The Dragon Earl

by Jade Lee

  With true contrition, he moved forward to address the older woman—remembering to hold his breath when he came near—and bowed in his best English manner. He belatedly re­membered to take her hand and kiss it. The whole affair was awkward, but she didn't seem to mind. In fact, her eyes shone with unshed tears as she looked at him from head to toe.

  "Grandmother, you look radiant this evening," he re­marked.

  "And you, Jacob," she said as she patted his hand. "You look just as you ought." She turned her gaze to Evelyn. "Evie, dear, doesn't my grandson look most handsome?"

  Evelyn had no choice but to glide forward. "I would say that he looks quite English, but I believe that he is still very Chinese inside."

  In other words, she had made a decision: she had no inten­tion of helping him fool Zhi Min into thinking he had em­braced England.

  He was just trying to form a reply when Christopher joined their group from the other side. "Nonsense," the man drawled in a smooth and urbane manner. "I would say he looks quite dapper. Almost as if he had been wearing our clothing for years. Your cravat has been . . . most expertly executed."

  Jie Ke grimaced. He heard clearly the other man's implication—that he was a fraud who was only faking being Chinese. Did these people not tire of calling him a liar? Did they know that there was a murderer among them?

  "After four hours closeted with Mr. Barker," he replied, "I should hope I learned how to dress." Then he sighed. "But I confess that my servant is the one who tied the neckcloth. I believe Mei Li learned it from your valet." He turned to the group in general. "The truth is the same the world over: we gentlemen are nothing without our servants."

  It was an innocuous comment thrown out in the hope of peace. He did it for his grandmother's sake—and Evelyn's too, he supposed. Both women had reasons to want this eve­ning to go smoothly. Unfortunately, the assembled elite had no interest in welcoming him, no matter what he wore. His comment was greeted with vague disapproval. One lady even sniffed and turned her head away.

  Jie Ke suppressed his sigh and turned back to Evelyn. What now? He wanted to ask her, but her eyes were trained on Christopher, who had folded his arms and regarded him as one would a stray dog.

  "It isn't so often that we get Chinese travelers in our little corner of the world," his cousin drawled. "I might say never, not since the last time I saw Uncle Reggie." He toyed with the drink in his hand, but his gaze remained razor sharp. "Tell me about my uncle's studies. Was he able to complete any more? Do you have any copies of his notes?"

  Jie Ke throttled his urge to punch his cousin unconscious. He had known he would be questioned about what happened to his family; he just hadn't expected the moment—the memories themselves—to be so painful. Fortunately, he had an answer ready. Not so fortunately, he took a breath before speaking, and immediately began sneezing.

  It was a violent fit, explosion after explosion. Most people drew away from him in horror, or so it seemed through his watery gaze. His grandmother, of course, exclaimed loudly and moved even closer, which simply made the powder's effect even worse and caused more sneezing.

  "Bloody hell!" someone cursed.

  "English pig snot!" laughed Zhi Min in Chinese.

  Jie Ke straightened enough to glare at his friend, and at that moment, the fit eased a bit. Then Evelyn came close, offering a handkerchief in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Jie Ke focused on her face, released one last horrible sneeze, and then stopped.

  He used her handkerchief, he drank her water, and only then did his breath return. "It's this horrible English clothing," he groused. "How do you stand having such itchy cloth wrapped tight around everything? If I were to fight, I'd rip my pants from belly to ass."

  A gasp of horror met his comment. He only belatedly re­alized that he'd spoken in English. He'd meant that last com­ment for Zhi Min alone, but the horrified looks of the others told him he had erred, and erred badly.

  "If you think starched linen is difficult," Evelyn said into the silence, "you ought to try stays. Sneezing against whalebone is nigh on impossible."

  He gave her a weak grin, then looked down at her now-disgusting handkerchief. With a shrug, he casually tossed it into the fire. "Given my current affliction, stays might well be required."

  Her answering smile was warm and genuine, and Jie Ke spent a long moment basking in her beauty. But before long he felt the dark, assessing gaze of his cousin. Without even looking, he answered Christopher's question.

