Discovery of Desire

by Susanne Lord

  Emma’s blue eyes shone—and that was nearly all Mina was sensible of. Distantly, Mina felt the sun on her neck. More sharply, a bead of sweat trickled to the small of her back. Too warm…

  Emma had suggested she wear her green dress to meet Mr. Grant—the pattern of starry woodruff reminded Mina of home and it was the finest of her day dresses. But it was too warm. Especially with the cholera belt—no, the healthful flannel cummerbund she wore.

  Oh dear, all her gowns would be too warm…

  “Mina?” Emma’s eyes narrowed with concern.

  “Yes, you…you see him?”

  Emma stepped close, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I knew you had to be as nervous as the rest of us, for all your managing ways.”

  “I’m not managing,” Mina protested weakly.

  “He’s very handsome. He looks every inch the protector he’s meant to be.”

  Dear Emma. Mina tried a smile. “He does?”

  “Remember how kind he is being. You are not yet betrothed. He wishes to give you your choice of husband.”

  A choice. She’d never wanted one. Better—and safer—if the marriage were settled. “That is kind,” Mina repeated numbly. “He is kind. His family assured us he is. And he is my choice, as he’ll keep me close to you.”

  “Mina…you don’t have to marry him if you don’t wish. Truly. I would understand. If he’s not—”

  “Oh, Emma.” The sadness in her sister’s voice swept away her stupid nerves. Mina hugged her younger sister, who stood taller than her now but still clung like a child. “We are staying together.” She added a smile to her voice. “And our fiancés will be kind and gentle and will love us the moment they meet us. How could they not?”

  Emma nodded and smiled brightly, but Mina wasn’t fooled. Not with Emma clutching her as if afraid to let go.

  Please, God, let both Thomas Grant and Colin Rivers be gentle, decent men.

  Mina pulled out of Emma’s hug to look into her face. “Remember what your Mr. Rivers wrote in his letter to you, Emma? ‘I will not see you unhappy…’”

  “‘Not for worlds and worlds,’” Emma whispered, her grip easing. “Thank you, Mina. I would be so afraid if not for you.”

  “We’ll always be together, so neither of us need be afraid.” She linked her arm through Emma’s and turned to face her future. “All right then. Let’s see this Mr. Grant.”

  She swept the crowd for brown hair and a serious face to match the likeness Thomas’s mother had shown her, but those who might have been him held no sign for her. Emma’s head was turned, seeking her own gentleman in the crowd, so Mina let her alone.

  A tall man in the group, the tallest man, drew Mina’s eye again and again. He wasn’t a gentleman—he wore a rather coarse coat—and his wide-legged stance was a markedly different posture than a gentleman’s. But his form was decidedly male. Very male shoulders and very male arms that swelled in ways she’d never seen—until she realized those solid bulges straining his sleeves were muscles.

  His dark-blond hair was swept haphazardly from his tan brow and the choppy ends brushed his shoulders. Many streaks of his hair were so bleached of color they were nearly silver.

  No, not a gentleman. From his build, he must be a laborer—and a steel-strong laborer at that. Yet there was something so endearing about his face. Something so friendly. His wide mouth was curled in a grin and his eyes crinkled as if he was accustomed to squinting against the sun. He seemed utterly undisturbed by the disorder about them.

  “What do you think, Mina?” Emma asked. “Is he not handsome?”

  Mina jerked to attention. “Right. Where is he?”

  “Mina, you’re staring at him.”

  Emma pointed toward the blond giant and Mina’s heart lurched in her chest. The card said…but the man… Impossible. Impossible.

  “That isn’t him,” Mina said. “Mr. Grant has brown hair.”

  “The sun must have lightened it.”

  “No.” She read the sign again. “Emma, no. Does he look like a botanist to you?”

  Emma’s lips opened to speak, then shut in a considering moue. “Well. We know the Punjab region is wild and remote. A superintendent of a plantation there might require skills beyond horticulture for…well, discouraging bandits.” She eyed him. “Or…wrestling things, like that animal we read of, the rhinoceros.”

