The Unexpected Wife

by Caroline Warfield

  He reached the doors of the clinic at Zion’s Quarter just before full dark when they were locking up for the night. With Peters nowhere in sight, Charles brushed off the attendants except to ask them to order a bath. He needed to get out of his filth and find Zambak while his observations were fresh in his mind.

  ~ ~ ~

  Two days. Fifty-two hours. Zambak felt minutes pass with excruciating slowness while she sat in the dark hugging Charles’s pillow to her chest. Even anxiety over Thorn or dread that the actions of the army would spill over into the factories couldn’t push aside her fear for him. It had been two days—fifty-two hours—since he disappeared into the night, and they had heard nothing since.

  Alone as the shadows of his room turned to full dark, cold truths haunted her. The reports she’d gathered for her father had to be weighed against her childish and impulsive behavior. She had worried her parents, she had complicated the Elliots’ lives and career, and her actions did little to change her brother, still bent on self-destruction. Worst of all, she feared she led Charles to take risks he shouldn’t have.

  One other thing took shape and came into focus so sharply she couldn’t turn away. She loved Charles Wheatly, heart and soul. A desperate laugh—half sob, half hysteria—escaped her at the thought. She finally fulfilled her mother’s fondest wish and found a man she could respect and love—one that offered little hope of a respectable future. She had no idea what to do with the thought. As it turned out she had little time to consider it.

  “Who is here?” Charles demanded. He stood outlined in the light from oil lamps in the corridor behind him. Caught between love and fury over the fear he caused, she flung herself from the chair.

  “Thank God!” She didn’t know whether she would hug him or slap him until she threw herself into his arms and was being kissed senseless.

  He pulled his lips from hers and kissed his way down her neck. “What is this foolishness?” he asked against a tender spot beneath her right ear. His gentle hands began to roam.

  She captured his mouth again, invading before he could object. “Where have you been?” she asked between moans of pleasure. “Don’t ever frighten me like that again.”

  He shifted and pulled her closer, kissed her more deeply. She felt one of his hands, warm against her skin, slip under her lose jacket.

  Zambak melted against him, but reality intruded as the initial heat subsided. “You stink!” She pulled back a few inches, his arms still holding her, and wrinkled her nose.

  “I slept behind a tannery last night, in an alley ridden with some dubious substances. I meant to clean up before reporting to you.”

  She pulled away reluctantly, one hand clinging to his, and picked up a candle from his bedside to light it from one of the oil lamps in the hall. She looked him up and down with disgust, put the candle down, and began undoing the heavy robe. “Let’s get you undressed,” she said, setting words to action.

  “Lady Zambak Hayden, how inappropriate—and how utterly delightful,” he said, allowing her to have her way with him. The outer robe hit the floor, and she kicked it to the corner. She began undoing the fasteners on his shirt, but he brushed her hands aside and pulled it over his head. “I’ve ordered a bath. Will you help me with that too?”

  Heat surged through her at the image he conjured. Her face burned momentarily, but the sight of the seeping bandage on his arm sent ice water through her. “My God, Charles, you’re hurt!”

  “It probably needs to be looked at, but I wanted to clean up first.”

  She unwound the filthy strip of cloth, cringing at the seeping wound running almost the length of his upper arm. “Cow slop! This can’t wait. You spent the night in filth.” She punched his shoulder then.

  “Ow! What was that for?”

  “Stupidity. This could fester, and I’ll have to fear for you all over again.” She grabbed a towel from his washstand, wet it in the basin, and dabbed at the cut with one hand. “This will need more thorough cleaning—and whiskey, liberally applied.”

  When the other hand absently rubbed his naked chest, he took it in his and kissed her fingers. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I would never want to cause you pain.”

  She felt his kiss on the back of her neck where she bent over the wound just before she heard a familiar—and entirely unwelcome—voice say, “Murnane, damn it. I told you not to venture out. Are you trying to put our entire enterprise in trouble with the commissioner.”

