Hot Winds From Bombay

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  Persia crept to the landing above and hid in the shadows, peering between the carved spindles of the banister. She was forced to bite her lip to keep from protesting as she watched Europa insinuate herself into Zack’s arms and raise her parted lips for his kiss. The only thing that saved her sister from a good hair pulling was the fact that Persia knew this would be the last kiss between the two of them.

  Finally, she breathed a huge sigh of relief as Zack extracted himself from Europa’s clutches and made a quick exit into the night. Persia hurried back to her room so that Europa wouldn’t know she’d been spying on them.

  She was all packed, and dressed in her warmest clothes. The old stagecoach route from Quoddy Cove to Boston was roughly one hundred miles. They would be riding all night and well into the next day, something over twelve hours even with the wind at their backs. They could stop off at the stage inn in Portsmouth for the night, if the weather turned foul. But from the looks of it, the snow was over. And the bright moon would be reflecting off the large, granite milestones erected by George Washington along the old Colonial Post road all the way to Boston.

  Persia heard Europa’s door close. There had been no other sound upstairs since her mother and father had come up. Still, she must wait a while and make sure everyone was sleeping before she ventured downstairs.

  She took a seat at her writing table and drew out paper from one of its pigeonholes. Dipping her pen in the ink flask, she poised it to write a convincing explanation of her actions. But no words came. How do you tell your parents that you are running away to be married to your sister’s fiance? After several attempts at consoling them—none at all convincing, even to the author—Persia scribbled a simple, straightforward message:

  Dear Mother, Father, and Europa,

  I am leaving tonight with Zack. We are in love and will be married by the time you read this. Forgive me. I never meant to hurt any of you.

  Your loving and obedient daughter,

  Persia

  On rereading her brief message, she took her pen, dipped it once more, and scratched out the word “obedient.” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she folded the paper neatly three times. She would give anything if it didn’t have to be this way. But she had no other choice.

  As she was wiping her pen point on the chamois cloth to put it away, she heard a low whistle from outside. Every nerve in her body jumped, then tingled.

  “Zack!” she murmured.

  Grabbing up her portmanteau, she opened her door and peered out. Only low lights glimmered in the hallway below. Everyone was sleeping. She tiptoed out, casting one last look at her childhood bed and Lady Guinevere, staring wide-eyed at her, before she turned and started down the stairs.

  Zack would be waiting out back in the leafless, frozen orchard. She turned toward the kitchen, gaining speed with every step. Only a short distance now and she would be free—free to live and love as she pleased. She gave the swinging door a sharp shove and hurried through, only to run into an immovable object. Her breath froze.

  “Miss Persia?” inquired a deep, English-accented voice.

  Persia clasped a hand to her heart and breathed in with relief. “Fletcher! You scared me half to death!”

  The servant’s hard-surfaced tattooed face, shadowed grotesquely in the dim lamplight, was enough to frighten anyone who didn’t know him into heart failure. But Persia knew the man and had adored him all her life.

  “You are leaving with him.” This was a statement, not a question. Fletcher often exhibited an unnerving second sight.

  “Yes, and you mustn’t try to stop me,” she commanded, then begged, “Please!”

  “I would not. He is your man. Go to him. And take this with you.” He pressed an English gold piece into the palm of her right hand. “My father gave it to me many years ago. It has guarded me all my life and brought me good fortune. But you need it more now.”

  A sudden rush of affection for the strange savage took possession of her. She hugged him soundly, realizing that tears were flooding her eyes once more.

  “Take care of them, Fletcher. Try to make them understand. I love him so much. I can’t let him go to Boston without me.”

  Another shrill whistle echoed in the night.

  Fletcher led her to the door. “Go to your man, Miss Persia. And the gods be with you.”

  Zack was waiting just outside to sweep her into his arms and then into the sleigh. She felt breathless. Her whole body tingled with anticipation. She kissed his hands, his face, his lips.

  “Zack, my darling Zack! We’ve done it!”

