The China Bride

by Mary Jo Putney

  Hazed with passion, she obeyed him and became a creature of reactions, her choked sounds of pleasure revealing how each of his caresses pleased her more than the last. Where their bodies touched, she could monitor his desire, could feel the flex of his muscles as he rigidly restrained himself.

  His warm palm stroked over her belly, arousing her unbearably. Desire coiled inside her so tautly that she gasped when his hand slipped between her thighs.

  He stopped immediately. “Does that upset you?”

  Her nails bit into his shoulders. “No! No, please, don’t stop.”

  Gently he resumed his intimate caresses, so sure and knowing that she could scarcely bear it. She was all fire, burning, burning….

  She moaned, clinging to him as her body exploded with a pleasure beyond any she’d ever dreamed. Ah, gods, the only greater pleasure could be when he released his control and they took flight together….

  Rapture subsided, leaving her panting with her face buried against his shoulder. “That was…a good beginning,” she said unsteadily. He still wore his loose undertrousers, so she slipped her hand under the waist in a tentative search for the source of the hard heat pressing her thigh.

  He caught her hand again. “Let us sleep now. It’s been a long day.”

  Her eyes shot open and she stared at him with astonishment. His face was sheened with perspiration, but his expression was calm. He’d planned all along to go only this far and no further.

  “But what of you?” She yanked her hand free of his and cupped that fascinating source of male energy. “Would you deny me the opportunity to give back pleasure?”

  He froze, except for the heavy throb against her palm. “You’ve learned some of what you wished, I think, yet nothing irrevocable has been done.”

  She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “My lord Kyle,” she said severely. “Stop being so damnably noble.”

  Chapter 20

  His face lit with sudden laughter. “You’re right—I take myself far too seriously. It’s not as if I’m so irresistible that all women must fall in love with me.”

  “Then let us come together as friends, without too much seriousness.” Heady with relief, she gently squeezed his organ. It reared urgently against her hand.

  He sucked in his breath, then roughly pulled off his loose trousers and positioned himself between her legs. “My dearest Troth,” he breathed before he kissed her. His tongue caressed hers even as his heated shaft slid moistly against her most private places with an exhilarating friction. “It is you who are irresistible.”

  To her amazement, passion flared anew under his caresses. Yearning became need until she was frantic to end her emptiness. “If I am so irresistible—stop resisting!”

  He captured her words with his mouth, and entered her with one slow, powerful thrust. She’d heard there was pain the first time, but she felt only a quick stab that vanished in a torrent of mind-searing sensation as he filled her, then found the rhythm of her pounding heart.

  Her nails scored his back as she rocked into him over and over. This was the meaning of yin and yang, male and female, separate yet whole only when joined together. They were partners, equals, consumed in each other….

  She bit his shoulder as she convulsed uncontrollably. Yet despite his ragged breath and plunging body, she sensed that he had not taken flight with her.

  As her tremors began to subside, he withdrew and wrapped his arms crushingly around her. Then he climaxed against her belly in hard, shuddering bursts as he groaned, “Mei-Lian, dear God, Mei-Lian…”

  Sadly she recognized that even in the throes of passion he would not let himself make a baby casually with a woman who was not his mate. Though it was another mark of his honor, she mourned for the absence of that final intimacy.

  She must not complain, for already she had more than she had dared hope for. The goddess had been generous to her petition. She licked his shoulder where her mouth had marked his salty skin. “Thank you, my lord.”

  He smiled. “It is I who must thank you. What an incredible gift you’ve given me.”

  “Why did you call me Mei-Lian?”

  “I suppose…because it is your most secret name,” he said thoughtfully. “A name suited to the greatest intimacy a man and woman can share.”

  “As Kyle is your private name?”

  “Exactly. In all the world, only my brother and sister still call me that.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And now you.”

  “Not your father?”

  “My mother did—the name Kyle is Scottish and used in her family. But I was Viscount Maxwell since the day I was born, so my father always used my title.”

  He stroked the length of her torso with such tenderness that she wanted to weep. Though his heart was unavailable, he was the gentlest and most thoughtful of lovers. What a lucky woman his Constancia had been to have known the fullness of his love.

  As her breathing steadied, she wondered how many times they might lie together like this. A fortnight, perhaps, while they traveled to Hoshan and then to Macao? Not enough, never enough. Perhaps they could continue to couple on the voyage to Britain? That would take at least four or five months, longer if the winds didn’t favor their ship.

  No. She must not delude herself. This rapture must end when he was among his own people again. All she had was tonight and a handful of days beyond. She must make the most of them.

  He fell asleep slowly, wanting to savor the feel of Troth in his arms. He’d not felt such contentment since before Constancia had fallen ill. Friendship might not be the same as love, but it was obviously a better foundation for intimacy than lust or a commercial transaction, no matter how elegantly the latter was disguised.

  When he awoke, he reached for her sleepily and discovered she was gone. It was dawn and objects were dimly visible in the pale light. Since the grate still blocked the exit, Troth had to be near.

