White Tigress

by Jade Lee

  He looked up, obviously startled by her words. "I'll... I'll make sure Mister Slade knows."

  She smiled as best she could. "Then you have my thanks." And with that, she ducked out of the building.

  It was a sad walk back to the flat. She could have taken a rickshaw, of course, but she wanted to walk, even on her bruised feet. In truth, back in England she had always been on her feet, running errands, assisting her mother with chores, sometimes even helping her father organize his medical instruments and potions.

  That had been perhaps the hardest thing about her incarceration—that she was no longer able to do much of anything. She knew that both Ru Shan and Fu De had been confused by that. Obviously in Chinese culture, the women longed to be locked away and cared for. Indeed, looking about her, she saw only the men. True, she was still in the foreign concession, but there were Chinese about—coolies, merchants, even high-class servants in livery. But every one of them was a man.

  What would become of her if she didn't marry Maxwell? she wondered. Truthfully, she didn't want to acknowledge such a possibility. Of course Max would marry her. He loved her. They were engaged. He had to marry her.

  And yet, Lydia could not dismiss Esmerelda's words. Yer damaged goods. But I'm not! she wanted to shout. She was still a virgin. Indeed, she had clung to that knowledge during her imprisonment. She was still a virgin. She could still marry Maxwell.

  But what if he refused? What if he did think her damaged? What would she do then? She had no money to return to England. She had no means of support at all. She would absolutely not become a woman like Esmerelda, a mistress living off the dubious attentions of a philandering man.

  She thought briefly of Ru Shan—though in no context whatsoever. She would not go back to being his slave. The very idea was repulsive. Indeed, she was very much looking forward to her revenge on him. To see his face when she bought his store. To know that she—a ghost woman—could find success where he could not.

  Lydia actually found herself smiling at the thought, her spirits buoyed as never before. She had a plan now, knew what she would do.

  First and foremost, she would make dinner for Maxwell. She knew his favorites. She'd made a special point of learning his tastes and making sure she could cook them. The house he rented must have a kitchen.

  She had only the one gown she wore, so there would be little primping in that area. However, she had purchased a few cosmetics earlier in the day. She would use what she had to best effect.

  Then, tonight, she would convince Maxwell to marry her. She wasn't entirely sure how. Excellent food. Wonderful company. Seduction? Could she do that? Could she have him touch her and kiss her... and... and merge his yang with her yin? He would know then, wouldn't he, that she was a virgin? That he was the one who had taken her? And then he would have to marry her.

  It seemed so drastic, and yet the thought was appealing on a purely physical level. She longed to be touched again, stroked again, to feel that wondrous thing that Ru Shan had shown her... had it only been last night? Oh, how amazing to do that with Maxwell. To feel that within the bonds of marriage.

  She nodded to herself, feeling her resolve harden. It was drastic, indeed. "Rushing her fences" as her father would say. And she would only resort to it if she couldn't convince Max of the need to marry immediately. If only to prove her virginity to him.

  She swallowed, her feet picking up speed as she headed for the nearest market. She had seen it on the way down to the docks and knew exactly where it was. She had a plan now for tonight. For Maxwell and her future.

  And if that failed, she had a secondary, backup plan. If worst came to worst and Maxwell threw her off, then she knew exactly what she would do. Somehow, some way, she would convince Maxwell to give her money. Enough money to buy Ru Shan's shop. Enough money to set her up in a business she knew she could do.

  She would be a dressmaker. In Shanghai. And she would rub Ru Shan's nose in the fact.

  Of course, either way it all depended on Maxwell. He would have to come through for her. Either as her husband or her business partner, they were going to be together.

  Even if she had to seduce him to accomplish it.

  * * *

  Her fiancé burped indelicately as he leaned back from the table, then flushed as he murmured politely, "I do beg your pardon." Lydia smiled in forgiveness as she studied him across the table.

  She had never seen him looking so content. Indeed, his blond good looks were startling in the candlelight. And yet she still felt the need to press him, if only to reassure herself.