  Already he was whipping the horses down the road as they snuggled close beneath a warm robe of bear fur.

  He laughed into the cold wind—a gleeful sound in the still night. “Ah, my love, we haven’t done half of it yet. Just you wait!”

  The team of chestnut horses clattered onto a covered bridge at the edge of town. All went black suddenly as the light of the moon was obscured by the roof overhead. Zack reined in the pair and gathered Persia into his arms, his lips only a breath away from hers.

  “I’ve heard tell around town that this is called the ‘kissing bridge.’ Right or wrong?”

  “Right,” she answered, trembling as one of his hands found her breast and squeezed gently.

  “Well?”

  His lips captured hers and she melted against him. She had worried that she might be cold on this midnight ride. But Zack dispelled that fear. How could the chill of the night air bother her when his lips were boiling the blood in her veins?

  After caressing her mouth and her breasts thoroughly, Zack whipped up the team. They sped off down the icy, moon-silvered road.

  But there were many kissing bridges along the way, and just as many kisses, each one more fervent and stirring than the one before it.

  By the tenth milestone, any apprehension Persia might have felt about her hasty decision to run away and marry Zack had melted like a snowbank in bright May sunshine.

  They rode on into the night, her head upon his chest, his arm around her, his hand fondling her breast. At each of the granite markers along the way, Zack proclaimed his love for her anew. Persia snuggled against him, sublimely happy and certain that there was not a luckier woman on the face of the earth. or a woman who was more in love.

  Chapter Eleven

  Before they arrived the next day, the early winter twilight had crept over Boston, shrouding church steeples and ships’ masts alike in its pearly gloom. Persia and Zack were both happy, but cold, weary, and ready for a hot meal and a soft bed.

  “We’ll find a preacher first thing,” Zack said, slowing the horses as they neared the Boston wharves.

  In spite of herself, Persia yawned. “Can’t we wait until tomorrow, Zack? I’d like to remember my wedding. If we’re married this evening, I’m afraid I might sleep through the whole ceremony.”

  He stared down at her, his eyes narrowing with uncertainty. He didn’t want to wait. All these long, cold miles, he had imagined taking his bride and had relished the inviting fantasies that tripped through his mind.

  Persia smiled up at him sleepily and touched one downturned corner of his mouth with a fingertip. “Don’t look so gloomy, darling. It’s not as if I were trying to put you off forever. We’ll be together.”

  Misinterpreting her words, Zack stopped worrying and smiled. “You’re right. Tomorrow is soon enough for the vows. There’s no need to rush our wedding now. The bed comes first.”

  The sleigh moved slowly now that they were in the city. Other vehicles crowded the way, while boys on crude sleds and makeshift skates frolicked about, presenting a traffic hazard.

  Persia watched all this, but only with a passing interest. Her mind was as weary as her body, and sleep remained uppermost in her thoughts. “Where will we stay, Zack? Father prefers the United States Hotel. He says it has dignity and is the perfect hostelry for East India captains.”

  Zack laughed.
“You forget, my darling, that I’m not a captain yet. And I may never be—not on your father’s ship, at least, since I’m marrying the wrong daughter. I always stop at the Tail of the Devil Tavern when I’m ashore. See, there it is, just ahead.” He pointed toward a dingy, two-story building that seemed as worn out as Persia herself. The filth-smeared windows gave the impression of tired eyes, and a weathered red sign groaning in the wind dangled askew. The painted board depicted Lucifer’s head, tail, and pitchfork. “It’s a favorite among my shipmates.”

  “A tavern?” Persia, with a growing sense of unease, watched as a sailor, none too steady on his feet, ushered a painted strumpet through the front entrance. “Oh, I couldn’t!”

  The dismay in Persia’s tone surprised him. But seeing the seaman and his woman entering, he realized she was absolutely right. One of the small rooms over his favorite drinking establishment was hardly the place to take the woman he loved. Still, they couldn’t go trooping into the United States Hotel. Common seamen simply didn’t rub elbows with Boston’s captains. It wasn’t done.

