by Jade Lee
Given that particular thought, she took extra care while climbing into the carriage. She was being very casual about the satchel, letting it flop this way and that, because, truly, there was nothing important inside it. Nothing unusual, just silly girl stuff of no importance to anyone. Which is how it hit too hard against the seat, just as she stepped into the carriage, and the whole thing upended.
It wasn't a complete disaster. Nothing spilled all the way out. The bag just tipped far enough to half spill and for her to gasp. Don't gasp! she ordered herself. There's nothing important here. Then she hastily shoved the ancient cases as far down as they would go, and tied the bag closed so hard the cord snapped.
Double damn!
Charlotte looked up at Ken Jin. He was calmly walking around to the other side of the carriage where he would jump up and take the reins, but he had been behind her when the satchel spilled. He might have seen. She narrowed her eyes, trying to read his expression. No change, no indication that he'd seen anything scandalous. Besides, he was a servant. Who could he tell about the scrolls? He stuck needles into himself, for goodness' sake. And even if he told, who would believe him?
Everyone, that's who. Servants talked—no matter what race they were—and absolutely everyone believed the nonsense they spewed. She prayed he hadn't seen, but how to be sure?
She didn't know. All she could do was sit calmly beside him while clutching the top of the satchel closed, closed, closed. Lord, she had to relax her grip. Her fingers were going all tingly.
Ken Jin took his seat and gathered the reins just as he always did. His expression remained placid, his demeanor exactly as it always was. Clearly he'd seen nothing untoward. Besides, she realized, what if he had? All he'd know was that she carried bamboo scroll cases wrapped in faded blue silk stitched with a rather hard-to-discern pastoral scene. No one could see the pictures inside. The scrolls could be any of a thousand different Chinese texts. They could be Confucian writings on appropriate female behavior; and a more boring text had never cursed the planet. How she and Joanna had laughed and laughed over those particular dictates.
Charlotte exhaled on a heady release of air. She was safe. No one knew what she carried. Soon she would be home. She could order William into a bath under Mei Li's supervision. She'd even suggest He Be bathe as well, which would keep everyone occupied for at least an hour. Then she would disappear into her bedroom, lock the door, and peruse Joanna's scandalous scrolls at her leisure.
Very soon.
Except, she abruptly noticed, they weren't headed home at all.
* * *
Ken Jin's thoughts felt muddy. He couldn't possibly have seen what he had; Miss Charlotte couldn't possibly have those scrolls—a rare and ancient copy of the Yellow Emperor's discourse with the Plain Goddess, the learned responses and instructional materials developed by the first Tigress under the direct tutelage of the Rainbow Goddess? But what other three-thousand-year-old scrolls would have those covers: dark silk embroidered with a simple pastoral scene until one examined closely what the people were doing beneath the trees and in harmony with nature? Where had Miss Charlotte gotten them?
The answer was obvious. Miss Joanna had been in training at the Tigress school, and she must have gotten the scrolls somehow. Indeed, Ken Jin could see the workings of providence. He was one of the few people in Shanghai who would recognize the scrolls, would know to whom they truly belonged. So, of course they had found their way to him.
Yes, Miss Joanna must have taken them when she'd left the Tigress school, but Heaven had intervened with her hasty departure this morning. For whatever reason, she had left the scrolls behind for Miss Charlotte to find. And he would take them from Miss Charlotte and return them to their rightful owner—the school and the Tigress Shi Po. Assuming, of course, he could find an easy way to separate his employer's daughter from her new find.
He glanced sideways at her. Goodness, her yin was flowing strong. Her lips were red, her cheeks flushed, and her breath came in tiny little pants. She'd obviously looked at the scrolls and her impulsive nature had taken hold. She would never willingly surrender them now.
