Moonflower Madness (18 page)

‘Absolutely.'

Her hand tightened on his arm as they reached the gates. Brocade-robed servants flung the gates wide.

‘The Honou'able Mr Zacha'y Ca't'ight and the Honou'able Mrs Zacha'y Ca't'ight,' the attendant who had been escorting them announced loudly.

An enormous, Buddha-like, black satinclad figure, very obviously the Viceroy, bore down on them. Zachary greeted him in Mandarin and a pleased and surprised smile creased the Viceroy's heavily jowled face.

With further attendants following in their wake every minute, they made a stately progression through the remaining courts and into the Viceroy's innermost sanctum. A banquet had been prepared, and lay spread out on a low round table covered with brilliant scarlet oilcloth. Chinese lanterns bobbed and danced. The Viceroy very formally presented both of them with gifts, a roll of silk for Zachary, an ornament of jade for herself. And then the banquet began.

There were scores of tiny little dishes, all containing a different delicacy, nearly all unidentifiable.

‘You've just taken a helping of shark's fin omelette,' Zachary said as she followed his example and helped herself from the nearest dish.

‘Really?' she said, determined not to gratify his expectations by grimacing. ‘It looks delicious.'

It didn't taste delicious, but no-one could have discerned this from her expression.

‘And that is souse of pigeon eggs,' he added as she dipped her chopsticks into another dish.

Her hand didn't waver. She was in the heart of China, and she didn't expect to be served with steak and kidney pudding and apple tart.

A pudding made of dried jujube fruit followed the main dishes and small glasses of hot, fiery liqueur followed the pudding.

Both the Viceroy and Zachary drained their glasses in a single swallow and she lifted the glass to her mouth, determined to do likewise.

‘I don't think you should …' Zachary began to say to her, but it was too late.

For a second, as the liqueur burned her mouth and throat, she thought she was going to die. She couldn't breathe and her chest felt as if it was about to explode.

‘Would you like some water?' Zachary asked, keeping a straight face with difficulty.

She shook her head, unable to speak, furious at the knowledge that she was once again affording him amusement.

When she could finally speak, Gianetta lied in a croak, ‘How very … pleasant.'

The attendant behind her chair immediately stepped forward and refilled her glass.

‘Good manners don't require that you kill yourself,' Zachary said, his amusement turning to concern. ‘The Viceroy isn't going to take offence if you don't drink any more.'

She didn't care about the Viceroy. She cared only about removing the last vestige of amusement from Zachary's gold-flecked eyes.

‘I'm not being motivated by good manners,' she said with utter truthfulness as she raised the glass again to her lips. ‘It is an exceedingly … warming drink.'

Despite all her efforts to the contrary, the liqueur brought tears to her eyes. She blinked them away rapidly, flashing him a brilliant smile.

‘It is also an exceedingly intoxicating one,' Zachary said dryly, ‘and two glasses are one too many for anyone unaccustomed to alcohol.'

A glow was spreading through her entire body. Instead of being offended at his talking to her as if she were a child, she felt amazingly well disposed towards him. For her benefit, their host had reverted from Mandarin to pidgin-English and, as he discussed his collection of
objets d'art,
she found herself thinking how entertaining he was and how cultured. The evening was becoming even more enjoyable than it had first promised to be. It was exceedingly pleasant to be treated as a married lady and to be acknowledged as her husband ‘s helpmeet, especially when the husband in question was as handsome as Zachary.

The Chinese lanterns hanging low above their heads swayed gently like exotic, giant flowers. The Viceroy's black silk and brocaded robes shone like polished jet. As the conversation turned from the Viceroy's art collection to a discussion of the war taking place in distant Manchuria between the Russians and the Japanese, Gianetta began to feel as disembodied as if she, too, were a lantern floating gently in mid-air.

When the Viceroy rose to his feet, signalling that the evening was at an end, she felt intensely disappointed. As she rose to her own feet she also felt intensely dizzy. Zachary's strong arm instantly steadied her and she was suffused with warmth towards him. He really was proving himself to be a most splendid husband. Previously her body had only ever brushed against his but now, as they were escorted out into the lamp-lit courtyard, she leaned against him, aware of a sensation of pleasure so deep it almost robbed her of breath.