  He placed a hand on her arm understanding^. “I know of a small boarding house on Charter Street. It’s nothing fancy, but it’s clean and quiet. Would that suit you better, darling?”

  Relief flooded through her. “That sounds delightful. Actually, any respectable place will do as long as it has a bed,” she said with a sigh.

  Once again, Zack was thinking one thing while Persia was saying another. His heart gave a loud thump at her words, and he felt a hot surge in his groin. So, she was as anxious as he!

  Unbeknownst to Persia, Zack wrote their names in the registry as “Mr. and Mrs. Z. Hazzard.” It wasn’t until the landlady showed them upstairs and unlocked the door that Persia realized they would be sharing one room with one bed in it. But she could hardly protest when the prim, white-haired woman said, “I’m sure you and your mister will find this comfortable, Mrs. Hazzard. The supper he’s asked for will be brought to your room in half an hour or so. Let me know if I can be of any other assistance.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Wilkes.” Persia closed the door firmly behind her and turned toward Zack, arching a brow. “Where are you going to sleep?”

  He grinned and flopped down on the bed, his weight making the ropes groan in complaint. “Right here, unless you would prefer this side. It makes no difference to me. Starboard or port. Either one will suit me fine.”

  “Zack, we’re not married yet!” Persia’s face was flaming and her stomach churning. Her head and heart told her that a few words spoken over them and a few hours made no difference. But her stern New England upbringing rebelled against the idea of sharing a bed with a man—even the man she loved and wanted desperately—while she was still unmarried.

  “You’re the one who wanted to wait till tomorrow, Persia. Don’t blame me.”

  “But I thought you were getting two rooms for tonight.”

  Suddenly she stopped. Back in Maine, Zack had said he was out of money. Maybe there wasn’t enough left to take a second room. She decided instantly not to offer any more objections. The last thing she wanted to do was embarrass him. She could handle the situation and Zack. He would simply have to understand that she intended to remain a virgin until she was a bride. He was probably only testing her, anyway.

  She smiled at the thought of sharing an intimate dinner with him in front of the cozy fireplace. And she decided she definitely would not fight him off if he tried to steal a kiss or two. In fact, their embraces along the old Colonial Post Road had only whetted her appetite for more. She was shameless! Even now, she found herself thinking back to their time alone in his room at Jefferd’s. The thoughts filled her with a languid warmth that flowed from her heart into her breasts, then down to the center of her longing and on to her legs, making them nearly too weak to support her. There was something almost reverent about the way Zack’s hands caressed her body, the way he kissed her. She supposed that was as it should be when a man and a woman loved each other.

  “This will do nicely,” she said, offering him a warm smile.

  “I’m glad it suits you, darling. I think it’s perfect.”

  She glanced about to see what provisions for modesty the tiny room offered and was relieved to spy a Chinese folding screen in one corner. She would have to change clothes, and she wasn’t sure she could pry Zack from the comfortable bed. It would still be a trial to undress with him in the same room, but she could do it with the screen to shield her from his prying eyes.

  She noted that the hard glare of ironstone flashed at her from under the edge of the bed—a chamber pot. Although it was standard fare in any bedroom, using it would prove most embarrassing. After she was changed, she would find some excuse to go down and speak to Mrs. Wilkes. Surely the boarding house was equipped with an indoor privy. If not, she would simply be forced to follow the path out back.

  “Our supper will be here soon, Persia.”

  “I know,” she answered, trying to work up the nerve to go behind the screen and begin removing her rumpled clothes in order to wash up.

  “I’m hungry, aren’t you?”

  He had been lying on the bed, his hands clasped behind his head. Slowly, he rose and came toward her. She noted that certain gleam in his dark eyes. It was always there just before he kissed her.

  He stopped at the foot of the bed, about six feet away from her. He stood there, hands on hips and his boots planted wide apart. Although she tried to keep her eyes on his face, her gaze strayed maddeningly down, taking full measure of the bulge in his tight trousers. Quickly, she forced her eyes away.

