Monsoon Mists (6 page)

He stood up as well. ‘I beg your pardon? I wasn’t aware I’d asked a question.’ He tilted his head slightly to one side and gave her his best smile, the one he’d been told could melt a woman’s heart at fifty paces. Not this one, apparently. The thought almost made him laugh out loud, but then he wondered what it was about him that she found so offensive. They’d hardly exchanged two sentences.

‘I can see that you’re the kind of man who usually has all the ladies in a flutter, and no doubt you thought I’d be another easy conquest,’ she said, rushing the words out as if she’d recited them many times before.

Perhaps she had, Jamie thought.

‘But I’m not looking for a husband so you’d be wasting your breath,’ she finished, drawing in a deep gulp of air at last. ‘You’ll have to make your fortune some other way, as will the gentleman who asked me earlier.’

Anger rushed to the surface, making Jamie forget everything except wanting to punish this woman for her presumption that all men wanted to marry an heiress.
Just like Elisabet.
He deliberately stared at her bosom as it heaved enticingly. This made her blush, so he allowed his gaze to travel up to her face and back down along her body. ‘As I said, I wasn’t asking,’ he drawled. ‘And believe me, marriage wasn’t the first thing that came to mind when I saw you.’

He had the satisfaction of seeing her eyes widen and her nostrils flare with outrage, but thought to himself that she’d deserved it. Why should he concern himself with her sensibilities when she was so set against every male she encountered without bothering to make their acquaintance properly? The nerve of the woman, to assume he’d want to marry her when they had only just met.

‘Well, really! I’m—’

‘—not used to men who aren’t interested in you? No, I can see that. But rest assured, Mrs Miller, you’d be the last woman on earth I’d want to marry. If you’re ever looking for a mere dalliance, however, just let me know. I’d be more than happy to oblige.’ He let the words hang in the air for a moment, then gave her a mocking bow. ‘And now, since we’ve established that neither of us is interested in wedded bliss, I’ll bid you goodnight. There seems no point in prolonging the conversation or becoming acquainted further. Enjoy your solitary life.’

He turned on his heel and stalked off, more shaken by the encounter than he’d care to admit. Mrs Miller had reminded him of everything he’d been trying to forget and all the reasons why he’d come to India in the first place. Her assumptions about him were as rude as they were unfounded. What was it about spoiled beautiful women that they thought every man within ten miles would want to marry them? They could at least wait to be asked. He gave vent to his anger by downing several glasses of pale punch.

‘Bitch,’ he muttered, thinking of Mrs Miller but instead startling a matron nearby. He gave her his most charming smile to placate her, but inside he was still seething because in his mind’s eye the beautiful Mrs Miller had merged with Elisabet, who’d made the same assumption.

He felt the old resentment well up and threaten to choke him, but he forced it down. He was probably over-reacting and, in any case, what did it matter? Mrs Miller wasn’t his concern and he need never talk to her again.

To hell with all women.

Zarmina stood frozen to the spot for several long moments, staring at the back of Mr Kinross as he strode off. She brought one trembling hand up to her mouth and tried to calm herself by taking a deep breath. The encounter had been worse than most, despite the fact that Kinross hadn’t even tried to touch her. But he’d virtually devoured her with his eyes. She’d felt naked and vulnerable and yet … excited?

‘Curse him!’

She didn’t know why she was so upset. She ought to be used to this by now, but although she’d received more marriage proposals than she could count, no man had ever made her feel regret. Until now.

Why should she feel anything of the sort? He was no better than the rest. Worse, in fact, because of his rude propositioning.

But, dear Lord, he certainly stood out from the crowd.

Zar had spotted him the moment he entered the room and had studied his progress for a while as his friend introduced him to groups of people. Tall and broad-shouldered, Kinross towered over many of the other men present, but that wasn’t what made him conspicuous. Nor was it his exceptional good looks and flashing smile, although these were obviously hard to ignore. Zarmina thought it was more to do with the latent power that radiated from him. She’d noticed he was lean, his tight-fitting clothes hinting at well-trained muscles, and under his polite exterior she sensed he was all primitive male.

Dangerous. At least to susceptible females.

