Moonflower Madness (19 page)

He blew a smoke-ring into the still night air. He had certainly never felt such a complexity of emotions for any woman before. His lovers had always been exactly that and nothing more; they had never also been companions or friends, which was what Gianetta Hollis was fast becoming. If it hadn't been for her sex he would have had no doubts at all about taking her with him to Kansu. Her artistic ability was exceptional and would have been a great asset to him. Her intelligence was undeniable, as was her courage. All in all, if she had been a man she would have been an ideal companion. But she was very far from being a man. She was the most engaging, most desirable woman he had ever met.

The chair came down abruptly onto four legs. Where on earth had that last thought come from? She was desirable certainly, but not the most desirable woman he had ever met. That honour was undoubtedly her cousin's. He thought again of Serena Hollis and the overwhelming effect her ethereal blonde beauty had had on him. She had been as delicate in colouring as the palest English rose. He tried to conjure up her soothing image but, to his annoyance, couldn't satisfyingly do so. No matter how hard he tried, her face remained indistinct. He was unsure as to whether her eyes had been green or grey, whether her face had been heart-shaped or oval.

Frustratedly he knocked out his pipe, rose to his feet and made his way to his room and his kang. He didn't sleep well. Serena's image may have been elusive but Gianetta's image was ever-present. His dreams were plagued by visions of her riding Ben, her silk-black Chinese queue bobbing on her back, her white shirt open at the throat, her violet-blue eyes full of laughter, her smiling mouth petal-soft, tormentingly inviting.

When Gianetta woke it was with a groan of pain. Her head was throbbing as if she had a fever. She pressed her hand against her forehead, but it was reassuringly cool. And then she remembered.

With another groan she sat up, doing so very gingerly. Why, why, why had she drunk a second glass of the Viceroy's liqueur? It had been obvious that it was lethal. Even Zachary had treated it with caution and had not accepted a second glass. Zachary. She had a hazy memory of his steadying her as the Viceroy had escorted them down through the courtyards to the outer gateway. And then what? Had they travelled home by sedan-chair? If they had, she had no memory of the journey.

She rose to her feet and crossed the room, pouring water from a jug into a porcelain bowl. They hadn't journeyed back to the inn by sedan-chair. She had a cloudy memory of protesting against the claustrophobia of the chairs and of Zachary equably agreeing that they walk back to the inn. She had the uncomfortable feeling that something else had happened, something that she ought to be able to remember.

She began to splash the icy water on her face and neck and it was when she was patting her face dry that memory of the previous evening returned in full. She had said that she thought him handsome. And then she had collapsed in his arms and afterwards, on regaining consciousness, she had been excessively sick.

With a groan she pressed her small hand-towel against her burning cheeks. What would he think of her? How could she possibly face him? And then she remembered that she had not been the only one to make a confession. He had told her that she was beautiful. And he had been going to kiss her. Surely at one point he had been on the point of kissing her?

Slowly she lowered the towel from her face. If she had cause for embarrassment, so had he. It had been he, after all, who had audaciously suggested that she play the part of his wife for the evening. And as a gentleman he should have warned her well in advance not to touch a drop of Chinese liqueur. And though he hadn't told her that she was more beautiful than Serena, he
had
told her that she was beautiful. He had told her that she was very beautiful. Her mortification faded and a hint of a smile touched the corners of her mouth. Whatever the indignities of the evening, there had also been compensations. And if Zachary Cartwright couldn't take her temporary bout of sickness in his stride, he wasn't half the man she judged him to be.

By the time she made her way to the stables to say good-morning to Ben, her headache had faded into a minor inconvenience. She was quite sure that Zachary would expect her to be awkwardly embarrassed by the events of the previous evening, and she had no intention of satisfying his expectations.

He was in the stables, supervising the loading up of the mules and she saw that both Bucephalus and Ben were already saddled and ready for the road. He was adjusting a saddle-bag and at her approach he turned, a winged eyebrow rising quizzically.

