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Sometimes he thought Eve sent him subtle invitations, but he had never acted upon them. Not that it was against his code to seduce a married woman, it was only against his integrity to dishonor a trusted friend by sleeping with his wife. And Russell Lamb had been a trusted friend.
One more white devoured by the tropics. The Indies did that with relentless frequency, yet he had always thrived here. He respected the country and its climate, realizing from the beginning that large meals accompanied by flagons of wine at midday would kill off a white man quicker than disease.
Tomorrow, Lady Evelyn Lamb was coming to Leopard’s Leap to dine with him for the first time. Previously he had always dined with Lord and Lady Lamb at Government House, their palatial home on the next plantation. Though the house was imposing, the plantation was insignificant when compared with his twenty thousand acres, but the paperwork of the East India Company had kept Russell chained to his desk and allowed him no time to cultivate crops.
Eve was a fair English beauty as tempting as her namesake. She was in her early thirties, perhaps even a year or two older than himself, but this only added to her allure. There was a coolness about her beauty that made him wonder if she had ever been fully awakened sensually. Or ever been fully satisfied. Nevertheless, she was far from virginal and he hoped his sexual experience could teach her to be rewarding in bed. Eve had that “look-but-don’t-touch” aura about her that challenged him.
Ordinarily she would have been far above his touch, if it had not been for that great equalizer, wealth. Anticipating their encounter tomorrow he could see her flawless white skin, feel her golden hair brush against his cheek, hear her cultured voice banter a sophisticated witticism, taste her— Adam’s balls tightened pleasurably and he stepped from the shadows toward his comfortably spacious bungalow, where his servants would be waiting with his bath and his evening meal. A bandicoot that looked like a cross between a small pig and a large rat scurried from his path.
Adam Savage dwarfed his manservant, who stood at the door with bootjack in one hand, slippers in the other.
“Good evening, John Bull,” Savage said, sitting on a stool while his servant removed his boots.
“Good evening, Excellency,” John Bull said, bowing his crimson turban until it almost touched his white pantaloons.
Savage’s dark brow cocked. “Excellency?” he questioned.
John Bull said solemnly, “When we are in England—”
Adam held up a protesting hand. “Must you preface every sentence with ‘When we are in England’?”
“Yes, Excellency, when we are in England, it will be a fitting title. You do not like it when I call you master, and sahib will sound too foreign, so I have ruminated long and think Excellency will be good … when we are in England,” he added unnecessarily.
Adam had learned to keep a straight face when conversing with John Bull, a nickname he had given him because the man worshiped everything English and lived for the day he would finally set foot in that haloed land.
“John Bull, we are not yet in England” Adam reminded him.
“Ah yes, Excellency, but tomorrow when the memsahib Lady Lamb comes to dine, it is very, very important that she not think us uncivilized.”
Adam rolled his eyes. “Give me strength,” he murmured.
“You are the Leopard, the strongest man in Ceylon. Why do you waste prayers asking for more strength, Excellency?”
Adam knew from experience it was better not to answer him. He crossed the hall and offered the mynah bird a piece of pawpaw fruit. “Hello, Rupee.”
“Sinner! Hellfire!” replied the flame-crested bird.
“When we are in England, I think it would be best not to take this accursed bird. His vocabulary is defaulted and could prove harmful.”
Adam thought wryly that if the English survived John Bull’s vocabulary, it would be a miracle. He picked up some charts from his desk then his eyes scanned a map of the plantation that covered the wall behind. Tomorrow morning he would have to arise at four to organize the tappers before daylight. Latex only flowed readily from the rubber trees before the heat of the day. It coagulated in warm temperatures.
Kirinda, Adam’s Sinhalese woman, entered the room on silent feet. In her soft voice she told John Bull that the Leopard’s bath was ready. All his people thought and spoke of him as the Leopard. He thought cynically that the name came more from his resemblance to a scarred beast, than from owning Leopard’s Leap.
John Bull remonstrated with her in a stage whisper. “When we are in England you will not order the master about. When he is ready for his bath he will come into the bathing room. At the moment he is not interesting!”
Adam Savage put down the charts. “I resent that remark, John Bull,” he said lightly. “Lead the way, Lotus Blossom.”
She never walked before him, always behind. When Adam had passed her on his way to the bathing room she raised downcast eyes and pulled an impudent face at John Bull.
He said scornfully, “A lotus is nothing more than a common water lily!”
In the center of the room was a sunken, tiled bathing pool steaming with warm scented water. Adam pulled his white cotton shirt over his head and allowed Kirinda to help him peel off his riding breeches, then he walked down the steps into the water that came up to his hips. His broad chest was heavy with sleek muscle from years of hard physical labor. The tropical sun had tanned him to a dark mahogany above the waist, while below, his taut buttocks and strong legs seemed startlingly pale in contrast.
Kirinda loved to look at the master’s body, though she always appeared to keep her eyes modestly downcast lest he think she stared at his scars. He was deliciously different from the men of this land. His chest and manhood were covered by black curls and he was wonderously large. His hair fell to his shoulders and was as dark as any native’s, but his eyes were a startling ice-blue and they could freeze a person with one glance if he was displeased.
She stole a look at him and saw that his elbows rested upon the tile ledge, his head was thrown back, and his eyes closed as the sensual feel of the water relaxed his tired muscles. As Kirinda bent to pick up a sponge her black hair swung forward like a silken waterfall. She straightened, slipped off her richly embroidered sari, and walked gracefully down the tiled steps into the water.
When Savage bought Leopard’s Leap from its Dutch owners it had been a failing plantation. He had worked twenty hours a day to make it thrive. In those days he had literally been too tired to bathe and so one night she had done it for him. The experience had proven so pleasurable to both that now it was a ritual.
