THE IMPERIAL ENGINEER (11 page)

"Anyhow, nobody seemed to realize I was one of those 'slant-eyed coolies'. I did
well in college."

Her murmured, "I knew you would," was like balm to his soul.

"Two months before I received my degree, I was offered a position with Millett,
Durham and Kane, one of the biggest engineering firms on the East Coast. They'd just won
the contract to design a bridge a lot of engineers said couldn't be built."

"I saw your letter to Aunt Hattie, telling about it. She was so proud." Lulu put the
papers she'd been reading on the corner of the desk and moved to the settee, facing him.
She leaned over and lifted a mass of knitting from a basket. He saw it was an
almost-finished sweater made from rich brown wool.

"Somehow such a domestic activity doesn't fit with the career woman you seem to
be," he said, smiling in spite of his gloomy mood.

"I don't know why not. All women have careers, whether it's keeping house for
some man, working in a mill, or fighting for a cause." She knitted a few stitches, then
looked up. "You were telling me why you came to Hailey." She sounded genuinely
interested.

"I was, wasn't I?" He sought words that would not damn him for a failure. "Shortly
after I went to work for Millett
et al.,
I was assigned to the bridge project. I didn't
have anything to do with the design. Starting engineers are little better than draftsmen in
big offices. But I did drawings for each stage of the design, so I could see it all come
together." Remembering, he was still awed. "Lulu, it was an engineering wonder. Every bit
as spectacular, every bit as innovative as the Brooklyn Bridge."

"I saw it, the last time I was in New York City. It's an incredible structure. Truly
awe-inspiring."

"You'd probably have been disappointed with my bridge then. To a non-engineer,
it probably didn't look like much. Truss spans rarely do."

"
Your
bridge? You really are proud of it, aren't you?"

"I was." The anger he thought he'd conquered burned in his gut. "Even more so
when I was assigned as the engineer on site, once they'd started building it. I was the
liaison between the office in Newark, and the construction crews." At her look of surprise,
he explained. "That means I was there in case they had questions about the plans. I had no
authority. I couldn't make any decisions."

The quick movements of her fingers slowed as she looked across at him. "In other
words, you were the goat."

"The goat?"

"Who got sacrificed if anything went wrong."

"What a rotten thing to say. Millett, Durham and Kane is a reputable engineering
firm. They wouldn't do anything like that. Besides, the fault was with the construction
firm, not the design. They took shortcuts...used inferior materials..." He got to his feet,
finding it easier than it had been earlier, and went to the window. As he stared out into the
night, he said, "I should have kept a closer eye on them. Should have made sure they built
everything to our design specifications."

"Oh? Was that part of your job?"

"Uh, no, not exactly. I wasn't an inspector, or anything. But I should have watched
more closely." How many nights had he lay awake, staring at an unseen ceiling, wishing he
could go back and do all he hadn't done. "It may not have been my job, but I was there, and
I didn't make sure they followed the design specs. That makes it my fault." He leaned his
forehead against the glass and closed his eyes. But he still saw the wreckage...

"Ferd Cunningham, the prime contractor on the bridge construction, has been in
the business for a long time. He has a pretty good opinion of himself, and he doesn't think
much of engineering firms like Millett, Durham and Kane. He thought nothing of changing
a design if he thought it was wrong.

"The design was innovative, unlike anything he'd worked on before. He said it was
overbuilt, some of the materials called for were unnecessary. So he made substitutions. I
protested the ones I saw, but I know I missed a lot. I wrote of my concerns to Mr. Millett.
He came to the site several times, and once or twice he made them redo something. But
more often he ignored me, or told me I was crying wolf. After a while he stopped
answering my letters. Six months before the bridge was finished, he called me back to
Newark and assigned me to another project."

The disappointment was still sharp and painful. "A mansion on Long Island," he
said, letting his scorn show in his voice. "A big monstrosity of a house with nothing
attractive or interesting about it."

"I don't understand. Are you saying you quit your job because you were assigned
to a project you didn't like?"

