Discovery of Desire (15 page)

“I don't know. I don't know if
I
will do for him. But that is
my
task—not yours or Thomas's, or even my friends, with all their lists and rankings.”

“There's a ranking?”

“I am the one on offer here, not them. That ballroom is my marketplace—”

“Minnie—”

“—so please let's
not pretend
I have any real choice in the matter. Unless you wish to add to my humiliation.”

Christ
. He caught her hand. She pulled at his hold but he couldn't let her go. “Minnie—”

“We should return.”

“Wait.” What the hell could he say? He probably had something in his book. If he could just keep her a minute more, he might help—

She stayed his hand from opening his notebook. “There is no Shakespeare here. Not in this. And nothing at all that poetry would serve.”

He stared at her hand, too embarrassed to meet her eye. He wasn't smart enough even to use his own words. “I just thought…”

“I know.”

She moved closer, and even in the dark, he could see the soft brown of her eyes.

“I know,” she whispered. “Thank you. No matter whom I choose, he will not be as kind and compassionate as you.” She smiled a little. “Or as handsome, sadly.”

Christ, she was such a lady. Saying things like that to him, like no one ever had. And she was brave and beautiful and smelling of roses and sunshine. Like England. Like home.

“Minnie, won't you even try to leave India?”

Her lids lowered and his heart cracked in two. There wasn't anything he could say to persuade her. No way to rescue her.

And then she rose on her toes, her sweet weight leaning against him. Soft lips pressed against his cheek, and his body tightened and fought against every emotion that kiss stirred.

“Please, Minnie…” He didn't recognize the hoarse rasp of his voice, or have any control over his hands sliding around her slender waist and holding her against him. He wouldn't rest his cheek on her fancy headdress, so he bent lower to nestle against her neck.

And her lips were at his ear, whispering, “The minute I saw you, I wanted to choose you.”

He clenched his eyes tight and wrote those words into his heart. He'd write them in his book and read them again and again. He hugged her tight and she hugged him back. Only her round breasts resisted his body sealing against hers but,
ah, Christ
, that was fine. The valley of her slim back and the swell of her backside fit the palms of his hands as if he'd sculpted her body himself.

“God, Minnie…” He moved to kiss her. And she stopped him with a hand over his lips.

He clenched his eyes against the pain in his chest. Christ, it hurt. She wouldn't let him, and he wanted to feel that again—the way their first kiss was a surprise, and then it wasn't. Because he knew, he
knew
, she was going to be special. But she didn't want him, didn't want his kiss—

Her hand slid from his mouth and touched his eyelids. And then she pulled him the rest of the way down. And the instant their lips met, he was whole again.

And it wasn't a surprise at all.

There wasn't a kiss in his life he would ever count as more natural or tender. Mina's body was made to be loved by his. And he'd be gentle. He'd never be anything but gentle with a lady as precious as this.

His tongue coaxed the seal of her lips apart and with a groan, he plundered the sweetness there until his body began to quake and demand more. He tore his mouth away and gasped for air. “God, Minnie. I was the first to kiss you, wasn't I?”

She pulled at his neck, straining for his lips. “The first.”

With a groan, he sealed his lips to hers again. He'd wanted to hold her like this the moment he saw her, the very moment they met—
You have the sign.

No, he didn't believe in fate. Fate wasn't—
Christ…
the way she kissed him, the way she held him—

Or was it opportunity?
On such a full sea we are now afloat
—

Did he sail this current? If he didn't… What if he didn't? Without Mina, would his life be stuck in the shallows? In misery?

Could he do this? He forced his eyes open. Mina clung to him. Her sweet, lush body was a fire threatening to burn every thought in his brain to ash. He wasn't ready, but would she trust him?
Would she have him?

The possibility slammed into him and his head reared back, breaking their kiss.

Mina's eyes were unfocused, soft with desire, and that look set the flames roaring into the sky. His whole body was swollen with wanting, his roger strained against his trousers, but he had to think.

“Minnie?” He waited for her eyes to focus. “Could you have me?”

Her breath didn't follow any sort of rhythm and her brows knit in confusion. “Have you?”

He swallowed against the damnably thick lump in his throat. “Yes.” His heart was pounding and he was suddenly afraid of her next words. But his little officer wouldn't ever shy from anything.

“I don't understand,” she said. “Have you… To
marry
? Did you ask me to marry you?”

That lump wasn't going anywhere. But Mina
did
talk plain; he knew that. He'd talk plain, too.

