The Dragon Earl

by Jade Lee

  Of course, she wasn't so sure about the years stretching ahead into the future.

  She shrugged, only distantly realizing the gesture echoed Gladys's. Who could tell what would happen in tomorrow's tomorrow? She stood up from the table, feeling the ache of an hour hunched over the stewpot. "Thank you, Gladys. I shall treasure this night always." Then she left the house, wrapping her jacket tight about her shoulders.

  She didn't go home, though she was tired in a way she hadn't felt in a long time. She walked to the dark rise and smiled when she saw the flash of saffron in the dim moon­light. Jie Ke was waiting for her.

  Chapter Sixteen

  She was coming. Jie Ke stood staring out at the darkness, and he heard her. More important, he felt her approach. He glanced to the side without moving.

  Evelyn walked up the rise, her lantern shining before her. The wind played with her hair and she tried to brush it out of her face. She was always trying to be neat, he thought with a smile. And as always, her inner nature betrayed her. The moment she smoothed a lock behind her ear, three more es­caped to dance about her face.

  "Shouldn't you be sleeping?" she asked as she topped the rise.

  "I've slept all I could," he answered honesty. "I think the English moonlight calls me. As do you."

  Her lips curled into a smile at the notion, and he felt an odd surge of pleasure that he could amuse her. "Would that it were true Jie Ke," she said, "but I have no power over you. In moonlight or otherwise."

  He shrugged. "Maybe not, but I wanted to see you anyway. And this want. . ." His lips quirked into a half smile. "It is very strong." He looked at her then, allowing his desire to fill him. He kept it under control, did not even move. But he looked, and he knew she felt him near her. Her skin blushed a rosy red, and her lips parted in invitation. Her nipples tight­ened, and her gaze dropped to see what wind and fabric out­lined on his body.

  However, he was not ready to bed her. He wanted to bed her. His body was already rock hard with a need strong enough to bring him out of his sickbed to stand in this freez­ing wind, and she would be able to see that. But he liked speaking with her, too. And once he touched her, there would be no time or thought for anything else. So he turned away from her, gingerly settling down on the grass. But sitting hurt his ribs too much, and so he was forced to ease backwards un­til he lay flat, like an offering before her.

  She followed his motion, sitting down on the ground. In her English pants, she should have seemed masculine, but her every motion was poetic and feminine. She sat as though she were in a skirt, her feet curled to one side and tucked de­murely against her.

  "Does it hurt very much?" she asked.

  He shook his head. "Zhi Min is an excellent healer and I have suffered much worse." He touched the skin near his eye. "The swelling is nearly gone."

  They remained that way for a while, he on his back, staring at the sky, and she beside him. She was watching him closely. He could feel the heat of her attention, but he didn't move. It was a strange and wonderful experience to be the center of such focused study. It teased at the back of his mind and gave him much quiet joy.

  "What are you thinking?" she asked. "Sometimes I think I know, but other times—like now—you are a summer storm on a mountain: power, energy, lightning, but so far away that I can't even imagine the whole of it."

  He turned to stare at her. "I was thinking of you."

  She flushed and once again tried, and failed, to smooth the hair out of her eyes. "And what do you think about me?"

  Should he tell her the truth? Propriety didn't matter. The words spilled out whether he wished it or not. "That I should be resting, but I am here to see you. That I should have fought through the rest of the afternoon, but I didn't... for you. That I have told Chris that I am leaving tomorrow, but that I cannot." "Because of me?"

  "I. . ." He sighed. "I thought it was only because I have to visit with Grandmother. But if that is so, then why am I out here when my ribs ache and my face hurts?"

  "Why?" she repeated. Her voice was so quiet that the wind nearly took it away. But he heard.

  "I think it is because you make me less afraid." He glanced at her, nervous at her reaction. She looked . . . baffled.

  "You are afraid? Of what?"

  Her shock was rather flattering. "Why do you think I'm afraid?"

  "Don't answer a question with a question," she returned. "It's rude."