  “Come here,” he commanded.

  “Zack, I really need to freshen up. I’m a mess.”

  “Persia, I said come here!”

  Slowly, as if drawn by the steel glare of his gaze, she moved toward him. She stood directly before him, feeling her flesh tingle as his eyes roved over her. He was fondling her without ever laying a hand on her. How could he make her feel this way with only his eyes?

  His hands came up to her neck and began unfastening her cloak. He drew it from her shoulders and tossed it aside.

  “There! Isn’t that better?”

  “Yes,” she murmured. “It is warm in here.” It was warm all right, but the heat wasn’t coming from the meager blaze in the hearth.

  Suddenly, his eyes caught the firelight and seemed to flare with light. Or was it a reflection? Persia couldn’t be sure. Perhaps the brilliance came from within. He gripped her shoulders and massaged them gently.

  “Persia, do you realize what’s happening to us?”

  His question confused her. She wasn’t even sure what was happening inside her, much less what he was thinking and feeling. She answered him with a shake of her head.

  “The two of us are about to become one living, breathing entity. If birth is a miracle, a man and woman finding each other is even more of one. Deep, deep down, I know that you and I have been meant for each other since the day we were born. But what if I had decided not to stay over in Maine? What if you caught a cold and hadn’t come to the skating pond? What if your family had caught you slipping out last night and forced you to remain at home instead of leaving with me?”

  “No… n-no!” she gasped. “None of those things could have happened.” She didn’t want to think of such horrors.

  He looked solemn now as he stared into her eyes and said, “Oh, yes, they could have. Fate is the trickiest thing in the world. I’ve known a lot of people who never found the ones they were meant for. That includes my own mother. I never thought I would. Hell, I never thought there was a woman for me! Then… boom!… you dropped right out of the heavens, riding the northern lights down to where I was standing.” He shook his head and grinned from ear to ear. “Don’t you see what I’m saying? I’m so stunned and so happy and so much in love I don’t even know how to act. We’re something really special. We have to keep it that way… always.”

  He cupped her face in
his hands and brought her lips toward his. Persia felt tears welling up in her eyes. He was right! Whatever force or configuration of the stars had brought them together had been powered by a fragile form of energy. The miracle had happened. Now it was up to the two of them to make it succeed.

  “Oh, Zack,” she whispered. But he silenced anything else she might have said.

  His lips held hers prisoner for only a moment, then he drew away. The next instant, she felt the velvet of his tongue tracing her mouth. His whiskers grazed her, like raw Chinese silk abrading her skin, but she loved the feeling. She clung to him, forgetting all else except that she wanted this man with a fierce longing that turned her blood to fire and her will to water.

  “God in heaven, Persia, I love you!” His words sounded like a prayer.

  “Zack, oh, Zack…” It was all she could manage.

  His hands were at the bodice of her dress, fumbling with its closing, when a knock at the door wrenched them apart. Zack muttered a curse under his breath before he turned and strode stiffly to open it to Mrs. Wilkes.

  “I do hope I’m not disturbing you and the missus, Mr. Hazzard. But supper will be a bit longer than I expected,” she said apologetically. “Abigail, the cook, burned the bread. There’s another batch in the oven this very minute. It won’t be long now. I am sorry.”

  “That’s quite all right, Mrs. Wilkes. My wife wants to freshen up before we eat, anyway.”

  Zack closed the door and turned back to Persia, his mouth quirked in a smile of amused anticipation. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  “I thought you meant to bathe and change.”

  “Oh, that.” Her face took on a rosy hue. “I don’t suppose you’d want to wait outside?”

  He shook his head, the same smile curving the gold of his mustache. “Not a chance, my love. I’ve been waiting anxiously for this moment. I know how you feel, but not how you look.”

  “Very well, then.” She began undoing her bodice, a mischievous gleam dancing in her blue eyes, and Zack’s smile broadened.