He muttered an oath. “I deserve to be whipped for my behavior.” His arm came around her with gentleness, not passion. “Your…generous offer is very tempting, but I can’t accept. Though here women may live to serve men, English gentlemen are not supposed to take advantage of young females. You will have a new life and new opportunities in Britain. To lie with me now might damage your future.”
She buried her face against his shoulder, dizzy with the pleasure of being so close. She loved his scent, so male and provocative, and the size and strength of his hard body. “There are no guarantees of what I will find in the land of my fathers. I am not a desirable young girl, my lord, and no man has ever shown interest in me. You did, at least a little.” Her mouth twisted. “Or was that only because you were still feeling the heat of the harlot’s touch?”
His other arm came around her, but it was still not a lover’s embrace—even with no experience she could tell the difference. “I find you very desirable, and I swear that many men in Britain will feel the same. You need not give yourself to me because you fear there will never be another man for you. Believe me, your greatest difficulty will be in choosing the mate you want most.”
How politely a gentleman lied. Trying to keep the tears from her voice, she whispered, “Don’t British men have concubines? I would gladly be yours, if you would want me now and then.”
His hand stroked down her arm, the warm palm sending tingles through her. “It’s true that some men have mistresses, Troth, but infidelity is a sin. If I had a wife, I would never dishonor her so.”
He’d never called her by her real name before, and hearing it quickened her pulse even as her spirits sank. “You reject me so kindly, my lord. But if I cannot be your wife or your concubine, will you not allow me to be your lover, at least for these next two weeks? I would ask nothing more of you.”
“But you should ask more!” he said roughly. “You should demand to be a wife, not a mistress. To be cherished, not used.”
“Even shameless, I cannot attract you.” Tears stinging, she started to rise.
His arm tightened, holding her close. “You attract me greatly, but to act on that would be wrong when I cannot give you what you deserve.”
Her mouth twisted. “I wish you didn’t respect me so much. You may say I should settle for nothing less than being a wife, but you and I both know that a lord would never wed a penniless half-blood, and you will allow nothing else.”
He sighed. “This has nothing to do with wealth or bloodlines. Any flaws are not in you, but in me.”
She felt tension in his body, and it was not from desire. “What do you mean?”
After a long silence, he said painfully, “I’ve never told anyone this, but I was married once, very briefly. When Constancia died…my heart died with her. I am not fit to be husband to any woman who might love me.”
The knowledge was startling, and made sense of his behavior. “I’m so sorry, my lord.”
His fingers brushed her brow, pushing back tendrils of hair. “Call me Kyle, my Christian name.”
Kyle. She appreciated the honor of his private name, though it was far less than she yearned for. “Did you marry in secret because your family was against the match?”
“My father would have been horrified if he had known. My brother and sister—perhaps they would have understood, because they both know what it is to love. But what I felt about Constancia was too…too personal to speak of.”
She touched his chin, feeling bristles. He must shave in the morning, or he’d have a very un-Chinese beard. “If you speak of your beloved, it might ease the pain.”
“Perhaps…you are right.” Another silence. “Constancia was my mistress for many years. She was from Spain, whose people are very like the Portuguese you knew in Macao, dark haired and dark eyed and beautiful. She was a courtesan and many years older than I. That makes it sound as if what I felt for her was no more than a boy’s infatuation with his first woman, but she was the warmest, most loving person I have ever known. When I was with her…I felt peace such as I have found nowhere else.” His voice became almost inaudible. “Peace, and passion.”
Having known the love of such a paragon, no wonder he had no interest in lesser females. “At least you had the courage to marry her even though it would be thought a dreadful mistake by your family.”
“Making her my wife was the wisest thing I ever did. I only wish I’d done it sooner. It does me no credit that the thought occurred to me only as she lay dying.”
Wanting to warm the bleakness in his voice, she said, “Late, but not too late. You were fortunate to have found each other, my lord.”
He kissed her forehead lightly. “Kyle.”
“Kyle,” she repeated obediently.
She was prepared to be sent back to the bed, but he turned a little, resting his cheek against her hair. Intensely glad that he allowed her to stay, she settled against him, and soon slept.
Chapter 17
England
Christmas 1832
The Renbourne family was gathering for Christmas. Troth had worried about meeting Kyle’s sister, but Lady Lucia turned out to be as engaging as Dominic. She also had the height, blue eyes, and waving dark brown hair of her brothers. Her husband, Robert Justice, was a quiet man with warm eyes that regarded Troth with some curiosity but more kindness.
The two Justice children were close in age to Dominic and Meriel’s pair. “Dom and I married within weeks of each other,” Lucia explained when the children noisily greeted each other. “Good planning, don’t you agree?”
“Indeed.” Troth watched the four cousins race off in a pack, marveling at the fact that she now had four children calling her aunt.
The midday arrival of the Justices was followed by a lively luncheon. Afterward Troth withdrew to the library. Not only did she crave quiet, but this would allow the Renbournes and Justices the privacy to discuss their brother’s eccentric choice of a bride.
She loved the library, which had a collection of books that would have impressed even Chenqua. She chose a volume of poetry at random and settled down to read in one of the wing chairs that flanked the fireplace. It was a blustery afternoon and wind rattled the windows, but here she was safe and warm.