Which was why she’d wanted to nip any possible courtship in the bud immediately.

Only, he wasn’t interested so she’d embarrassed herself for nothing.

Zar felt her cheeks heat up at the thought of his rude words. He’d been interested all right, but only in bedding her, something she knew other widows sometimes indulged in. She almost laughed out loud. That would be the last thing she’d ever want to do after … She cut that thought off abruptly. The past was gone. She refused to dwell on it.

Taking another few breaths of sweet night air, she hurriedly made her way back along the roof garden towards the stairs down to the dining room. As always, she held her head high and assumed a mask of indifference. No one could hurt her now. She was her own woman and that’s how it was going to stay.

Mr Kinross would soon be forgotten. Wouldn’t he?

Yet when she briefly closed her eyes, his mocking smile was the image etched into her memory.

Chapter Six

Jamie woke with a gasp and tried to suck in all the air his dreams had forced out of him. For a moment he felt faint, but somehow he managed to make his lungs do their job. Although he knew the nightmares weren’t real, he still had to fight down the panic that had him in its grip. Battling his way out from under the tangled sheets and mosquito curtains, he sat up, running shaking fingers through his shoulder-length hair. His body was covered in a sheen of perspiration, caused by a combination of alarm from the dream and the stultifying heat of the bedroom. Slowly, his heartbeat calmed down and his skin cooled off.

‘
Fan i helvetes jävlar
!’ He swore viciously in several different languages, switching effortlessly from Swedish to English, then on into his mother’s native Dutch, followed by Hindi when he ran out of suitable epithets. The cursing didn’t make him feel any better though. What he really wanted was to have his brain cleansed of all memories of Elisabet Grahn. He wished he’d never set eyes on her at all.

She’s dead. She’s gone,
he reminded himself, but the image of her had permeated his dreams and wouldn’t leave him.

Awake now, there was no way he’d go back to sleep again, so he pulled on a pair of breeches and went to stand on the narrow balcony outside his room. The air was cooler there, but still hot. This was India, after all, and no matter the time of day, you never froze like you did in his native Scandinavia. How he missed the cold, the crisp air, the cool breeze, the snow. But he couldn’t go back.

Not yet.

Perhaps never.

And it was all Elisabet’s fault. Or perhaps it was his own?

His tangled thoughts refused to give him respite, so he allowed himself to think back, to remember, hoping this would help put his demons to rest. He’d been such a fool …

Riding through a deep, dark Swedish forest held no terrors for Jamie. On the contrary, he loved the feeling of solitude, of being at one with nature. The wonderful scent of pine needles and summer greenery enveloped him and he wasn’t afraid of the creatures that inhabited the woods. Any wolf or lynx stupid enough to challenge him would regret it. He always carried a lethal dagger and knew how to use it.

It was Midsummer Night’s Eve and despite the late hour, it was no darker than at twilight since the sun wouldn’t set at all this night. To celebrate, Jamie had spent the evening carousing with friends. He was three sheets to the wind, but it didn’t matter. His horse could find the way home without guidance, leaving his master to reminisce about a pretty maidservant who’d promised to meet him in a few days’ time.

A piercing scream broke the silence and startled the horse into rearing up. Jamie only just managed to grab the reins and hold on, his fuzzy brain struggling to process what was happening.

‘Whoa, Modig, easy boy.’ He pulled his dagger out of its sheath, calmed the horse while dismounting and looked around. Another cry came from his right and Jamie plunged in among the trees, towing Modig behind him.

He knew every path for miles around his father’s manor house and he remembered there was a river nearby with a very pretty waterfall. The screams had seemed to be coming from that direction so he headed there. Soon after, he burst into a clearing by the water’s edge and stopped dead.

‘Elisabet? Dear God, what happened to you?’

Feeling suddenly stone cold sober, Jamie took in the dishevelled state of his brother’s beloved. Elisabet Grahn was lying on the ground, her clothing torn and dirty, and her bodice covered in what looked like blood. Tears ran down her cheeks and her mouth was swollen. Jamie couldn’t help but stare at her half naked upper body, which was covered in scratches.

‘J-Jamie, h-help me, please,’ she sobbed, stretching out a hand imploringly towards him.

