White Tigress (23 page)

Always at this point, she discovered her thoughts were centering around Ru Shan again, not her fiancé, and so she ruthlessly redirected her thoughts. Maxwell was her future. Ru Shan was in the past. Gone forever. If only she could get to her fiancé.

Then she was there, right in front of Maxwell's building.

The door was locked, of course, but she pounded and called and wrenched at the door until a woman came to open it. She was a young Chinese woman with tangled hair and blotched lipstick, and as she released the latch, Lydia pushed through, nearly toppling the tiny woman over.

"Maxwell? Maxwell Slade," Lydia gasped.

The woman gestured upstairs. "Third door. Right side." Then she turned sleepily back to her flat while Lydia scrambled up the stairs screaming her fiancé's name.

He met her at his door, his eyes bleary and bloodshot from sleep. He wore pajamas and a silk robe, but his face was still indisputably Maxwell. Lydia took one look at his rough jaw and his pale blue eyes, then threw herself into his arms, at last releasing the torrent of sobs she had been suppressing from the moment things had begun to go bad that very first morning in Shanghai.

"Lydia? Lydia!" He pushed away from her, wincing as he held her at arm's length. "What are you doing here?" His gaze took in her attire. "And what are you wearing?"

Lydia couldn't speak. It wasn't her tears, which were still flowing without stop. It was simply that too much had happened for her to explain. She simply wanted to be safe in Maxwell's arms.
Safe.

The mere thought had her knees collapsing, and she crumpled, reaching out to him to support her. He didn't. Or his reactions were too slow. Either way, she wound up on the floor of his hallway, still sobbing.

"Good God, Lydia. Pull yourself together! And come inside. People are staring."

Lydia tried to do it. Indeed, she hadn't even realized that the other renters were standing in their doorways watching her display. But Maxwell was obviously keenly aware of it as he half carried, half dragged her inside his room.

She clung, not releasing him even as he tried to shut his door.

"For God's sake, Lydia, let me close the door!"

She came more to herself then. This was Maxwell. This was his voice, his attitude, his very English propriety. Oddly enough, she found that reassuring, though she would have found his arms around her more so. In any event, he was forcibly removing her from his body, and so she released him, wrapping her arms around herself as he quickly closed the door behind him.

Then he turned to stare at her while she hiccupped and did her best to control her sobs. She managed eventually, but she could not stop from shaking. Just shaking. The best she could do was wrap her arms around herself and focus on breathing.

In. Out. Just as Ru Shan taught.

But that thought brought on a fresh bout of tears. Why, she couldn't fathom. But they just kept coming while Maxwell stood and stared at her, obviously feeling awkward. In the end, he dropped a blanket about her and patted her shoulders. Twice.

"There, there," he said, in time with each pat. Then he straightened. "Come now, Lydia. Buck up and tell me what is going on." He frowned at her. "Your letter said you weren't coming until today."

She swallowed back her tears, doing her best to calm her ragged nerves. "I took an earlier boat. It was cheaper. I thought I would surprise you."

"Well," he drawled, "you've certainly done that. Oh my, your feet are bleeding. Did you walk through the whole of Shanghai like that?"

She nodded, then watched him pour water into his washbasin. Setting it on the floor beside her, he grabbed a towel and handed it to her. Then with a sigh that came from his bones, he dropped down onto the settee across from her. He watched, his chin in his hand, as she released her hold on the blanket and awkwardly tried to look at her feet. The only way to do it, of course, was to bend her knee, but as soon as she did so, Maxwell shot up from his seat.

"Good God, Lydia! Those pants! They... they... cover yourself, woman!"

It took some moments for her to understand what he was saying. Fortunately, Maxwell's extended finger was there to explain, pointing at the juncture of her thighs. Even then it startled her to realize what he meant. She had been wearing these coolie pants for nearly a week now and had forgotten that pants without a crotch were unusual.

