Burning Tigress (15 page)

She sighed and stared at her brother. Was this latest debacle her fault? She knew with absolute certainty that she could have avoided it. Years of trial and error had given her a sixth sense when it came to her brother. She knew the signs of oncoming breakdowns and was usually able to stop them before they began. Minimal light, no stimulation, and silence had prevented numerous disasters.

But she hadn't been around this morning. She had chosen to sleep and leave things to her mother and Nanny. She had, in fact, slept through a major disaster because she was exhausted from her nocturnal adventure. And now William had regressed—again—to near infancy. She would spend months restoring him to some semblance of normalcy, and all hope of real progress was completely gone.

Why hadn't she gotten up? Why wasn't William better able to handle life? Was it her fault? Was she doing things wrong?

"This is all your father's fault."

Charlotte looked up. Her mother had spoken in low tones, not wishing to disturb William. The boy would likely not wake for hours yet, but just in case, they continued in near whispers. William never reacted well to being startled.

"What did Papa do?"

"He didn't come home last night."

Drinking and carousing, then. The usual.

"God punishes the wicked," her mother continued.

"But William isn't wicked." The response was automatic; she and her mother had this argument every time William had a fit.

"God chooses the nature of his punishments. It is not for us to say."

"What if God doesn't work that way, Mama? What if—"

"I will order another Mass. Maybe it will speed William's recovery." The woman crawled the few feet to her son's side. She didn't dare touch him for fear of waking him, but she obviously wanted to hold him. Her hand hovered over William's shoulder, over his head, then finally settled back into her lap. "I am so very sorry, my little boy. So very, very sorry."

The agony in her mother's voice tore at Charlotte's heart, and Charlotte couldn't remain silent. "You have atoned, Mama, for whatever ill you did. I am sure God has forgiven you."

Her mother pushed to her feet, and Charlotte could see the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. "Only God can say when I have atoned. I was a drunken slattern when I was pregnant, and God visited my sins upon my son."

"That is over, Mama. You are forgiven." Charlotte could only repeat the words over and over and pray that one day Mama would believe them.

Obviously, that day wasn't today. Her mother turned back to William and said, "His slowness is my fault. This fit..." She shook her head. "That is your father's." She sighed and headed for the door. "Nanny will stay with him until he wakes. You, Charlotte, need to tend to your hair. Cleanliness is next to godliness." She glanced back at William still immobile on the floor. "Learn from my sins, Charlotte. Do not hurt your own children."

She left then, abandoning Charlotte to the weight of guilt. After all, her father had spent many nights carousing through the whole of Shanghai's foreign concessions. William didn't suffer a relapse every night Papa was gone. She could think of at least ten instances when William had suffered no ill effects whatsoever from their father's debauchery. But how often had Charlotte spent the night in a world of corruption? And not more than fifteen feet away!

The thought was chilling. Could it be God? Could William's current state be her fault? After all, he wouldn't be like this now if she had simply gotten out of bed when it started. But she'd slept in because she'd been exhausted. Because she'd chosen her own path of wanton sin.

Charlotte pushed to her feet, horrified to discover she was trembling. It couldn't possibly be true; William's difficulties were not directly tied to anyone's moral behavior. If so, then there would be a lot more unconscious, half-naked children like her brother. And yet, the coincidence was difficult to stomach. Perhaps she should go to Mass with Mama. It couldn't hurt, could it? She could pray for her sins, ask for enlightenment, maybe even search the Bible for guidance.

Unfortunately, she had pursued that course a million times before; her mother as well. If prayer or Bible study truly gave answers, William would be normal by now. Charlotte had no faith in those particular paths. Which left... what exactly? Where could she turn?

Nanny returned, but Charlotte sent her away, wanting to be alone with William. Then she sat with her brother for the rest of the day while the same questions boiled uselessly in her mind.

* * *

Ken Jin muttered as he rubbed down the carriage horse. Like all things barbarian, the beast was large and ill-tempered—at least until its needs were met. Then it became placid, cooperative even, and life could proceed as it was meant to. Too bad things Chinese worked on a different level. And worse, because he had been working for the barbarians most of his life, he had become used to acting in the barbarian fashion. That meant whenever he was forced to be Chinese, the task became ten times more difficult.

The whites in China had simple requirements: money and sex. Both were easily provided, given his employer's wealth and his own sexual resources. Therefore, living among the barbarians, Ken Jin had built himself an easy life.

The Chinese, on the other hand, dealt in different coin: money or power. Unfortunately, Ken Jin had exhausted the first and possessed none of the second. Which meant that in all things Chinese, Ken Jin was useless.

He had spent the day trying to be Chinese. He had tried to bribe, threaten, or exploit anyone he could into gaining the Tans' release from prison; and he had failed utterly. That meant the two people he loved more than anyone—the Tigress Shi Po and her husband, Kui Yu—would rot in jail, probably for the rest of their short lives. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Cursing under his breath, Ken Jin tossed the tack into its bin and stomped to the Wicks mansion. He had worn Chinese clothing today, even allowed his Manchu queue to hang down his back like a damned tail, but to no avail. Chinese or English, no one was allowed in to see the prisoners. And now his best silk jacket smelled of horse.

He was halfway up the stairs before a maid spotted him. She was a new girl, hired as a favor to his fellow Dragon Fu De, pretty in her own way but still somewhat lost in an English house. Her curtsey showed more fear than respect, her speech had more awkwardness than style. And in an Englishman's house, style was paramount. That requirement, at least, the English had in common with the Chinese.

"What is it?" he snapped, startled by his show of ill temper.

"Miss Charlotte has asked for you. Many times. All day."

