White Tigress (11 page)

But she was not thinking of that now. She was reminding herself that despite his obvious shame a moment ago, despite his clear apology and the tenderness with which he'd kissed her fingers, he was still her captor. And she would do well to remember it.

Fortunately, she had one huge advantage. Ru Shan was a man, and in the way of all men, he thought he understood what she was thinking. He was completely wrong, of course, and therein lay her power.

He believed she had accepted her captivity. Wrong. She was only pretending, waiting for her opportunity to escape.

He believed he was readying her body for some mystical flow of yin. In truth, he was merely preparing her body to accept his lascivious attention. Even she—an innocent in these matters—knew he was simply covering sexual hunger. And yet...

She sighed. There were some things he was correct about. She had been taught not to think of her body or these sensations at all. When he touched her, she felt—still continued to feel—a kind of growing. Not just a physical swelling, though she supposed there was a good deal of that. Her breasts felt fuller than ever before. As if they projected another foot more in front of her. Except, looking down, they seemed the same size they always had been. They just
felt
larger.

But it was more than that. Ru Shan thought his last touch, the one on her nipple, had created a confusion in her body. There had been no confusion. Her body had liked it and wanted more of it. The conflict had come from her mind. She had felt on the verge of a change—a mind change, a soul change. As if from that moment on, she could never go back, never return to who and what she had been.

That alone was what frightened her. She felt poised on the precipice of something huge. Soon Ru Shan would push her over the edge, and she might never find her way back. And even worse, part of her longed to make the leap. There was something more here. Something to discover. But shouldn't this be done within the sacred bounds of matrimony? Shouldn't she be learning these things with Maxwell?

Of course she should be. But somehow, she couldn't imagine her beloved Maxwell taking the time to circle her breasts with fingertips so warm they felt like the folds of a heated towel. And with a stroke so tender and mesmerizing as to lull her into a kind of trance. Not just a half-asleep trance, but long moments of such awareness that she seemed to merge with her captor. She felt as if she was both Lydia Smith feeling a Chinaman's touch and the Chinaman too, Ru Shan and his hands moving over her.

It was an amazing experience. Sensual, yes, but more as well. Expansive enough that she would risk a great deal just to continue learning.

So, if she could not learn this with Maxwell—could
never
learn such things from him—then why not take the training from the man who could teach her? No matter the circumstances. Perhaps she could even later teach Maxwell.

She shook her head. No, she realized, she could never mention this to Maxwell, much less teach him. The man was morally upright in all his thoughts and manners. This experience—no matter that it was certainly not her choice—would appall him.

Which, of course, brought her back to her initial dilemma. Should she embrace this training, learn what she could despite the circumstances? Or should she risk everything and anything on escape, now, before she tumbled into the abyss?

In the end, she resolved to do both. She would build upon Ru Shan's false belief that she had accepted her captivity. And if any opportunity came—however remote—to escape, she would seize it. And she would pray that it came before too late.

Her first target was not Ru Shan, but his agent Fu De. She had already begun tracking the young man's movements and tasks. He obviously lived here, for she rarely saw him leave. When he did, he locked both her door and the outside door—she heard the sound of the metal clicking of a very English deadbolt. Whenever he opened her bedroom door, she caught sight of his pallet right next to the cooking supplies in one corner of the outer room.

In short, he was almost as much a prisoner as she. So her best bet was to gain his trust and somehow manufacture an escape. But how?

She didn't have to think long before she came up with an answer. What must plague Fu De almost as much as it plagued her? Boredom. And what was her greatest weakness when trying to find her way in this strange land? Her lack of language skills—she could neither speak nor read Chinese well enough to navigate.

Therefore, she would play on Fu De's boredom and get him to teach her his language.

Smoothing her hair and clothing as best she could, Lydia stood and knocked on her door. As always happened, Fu De was quick to respond. But as she'd learned before, he was also lightning fast and amazingly strong; she could not run past him no matter how hard she tried.

So, this time after he opened her door, she smiled winningly at him—or in a manner she hoped he found appealing.

"Time moves so slowly in China," she sighed.

He did not respond, but she hadn't truly expected him to. Mostly, she was hoping he understood her English.

"Aren't you bored?" she asked, hoping to see some response in his expression.

Nothing.

Obviously subtlety wasn't going to work. It was time to try the direct approach.

"I want to learn to read and write Chinese. Can you help me?"

Again, nothing. Neither his eyes nor his body betrayed his thoughts.

"I will help you speak English. I have taught children before." Well, she'd helped her niece with schoolwork once on the nanny's day off. "Speaking English will help you get a very lucrative job," she offered. Maxwell had once said that the English-speaking Chinese earned a king's ransom here.

Damn. Maybe he didn't speak English at all. But she'd thought he'd shown signs of understanding her before. It was time to try her very, very bad Chinese.

"Wo yao xue zhongguo hua."
I want to speak Chinese.
Or that was what she hoped she'd said.

The boy shook his head. "Shanghai-hua."

Progress! He was talking to her. But what had he said?

"Shanghai-hua? Shanghai talk? Yes! Wo yao xue Shanghai-hua."

He nodded, and she thought his lips curved upward just the tiniest bit. Then he said, equally slowly, "I want Englit speak." Then he moved his hand. "Write."

She nodded vigorously. "Yes!" Then she frowned. "Hao!"
Good.
"Hun hao."
Very good.

"Mey hao."

She frowned, trying to understand.

