Hot Winds From Bombay

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Persia’s lips tightened into a grim line. “Saint” was a far cry from what Europa had called Zack earlier.

  “It was nothing, Europa. I only did what any other man would have done under the circumstances. I just happened to be the closest one to you when the accident occurred.”

  Persia watched their eyes meet and felt her blood rising. She hated herself for suspecting that Europa’s plunge was no accident. But as her sister preened and simpered for the man, Persia realized that her suspicions were a devastating reality. Europa would go to any lengths to get what she wanted. And at the moment, it looked as if she wanted Zachariah Hazzard.

  What did Europa have in mind? She had a dozen men dangling on her silken strings. Why was she flirting so with Persia’s beau, whom she had earlier labeled “unsuitable”?

  Persia watched as Europa reached out a pale hand and placed it on Zack’s arm, at the same time lowering her long dark lashes to offer him a veiled and sensual look. “You know what my father says the Chinese believe?”

  “What?” The word came out of Zack’s mouth in a husky whisper. His gaze was locked on Europa’s mesmerizing eyes.

  “They say that when one person saves another’s life, the two are bound together for eternity.”

  Persia had had all she could take. Slamming the tea tray down on the table, she rushed from the room. She tore for the attic stairs and the little ladder up to the widow’s walk, where she always escaped when she was upset or wanted to be alone.

  The northern lights had faded and the stars in the velvet night sky blurred as she gazed up through her tears. She gripped the railing, not feeling the numbness creeping into her ungloved hands.

  “Why, Europa, why?” she cried. “You can have any man. Why Zack?”

  But she knew why. It had been so between them all their lives. Whatever Persia got, her sister must have the same whether she honestly desired it or not. Suddenly Persia remembered the black-and-white puppy, and tears flooded her eyes.

  She had found the half-starved mutt wandering down Main Street. Some rough boys were throwing stones at the poor creature. Europa had stood on the sidelines, urging them on in their meanness. Persia’s heart had nearly broken at the sad, helpless look in the little dog’s eyes. Throwing caution and fear for her own safety to the wind, she had rushed out into the street and shielded the mongrel pup with her own body. For her efforts, she had received a nasty cut on her forehead from a stone and a bruise on her arm from a stick Europa herself had hurled. But she had claimed the dog for her own and received his affectionate licks of gratitude.

  When she took him home, her mother had grudgingly agreed to let him stay. Persia had immediately named him Salty, fed him a bowl of milk and meat scraps, and made him a bed behind the kitchen stove.

  When Europa arrived home, her eyes held that hard glitter Persia had learned to read so well.

  “That’s my dog!” Europa had told their mother. “I found him and Persia stole him from me.”

  Victoria Whiddington had looked surprised. “But my dear, you don’t care at all for animals. Why would you collect such a poor stray?”

  “Just because,” Europa had answered in that high-and-mighty tone of hers.

  “Well, he’ll be our family pet,” Victoria had answered, playing the role of peacemaker.

  “Very well, I’ll share,” Europa had answered smugly. “Persia, you may feed Fido, bathe him, and take care of him. But just remember, he’s really my dog!”

  “His name’s not Fido! It’s Salty!” Persia had raged.

  “Girls, girls! If this animal is going to cause trouble, we’ll just get rid of him this minute.”

  For the time being, Europa had held her peace and the dog stayed. Persia had taken great pains to care for her Salty; she’d loved him dearly. She’d taken him for walks, bathed him in the wooden tub, and smuggled him choice cuts of meat from the dining room table. Dog and child were inseparable.

  Then one morning when Persia had hurried down to the kitchen, she’d found Salty’s box empty. Frantically, she’d dashed about the house and then the yard, calling him by both his names, but there’d been no sign of him. She’d ran up to Europa’s room to enlist her aid in the search and found her sister still abed.

  “Get up quickly! Salty’s gone!”

  Europa had stretched, yawned, and bestowed a condescending smile on her. “If you are referring to Fido, I know. And there’s no need searching for him. I gave him away.”

  “Gave him away?” Persia had stood at the foot of her sister’s sleigh bed, stricken, feeling her heart crumble. “How could you?”