“Yes. The second thing, the marrying.” His voice was a stupid croak, and he cleared his throat roughly. “I'll work. Every day, I'll be up with the lark. And I'd work hard to take care of you and we'd be together; we'd be home—I'd give you my home. I don't have much, but I might, once I meet with the Skinners, and I promise, I'd never leave you or our children. I never would. I'd never want to. I'd always be with you—which may not be all that appealing, now that I'm hearing it—but I'm saying I'll be faithful. I'd never go loose on you.”

She stared at him. And his heart stopped when tears welled in her brown eyes.

“You should put me down,” she said.

Down? Her eyes were level with his. And he was standing upright. He had to look to know he'd picked her up to kiss her. Carefully, he set her down but couldn't bring himself to let her go. “Minnie, if you're to be had, I'll have you.” Why wasn't she saying anything? “Will you have me?”

She backed away as far as the little room allowed, till her back was at the wall. “I wish it had been you.”

His heart stilled in his chest, and it made every word she spoke too loud and too clear.

“I wish it had been you—
really you
—holding my sign on the dock that day.” She shook her head. “You were the most beautiful man I'd ever seen, and the kindest, and you make me feel pretty like I've never—”

“You're beautiful.”

“But you're not ready.”

“I—”

“And you're not safe.”

The breath rushed out of him.
Safe?
Mina didn't trust him. He couldn't push a word past his lips if his life depended on it.

“You have no employment. Your search for Georgiana may take weeks, or months, or
longer
. And it will be perilous and…you will return to England, and I cannot leave Emma, even if she marries, I will never leave her.”

“But I—”

“I can't. I feel too much with you, and I must keep my wits and reason about me.”

He struggled to keep his voice even, but failed. “Maybe you love me, then?”

“Love doesn't matter.”

A tear raced down her cheek and he started for her. If he could just hold her… He couldn't say the right words, but if he could touch her…

But her arms held him away. “No. You don't even know me. You called me brave.”

“Minnie—”

“You don't know me at all.” She shook her head. “If you did, you'd know I could never marry a man like you.”

And before Seth could say another word, Mina pushed past him and out the door.

Seth located Mina in the crowded hotel lobby right away. He couldn't help it anymore. She lured his explorer's eye—she was too rare a prize not to. Mina was having her tiffin at a table full of other venture girls, but it had to be done. Tomorrow, he and Tom would leave Bombay, and there wasn't much chance he'd ever see Mina again.

Had she found a man yet? It had been a couple days. Maybe that Henry Block had come up to the scratch. He was older, but there was good to be found in a man who'd lived a little life. And Block was stable. Safe.

Not like him.

His stomach rolled again and a cold sweat formed on the back of his neck.
Hell
. Must have been that
masala
he bought for his rice. But he couldn't recall a day he'd been sick off food. He should lie down, but he'd not get another chance to see Mina. And he had to say good-bye, wish her happy, leave her alone—

I could never marry a man like you.

Pain cramped his gut and his eyes watered. “Christ,” he muttered, his teeth grinding. He was never sick.

Mina's eyes lit on him and worry creased her brow. The next moment, she was on her feet and hurrying toward him. Despite it all, he smiled. His little officer. Wasn't any hesitating when she had a purpose, when she was caring for someone.

“Mr. Mayhew? You look pale.”

His stomach uncoiled a little. “And you're looking perfect, Minnie.”

“Sit down.”

She tried to push him to the settee against the wall, but he grabbed her hand. “I was needing to speak with—”

“I'll sit with you.”

Good. But he didn't let go of her hand until she followed him down onto the settee.

“What's wrong?” she asked. “You're unwell.”

“No, I'm”—he smiled to reassure her—“I'm feeling right again.” He wet his lips, but his whole mouth was dry. “I'm thinking I can't ask you outside or someplace private.” Not after asking her to be his wife—not now. It had to be here, in the middle of all these damn people.

He ought to be efficient like Mina. Give her the money. Say good-bye.

“So, I…I'll get on with it,” he mumbled.

Her dress was pale yellow today. And it suited her. “That's a pretty dress.” And he could've sunk into the ground at the sadness of those words. Because he never saw her in anything that didn't suit her, and he wanted to—wanted to see her nose red with a cold, and her hair tangled from sleep, and barefoot in her night rail. But he'd never see her like that, never have the right to see her like that.

“Thank you, Mr. Mayhew.”

She looked eager for him to get on with it, but damned if he could. “Is that Henry Block—?”

“Nothing is decided. Emma is still—” She lowered her head. “He seems very kind. You'd approve, I think.”

“Does it matter if I approve?”

Her face shuttered. Christ, what the hell was he saying?

“Nothing is decided.” She didn't look at him. “But you mustn't worry. Emma and I will be fine.”

