Tsumiko and the Enslaved Fox

by Forthright

  THIRTY THREE

  The Uppington Smythes

  She should have felt pretty, dressed as she was in a fortune in silk. But Argent hadn’t allowed Tsumiko even half of the kimono she’d chosen for the trip. All the elegant and understated patterns had gone straight back into storage, to be replaced by a series of cloyingly sweet ensembles. Which is why she wore silk strewn with snow bunnies. And pink enamel barrettes.

  The overall impression was Tsumiko’s first line of defense.

  She looked like a child.

  Argent exited the car first and turned back. Instead of offering his hand, he used both, practically lifting her out.

  And she felt like a child. A rebellious one. “I can do it myself,” she protested in undertones.

  “Yes, mistress.” But instead of offering his arm, he took her hand.

  Tsumiko barely noticed the grand house he led her toward; it was the surrounding landscape that commanded her attention. She’d always lived in sheltered places, surrounded by Saint Midori’s walled gardens and soaring architecture. Even Stately House was bound on three sides by forest, and her beach had a wall at its back.

  This country estate lay bare to the sky. So vast. So empty.

  Sunrise wasn’t far off, and dull greens emerged from gray shadows. Gazing into the pearl blue expanse, Tsumiko pictured great paws finding purchase in thin air. For Argent, this wide sky might not be daunting, but rather tempting, like a courtyard glistening under a blanket of new snow. Did he know the childish eagerness to be the first to trek across it?

  “Have you ever flown here?” she whispered.

  “No.”

  “It’s an empty place. No one would see.” She craned her neck and spied a row of trees leading off toward a dinky patch of woods. “You could let loose.”

  Argent dropped back, a hand at her elbow as he steered her up the walk. “It would be possible, but this would not be the best time to … indulge.”

  “How about after dark, when no one’s awake to see?” She searched his face. “Don’t you want to?”

  “Yes,” he said curtly. “But my wishes should not be your first concern.”

  Tsumiko nodded. “Your recovery is my first concern. Michael and Sansa made it absolutely clear that you need to regain your strength in case you have to fight Lady Nona again.”

  “I will rest if your schedule permits it.”

  “Then make sure it does.” Tsumiko drew up short before the doors to the house. “They’re going to think I’m a child. Why not a delicate child?”

  He hummed. “Late mornings. Afternoon naps. Early bedtimes.”

  “Can you politely protect our time and our privacy? Your bandages will need …”

  She cut herself short as the front doors swung open.

  “Argent!” a deep voice boomed. “So you’ve come to us again!”

  “Lord Cedric. We apologize for arriving at such an early hour.”

  The man beckoned them inside. “Nonsense. We’re as eager to meet your new lady as she is to be here!”

  Argent murmured a translation, and Tsumiko chose to overlook her host’s presumption, for she was beyond exhausted and looking forward to a better rest than they’d found huddled in the back of the car.

  “Lord Cedric, please meet Lady Eimi’s heir, Tsumiko Hajime.”

  Tsumiko had plenty of experience dealing with little girls who found St. Midori’s echoing front hall strange and frightening. Feigning awe and shyness, she hid behind Argent, only peeping out when she’d slipped her hand into his.

  Her butler’s lips twitched. Was he actually enjoying himself?

  She dipped her head at the lean, grandfatherly Englishman with a bristling moustache and twinkling blue eyes. But movement from above drew Tsumiko’s attention to the curving staircase and the young man descending. Even at this early hour, he was nattily dressed and coiffed. He paused at the base of the stairs to nudge a misshapen lump that mumbled and stretched before standing. This second young man was taller, broader, and clad in rumpled pajamas.

  Cedric Smythe took over the introductions. “Two of my grandsons. This is Boniface.”

  The well-dressed one bowed like a pompous prince. Tucking chin-length auburn hair behind one ear, he studied Tsumiko with thinly veiled amusement. “Welcome, poppet.”