Disappointed she would even consider such a thing, he said, "No. I'd never do
anything like that. I didn't quit my job, I was fired." Swallowing, because the lump in his
throat threatened to stop his words, he said, "Worse, I was blacklisted. No reputable
engineering firm in the country will ever hire me again." He had to take three deep, slow
breaths to steady his voice. "A hundred and thirty-two innocent people died when the
bridge failed as a train was crossing it, because I was too ineffectual to prevent shoddy
work. Because I didn't make Mr. Millett listen to me when I told him what was
happening." He threw himself into the rocker, welcoming the pain when his back screamed
from the impact.

Lulu knitted in silence for a long time. At last she said, "If you feel you're at fault,
there's nothing I can say to change your mind. But it sounds to me like you did all you
could. Have you talked to Uncle Silas about this?"

"No. I haven't even told him. I didn't want...I couldn't write it in a letter."

She set the knitting aside and rose. "Tony, if you were still a child, I'd kiss you and
promise that tomorrow everything will be all right. Unfortunately, we're no longer
children, and we both know some things just don't get better."

She sounded sad. Defeated? He opened his mouth to ask why, but she interrupted
him.

"Do you need help undressing?"

Relieved in a way that she hadn't asked how he had caused so many deaths, he
said, "Maybe with the shirt." He wasn't sure he could get it off. Putting it on had been
painful.

"I'll come in shortly, then. You go ahead and brush your teeth."

She sounded so much like Aunt Flower that he had to grin. "Yes, mother."

Her gray eyes held a shadow when she looked up at him. "I am not your mother,"
she said, before she abruptly turned away.

He was sitting on the side of the bed, waiting, when Lulu entered a few minutes
later, carrying the jar of honey and more clean cloths. She set them on the bedside table.
"I'll be back in a minute," she told him, and went back to the kitchen for the basin full of
warm water.

His back appeared better already, less inflamed and weeping. She washed
carefully, trying not to hurt him. Even so, she forced a couple of wordless exclamations
from him when the wet cloth brushed the blistered patch on his left shoulder. Each time her
hands touched his warm, smooth skin, they wanted to soothe. To stroke away the pain. To
comfort not just his body, but his soul.

Instead, she poured the honey onto a folded pad and carefully positioned it. "I'll tie
this more securely tonight. I don't want it coming off as you sleep."

"Neither do I. Honey-soaked sheets would not be a comfortable bed." He pushed
himself upright, moving much more easily than he had this afternoon.

"Ugh! That would be awful!" She held the pad in place until he was sitting on the
edge of the bed. To make sure the bandage didn't slip as he slept, she tied half a dozen
cloth strips around his chest. "There, that should hold it."

As she stood before him, she could feel his heat. Her fingers lingered on the last
knot as she looked down into his face. When he lifted his chin and gazed back at her, she
almost gasped with what she saw. She stepped back--or would have, except his arms were,
somehow, around her waist.

"Oh, Lulu," he murmured, resting his head on her breast. "God, this feels so good.
You always smell of flowers. And you're so soft and warm."

His arms tightened, and she knew she should pull away, now, before it was too
late.

His back hurt, but Tony didn't care. All he could think of was Lulu. Lulu whom
he'd fallen in love with at the age of eight, and had never stopped loving. The first friend
he'd ever had of his own age. His protector, his defender, when he'd been unsure of
acceptance and uncertain of behavior.

She had taught him to play. Soomey had taught him to love and Silas had taught
him to trust, but Lulu had taught him how to be a child.

And one night, when she'd broken his heart, she'd taught him what it meant to be a
child no longer.

Maybe it was time for him to show her the man he'd become.

He hooked his foot around hers and swept her sideways, onto the bed. Before she
could react, he was on top of her, kissing her, consuming her mouth. She tasted of tea and
smelled of flowers. She was soft, woman-soft, and yielding. His fingers closed around her
breast and he could have wept because he had only one hand to delight in the richness of
her.

She resisted for a moment, then arched against him. Her breathing quickened, her
hands scrabbled at his shoulders, fingertips digging into his skin. One leg curled around
his, pulling his groin hard against her belly. Even through layers of clothing, he could feel
her heat. Her need.