  "My father's notes were not in the wreckage. I don't know what happened to them. We went back to . . ." He swallowed. "We went back and . . . and . . ." He sneezed again.

  This time it was Zhi Min who provided a hand-kerchief, and then answered on Jie Ke's behalf. "We went back later to bury the bodies. Everything was gone, stripped away by the bandits."

  Christopher arched a brow. "Surely the papers were there. No bandit would want English papers and a sketchbook."

  Jie Ke took a breath and mercifully did not sneeze. "We didn't find Mr. Higgins's body, so I assumed—I hoped—he had survived. As Papa's valet, he would have recognized what was important. I thought he took everything he could back home. And that he would send someone for me."

  "He did," Evelyn inserted. "He brought back the signet ring and some notes . . . but not all of them." She paused for a significant moment. "But he told us everyone died. Every­one but himself."

  Jie Ke's eyes drifted to the fire. He remembered white ash drifting on the air and clogging his throat. The urge to sneeze pressed down on him, but he fought it by blanking his mem­ories. In the end, he could speak—softly, but very clearly. "I didn't die. I grew up in the monastery and waited for some­one to come get me."

  "We thought you were dead," whispered his grandmother.

  "I waited," he repeated. "With no money, all I could do was send letters. I never received a response. There was a time I would have worked my way back to England. I was willing to do anything to join a caravan, so long as it was headed west."

  "Why didn't you?" Christopher pressed.

  Jie Ke looked at his grandmother then. It wasn't an easy thing to do, but he forced himself. She needed to know the truth, needed to understand. "At first I thought Higgins would send for me. I had no money, no way to travel, and I was a boy and an earl. I waited for someone to come get me."

  "But we didn't know," whispered his grandmother. "We thought you were dead."

  Jie Ke looked down at her frail hands because he could not look her in the eye. "I guessed as much, but only years later. And in that time, the temple became my home. I had lost my first family. Why would I abandon my second to come back here?"

  "But we are your family!" the old woman cried. "We were always here!"

  He shrugged. "I am happy there, and I thought you had abandoned me."

  No one responded to that. There was nothing to say in the face of his grandmother's grief. And into that awkward silence came the mellow note of the dinner bell.

  The response was immediate. Everyone pushed to their feet and began the dance of finding the appropriate place in line. Except, where was Jie Ke to go? The highest-tided man would escort his grandmother—the dowager countess—into the dining room. That man was either Christopher or Jacob, de­pending upon the veracity of the monk's claims. Of course, even if Jie Ke did not want such status, his grandmother defi­nitely wanted him beside her. That, of course, left Christopher out in the cold.

  Evelyn wanted to intercede—Jie Ke could see it in her face. To him, she was the embodiment of the best of England, a gracious, beautiful woman who would see to everyone's com­fort and happiness, no matter the cost to herself. Even in the middle of a disrupted wedding, she and her mother had han­dled themselves and everyone else smoothly, seemingly with­out effort. He admired that. He recognized the skill in her every breath and movement, knew that she was as much a master of her domain as the abbot was of his temple in China.

  He yearned for that himself, he realized, the ease wit
h which she brought all into peaceful harmony. He smiled at her and would happily have allowed Christopher the preemi­nent position if it meant he could stand by her. He even made a start toward Evelyn, but his grandmother would have none of it.

  "I want both my grandsons by my side," she declared. Then she held out her arms to each of them.

  The matter was settled. Jie Ke and Christopher took her arms with as much grace as possible—which in Christopher's case was quite a lot—and Evelyn disappeared somewhere to­ward the back of the line. It was even possible that Zhi Min escorted her in, but Jie Ke wasn't sure. His attention was caught by Christopher, who spoke in a low tone to his grand­mother.

  "Grandmama, this is all well and good for now, but you know only one of us can have the tide. You must choose sides, and one of us will lose."