  "Did you like it, Max? I'm sorry if it was too heavy. Especially the sauce. But—"

  "No, no," he responded congenially. "It was perfect. Can't see why you didn't eat up as well."

  Neither could Lydia. Indeed, this had once been her favorite meal, too. But now the meat felt too heavy, the sauce too thick. It had to be the nervousness she felt, the anxiety over what she was about to do. So she made up a convenient lie.

  "I suppose I just wanted our first night together to be perfect."

  His smile faded somewhat. "Hardly our first meal, Lydia. We've known each other since we were in leading strings."

  Or near enough, Lydia amended. Which was one of the reasons they had become betrothed. They both felt so comfortable together, and both their parents wanted the union. And yet, she felt anything but comfortable now. She stood, mostly because she didn't know what else to do, and walked around their makeshift table. Gently brushing her hand up his arm, Lydia tugged him toward the settee.

  "I'd like to talk to you, Max. About our future."

  He grimaced. His nose wrinkled and he actually groaned out his first words. "Aw Lyd, why must you spoil a good meal?"

  She felt her stomach clench tighter, but none of that anxiety came through in her voice. "I hope we will only be adding to the wonderful meal, Max." She tugged even harder, and he at last stood from his chair.

  "I know you want to rest after your ordeal, Lyd," he said, rushing his words. "You can sleep here. I'll be at... at a friend's."

  "At Esmerelda's, you mean?" She hadn't meant to sound so tart, but the words came out caustically nonetheless.

  "Of course not!" he exclaimed, but from the guilty flush to his cheeks, she suspected he lied.

  It didn't matter. Esmerelda was going to be a thing of the past. She sidled close to him, leaning against him when he would not join her on the settee. "We need to talk about our wedding, Max," she said in a tone as seductive as she could manage.

  "Wedding!" he sputtered. "But your ordeal—"

  "My ordeal is over," she snapped. "And not so much of an ordeal," she lied. "I wasn't even conscious most of the time."

  He paled. Even in the dim candlelight, she could see that he'd gone ghostly white.

  "Max?" she asked, suddenly alarmed.

  "Gods, Lydia, do you know what happens when you're unconscious? In one of those places?"

  "They steal all your money and clothing, chain you to a bed, and sell you to the highest bidder? Yes, Max, I know." She was handling this all wrong. She knew it. But she was becoming annoyed. With Max for wanting to go to another woman after all the trouble she'd been through. With the food, for not tasting the way it ought. For herself, for getting annoyed with Max when she needed his cooperation.

  And for all of life that was simply not moving according to plan.

  Nevertheless, she was still determined to see things through. She took a deep breath and re-pasted on her most beguiling smile. Clearly the man was nervous about marriage. Well, he had never been loath to talk about money. So, skipping ahead in her plans for the evening, Lydia jumped straight to her other idea.

  "Max, I have had the most wonderful thought." She leaned forward to make sure she got his attention. "About a way to make lots of money."

  She succeeded. He allowed her to pull him down to the settee. "Lyds, there are a million scoundrels in Shanghai. Please don't be foolish."

  "See, darling?" She g
rinned. "That's why I need you. A husband always keeps his wife away from scoundrels."

  He flinched at that, but no more than she did. She knew better than to prick him about not protecting her. After all, it had been her choice to come to Shanghai early. Of course, it had been his job, once she escaped, to keep her reputation pure, and he had failed miserably in that. Odd, really, given how desperately important image was to him. But then, he had damaged her reputation, not his own. Which meant it was up to her to fix the situation.

  "Do you recall how I was always designing dresses back home?" she asked.

  He nodded, though his expression remained wary.

  "Well, I could never become a dressmaker in England. Both our families would have objected. I'm a doctor's daughter, and you are practically aristocracy."

  "You can't go into trade, Lydia."

  "Exactly what they would have said," she agreed, knowing that was not what he meant at all. "And besides, all the best dressmakers were already established in London." She scooted closer to him. "But Max, things are different in Shanghai. You said so yourself. You wrote me that all it takes to make a fortune here is determination and work." In truth, he had said a man's determination and work, but she was adjusting it. "I have determination, Max. And I can work hard—you know that."