  Europa had answered her with a shrug. “He wasn’t a very good dog. I never liked him that much. So I traded him to a peddler passing through town yesterday for a new pink hair ribbon. He’s long gone by now. If you don’t mind, I’d like to get some more sleep, Persia. Please close the door on your way out.”

  Persia could still feel that emptiness in her heart—the place where love had been before it was snatched away. But it wasn’t a black-and-white-spotted pup in question this time. It was a man—the man Persia wanted.

  Drying her tears with a furious swipe of her cold hand, Persia whirled toward the ladder. There would be no more sighing and crying in dark corners. Her sister had taken from her for the last time.

  “Europa wants battle? Then battle it will be!”

  By the time she reached the hallway, Persia was ready. She squared her shoulders, took a deep breath, and headed for the parlor.

  “Not this time, sister dear!”

  Chapter Five

  Persia ran full tilt into Fletcher in the hallway, almost upsetting the tea tray in his hands and definitely ruffling his usually stilted and correct bearing.

  Fletcher, so named because he claimed his father was the leader of the Bounty mutineers, did carry himself with a first mate’s dignity. But as to whether the poor, abandoned child Persia’s father had rescued from a sinking boat off Pitcairn Island back in 1810 was Fletcher Christian’s son or came from the seed of any of the other eight mutineers could never be proved. The brownskinned boy, once he was taken on board Captain Whiddington’s ship, attached himself to the man like a leech. He begged not to be put ashore at Pitcairn or any of the other Oeno islands along the South Pacific shipping route between Panama and New Zealand. Thus, he became Asa Whiddington’s cabin boy and later his faithful retainer. His age was somewhere in the neighborhood of thirty, although no one, including Fletcher himself, could be certain.

  “Please to pardon me, Miss Persia.” The well-trained servant, collecting himself immediately, took full blame for the collision even though they both knew she was at fault.

  “Fletcher, didn’t Mother tell you to remain in the parlor with my sister and Mr. Hazzard?”

  “I was exactly there, Miss Persia, just as the mistress instructed, until Miss Europa directed me down to the kitchen to bring up tea and cakes for herself and the gentleman.”

  Persia bit the inside of her lower lip and her eyes narrowed in annoyance. So, Europa had connived to get Zack alone. She might have guessed!

  “I’ve just taken them a tray, Fletcher. You may carry all that back to the kitchen.”

  “But Miss Persia, do you not think someone had better go in there? It is hardly proper for the young mistress and that strange man—brave though he is—to be left all alone.”

  “It most certainly isn’t, Fletcher. You should have considered that before you went to the kitchen. But I’ll go in now and see that they’re properly chaperoned. You can count on it!”

  She whirled away and hurried through the door to the sitting room. But she didn’t interrupt anything this time, even though it was evident from the frown marring her sister’s lovely face that Europa wished she had.

  “Do come over here closer, Zack,” Persia heard Europa say. “Why, you’re miles away!”

  Zack’s big frame was perched in an ungainly manner on the very edge o
f a dainty, brocade-covered ladies’ chair, his cake plate balanced precariously on one knee while he tried to manage the fragile china cup and saucer and a silver spoon with hands more used to tin plates and grog mugs.

  He looked up when Persia came in. She could almost swear she detected a hint of relief flicker in his brown eyes when he saw her.

  “Persia darling, you’re back.” Europa spoke the words with less than delight in her tone.

  “Back to stay!” Persia answered, bestowing a triumphant smile on her sister.

  “That won’t be necessary, dear.” Europa’s “dear” dripped contempt from d to r. “I’m sure you must be exhausted after exerting yourself so athletically on the ice this evening. Why don’t you just run along to bed now? I’m completely recovered and perfectly capable of entertaining our guest.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you are, Europa. But while I was out of the room for a few minutes I did some thinking.”

  “Thinking?” The tone suggested that Persia hadn’t wits enough for such strenuous mental activity. “Whatever about, little sister?”

  “About dogs… one in particular, a black-and-white puppy.”

