Page 74 of A Thousand Painted Hours
“I heartily agree.” Outside, a flash of lightning burned across the entire sky. We all looked through the doors at the brightness, but even expecting it, we all flinched when the thunder followed.
A laugh rang out as two things happened simultaneously—the rain began to fall in a waterfall torrent, and two people came in the room. Rocky said, “Quite the entrance, Your Highness.”
I spun around to see Tanveer. At last. When everyone looked at him, he spread his hands and said, “I heard it has been a dry summer.”
Everyone laughed and surged forward to meet him, speak to him. Next to him was Nina, who looked at me across the room, titling her head ever so faintly.
Beside me, Peter said, “Was itthatmaharaja’s birthday?”
“No. It was his father.”
“How are you acquainted?”
“We were children together.”
“Ah.” He took a sip of his drink. “I’ve always wondered why these Hindus wear turbans. It must be awfully hot, especially in India, I would think.”
“That is a Sikh dastaar, actually.” I watched Tanveer greet each person with focused attention, hands behind his back, as he gave a short bow to the ladies, a nod to the men. He looked magnificent in a dark western suit, cut to fit his broad shoulders, his long legs. “There are a great many styles of turbans, and many of them help protect the wearer from heat, rather than making it hotter. Bedouins, for example, use them to protect themselves from sand in the desert. But for Sikhs, it’s a symbol of their faith.”
“Ah, of course. Interesting.” He watched the loose gathering around Tanveer. “I’m not quite clear about Sikhism. Is it related to Islam?”
I shook my head. “They’re quite distinct, and different still from Hindu practice. Are you religious. Peter?”
“Not at all. My Aunt Genevieve manages the religion for the family.”
I laughed.
He added, “At least it’s all Church of England here—oh, but you don’t like things to be too homogenous, do you?”
I glanced at him, wondering if there was a cut buried in there, but his eyes were guileless. I remembered that he wanted to study architecture. “Have you traveled in the east to study the architecture there?”
“I have not. I would like to. One of my dearest wishes is to visit the Pyramids.”
“Oh, my. Yes. That would be quite a sight.”
At last Tanveer extracted himself and moved deliberately toward me. “Good evening,jaanu,” he said, giving me the same small bow he’d given the ladies. His eyes glittered with humor as he added in Hindustani, “Your beauty shines like a moonlit pool.”
I pressed my hands together in greeting. Also in Hindustani, I said, “And yours shines like a monkey.”
I was rewarded with his big laugh, so full of life that I saw two people look around and see what caused it. “Tanveer, this is Lord Peter Arbuthnot, Nina’s cousin. Peter, this is the Prince of Talwarpur.” I looked back to Tanveer. “Forgive my ignorance, but I do not know the correct address for you. Is it ‘Your Royal Highness’?”
“Similar,Rajkumar,as I am a son.” He offered his hand for an English greeting. “But perhaps you might call me Tanveer in this casual instance.”
Peter was charmed, shaking his hand with a smile. “I shall, then. And now I’ll leave you two old friends to catch up.”
As he moved away, Tanveer stepped close and took my hand, raising it to his lips. “Your eyes truly are shining. Like beacons.”
“Because I wanted you to come over here. I was feeling terribly impatient.”
“As was—”
A great crack of thunder rattled the glass in the room and made everyone duck, as if something were falling from the sky. The lights blinked out, all at once.
“Oh, dear. That won’t be good,” Nina cried. “Peter, will you find Mr. Richards? He’ll know what to do.”
He saluted her and left the room.
Tanveer rubbed his thumb over the center of my palm, and as if all the electricity now flowed through him, into me, I felt quite wildly aroused. “You must stop that.” I drew my hand away, and instantly wanted to offer it back.
