Monsoon Mists (12 page)

Zar knew only what her mother and Priya had taught her, but she had learned one thing – the Parsees considered it a dishonour to die childless. So why would her mother’s family want her? A woman married for four years without producing any offspring. A failure as a wife. It was a gloomy thought.

With a sigh, she put down her napkin and made her way to the stairs. No point sitting there getting maudlin. She might as well just go to bed.

‘You want me to help you,
sahiba
?’ Priya made to follow her, but Zar shook her head.

‘No, thank you, I’ll be all right on my own. You come up when you’re ready to retire yourself.’ She was wearing native clothing now and didn’t need help with unlacing.

Her bedroom was in the corner of the building, overlooking a small alleyway at the back. A servant would come and sit outside on guard soon, as she’d commanded, but as yet it was early and he was probably still having his own evening meal. Deep in thought, she shut the door, leaning her back against it briefly with her eyes closed.

‘Good evening, Mrs Miller.’

The deep voice startled her into a gasp and her eyes flew open. She took in the sight of Mr Kinross sitting in a rattan chair in the corner of her room, one leg crossed over the other as if he’d made himself comfortable. Zar put a hand over her heart to still its frantic beating.

‘What on earth do you think you’re doing?’ she hissed at him. She didn’t want to call out. If the servants found him here, her reputation would be in shreds in an instant. Although she may have no choice if he …
No!
She swallowed hard.

He stood up, moving unhurriedly, and smiled. ‘Winning our wager, I hope? This
is
your bedchamber, is it not?’

He walked over towards her and Zar became aware of just how tall he was. The latent power she’d noticed previously seemed to be emanating from him in invisible waves, making her tremble. She looked up into his eyes, which glittered in the light of the lantern that had been left next to her bed. ‘You can’t be serious?’ she breathed.

‘Oh, but I am. I never make bets unless I’m sure I’m going to win them. Perhaps you shouldn’t either?’ He held out a hand, palm up. ‘I believe you owe me three hundred rupees, madam?’

Zar had to restrain herself from boxing his ears. She was furious, but she knew the anger was mostly directed at herself.
Fool! Imbecile!
How could she have been so stupid? She should have known he’d trick her. ‘How did you get in? Who did you bribe?’ she asked, still keeping her voice down, but making it clear with her icy tone of voice that whoever had helped him would pay for it dearly. Was that why no one was outside her door?

He shook his head. ‘No one. I climbed.’ He nodded towards the double doors that opened onto a small balcony. ‘If you don’t want night time visitors, I’d suggest you have your plants pruned more regularly.’

‘But there’s a nightwatchman who patrols the alleyway. What did you do to him?’ Zar didn’t want to believe it could be that easy to gain access to her private quarters. If Kinross had managed it, then obviously so could anyone else. Good grief.

‘I’m afraid he’s asleep and likely to remain so until morning. He was very partial to the drink my servant brought him earlier.’

‘Why you …’ Words failed her as she realised the extent of his machinations. ‘That means you cheated so I don’t owe you anything,’ she snapped.

‘Oh, I think you do. We didn’t agree on any rules for our wager, as I recall? You can’t renege now.’

‘I don’t have three hundred rupees, at least not here. You’ll have to wait.’ It galled Zar to admit he was right. She should have made sure he couldn’t cheat. No, she shouldn’t have wagered with him at all.

‘Not an option. If you don’t have the sum now, you’ll have to pay me in kind.’

Zar felt her eyes open wide as a current of fear surged through her, almost paralysing in its intensity. ‘What?
No!
’

‘Just a kiss?’ He glanced at her wrist. ‘And perhaps those gold bangles. They must be worth a bit.’

As if in a trance, Zar followed his gaze to the clinking collection of thin gold bracelets encircling her arm. He could have those, sure, but a kiss?
No, absolutely not.

‘Very well, take these and then the debt is paid. I’m sure you’ll find they’re worth more than you’re asking for.’ She pulled them off and held them out to him. They were too big for her anyway and were forever falling down over her hand, restricting her movements. He took them and managed somehow to thread them onto his own wrist. Zar watched in amazement. Didn’t he have bones in his hand? It was as if he could squeeze them together, his joints loose.