With his good hand, he caught her collar, high and snug against the silken skin of
her throat. "How does this open?" he panted between nips at her mouth.

"I'll do it. Let me up."

But he couldn't let her go, not for a second. "I hope it wasn't expensive," he
muttered, as he caught the collar with his fingers and tore. A button pinged against the
brass bedstead.

Above the corset, her breasts were plump and round. Inviting him to kiss, to taste,
to bite. "Damn it, I can't do a thing with one hand."

"Let me," she gasped as he fastened his mouth over one shadowy nipple, wetting
the fine lawn that barely concealed it.

He feasted, while she untangled the laces confining her lovely body, and then he
helped her pull the corset away, wriggle out of skirt and petticoat. By the time she lay
under him, clad only in one layer of thin linen, they were both panting, both desperate.

Awkward, clumsy with only his right hand, he stroked her body, her hip, the lean,
strong length of her thigh. Her body was as lithe and agile as he remembered it, but no
longer boyish. Her bottom was round and full, and he lingered there, feeling its shape,
molding the delicate fabric of her drawers against it. When she moved impatiently, he let
his fingers stray into the cleft and follow it to moist heat, finding no barrier here to his
touch. She was wet and ready for him, as he'd known she would be. He dipped one finger
into her.

"No...no not that way. I want..." She writhed under him, her legs tangling with
his, her hips upthrust. "Oh, please...please...
please
...."

Tony awkwardly stripped his britches away, kicked them off his feet. Rolling
back, he reared up on his hands, ignoring the sharp pain when he put weight on the left.
Her legs encircled him, pulled him down.

He slipped inside her, and when she clenched her legs, he broke through a fragile
membrane and buried himself deep. A small faint voice in his mind told him to stop, but he
could not. She was bucking, demanding, and he met her demands with his own.

A wild, abandoned eternity later, he felt her convulse around him. The
contractions forced his own explosion. And then he collapsed atop her, both of them
gasping for breath, bodies slippery with sweat.

After a while, their breathing slowed. He kissed her, rolled away. She was so
small, so delicate, compared to his own stocky frame. Carefully positioning himself on his
left side, he pulled her against him.

Her eyes were closed. He wanted them open, wanted to read her thoughts.
"Lulu?"

She only shook her head.

"Lulu, don't regret what happened. Please. It was right. Good." With one finger, he
stroked her cheek. "I think it was meant to happen, sooner or later."

"You're probably right," she whispered. Her eyes opened and she looked at him. "I
just hadn't expected...hadn't planned for it to happen tonight." Rolling away from him, she
pushed herself upright. "I'm a mess. I must wash." She walked to the screen in the
corner.

He saw a bright stain of blood on the soft linen of her drawers.

Simultaneously moved and appalled, he buried his face in the pillow. She was a
virgin--had been a virgin. He should have known. She was, despite her radical ideas, a
lady.

Lulu stripped and washed, scrubbing between her legs until the cloth came clean.
She seemed incapable of coherent thought. Her body still ruled, demanding to be held and
soothed and loved. She left the soiled drawers on the floor and dropped the camisole
beside them. Her robe, fortunately, hung across the screen. She didn't think she could go
back out there naked.

And why not? There should be no false modesty between you. This is Tao Ni,
the boy you loved.
You never forgot him, did you?

If only it hadn't felt so right, having his hands on her, his body coupled with hers.
If only she could stop thinking of how it would be with him, now the terrible urgency was
gone, and they could make slow, languorous, delicious love. Discovering each other,
learning what aroused, what pleased.

So tempting. So damned tempting.

She stepped out from behind the screen and looked across at him. He was on his belly,
his face buried in the pillow.
He's sorry for what we did
, was the first thought that
came to her.
He's ashamed.

As if he'd heard, he raised his head. "I'm not sorry, Lulu. I'll never be sorry."

Slowly she walked toward the bed. Instead of lying beside him, she perched on the
edge and reached out to lay a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not sorry, either. I just wish things
were different. Our lives. Our dreams..."