Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (19 page)

Praying that she would find a hidden fold, Edith examined the inside of the robe’s front opening. She discovered nothing but two satin ribbons and some of the finest stitchery she’d ever seen.

Closing the robe, she handed it back to Tsung. “I cannot possibly wear that.”

“Why?” Tsung’s brimming eyes belied her steady tone. She was hurt.

“I’m sorry, Tsung.” Edith clasped the younger woman’s hand. “I appreciate your wish to help, but beautiful as this garment is, wearing it is out of the question. There is no room for undergarments.”

Tsung giggled.

Edith had to smile for the combination of giggles and tears coming from the stoic Tsung was truly laughable.

The Chinese servant raised a hand and patted Edith on the shoulder. “You silly woman. No need underclothes for what you want from Mista Dutch.”

Edith felt her face heat. She opened her mouth then closed it. Tsung was right.
But could I be so bold?
Scenting myself with cocoa oil was one thing. The shimmering red robe was quite another.

Edith wanted Dutch and the memories he could give her very much. And Tsung offered an answer to her prayers. Soon she would leave to follow Kiera’s trail. There wouldn’t be many more chances with Dutch.

“All right, Tsung. I’ll do it.”

“Good, good. I bring special herbs for your bath and others to put in Mista Dutch’s dinner.” She gave a toothy grin. “He not able to resist you.”

Edith fervently hoped so. She’d had no new word from Mae, but Grandfather could already be dead. Time was a luxury she could ill afford.

• • •

Frustrated and weary to the bone, Dutch shut the door behind him and the rumbles of thunder that presaged a nasty storm. Tonight even the delectable scents from the kitchen could not stir his interest. The unsettled nature of his marriage with Edith preyed on his mind. If that weren’t enough, he spent twenty out of every twenty-four hours searching for Trey while tending to the multitude of business details that could not wait, even for a missing brother. On top of all of that, he worried about protecting Edith and his friends from the Chinaman.

Normally, Dutch found much pleasure and a great deal of comfort in the thousand small but vital actions that kept Trahern-Smiley Import & Export operating. Those details fostered successful transactions, and each transaction was one step farther from the brothels of his childhood. He would not go back. Nor would he allow Trey to be dragged into that life. Not while Dutch had breath in his body.

For once he didn’t have a late night meeting. Tomorrow he would confront his father again and an informant who claimed he knew where Trey was. Dutch held out as much hope of real information as he did that no rain would follow the increasing thunder outside.

“Good evening, Mista Dutch. You look much tired. Need good food.”

“I’m so tired I don’t know if I can stay awake long enough to eat.”

He thought he saw Tsung’s unblinking expression flinch. Before he could ask what was wrong, She grabbed his arm and dragged him into the dining room.

“No worry, Mista Dutch must eat. Keep up strength. Relax. Take easy tonight. Missee Edie and Tsung take care of everything. Sit. Eat. Talk. Feel much, much better, soon. Tsung have own dinner with Lijun in kitchen.”

She disappeared through the door to the kitchen, leaving Dutch to stare at his surroundings.
What in Hades has happened to my dining room
?

Lightning flashed on the other side of the room’s single window.

Dozens of silken cushions scattered the area where his precious mahogany table had once stood. Low oriental tea stands, laden with a variety of food and drink replaced the four chairs. Incense heavy smoke rose from coals glowing within a clay firepot that resided in the corner nearest the kitchen. The light was so dim, had it not been for the silken sheen of fabric, he would have missed the figure that stood amidst the sultan’s ransom of cushions.

Edith. Dressed in a vibrant red robe of oriental design, decorated with gold dragons. He didn’t need the three knotted buttons slanting above her breast and the thigh high slit to tell him it was a whore’s dress. He’d seen too many during his years in the brothels. Nor did he need the dress to tell him what she had in mind. Lust grabbed his manhood. Panic seized his throat. What did she think she was doing? Did she imagine she could seduce him and still annul the marriage? Anger at her blatant attempt to manipulate him helped Dutch to fight back the rush of desire and scattered weariness like the rising wind now rattling the windows. She needed a lesson she wouldn’t soon forget.

Thunder boomed.

“Take it off.”

Edith jumped at the harsh command. “What?”