  Zambak went still. Charles held her close, his back to Oliver, blocking her from view. “Daniel! I didn’t know you were back.”

  “Arrived two hours ago. All hell’s breaking out, and I hear I have a wayward duke loose in the city, which as you were informed is strictly illegal. First I have to deal with a damned woman pushing her way in against the law and now—”

  She took a shuddering breath; something had alerted Oliver. She dipped her forehead against Charles’s chest and left a swift kiss before she stepped into the open. Charles turned to face him as well. “If the ‘damned woman’ has caused you trouble, Captain Oliver, I apologize. It wasn’t my intent,” Zambak said head high.

  Oliver went pale, eyes wide before he tore them away to glare at the duke’s bare chest. “The reason I sought you out, Your Grace,” he ground out, “is to bring you news and a warning. Your wife has been busy in Macao.”

  His wife. Cow shite. What have I done? She raised her chin and stiffened her back. “I’m certain His Grace will want a full report, Captain. However, you interrupted my attempt to clean his nasty wound. Perhaps when it is properly dressed he can join you in your office.” She held Oliver’s eyes until she forced him to turn away.

  “Perhaps, Lady Zambak. May I can send someone from the clinic to assist you?” the American asked, staring at the wall behind her.

  “That would be excellent. A bath has already been ordered, and the orderly will undoubtedly assist His Grace.”

  “Undoubtedly,” Oliver said through stiff lips. He studied Charles for a moment. “The lady is correct. You will join me in my office once the effects of your little ‘adventure’ have been removed. We can discuss the speed with which you and the lady will want to return to Macao.” He spun on his heels and strode toward the clinic.

  “Zambak—” Charles reached out a hand, but she stepped away before he could touch her.

  “Hush. He’s right. We’ve outstayed our welcome. As it happens, Thorn is able to travel, and I fear what mischief he’ll create if he’s here much longer.” She met his eyes then, and the pain in them almost made her knees buckle.

  This will not do. “Excuse my foolishness of moments ago,” she said. “Someone I counted as a friend gave me a fright. Apparently, you took it for something else.” She forced a haughty sneer. “If you think you can have a piece of Sudbury’s brat, think again. I’m no man’s for the taking. The orderly can finish this.”

  She left, proud of the control that kept her from running, with her chin up and her tears in check. Well, that should put a period to dalliance.

  She stumbled toward her room and closed the door. But why do we have to avoid it? I never plan to marry anyway. Frustration and confusion mingled as the tears began to flow. Between hiccupping sobs, she remembered the passion with which he chided her about Temperance and Aaron and ruthlessly squelched the niggling thought that it might not be marriage per se she desired, but he would never settle for less.

  Chapter 27

  Julia. Always Julia.

  Charles choked on anger, willed his body to still, and told himself Oliver couldn’t have seen much of what happened with Zambak. It didn’t matter; she’d been alone with a half-dressed man. Oliver raged across his cramped office, knocking over a pile of ledgers in the process, and refused to meet the duke’s eyes. Their host didn’t need to bring up the scene in the bedroom; he had plenty of other
cause for anger.

  “You will leave in the morning,” he demanded, “before Commissioner Lin discovers I’ve been harboring two people who are—by his light—felons: a man who entered the city without official permission and a woman whose very presence in the factory compound is anathema.” Oliver paced across a worn carpet and gesticulated with uncharacteristic ferocity. “Elliot himself would agree on that last one. A lady does not belong in a compound of men.”

  Being lashed with the truth didn’t take the sting from the lashing. Charles curled both hands into fists and glared at Bradshaw who stood, grim and disapproving, while his superior went on. “We’ve worked for years to build up a reputation of respect for Chinese law and you—the two of you—ignore all warnings, act on impulse, and threaten to undo it in a matter of weeks.”

  A bath and clean clothes had removed all taint of the tanner’s alley, but tactile memory of Zambak’s hands and lips moving over his body would not go easily. That and Oliver’s words made it increasingly difficult for Charles to remain still.