Ken Jin nodded and moved past the girl. "I was already on my way."

He was on the top step before he realized what he had said: He was already on the way to see Miss Charlotte. In fact, he had spent the last hour speeding home in anticipation of seeing the woman. But why? She was a white girl, no more interesting or different than any other. She had given him her yin, and he had been satisfied. That was all.

He swallowed, recognizing his own lies. Last night had not been like any other night, and Miss Charlotte's yin was nothing like anyone else's.

He had been satisfied. That alone left him stunned, especially as he had been satiated to the point of drowning and still her yin had flowed like a river of golden sunlight. His hands had actually tingled as she pulsed around him. Even now his dragon pushed forward, seeking her cinnabar cave, and his mouth salivated for another taste of her yin dew.

Never before had he felt such power. Never before had a woman—white or Chinese—infused him with such hunger. Was it any wonder that he sought her now? Especially after a day as frustrating and humbling as today? Of course not; and yet he did wonder. Something was wrong with this attraction, something was not as it should be. But he had no focus to understand his vague misgivings.

He paused, intending to head for the back stairs, to his room and desk so that he could puzzle out this situation logically, but his body did not obey. All too soon he stood at the door of Master William's nursery.

It was evening, long after the sun had set, and dinner had been served and cleared. He knew that Mr. Wicks would be at his club and soon afterward with his mistress. Mrs. Wicks would be at prayers in her room and then would retire. Master William would be fighting the maid and the nightly press to bed, and Miss Charlotte would be attending some party.

Except, he knew that she would not be out tonight, not after last night. She would be too unsettled to depart and too hungry to miss a chance to see him again. Therefore, Miss Charlotte would be at home; and when she was at home, she was with William.

He knocked politely on the door, then entered quietly. If the boy was asleep, she wouldn't want to call out.

He stopped a bare six inches into the room and his heart dropped into his stomach. The boy must have had a fit. The room was stripped bare. Charlotte sat with her back against the far wall, her arms and a navy blanket wrapped around William. She sang to him, a monotonous tune that soothed. The boy's eyes were shut, and he appeared to be sleeping. Unfortunately, at sixteen he was much too large for her to carry to bed.

Ken Jin stepped to her side and crouched down. It took some time for him to work his hands beneath the boy. She helped him, lifting as best she could, but the work remained his as he burrowed his fingers between child and woman. He lifted the boy. It took all his strength. Worse, it took all of his will not to keep his hands deep against Charlotte's thighs, close to her warmth, an inch away from her cinnabar cave.

"Thank you," she whispered, and her voice woke his dragon.

He stood, the boy in his arms. Charlotte did the same. It took some moments for her to straighten; she had obviously been sitting for a long time. He watched her movements because he could not stop himself. Her slow undulations as she returned blood to her limbs tortured his dragon, filling it with insatiable lust.

After a moment, Charlotte moved through the nursery to William's bedroom. Ken Jin followed, then stood behind her, watching as she bent over to pull back the covers of William's bed. The mattress was on the floor, and she dropped to her knees to arrange the covers just so for the boy. Which meant her bottom was raised as she worked. Ken Jin stood behind her, the boy in his arms, watching her present the Stepping Tigress position.

Lust slammed through him, stiffening his dragon to the point of pain. Vague embarrassment filtered through his consciousness, but he could not deny the joy he experienced, too. She finished her task and slid out of his way. He gently set the boy in bed, but as he moved, he realized he was not acting normally. At this moment, his every task was suffused with awe. His tasks were worship, his every moment in her presence filled with reverence. To him, Charlotte was a yin goddess, and he could not wait to continue their practice.

Eventually, the boy was settled to Charlotte's satisfaction. The blanket was arranged just right, the door moved to the correct angle. And then, finally, Ken Jin and Charlotte withdrew to the hallway.

As expected, she glanced around before canting her eyes to her sitting room. "Could I have a word with you, Ken Jin?"

He bowed with deepest respect. "Of course, Miss Charlotte."

They moved as one to her sitting room door, which he held open for her. She crossed to her favorite chair by the fire while he stared hypnotized by her smallest action. How had he missed it before? How had he not seen that yin power saturated her every breath, the smallest of her most feminine movements? Whatever the reason for his earlier ignorance, he saw it now and lauded her for it.

He waited until she was situated. He would have gone to his knees before her if that were the custom. As it was, he remained standing until she urged him to sit. He did not. Instead, he knelt before the coal fire and started a blaze. She remained silent as he worked, though he knew she fiddled with some stitching. She was embroidering a beautiful waistcoat for her brother—an odd gift for a boy who still stripped off his trousers whenever and wherever he became hot. But such was the nature of families. Even barbarians held dreams for their eldest sons regardless of reality.

"Tell me about Chinese medicine, Ken Jin."

Her voice jolted him out of his thoughts. He'd been staring into the fire to make sure it flamed just right—neither too hot nor too cold—but her lilting words made him rise to her side. He didn't dare touch her yet. Virgins had to come to you.

"What do you wish to know, Miss Charlotte?"

His dragon was straining against his trousers, and his blood ran hot with yang. He had no idea how long the condition would last. Even his practice with Little Pearl had never been this intense. But did that mean her power over him would burn out all the more quickly?

"Well," she began, then stopped. Her pink tongue darted out to wet her lips, then disappeared behind her white teeth as she bit her lower lip. "I don't see many... many... The Chinese don't seem to have any slow children. I wondered if Chinese medicine held some secret that we English—"

"Boys such as William are hidden away, Miss Charlotte." Or worse. "You would not see them."

"Oh," she said. Her entire body seemed to deflate. "So, what you were doing with the needles the other day when you poked them into... well, when you..."