Page 75 of A Thousand Painted Hours

“Your cheeks are flushed.”

I clapped my hands to my face, and I could feel the heat in them. “I hardly know how to stand here with you.” I found my eyes on his mouth, framed so artfully by his beard, and wanted only to sink into them.

He turned to stand beside me, looking toward the room, and our arms pressed close. In Hindustani he said, “I have been useless to my father. All I think of is kissing you.” He glanced at me sideways. “Your mouth. Your neck.”

I laughed, grabbing his arm. “Stop!” I said, “Nina put you in the room next to mine.”

“Well done, Nina,” he said in English. He looked at me. “It will be an eon until then.”

I blushed. “Are we terribly wicked?”

“Are we?”

“I don’t know.” I suddenly felt shy and girlish and foolish, as if I were tumbling heedlessly into some mire I could prevent if I would only halt now. “We shall never be friends again, will we?”

“We will always be friends,meri jaan.” He captured my hand against his thigh in the shadows. “And we will be lovers, too.” He used the Hindustani word,hum-rooh,which translated more closely tosoul matesthanlovers, and this time, his face was quite serious. “But I ampatient. If you are feeling frightened, I am in no hurry.” He smiled a little. “Well, I am. But I am more patient than hurried.”

I suddenly imagined sleeping alone in my room tonight with him on the other side of the wall, and all the time that would be wasted by that. “No. An hour is too far away.”

Rocky arrived in our realm then, and Grayson beside him. To Tanveer, he said, “The artists here all want to paint you, good man.”

“I am afraid I am a subject for only one artist.”

Rocky laughed. “Wonderful.” He looked at me with a glitter in his eye. “Wonderful.”

We ate dinner by candlelight at a rough wooden table in the kitchen. Nina had separated Tanveer and me, placing him between herself and Lady Diana. Rocky was next to me on one side, the husband of the couple on the other. His name was Jameson, and he turned out to be a writer working on his first novel, and not the bore I’d feared. We feasted on roast trout and new potatoes and fresh green beans, with a strawberry tart and cream for dinner.

The storm and good food created a festive mood, and we laughed at the stories Grayson told. Even Jonathan, Nina’s most recent beau, who was a serious sort, laughed at his witty tales. Tanveer listened more than spoke, although he and Lady Diana shared tales of the Punjab, which she’d left as a girl. The spiritualist watched everything with eyes too big for her face. It bothered me that she was here, and I found myself remembering the seer from the maharaja’s birthday, predicting dire things for my future.

What madness to worry about such a thing? My life had unfolded quite intriguingly since then.

But of course Henny had to read her cards in the flickering candlelight of the salon after dinner. Nina, always one to underline the dramasettled in front of her. “What do you need from us, darling? One at a time? Will you read for the group?”

The girl shuffled her cards, worn soft from use, looking from person to person. “I’ll do a general reading for the group, and then one at a time for whoever wishes it.”

“Goody.” Nina leaned back, candlelight shimmering over her dress, in waves of shape, breasts, hips, knees. Diana stood behind her, smirking as ever, but in one little brush of her hand, I saw her sweep Nina’s hair from her shoulder, linger on the bare skin there for a moment.

Ah.

Tanveer, freed of the regulation of dinner, sat next to me on the divan. “What do we think,” he said in Urdu. “Is she a fortune teller or an imposter?”

“It’s hard to know yet, isn’t it? She does have the eyes of a medium.”

“Mmm. I do not want her to read for me.” He looked at me, eyes quite serious. “Or you.”

All at once, I was aware of his size, so much more adult than it had been. His thigh leaned against mine, his shoulders broad above my own. That hint of sandalwood wafted through my body, whispering delights. I found my eyes on his throat and imagined myself kissing there. I said,“‘Hum apni taqdir khud likh?ge, yaha~. Ek bistar, do khwab, kya ?hub hai, waha~?’”We’ll write our own fates, just us, right here—one bed, two dreams—what bliss draws near?

This time, his cheekbones flushed. He took a moment, then said, “‘Zamane ka kya gham? Chupke sekehha, ishq ki rat hai, roshani kaha~?’”Why fear the world? Just whisper yes—this night is love’s; who needs the rest?

I leaned against him.

Nearby, Diana said in Urdu with a droll tone, “‘All lovers recite the same old lore—After tea, that tale behind closed doors.’”

I looked up at her and laughed. “Well done, you.”

“Oh, share it with the rest of us,” Grayson called out.

“It is only an old game from childhood,” Tanveer said smoothly. “Of no interest without the context.”