White Tigress (33 page)

He shook his head. "A few more months."

"How much?" she pressed. "Do you have any?"

He shrugged. "I think I can still do it. I think... if your designs sell well." He took her arms, his grip strong but not bruising. "I even have orders, Lydia. I can get fabric because of the orders. But only if you help. You must show our sewers what to do."

She smiled. "Of course I will help. I can do it first thing in the morning."

He shook his head. "No, Lydia. Not tomorrow. Tomorrow I will introduce you to my family as my wife."

She frowned. "But if the pressure..."

He put his finger to her lips, cutting off her words. "You are my wife, Lydia. I have made it so before your God today, and tomorrow before my family. I will not release you from your vows. I wish to make everything legal between us. Man and wife."

She nodded, unaccountably pleased with his determination. He wanted her, legally and morally. "So no man can tear us apart," she murmured, echoing the words of their wedding ceremony.

He grinned. "No man. Nor even Shi Po and all her conniving."

She smiled, lifting up on her toes to kiss him lightly on the lips. "I will work very hard, my husband, to make our shop very, very, very successful."

"That would bring me great joy, my wife."

Lydia let her expression grow more coy, her smile more sensual. "Is there anything else that would bring you great joy, my husband?" she asked.

He paused, as if considering, but she could see the yang heat building in his eyes. Even if she had not, she felt it where their bodies still pressed tightly together. Slowly, with excruciating care and a great deal of rising yang fire, he began to unbutton her dress. He started at the top, in the center of her neck where the buttons seemed to choke off her breath. Bit by bit, he slipped the fasteners free. And as he released her clothing, she released her yin, letting it flow fully between them.

She didn't know how it happened, only that it did. Before, he had needed to stroke her breasts to bring her blood to a simmer before the yin power began to flow. None of that was required this time. She felt the power already moving, the yin energy slipping easily between them.

He must have felt it too, because he let his hands slip to her hips. Holding her there, he prevented her from pressing against his jade dragon, stimulating him even further.

"I want to become an Immortal tonight, Lydia. The yin and the yang flow freely today between us."

She smiled. "Yes, I know."

"You can feel my yang?" He seemed surprised, and she laughed at his puzzlement.

"Of course I can. It's like a flame licking at my skin." She gave him a quick kiss. "I have felt it from the very first moment, you know."

He nodded slowly. "They say that women learn much faster than men. It was many months before I could feel yin flow." He smiled, though the movement seemed thoughtful. "With such sensitivity, you will be a wonderful partner for me. Do you object?"

This time she laughed, her joy bubbling out of her. "Of course I don't. I am your wife."

He shook his head. "Many women in China—even many wives—consider this sinful."

She hesitated, thoroughly confused. "But you are... intimate with your wives, right?"

He nodded. "Yes. But many times such an arrangement is purely for the parents' convenience, not for the happiness of the wife or the groom. Intimacy is required for an heir, but not pleasure."

She smiled. "For us, it will be our pleasure."

He grinned, and again she was startled by how young his unrestrained smile made him appear. "Then, you will be my partner? My tigress?"

"Of course."

He caressed her face. It wasn't a simple stroke, but a reverent feathering of his fingertips, as if he could not resist touching her. "You are a wonder, Lydia." Then he sobered. "It will require much yin from you. Much..." He frowned, searching for the English word. "Many times of..." Again he faltered.

"That moment, that..." She too struggled for the right words. "That tide of power that you said could launch me to immortality."

He nodded. "Yes. You will have to ride those waters many times." He hesitated, as if fearing to confess all. "You may become very, very tired."

"Or I may, too, become an Immortal." She straightened, once again reaching up to kiss him. This time she lingered, slipping her tongue across his lips. Then she acted on impulse, sucking his lower lip into her mouth, and she felt an answering blaze of his yang. She drew back, unable to hide her grin. "Perhaps we should get started."

He nodded, already leading her to the bedroom. It was the same room as before, same bed, same linen. But somehow, she saw it differently. She had chosen this life and this man, which made this room a haven rather than a prison. It was a lover's bower rather than something ugly.

He saw her looking around, and she felt him tense. "I should have made this prettier for you. Or perhaps taken you to a different place." He sighed. "But the money—"

"No," she interrupted. "I was just thinking that it is our minds that create prisons, not our location. This is just fine, Ru Shan."

He searched her face, no doubt looking for a lie, but she had been honest and so she let him search, knowing he would find only happiness. Eventually, she felt him relax, reaching behind him for the large artist's brush and pot. "I wish to paint you, Lydia. And when your yin flows freely, you may paint me."

She did not understand, but she trusted he would explain, even as she stretched to see the liquid in the clay pot.