  He blinked, then his lips curved in a rueful smile. "Yes, I al­ways hated that from my teachers. Very well, why am I afraid?" He tilted his head and looked at the sky. "I think I have been afraid so very long that I no longer recognize it. Or I don't until the feeling eases—around you."

  "But why?" she gasped. "You're so powerful."

  He laughed, wishing it were true. "Powerful? Yes, I can usually best a man in a fair fight. Even in an unfair fight." He shook his head. "But fear is rarely reasonable." He glanced at her. "Isn't there something that terrifies you?"

  "Spiders," she said. "Oh God, how I hate spiders."

  He smiled. He liked that she had so simple a weakness. It made it easier to confess his own. "Is that a reasonable fear?"

  She shook her head. "Not according to my sister. I know I'm many times their size. But still. . ." She shuddered. "I hate them."

  "I learned to fight so well because I was afraid. I practiced so hard." He closed his eyes, remembering the hours upon hours of sweat, of kicks and punches, attacks and defenses. Every day until dusk or until he collapsed in exhaustion.

  "It didn't help, did it?"

  His eyes popped open and he stared at her. Had she read his mind?

  "Just as I know I can step on a spider and I'll be fine," she said, "or get a shovel for the really big ones. It doesn't matter, I'm still afraid." She glanced uneasily around the clearing.

  "I promise to kill any spider I see," he said with a grin. And then, to distract her fear, he added a bargain. "But you must take care of the snakes."

  She smiled, and the tension around her shoulders eased. "What about the rats?"

  "Hmmm." He frowned up at the sky, liking this nonsensi­cal banter. It reminded him of better times long ago. "We shall have to bargain on the rats. Or perhaps work together to defeat them."

  She tilted her head. "You are not very gallant, you know. Most men would swear to defend me from all foes, both four and eight legged."

  He twisted his head to look at her. "Do you wish for me to swear such a thing?"

  "No," she said after a moment. "No, I don't. I like that you don't act as if I'm helpless."

  He shifted onto his side, grimacing as he moved. "I would try, you know," he said honestly. "Even against the snakes, I would try to protect you."

  He watched her flush. She knew what he swore. She knew that he felt it deep inside, and that pleased her. Then she poked him in the shoulder, lightening the mood with a tease. "No 'trying,' Jie Ke. You swore to take care of all spiders. I will hold you to that."

  He allowed her to push him flat onto the ground. He wanted to pull her over with him, but now was not the time. Not yet. "Spiders, yes," he said, struggling to keep his tone light. "But I make no promises regarding rats."

  She laughed, and the sound lifted light and free into the darkness. But a moment later, he knew she was thinking something else. Without even looking at her, he knew her mood had sobered and she would push for a deeper knowl­edge of something. Of him. He closed his eyes, praying that she held off in that search for a little bit more time. She was a relentless force, and he could deny her nothing. He knew that if she asked, he would tell her.

  "Jie Ke, what did you and Christopher discuss in the car­riage?"

  Yes, he had been afraid she would ask that. "I gave up my revenge to him."

  She started. Clearly, she hadn't expected that. In truth, he himself was still shocked by it. But the decision felt right.

  "I. . . um ... I don't. . ." She swallowed. "What re­venge?"

  He smiled, trying to distract her.
"I like it when I fluster you. Your cheeks go pink and your nose wrinkles."

  "It does not!" She popped her hand to her nose to smooth it down. "And you're avoiding the question."

  He was. He looked at her, studying the subdeties in the way she carried herself, in the casual way she tugged at her hair and lifted her face to the wind, and he avoided it further. "Something is different about you tonight."

  She looked at him, then abruptly flopped over onto her side, propping her head with her hand. "I've decided I'm just Evie tonight. Not an FC at all."

  "FC?"

  "Future countess. Tonight, I can be as inappropriate as I like."

  He arched a brow at her. "I didn't think you had a problem with that before."

  She shrugged, but underneath that gesture he caught a sim­mering sexuality, a wildness that slipped out more freely than ever. "Maybe. At least not with you." Then she grinned. "And we were speaking of you. What revenge?"