  Jie Ke felt the tremble that shook the elderly lady, and anger surfaced. Without thinking to moderate his tone, he snapped at his cousin. "It is an evil system that forces a woman to choose between children."

  "It is the system we have," returned Christopher, his gaze hard and burning into his nemesis over their grandmother's head.

  "And does her view carry so much weight in the English courts that her pick will determine the course of the tide? Of course not. Let her have us on both sides. She is the only rea­son I came back." He hadn't meant to speak so honestly. It was ridiculous in any event, since just standing in her presence made him sneeze. But hers had been the face he remembered on the long trek back to England.

  "Oh, Jacob," his grandmother whispered.

  "What kind of man are you?" hissed Christopher. "To hurt an old woman so? You are not Jacob. Cease this charade, for you will get nothing."

  There was no chance to answer, for they had made it to the dining room and both fought to pull out Grandmother's chair. It was mere posturing, masculine drama with insignifi­cant stakes. Even the youngest initiates in the temple would recognize the futility of fighting over these things. These were the idiotic things over which men went to war. Jie Ke felt the same, but he could not stop his shoulders from tens­ing or the hatred from burning up through his mind.

  His gaze caught and held Christopher's in a silent battle of will. He could flatten his cousin with one punch. He could likely best his cousin in any physical contest, but this was a drawing-room war, a social battle that could not be won in any way he knew except with courage and disci­pline.

  Grandmother ceased to exist. All other guests, as well. Si­lence reigned as the two men stared. And in Jie Ke's thoughts, the questions boiled. Did you kill my parents? Did your fa­ther? Your solicitor? Your friends? How did you arrange it? Why did you do it? Why? Why?

  At last, Evelyn intervened. "Christopher, dear, I know you should by rights sit by your grandmother, but I would adore it if you could come down here by me. Do you think we could break with propriety enough to do that?"

  It was the necessary solution, but Jie Ke cursed it with every fiber of his being. If anyone would give up in favor of Evelyn, it was he. But Christopher was faster and had the in­vitation.

  His cousin bowed deeply to his grandmother, then smiled warmly. "Of course, Evie. I think our guests understand how an affianced couple long for any moment they might have to­gether." Then he sent such a look of moony-eyed calf love toward Evelyn that two of the trio of girls giggled. The third sighed in delight.

  Jie Ke kept silent, his eyes following his cousin, who crossed the room and took Evie's hand. The memory of how she had come apart against his mouth lingered on his lips. The sound of her muffled cries, the taste of her on his tongue. And yet there she was, smiling urbanely at his cousin, the man she clearly intended to marry. And at that moment, Jie Ke's world changed.

  The revelation came quietly, in the space between one breath and the next, but the knowledge hit him with more power than a lightning strike. If he hadn't been holding on to the back of a chair he would have stumbled.

  He had come back to England because of the abbot's re­quirement. He had traveled back to this cold, gray country thinking only of how to end things quickly and perhaps learn a little of his grandmother and whether she'd sur­vived. But now another face supplanted hers, another per­son vied with the abbot for dominance in his thoughts. Evelyn. Her beauty and skill brought harmony to everyone around her. She created that peace he knew in the temple and the quietness he experienced only in the best medita­tions.

  Was it possible? Could he possibly want to woo her in earnest? Could he actually want to remain in England as her husband, as the father of her children?

  His gaze leaped to Zhi Min in shock. He felt lost in this holy revelation, adrift without anchor or support. Did he truly wish to become English again? For Evelyn?

  Of course not! And yet, for such a woman, how could he resist?

  This was a nightmare! Evelyn forced herself to smile at her fiancé who held out a chair for her. Of all the places to have a stare-down with Jie Ke! Didn't the two men realize that everyone was watching their every move? Didn't they know that every second of this evening would be dissected and resurrected for gossip?

  Of course they did! Or at least Christopher did. But he had to have his staring contest with Jie Ke nonetheless. And every moment of their power struggle only hurt the dowager countess more. The poor woman just wanted her grandchild back. She didn't care about politics or the machinations re­quired to obtain the tide. Let her have her precious Jacob and allow the courts to decide about the earldom!

