Submitting to His Lordship by Em Brown

disconcerting. She felt half-clothed. And without stockings her legs were completely bare.
    “My stays,” Deana remembered.
    “A sari does not require stays, m’lady,” Bhadra replied as she slipped a pair of beaded cloth slippers upon Deana, then gestured for her to take a seat at the vanity, which had a full complement of accessories to assist in one’s toilette.
    Bhadra braided her wet hair, coiled it atop her head, and added a jasmine sprig.
    “Does m’lady require anything else?”
    Deana stared at herself in the mirror, feeling quite out of place. She considered asking Bhadra what she knew of the Chateau but decided not to keep the maid. “No, thank you.”
    After Bhadra left, Deana ran her hands down her sari and admired the intricate weave of the fabric. Did the women of India wear this in public? She stood and looked once more about the room. It contained none of the implements of pain that she had expected—no whips, crops or sticks. A closer examination of the tapestries revealed elephants, tigers, a man playing a reed, a woman and a man...
    She leaned in closer and saw a man and a woman in tight embrace, her legs wrapped around the hips of the man. The images below all contained naked couples. One had the woman sitting upon a prone man, facing away from him, his hands upon her breasts. Another featured a woman bent in half, her hands upon the ground, while the man stood behind her, gripping her waist. Deana felt warmth in her cheeks and a stirring in her groin.
    “They are depictions of an ancient Hindu text.”
    Whirling around, she saw the Baron Rockwell standing at the door.
    “Ah,” was all she could think to say. “You have read this text?”
    He went to stand beside her before the tapestry. “I have not studied Sanskrit literature, but it was explained to me by my aman that Hindus believe life holds three purposes: dharma, artha , and kama . Kama is sensual pleasure.”
    Her mind reeled at the outlandish thought. How strange and wondrous . She considered her own innate desires and responses of the flesh. Would the Hindus celebrate the carnal?
    Feeling his gaze upon her, she decided to switch to a calmer topic. “Did you specify that I should be attired in this ‘sorry’?”
    “Sari.”
    “I had packed my own clothes.”
    “Do you not like it?”
    “It’s beautiful but...a little indecent, I should think.”
    “The Indian subcontinent can be quite hot and humid,” he replied with an appraising sweep from her feet to her head. “Turn around.”
    Unaccustomed to being directed as if she were a servant or child, she paused at first but then complied as there was no gain to be had from objecting. He made no sound, but she felt his hand at her shoulder blades. Her breath caught when his hand slid down the middle of her back to her waist. She had not thought her back to be so sensitive and stimulating .
    “Lovely,” he murmured.
    She wished he would caress her back once more. “Is this garment customary for the women of India?”
    “In parts.”
    She turned to look at him. His eyes were like dark pools of chocolate as he looked down upon her.
    “How fortunate you are to have traveled there.”
    “It is no place for a gentlewoman.”
    “I think I am no gentlewoman,” she said, her voice husky.
    The corner of his mouth quirked upward. He slid his arm about her waist and pulled her to him. “Thank God.”
    Her heart drummed in anticipation as she was pressed into his hard body. She waited for him to kiss her...and waited. He wanted to kiss her. She could see it in his eyes. She could feel it in the erection against her abdomen. Why did he not kiss her?
    He planted a soft and chaste kiss upon her brow. “Sleep well, Miss Herwood. There may be long nights ahead.”
    Abruptly, he released her. She watched, bereft, as he bowed and took his leave. When the door had closed behind him, she let out an unladylike curse. What manner of sport was this? Why send her blood percolating if he had