He could simply take them from her. He was quick enough, strong enough—even clever enough perhaps to offer her adequate diversion. But the whites were a volatile race, driven by their passions. He knew more than one First Boy who had been fired without references on a simple whim. Not to mention his employer valued family harmony most of all, and the Wicks family harmony held solely because of Miss Charlotte's stable influence. Upset her, and the entire family would rapidly collapse. In turn that would devastate his own finances. No; Ken Jin had to find a way to separate Miss Charlotte from her scrolls without upsetting her or risking his position. And he had to do it within the twenty minutes it took to drive to the Tigress school.
"Um, Ken Jin?" The young miss's voice was high and tight. "Where are we going?"
"To a school, Miss Charlotte."
"A school? But why—"
"I learned something from the servants, Miss Charlotte. About Miss Joanna."
That got her attention. She straightened in her seat and her hand slackened a little on her satchel. "What is it? Tell me immediately!"
Ken Jin nodded, but he took his time. She had to be tantalized without actually learning very much. "They believe she was a student at a very special school."
"Yes?" she prompted when he fell silent.
"The servants weren't sure which school, of course. Miss Joanna was very secretive about it."
"Of course, of course. Joanna was always going off to study one thing or another." Her gaze dropped to the scrolls, and Charlotte tucked them tighter against her skirt.
"This is the only school I know, Miss Charlotte, that might take in a white student in secret. And where she might meet—"
"Her Chinese husband! Of course! I overheard a maid talking. She said Joanna had a Chinese husband." Charlotte shook her head, emotion coloring her skin a fiery red. "Imagine, marrying a Chinaman. I cannot quite credit it." She sighed. "But if anyone were to do it, it would be Joanna. She has such a passion for Chinese things..."
But that wouldn't explain the decision of her Chinese husband, Ken Jin thought. Imagine, being so desperate for milky thighs as to actually marry an Englishwoman. He couldn't credit it either.
Miss Charlotte twisted in her seat to survey their surroundings. "Where is this school? Obviously not in the English territory or any of the foreign concessions. There would be no reason for secrecy if that were true."
Ken Jin didn't respond. For all that she was white and a woman, Miss Charlotte had a quick mind. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that the school had to be native. And so it was. Soon she would have to hide her face and hair as he bribed their way into the only Chinese territory left inside Shanghai.
Miss Charlotte took a deep breath, as if steeling herself. "Exactly what kind of school are we going to, Ken Jin? What was Joanna studying?"
"You must ask the director of the school," he responded smoothly. Ken Jin had great faith in the Tigress Shi Po. If anyone could handle an overly curious white woman, it would be she.
"But, Ken Jin, you have to know something. What—"
"You must be silent now, Miss Charlotte. We will be in Chinese territory soon."
"But—"
"Unless you wish to remain behind?"
"Of course not, but—"
"Then you must cover your head and remain very quiet."
"I cannot see the reason that our two countries—"
"Please, Miss Charlotte."
She subsided then, though her sigh was so heartfelt it actually rocked the carriage. Ken Jin hid his amusement. How long before her innate life energy forced her to express herself again? To speak or fidget or even to touch him simply because her mortal form could not contain the qi that bounced about inside her? He hoped it would last at least three minutes—long enough for them to pass through the gate and get five houses away from the soldiers.
S
he was already beginning to stir, so he shot her a warning glare. She immediately stilled, pressing her lips together, and he nodded in approval. He did not want her talking. He would much rather she touched him in her anxiety. The sight of her slender white fingers on his body—even with the protective covering of his shirt and coat—would be enough to stir his yang fire. He did not understand his spirit's love of white hands or long unpainted fingernails, but he had always responded to such a sight.
Perhaps it stemmed from that first night when he looked up and beheld her—a blond goddess in ethereal white—watching as he guided her father across the threshold. In that moment, she had appeared divine to him, and from then on, white women stirred his blood as no others could.
When they were past the gate, he sent her another warning look: Don't speak. She nodded, her jade eyes huge. His dragon stirred in appreciation. Master William had once told him about white people's legends, about dragons who hoarded wealth—gold, diamonds, and emeralds. Never once had the boy mentioned jade. But there was great power in that most precious of Chinese stones, a subtle beauty only revealed when light shone from behind or within it, and such was the way with Miss Charlotte's eyes. Normally, they were a dull, murky green. But sometimes something happened and her internal light sparked. She would come alive and her eyes seemed to glow like jade before a flame.