“You heard me.” He stalked forward until he stood bare inches from her. “You’re my wife. Take that thing off.”

Edith stumbled over an embroidered cushion as she retreated toward the kitchen. “Don’t you want to eat first?” She held a plate of fried oysters in her trembling hands.

“Sure, Sugar.” He cornered her with his body, took the plate from her with one hand, swallowed down an oyster then steadied her with the other hand. “I’ll eat just as soon as you strip down.”

“But … ”

“What’s the matter?” He plucked a second oyster from the plate and swallowed it whole. “Surely, you didn’t expect me to romance you? You set this up real nice. Unfortunately, I’m sorta tired.” He lied. His earlier exhaustion was long gone. He set the plate aside and reached for his belt buckle. “So if we’re gonna do this, we’ll have to do it quick.”

His trousers dropped, catching on his knees.

• • •

Edith couldn’t help herself. She stared at the very prominent bulge tenting his under things. She gave a startled squeak and made to duck beneath his arm.

His hard, warm hand on one shoulder stopped her.

Finally about to get what she needed, she felt suddenly unsure despite the pleasure she knew he could give her. She swallowed and looked up at him.

His lips were smiling, but his eyes were hard, intent on her mouth. His free hand snaked into her tresses, loosening the Chinese ornaments and the elaborate twists that Tsung had insisted on arranging. The heavy auburn locks tumbled about her shoulders as his lips descended to hers.

Soft.

She started in shock. This kiss was so very soft — and hot. Where was the cold anger that threatened retribution? His lips moved on hers. His hand stroked down to her hip, pressing her closer, and she lost all thought. She tasted the hint of chocolate, the smoky tang of oyster, and the stronger flavor of hot-blooded male, all mixed with the scent of wood smoke and incense. Wonder filled her entire being, and she leaned into him, kissing him back.

One tender nip at the fullness of her lower lip and she formed an O of surprise. His tongue seized her inner softness. She tensed at the intrusion, but a soothing hmm vibrated in his throat. His hands circled her shoulders, pulling her close, and she relaxed against him. He explored her mouth with knee dissolving thoroughness. One hand traveled from shoulder to breast.

The heat begun with his kiss increased tenfold. Emotional lightning sizzled through the air. Sensation scorched her from top to toe and back, centering in her most private places. Moaning with pleasure, she could swear she heard flames crackle and snap.

His lips trailed down her throat to the skin exposed by the loosened robe. She wanted more. Her head fell back to give him access. She was so very hot. Passion. Passion caused heat, right? It wasn’t very comfortable. Preoccupied with her breasts, Dutch didn’t seem to mind.

She wriggled trying to edge away from the heat that engulfed her. Her movements brought her calf into contact with his lower leg. It burned sharply.

Dutch chose that moment to jerk his head up. “Jehosephat, I never met a woman as hot as you are,” he said thickly. “I don’t know if I can handle you.”

She looked up at him. His gaze smoldered. Thin ribbons of incense smoke drifted between them. She followed his stare downward to where his hand, dark and strong, covered her breast. Light flickered in the corner of her vision, and the smoke thickened. Her gaze lowered, and her jaw dropped.

“Dutch,” she said hoarsely.

“Hmmm?” He leaned forward, nuzzling her earlobe.

“I think we’re on fire.”

“Me too, Sugar.”

“No.” She pushed at him, all senses now alert to danger. “I mean really on fire.”

“Huh?” He lifted his head, his eyes dazed.

She shoved him away and looked wildly about for something to douse the flames starting to lick up the side of his sagging trousers.

Dutch shook his head at her frantic actions then looked down. “Yeow.” He bent to beat at the small flames. The hair on his hands singed. He shoved his pants down further and tried to kick them off. They caught on his boots. The flames grew larger. “Tsung!” he yelled. “Bring the fire bucket. Now!”

Edith grabbed a teapot from the table, lifted the top, and tossed the contents at him. She missed the fire completely, but soaked his bent head.

Dutch ignored her and managed to free one leg by pulling off his boot.

Edith reached for the nearest container, a glass flagon of clear liquid.

Dutch freed his other leg.

“Look out,” she warned as she prepared to throw the fluid.

Dutch looked up and froze. “No! That’s
sake
, rice wine,” he cried out at the same moment she emptied the flagon at the smoldering heap of his pants.