“You don't need to say things like that to—”

“
I
need to say them, Mr. Mayhew.” Mina met his stare, and for the first time, Seth noticed the faint shadows under her brown eyes. “What else would you have me say? You are leaving tomorrow. What else do I say?”

His stomach clenched again. “I can't… You already said it. I can't give you what you need. I'm not safe enough.” Seth couldn't look at her. Mina's fingers curled into fists on her lap. “It doesn't matter, Minnie. I've never been that smart—”

“No—”

“—or one for good manners like Tom. Even if I had all the money in the world, you're better off without me.”

A choked sound came from Minnie, and her breath jerked as if she was going to speak but he couldn't bear to hear what she might say.

“How are your finances?” he blurted.

Ah—damn.
This whole good-bye was a disaster. He smoothed the cringe from his face. She
was
better off without him.

“I know it's not proper to ask, but I was thinking you and Emma must have expected to be wed by now—”

“Thank you…Mr. Mayhew.” She touched his arm, silencing him, that light hand like a dagger straight to his heart. She was always a lady. And she was still on his side. “But I am not your concern.”

He stared at his hands. “I wouldn't say that, Minnie.”

“I wouldn't ever want to be.”

He heard every word she was saying but didn't understand any of it.
Minnie
. That stubborn, proud, little chin dared him to kiss away her resistance, to let him take care of her just for a little while, just for now.

She straightened on the settee like she was preparing to leave. He ripped the envelope from his coat pocket and thrust it at her. “You need to take this.”

She surged to her feet, but he caught her wrist so she wouldn't run off again. “Please, Minnie, this is enough for you and Emma for a year. I need to know you'll be all right. I can't say good-bye and leave you without knowing that.” She shook her head and wouldn't look at him. A tear glistened in her eye and his heart cramped. “Christ, Minnie, don't.”

“I won't take that from you.” She pulled out of his hold. “Good-bye, Mr. Mayhew. Say ‘good-bye' now. Think of me only so far as it brings you pleasure, and I will pray for you, and pray you find Georgiana quickly.”

“Good-bye?” He shook his head, catching her hand.
God, please don't let it be real. I can't be cursed. You're taking Minnie but let me find Georgie alive. Just give me that.

Minnie tugged at his hold, but he couldn't let go. Not like this. “Minnie, wait.”

Miserable as he was, he was surprised to feel anything but his own trampled heart—but they were being watched. And with a focus that had him rising to his feet and setting Mina behind him.

Lurking in a shadowy corner at the end of the lobby, an Englishman watched him.

Seth blinked, trying to correct the sight, trying to bring the man into the light that surrounded everything else, but the dark figure resisted—his boots, his black neck cloth, even his close-cropped hair checked the light like dull steel.

From this distance, there was an intense stillness about the man. Wasn't a doubt in Seth's mind that he saw everything in this room. That stare wasn't aimed at Mina. Had it been, Seth might've charged the man.

Mina saw him, too. She wiped a tear from her cheek without looking away. “Do you know him?”

Seth shook his head, not taking his eyes off the stranger. The dark man started for him—and damned if the shadows didn't shift with him, a streak of night against the pastel, sunlit canvas of Benson's Hotel. The man's arm hung rigid at his side, but the set of his shoulders seemed to be daring Seth to notice it. Or he might have been in pain.

The man stopped a few feet away and angled the right side of his face from them. The man kept his distance almost as a…as a
courtesy
. Before he'd turned, Seth had glimpsed an ugly scar running from the man's ear, down his neck, and under his collar. The wound must have been given the same time it had taken a nick of the man's ear.

With his scars and shadows, it was hard to look on the man. But when he spoke in a low, gravelly voice, he had Seth's full attention.

“Are you the man looking for Georgiana Mayhew?”

“I'm her brother. Who are you?”

“You can call me Rivers.”

Mina's breath caught behind him, and Seth took a hard look at the man. No, it couldn't be. “What's your full name, mate?”

His face turned a fraction, his eyes narrowing with question. “If it matters at all, Colin Rivers.”

Ah Christ.

Mina swept forward and Rivers shied from her—not with fear. Like a stallion stamping its hoof at a grating mouse.

“My sister is Emmaline Adams,” she said. “She has been waiting for you.”

Rivers revealed nothing. Mina might not have spoken at all.

She hitched her chin higher. “Were you injured? Why did you not send word?”

“I beg your pardon, miss.” Rivers spoke softly to Mina, but every word seemed to strain him, scratching and scraping on every launch of breath. “I don't know any women named ‘Adams.' Mayhew, do you want my information or not?”

Seth took Mina's arm and pulled her from Rivers. “Go on, Minnie.”