  He must be six feet or more. And fourteen stone. Mina nodded absently. “Yes…wrestling.”

  “They are native here. Perhaps the rhino is a nuisance in the garden. Like rabbits.”

  “Yes…wrestling…rabbits.”

  He dropped the card and bent to retrieve it, flashing a backside sculpted by hard muscle. Mina’s heart lurched and she turned away. This was all wrong. He was…handsome.

  But Emma did not look away, her jaw dangling. “I think him very attractive, Mina. And he looks quick to laugh. I think merry men make the best husbands.”

  Sweet Emma. Trying to bolster Mina even though her own stranger was somewhere in this swarm of men. And if they did not suit, what choice did Emma have? What choice did any of the Adams sisters have?

  Especially Mary, who had made the worst choice of all.

  Mina steeled herself and turned back around. And her legs wilted again at the sight of the man.

  No. No. Mr. Grant had sent for a wife, not a sweetheart. And she was an excellent housekeeper, resourceful and economical. And she would never be severe with him—she would be a restful companion. Surely that was what he wanted…? A woman of congenial mind…?

  “You’re right,” Mina said. “He does look kind.” And manly and swaggering and experienced, and not at all given to dull, domestic spinsters like her. He was going to be disappointed. Or worse.

  His letter had promised her the husband of her choice—but those were merely words in a letter.

  What if he did not choose her?

  Two

  Tom Grant finally lowered the letter. “I can’t help you.”

  The hell? An arrow of uncertainty pierced Seth before he yanked it out and stomped it to the ground. “Sure you can,” Seth blustered over his tightening nerves. “I’m your employer.”

  “Repton was my employer, and the man had six years’ experience in Asia and the Indies.”

  “And he hired a man who spoke Marathi, Hindi, and Bengali. Same as what I’m needing.”

  “You need more than me, Mr. Mayhew—”

  “Call me Seth.”

  “The scope has changed entirely. Repton needed a bit of translation help, a few introductions. You need…what?” Tom looked at the letter. “An investigator to track your sister? A guardian to cross into Tibet?”

  Confused, Seth looked the spectacled man up and down. “You think I’d hire a botanist as a guard?”

  Tom held up a hand to silence him. “Do you understand I can’t leave India? I’ve got my work and commitments and—give me that sign.”

  Commitments? Seth kept the sign high and out of reach, needing Tom’s full attention. “Maybe you’re not understanding our arrangement, Tom.” He spoke slow and careful so as not to be misunderstood. “You’re hired and paid for. I’d say your commitments start and end with me, don’t they?”

  “Hello?”

  A woman’s voice sounded from about a foot below him, so Seth took a deep breath before looking down. Beneath a straw bonnet were big, brown eyes, white skin, and the most kissable mouth he’d ever seen. If she wasn’t the prettiest—wait. Starry flowers on her dress. The little officer.

  Well.

  Tom needed a moment to come to reason anyway.

  Seth smiled down at her. The lady blushed in peach. “Now who are you meant to be, pretty?”

  Her brows rose. “I’m Wilhelmina.”

  His smile widened. “All right then.”

  She pointed up. “You
have the sign.”

  Tom Grant pushed forward. “Miss Adams.”

  Adams? Seth read the sign again. “Oh, W. Adams. For Wilhel—”

  Tom ripped the card from his hands, and Seth looked from that sign to her. Wait—she was the one Tom was claiming?

  Tom doffed his hat. “Welcome to India, Miss Adams. I’m Thomas Grant.”

  Her head swung around, her eyes huge. “I… Oh…yes, of course you are.”

  Seth leaned down to whisper in her ear. “I know. Wasn’t what I was expecting either.”

  “Do you mind, Mr. Mayhew?” Tom said.

  But he couldn’t mind Tom Grant now. Wilhelmina Adams had a grip on the pocket of her skirt, and was breathing through lips the palest shade of coral he’d ever seen. She wasn’t as composed as he’d thought.

  Careful not to startle her, he dipped his head toward the lady again, catching a trace of English rose and warm woman. “He won’t call me Seth,” he whispered. “But you will, I hope.” He winked and her warm, brown eyes cleared and focused on him—and she was composed again. Yes, she was a rare one.