A ball of flame wooshed upward and singed Dutch’s eyebrows before it spread to the pillows on the floor. The door separating the kitchen from the dining room blazed. Sparks settled on his shirt. Frantic, he beat his shirt to a smolder at the same time that he ran toward Edith.

Smoke began to fill the room. Chinese curses sounded in their ears. Tsung had brought the fire bucket.

“Fire bucket empty, Mista Dutch. Lijun run for help. Must leave house. Hurry!”

He reached out, hefted Edith, and carried her toward the front door, grabbing Tsung by the arm as he ran.

As the trio reached the door, lightning blinded and thunder deafened. At the same moment, the house beside his burst into flames, and a sparse rain began to fall. Edith prayed that a deluge would soon follow. Without it half of San Francisco would burn.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Edith’s feet touched the ground, but she clung to Dutch. Coughs constricted her chest, the spasms so great that she knew she’d fall to the ground without his support.

But he peeled her arms from his shoulders and pushed her gently away.

“Hold on to her, Tsung.”

Edith lifted her head. “What are … ?” Another spate of coughing kept her from asking what Dutch intended to do. She fumbled for support and found Tsung’s narrow shoulders.

“I’ll be right back.”

Where was he going? A crowd had gathered in the street. Voices shouted that other houses were burning. They needed water and a bucket brigade. There wasn’t enough rain.

“No, no. Mista Dutch, you not go back in house.”

“Nooo!” Edith croaked.

But Dutch turned and ran into the fire.

Whatever he was doing, Edith wasn’t about to let him die. She had to go in and get him out of there. She pushed away from Tsung, but the Chinese woman pulled Edith back.

“I have to save him.” She forced the words through her raw throat.

“No, no. Missee. Mista Dutch want you to live. Tsung want you to live.” The housemaid’s voice cracked.

Edith saw the tears on her friend’s face and understood the pain there. Losing Dutch would leave a huge hole in both her life and Tsung’s. “I’m sorry. I have to go after him.”

Edith lifted her blackened skirt and turned toward the house.

She’d gone maybe five steps when, from behind, someone knocked her to the ground.

A spate of Chinese crashed in her ears along with a roar of thunder mixed with blasts of sound and heat from the fire.

Desperate to get to Dutch and beyond caring, Edith twisted to beat off her attacker. Her vision went red. She gouged and scratched, pulled hair, bucked, and used her knees to batter the person’s body.

One hard slap followed another on her cheeks. She froze.

Rain soaked her clothing.

Tsung’s bleeding face swam into view. “Missee stop.” Tsung stood, freeing Edith, who lay in the dirt, stunned. A circle of sodden Orientals surrounded her. The Tsang family had arrived to help. Another spate of Chinese came from somewhere in the circle. Several hands extended to help her up.

One glance showed flames consuming the house. Despite the drenching rain, houses up and down the street were burning. What had she done?

Tsung appeared with a dry cloth and dabbed at Edith’s face.

“Thank you.” She took the cloth from her friend. “I’m sorry.”

“Tsung sorry, too.”

Falling timbers crashed from the house. “Dutch, he’s still inside?”

“He not come out yet.”

Tears mixed with raindrops streamed unchecked down Edith’s face, obscuring her vision. She hugged Tsung. The housemaid hugged back.

“Look at that!” A faceless voice shouted above the crowd.

Edith lifted her head and swiped at her eyes.

Dutch stood framed in the front door of the flaming house. Burdened with a large object, he ran for the porch stairs while the building collapsed behind him.

“Help him!” Edith ran, not realizing she shouted.

The Tsang family swarmed past her, reaching him first.

Tsung kept pace with Edith. The tiny woman pushed, shoved, and harangued her family out of the way.

They reached Dutch as he dropped his burden and collapsed into the street.

Edith went to her knees beside him, using the cloth to wipe his face. There was so much soot that all she did was spread the stuff around. She gave up, grasped his head in her hands, and kissed him.

“Mmmpfh.”

She lifted away. “Are you all right? Let me check you for burns.”

Shaking his head, Dutch hacked and coughed. His hands restrained her. “I’m fine,” he rasped.

“You could have died.”

He shook his head again and waited for a coughing fit to pass. “I doused myself in the horse trough before I went in.”