Discovery of Desire

by Susanne Lord

  Her heart pulsed sickly in her chest. What was the matter?

  She looked to Thomas and Emma, but they hadn’t seen him leave. She mustn’t—she shouldn’t worry. She had to let him alone, not jeopardize her match, her future—“Thomas?”

  His name spilled from her lips before she fully knew what she meant to say. His brows rose in question, and she swallowed against the block in her throat.

  “Mr. Mayhew has left,” she said. “Would you…might you go after him and see that he is all right?”

  Thomas searched the crowd.

  “No, he’s gone. In that direction.” She pointed, but Thomas only looked down at her.

  “He must have remembered an errand, Mina.”

  “He looked upset.”

  “I’m sure he’s fine,” Thomas said. “Mayhew’s not a man sensitive to upset, and he has much on his mind.”

  Frustration spiked in her. “Yes. He does.” She willed him to see the plea in her eyes. Would he not help? Even for her sake? Even after eight days of this stupid, interminable waiting for Colin Rivers, for him, for some…for some reassurance?

  But she did not have the power to command him, as a woman loved might have. Her heart sank. “I…I would like to be sure.”

  But Thomas’s stare was predictably, horribly unmoved.

  She was so tired of waiting. Tired of pretending any of this was normal. Tired of feeling so…alone in this. She withdrew her hand from his arm. “Mr. Mayhew has shown me only kindness and encouragement from my first moments in Bombay. I feel I owe him the same.”

  “Mina—”

  “I’ll return directly. Please stay with Emma.” And before Thomas could say another word, she hurried to find Mr. Mayhew.

  God, was this a mistake?

  The slow-moving crowd hindered her search at every turn but no one seemed to notice her chase. There. Mr. Mayhew stood again near the monkey cages, his arm braced against the trunk of a tree. He stared at the ground but the nearer she drew, the more she doubted he saw anything at all.

  “Mr. Mayhew?”

  He lifted his head. “Minnie?” He looked behind her. “Where’s Tom?”

  “Are you leaving?”

  The realization she was alone seemed to irritate him. “No, I was…” He shoved off the tree and, in two long strides, was beside her and taking her elbow. “I’ll walk you back. Tom’ll be wanting you.”

  No he doesn’t—

  He steered her around, his grip gentle but firm. Obediently, she walked with him but the heaviest sadness descended on her heart, slowing her feet. “I didn’t like how they chained that lion,” she said quietly.

  His stride faltered and he came to a stop. But he kept his face turned from her. “Did you see what they did to him?”

  As low as his words were, she had to strain to hear him. “The chain?”

  “They filed down his fangs and took out his claws.”

  Her stomach lurched before she could blank the picture from her mind. “I didn’t know they did such things.”

  “They do as they please.” His voice was nearly a growl. He unclenched the grip he had on her. “And he has to let them. A beast wouldn’t know better, so they think it don’t matter.”

  “Mr. Mayhew—”

  “They take away everything. Anything they can take, they’ll take. But you don’t make it so he can’t protect his family or provide—you don’t take that away. It’s damn—!”

  The words quit abruptly but the roar reverberated through her. His broad chest heaved and his muscled arms ended in two massive fists.

  But her feet moved toward him anyway.

  He jerked when she drew close but stood still. The only movement in his body was the flicker of a muscle in his jaw. “I don’t—” He clenched his eyes shut. “Sorry, Minnie, I don’t mean to be using that language with you.”

  “I know,” she whispered. His fist was large and heavy so she held it with both hands. And that was all she could do. Because she was a coward. She couldn’t hold him or dare comfort him with anything more, because she was a coward and she couldn’t lose Thomas and yet…

  And yet she’d followed him here.

  His fist eased open between her hands, but he didn’t let her go. His fingers laced through hers and held tight. The strength and the warmth in his hand might have been wrapped around her heart. She waited, unable to move. Unwilling to move. Beneath the shadow of his hat, his eyes were closed and his chest rose with slow breaths. Once…twice…three times—

  A langur monkey shrieked and his eyes flew open. He pulled his hand from hers and rubbed his brow.