Embarrassed, she quickly pulled the blanket from her shoulders, dropping it into her lap. And yet, Maxwell remained nearly purple from head to toe. "You cannot say you have been wearing those pants throughout Shanghai? Without... they are... they are indecent!"

Lydia stared at her fiancé, tears filling her eyes. After all that had happened to her, could he not just let her explain? "They were all that were available," she finally said.

"Where are your clothes? Your dresses? Your mother!" he practically squeaked.

She sighed, weariness overcoming her. "Mother is home with Aunt Esther. My clothes and luggage have all been stolen." She looked up, wishing he would just look at her. But he had collapsed backward again, holding his head in both hands. Well, she would just have to say it out loud and get the worst over with. "Maxwell, I was sold to a brothel. I have only just now escaped."

His head snapped up, his face ashen. "Good God," was all he could say. And then his gaze dropped to her lap. "Is that why...?" He swallowed. "I mean, I should get you a doctor." He stood, but did not move for the door.

"No, no!" she gasped, not wanting anyone to see her, not even a doctor. "I am fine."

He looked again at her lap and she drew her knees together, wrapping her arms around the blanket that swathed her lower body.

"I am fine, Maxwell. I'm not hurt at all. Except my feet, that is. And I expect they will heal in time."

"But the brothel..." He practically choked out the word. "Were you...? I mean, what...?" He snapped his mouth shut, then opened it again, only to gape at her like a fish. Then, once again, he sank down on the settee. "Bloody Chinese."

"It's over now," she said, as much to herself as to him. "I'm here with you now. And we can get married. And everything can be how it's supposed to be." Then she looked up at him, another bout of tears threatening. "But I'm tired, Maxwell. So very tired. Can I please just go lie down?"

He straightened. "Of course, Lydia, of course. But where...?" Then he blinked. "My bedroom, of course. Can't send you out looking for a room like that, can we? Well, don't you worry about that. I'll just... just head out to work. Bloody early, but then I'm awake now anyway, right?" He swallowed again, then pushed to his feet. He stood there, rubbing his face with one hand as he looked down at her. "Are you sure... about the doctor, I mean."

"I ran away, Maxwell. I'm still a virgin." She winced as she spoke, hating to say it aloud even though that was the entire reason she'd cooperated with Ru Shan—because he'd promised to keep her pure. Of course, she now realized that 'pure' and 'virginal' were not necessarily the same things. In fact...

She shook off the thought. It was over. Whatever had happened was done now, and she was back with Maxwell and everything would be fine.

"Just help me to your bed, please," she whispered.

He leapt to his feet, gingerly helping her rise. "Of course," he murmured as the blanket slipped from her hips. She was standing now, so everything was covered appropriately. But still he stared at her hips and legs so much that she wished for the blanket again. Indeed, Maxwell must have been thinking the same thing, because he knelt down and handed it to her, helping her wrap it about her entire body.

"Bedroom's there," he said, gesturing deeper in. "I'll just grab my clothes and be off."

She nodded, though in her heart, she wanted him with her, his arms wrapped around her, his body pressed intimately against hers. Just like last night. Except, of course, it would not be like last night because that had been with Ru Shan.

She climbed into his bed, clothes and all, tucking her knees up close to her chin. But she still looked at Maxwell, wondering if she could say something—anything—to make him stay.

"Max. Let's get married today. This afternoon."

He jumped—actually jumped—in surprise, his feet taking him farther away from her. "Today?" he squeaked.

She sat up, pulling the covers up to her hips. "Surely there's a priest somewhere in Shanghai."

"Loads of them. Can't cross a corner without tripping over one of them. But Lydia, you said you were tired."

"No, I—"

"You rest," he interrupted. "I'll... I'll just get my clothes and go to work." And with that, he grabbed items willy-nilly, moving faster than she'd ever seen, escaping from the bedroom almost at a dead run.

It was not an auspicious beginning to their marriage, she thought as she stared morosely at the shut door. She could hear him changing his attire on the other side. At home, in England, Maxwell took over an hour to prepare himself for public. But not today. Today, he accomplished everything in less than fifteen minutes.