  She glanced up the table to where Jie Ke was paying court to his grandmother. Or rather he should have been. Instead, he looked dumbstruck—pale, sweaty, and with mouth hang­ing ajar as he stared at her.

  She squirmed in her seat, acutely uncomfortable at his bla­tant attention. It was hard enough to be in the same room with him without remembering last night. Lord, she ached in places she hadn't even realized existed. Her every breath re­minded her what she had done was sinful and a horrible be­trayal to Christopher. And yet, she longed to do it again. She wanted. . .

  But now wasn't the time! And Jie Ke's obvious staring was going to be remarked upon by everyone!

  She tried to glare him into behaving, but he didn't seem to notice. It was as though he looked at her and through her at the same time. What did he see with that unbreakable stare? What was he thinking?

  "You look divine, as usual," murmured Christopher as he took his seat beside her. "You seem to be bearing up well, un­like my mother." Upon learning that her son and Evelyn had not run off to Scotland, the countess had retired to her rooms and had not been seen since.

  "Your mother has a delicate constitution," Evelyn mur­mured as she reluctantly directed her attention back to Christopher. "Whereas I—"

  "You are perfect," pressed Christopher, obviously playing the lovesick swain for all the assembled guests. The Misses Whitsun were halfway to swooning at the romance of it all. "I could not be happier unless this entire farce were over and we were already wed." He clasped her hand. "I begin to re­gret certain earlier, more responsible decisions."

  There was no mistaking his meaning. He referred to his refusal to bed her yesterday, and she felt her face heat in em­barrassment. If he ever found out what she had done last night... She swallowed and forced herself to smile.

  "It seems I must rely on wiser, more rational minds," she whispered. "My composure seems to be severely lacking of late."

  "Nonsense," he returned. "You would have come to your senses eventually. You have always behaved exactly as you ought, Evie, and of that you can be extremely proud. I know I am."

  Then there was no more time to speak about it, for the first course arrived and regular dinner conversation took over. And then the next course arrived. And then the next. All went as smoothly as could be expected. By the time the women rose to withdraw, Evelyn's mother was beaming.

  Evelyn managed to state quiedy to Christopher that there could be no more theatrics or she would never forgive him. In response, he lifted his glass and turned t
oward Lord Greenfield—the only other ranking male in the company, since he would not acknowledge Jie Ke.

  "I, for one," he said, "much prefer my lady fiancée's pres­ence over any of you lot. So might I suggest that we retire to the parlor together?"

  The perfect response from a perfect fiancé. Evelyn smiled in gratitude. Lord Greenfield of course nodded, and everyone filed out of the room in perfect accord. But Evelyn knew her pleasant expression was forced and would fade the moment she was alone. Truthfully, she had been looking forward to a few moments without the aggravating presence of either man. With everyone still together, now in the parior, she would re­main on pins and needles until bedtime.

  "Evie, dear, come sit by the fire with me." It was the dowa­ger countess, looking sweet as she manipulated Evelyn to sit down next to Jie Ke, or Jacob, or whoever the man was. It was all getting rather confused in her head.

  "Of course," Evelyn responded, because that was what she was expected to say. "Would you like me to bring you some tea?"

  "No, no, dear. Just come sit with me and my grandson."

  Was it possible for a face to freeze in place? Would her muscles lock in this farce of a smile if she wasn't able to es­cape? "It would be my pleasure, my lady."

  "Oh, nonsense, Evie. You must call me Grandmama like everyone else. You are, after all, about to be one of the family."

  "Of course, Grandmama." Evelyn settled onto a stool directly across from the dowager countess. Jie Ke stood to the side, obviously uncomfortable and apparently trying not to breathe. His face was turned resolutely toward the fire, which only seemed to highlight his sallow skin. Truly, the man did not look well.

  "I have been discussing things with Jacob," the dowager countess said. "I believe it would be best if he retired with me to my home. It is not that far, and"—her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper—"I believe he could use the time to fully adapt to an English life."