  “It’s all right,” she whispered.

  He huffed an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, I shouldn’t…” His eyes followed the restless monkeys, a grim smile on his lips. “There’s monkeys and there’s gentlemen, and there’s them in-between.”

  “Don’t say that!” She caught his hand and hugged it against her breast, and his brows crashed down in confusion.

  “Minnie—?”

  “You have no right to say that. And I am not laughing.”

  A tempest darkened his face, his ocean eyes fathomless. “Then you’re the only one.” With his hand held against her, all it took was a curling flex of his arm and she was pulled to his body.

  “Maybe this’ll make you laugh.” His eyes crinkled, but she didn’t like them this way. “You want to know what Turnbull said to me back there? He said he’d spare some time for me when he’s back from his wedding trip. In April. If he wasn’t busy, if there wasn’t another matter claiming his attention. That made me laugh.”

  “I can speak to Amelia—”

  “Another matter—like Georgie wasn’t any sort of matter at all. What sort of man would say that? Like my sister didn’t matter? How am I supposed to wait—?”

  “You’re not alone here!”

  He blinked, and the storm in his eyes broke. Hot pants of breath laved her face, but his hard wrist relaxed.

  She didn’t know why she said that, but the words would not be held back. “You are not alone, Mr. Mayhew,” she said softly. “Please don’t ever feel you are alone in this, that there is no help. I’m with you.”

  His eyes drifted to her chest as if suddenly aware she held his hand pressed against her.

  “And…and Thomas and Emma, too.” Her voice shook. “We’re all—”

  Slowly, he spread his fingers open, over her breast, and her nerves tightened—but his fingers didn’t linger. They slid higher, brushing her collarbone, until his palm flattened against her. On her heartbeat.

  “Mr. Mayhew—”

  “Seth.” He raised his eyes from his hand, from her heart, and she was caught by the plea in them. “My name’s Seth, Minnie.”

  The need in his deep voice—undemanding but raw and deep—sent a tremor through her. It was the same need mirrored in her own heart. For him.

  For him, and not Thomas.

  The instant the thought crossed her mind, he saw it. Whatever showed—betrayal or hopelessness or wanting—he saw it. And it terrified her, because the storm in his eyes raged to life again.

  She should move. Her heart was pounding—he would feel that. “We should return—” But her step back was denied by a large hand on her back. He pressed her close, their hands flattened between them. His heartbeat hammered against her now.

  “Miss W. Adams,” he murmured. He angled lower, dipping beneath the brim of her hat, his lips hovering at her brow. He nuzzled her hair and breathed deep, and that slow smile bloomed across her temple. “Why are you on my side?”

  The bristle of his whiskers pricked her cheek and it was the only sensation she could name. Her head was heavy, swimming. His lips moved closer, slowly, softly, until her eyelids fluttered shut against the sight of him. Warm lips pressed the corner of her mouth. And lingered.

&n
bsp; Her heart pounded. Or was it his? Held tight against his chest, his size, his heat and strength overwhelmed. And his mouth was crowding closer.

  A small, strangled gasp escaped her and his lips parted, but not to cover hers. They shared the warm, wet air between them, intimate and perfect and dizzying.

  It was not a kiss…not a kiss…

  It was more.

  His hand slid higher to cradle her neck. “Minnie…”

  His voice rumbled deep in her core. Even pressed against him, she strained to feel more. The hard ridge of his hip, the lean stomach, the powerful thighs. All of her vibrated deep and low with a sort of electricity.

  She clutched the back of his coat, the fabric stretching over his hard back. He was so hard all over—

  He moaned, “God, Minnie.”