And then he was gone from the flat and she was left alone to stare at a new set of four walls. She closed her eyes to shut out the view and buried her face in the sheets. Except that brought a strange scent to her nostrils, and she frowned, sniffing tentatively.

Back in England, she would not have been able to identify the scent. But she had spent the last month learning the exact smells of passion, and so could now recognize both a woman's musky odor and a man's yang release. It was subtle, of course, but definitely there.

But Maxwell wouldn't have been able to bring a woman into his rooms, she thought with a frown. Then she remembered that this was not an English establishment, but a Chinese one. And a Chinese woman had opened the door to Max's bachelor home. Which meant that women did frequent these rooms. And beds.

She sighed, finding tears threatening all over again. She made all sorts of excuses for Max's behavior, of course. A man alone in a foreign country. Mother had told her that men had needs. She had even reminded Lydia that Max had been in China a long time, now, and that Lydia and Max were an arranged marriage, an agreement of sorts between their families so that meant Lydia would need to excuse all sorts of behavior. Just so long as it was clear that such nonsense ended the moment they got married.

Lydia, of course, had agreed. She knew that "boys would be boys," as her mother often said. But she'd been in England at the time. And she had never truly believed Max capable of such inconstant behavior.

Well, she had been wrong. But after her last month's experiences with Ru Shan, Lydia could hardly be one to cast stones, could she?

So she curled the linen specifically away from her nose and tried to rest. But her mind would not let her be. She couldn't help but contrast Ru Shan's tender caresses to Max's distant behavior. Her fiancé could hardly wait to escape her presence. Whereas many times, Ru Shan had been loath to leave her side, clearly anxious for the time when he could return to her.

She tried to excuse Max, of course. She had caught him unawares, and he had never liked surprises. It was a bit much for anyone to take, she supposed, being told that one's fiancée had been abducted into a brothel. And yet, as she curled into a tight ball, her knees clutched to her chest, she felt the weight of disappointment grind at her excuses.

At the very heart of it all, she knew only one fact: that Maxwell wasn't with her. She wanted him beside her, holding her, and he wasn't there.

"But he will be," she whispered to herself. "As soon as we're married."

With that happy thought firmly in mind, she finally fell asleep.

* * *

Lydia woke a few hours later to a gentle tapping on her door. She opened her eyes and saw a large, curvy redhead saunter into the room, her clothing all the height of English fashion.

"You awake, ducks?"

Lydia blinked, then pushed herself upright in bed. It took a moment. She had been wrapped so tightly around herself that it took some time to uncoil her muscles. Meanwhile, the redhead plopped down on the mattress, her eyes widening at the sight of Lydia's peasant clothing.

"My goodness, I thought Max exaggerated, but I see it's all true." She leaned forward, her light green eyes round with interest. "Did you really just escape from a brothel?"

Lydia frowned at the strange woman. "He told you that?"

The woman stiffened. "Course he did. Had to, didn't he, when he asked me to loan you some dresses."

"I suppose so," Lydia murmured, though truly she didn't think he should have. Everyone would naturally jump to the worst conclusion about her experiences there. Especially if they ever found out she had been with Ru Shan for nearly a month. No one would ever credit that she was still a virgin. Which meant her reputation was completely ruined.

She lifted her chin to stare fully at this new woman. "Has he made arrangements for our wedding this afternoon?"

The redhead pulled back abruptly, her eyes narrowing slightly. "He didn't say anything about that," she answered somewhat tartly. "He merely asked me to bring you some clothing. Which I have. Expensive clothing," she added as she stood up from the bed. "
My
clothing."

Lydia nodded, seeing that she had somehow insulted the woman, and she hurried to make amends. "I apologize. I thank you for your assistance." She slipped out of bed, still wearing her peasant clothing. "As you can see, I can hardly go about dressed like this."