Discovery of Desire (9 page)

“If you please,” Mina added, in apology for Emma's passion.

“Yes, of course,” he murmured.

Frustration simmered just beneath her skin. Thomas should not be so cavalier. And those so-called gentlemen…she would never understand men.

“Mayhew's made progress elsewhere,” Thomas said, his tone placating. “He's been interviewing many of the locals who've accompanied British and French expeditions before. He's secured quite an impressive crew if the day comes to leave India.”

Mina tensed. “Could that happen soon?”

“There is not much more we—
he
—can accomplish in Bombay.” Thomas looked straight ahead.

We.

The plummet of her stomach broke Mina's stride. She gripped the pebble in her skirt pocket till the rough edges left her palm throbbing.

Coward!
Thomas did not
say
he was leaving.

But it was time. She must speak to him today about Emma, about their future, as it seemed unlikely he ever would. She notched her chin higher.

They strolled in silence behind Mr. Mayhew as he paced beside Amelia. He flashed his smile at the lady, and she dipped her head subtly. But the quick turn of Amelia's head invited no familiarity and Mr. Mayhew did not press. He took off his hat and raked a hand through his hair, doggedly trailing the men who ignored him.

Horrid,
horrid
East India men.

Her heart ached for him, for herself, for Emma, but she could not afford to act defeated. Thomas was the man she needed to marry. Especially if Colin Rivers returned.

She forced her gaze back to him and smiled. “Have you ever seen a rhinoceros, Thomas? Emma and I laughed because—”

“
No
,” Thomas groaned.

Mina stiffened at the blunt word, but Thomas's attention was not on her. Mr. Mayhew had sidled up to Secretary Turnbull, who was pointing out the baby warthogs to Amelia.

Mr. Mayhew leaned on the railing in front of the cages, and crossed an ankle behind him. The wide vee of his back and muscled backside quickly caught the admiring glances of the women and stirred the men into all manner of fidgety posturing.

Oh no. Masculine wiles.

Poor Mr. Mayhew. He really had no idea how to conduct himself with this company.

Mr. Mayhew grinned and said something to Secretary Turnbull, but the man merely arched a superior brow and turned his back.

Vile man. Why did Thomas not
do
something? Why didn't Amelia?

As if hearing her silent scold, Amelia whispered in her gentleman's ear. He patted Amelia's hand and then turned to Mr. Mayhew. The men shook hands and wandered a few feet to converse. Thank goodness. Perhaps there would be help today after all.

“Forgive me, Mina.” Thomas smiled down at her, his attention restored. “I was distracted.”

She dragged her gaze from the scene and focused on Thomas. She smiled into her own reflection in his spectacles.

They walked and talked. The conversation was easy, but not at all one of intimate acquaintance. Ahead, Mr. Mayhew finished his discussion with Secretary Turnbull, but when he saw her and Thomas walking arm in arm, he pulled low the brim of his hat and turned, sauntering in front of them.

Would he not rejoin them?

“…the rainy season is far worse in the south,” Thomas said.

“I see,” she murmured stupidly, unable to think of anything to say. Thomas would not like a wife with no conversation. But this was unnatural. Mr. Mayhew's search for Georgiana was of vital importance and they spoke of the weather.

The cluster of men and ladies ahead diverged from the cages, their attention caught by a crowd forming a large circle.

“Where is everyone going?” Emma asked.

“Appears there is an entertainment about to begin,” Thomas said.

They approached the ring of spectators and Mina jerked with surprise. An Indian lion was crouched and pulling from his handler's chain. A low growl sounded from the animal's lowered head, but the poor creature didn't move. It almost seemed frightened.

A crack in the air made her heart leap into her throat. The handler's whip swung a second time but she was no more prepared for the sound. The lion reared back on its hind legs and roared, startling the onlookers.

But the lion's teeth looked odd. And his paws swiped at his own collar rather than the whip. The crowd gasped, but an uncomfortable relief seemed to settle over them at the lion's show of spirit.

“This is horrible.” Emma started forward but stopped, knowing better than to distract the handler at the other end of the dangerous animal.

Thomas's face was grim, and Emma turned her back. Mina's own body trembled with disgust but Mr. Mayhew…

Mr. Mayhew didn't look away. He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, his face stony. She might have thought him disinterested if his gloves weren't stretched taut over his knuckles.

The handler bowed, the lion dropped its head, appearing resigned to its captivity, and the crowd applauded. Mr. Mayhew's face, even in the shade of his hat, had turned pale. The next instant, he stalked off and disappeared around the corner.

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.

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—