‘Thank you, Mrs Miller. Or may I call you Zarmina?’

‘Huh? No, you may not.’

‘A shame, because I don’t mind if you call me Jamie. My friends do.’

‘Well, we’re not friends.’ Zar took a step back as his gaze seemed to fasten on her lips.

‘We could be.’ He followed, then lifted his eyes to stare into hers. ‘Zarmina.’

He breathed her name and she felt herself shiver. It had never sounded so intimate, so sensual. And no one had ever said it with such reverence, as if she was special. She stood still as his face came nearer, his eyes not leaving hers for a second. Somehow she couldn’t move; she could only watch his mouth descend towards hers. A part of her screamed out a warning, urging her legs to run, get away, as fast as she could. But she didn’t. She stayed rooted to the spot.

He touched his lips to hers, gently, without any other part of him coming into contact with her. He didn’t grab at her upper arms to hold her fast, the way Francis used to, or paw any other part of her anatomy. His mouth was soft, the lips dry, but smooth. He moved it as if he was tasting her, memorising the feel of her, worshipping her. Zar felt her lips tingling and opened them slightly. Kinross – Jamie – seemed to take that as an invitation. His tongue slid slowly through, the tip touching hers. Zar quivered, not sure what to do.

Run! Tell him to stop!
But still she didn’t.

Instead her treacherous tongue pushed back against his, following his lead to play, spar, taste and explore. She’d never been kissed before, not like this. And never with her consent.

Her consent? Dear Lord …

With a gasp, she broke off the kiss and blinked up at Jamie. Damn it, why couldn’t she stop thinking of him by his Christian name now? The corners of his mouth lifted in a lazy smile that made her lungs constrict.

‘That wasn’t so bad, was it?’ he asked, stepping back and giving her the breathing space she sorely needed.

‘I …’ Zar had lost the power of speech and she had no idea what to say in any case. She couldn’t lie. It hadn’t been bad, in the sense that she hadn’t panicked as she normally would, but it shouldn’t have happened in the first place. Even though it was glorious. No, what was she thinking?

‘Consider your debt paid.’ His smile widened. ‘Unless you’d like me to carry on?’

‘No! No, please don’t.’ Zar swallowed, trying to order her thought processes and bring her wayward body under control. She wrapped her arms around her torso for protection, although how that would help she had no idea.

He shrugged. ‘Oh well, I’m sure you can easily find out where I live if you change your mind. But now, I must be off. Goodnight, beautiful Zarmina.’

He headed for the balcony and Zar watched as he disappeared over the railing, seemingly without any trouble whatsoever. Feeling dazed, she walked outside and stared down into the alleyway, but all was quiet and Jamie was nowhere to be seen. He’d melted into the night, as if he’d merely been a figment of her imagination.

She put her fingers on her lips. But he wasn’t, he was real all right.

And she’d allowed him to kiss her.

What have I done?

And why had he stopped? He could so easily have forced her to carry on. No one would have been any the wiser. But he hadn’t so much as laid a finger on her. Just a kiss. That’s what he’d said and he’d kept his word. But there was nothing ‘just’ about it, she realised that now. It had been extraordinary.

Jamie felt like whistling as he made his way home through the dark streets. Well, that didn’t go too badly. In fact, it had gone exactly to plan. Except for the part where he’d enjoyed that kiss a little too much.

Damn, but walking away from her was hard.

He’d only meant to give her a small kiss, the merest touch of his lips on hers, but it had turned into something different. It was strange, but she’d been so hesitant he could have sworn she’d never been kissed before. At least not with tongues involved.

He smiled to himself. Well, perhaps she hadn’t. He’d come across married women before who had never been wooed properly by their husbands, only used as breeding vessels or for the man’s convenience. For a few carefree years before his marriage, Jamie had specialised in ‘consoling’ these ladies, finding them to be particularly eager for the attentions of someone well versed in the art of lovemaking. And apart from the risk of being found out by an irate husband, bedding such women was always safer than going after the young and unmarried ones. As he’d found to his cost.