With annoyance she saw that he was wearing a cream linen shirt she had never seen before and that he was looking far more elegant than he had any right to after so many days travelling. It was open nearly to his waist, and she was acutely aware of an intriguing amount of crisply curling dark hair on his firmly muscled chest.

‘Are we going to have breakfast on the road?' she asked, determined to give the impression that the events of the previous evening were of no consequence and certainly not worth referring to.

‘Yes. I thought you would find it preferable to eating here.'

He was still regarding her expectantly, as if waiting for an embarrassed apology.

She gave Ben a good-morning pat, pleased to see that he looked rested and well-fed.

‘I would,' she said, beginning to attach her carpet-bag to the pommel on her saddle, ‘Are we leaving now?'

An expression flashed through his eyes that she wasn't quite sure of. It could have been mild frustration at her not having reacted as he had expected her to react, or it could have been reluctant admiration. She wasn't sure and she didn't trust herself to hold his eyes for long enough to make sure.

They breakfasted by the banks of the Kialing and then continued on their journey through breathtakingly spectacular scenery. The river ran broad and deep on their right hand side, the water the colour of Imperial jade. On their left were gentle slopes covered in woods of freshest green. The fields through which their ponies were gently walking was thick with wild rosebushes and sun-yellow barberry. The air was heavy with the scent. The peace and beauty were almost more than Gianetta could bear.

‘I do
love
China,' she said suddenly with deep passion.

He looked across at her with the flashing grin that so dramatically transformed his hard-boned features. ‘This is a side of China very few Europeans see. They crowd the bund at Shanghai and the Legations in Peking, but they very rarely venture out into the true China.'

‘They're too frightened of bandits,' Gianetta said, remembering the conversations she had heard between her aunt and uncle and their European guests.

‘And you're not?' Again the eyebrow was quirked.

She eased Ben around a low-lying rosebush drowning in pale pink petals. ‘Not enough to forgo seeing all this.'

In the far distance, mountains rose silver-grey, silver-green, silver-tawny. A kite wheeled high in the sky above their heads. From an unseen and isolated pagoda, there came the faint tinkle of bells.

As he continued to look at her, Zachary's grin faded. Although dark, vibrant, exotic good looks had never previously been to his taste, he had to admit that the words he had so inadvertently uttered the previous evening were true. Gianetta was very, very beautiful. And devastatingly likeable.

He dragged his eyes away from her, trying to continue with his task of observing the flowers around them. With a slight frown, he found himself remembering the incident that had taken place between Gianetta and Charles. Charles had most certainly been kissing her and she had just as certainly been making no effort at resistance, or at least she hadn't done so until she had heard his own approach.

He had been filled with cold anger at the time, and a quite surprising degree of disappointment. Anger because of the disruption her arrival and behaviour were causing to his expedition and disappointment both at Charles' irresponsibility and her shamelessness.

He had known, of course, what had prompted her to behave in such an unlikely manner. She was a single young lady with no immediate family and her prospects were grim. She was facing return to England and the choice of living with Serena and her husband or alone, apart from servants, in the Hollis family mansion. It wasn't much of a choice and he could quite well see how attractive Charles, as a potential husband, must have seemed to her. And in order to snare him as a husband she had acted with quite breathtaking audacity.

His frown deepened. The devil of it was, taking her own unquestionable attractions into account and Charles' easy-going and susceptible nature, it could quite easily have worked. Once she had amorously compromised him or, more to the point, allowed him to compromise herself, there would have been every chance of her uncle succeeding in coercing him to marry her.

It was disturbingly easy to visualise her as Lady Rendlesham. And surprisingly unpleasant. Charles was, for all his admirable qualities, quite simply not worthy of her. For the first time the question edged into his mind whether he, himself, would not be a far more suitable candidate.