  Suppressing a yawn, he rose and pulled on his undergarments, then fumbled his way up to the shrine. There he found Troth dancing in front of Kuan Yin. Barefoot and clad as simply as he, she glided across the stone floor with heart-stopping grace, her movements fluid as a willow in the wind. Her hair was still unbound, and it swirled and floated around her with every step. Shadowy in the low light, she had a magical beauty that was not of the earth he knew.

  She floated into a slow turn that brought her around to face him, radiance in her expression. He felt a deep pang knowing that that exaltation should have been for another man, one who could love and cherish her as she deserved.

  Yet she was a woman grown, in many ways wiser than he, and the night before she’d made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing. Given her strange half-life in Canton, she’d needed to embrace her femaleness to build strength for her new world. It was his good fortune that he’d been her choice for teaching one of life’s great lessons.

  Seeing him, she sank into a bow. “My lord.”

  “I’m not your lord, but your friend.” He caught her hands and raised her to her feet. “What kind of dance was that? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  She smiled. “Not a dance, but tai chi—exercises for balancing chi energy. Ever since I was a child in Macao, I’ve done tai chi and wing chun almost every morning in the gardens. Sometimes Chenqua would join me for two-person exercises and sparring.”

  “Good God. How very energetic before breakfast.” No wonder she was in superb physical condition. “Do the exercises really make one feel more in harmony?”

  “Oh, yes. If I don’t do them for a few days, I begin to feel out of sorts.”

  “It sounds like something I would benefit by knowing. Can you teach me?”

  “You’d really like to?”

  “Right now, if you don’t mind teaching me.”

  “Then we’ll start with the patterns that make up a simple form. This one is called ‘repulse monkey.’ ” She began to glide backward, her whole body in motion and one arm sweeping up in front of her, palm out. “A mon
key confronted by a tiger escapes by putting a paw on the tiger’s nose while he retreats. As the monkey moves back, he alternates paws, keeping his enemy at a distance.”

  Kyle tried to imitate her actions, feeling clumsy. This was nowhere near as easy as she made it look. “Might this have worked yesterday when you faced the tiger?”

  “Doubtful, even if I’d had the wit to try. The tiger would have just bitten my hand off before going for my throat,” she said cheerfully. “Don’t work so hard, my lord. This should be effortless, relaxed. Feel the chi flowing through you like a river of light.”

  A river of light. He thought of the image, made himself relax, and found that the movements came more easily, though he’d never have her grace.

  After she taught him half a dozen different patterns, she led him in a slow version of the complete routine. He followed her across the sanctuary floor under Kuan Yin’s benevolent gaze, feeling happy and carefree and completely at peace.

  “Well done!” she said, laughing. “Now again. The form must become so much a part of you that you needn’t think about what you’re doing. Then the chi can flow freely.”

  “The object is to be not the dancer but the dance?”

  “Exactly!” She led him through the form again, faster, and again, as he echoed her movements. Gradually he stopped thinking about his body and let his mind flow, fully in the moment as his gaze followed Troth. She was so lovely, unlike any other woman in the world, an enchanting blend of mind, body, and spirit.

  How often was one happy and fully aware of it at the time? He was happy now….

  The pattern changed to magpie landing on a branch. He promptly got confused, moved right when he should have gone left, and collided with Troth. “Sorry!”

  Giggling, she untangled herself, as carefree as the girl she hadn’t been allowed to be. “Mistakes happen. You’re actually quite good for a stiff Englishman.”

  “Some of the evasive movements used in European boxing are similar, though that pales compared to your wing chun. What are the two-person exercises like?”

  “The simplest is ‘sticking hands.’ We place the backs of our hands together and move them between us, testing. When one person strikes, the other must block the blow.”

  “I don’t want to do any striking, but the exercise sounds interesting.” He pressed the backs of his hands against hers. Her hands were narrow, but the fingers were long and capable. She glowed with strength and harmony. “Good God, I think I feel some of that chi coming from you. Is that possible?”

  “Yes, one must sense the opponent’s energy to know what he’ll do before he does it. Try to break free of my hands, and I’ll try to keep you blocked.”

  Having seen her fight, he thought it was entirely possible that she knew what her opponents would do before they did. No matter how he moved his arms, she stayed with him as if glued.

  “This is rather like a fighting waltz.” He added footwork to the sticking hands, and they began moving across the wide chamber like dancers. It didn’t matter whether he pressed forward, slid sideways, or fell back—she stayed with him, her smile teasing and her feet swift as a Scottish dancer’s. He moved faster and faster until they were both panting, yet they stayed joined like a man and his shadow.

  As his blood raced through his veins, he remembered the intimate dance they’d shared the night before. Desire grew until he could think of nothing else. But how to break free of her sticking hands and do something about it?

  He mustn’t plan his movements, since she could read his intent. Instead, he would think of that luscious mouth, that slender, flexible body, the generosity of her lovemaking.

  Jettisoning conscious thought in favor of instinct, he dropped his arms, breaking the contact between their hands. Then he caught her around the waist and swept her from the floor. “Victory! Now there’s another kind of two-person exercise we must work on.”

  Though she wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, she panted, “They say it’s dangerous to go from chi exercise to mating, my lord. The fire element might take over and damage one’s internal organs.”