  And she wasn’t any of his business.

  He straightened away from her. “My apologies, miss. You go on and make Tom’s acquaintance now. I’ll not interrupt.”

  He crossed his arms and waited—nice and polite, considering he’d just learned he’d be sharing his employee with the lady—but she stood gaping at him until Tom drew her aside and got on with the business of getting acquainted.

  Seth turned to give them their privacy. Besides, he had a new city to learn, and that cinnamon smell was some kind of food, and finding Georgie was going to take every bit of his attention.

  So he wouldn’t pay Tom’s venture girl any attention.

  Looking at her wouldn’t take much attention. None at all, really. He turned back around. The flowers on her dress—he knew they were sweet woodruff. He only ever saw those in the woods behind his cottage. Already knowing a thing didn’t take any attention.

  So it didn’t take any attention knowing she was a lady from the ground up—and beautiful in a way that would last. And quiet and thoughtful, too, if those eyes were anything to go by.

  No, she didn’t take any attention at all. Because he already knew a woman like that would never pay any attention to a man like—

  You have the sign.

  The hell? He huffed a laugh and shook off the echo of her words. No, she wasn’t any of his business. But damned if he didn’t stand up straight when she turned to face him.

  She didn’t seem to know where to look. His chest, his neck, his shoulders. Like she was reconciling his size but was still puzzled. That wasn’t new. He’d reached six feet by the time he was sixteen and had gained a few inches in the years since. He knew—better than he wanted—that he was too big for most women. Even normal-sized women, like Miss Adams.

  Actually, she might be a stone shy and an inch short of normal-sized.

  Her eyes finally met his. Hadn’t he always been partial to brown eyes?

  “We haven’t been introduced, sir,” she said. “I am—”

  “W. Adams.” Seth grinned. “Despite appearances, I learned to read. Tom must not have had enough sign to write ‘Wilhelmina,’ but ‘Mina’ is likely what you’re called anyway, isn’t it? I’m called Seth. That’s not short for anything, if you wondered. Seth Mayhew’s my name. You might have gleaned that already, as Tom was slow in providing it.” He ducked close to her again. “Try not to hold that first impression against him, pretty. I’m thinking he’s the nervous sort.”

  Her startled eyes shot to his and a flare of desire heated him.

  Desire?

  Well. Damn awkward.

  He stepped back, stumbling over his bag. That close, those warm, brown eyes pulled on a man. She might have taken a bit of his attention there.

  But she was pretty. Even more than the usual.

  Mina reached for the hand of a blond who hovered behind and pulled her forward. “May I present my sister Emmaline? Emma, this is Mr. Grant and this is Mr. Mayhew.”

  Emma shared a look with her sister before murmuring, “I’m pleased to meet you both.”

  The blond sister was comely too, but Seth wasn’t all that inclined to take his eyes off Mina.

  “I don’t suppose”—Miss Emma smiled tightly—“that is, I’m to meet my fiancé, Colin Rivers. Mr. Grant, I wonder if you see him?” The smile thinned. “I don’t believe he brought a sign.”

  Hell. This business of ladies marrying gents they’d never met.

  Tom Grant shook his head, looking at the dozens on the dock. “I’m sorry. He was only recently transferred to my province. I don’t know him by sight—”

  “COLIN RIVERS!” Seth bellowed into the mob.

  The men standing nearest to Seth flinched and swung to face him, their shoulders up at their ears. His voice was a big one, so the volume might’ve been a bit…alarm-raising, he supposed. Seth nodded an apology and then bracketed his mouth with his hands. “IS THERE A COLIN RIVERS HERE?”

  The mob looked around, checking the faces of their neighbors. A grumbled “good Lord” and “What the deuce?” answered, but the rest shook their heads. Even the women looked afraid of being accused the missing man.

  This Rivers wasn’t here. The bastard made his woman sail all the way to India and hadn’t bothered to meet her.