  Argent dropped to one knee beside her, ostensibly to translate. “He’s prone to insulting pet names,” he murmured. “Hardly surprising since his mother calls him Bon-Bon.”

  Lord Cedric said, “And here is his younger brother Jacques.”

  The tousle-haired man crouched before Tsumiko and offered his hand. “Hey, pretty lady.”

  His grasp was as warm as his manner, and she liked him a little better than Bon-Bon. But then Jacques’ sleepy smile drifted to Argent and lingered appreciatively.

  “Welcome back,” he murmured.

  Argent ignored him and quietly prompted, “Greet them properly, mistress.”

  Wasn’t he overdoing it just a little? Tsumiko might look younger in this get-up, but she wasn’t six. Still, she pitched her voice a little higher than usual and chose the most sensible honorifics for the occasion, labeling both Boniface and Jacques uncle.

  They floundered visibly.

  Argent smoothly inquired, “The usual suite?”

  “Yes, yes. Your things are on their way.” Cedric indicated the staff members already shifting the last of Tsumiko’s many trunks. “Settle in. Breakfast will be served in the …”

  Their host’s words faltered when Argent swept Tsumiko into his arms and stood. “Send a tray. My mistress has a delicate constitution. She needs today to recover from the journey.”

  “Err, yes. By all means.”

  Tsumiko flung her arms around her butler’s neck and hid her blush against his shoulder as he whisked her away. Up the stairs and along a hall, he paused outside a set of double doors until the last porter scuttled away.

  Argent hesitated again when someone else called his name. Tsumiko peeped out at a woman with lined cheeks and graying dignity. Some kind of housekeeper, perhaps? Her upswept hair was still more brown than gray, and glasses hung around her neck from a delicate chain that sparkled with beads.

  “Will your young lady need help with her things?” she asked, speaking slowly and offering Tsumiko a small smile.

  “Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Draper. That will not be necessary.” And Argent firmly closed the door in her face.

  Her voice came again, muffled but polite. “I’ll see to the tray. Ten minutes.”

  Tsumiko waited, but Argent didn’t move. Were there eavesdroppers? “Is it safe?” she whispered.

  He turned his face into her hair and began to shake.

  What …?

  Than a low chuckle vibrated through Argent’s chest.

  “Are you laughing at me?” Tsumiko pushed at his shoulder.

  Rather than lower her to the ground, he sank to the floor, holding her so close she couldn’t see his face. He chuckled again, right in her ear. “Well done, poppet. With one word, you foiled every simmering plot and mangled their simpering egos.”

  She was rather proud of her improvisation. “Uncle does put them in an awkward position.”

  “They cannot seduce you, so they will have to spoil you instead.” Argent rested his cheek against hers. “Beware of men with candy.”

  THIRTY FOUR

  Behind Closed Doors

  Tsumiko searched for a reason for the shift in Argent’s attitude. Was he assailed by memories of Christmases past with Aunt Eimi? His grief was only months old. Or maybe he was worked up over seeing the Smythe cousins again? Something in Jacques’ manner was especially bothersome. Then again, Argent could be suffering from the strain of hiding his injuries. Checking and changing his bandages were next on her agenda. Or perhaps jet lag was the culprit. Didn’t people
shed inhibitions once they were too tired to care?

  Whatever the reason, they remained in an undignified heap for the full nine and one-half minutes it took for Mrs. Draper to return.

  “Breakfast has arrived.” Argent pointed across the room and ordered, “Out of sight.”

  Tsumiko tottered to her feet. Leaving her sandals behind, she padded across lavishly patterned carpeting and slipped into an ensuite bathroom. From behind its half-open door, she watched the housekeeper direct a small procession of maids, who arrayed the contents of several trays on a table situated between two sets of balcony doors.

  When they exited again, Argent locked them out with a decisive snap. “Hungry?”

  Tsumiko plucked at her encumbering costume. “Can I change first?”

  He inclined his head and removed his suit coat, folding it carefully over the back of a chair. Easing onto the seat, he beckoned with both hands.