  He blinked, distracted by the vibrant female form in his arms. “Really?”

  “I don’t know,” she confessed. “But I’m not sure I’d want to risk it.”

  He kissed the pulse in her throat. “Surely the danger will be past by the time I transport you to the chamber below.”

  She gave a gurgle of laughter. “I’m sure you are right, my lord.” As he carried her down the passage to their bed, she nibbled his ear, purring like a cat.

  Laughing, they tumbled down together, stripping off their garments so they were flesh to flesh. Her ivory skin was like satin, infinitely touchable. He tried to kiss every bit of it as his hands roamed over her, remembering what she’d liked most.

  She was a symphony of slender limbs and gentle female curves, except for the glorious richness of her breasts. “You’re more delectable than Chenqua’s banquet,” he said huskily. “A feast fit for a king.”

  “I wouldn’t want a king, unless he made love as you do.” She nipped his shoulder as her hips ground into his.

  “Mei-Lian.” He separated her legs with his knees. “Beautiful Willow.”

  He entered slowly, in case she was sore from the night before, but she refused gentleness. Marvelously fit and strong, her body heated from the wing chun exercises, she was like a tigress who demanded equal wildness from her mate. They rolled from the blankets to the floor, oblivious to the chill of the stone.

  He came to rest on his back, holding her on top of him. She gasped when he let her set the tempo of their mating, radiating delight as she experienced a new range of sensations, and the power of being in control. Until control shattered and passion claimed her, body, mind, and voice.

  As her breath slowed toward normal, he locked his arms around her and rolled again so that he was above. He allowed himself half a dozen slow strokes, exquisite almost beyond endurance, withdrawing barely in time. His climax left him panting and half-paralyzed with pleasure and exhaustion.

  “You, my dear girl,” he groaned, “are learning the ways of lovemaking far faster and better than I am learning tai chi.”

  She gave a rich chuckle that reverberated against his chest. “Then you must be a better teacher than I.”

  He rolled to his side, glad that they’d managed to end up on the blanket, since he was too drained to move. “Or you are a better pupil.”

  She slid her knee between his and relaxed with a sigh of pleasure. “How splendid to be well suited.”

  Well suited was an understatement. He hadn’t felt such physical fulfillment in years. Perhaps never—He cut off the thought. The past had no place in this moment.

  They lay twined together until it began to rain. Drops of water fell through the light holes above to patter on the floor. Dreamily Troth said, “The poets call intercourse ‘clouds and rain’ because that’s a symbol of the mating of heaven and earth. Clouds rise up from the earth to meet the rains descending from heaven.”

  “You mean that some of the pretty Chinese nature paintings I have are actually symbolic sexual union?”

  “It’s a favorite subject for artists.”

  “I can see why.” He stretched. “But now it’s time to break camp and set off again, though I’m not sure if I have the strength to stand up, much less trek all day.”

  “There is a Chinese practice that might interest you.” She sat up on crossed legs and began to comb her hair. “When men join with their wives and concubines, they usually do not release their ching—their seed. This conserves the yang, their male essence, so they may couple again and again without exhaustion, drawing strength from the female yin essence.”

  “Really?” He took over the combing so that he could bury his hands in her lush tresses. She tilted her head back trustingly as he worked the tangles loose. He took his time, enjoying the task, for he’d missed this kind of gentle domesticity as much as he’d missed havi
ng a beloved sleeping partner.

  “I can’t imagine how it works,” she confessed, “but I’m told that when a man masters this technique, it creates both great pleasure and remarkable endurance.”

  He tried to imagine how that could be done. Perhaps it might be…possible. “Did you learn of this from your friend Ling-Ling?”

  “She was an excellent source of information,” Troth said demurely. “But there were also many books in Chenqua’s library.”

  “I saw such a book in Canton.” It had been passed around with leers and embarrassed snickers after dinner one night, along with the port. “I couldn’t read the words, of course, but the pictures would be considered pornography in Europe.”

  She frowned. “Fan-qui men are like giggling boys when it comes to sexual relations. Taoism teaches that fulfilling sexuality is essential to a harmonious life, so there are many texts describing how to achieve it.”

  Perhaps that was why Troth had an openness about sex that would be unthinkable in a European virgin. “You didn’t describe this part of Taoist theory. Tell me more.”

  “Females have endless yin essence, so a man should prolong their union to absorb as much as possible,” she explained. “It’s important to join with those of a happy, loving temperament, because lovers absorb energy from each other, and one doesn’t wish to take on tainted energy.” She smiled mischievously. “It is essential for a man to fulfill his partner, because that way he will gain the greatest yin from her.”

  He began braiding her silky hair into a queue. “I can see why Chinese women approve of this philosophy. But what about households where men have several wives and concubines?”

  “To be truly master of his house, a man must keep all his women satisfied. That is why he withholds his ching, so he can fulfill his obligations. Ten times a night is considered a good number.”

  He gasped. “How many men perform regularly at that level?”

  “Not too many, I suspect, but that’s the traditional ideal. The books say that withholding yang produces a very powerful fulfillment called the Plateau of Delight. Releasing seed should be done only from desire to make a baby. That is called the Peak of Ching.”