White Tigress (27 page)

"They steal all your money and clothing, chain you to a bed, and sell you to the highest bidder? Yes, Max, I know." She was handling this all wrong. She knew it. But she was becoming annoyed. With Max for wanting to go to another woman after all the trouble she'd been through. With the food, for not tasting the way it ought. For herself, for getting annoyed with Max when she needed his cooperation.

And for all of life that was simply not moving according to plan.

Nevertheless, she was still determined to see things through. She took a deep breath and re-pasted on her most beguiling smile. Clearly the man was nervous about marriage. Well, he had never been loath to talk about money. So, skipping ahead in her plans for the evening, Lydia jumped straight to her other idea.

"Max, I have had the most wonderful thought." She leaned forward to make sure she got his attention. "About a way to make lots of money."

She succeeded. He allowed her to pull him down to the settee. "Lyds, there are a million scoundrels in Shanghai. Please don't be foolish."

"See, darling?" She grinned. "That's why I need you. A husband always keeps his wife away from scoundrels."

He flinched at that, but no more than she did. She knew better than to prick him about not protecting her. After all, it had been her choice to come to Shanghai early. Of course, it had been his job, once she escaped, to keep her reputation pure, and he had failed miserably in that. Odd, really, given how desperately important image was to him. But then, he had damaged
her
reputation, not his own. Which meant it was up to her to fix the situation.

"Do you recall how I was always designing dresses back home?" she asked.

He nodded, though his expression remained wary.

"Well, I could never become a dressmaker in England. Both our families would have objected. I'm a doctor's daughter, and you are practically aristocracy."

"You can't go into trade, Lydia."

"Exactly what they would have said," she agreed, knowing that was not what he meant at all. "And besides, all the best dressmakers were already established in London." She scooted closer to him. "But Max, things are different in Shanghai. You said so yourself. You wrote me that all it takes to make a fortune here is determination and work." In truth, he had said a
man's
determination and work, but she was adjusting it. "I have determination, Max. And I can work hard—you know that."

He opened his mouth to speak, but she rushed on, needing to get everything out before he disagreed. Because once he said no, not even Queen Victoria could make Max Slade change his mind.

"You said in your letter that you were looking for an investment, that you had the money. Well, there is this shop. Right on Joffre Avenue—"

"That's the French settlement!"

"Actually, it's on the old Chinese side," she corrected. "But either way, it's in an excellent location. It brings in both Chinese and European customers."

"It'll cost the earth," he countered.

"No, it won't. It's struggling. Some problem with suppliers." She smiled sweetly at him. "Didn't you write me that these Chinese can't manage anything?" She hardly believed he was correct in that, but Max always liked it when she echoed his own words. "Well, I'm sure that's the problem there. They just don't know how to manage it." She straightened. "The Cheng millinery has fallen on hard times."

"Just because they don't know how to manage it doesn't mean you do, Lydia."

"Ah, but I do! And my dress designs have already sparked interest. Esmerelda would have bought a dozen of them."

Max was shaking his head. "She was just being polite."

"No, Max, she wasn't. That woman is anything but polite. And besides, she didn't know they were my designs."

Max straightened. "What do you mean she wasn't polite?"

Lydia sighed. Why could he not stick to the topic at hand? The last thing she wanted to talk about was Esmerelda. "Max, please listen. I want to buy the Cheng shop. I'm sure my dress designs could make a lot of money. I could work hard, establish myself, and then later, when the children come, I could hire sewers and the like. But I would still be the designer." She scooted closer to him. "I can do it, Max. I know I can."

Now was the time for her fiancé to lean into her, declaring loudly that he knew she would be a fabulous dressmaker, before kissing her soundly on the lips. They would set their wedding date and go on to a fabulous future.

Max did not do any of those things. He practically threw her off him as he shoved to his feet. "You're not thinking clearly, Lydia. You don't know anything about running a business."

"You're right, Max, I don't. But you do. You've always wanted to run your own. You've said so yourself."

"I am not a dressmaker!"

"Of course not," she countered. "I'm that. But the product doesn't matter. I mean, it matters because that's the product I can do. It would be your business. Your name on the door. You could direct everything. I would merely be the designer. That's all." She stood up—not sidling up to him as she had all evening, but facing him square on as she had done so long ago in England. Back when they were children. "Max, we can do this. And we can make a fortune." She smiled slyly up at him. "Do you know what women spend on dresses these days? Especially for an elite designer? Max, we could be rich!"

He was softening. She could see it in his eyes. It was greed, pure and simple, but sometimes, greed was the fastest way to a man's heart. Especially when that man was Max. Why else would a man leave everything he knew to come to Shanghai?

"Cheng's, huh? On Avenue Joffre?"

She nodded. "We can make a fortune. Enough to go back to England like kings, maybe even buy a title. Just like you wanted from the beginning. Before you left for Shanghai." Before things had changed between them.

"Very well," he said grudgingly. "I will look into it."

She leaped up, planting a kiss of delight on his lips. "Oh, thank you, Max! Thank you so much!"

He grabbed her elbows, setting her back on her heels. "I haven't said yes, yet. There are still a great many details to work out."

"Of course there are." She grinned happily up at him. "But you are a master of that type of detail. You will bargain wonderfully, I'm sure."

He nodded, obviously pleased with her compliments. "Now, Lydia, I've got to go, and you've had a trying day, I'm sure. So I'll leave you to clean up and rest."

Lydia blinked stupidly at her fiancé, her throat impossibly dry. After the elation of a moment before, this felt like a crushing blow. "You're leaving?" she finally whispered.

His color darkened, along with his expression. "Well, I can hardly stay here. It wouldn't be proper."