  He clung to one thought while he waited for the irate merchant to wind down. “What news of my wife, Oliver?” he asked through tight lips, giving it voice. “You sought me out to tell me earlier.”

  “Did you hear anything I said? Is your damned report to your everlasting queen so important you can trample on a man’s livelihood?”

  Charles dipped his head and breathed in. “I regret any problems my exploration caused you. We will, of course, leave Oliver and Company in peace as soon as you can arrange passage. Pray God we manage it before the commissioner gets wind of my activity.” Or threatens Zambak who ought to have had the sense to remain hidden.

  Oliver huffed mightily and threw himself into his chair, reaching for his pipe. “Thank the Good Lord Lin doesn’t know the lady interfered with his ill-advised letter to Victoria. Tomorrow’s tide, Murnane. I have a packet leaving then, bound for Macao.”

  Charles jerked a nod in response and repeated his question, “My wife?” and waited in grim anticipation. He had allowed Zambak Hayden and his commission to distract him with a pathetic few days of adventure, and now he would pay. You knew the damned slattern would never settle meekly where you put her. Julia drives a knife into your life whenever it teeters on happiness.

  The misery in Oliver’s face took on softer lines than the rage over his business, but profound unhappiness remained. “I received a note from Aaron Knighton. She has taken up with Jarratt’s nephew. He parades her around Macao on his arm while she regales the respectable ladies with tales of her abusive husband.” He looked at Charles directly for the first time. “We can acquit you of that at least,” he said.

  It sounded grudging to Charles’s ears. “Don’t trouble your conscience over it. She’s a convincing liar,” he snapped. And Jarratt can be creative in revenge.

  “Convincing enough with some, I fear, but not with me,” he insisted. “Her hints about Lady Zambak’s behavior are vague, but effective in some quarters. Unfortunately, her presence here with you confirms the worst to the ladies of Macao even if your wife keeps silent.”

  They glared at one another across the battered desk. “I want you gone, Your Grace,” Oliver said at last. He clamped his teeth down on his pipe.

  “That gives us one thing on which we can agree. Tomorrow you said?”

  The captain nodded.

  Something Oliver said came back to him. “Before I pack, I need to record my findings. What’s this about a letter to the queen?”

  “Lin asked Peters to assist in translating an open letter to your sovereign. Lady Zambak inserted herself into that effort as well.”

  Of course she did. That and my findings need to be compared and recorded before rumormongering, lies, and accusations distract us beyond the point we can retrieve what we’ve learned. The combined determination of Oliver and Bradshaw made it unlikely he would see her alone in the confines of Oliver and Company’s factory.

  “Mr. Bradshaw,” he said stiffly. “I have need of an interview with the lady. There being no females present, would you kindly sit with us to lend propriety?” Charles thought of barn doors slamming shut after horses that had already bolted and felt a bit foolish. The look on Bradshaw’s face, seemed to indicate that he, at least, approved of the request to chaperone.

  I’ll owe him an apology as well. The “wayward duke” went missing on his watch. The man’s forbidding countenance held him back. They reached the dining area in silence; Bradshaw took the first seat he came to and leaned his elbows on the table, hands clasped.

  Charles twisted the side of his mouth and pursed his lips, wondering if it would be more effective to lean on his title or speak man to man. The American had never stopped Your-Gracing him, a fact he found irritating. Before the duke could decide, Bradshaw glanced beyond him, and his face brightened as if lit from within. He rose respectfully, causing Charles to turn toward the door.

  Zambak held the summons to meet between two fingers, tapping it on her hip, drawing his eyes to her feminine curves. A heavy Manchu skirt disguised her body, but Charles had ever possessed a good imagination, now augmented by his exploration of her curves. He quickly pushed images aside under the force of her shuttered ice blue eyes. When she turned attention to Bradshaw, the smile on her face reached those eyes and warmed them considerably.