"It is scented water." He brought the pot closer and she smelled an exotic scent with a hint of something floral. She identified ginger and lavender, jasmine and something else. Something dark and sensual. Something that seemed to haze her thoughts.

She abruptly jerked away, flashing on the drugged tea she had drunk in that evil place. She would not—

"There is no opium in this. I would not poison you with that, Lydia. I swear it."

Slowly, she brought her heartbeat and her panic under control. "I do not want any drug. Not like that."

"There is no drug. Only spice." He paused. "And us. Remember though, hours and hours of study such as this will cause the mind to crumble, our restraints to give way. It can feel like the haze of a drug, but it is much healthier." He paused, clearly wondering if she understood. "It is necessary to break down the restraints of our thinking minds to become immortal. We do it through a kind of exhaustion."

"But not through a drug?"

"Not me," he said firmly. "I do not trust such methods." She smiled, pleased. "Then tell me what I should do." Gently dipping the brush into the water, he nodded. She watched as the fine bristles spread slightly as they absorbed the perfumed water. And then she gasped as he brought it to her face.

"I will paint you, Lydia. As a way to begin the yin flow." She giggled, embarrassed at how girlish she sounded. "The yin—"

"Already flows," he said. "Yes, I know. But this will make it even sweeter." And so saying, he began to paint.

From the letters of Mei Lan Cheng

17 June, 1885

Dearest Li Hua—

Mr. Lost Cat is back! But he is Captain Lost Cat now, sailing his own boat.

I knew he was due back soon. I knew it. But I didn't think... And then there he was! Right before me, offering me a gift. It wasn't really for me, he said, but for Ru Shan. An English book on boat making. I did not understand it at all, but Ru Shan adores it. He has been studying it over and over. When I ask him why, he says it is because the ghost people know things—secret things, that we do not. Perhaps it is because they are so much closer to the dead. Either way, he likes studying how they think.

Sheng Fu is thrilled, of course. He says one must always know more about the customer. He calls Ru Shan industrious for learning these things. Sheng Fu won't sully himself with such, but he praises his son for it. I think, perhaps, he is trying his best to hurt me. He knows that Ru Shan loves working in the shop so much more than he ever did studying. And Sheng Fu must always have something to boast about.

My dear friend, I am so tired, and yet I cannot sleep. I hear Sheng Fu next door with Ru Shan's wife, and their noises anger me. But not as before. Before I wanted to scratch her eyes out. Now, I am merely angry at my father. How could he marry me into this family? To be their slave, to work my hands to the bone for their gold, their opium? And without even a son to shine in the way of my family—in scholarship.

But I should not complain. You have your own share of sadness. At least your husband has a son now. I know he gives his attention to the boy's mother, but that is the way of things, and she is his wife as well. We must both learn to be content. Me with my designs, and you with your remaining daughter. Eventually, we will both attain favor from Heaven for our submissiveness.

And so I will go to sleep now. I know I will dream of Mr. Lost Cat, but I cannot stop myself. Such is the way with women. We must find our joy wherever we can, even if it is with a ghost barbarian.

—Mei Lan

The image of Difficulty at the Beginning. Horse and wagon part. He is not a robber; He wants to woo when the time comes. The maiden is chaste, She does not pledge herself. Ten years—then she pledges herself.

—I Ching

~

Chapter 14

What an exquisite sensation—a paintbrush on the skin. Lydia was nearly purring with delight as she felt Ru Shan stroke perfumed water across her face. Because Chinese characters were written with a bamboo brush, Ru Shan had years of study with the delicate writing instrument. His technique with the larger artist's brush showed that he was a master.

Lydia had expected simple thick strokes, but Ru Shan varied them, sometimes stroking large, cool trails across her skin, other times feathering light whispers. And other times, she felt strokes as thin and precise as her father's scalpel, but not cutting. They were arousing. Intriguing. And wonderfully detailed.

The sensuality of it all was amazing, but it was nothing to having a man's focused attention on her. He spent long moments on defining, outlining, highlighting, and simply admiring her face. Then, as her skin seemed to tingle with every breath of air across her brow, she felt his brush stroke lower: across her jaw and spiraling downward.

He had already unbuttoned her dress halfway between her breasts, and so he took his time, brushing the exposed skin around her collarbone.

"Are you tired?" he asked, his low tones mesmerizing. They felt like just another brush stroke, just another caress, this time of vibration rather than texture.

"Lydia?"

She blinked, opening her eyes in surprise. "Oh," she said. "I'm sorry. No, I'm not in the least tired."

"Do you think you can stand for a while?"

She nodded, her skin on fire. There came more whispered caresses of Ru Shan's brush. It was as if only his strokes could waken her skin, and there was so much more of her that wanted to be awake.