All Shook Up

Chapter 2

Before reaching the drawing room, Eduard paused in front of a gilded mirror to check his appearance—his coloring had returned to normal, and his eyes were no longer hooded with lust. Even his heart seemed to have returned to the steady stutter befitting a gentleman in his late thirties and not some amorous teenager in heat. He took a moment to refasten the ribbon that held his hair from his face. He wished he’d thought to stop in Marien’s bedchamber for a little rice powder beneath his eyes, something to chase away the shadows that seemed to settle there, but no matter. If his visitor were a returning paramour looking for a second taste of van De Lier, then Eduard doubted he’d balk at the Dutchman’s less than perfect appearance. He had been interrupted, and Tohpati hadn’t mentioned him freshening up before going any further.

Double doors led to the drawing room, which was the brightest, airiest room in the house. The wall that faced the cobbled street outside was simply panes of glass that ran, uninterrupted, from floor to ceiling. The lush vegetation in the garden immediately beyond the windows and the overhanging canopy that shaded the veranda helped keep the room cool, even in the most sweltering summer sun. There was a fireplace on one side of the drawing room, a bulky edifice mostly for show, and a handful of plump chairs and overstuffed loveseats dotted the room. Shelves lined the walls, displaying shells Marien had gathered from the beach and books Eduard hadn’t bothered to read. This was where the van De Liers met with guests, where Marien held her social teas on Sunday afternoons, where Eduard had entertained the governor-general one raucous evening that had led to him bedding a swarthy Indian administrator.

Ah yes. He threw the doors wide, a smile already in place. Good times.

At the moment, only one visitor waited in the drawing room. A few years older than Tohpati, perhaps, with skin the color of polished teak, the visitor perched on one of the chairs with his back to the door, so he missed Eduard’s entrance. His black hair hung in thin braids, decorated here and there with small shells or beads that rattled when he turned. Noticing Eduard, he stood—his slender frame enhanced his height, and with the sunny windows behind him, his lithe muscles became evident beneath the flowing, light-colored clothing he wore. Eduard could see through the shirt and pants, which swirled around the man like a ghost, hinting at firm flesh hidden beneath the cloth. With something akin to regret, he stared at the stranger’s face, the skin pulled taut over proud cheekbones, the blazing eyes that seemed lit from within, the full lips that made Eduard lick his own, anticipating their touch. He did not know this man, unfortunately.

But as the stranger’s gaze trailed down his body, as palpable as a hand curving over Eduard’s chest and stomach, he amended, Not yet.

Eduard entered the drawing room, carefully closing the doors behind him. “Good day to you, sir.” He gave the man a slight bow, which earned him a nod from the stranger. “I do apologize for the delay. I was attending to household drudgery. I’ll not bore you with the details.”

When the man spoke, his deep voice rumbled through the room. “Dealing with a servant, perhaps?” Eduard’s eyes widened, and the man chuckled. The sound was like thunder, sending shivers of delight down Eduard’s spine. “They all speak so highly of you. Word on the street is you’re more than generous with your…affections.”

The suggestive way he said the word made Eduard grin. At least he wouldn’t have to dance around the issue with this one. Motioning to a sidebar near the fireplace, Eduard asked, “May I get you a drink, mister…” He gave an affected laugh and dared to wink at his guest. “Mercy, where are my manners? We’ve not been properly introduced. I am Eduard van De Lier, Hollander.”

The stranger’s slight smile didn’t fade as he watched Eduard give him another bow, this one a bit sharper than the last. But he didn’t take the bait, and didn’t bother to introduce himself. After a long moment, Eduard prompted, “And you are?”

Though the smile stayed in place, some of the light in the stranger’s dark eyes died, hardening his gaze. “Do you not know me?”

“Surely a man such as yourself is hard to forget,” Eduard countered.

It wasn’t an answer, but it bought him some time. He studied the man as he tried to think. Did he know him? Should he?

“Perhaps this will refresh your memory.” The stranger reached into a side pocket on his pants.

For one breathless moment, Eduard dared to hope the man would ease aside the fabric, allowing him a glimpse of the thick c**k Eduard imagined hidden beneath. Though he doubted he’d know the man by his assets alone, he’d gladly fall to his knees before him, move the rest of the material out of the way, and take whatever length the stranger offered into his mouth. His interrupted libido stirred to life again, and adrenaline shot through his veins like a heady drug. He was addicted to men, and since settling in Java, native skin had become his obsession.

“This room is so open,” he said, his gaze never leaving that hand in the pocket or the front of the stranger’s pale pants. “Perhaps we could retire to my chambers…”

But the man only extracted a bit of parchment, nothing else, and Eduard felt his disappointment catch in the back of his throat as he watched the stranger unfold the paper. Amid the folds, he saw a seal he thought he recognized, and his heart stopped. “No,” he whispered. It couldn’t be.

