming intensity she had seen on his face when he looked at one of his statues. "But Ian wanted—" She swallowed to ease the tightness of her throat. "A seal."