  He grew still. Not quiet, just still. He didn't want to tell her, didn't want to sully her image of him. And yet, no one asked such direct questions. At the temple and often through­out China, things were stated obhquely unless spoken in the language of fists. And so when Evelyn asked a direct question, he found himself powerless to answer in any other way but directly. "My parents were murdered."

  "I know. By bandits."

  He nodded. "Yes, bandits, but someone paid them. Some­one English."

  She started upright. "No!" "Yes."

  She dropped back onto her elbows and frowned as if thinking very deeply. "You know this, and you 'gave up that revenge' to Christopher? What does that mean?"

  He grimaced, but his gaze remained on her. "Have you ever done something you thought would help, but ended up not doing anything at all? Or ended up making things worse?"

  She wrinkled her nose. "All the time."

  He arched an eyebrow in query, but she shook her head.

  "We can speak of my mistakes later." She raised her eye­brows at him. She had the most expressive face. "We are talk­ing about you."

  "I have never told anyone this," he realized. "Not even Zhi Min."

  She waited in silence, not pushing, merely waiting. And in her silence, he found the strength to continue.

  "I killed them all, Evie. Every single one. I found the ban­dits that murdered my family. Some I interrogated, some I just killed. But they all died, and all by my hand."

  He spoke without inflection, but inside, his entire body trembled from the force of what he confessed. He tried to move his hand, but found himself too weak to control the shakes. Better not to move at all.

  "I have lived a life of fear. When I was ten, I watched them slaughter my family, and I was terrified. I was taken to a temple in China—an English boy alone in China." He closed his eyes. "Lord, the fear ate at me night and day. But then I saw them learning how to fight, and I thought that if I could fight like that then I would not be afraid anymore." He looked to the dark sky because he could not bear keeping his eyes closed any longer. "The fighting I saw was different from English fighting," he said. "I thought it the most pow­erful thing I'd ever seen."

  "I noticed," she said softly. "It is very powerful. It was. . . You are very good."

  "I am one of the best now," he said without arrogance. "I made sure of it. But it didn't lessen my fear. The bandits were still out there, you see. I thought—I feared—they would find out I was still alive. I thought if they were dead, then I wouldn't be afraid anymore."

  "Jie Ke—" she began.

  "No!" he snapped. Didn't she understand? "I wasn't a monk then. I was Jacob. Just a frightened boy named Jacob."

  Her lips curved into a tiny smile. "You know they're the same person, right? That you are both Jacob and Jie Ke?"

  He arched his brow back at her. "Is that right, Just Evie, and you are not the future countess?"

  She laughed softly and without rancor. "Point taken. So, tonight you are Jacob."

  He nodded. "I was Jacob all the time then, a frightened boy who could fight like a demon."

  "How did you find them?" she asked. "The bandits, I mean."

  "It's not really that hard. Monks—even novice monks— are revered in China. People tell us things. Not me, because I am white, but my friends. I learned where the bandits lived. With a few questions, I learned how they played, where they worked, what they did. I made it a point to know."

  "But you were just a boy!"

  "I thought my life depended on knowing." He shrugged.

  "Besides, this bandit band wasn't cunning. They ruled by intimidation. I was not the only one who watched them care­fully or wished them dead."

  "So you killed them," she said. He couldn't find any con­demnation in her tone. "That doesn't sound so bad. The murderers were murdered. Justice, right?"

  He could tell she didn't understand—how could she? She was a pampered flower of England. Yet he still tried to ex­plain. "That's what I thought, too. Justice. Until I was the perpetrator." He shifted, pushing up onto one elbow and ask­ing a sudden question. "Had you ever kissed a man before?"

  She blinked, obviously startled. "Are you avoiding—"

  "No, no," he said. "I'm trying to explain. Before me, had you ever kissed a man?"

  "Um .. . yes," she said, and he was annoyed by the sudden flash of jealousy that cut through his thoughts.

  "Who?" he demanded.

  "Christopher, of course. And others. There was a stolen kiss beneath the mistletoe every now and then from other gentlemen." She flashed a girlish smile at him. "I had a Sea­son in London, you know. I flirted and kissed a few then as well."