  Zack was sipping his tea slowly, his head turning from one sister to the other, trying to follow their conversation. But it was obvious that he was not meant to understand their meaning.

  “A puppy?”

  “Yes,” Persia replied. “My Salty. Surely you remember him. I’ve just been thinking how this situation is very similar to that one. However, I don’t intend for the outcome to be the same this time. I won’t allow it!”

  Europa’s eyes narrowed and she shot a quick glance at Zack before she looked back to Persia and smiled. “My, my! Is that a threat, sister?”

  Persia smiled back. “No. A promise!”

  Just then, Asa Whiddington came into the room. “Well, it’s been a trying night, but you all look hail and hearty now. Maybe I should take a spot of that tea. Your mother is finally asleep, worn out by the terror of the evening. But I still feel rather shaky—gray about the gills, so to speak.” He nodded his thanks as he accepted the cup Persia offered him. “Europa, you gave us all quite a scare tonight.”

  “I’ll agree with you there, sir,” Zack added. “Me most of all.”

  “Yet you went in to save her. Commendable, young man, highly commendable. I don’t know how we can ever thank you.”

  “Father, we could invite Mr. Hazzard to Sunday dinner tomorrow,” Persia suggested.

  The captain frowned and glanced toward Europa, who suddenly had a stricken look on her lovely face. He guessed the cause. She had already invited a young attorney, Seton Holloway, to dine with the family. Even the charming Europa could hardly juggle two men at one meal. He smiled, thinking it might add a touch of humor to a long, dull Sunday afternoon.

  Yes, it would be highly entertaining to see two young men vying with each other for his daughter’s favors. He could tell already that Seaman Hazzard was smitten. And, too, perhaps the presence of another suitor at table would prompt the shy barrister to make his long-awaited proposal. After all, Europa wasn’t getting any younger. At eighteen, it was high time she found a husband. And there was Persia to think of, too. Although she was still too young to be seriously considering such a matter, she couldn’t even think of marriage until her older sister was wed.

  “What do you say, Mr. Hazzard?” Asa asked. “It’s the least we can do after what you’ve done for us. I’m sure you’re ready for a home-cooked meal after almost four years of subsisting on salt horse, weevil biscuits, and brackish water to wash it down.”

  Zack broke into a broad smile that brought his heavy beard almost up to his eyes. “I’d be more than happy to break bread with you, Captain Whiddington. It has been some time since I’ve sat down to a real family dinner.”

  “Fine! Then, we’ll look for you around one. By the way, where are you staying?”

  Zack shrugged slightly. “I stowed my gear at Jefferd’s Tavern when I came ashore, sir. I suppose it’s as good a place as any.”

  Persia’s heart took a sudden leap. For a moment she thought her father meant to invite Zack to take their guest room. She envisioned staying up all night before the fire in the parlor, listening to the sailor’s tales of adventure on the high seas.

  But instead, the captain said, “Jefferd’s is first rate. The rooms are clean and the prices reasonable. And it’s only a short walk up Main Street to Tavern Hill. Of course, I could have Fletcher drive you up there.”

  “Thank you just the same, Captain Whiddington. But I’d as soon walk. I’m still trying to get the hang of having my feet on steady ground again.”

  Zack realized that Asa Whiddington was not simply making a polite suggestion, he was also giving a gentle hint that it was time Zack was leaving.

  “Well, Miss Europa, Miss Persia, Captain, I’d better be going now. Thank you for the tea and the invitation for tomorrow.”

  “It’s we who thank you, Mr. Hazzard,” replied the girls’ father.

  “I’ll see you out, Zack.” Even as Persia made the offer, she was aware of Europa’s gaze shooting daggers her way.

  The entrance downstairs lay in guttering half darkness. The gilt-draped bronze nymph who adorned the newel-post stared up at a well-trimmed wick inside the cranberry glass globe she held high in her right hand. Fletcher had been about his work of turning down lamps all about the house. Usually at this hour everyone in the Whiddington family was in bed already, although a few lamps always burned low since the captain had a habit of slipping down for a sip and a read once his wife was asleep.