The book proved to contain the works of seventeenth-century British poets. Had we but world enough, and time, This coyness, lady, were no crime. She smiled wryly as she read the lines. She’d been the one acting the part of the importunate lover, though Kyle had hardly been a shy maid. Instead, he’d been a man of honor.
The grave’s a fine and private place, But none, I think, do there embrace. She closed the book, her eyes stinging. She would never regret her shameless behavior. The greatest comfort she had found had been Dominic’s quiet statement that Kyle had died doing what he most desired, and few men were so lucky. She wanted to believe it, though she couldn’t help but think that living as one most desired was far better.
The library door swung open and an elderly man stumped in with a cane. If she hadn’t known that the Earl of Wrexham was coming to spend Christmas with his family, she would not have recognized him as Kyle’s father, for there was little resemblance. But he had the unmistakable arrogance of a nobleman, a fierce will in a frail body.
She rose and dropped into a curtsy, her heartbeat accelerating. “Lord Wrexham.”
He halted a dozen feet away, squinting to see her more clearly. His gaze lingered on her slim waistline. Was he relieved or disappointed to see that she was not carrying a child? A mixed-blood child. “So you’re my so-called daughter-in-law. What part of Scotland did your father come from?”
“Melrose, south of Edinburgh.”
“My wife was a Highlander. The blood runs strong in my children.” He gave a harsh bark of laughter. “No bad thing, for she was far handsomer than I.”
He lowered himself awkwardly into the chair on the opposite side of the fireplace. “Damned gout,” he muttered. “Tell me about my son’s time in China.”
<
br /> She did, emphasizing the pleasure Kyle had found in exploring a world so different from his own, and the bravery with which he had died. The earl stared broodingly at the embers of the fire, his expression like granite.
After she finished her account, he said harshly, “I would never have permitted such a marriage, but…it’s no matter now. If you gave him some happiness, I suppose I must be glad for that.” He rose painfully. “You’ll be well taken care of in the future.” He hesitated before adding in a gruff voice, “I…I’m grateful to you for coming all this way to tell us about my boy’s last days.”
He left the library, leaning heavily on his cane. Troth rested her head against the chair back and closed her eyes, shaking. The worst was over now. She wasn’t surprised to learn that the earl would have opposed his heir’s marriage bitterly, but of course, if disaster hadn’t befallen their expedition there would have been no marriage to oppose.
As Wrexham had said, it was no matter now. She did not carry an heir to Wrexham, so the family honors would pass safely to Dominic and his son. The old man could afford to tolerate her unexpected self.
It was less than she’d hoped for, but perhaps more than she deserved.
Chapter 18
On the road in China
Kyle might have thought the night had been a dream if he hadn’t woken with Troth tucked under his arm. How foolish they’d been to end up on the hard floor rather than the bed. Yet he’d slept better than he had in a long, long time.
Though he hadn’t forgotten how efficiently she’d battled a gang of villains, in repose she looked vulnerable and younger than her years. He felt intensely protective, not to mention amazed at his willpower the night before. Dressed as a man and with no more feminine wiles than a child, she was still so sensual that he’d almost thrown honor out the paper-covered window. The lustful male part of his brain had eagerly pointed out that she was of age and more than willing, but he’d had just enough decency left to resist.
Careful not to wake her, he studied the fascinating planes of her face. It was hard to believe she thought herself unattractive when she had such striking beauty. On the voyage home, he’d have to teach her to be more wary of men. At the moment, she was so hungry for kindness and admiration that she’d be easy prey for the unscrupulous.
Her eyes fluttered open, revealing hope and doubt in the brown depths. “My lord. Kyle. I…I’m glad you did not send me away last night.”
“That would have been the wiser course, but I found too much pleasure in your closeness. I haven’t had a bedmate in many years.” He hesitated. “The hunger for the touch of another person runs deep, as does desire. It can be treacherously easy to confuse those things with love, but there is far more to love than physical feelings.”
Something else showed in her gaze. Amusement, perhaps? He must sound hilariously pompous.
“I shall bear that in mind, Kyle.”
She spoke so demurely that he suspected she’d just acquired her first wile. She was a quick learner. By the time they reached England, she’d be up to snuff, though he would still keep a close eye on her social progress to ensure that she didn’t go astray. Might she want to be presented in London? That could be arranged, though once she encountered the acid gossip and stuffy formality of aristocratic society she’d probably lose interest in it.
How delicious it was to lie with her, only a couple of layers of cotton separating them. It would be so easy to lean forward and kiss that slender throat….
He rolled over and got to his feet. “From the noise in the courtyard, everyone at the Inn of Intoxicated Repose is up and about, and we should be the same.”
“The Inn of Heavenly Peace.” She rose and donned her outer garments.
After they’d dressed and he’d put on his graying wig, she bandaged his face and head again, adding a few more stains. They breakfasted on tea and rice cakes and fruit, then resumed their journey.
Their road ran into a larger one with steady traffic in both directions. Troth ordered Kyle onto the donkey. Dodging dust and faster-moving travelers was nowhere near as amusing as walking and talking with Troth had been the previous day.
