Free Tea and Spices (An Erotic Novel of Colonial India) by Nina Lane Page A

fact that I have opinions about things.” Devora didn’t exactly believe her own words, but she didn’t want Mr. Thompson to think her marriage was a conflicting one.
      “That doesn’t mean you should be criticizing the British presence here,” Mr. Thompson retorted. “Dissent in our own ranks, even from a woman, is the last thing we need.”
      “That’s quite true, Devora,” Louise agreed. “We must be loyal empire-builders.”
      Devora turned her attention back to the crumbling temple. A bird alighted on one of the outstretched arms of a sculpture.
      “I do understand that, but don’t you think it would behoove us to learn something about Indian culture?” she asked.
      “Frankly, some of these curries are about all the Indian culture I can handle,” Mr. Thompson replied.
      “How long have you been here, Mr. Thompson?”
      Mr. Thompson blew out a puff of smoke. “Nearly ten years now. I’ve put in for a transfer back to England, but it’s been refused. Looks like they need as many of us on the civil lines as they can get.”
    “Why?” Devora asked. “Have there been threats of revolt?”
      “There are always threats of revolt,” Mr. Thompson said. “Ever since the Sepoy Mutiny, we have to keep an eye out for violence. There are also a number of gangs who run about looking for trouble. This is what I’m talking about when I tell you the Indians are uncivilized.”
      Devora didn’t even bother to argue the point, knowing that Mr. Thompson’s opinions were unchangeable, no matter how irrational they were. “What does the maharaja have to say about that?”
      Mr. Thompson snorted. “Say about that? I suspect he’s funding them.”
      Devora’s eyebrows lifted. “Funding the gangs? Whatever for?”
      “To cause trouble, of course. The maharaja would love to see the British ousted from India.”
      “I thought he wanted to keep relations positive.”
    “That’s what he says,” Mr. Thompson replied. “What he does is, I believe, an entirely different matter.”
      “Then why does he even bother inviting us to dinner and the like?”
      “To put up a cooperative front,” Mr. Thompson said. “But he doesn’t trust us, and we don’t trust him.”
      Devora didn’t find his words terribly difficult to believe. She was, however, surprised that she found the idea of a rebelling maharaja more intriguing than worrisome.

     
     
      “Kalindi, would you keep this place dusted, please?” Devora drew her finger over the sideboard and held it up coated with dust. “This is unacceptable.”
      “My apologies, memsahib . I am telling Lota to dust while I prepare dinner.”
    “Please do.” Devora stalked out of the bungalow onto the back veranda, where Rohan sat writing a shopping list. He stood immediately when Devora stepped onto the veranda.
      “ Memsahib .”
      “Kalindi is failing to carry out her duties,” Devora said icily, crossing her arms over her chest. “Simply because the sahib isn’t here is no reason to stop working. I intend to keep this place in order.”
      “Of course. I’ll speak to Kalindi straight away.”
      “Please do. And I want you to trim these hedges.” Devora waved her hand towards the abundant junipers growing by the veranda railing. “Do that by the end of the day, please.”
      “Yes, memsahib .” Rohan turned, glancing towards the road that led to the front of the house. “I believe you have a visitor.”
      Devora followed his line of vision to the sleek, black car speeding up the road. She frowned. “Whose car is that? I don’t think I recognize it.”
      Rohan stepped off the veranda and walked around to the front of the house. Curious, Devora went after him. They both paused to watch the car pull up near the steps and come to a halt. A driver dressed in a pristine, white turban and a silk jacket got out of the car to open the back door.
      To Devora’s shock, the maharaja himself emerged from the