  He opened his mouth to speak, but she rushed on, needing to get everything out before he disagreed. Because once he said no, not even Queen Victoria could make Max Slade change his mind.

  "You said in your letter that you were looking for an investment, that you had the money. Well, there is this shop. Right on Joffre Avenue—"

  "That's the French settlement!"

  "Actually, it's on the old Chinese side," she corrected. "But either way, it's in an excellent location. It brings in both Chinese and European customers."

  "It'll cost the earth," he countered.

  "No, it won't. It's struggling. Some problem with suppliers." She smiled sweetly at him. "Didn't you write me that these Chinese can't manage anything?" She hardly believed he was correct in that, but Max always liked it when she echoed his own words. "Well, I'm sure that's the problem there. They just don't know how to manage it." She straightened. "The Cheng millinery has fallen on hard times."

  "Just because they don't know how to manage it doesn't mean you do, Lydia."

  "Ah, but I do! And my dress designs have already sparked interest. Esmerelda would have bought a dozen of them."

  Max was shaking his head. "She was just being polite."

  "No, Max, she wasn't. That woman is anything but polite. And besides, she didn't know they were my designs."

  Max straightened. "What do you mean she wasn't polite?"

  Lydia sighed. Why could he not stick to the topic at hand? The last thing she wanted to talk about was Esmerelda. "Max, please listen. I want to buy the Cheng shop. I'm sure my dress designs could make a lot of money. I could work hard, establish myself, and then later, when the children come, I could hire sewers and the like. But I would still be the designer." She scooted closer to him. "I can do it, Max. I know I can."

  Now was the time for her fiancé to lean into her, declaring loudly that he knew she would be a fabulous dressmaker, before kissing her soundly on the lips. They would set their wedding date and go on to a fabulous future.

  Max did not do any of those things. He practically threw her off him as he shoved to his feet. "You're not thinking clearly, Lydia. You don't know anything about running a business."

  "You're right, Max, I don't. But you do. You've always wanted to run your own. You've said so yourself."

  "I am not a dressmaker!"

  "Of course not," she countered. "I'm that. But the product doesn't matter. I mean, it matters because that's the product I can do. It would be your business. Your name on the door. You could direct everything. I would merely be the designer. That's all." She stood up—not sidling up to him as she had all evening, but facing him square on as she had done so long ago in England. Back when they were children. "Max, we can do this. And we can make a fortune." She smiled slyly up at him. "Do you know what women spend on dresses these days? Especially for an elite designer? Max, we could be rich!"

  He was softening. She could see it in his eyes. It was greed, pure and simple, but sometimes, greed was the fastest way to a man's heart. Especially when that man was Max. Why else would a man leave everything he knew to come to Shanghai?

  "Cheng's, huh? On Avenue Joffre?"

  She nodded. "We can make a fortune. Enough to go back to England like kings, maybe even buy a title. Just like you wanted from the beginning. Before you left for Shanghai." Before things had changed between them.

  "Very well," he said grudgingly. "I will look into it."

  She leaped up, planting a kiss of delight on his lips. "Oh, thank you, Max! Thank you so much!"

  He grabbed her elbows, setting her back on her heels. "I haven't said yes, yet. There are still a great many details to work out."

  "Of course there are." She grinned happily up at him. "But you are a master of that type of detail. You will bargain wonderfully, I'm sure."

  He nodded, obviously pleased with her compliments. "Now, Lydia, I've got to go, and you've had a trying day, I'm sure. So I'll leave you to clean up and rest."

  Lydia blinked stupidly at her fiancé, her throat impossibly dry. After the elation of a moment before, this felt like a crushing blow. "You're leaving?" she finally whispered.

  His color darkened, along with his expression. "Well, I can hardly stay here. It wouldn't be proper."

  "Proper?" she practically squeaked. "My reputation is already ruined, Max. You saw to that this morning when you blabbed what had happened all over town."