Jamie let go of Modig – he knew the horse wouldn’t go far – and rushed forward to help Elisabet off the ground. ‘Can you stand? Are you badly hurt?’ He searched her face for signs of pain as she stood up with his assistance.

She shook her head, but winced. ‘A little, but I …’ She looked downwards and understanding hit him like a punch to the solar plexus. It was clear that she’d been violated. He’d noticed her skirts had been bunched up beneath her, leaving her legs exposed. Even now the material was badly creased.

‘Who did this?’ he asked, his tone deadly. Elisabet belonged to Brice, Jamie’s older brother, everyone knew that. Although no formal betrothal had taken place, it was only a matter of time. The families were just waiting for Brice to come back from a journey to China before making the announcement.

‘The … the blacksmith’s apprentice. Luc, the oldest one,’ she whispered.

‘What, one of the Walloons? Damn it all to hell!’

The local blacksmith was of Belgian extraction, from the Walloon region, and for the last year he’d had some younger relatives apprenticed to him temporarily. They were handsome youths, with black hair, dark eyes, cheeky smiles and tanned skin. At twenty, Jamie was a bit older than them so hadn’t been in their company much. But although he’d heard they were prone to picking fights with local boys, he’d never thought any of them would stoop to rape.

Jamie put an arm around Elisabet’s shoulders and led her towards the horse. ‘Let me take you home, then I’ll go after him. He’ll not get away with this.’

‘No, it’s too late,’ Elisabet sobbed. ‘He said he was leaving. I … I don’t know where he’s gone. Probably back to … to his country.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll find him.’ Jamie lifted her up onto the horse’s back, and mounted behind her. ‘Here, take my jacket.’ He draped it round her to hide her pale curves. Not because they tempted him, but in case they met someone.

She was a tiny slip of a thing, as fragile as a porcelain doll. Although she was exquisitely beautiful with a perfect face and figure, Jamie had never been as beguiled by her as his brother. It was strange, he thought, but he didn’t desire her. Elisabet may be pretty on the outside, but she was spoiled and petulant, a pampered only daughter. Jamie preferred girls who weren’t shrews. He’d be damned if he wanted to spend the rest of his life leg-shackled to a tyrant in petticoats.

Poor Brice. Still, to each his own.

At the moment he felt nothing but sympathy for her. And as Brice wasn’t here to avenge her honour, the task must be his.

As he turned to check that she was holding on properly, he caught a strange expression on her face but it was gone in an instant. He wondered if he’d imagined it – his brain was still somewhat befuddled with
snaps
after all – and decided he must have done. ‘Let’s get you home.’

It was only later he realised that he hadn’t imagined it, but by then he was well and truly caught.

‘There was a message for you,
Sahiba
Zar. That man you insist on employing came while you were out.’

‘Priya, not here!’

Zarmina put a finger on her lips to shush the maid, while checking to make sure no one was listening to their conversation. Then she ushered her into a private room, adjoining her bedroom. No one was allowed in there except the two of them.

Priya had been her
ayah
, acting first as nanny and later maid and confidante, but although Zar would trust the woman with her life, Priya didn’t always think before acting or speaking.
Still, she’s all I’ve got.
She buried that thought as she’d learned long ago it was no use bemoaning her fate.

‘Now then, what did he have to say?’

‘Nothing new really.’ Priya sniffed. ‘Just that your stepson is still meeting with unsavoury characters.’

‘Anyone in particular? This is important, I need to know what he’s up to. If he’s making underhand deals, he could drag me down with him.’

The maid shrugged. ‘The usual. And Mansukh the merchant.’

‘Mansukh? That’s new. Why would he be meeting with him? He’s our rival.’ Zar frowned and took a turn around the room, trying to order her thoughts. William, her adult stepson, had no head for business whatsoever, which was probably why his father – Zar’s former husband – had left half the trading company to her, his widow. She knew William had been first incredulous, then livid, when he found this out, but the will was entirely legal and there was nothing he could do about it. He’d had to accept a partnership with his stepmother, a girl who was younger than himself. Thus, she was a constant thorn in his side.

‘Old
sahib
should never have given you this role,’ Priya grumbled.