  He shifted until he rose above her, though he still sat. His position pulled at his ribs, but he wanted to know. "What about. . . what we've done? Have you—"

  "No!" she said, her face heating in embarrassment. Then she pushed up as well, coming to kneel before him. "Why? What difference does it make?"

  He forcibly reined back the possessive fury churning within him. He didn't want her with anyone else.

  "Jie Ke?"

  He clenched his teeth and ordered his thoughts. He had been trying to explain ... Oh yes. "The kissing and other . . ." He cut off his words. "You thought about it, didn't you? You've dreamed about your wedding night. About—"

  She nodded. "Yes, I've thought about it." Her blush deep­ened. "I've thought about it a lot."

  He reached out and grabbed her hand, not pulling her closer—though the potential was there. And where they touched, her tiny hand so fragile in his, he burned with a fierce hunger.

  "Was the reality anything like what happened? What we did?"

  She shook her head. "More," she whispered, and he had to fight the roar of satisfaction inside him. "It was what I had thought and more."

  "For me as well," he said softly. "I know what to do with a woman. Boys in a temple . . . we talk about it a great deal. And once or twice, there was a woman who wanted to see what. . . what a white man was capable of."

  "Jie Ke—"

  "But with you it was different. It was more, and it was . . . I have not stopped thinking about you since the moment I first saw you in the church."

  He looked at her, and she looked back. She wet her lips, and he could not help but stare. He wanted to kiss her. His lips ached with the need. But she held herself apart, and he could not bear to force her.

  "How does this relate to your revenge?" she whispered.

  He flinched and would have rolled backwards again, but she held him still by their gripped hands. "That, too, was more than I expected," he said. "I cannot tell you everything it feels like to kill a man, to watch his blood gush, to smell that scent." He took a shallow breath against the pain in his chest. "The bowels let loose, and there are . . . sounds of death, too. Things that I did not expect."

  "It must have been awful," she whispered.

  "I kept thinking that it would get better, that it would be­come easier or different. That eventually I would feel better." He looked at their
joined hands. He gripped her so tightly, and yet she did not break. She did not even flinch. "Each death was different, and some were easier than others. But always ..." He shook his head. How to explain? "The fear remained."

  Evelyn held herself still, her eyes wide and her breath so sweet and steady before him. He focused on that, on her sit­ting here with him. He had no other thought but her.

  "You were still afraid?" she asked. "Even after they died?"

  "Terrified." He took a gulping breath, and his grip did not relax.

  She frowned. "I suppose if you're sure that it was someone from England, that might be a source of fear. But. . ."

  "I lived in fear for so long, it became a habit. But added to that fear was guilt and blood." He raised his gaze to hers. "Jacob is a killer." He swallowed. "J am a killer."

  She raised their joined hands and pressed a kiss to his knuck­les. "Is that why you want to be a monk? Is that why you don't want to be Jacob? Because Jie Ke is gentle?"

  "Gentle?" He looked up at her, vaguely insulted, vaguely amused. He'd worked all his life to be a man who struck ter­ror into the hearts of others, and she saw him as gentle?

  "Er . . ." she began. "I mean as tough as you are, you seem, um, kind. But I guess all monks are kind."

  He frowned, still thrown by her remark. "Being a monk is ... is a serenity of the soul. It is a peace that radiates from the heart and surrounds everything and everyone. It's like being—"

  "Forgiven," she said softly. "You want to be forgiven." He jerked backwards. "What?"

  "That's why you want to be a monk. You think a monk feels forgiven."

  He didn't know how to respond to that. "Of course I want to feel forgiven. I killed people!"

  "You killed thieves and murderers," she stressed. "Was there a court of law that could be appealed to? Was there an­other way?"

  He shook his head, but honesty forced him to admit the truth. "They had the entire area cowed for many, many miles. The viceroy took their bribes, and there was no other law be­yond him. Perhaps if I had gone to Peking."

  "As a white man? Would it have worked?"

  "No." He wanted to stomp away in his frustration, and yet he could not let go of her hands. He wanted to take her into his soul. "They were terrorizing the area, Evie. They were brutal, cruel men. They deserved to die!"