‘Are you all right?' he was asking her, looking down at her in concern. ‘Are you going to be able to make it to the outer courtyard?'

She squeezed his arm reassuringly. ‘Of course I can make it to the outer courtyard,' she said, headily aware of his hip and thigh pressed close against her own. She giggled and then hiccupped, adding in happy certainty, ‘And I'm not going to make it only to the outer courtyard. I'm going to make it all the way to Kansu as well.'

He made what sounded to be an exasperated exclamation under his breath, but she was too happy to pay any heed to it. For the last hour everything had suddenly seemed possible. Of course she would go to Kansu, of course she would remain with Zachary. Any alternative was simply unthinkable.

The Viceroy remained with them as their escort as they made their way down through the courtyards. At each gate Zachary protested against the Viceroy accompanying them any farther; at each gate the Viceroy smilingly insisted on doing so.

At last, when they reached the outermost gate, amid many salutations of friendship and good-will, the Viceroy took his leave of them.

Gianetta looked towards the waiting sedan-chairs. Despite the grandeur of their glass windows and silvered topknots and pole-knobs, they looked more claustrophobic than ever.

‘I think,' she said, swaying slightly, ‘that I would prefer to walk.'

Zachary looked down at her, an eyebrow quirking. She tried to make up her mind as to whether the expression in his eyes was one of amusement or concern, and couldn't do so.

‘It's probably a good idea,' he said as she rested her head contentedly on his shoulder, ‘But promise me that if you begin to feel ill you'll give me instant warning.'

‘Silly,' she said, hiccupping again. ‘I feel wonderful. Absolutely, unbelievably wonderful.'

She felt, more than heard, his suppressed chuckle. So he was, for some unfathomable reason, amused. Earlier, his amusement at her expense had annoyed her. It did so no longer. She was glad that she amused him; glad that he enjoyed her company; glad that his arm had slipped to a far more supportive position around her waist.

‘I think,' she said dreamily as Zachary dismissed the sedan-chair carriers, ‘that I have never been happier. I feel so warm inside, so content …'

‘Home brewed Chinese liqueur does have that effect,' he agreed, his voice sounding even darker and richer than usual.

They had begun walking in the direction of the inn and she halted abruptly, turning to face him.

‘I hope you're not inferring that I am intoxicated,' she said, trying to sound suitably offended.

His arm was still around her waist, for which she was very grateful. Without such support her legs would have undoubtedly given way.

‘Only a little,' he said and his voice, so often clipped and curt, was unexpectedly gentle.

As they faced each other in such close proximity, it seemed only natural that her hands should slide in a very pleasant manner up against his chest.

‘If I am intoxicated, I am enjoying it exceedingly,' she confided, aware of the feel of his heart beating beneath the palm of her hand; of the faint tang of his cologne; of his tantalizing, delicious nearness.

‘You may not enjoy the headache you are bound to wake up to quite so much,' he said, exercising every inch of self-control in order to turn away from her and continue walking.

As she was obliged to once more fall into step beside him, disappointment flooded through her. It had been inexpressibly pleasant standing so close to him, his arm around her waist, his mouth so very near to her own.

‘I should not wake with a headache if we were to sleep out beneath the stars,' she said with heartfelt longing and unwitting provocativeness.

His arm was still around her waist and she felt his muscles tense and tighten. After a few moments he said, his voice oddly abrupt,

‘You're tempting me like the very devil, Gianetta Hollis, and the sooner we get to the inn and you go to your room, the better.'

Laughter rose in her throat, husky and unchained. She felt suddenly extraordinarily powerful.

‘In what way am I tempting you?' she asked, knowing the answer with a knowledge as old as Eve.

He stopped walking, turning towards her once again, his hard-boned face looking more Slavic than ever in the star-lit darkness.

‘Despite your undoubted innocence you know very well,' he said, the grimness in his voice sending shivers down her spine. ‘But I'm not in the habit of taking advantage of unprotected females, no matter how beautiful they may be.'