Zachary's first reaction was to be amused by the ridiculousness of such a thought. His second reaction was stunned surprise at the realization that it wasn't ridiculous at all. Gianetta had effected a state of almost permanent sexual arousal in him ever since she had walked into camp after her bathe in the Kialing looking like a water-naiad. As he remembered, desire pulsed through him. There were worse fates in life than marriage to a woman who aroused such reactions, and who was both intelligent and entertaining into the bargain.

And Serena? Serena was probably by now Mrs Henry Plaxtol and, even if she were not, Serena was an unknown quantity. All he knew of her was the feelings the sight of her had aroused. Even if she had not been affianced he had no way of knowing whether, on further acquaintance, her personality and character would have proved to be as he had imagined they would be.

As Zachary continued to brood on the surprising direction of his thoughts, Gianetta rode in silence at his side, equally preoccupied.

She had been premature in assuming there was no alternative for her but to agree to his decision that she return to Chung King accompanied by one of the Peng missionaries. He didn't truly want her to return to Chung King. In the days and nights that they had been together he had become used to her. Despite his often curt and abrupt manner she was sure that he liked her almost as much as she liked him. And so she would take matters into her own hands. When they reached Peng she would seek out and engage a Chinese woman to act as a chaperone. She would be able to help with cooking tasks, and with a little instruction would probably be a great help in changing the botanical drying papers. Her presence in the camp would make it impossible for Zachary to claim that it was her own sexual vulnerability, as a lone woman, that made their continuing any further together impossible.

She leaned forward in her saddle, patting Ben's neck. ‘It's going to be all right,' she whispered confidently. ‘We're not going back to Chung King. I know we're not.'

At lunchtime they picknicked companionably amongst the wild roses and yellow barberry. Afterwards, when they resumed their journey, they did so at a slightly brisker pace. As the first hints of dusk began to smoke the air, Zachary said, with surprise, ‘Good Lord! There's Peng ahead of us, I must have been alarmingly out in my calculations.'

Gianetta looked in the direction towards which he was pointing. Through the late afternoon heat-haze, a red-roofed tower and high stone walls were clearly visible. A flare of excitement spiralled through her. She hadn't the faintest idea of how to go about engaging a chaperone, and she knew that she would have very little time in which to do it. For the last few miles, she had been wondering whether she should announce her intention to Zachary or wait until the arrangements were made. After much indecision, she had decided that it would be wiser to wait.

‘All I have to do is to be firm,' she had said beneath her breath to Ben, ‘I must simply refuse absolutely to return to Chung King, and persuade Zachary that a chaperone makes my return totally unnecessary.'

‘The mission is on the south side of the town, outside the walls. We should be there within half and hour or so,' Zachary said, breaking in on her thoughts.

His voice sounded rather odd, as if he were annoyed by their unexpectedly swift arrival. She didn't answer him. She was too busy making plans. If the mission was on the south side of Peng, it meant she would have to make some excuse for riding alone into the town itself. Where would be the best place to locate and engage at suitably middle-aged, respectable Chinese matron? The missionaries would know, but she wasn't sure whether, under the circumstances, they would be helpful or not.

‘There it is,' Zachary said suddenly. ‘A little piece of England, a world away from home.'

They had rounded a tree-shaded corner. In front of them, fifty yards or so from the shingled bank of the river, lay a low, white, clapboard house with a surrounding verandah. A large area around it had been cultivated as if it were an English garden, and Gianetta could see the pinks and purples of carefully tended foxgloves, and the blue of canterbury bells.

A gentleman in European dress was seated on the verandah, enjoying an early evening drink. He was presumably one of the missionaries, and as they cantered nearer Gianetta saw with amusement that his white suit was as formal as if he were a consul or an ambassador.

Zachary frowned, barely noticing the figure now rising to greet them. He had never before felt so undecided. Was he making a mistake in insisting that Gianetta be escorted back to Chung King? Was there an alternative?

The white-suited figure began to descend the verandah steps, stepping out of the shade into the still clear light. As he did so, Gianetta's eyes widened in incredulity.