Unconsciously he drifted nearer, drawn by the page in the stranger’s large hands. When it was completely unfolded, the man held it up for Eduard to read, the paper stretched open in front of him. The flowing script was familiar, and if Eduard closed his eyes, he knew he could probably recite without hesitation the words written in fading ink. It was a letter he’d last seen during the sea voyage that brought him and Marien to this part of the world.

A letter he’d thought destroyed.

He had read it, and reread it, hope rising within him at the implications, the opportunity presented, and then he’d copied it, meticulous, angling his handwriting to mirror that of the original letter writer. He could vividly recall the candlelight flickering low across the wooden desk where he sat, hunched over two pieces of parchment. The sway of the ship beneath him, which made his hand unsteady and his progress slow. The rustle of sheets on the bed behind him, and a low voice that still managed to startle him, coming as it did from such a young, slim man. “Are you not finished yet? I’m bored…”

The voice resonated through Eduard’s memory, attaching itself to a name. With difficulty, he raised his gaze from the paper to look at that face again—the haughty facial structure, the fleshy lips, the deep-set eyes. Barely two years had passed, strengthening the features, and the once-idolizing eyes were now harsh, calculating. Softly, Eduard murmured, “Reza?”

Now he remembered, and with that recollection came memories of the past—those dark hands like shadows cast upon Eduard’s body, that mouth clamped tight around tender flesh. Reza had been part of the crew on the ship that had brought Eduard around the Cape of Good Hope to the South Pacific islands. Barely a man, his slender body had excited Eduard, who’d never seen such dark skin before. His love affair with Java’s native sons had started with the man before him, in whose flesh Eduard had lost himself for several weeks, months even, during the crossing. Reza had been young, naive, and easy to seduce; whenever his shifts were over, he’d obediently appeared at the door to Eduard’s cabin, sweat and grime still clinging to his frame. They’d shared a bed during the entire length of the journey, and coupled nightly as Marien slept in an adjoining room.

The stranger’s smile spread wider, displaying even, white teeth that gleamed like washed bones. “So you do remember.”

Eduard laughed. It was a scary sound, and he ran a hand across his mouth as if to wipe it away. “My God. Reza. What the hell are you doing here?” And, more importantly, he added, “I thought I told you to burn that letter.”

“It seemed so urgent at the time,” Reza said with a shrug. “There were many nights you ignored me in favor of its contents. I thought it might be worth too much to simply throw away.”

Eduard watched those nimble fingers refold the parchment. His own hands curled into fists to keep from snatching the paper away. Everything he had in Java—everything he owned, everything he was—could disappear if that missive were made public. “Why would you keep it?” he persisted. “You told me you couldn’t read Dutch.”

“I couldn’t,” Reza assured him. But Eduard’s blood ran cold when the man added, “Not then.”

“So you know what it says?” Eduard held his breath, awaiting an answer, which came in the form of a noncommittal shrug. Gesturing at the piece of paper, he asked, “Who else have you told?”

Reza’s grin turned steely. “No one. Yet.”

With an exasperated sigh, Eduard turned from the younger man. “Damn,” he muttered, dropping to a nearby loveseat. The chair groaned beneath his sudden weight. So Reza knew…what, exactly? That the house wasn’t his, the land around it, the spice plantation and its profits.

And the name. That, too, was stolen. Reza had been on the same ship, he’d seen the results of the fever they had picked up during a stop at an unsanitary African port. As part of the crew, he’d probably helped heave the dead bodies overboard. And he was a bright young man, Eduard would give him that…his intelligence had been part of his appeal from the start. So if he could read the letter and knew what it said, it wouldn’t take him long to piece together what had happened.

Eduard sighed as he ran a hand across his face. He was surprised at the way his fingers shook, and the unsteady breath that sounded trapped to his own ears. His gaze flickered to Reza again, and the letter he held clasped in both hands. Then he looked into those steady eyes and whispered, “What do you want from me? This is blackmail, isn’t it?” He forced a laugh and shook his head. “Of all the men I’ve been with, I never thought you’d be the one to come back like this. You want what, cash? A cut of the profits? Part of the crop?”

“That’s a start.” Reza’s voice held a menacing tone that threatened to shake the very foundation of Eduard’s colonial life. As he pocketed the parchment, his gaze never left Eduard’s face. Those eyes were painful to meet, and Eduard had to look away.

Curling his hand into a fist, the Dutchman punched the soft cushion of the loveseat. f**k.