Ken Jin loved the sight and had made a personal study of what brought the light to her eyes: her brother, when the boy managed to accomplish anything without disaster; her visits to the now absent Joanna; any unusual occurrence. There had been that light when she surprised him this morning during his dragon exercises. And there was light now, as they wended their way through Chinese Shanghai.
She took a breath to speak, and Ken Jin shook his head. He almost laughed at her frustrated sigh. Then, finally, he got his reward. She slipped her hand onto his thigh. She was leaning forward, obviously wanting to talk, and in her need to express herself she'd not only put her hand on his thigh but tightened her hold there, gripping him as firmly as any tigress would its prey. The moment was so delightful that he closed his eyes to savor the feeling.
It didn't last long, of course. All too soon she began to speak, her voice low and husky in the way of all stimulated women—though he knew she did not understand how a woman's yin automatically responded to a man's yang.
"Tell me about this school, Ken Jin," she whispered. Her voice and hand had his yang fires surging, but he was still driving the carriage. He had to focus on not crashing. Unfortunately, that required some movement, and his leg flexed beneath her hand. He was too late to freeze the muscle twitch, and much too late to stop her from realizing where she'd put her hand. Gasping in horror, she pulled back to sit excruciatingly tall beside him. He suppressed his sigh of regret even as he spoke in a sharp undertone.
"Slump, Miss Charlotte!"
She twisted slightly. "I beg your pardon?"
"Slump," he repeated. "Chinese ladies are not nearly so tall." In truth, no one who looked at her could mistake her for Chinese. Her clothing alone, not to mention the horse and carriage, marked her as an Englishwoman no matter how she covered her face and hair. But if she slumped, then she would need to position herself low in the carriage, low enough, perhaps, to steady herself by gripping him again.
He knew he was depraved to toy with a girl in this way, especially a white girl. What kind of deviant resorted to subterfuge just to have a woman touch his thigh? It was stupid, and she was, after all, his employer's daughter. No man pissed at the dinner table. Yet here he was, stirring his flagging yang fires with an innocent white girl. How much lower could he sink?
Very low, apparently, because he grinned as Miss Charlotte once again leaned forward, slumping in her seat and setting her long white fingers across his thigh. Perhaps if he scooted forward, her hand would slip higher.
"Ken Jin, you must explain where we are going," she whispered.
"Right here," he answered with regret. He pulled back on the reins, simultaneously sliding his hips forward. Unfortunately, his ruse failed. Miss Charlotte was already straightening, her hand lifting to her chest as she looked around.
No matter. His dragon was already well stimulated. So he set the brake and leapt down to the street. Except, he couldn't exactly leap because his dragon had stretched to large and happy life. Ah, what a joy to realize this morning's acupuncture had finally cleared his energy blockage. After more than a year of wilting nothingness, his dragon lived and lusted again. He didn't even care that it made walking difficult. He was a whole man again.
He extended his hand, assisting Miss Charlotte as she descended. Or such was his intent, but she hadn't waited for him. As he rounded the horse, she was already climbing out. Which required him to stand quietly and watch the shift and sway of her full buttocks. Ah, what great yin flowed in his employer's daughter! Her husband would be a lucky man—assuming he had the wit to tap her ample stores. But then she was down, and Ken Jin had to escort her to the door of the famous Tigress Shi Po.
"Ken Jin," she whispered. "Where are we? What shall I say?"
"Perhaps you should leave the satchel in the carriage. I can lock it in the boot—"
"No," she snapped, clutching the sack. "I wish to keep it with me."
"As you wish," he returned. He had to find some way of separating her from the scrolls. They were not for barbarian eyes.
They progressed to the outer gate and banged the gong. The Tigress's home was managed with the grace and style befitting a great leader, so he was sure the summons would be answered immediately.
Except, it wasn't. No one came to open the outer doors, and Ken Jin and his white companion were forced to stand outside and wait while people stared at them from all sides.