  "I most certainly did not!" he countered, his tone rising along with his volume. "Dammit, Lydia, people saw you! They saw you arrive barefoot and naked."

  "Naked! Max, I had clothes on."

  "Coolie clothing! Without... without..." He gestured mutely at her cinnabar cave. He sighed, glaring darkly at her. "I had to say something. I had to tell them the truth."

  She slowly dipped her chin in acquiescence, even though she completely disagreed. "Fine. You had to say something. But now I'm ruined." She stepped forward, leaping to her last resort—seduction. She pressed her body close to him. "You're my fiancé," she whispered as seductively as she could manage. "You have promised to marry me. It's time, Max. Time to be a gentleman. Time to save me from my own folly, just like we were kids." In her boldest move yet, she reached up and pulled his mouth to hers. "Marry me, Max."

  Then she stretched up on her toes, kissing him with all the passion and desperation inside her. She pressed her mouth to his, her lips closed. It was the way they had kissed before—back in England—and she knew no other way. Ru Shan had never touched her lips.

  She felt him soften toward her. His mouth opened and she shivered as his tongue stroked the seam between her lips. She gasped slightly at the sensation—the wet tickle across her lips. And as she did so, his tongue ventured farther, deeper into her mouth.

  It was an odd feeling, this widening of her mouth. Then his tongue pressed inward, invading her mouth, pushing roughly in. At first she was appalled—such a big thing thrust inside her—but then she got a flash of memory. She recalled Ru Shan's hands upon her. Lower. Opening her legs and pressing his thumbs inside her. In and out. Just as Max was doing to her mouth.

  And that memory excited her.

  She felt her yin begin to flow. Her breasts seemed to plump and her yin dew softened her stance. She melted into Max's arms, though he staggered some with her weight.

  Laughing slightly in embarrassment, she tugged him back to the settee. But he moved awkwardly, as if he was unsure of himself. So, her face flushed with heat and yin and hunger, she smiled at him, urging him closer.

  "Kiss me again, Max. Please?"

  He did and she eagerly opened her mouth this time, wanting the reminder of what Ru Shan had done. She even echoed the movement, imitating what
both Ru Shan and Max had taught her. She swirled her tongue around and with Max's, then boldly thrust into Max's mouth.

  He reared back, clearly appalled.

  "Max?"

  "You've never done that before!" he exclaimed, his voice accusing.

  "I've never done any of this before," she returned hotly.

  He frowned at her. "Very well," he finally said. "But don't do that again."

  She nodded, briefly wondering what Ru Shan would say. Would he object to a woman thrusting her tongue into his mouth? She doubted it. But she wasn't with Ru Shan. She was with Max, her husband-to-be, and it was up to her to learn his preferences. Or risk losing him to the likes of Esmerelda.

  "I won't do it again," she murmured. "I promise. I was just imitating you."

  He nodded, slowly, then leaned forward. "A man likes a woman to be demure," he instructed formally. "To accept his attentions shyly."

  "I promise," she murmured as she lifted her mouth to his. In truth, she would have promised almost anything to get him to return to what he was doing. Her yin felt like it was bursting through her, and she needed to feel his hands on her. On her breasts. And perhaps—if she handled things properly—lower down. At her cinnabar cave.

  So she remained cool as he kissed her again. She kept her lips pressed together until he coaxed them open again. And when he did, she allowed him to plunge his tongue inside her, tasting her as he wanted. She returned his movements, dueling as much as she dared, and all the while her mind was on Ru Shan and what he had done before. How he had pushed his thumbs inside her cave.

  Then Max's hands began to wander. He stroked up her sides, and finally, mercifully, he touched her breasts. Or rather, he grasped them—hard and without seeming purpose. There was no gentleness in his touch. Merely the grasping of a hand without Ru Shan's stimulating circles.

  And yet, so desperate had she been for stimulation, that she let her head drop back in appreciation. "Yes," she whispered even as she silently prayed that he would go more gently, in the circles she knew.