Thankfully, Mina didn't protest. With worry in her eyes, she nodded and left. From the corner of his vision, Seth watched her return to her friends. He only hoped Mina would return to her room and keep Emma there. Better if Emma never met this man.

Ignoring the pull to follow Mina, Seth faced Rivers. He said he had information, and something told Seth to listen to the man.

Rivers slid his stare across the crowded room. “Can we speak in private?”

“Here's private enough.”

The man shifted his weight, his lips thin and white at the movement. Rivers didn't use a crutch, but his body must not be sound. Seth pointed to a bank of empty chairs against a far wall. “There.”

Whatever the man's injuries, he moved swiftly and soundlessly. “I understand there's a reward,” Rivers said as they walked.

“Twenty thousand for the orphan by the name of Aimee Bourianne to London—”

“I don't have the child, only information on George.”

Seth's hands were like ice of a sudden. Georgie was called ‘George' by the men who knew her. “Fifty pounds for information that's not false.”

“It's not false.”

Rivers lowered to his seat, his knees slow to bend. Seth joined him—but he kept a chair between them.

Rivers kept his eyes trained and alert on the lobby, not looking at Seth as he spoke. “I joined your sister, George, and a Chinese translator by the name of Xiang in Jiazhong. That's on the border of Tibet and China. They were buying provisions for a trip into Tibet.”

Seth gripped the seat of his chair, pushing back against the avalanche of questions. “When?”

“June.”

June. Seven months ago. “What brought you there? Why did you join them?”

“I was after the orphan myself. Heard a man who'd survived the massacre wanted to find the child.”

“Right. The man's name is Will Repton.”

Rivers listened without a flicker of feeling in him—until Seth uttered Will's name.

And then the fury blazing in Rivers's eyes set Seth back in his seat.

“Will Repton,” Rivers growled softly. “Why he believed she lived…” His lip curled with a sneer. “How he got that money…”

“My sister…?” Seth prompted.

Rivers swiveled a burning gaze back to Seth. “George, Xiang, and I found the orphan. Alive.”

Seth didn't dare to breathe. Like doing so might change the words coming from the stranger's lips.

“The baby was young, weak, but of course we took her. They traveled too slowly. I needed to be elsewhere, so I left them outside Tezpur, India. I told them to wait until I returned.”

“And?”

The scorching gaze cooled. “I returned a week later and learned Xiang had been killed—and a woman with him.” Rivers held Seth's eye. “I assume the woman was George.”

The words hit him like a boulder. “Georgie…”

A woman laughed somewhere in the lobby, shrill and piercing, even as a tempest swirled, sped,
roared
in his head. “How?” he croaked.

“Robbed. Stripped of their possessions. No one knew anything of the child.”

Georgie…I was too late. Georgie…I'm sorry—I did this.

It was my curse.

Christ, he couldn't breathe. The room was too bright. He dropped his head in his hand. It was shaking. He was shaking. Maybe Rivers was wrong—maybe it wasn't her.

Seth raised his head. Focused on Rivers. Tried to see a falsehood in him. But the man looked straight back.

“Who are you?” Seth asked. “Why should I believe you?”

Rivers reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small glass vial and a book. “I took these.
Before
. George had them in her portmanteau.”

The glass tube was filled with a blue pigment, a paint pigment. “That isn't hers.”

“It's hers.”

Seth picked up the book, an artist's journal. “No, Georgie didn't use—” The cover fell open.

And all the breath fled his body.

A sketch of a pink camellia filled the page, but in the corner was a familiar mark—one Georgie would scribble to prepare her brush, to spread the paint on the bristles. A connected
M
and
W
. It didn't look like anything but a random scribble.

Unless you knew the artist's last name was Mayhew.

Seth did the same thing.

With hands that shook, Seth turned the pages. Her talent had grown over the years. He could almost feel the velvet on the petals of the violet. “Can I keep this?” Seth asked, his voice hoarse.

Rivers sat still as stone as Seth fought to control the tremor in his hands, but now he nodded once. “It's yours.” Rivers rolled the glass tube in his palm. “Why did you say this isn't hers? This was in her bag.”

Seth shook his head, swallowing hard against what was blocking his words. “Years ago, Georgie…she bought a supply of ultramarine. For painting. She vowed never to use anything else but that or azurite. My sister…she's particular about her materials. Already that pigment is fading.”

Rivers unstopped the cork and lowered his head as if to smell it.

Seth held up a hand. “Don't. It's likely not fit to be breathed.”

Rivers stopped up the tube and returned it to his pocket. He skirted Seth with a glance. “I am sorry. I liked George.”

Seth smoothed the cover of her journal.

Rivers cleared his throat gruffly. “The fifty quid?”