One

Everyone said what happened in Bhamjran stayed in Bhamjran. Despite this universal assurance, Georgiana DuBarry, the dutiful widowed Countess of Ware, wasn't sure she was ready to put the claim to the test.

Bhamjran might be the Aedlyne Empire's capital of sensual enlightenment, but Georgiana had only been here a week. One did not throw off the restrictions of a well-bred lifetime as soon as that. One did not even throw off one's corset.

She stood now, face shielded by hat and veil, in the secret heart of the desert city. This was a sweltering warren of sandy alleys west of the chowk, or central square. Bhamjran's elaborately carved sandstone buildings rose four stories above her, rich merchants' mansions rubbing elbows with narrow shops. The little jali-screened balconies—their stonework as fine as lace—lent the mansions an air of mystery. Pampered male consorts might be peering out from them secretly, whiling away the bright, hot hours until their mistresses returned to take their pleasure in the zenan. As interesting as this reversal of the usual patriarchal pattern was, what intrigued Georgiana most was not the idea of harems, but the prosperous-looking establishment directly opposite her watching post.

A steady stream of local women, both alone and in groups, filed beneath the pointed archway to The Ladies' Lotus. Wrapped in colorful saris more appropriate to the climate than Georgiana's heavy gown, each woman handed a silver coin to the turbaned guardian at the door. All were smiling faintly as they passed inside, as if their anticipation of what was to come was too delicious to suppress.

Georgiana could join them if she found her nerve. Two years had passed since her husband's death, all the mourning decency required. Her parents had been gone since before her marriage, and she owed Jonathan's memory nothing but discretion: to keep his secret as she had when he was alive.

At the thought of that secret, she pressed her white sweat-dampened gloves to the waist of her lilac gown. To have never known true conjugal pleasure, to have been twenty and full of life and in love with her handsome husband, only to discover he could not provide her that private joy, was a disappointment she had never imagined she'd experience. That her disappointment was too shameful to be shared with anyone she had understood at once, even without Jonathan's tearful pleas not to expose him. To this day, his family did not know the truth. His mother, God heal her bitter soul, still blamed Georgiana for their marriage's childless state.

I am free now, Georgiana reminded herself. I have money and position and no one about me with the right to tell me what to do. I can explore any side of life I wish.

"He is worth it, memsahib," said a soft, lilting voice at her shoulder.

An older woman had come up beside her on the pourstone pavement, a richly dressed, golden-skinned Bhamjrishi with merry eyes. When she rubbed one knuckle beneath the curve of her teasing smile, silver and ruby bracelets clinked down her arm. From the look of her, Georgiana suspected her harem was well cared for.

"Bhamjran has not seen Iyan Sawai's like in a dozen years," the helpful stranger continued. "A shameful admission, considering he is a foreigner, but there it is. Certainly, you will not find his equal in a tourist trap."

Georgiana cleared her throat and hoped the shadows on this side of the street hid her furious blush. "I have heard he is a graceful dancer."

The other woman laughed. "Grace is only the beginning of that demon's charms. Iyan Sawai can make every part of his body dance."

Georgiana struggled not to picture too clearly what this emphasis must mean. She leaned closer and dropped her voice. "I have sometimes wondered if demons'…I mean the Yama's bodies work the same as ours."

"Better," the woman said with a grin, not the least scandalized. "Which isn't to say I'd want one in my bed. Parvati forbid I'd ever take a consort who equated smiling with a sin. However, to look at, the Yama are all any goddess would find divine. Go along now. You'll forget you are embarrassed the moment his tunic comes off."

Georgiana wasn't as sure of this as the stranger, but it seemed more embarrassing to stay with the older woman urging her on. Smiling weakly and nodding her thanks, she took a breath, smoothed her constricting bodice, and strode across the dusty street.

Thankfully, the male attendant took her coin without comment and waved her down the stairs.

It was cool and dark inside The Ladies' Lotus, and Georgiana's eyes required a moment to adjust. Cheerfully painted columns split the sunken space, allowing the audience to form small groups. Comprised entirely of women, they sat on the floor on jewel-colored satin cushions. Here and there, low tables held coffee cups and samovars. The sweet scent of cinnamon rode the air, so rich and heady it seemed as if the sun-kissed skin of the women must give it off. They all looked so comfortable in their surroundings, so natural and free, that Georgiana felt even more out of place than she had feared.

For the first time since disembarking from the train at Victoria Station, she wished she had a female friend with whom she might enjoy this adventure. That being out of the question, she looked for a place to sit.

A few cushions remained unclaimed. Unfortunately, the only one Georgiana thought she could get to was in the right-front corner next to the half-moon stage. The last thing she wanted was to sit that close, but the prospect of climbing over the others in her awkward skirt and petticoats was even worse. Resigned, she continued up the aisle and then arranged herself and her gown as best she could on the floor.

A mirror-spangled curtain veiled the platform in smoky blue. Georgiana tried to pretend she wasn't furiously wondering what it would reveal.

Copyright © 2005 by The Berkley Publishing Group.