He was about to ask if there might be an alternative route when they heard a deep drumming sound ahead. They crested a hill and saw on the road below a body of marching troops starting up the incline toward them. Carts, pedestrians, and riders pulled off into the trees to let the soldiers through.
“Imperial Bannermen,” Troth said under her breath. “Crack troops on their way to Canton, probably.”
Having no desire to encounter soldiers, Kyle said, “There’s a small track ahead to the right. Shall we take it?”
Troth squinted against the sun as she read the painted characters running down a signpost at the intersection of the track and the main road. “It leads to a famous waterfall and monastery. I’d thought of taking you there, so I suppose this is an omen.”
She urged the donkey along as fast as it would go. By the time they turned onto the track, the Bannermen were close enough for them to see the bamboo armor and pointed metal helmets. When they’d traveled far enough to be obscured by the undergrowth, Kyle dismounted and turned to watch the marching troops. The earth vibrated to the thunder of their steps. “Do your people fear the Imperial Army?”
“Not exactly, but a wise man does not go out of his way to draw their attention.”
“That is true of armies everywhere, I suspect.” Kyle watched the passing ranks in silence. Though the swords and lances were primitive compared to British rifles, the soldiers looked tough and determined. Properly trained and armed, they would be equal to anything, but at the moment they’d be cut up by trained European troops.
Hoping that wouldn’t happen, he hiked alongside the donkey as they headed into wilder country. They climbed steadily over ground that was too rough and overgrown for much agriculture. Traffic was almost nonexistent.
The sun was high in the sky when they rounded a horseshoe bend and came face-to-face with a spectacular cataract. It shot from the cliff above, plunging at least fifty feet before splashing into a sky blue pool, then cascading down the hillside in series of smaller waterfalls. Kyle caught his breath at the wild beauty of the place.
“This is called the Flying Water. The monastery is just above. They are often built on mountains and near water.” Troth shaded her eyes as she peered upward. “If we continue to the top, there are said to be splendid views of the countryside. It’s a long climb, though, and I’m not sure where the next village is.”
“We’ll manage,” he said, not wanting to miss such an interesting prospect.
They climbed to the head of the waterfall and past the monastery. Kyle would have liked to go inside, but it was best to avoid people as much as possible.
Though the path to the summit was steep, the effort was worth it. The view was phenomenal, extending perhaps fifty miles in all directions. Canton was a distant blur, and streams and channels feeding into the Pearl River wound through the district in a shining lattice. Small villages were scattered everywhere in the fertile valleys and well up the craggy slopes. Faint curls of smoke from the foot of the mountain ahead of them indicated that there was a village there also.
Kyle could have studied the countryside for hours, but soon a party of monks appeared on the trail below them. Troth murmured, “The good monks might wonder why an aged blind man has climbed this far, so mount up, Grandfather.”
He obeyed, and they started along the much smaller track that ran down the back of the mountain through a narrow gorge. Densely forested and with a stream in the middle, it would turn into a torrent after a heavy rain.
Here and there tea gardens clung to the side of the mountain, the plants intensely green with the first foliage of the year. “Tea plants like height and moisture,” Troth said as a peasant working in one of the tea gardens called out to them.
Kyle asked, “What did he say?”
“I think he told us not to spend the night on the mo
untain. Ghosts, maybe.”
She spoke so matter-of-factly that he blinked. “Ghosts. Of course.”
She grinned. “They are everywhere, Grandfather. One must pay honor to them.” As they moved down the track, she scanned the rugged landscape. “There are many caves in these hills. Perhaps we can explore one later, Kyle.” She liked his personal name, which had the crisp simplicity of Chinese.
Seeing a promising shadow on the stone wall of the gorge, she gestured to Kyle to stay with the donkey while she explored. She’d traveled a hundred yards or so when the undergrowth trembled, and a sleek black-and-yellow shape oozed from the shadows half a dozen yards in front of her. Tiger.
She froze in her tracks. Then, heart hammering, she slowly began to retreat as the huge beast regarded her with assessing eyes.
The tiger moved toward her, one lazy step at a time. If it charged, no amount of wing chun skill could save her from having her throat ripped out.
Might she be able to climb a tree? No, none were close enough, and a tiger could outclimb a human anyhow.
She continued her withdrawal until her heel caught in a root and she fell down. Immediately the tiger broke into a lope. She cried out as it closed the distance between them in easy bounds, unable to control her terror as she looked up into the fanged, open mouth. She’d try to jab the eyes, and maybe she could kick it in the throat….
A fist-size stone whizzed past her and smashed into the tiger’s nose. The beast stopped in its tracks, blinking with astonishment.
Another rock thumped into the broad, striped chest, swiftly followed by another that struck the powerfully muscled shoulder. The tiger swung its head to gaze beyond Troth and growl a warning.
There was absolute silence until another stone slammed into a dark, furry ear. The beast spat with irritation, then pivoted fluidly and bounded into the undergrowth. As the lashing tail vanished, Kyle hauled her to her feet. “Are you all right, Troth?”
The China Bride (Bride Trilogy) Page 12