  Seth turned back around. Tom’s head was lowered. So was Miss Emma’s and she was blushing. Like they were embarrassed. Like he’d embarrassed them. Had he?

  Well, what else should he have done? He crossed his arms and tried to keep searching.

  But suddenly, Mina had all his attention.

  She was up on her toes, scanning the crowd, unembarrassed, and with all the purpose in the world contained in that straight-backed bundle of womanhood. And it wasn’t just that her profile was beautiful, like something he’d see on a tin of lady’s face powder or a painting.

  No, it wasn’t that. It was like the surprise of discovering a night-blooming orchid in the tangle of a jungle. Like discovering something so rare—knowing it was rare, knowing he’d never had a hope or a dream before of seeing such a living-and-breathing prize close enough for him to touch. And there wasn’t another prize like her ever to be had.

  And, no…he wasn’t at all inclined to take his eyes off her.

  She dropped down to her heels and nodded at him. “Thank you, Mr. Mayhew. That needed doing.”

  Well. Now he was blushing.

  But that was nice, being looked at by a lady that wasn’t laughing at him. Women never took him serious—even when he meant them to.

  Tom cleared his throat. “I think we’re assured Mr. Rivers is not present. Any number of things can delay a man in India. I’ve arranged rooms for all of us at Benson’s Hotel. I’m confident Mr. Rivers will call in the next day or two.”

  The women didn’t look confident.

  Behind them, the venture girls and a caravan of trunks were moving toward a two-story building that managed to look both British and Indian at the same time. The customs house, then. Some of the women had been claimed and walked beside their gents. The men beamed; the ladies didn’t. Their expressions ranged from weepy to weeping.

  Seth turned from the sight. They weren’t any of his business and Georgie was counting on him. He had to keep his thoughts nailed to the ground.

  Tom Grant would help with that. Outside of expeditions, where Seth had a decade of experience and hard learning, organizing matters wasn’t easy for him. It never had been. Planning was easier with people—and Seth needed a lot of people to find his sister, especially these Company men, at every turn.

  Puffed up and superior as these gents were, Tom would have to help with them, too.

  Mina and Tom were talking close. Closer than before. Tom even let a smile crack that sour face of his, an
d she had a blush on her cheeks.

  You have the sign—

  “We ought to be going,” Seth called.

  Mina turned to him and then caught sight of the women leaving the wharf. “Oh, we mustn’t miss saying good-bye.” And with a little hop, she and Emma hurried after the ladies.

  And Tom was frowning again.

  They followed the ladies, but Tom wasn’t exactly inviting Seth’s company. Seth pondered the man’s silence along with the sway of Mina’s skirts. “So who is she? Your intended?”

  “Yes,” Tom grumbled. “No—not yet. She’s—”

  “You call her Wilhelmina?”

  “I call her Miss Adams.”

  “Wouldn’t she be called Mina?”

  “By her intimates, yes.”

  “Intimates?” He grinned. “You mean like her intended?”

  Tom frowned harder. “Mr. Mayhew—”

  “Call me Seth. You might want to secure that one fast, mate.”

  “She’s come to marry. It may as well be me.” Tom’s jaw tightened like he regretted his words. “Her late parents and my mother shared a mutual friend. I’ve promised to look after her until she chooses a husband.”

  “And if she fancies another?”

  “I’m not going to force the woman to marry me.”

  “Decent of you.” Seth grinned. “Damn awkward though, eh? Hell, a lady like that might hook herself a commissioner.” A scarlet coat walked by. “Or a cavalry man. Or one of the viceroy’s aides—they’re the gentry here, right? Or even a governor. That’d be a feather bed, wouldn’t it?”

  Tom stared straight ahead.

  Seth waited, but the man wasn’t saying anything. He cleared his throat. “Not meaning to cast a mercenary light on it, but a widow of a commander gets a hundred pounds a year for life. If I were a woman, I’d be angling for one of them. A hundred-pound-a-year man, even dead as mutton.”

  “Not to cast a mercenary light on it,” Tom grumbled.

  Seth sorted his words for what he’d said wrong. Hell, how was he to get the man on friendly terms?