  And his lips covered hers. A strong tongue pushed past her lips and tasted her, savored her. His arms tightened and his kiss deepened. The possession so complete, so right, her body swayed. Like on the ship…on the sea…and Seth had the sign—

  Her lids blinked open. Seth. Not Thomas, not…

  The ground rushed back under her feet, steady and solid. Seth’s hand tightened on her neck with a low, desperate sound. His kiss lightened, lifted, until his mouth hovered and their panting breath mingled.

  Seth…this was Seth. Ocean eyes. They could be so blue—

  There was some question in his eyes, but she was frozen. He turned his head. “I… That’s enough,” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly.

  His body retreated so suddenly, she swayed and reached for balance. He caught her arm and pulled it through his, and then they were moving in the direction she had come from. The air cooled her body, and she hated it. She wanted his arms.

  She stumbled on the pavement, only then realizing how she was hurrying to keep up with him. “Mr. Mayhew?” But he stared straight ahead. Was he angry? Was he—?

  That’s enough.

  Shame flooded her. He had been angry and anguished over Georgiana. And no one had helped him; she had not helped him.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “I did not—”

  But his arm slipped from beneath hers, and she sailed forward without him, toward Thomas and Emma, where they stood with the group. She swung around and instinctively moved to follow—

  “Mina?”

  She froze at Thomas’s voice. Mr. Mayhew disappeared around the corner. She breathed deep and licked her lips, soft and tingling from the kiss.

  Her first kiss.

  She could not think of that now. Steeling herself, she turned. Thomas and Emma watched her with puzzled looks.

  “What was the matter?” Thomas asked.

  The matter? “I…” She averted her eyes. “Mr. Mayhew was feeling unwell.”

  Thomas said nothing and she forced herself to meet his eye. Her face would be flushed, but there was no help for it. She steadied her voice. “I was worried, with the strain he is under. And all that’s new.”

  Thomas tilted his head, his eyes masked by the glare of his spectacles. “You needn’t worry so. I’ll be with him. Tonight and tomorrow and every day until matters are sorted.” After a moment, he approached and offered his arm. “You are softhearted, Mina, but Mayhew would tell you himself: he’s an extremely resilient man.”

  No, not so resilient. But Seth did have Thomas. He wasn’t alone, not really. And she…she would do all that she safely could.

  And she would not think how small that sounded.

  Emma’s face was wan and confused, and Mina nodded with what she hoped was reassurance. She would not forget again—not risk again. They were no more than jetsam on the sea. Alone and vulnerable until claimed by a husband.

  Other winds may propel her toward Mr. Mayhew, but Thomas was the man she had sailed to marry.

  Starting now, she would correct her course.

  * * *

  Goddamn it, what the hell was he doing?

  Seth couldn’t leave the zoo fast enough, or far enough, behind him. A narrow alley weaved to his left, and he turned down it blindly.

  Why the hell was he kissing Mina? Kissing her when she had another man waiting? Why did he want her? How was that supposed to help Georgie? How the hell was he going to find her without help from East India? Without any goddamn help, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t find—

  The thought slammed him like a club to the gut. Bent double, he struggled to get air into his lungs. Christ, Georgie, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Just stay alive. I’m coming, I swear it.

  His lungs were burning. Why couldn’t he breathe?

  Stay alive, Georgie.

  He’d made a little progress today. Secretary Turnbull… They’d been introduced. He’d said he was willing to meet. But not in April. They’d meet tomorrow—he’d try to meet him tomorrow. It wouldn’t be too late.

  He slammed his fist into his thigh—it couldn’t be too late—and again, and again. Anything to stop all the damn questions in his head—

  You’re not alone here…

  Mina.

  You are not alone.

  The memory of her voice slowed his thoughts, sorted them. Seth’s body, his brain, clung to her. The soft, warm body fitted against his, and the beat of her heart under his palm. The smell of her perfume. She smelled like roses, like a garden in summer. She was—Christ, she was sweet. She’d tasted so sweet.

  She’d come looking for him, worried for him. Like a wife would…

  His hands fisted the fabric of his trousers where they rested on his thighs. A wife wasn’t any of his business. He pushed up and stood straight, pacing forward, one foot in front of the other.