  “You are hurting.”

  Argent didn’t deny it.

  Undoing knots, unwinding silk, slipping ties. Layer by layer, he stole Tsumiko’s grandeur, leaving her in a plain cotton slip. He directed her to the closet where several kimono stands were stored, and they tended to the heirloom garments. Opening one of the smaller trunks, he located her pajamas and sent her into the bathroom to arrange her toiletries and freshen up.

  Moving around was good. Settling in was therapeutic. Brushing her teeth was heartening. Wearing her own things again was a relief.

  By the time she rejoined him, Argent was clad in nothing more than striped pajama pants and bandages. She’d expected as much. What she hadn’t expected was the fanning presence of several silvery tails. They curled gracefully at his feet when he stood still, and their white tips trailed in his wake as he moved. Beautiful. But she suspected he’d called upon them in order to keep his balance.

  “Eat.” He pulled out a chair for her.

  “What about your bandages?”

  “Breakfast before tending. Then sleep.” Argent uncovered heaped dishes and filled her glass with juice, then dropped all pretense of servitude. He ate quickly and quietly.

  Unable to match his appetite, Tsumiko’s attention returned to the sway of silver behind Argent. Sansa had said that a fox’s tails were more reliable than their words. And Suuzu had said the more tails, the more trouble.

  “You are staring,” Argent remarked.

  “How many are there?”

  “Did no one teach you to count?”

  “They’re always moving.” She poked at an egg dish with her fork. “And I wasn’t sure if something like that would be considered too personal.”

  “Intensely personal.” Argent regarded her over a speared mushroom. “You should feel privileged, and you should never speak of this to others.”

  Was he overstating things? At times like this, she couldn’t tell if he was being frank or facetious. But if he was back to cutting remarks, he must be feeling better. “Is there etiquette involving Amaranthine with tails?”

  “Never touch without permission.” Argent offered a small shrug. “Other than that, use common sense. No pulling. Avoid insulting remarks. And watch your step.”

  Tsumiko pushed back her plate. “May I touch?”

  His tails stopped still. “I am no more a pet than you are a child.”

  “So it would be insulting?”

  “Circumstances would dictate,” he replied vaguely.

  “Cats and dogs beg to have their fur stroked, so I assumed it would feel nice.” The fur on his tails puffed out slightly, but she had no way of interpreting his reaction. It reminded her a little of Gingko’s ears, which broadcast a whole range of emotions. She asked, “Are you ticklish?”

  Argent set aside knife and fork. “You are as eager as Jacques to get your hands on me.”

  “I did promise Sansa.”

  He sighed. “She extracted a similar vow from me. Proceed.”

  Argent moved to a low, hillocky bench at the foot of the bed. The tufting was clearly more for display than comfort, but its height offered Tsumiko easier access. Bandages slowly fell away, but her progress was hampered by Argent’s tails. He hadn’t hidden them away, and avoiding them was a chore. However, counting them was easier. “Seven.”

  “Are there?” His gaze slanted away. “A poor showing.”

  “Should there be more?” Tsumiko bit her lip, but it was too late to take back the question. Bondage had undoubtedly curbed his strength and curtailed his advancement. “I’m sorry.”

  Argent remained silent.

  Sansa had packed all sorts of remedies and coached her on their preparation. Infusions to cleanse. Tonics to dull pain. Pastes to encourage the formation of new skin. While Tsumiko mixed and muddled, she relaxed into a sense of rightness that was the closest thing she’d ever found to home. Tsumiko belonged wherever she was needed.

  Focus on the moment, letting tomorrow take care of itself. Focus on someone else’s needs, allowing yours fade in importance. Argent’s requirements were few and simple—food, rest, and whatever comfort she could offer through their bond.

  . . .

  Argent took refuge in a silent taunt, all but waving his tails under Tsumiko’s nose, but her fingers never twitched in his direction. Mildly aggravating, given her earlier curiosity. Yes, she was respecting his wishes, but he wanted an excuse to rise up and rail against his pitiable state.