Scowling now, Jamie turned his thoughts away from the past and back to the present. Perhaps it was worth pursuing the Ice Widow while he was here? He had plenty of time to amuse himself while he waited for Sanjiv to reach Surat. Mrs Miller – or Zarmina as he’d called her – didn’t have a husband any more though, so there could still be consequences. He would have to make sure he didn’t take things too far.

A light flirtation, that couldn’t hurt, surely? It would help pass the time.

There were many types of coinage in use in the various regions of India, with exotic names like
rupees, pagodas, fanams
and
xeraphims
to name but a few, but Surat had its own currency and at the Mint by the
maidan
anyone could have their silver changed into the local coins. When he’d first arrived there, Jamie had found it very strange that silver was more highly valued than gold. To most Europeans this seemed back to front somehow, but all the coins minted in the city were made of silver and any gold had to be exchanged for the lesser metal unless one wanted an ornament made out of it.

There was a charge for having coins struck, however. Not only that, but unless one paid extra, one could also face an exceedingly long wait because the men who did this work were always busy. Ready-made coins could be bought at a price, but again this would cost more. Only someone in desperate straits would resort to that.

Unfortunately for Jamie, he didn’t have time to wait so he’d decided to swallow his resentment against this practice and go see a money changer, or
saraf
as they were called here. He’d been distracted by Zarmina when Miller paid him for the large diamond and it wasn’t until afterwards he’d realised the man had given him an odd assortment of coins, none of which could be used here. He must have thought Jamie wouldn’t know, since he was a newcomer in Surat. Miller was wrong about that, but now Jamie had to pay for his inattention.

‘Bloody thieves,’ Andrew had muttered darkly when mentioning the
sarafs
. ‘Not only are they in charge of minting, they’ve got us in their power because they control the exchange rates. It’s daylight robbery, I tell you.’

But needs must.

Jamie approached the
maidan
, where the usual hustle and bustle was stirring up the dust. He’d chosen to wear native clothing today, so he used the end of his turban to cover his mouth and nose, thereby avoiding a coughing fit. It helped him to cope with the worst of the stench that hung over the place as well – a pungent mixture of humanity, rubbish, excrement, spices and incense, but he still felt the heat. There was no avoiding that in India, ever, no matter what you wore.

A throng of people mingled with
kafilas
, the rows of bullock carts that brought goods in from the countryside. There were also numerous palanquins and a couple of Arab horses with exquisite saddles. Textiles of every kind were being unloaded from the carts into vendors’ tents and official looking individuals went around valuing the goods for customs duties. Nothing could be brought into – or out of – the city for free.

It was complete and utter chaos with so many people you could barely move, and the noise had to be heard to be believed, but Jamie loved it. Not only merchants and
sarafs
, but jugglers and conjurers, contortionists and snake charmers – the
maidan
had them all. For a while he just sauntered around looking at everything going on and storing the scene in his memory. Eventually, however, he made his way over to one of the exchangers who sat under an awning at a small table, literally surrounded by bags of coins.

‘Welcome,
sahib.
’ He was gestured to sit crosslegged on a rug opposite the man. ‘How can I help you?’

A lengthy haggling session followed. The
saraf
had probably thought Jamie would be some poor sap who didn’t know how to get a good deal. He was soon proved wrong and the longer it went on, the more the man seemed to be enjoying himself. Jamie, too, derived pleasure from the exchange and although he knew he was probably being fleeced, at least he’d cut this down to a minimum. It could have been worse.

He stuffed the sack of coins into his sash, the way Indians did. They usually didn’t have pockets or bags, but used their belts for transporting all manner of things. Jamie had adopted this practice as it seemed sensible. With the money lodged so close to his body, he knew he’d stand more chance of foiling any pickpockets that might be operating in the area.

As he walked away from the
saraf
, he caught the sound of English voices nearby and stopped to listen.

‘Take your hands off me, sir. I have already refused your offer and I will
not
be changing my mind. Unhand me this instant!’

Mrs Miller – Zarmina – with a definite tinge of desperation in the tone of her voice. Without hesitation, Jamie plunged through the crowd in her direction.