She stood very still, hardly daring to breathe.

‘Do you really think I'm beautiful?' she asked when she could trust herself to speak. ‘Do you think I'm as beautiful as Serena?'

Slowly he hooked a forefinger beneath her chin, tilting her face to his. Their eyes held. Somewhere nearby, in the velvety-soft darkness, a small creature could be heard scampering about its business.

‘I think you are very, very beautiful,' he said thickly, and at the expression in his eyes desire spiralled through her.

She leaned against him, sliding her arms up and around his neck.

‘And I think you are very, very handsome,' she said truthfully.

He lowered his head to hers and she sighed rapturously, closing her eyes and slithering down against him in a state of alcoholic insensibility.

He swung her up in his arms before she ignominiously reached the ground, relief sweeping hard on the heels of intense thwarted desire. He had not only been on the verge of kissing her, but of making love to her. God only knew what would have been the consequences. He certainly wouldn't have been able to ship her back to Chung King under the auspices of one of Peng's missionaries. Gianetta's violated honour would have demanded marriage, and he had not the least intention of being so tritely entrapped.

As he walked through the deserted, unmade streets towards the inn his relief gave way once more to amusement. So she thought him handsome, did she? He wondered if she would remember her declaration in the morning. If she did, he would take good care that she was not embarrassed by it. Inconveniencing as she was, she was a highly likeable baggage and he had no desire to cause her any embarrassment.

He shifted her weight a little in his arms. In fact she was more than likeable, she was lovable. But not for him. When he married he had no intention of choosing as his bride a girl as adventurous and as uncaring of convections as himself. He intended to marry a girl like Serena. A girl whose peaceful serenity would soothe him when he returned home after months of arduous travelling; a girl who would bring calm and order into his life.

As he approached the inn, the burden he was so lightly carrying moved slightly in his arms, opening her eyes.

‘Would you please put me down,' she said unsteadily, ‘for I think I am going to be ill.'

He set her on her feet with ungentlemanly alacrity.

Uncaring of his presence, she parted company with a prodigious amount of half-digested shark's fin omelette and soused pigeon's eggs.

When she had finally finished retching, he said sympathetically, ‘You'll feel much better now.'

She didn't feel better. She felt utterly mortified. With as much dignity as she could muster she said stiffly, ‘It was the pigeon eggs. I shouldn't have eaten them. They were probably ages old.'

Despite all efforts to prevent it the corner of his mouth tugged into a grin. ‘And the liqueur,' he said as gravely as he could manage. ‘That was probably a little old too.'

She drew in a deep, steadying breath. ‘The liqueur was perfectly innocuous. It was the pigeon eggs that were at fault,' and, not trusting herself to say another word for fear of disgracing herself again, she walked unsteadily away from him and into the musty confines of the inn.

He didn't follow her. He knew that if he offered assistance it would be refused and though she was certainly far from well he judged that she was capable of mounting the stairs to her room and of putting herself to bed.

He himself didn't feel in the least like sleeping. It had been an odd evening. Enjoyable. Entertaining. And something more. Though what the something more was, he couldn't quite decide.

The narrow unmade street in which the inn was situated was deserted except for a dog scavenging for food. He ducked beneath the inn's inadequate doorway, emerging a minute of so later with a battered chair and a pipe. Sitting on the chair, he tilted it back on two legs against the wall, lit his pipe, and proceeded to ponder what the something more had been.

Women were no mystery to him. He had enjoyed several satisfying love affairs, though always with ladies as worldly and experienced as himself. Yet, satisfying as his previous amorous encounters had been, he had never before experienced such intensity of desire as that which had swept over him in those seconds when Gianetta had been so willingly in his arms, her face upturned to his, her mouth infinitely inviting.

Even now, grateful as he was for the turn of events which had stopped him from making love to her and consequently being under an obligation he couldn't possibly honour, he couldn't help wondering what it would have been like to have kissed that soft-looking mouth. And he couldn't help feeling regret at having been cheated of the knowledge.