  Mina wouldn’t think too long on it. It hadn’t been a long kiss. He’d wanted to kiss her longer, could’ve kissed her longer, but she’d changed. Her body went stiff.

  Shame sizzled under all the other regrets he was feeling. She had gone all stiff in his arms. No, it hadn’t been much of a kiss. Maybe it was barely a kiss to her.

  Except it was like no kiss he’d ever had. He’d had damn few in his life, though.

  A young boy hurried toward him, his teeth dazzling and his black eyes shiny as Whitby jet. Seth slowed his step. “Hello there, lad.”

  “Memsahib, you are like Bali, like Mahabali.” His hopeful smile widened, even as his palm opened and hovered under Seth’s nose.

  Seth shook his head and despite everything, despite his blood still coursing hot in his veins, he chuckled at the boy’s beaming face. It was either that or cry. The lad’s clothes were rags.

  “Mahabali, is it?” He fished in his pocket for a few coppers and handed them over. Then added an anna. “I’ll pretend that’s some sort of compliment as I don’t know any different.”

  The boy beamed, shaking the fist that held the coins in the air. “Thank you, sahib, thank you. You are Mahabali.”

  “That’s all right, lad.”

  The boy turned and dashed off on his thin legs.

  “It’s all right,” he breathed, though no one was listening.

  Seth followed and found himself on a long, bustling street teeming with mules, buggies, and a horse-drawn omnibus. The boy wasn’t anywhere to be seen. Market stalls stretched along either side, offering live chickens and vegetables, and red and orange and yellow spices, and copper pots and calico and khaki.

  And everywhere he looked in the bazaar, women and children crouched on the ground, ignored by everyone, even the stray dogs. Most didn’t bother to find themselves a bit of shade, but sat under the full force of the sun.

  Christ, Bombay might have been England. The England he knew, anyway—where men abandoned their families.

  Mina had a man that would take care of her. Hell, what was he thinking, kissing her? If Tom had seen…

  Seth heaved a centering breath. It was past time he let Mina Adams alone. He’d already los
t his mum and hadn’t kept Georgie safe. He had no business being alone with Mina, or wanting her.

  He wasn’t a man that took care of things.

  Eight

  “Appears the mail ships are in.” Thomas gestured toward the port beyond the window, and Mina obligingly took in the familiar view. From her seat in the restaurant, she could see only the towering masts of the clipper ships. The carriages lining the street blocked any sight of the sea.

  “Yes, Apollo Bunder is such a bustling port,” she murmured.

  Emma didn’t look up from her lunch. “And we see so much of it every day.”

  “I do like the curry here.” Thomas smiled politely.

  Mina was beginning to rather dislike that particular smile.

  “That’s because you’re English,” Emma said. “You know all these restaurants lining the port are the most accommodating to English palates. Mina and I take nearly every breakfast, tiffin, and supper here, with that same view every day.”

  Mina barely attended the conversation. Today, it seemed she could not without her throat squeezing shut and dread whipping her heart to racing.

  Fourteen days since she and Emma had arrived—

  “Are you not hungry, Mina?”

  Her head jerked up at Thomas’s solicitous inquiry. Automatically, she reached for her napkin. “Yes, indeed.” She returned his polite smile with one of her own.

  Fourteen days, and no Colin Rivers. And no offer from Thomas.

  Fourteen days. And each time she’d broached the topic with Thomas, he assured her there was no need to rush matters. No need. She had been so stunned by his deflection, she had only managed to nod. And the second time, panic stilted her words. And the third time he put her off…

  The third time had been humiliating.

  The hand in her lap clenched the pebble in her skirt pocket with painful force. Such a gentlemen. So reserved. Speaking of restaurants and mail ships and the weather as if she were merely a tourist. There was still one topic they could speak of without any discomfort, so she pounced upon it. “Thomas, did you tell Mr. Mayhew one o’clock?”