Charlotte tucked her shawl more securely about her head and face, but it was a useless gesture. No one could possibly mistake her for a Chinese. Even a blind man would be able to smell the sweet rose and lavender scent that clung to her skin. Only a white woman would choose such floral perfume.
He rang the gong again, his dragon withering from his anxiety. Silently he cursed whatever lazy servant had just cost him a morning's yang fire. With a grunt of disgust, he pushed at the gate. He did not expect it to give; the Tigress household used white men's locks. To his surprise, the large barrier swung open, and Miss Charlotte quickly ducked inside. He followed immediately behind.
Inside, he barely managed to stifle his gasp of dismay. The front courtyard was in shambles. Pottery lay in pieces, and ornamental plants were crushed. His nose twitched as he detected a strong odor.
"What happened here?" Miss Charlotte asked, her voice a bare whisper on the still air. "It smells like... like..."
"Soldiers. On horses."
She gasped. "But why would the British—"
"Qing soldiers," he snapped. How like a white barbarian to assume that theirs was the only military.
To her credit, she ducked her head in embarrassment. "Of course, of course. I am not thinking clearly." Her gaze settled much too keenly on his face. "But why would your soldiers come here?"
"I don't know," he lied. "Let us see—" Little Pearl burst through the reception door. Her hair was askew, her eyes wild, and her hands fluttered anxiously even as she skidded to a stop before them. "Ken Jin!" she cried. Her gaze hopped to Miss Charlotte and back. Over and back, over and back; then her expression hardened and her body stilled. "What an unexpected pleasure," she finally drawled.
Ken Jin opened his mouth to respond, but Miss Charlotte never gave him a chance. She stepped forward, extending her hand in a white-man's greeting. "I am so sorry to intrude," she said politely, "but we were—"
"She does not speak English, Miss Charlotte," Ken Jin interrupted. Then, before she could do more than blink in confusion, he rushed on. "Perhaps I could speak for you."
The last thing he wanted was for Miss Charlotte to switch to Shanghainese. In truth, her accent was respectable for a white person, but he knew better than anyone
how condescending Little Pearl could act at the smallest offense. He had no wish to expose his employer to such venom.
He pushed forward, trying to walk ahead with Little Pearl—away from Miss Charlotte. He failed. No matter how they moved, Miss Charlotte hovered a bare half inch off his heels. "My gravest apologies for disturbing your day," he said to Little Pearl. "What has happened here? And where is the Tigress?"
He was trying to usher both women through the reception area to the inner courtyard. Once there, he was sure he could slip far enough away from Miss Charlotte to have a private word with Little Pearl. Except neither woman cooperated. Little Pearl stood her ground, her arms folded, her yin clearly poisoned by whatever had happened.
"Please, Little Pearl," he coaxed.
"Why have you brought another white whore here?"
Ken Jin froze. Silence was the only defense against this woman when she was in this mood. Unfortunately, Miss Charlotte stood behind him, clearly shocked into her own silence. But that wouldn't last long. He had to intervene. He had to say something.
"Please allow me to introduce my employer's daughter," he said in icily polite tones. "Miss Charlotte Wicks." Her foreign name seemed to crackle in the air.
Little Pearl put on her most ingratiating smile, bowing respectfully. Her Chinese words were anything but. "I have no time for your playthings. You cannot wallow between the dung slugs here. Not today."
Ken Jin could only pray that Miss Charlotte did not understand that dung slugs referred to white maggots—or fleshy white thighs. He stepped forward, barely keeping his tone polite. "I must speak with Tigress Shi Po. It is urgent."
"She is not here," Little Pearl snapped, already turning away.
And so Ken Jin did the unacceptable. Without conscious thought, he thrust his hand out and grabbed her arm. "Where is Shi Po?"
Little Pearl spun around, using his own force against him to break his hold. "Not here! No one is here! We are scattered to the four winds." She spoke in anger, but her fire quickly petered out. Her last words were spoken on a whisper. "Only I remain. And a few servants."