White Tigress (26 page)

Which meant he would have to marry her. It was his only option.

Still, the shock of that thought echoed like a crack of thunder through his body. He shook in terror, his forehead still touching the ground. His friends and family would be appalled. If others shunned him because they believed he kept a white woman as a lover, how would they feel about a white wife?

And yet, try as he might, he could think of no other possibility. As his wife, Lydia would continue to create her clothing designs. He already knew they were spectacular enough that someone would pay in advance for such gowns. And with gold to pay for fabric—in advance—his suppliers would return. Gold forced a blind eye to many evils—even that of having a white wife.

Eventually, the Cheng store would flourish again. Meanwhile, he would have access to Lydia's yin power, which could only aid in achieving his financial and religious goals. And lastly, as his wife, Lydia's honor would be restored. Which meant Heaven would be appeased. Once again, Ru Shan's path would be assured.

There was no other option. He had to marry Lydia.

But how to begin? The obstacles were numerous and seemingly insurmountable. He had no influence with these foreigners. And she had a fiancé.

He would find a way. His life and his family's survival depended on it.

* * *

Lydia was shriveling inside. The docks were a teeming mass of noise and confusion. Once that would have thrilled her, but right now it was keeping her from her future husband. And even though there were perhaps a dozen white women watching the noise and bustle, she felt as if everyone's eyes were on her. They all stared and whispered behind their hands, their words obvious.
"That's the woman who was in a brothel. And you know what happens there."

It was silly. Even if Maxwell had been spreading the tale far and wide, no one would know what his fiancée looked like. But try as she might to convince herself she was merely being hysterical, she couldn't shake the feeling of being watched. And judged.

She had never expected to become one of
those
women. "A poor, misguided trollop," as her mother used to say.

And yet, suddenly, she felt as if everyone cast her in that role whether or not it was true.

And maybe it was true, she thought with a crushing panic. Because she missed it. She missed her morning routine with Ru Shan, the flow of yin that made her feel full and lush. She ached to touch herself as Ru Shan had done, but knew she could not. Certainly not in public. Thankfully, she would be married soon. She knew that husbands often enjoyed touching their wives' breasts, and so, hopefully, would Maxwell.

If only the man would appear! Then everything would be set to rights.

Except when Lydia and Esmerelda at last found his company's dockside office, the young man inside was unsure of her fiancé's whereabouts. He had left some twenty minutes ago in search of Maxwell, leaving her and Esmerelda to wait with increasing impatience in the stifling little room. And as her companion passed the time by recalling every party and entertainment she and Maxwell had enjoyed together, Lydia felt herself grow smaller and tighter and more frightened.

Where was Max? Wasn't he supposed to protect her from experiences like this? Wasn't a husband supposed to make sure his wife was treated with respect and honor? Not force her into the company of his own mistress!

Thankfully, the young clerk chose that moment to return. Unfortunately, he came into the tiny building alone, his face beet red with embarrassment.

"I... I... um, I'm sorry, m-miss," he stammered. "I can't find him."

"I told you," Esmerelda chortled. "Max don't like to be bothered at work. He wouldn't come if you was on fire, he's that particular."

"But I'm his wife," Lydia said to the clerk.

"Not yet, you ain't," crowed her companion.

The young clerk wouldn't look her in the eye. She waited a moment while Esmerelda became positively gleeful at her discomfort.

"Look ducks—," the woman began, but Lydia didn't let her finish.

"Thank you, Esmerelda, for your help today. I believe I can handle things from here." Then she held out her hand. "Max's purse, if you please."

It took a moment for Esmerelda to understand Lydia's meaning. Then, when she finally did, she puffed herself up to her full, impressive height. "Why, of all the cheek!" she sputtered haughtily. "Is this the thanks I get fer helping out a poor woman in need?"

"You helped because Maxwell ordered you to. So it seems we are both dancing to his tune, and you have no cause to act superior." Feeling childish, Lydia abruptly snatched the purse from the woman's wrist, breaking the ribbons and no doubt bruising the woman's skin. She hardly cared. Esmerelda had been picking at her from the very moment she'd let herself into Max's flat.

Esmerelda's eyes went stone cold. "Wrong, ducks," she hissed. "I'm the only one dancing, 'cause you ain't never going to be his wife. Yer damaged goods. Think on that when yer tossed out." And with that, she sailed out of the room, the ribbons of her overly large hat waving a jaunty good-bye.

Lydia simply stood, her insides tightening even more while the young clerk shuffled in embarrassment beside her. She knew he was about to disappear, finding some pretense or other to escape her presence, so she abruptly turned, grabbing hold of his arm when she saw he had begun to sidle away.

"Please, sir," she began as he squeaked in alarm. She took a deep breath, trying to find an impassioned way to express what she wanted to know. One that wasn't completely humiliating. "Is it true?" she finally asked. "Is Maxwell simply avoiding me?"
Is he going to break our engagement?

The clerk's face flushed to a bright tomato color. "It ain't seemly, miss," he managed in a high squeak. "To visit the men while they're working."

She nodded, her heart a cold knot in her throat. "Very well," she said, with as much dignity as possible as she released the man's coat sleeve. "Please tell Maxwell that I shall wait for him at dinner." Then she paused, needing to feel gracious if only to salve her own pride. "I apologize for subjecting you to such a scene. It was most unkind of me."

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?"