It took her a while—days, actually—but eventually she realized the language she had learned from the missionary at home was actually Peking Chinese. What she needed to learn was Shanghai Chinese—an entirely different dialect. Fortunately, Fu De understood both, though he was better at Shanghainese.

She sighed. So much she hadn't realized, hadn't even guessed, before leaving England. Who would have thought a country would have more than one language? That Chinese was, in fact, many different dialects, entirely separate from one another?

Well, she thought with a slight shrug, there was no time like the present to start setting things to rights. She and Fu De began teaching each other right away.

It became clear as well that they both wished to learn how to write. She set him to copying the alphabet. Fu De handed her a bucket of water and a large sponge brush, indicating she should practice her writing on the floor. Dipping her brush in the water, she could form Chinese characters, seeing the strokes clearly on the cement until the hot air evaporated the water.

Fu De bought paper and ink, along with strange Chinese brushes for writing, but apparently paper was very dear. And so, he took another brush and began writing English letters in the same manner as he'd shown to her. Day after day, they stood side by side writing on the floor, the air drying their mistakes and their triumphs. And in this way they began a tentative friendship.

Except that, in all this time, Fu De never relaxed his guard and Ru Shan continued to visit morning and night to continue her other training.

Lydia found herself once again faced with the perplexing question that was Ru Shan. He was extremely respectful, never once expanding the scope of what he did to her. In truth, the part of her that reveled in what he was doing truly wanted more speed, more experience. But he would not hurry. Plus, whenever he arrived for a session, he bowed to her as he approached, and bowed again as he departed. He spoke honestly with her, almost reverently, often complimenting her on her progress—though in truth she did nothing more than experience what he did to her. And he always, always thanked her for her time—as if she had a choice in the matter.

But for all that, she never once forgot that he was the master, she the slave. Especially when one evening, over a week later, she pretended exhaustion to see if he would postpone her evening exercises. She didn't know if he guessed the truth or not, but the fury that darkened his features made her rush to accommodate him. She was on her bed, her robe pooled about her waist before he could do more than glower.

That evening, his breast circles were harsher. Not that he was physically rough, but she had become so attuned to his nearly worshipful attentions that this perfunctory touch rocked her to her core.

And then, as he left, he added a new exercise to her ritual. He pulled out a dragon carved from milky white jade and laid it in her hand. Its weight was solid, though not overly cumbersome. The length from snout to coiled tail was perhaps a handspan at most, and the girth no more than three fingers pressed tightly together.

She stared at it, disconnected thoughts swirling through her mind. The shape seemed somehow naughty to her, but she could not understand why. At least, not until she remembered the pictures of Greek statues she had once seen. She had been young, of course, and highly curious about the male anatomy. It was only when she compared the two images that she realized she held a carved male phallus.

Her face flushed with heat, and she nearly dropped the item, but Ru Shan had obviously been expecting her reaction. He neatly caught her hand, wrapping it firmly around the dragon when she would have let it slip away.

"It is time for you to begin practicing with the dragon," he stated firmly.

Her eyes widened at the thought. Exactly what did he want her to do with it?

"You must insert it into your jade gate. Only to the dragon's eyes and no more. Then you need to squeeze. Squeeze with all your strength for seven seconds. Only then may you release the dragon and expel your breath."

She did not need to ask where her jade gate was. His hand motions clearly indicated that he meant the entrance to her womb. "But I am... how could I... but I cannot..." Words failed her, and she stared stupidly at him. She had already pressed him once this day by pretending exhaustion. To challenge him now was the height of folly. And yet the thought of inserting anything inside her...

"If you will not do this, Fu De and I will tie you to this bed, spread your legs, and do it for you."

She recoiled in horror at his blunt statement, and one glance at Fu De—still in position just outside her bedroom door—proved her newfound friend was no friend at all. Fu De would do exactly as his master bade.

Biting back horror, she forced herself to shake her head. "I-I will do it myself."

"I will know if you do not. There is an energy stored in the jade when a woman strengthens herself in this way. An energy I can feel and smell."

She did not doubt him. Nor did she doubt that he would check the dragon every day when he visited.

"Seven times seven squeezes," he repeated. "Morning and night. You may do them sitting first. Then, later, you must stand with your legs spread." He demonstrated by widening his stance. "And keep the dragon inside."

She nodded, her throat too tight to speak.

"After one week, I will test you. You must demonstrate the ability to hold it in position or I will know that you have not been practicing correctly." He reached out, lifting her chin so that she looked directly into his eyes. "If you cannot do this, then I will be forced to take more strident measures to see that you comply. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," she whispered. How could she not? She believed his every word. "I will do these exercises."

At that, his face softened, though subtly. "We are strengthening your body for what is to come. These things are done for your own benefit."

She nodded, worrying not at his motives, but at her future. What exactly did he have in mind that would require her to be strong... there? He did not tell her, of course, but bowed respectfully and prepared to leave.

His last words to her were part order, part threat.

"Begin
immediately,"
he said. And then he was gone.

She stared down at the dragon, her hand trembling slightly. Fu De locked the outer door and came to her side, but she quickly scampered backward. She didn't know if he meant to threaten her if she didn't comply or was simply offering to help. Either way, she didn't want him there. She gestured that he should leave. He bowed to her, quietly withdrawing. But she noticed he didn't completely shut her bedroom door either. Likely he sat next to the wood, listening to whatever sounds she made.