  The soft rose glow in the hallway made the familiar seem strange to Persia. The Adam-green wallpaper looked black, while the white lilies in the pattern turned a shocking pink and seemed to stand away from the wall. The heart-pine floors shone like marble, and the Indian rug before the door took on exotic hues she could not name. Even the air in that part of the house seemed thick and warm and rosy.

  She looked up at Zack. He, too, had been transformed merely by walking downstairs. The golden tangle of his hair and beard glowed bronze in this light. And his eyes smoldered darker and were more mysterious than ever. He was still wearing the clothes he had borrowed from her father after taking off his wet things. Although the captain was a good-sized man, he was not nearly so broad or tall as Zachariah. Zack’s muscles bulged at the seams, and his hard thighs strained every fiber of the trousers to their limits. Persia felt herself blush as her eyes strayed downward at the obvious artifacts of his manhood, outlined through the coarse wool.

  He reached out and touched her cheek, letting one strong finger glide along her high cheekbone, leaving a little shudder of sensation in its wake. He was smiling at her, a touch of irony deep in his eyes.

  “Well, Persia, it’s been quite a night.”

  “Yes, a lovely night,” she said softly.

  He laughed. “I rather gathered that you’d just as soon I’d let your sister sink to the bottom to await the spring thaw.”

  “Oh, no!” Persia cried, horrified that Zack had read the animosity between them and misinterpreted her words. “I meant that meeting you… skating with you… was lovely. Certainly not what happened to Europa. I’d never wish that on her.”

  “You don’t have to explain to me,” he said in his husky voice that now carried a touch of melancholy. “I have sisters, too. I remember how, from time to time, I wanted to sell them to gypsies, even though I loved them well.”

  Persia laughed softly. “I’m not sure even gypsies would take Europa.”

  “I wouldn’t be so certain. She’s a lovely woman.”

  Persia felt the hair at the nape of her neck bristle with anger. Granted, Zack’s words were true. But she certainly didn’t relish hearing them from the same lips that had tantalized her with their kisses this very night. And, too, if he was stating that Europa was lovely, wasn’t that only pointing up that he did not consider Persia the same?

 
“Don’t frown,” he ordered, rubbing a rough thumb over her lips. “Your smile is bewitching. I want you always to bewitch me, Persia Whiddington. Just as you have done tonight.”

  His words caused such a sudden rush of joy and relief that her heart raced and her head felt light. Maybe he hadn’t been leading her down a primrose path. Perhaps he did feel something for her, and nothing for Europa.

  His next action seemed to prove that. Glancing first up the stairs to make sure no one was watching, Zack grasped Persia to his chest and took her lips. Willing lips, aching to be kissed.

  She felt the silkiness of his tongue caressing her and responded in appropriate fashion, aware of a burning in her blood that threatened to consume her. His hands slipped down from her shoulders to glide along her arms. He spanned her waist and squeezed gently, but she felt as if he were pressing the breath from her. When his fingers moved up her ribs to her breasts, stroking her boldly, she gasped.

  Zack released his hold on her only a moment. In that instant, as their eyes met—touching souls, linking hearts, promising eternities—Persia knew.

  “I love you, Zack,” she whispered. Her heart exalted in hearing the truth spoken aloud.

  He made no answer but captured her lips once more in a fever of passion and need. She answered him in kind, making no move to escape from his strong grasp.

  “Ahem!”

  The sound from above was startlingly loud. They wrenched apart, and Persia felt her face burning along with the rest of her body.

  An uncomfortable silence followed. Zack shuffled his feet. Persia smoothed her damp palms down over the front of her gown. He nodded toward the stairs.

  “Well, good night, Miss Persia, Captain.” Zack offered a nervous salute to the man standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed over his chest and side whiskers twitching, but not in amusement. “I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow?” Caught, he was making sure his invitation still held.

  “Yes, tomorrow at one, Mr. Hazzard.”

  Persia watched Zack disappear through the door. The last thing she wanted to have to do was meet her father face to face. Taking her time in turning, she steeled herself for the well-deserved lecture to come. But when she looked up, the captain was gone. He could no more deal with chastising her over a kiss than she could deal with his disapproval.