"Proper?" she practically squeaked. "My reputation is already ruined, Max. You saw to that this morning when you blabbed what had happened all over town."

"I most certainly did not!" he countered, his tone rising along with his volume. "Dammit, Lydia, people saw you! They saw you arrive barefoot and naked."

"Naked! Max, I had clothes on."

"Coolie clothing! Without... without..." He gestured mutely at her cinnabar cave. He sighed, glaring darkly at her. "I had to say something. I had to tell them the truth."

She slowly dipped her chin in acquiescence, even though she completely disagreed. "Fine. You had to say something. But now I'm ruined." She stepped forward, leaping to her last resort—seduction. She pressed her body close to him. "You're my fiancé," she whispered as seductively as she could manage. "You have promised to marry me. It's time, Max. Time to be a gentleman. Time to save me from my own folly, just like we were kids." In her boldest move yet, she reached up and pulled his mouth to hers. "Marry me, Max."

Then she stretched up on her toes, kissing him with all the passion and desperation inside her. She pressed her mouth to his, her lips closed. It was the way they had kissed before—back in England—and she knew no other way. Ru Shan had never touched her lips.

She felt him soften toward her. His mouth opened and she shivered as his tongue stroked the seam between her lips. She gasped slightly at the sensation—the wet tickle across her lips. And as she did so, his tongue ventured farther, deeper into her mouth.

It was an odd feeling, this widening of her mouth. Then his tongue pressed inward, invading her mouth, pushing roughly in. At first she was appalled—such a big thing thrust inside her—but then she got a flash of memory. She recalled Ru Shan's hands upon her. Lower. Opening her legs and pressing his thumbs inside her. In and out. Just as Max was doing to her mouth.

And that memory excited her.

She felt her yin begin to flow. Her breasts seemed to plump and her yin dew softened her stance. She melted into Max's arms, though he staggered some with her weight.

Laughing slightly in embarrassment, she tugged him back to the settee. But he moved awkwardly, as if he was unsure of himself. So, her face flushed with heat and yin and hunger, she smiled at him, urging him closer.

"Kiss me again, Max. Please?"

He did and she eagerly opened her mouth this time, wanting the reminder of what Ru Shan had done. She even echoed the movement, imitating what both Ru Shan and Max had taught her. She swirled her tongue around and with Max's, then boldly thrust into Max's mouth.

He reared back, clearly appalled.

"Max?"

"You've never done that before!" he exclaimed, his voice accusing.

"I've never done any of this before," she returned hotly.

He frowned at her. "Very well," he finally said. "But don't do that again."

She nodded, briefly wondering what Ru Shan would say. Would he object to a woman thrusting her tongue into his mouth? She doubted it. But she wasn't with Ru Shan. She was with Max, her husband-to-be, and it was up to her to learn his preferences. Or risk losing him to the likes of Esmerelda.

"I won't do it again," she murmured. "I promise. I was just imitating you."

He nodded, slowly, then leaned forward. "A man likes a woman to be demure," he instructed formally. "To accept his attentions shyly."

"I promise," she murmured as she lifted her mouth to his. In truth, she would have promised almost anything to get him to return to what he was doing. Her yin felt like it was bursting through her, and she needed to feel his hands on her. On her breasts. And perhaps—if she handled things properly—lower down. At her cinnabar cave.

So she remained cool as he kissed her again. She kept her lips pressed together until he coaxed them open again. And when he did, she allowed him to plunge his tongue inside her, tasting her as he wanted. She returned his movements, dueling as much as she dared, and all the while her mind was on Ru Shan and what he had done before. How he had pushed his thumbs inside her cave.

Then Max's hands began to wander. He stroked up her sides, and finally, mercifully, he touched her breasts. Or rather, he grasped them—hard and without seeming purpose. There was no gentleness in his touch. Merely the grasping of a hand without Ru Shan's stimulating circles.

And yet, so desperate had she been for stimulation, that she let her head drop back in appreciation. "Yes," she whispered even as she silently prayed that he would go more gently, in the circles she knew.

His hands slowed their attack, and she smiled.

When he seemed as if he would stop, she pressed her hands against his, urging him to move in a circular pattern such as she was used to. But he didn't do it. Instead, his hands grew more lax until he finally stood up.

Only then did she open her eyes. "Max?"

"What happened to you in the brothel, Lydia?" His face was dark and strained.

She frowned, straightened slightly on the settee. "What?"

"You said nothing happened. That you managed to escape. But you know they chain girls. You know they sell them."

Lydia didn't speak. She couldn't, because her yin, which had been flowing so hotly a moment before, was slowing, growing sluggish and cold.

"How do
you
know these things, Max?" she countered, trying to avoid his question.

He sat back with a huff. "Because I'm a man, that's how," he snapped. "But you're a gently reared girl. Your father would never have told you these things. Nor anyone else."

She bit her lip, wondering what to say that would make him understand.

"What happened, Lydia? Tell me the truth." He straightened. "If I am to be your husband, I deserve the truth."

She nodded, knowing he was right. So she sighed and sat fully upright on the settee, folding her hands before her. In truth, it would be good to talk to someone about this. It would be good to start her marriage without a lie thickening the air between them.

"I arrived in Shanghai nearly a month ago," she said, and he groaned, dropping his head into his hands. "But I'm still a virgin, Max. I swear it! You can bring in a doctor if you like. I wasn't... In that place, no one..." She straightened her shoulders. "I know what happens between a man and a woman. My father was a doctor. And no one did that to me."

He lifted his head, confusion warring with disbelief on his features. Finally he spoke, his voice heavy with emotion. "Tell me exactly what happened, Lydia. All of it."