  “Mr. Bradshaw, this is a pleasant surprise.” She reached out a hand. “The new dress surpasses even the other two. Be reassured, I will reimburse you as soon as I reach my funds in Macao—and please tell me you also bought one for Mrs. Bradshaw. Such beauty will bring her great joy.”

  The damned American assured her his new gift for his wife lay secure in his sea trunk, and Charles tried not to hate him for the glow on Zambak’s face. “Touching,” he snapped, “but Lady Zambak and I have business to conduct, business for her majesty’s government. All due respect, but I invited you along to protect Lady Zambak’s reputation, not to listen to our conversation.”

  Bradshaw’s bow held more mockery than respect, but he moved to the far end of the room, leaned into the kitchen door, and spoke to servants before sitting and staring into steaming coffee with rigid concentration.

  “My reputation?” Zambak hissed, taking a seat.

  “One of us needs to concern ourselves with it,” he responded. He cut off whatever retort she planned with one hand. “We don’t have time. You need to hear—and record—what I learned while it’s fresh.” He laid her journal on the table.

  She flipped the journal to the first blank page, waiting.

  “I understand you’ve been busy as well,” Charles said., “Shall we start with this letter to Victoria?”

  ~ ~ ~

  Zambak had long grown royally sick of her everlasting reputation. Everyone seemed to care about it more than she did. Why can’t they all—my mother, Sudbury, Charles, and even Dan Oliver—just accept that I don’t care if I ever make a so-called respectable marriage and leave my reputation to me? I thought I abandoned the damned thing when I left London.

  “The letter, Zambak?”

  This, at least, ought to impress him. She pulled a rolled paper from her sleeve, feeling rather like the cat in the cream. She had the duke’s total attention, but she tilted her body to make sure William Bradshaw didn’t see or ask awkward questions, and felt her mouth quirk into a sly grin.

  Charles glanced from the paper to her face and back, eyes wide, and took what she offered, unrolling it across the table. “You made a copy,” he murmured. “Of course you did—brilliant woman that you are.”

  Her insides warmed under his praise. Whatever else lay between them, that moment of shared partnership gave her strength. She would carry it with her.

  Charles read the letter in silence while she examined him. He may have cleaned up, but even the remains of his walnut stain didn’t disguise the dark pa
tches under his eyes nor the underlying pallor. She longed to check his bandages, but she knew he wouldn’t permit that. They best conclude their business quickly so he could seek his rest.

  He reached the end with a shaking head. “I’ve never seen so much wisdom and ignorance in a single document before.”

  “There is much you and I might agree with,” she commented.

  “And more, he simply doesn’t understand or at least woefully underestimates. Do you have any idea how he plans to send this?”

  “Peters and I think he will publish it as an open letter and perhaps send it to Elliot.”

  “She’ll never receive it,” Charles declared. “Palmerston will see it suppressed in England—if it gets that far.”

  Zambak’s mouth curled into a smile of feigned innocence. She waved the letter in front of him, rolled it back up, and tucked it into her sleeve. “Perhaps I will have tea with Her Majesty when we return, being of an age as we are and sharing some history.”

  Charles didn’t try to control his amusement. “Lady Zambak Hayden causes an international incident. I can see the broadsheets now.”

  She shook her head, suddenly serious. “Victoria is too wise to overturn apple carts. She needs to know this, though, and not have all her information filtered by men. They all try to marginalize her and act as if decisions about her marriage ought to be her primary concern.”

  His eyes bore into hers until she broke eye contact. “Tell me about your little adventure. What did you see?” She could hear the note of resentment in her voice and refused to regret it. He already knew she longed to prowl Canton at his side. She picked up the pen and raised a brow. “Begin at the beginning.”

  He did. Watchtowers and fortified buildings, wealthy homes and temples came to life in the words she recorded. She no longer thought of the journal as hers alone. By the time he described the troops pouring out of the Five Story Pagoda, she had no thought for anything but his story.