  Seven tails? Mortifying. A fox of his years should have progressed much further. Twelve at the very least. Fifteen, given his lineage.

  Of course, with the lifting of former limitations and a beacon in attendance, he might well add to his flourish. But she made it too easy, sating him before his appetites could stir. With his past mistresses, Argent’s only satisfaction had come from stealth and stealing. Survival had consumed his thoughts and given shape to his existence. But Tsumiko withheld nothing.

  Would she trust him to this extent if the bond wasn’t protecting her?

  Undoubtedly.

  Unless he broke that trust. Could he? It might be interesting to try. Or was he simply looking for a new challenge now that the old one had vanished?

  Possibly.

  “Argent?”

  He opened his eyes. When had they slid shut?

  Tsumiko asked, “Do you want any of this nectar? Sansa sent a small amount.”

  “How thoughtful.” Her gaze drifted between his face and his tails, which were flagging his irritation. Drawing them close against his sides, he gave a more honest answer. “Huddlebud is potent. I would sleep more deeply than I should.”

  “Isn’t that why we came here? This estate is nearly as isolated as Stately House. There are no other Amaranthine close by, or reavers for that matter. And you’ll have twenty-four hours to sleep it off.”

  He gave in without grace. “Dose me.”

  Tsumiko held a scant spoonful just out of reach. “You should lie down.”

  “There is one bed.”

  “That’s how we managed at home.”

  Argent pointed out, “Our hosts will protest the propriety of such an arrangement.”

  Tsumiko pressed the spoon to his lips. “Do you still hate me?”

  Sweetness exploded on his tongue, and his eyes slammed shut. He mumbled, “On principle.”

  “But in practice?” she prompted.

  He licked his lips as he searched for a suitable answer. In mellowing tones, he replied, “In this place, yours is the only company I would willingly seek.”

  “But you don’t want me.”

  “I do not.” Argent allowed her to lead him around to his usual side of the bed. “None shall molest you. Leastwise me.”

  “I believe you.” Not so much as a fingertip ruffled his fur as she tucked him in. “I’ll protect your virtue as well.”

  “From Jacques?”

  “Especial
ly him,” she promised. “And … if you wake up before me, don’t leave.”

  A direct order. “I thought I was in charge.”

  “Huddlebud is potent,” she parroted. “I’d hate to think what kinds of trouble you might get into while your inhibitions are impaired.”

  Argent felt oddly complimented, even if she only acknowledged his scheming by thwarting it. “What trouble could I possibly find here?”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Tsumiko wrestled shut the drapes and slid into bed on the other side. “Shave Bon-Bon’s head and strand Jacques on the roof?”

  “Tsumiko.” He reached out, but the bed was quite large. She reached back, and their fingertips touched. “Make that an order?” he begged.

  But her only command held the lilt of laughter. “Sweet dreams.”

  THIRTY FIVE

  Greening the Chapel

  “I’m sorry. I don’t really understand what you’re saying.” Tsumiko looked up at Argent, to whose arm she clung, hoping for some clue as to what Yvette Smythe was going on about.

  He bent to murmur, “Very little of consequence, my lady. Unless you wish me to enumerate her sons’ many charms.”

  “Everyone has their good points.”

  “You are too generous by far.”

  Tsumiko patted his sleeve. “Will you tell her that Uncle Boniface and Uncle Jacques have been nothing but kind to me?”

  Argent inclined his head and addressed Yvette in French.

  Boniface sidled up on Tsumiko’s other side and tapped her shoulder. “Are you all right?” he asked.

  “I’m fine.” She had to give him credit for making an effort. He’d learned several Japanese phrases and cobbled them into conversations. Mutual ignorance limited them to the most basic of courtesies, but they were able to exchange a few words.

  “Do you like Christmas?” he asked, indicating the chapel in which they stood.

  “Yes. Very much.” Even though she knew it would go straight over his head, she added, “This is a charming custom. I’m glad your mother chose to include me.”