My Fair Concubine (15 page)

‘Of course there will be. You’re so pretty. Men would fight over you for those dimples alone.’

‘I can draw some in for you, if you like them so much,’ Dao teased.

‘What about Bai Shen? He’s very handsome.’

‘Li Bai Shen? He’s beautiful and no one knows it better than Li Bai Shen himself. But you are an absolute failure at matchmaking.’ Dao sat back with a satisfied look and set her brush aside. ‘There.’

Yan Ling peered into the mirror at her new face. ‘I look so different.’

She recalled Lady Min’s reaction when she’d taken her first look at a woman who was her and wasn’t her at the same time. Lady Min had removed all feminine artifices, going so far as to cut off her beautiful hair. Yan Ling had come to take on all that Min had left behind.

Could she really be the lady in the mirror? Staring at her shaped eyebrows and painted lips made the enormity of her task come to light. One sitting before Inspector Tong was nothing compared to the months, the years ahead.

‘I won’t be able to fool everyone,’ she said quietly. ‘Not for ever.’

Dao attempted to reassure her. ‘The Khitans have never seen a Tang princess. Who’s to tell you how to do this or that?’

Yan Ling peered into the mirror again, trying not to compare herself to the little tea girl in her mind. The woman who looked back was elegant and confident. Her secrets were her own. Perhaps they would add to her allure.

Everything that used to feel so hard only weeks ago wasn’t so difficult any more. She could talk correctly and managed to move with some grace. She even remembered not to slouch when she sat.

The tea girl was nothing but a thin shadow in the corner. She’d never had a proper mirror in the back room of the teahouse. All she’d seen of her old self were occasional glimpses in passing, dim reflections in pools of water. Yan Ling had never known what she’d looked like to others. That girl didn’t exist any more. Maybe she had never truly existed at all.

‘Right. You’re right,’ she told Dao, stronger the second time. She grabbed the powder and brushes excitedly. ‘Now let me try on you.’

* * *

Yan Ling paused before the door to the study. She pressed her lips together, resisting the urge to run her tongue over them. She could feel the waxy gloss of the vermilion tint and taste the clove oil in the balm. Dao had re-applied the colour right before her afternoon lessons.

Why did it feel as if it had been an entire age since she’d last been here? She exhaled slowly, collecting herself. All she had to do was concentrate all her energy on appearing natural. And relaxed, too. Gently, she tapped on the door before letting herself in.

Fei Long was at his great cherrywood desk. As always, he was at the end of reading some important note or finishing a last stroke on a letter before shifting his attention to her. His expression was thoughtful and distant, but soon he would look up. For a few heartbeats, his attention would only be on her. She used to hate it so.

He finished scanning the page before closing the book. When his black eyes settled on her, Yan Ling’s stomach fluttered and her pulse jumped. She clasped her hands before her, but then remembered that this made her look too docile. She unclasped them and dropped them to her sides.

‘How are you today, my lord?’ Her greeting came out a little thin.

His gaze swept briefly over her face. The frown line between his eyes sharpened.

‘What is this?’ he asked slowly.

Her face burned so hot that she doubted she needed the rouge on her cheekbones. His eyes narrowed in on her and she wanted to shrink away. The door was right there at her back. He appeared somewhat displeased…but Fei Long often looked that way when really he was just deep in thought.

‘We purchased some make-up at the East Market yesterday. Dao put it on me,’ she added weakly.

And now she was like a little child, blaming someone else.

His lip curled. ‘You look ridiculous.’

Her heart squeezed tight. Then it plummeted, like a crushed and ruined butterfly.

‘Well, we were just trying it out to see,’ she muttered.

In so few words, he had scattered all of her confidence, all of her hopes. Her chest hitched and an alarming pressure gathered at the bridge of her nose. Yan Ling sat down at the writing desk and fumbled for the handkerchief tucked in her sleeve. Keeping her face angled away, she swiped at the offending tint.

There was no pleasing Fei Long. Not looking at him, she scrubbed at the tint until her lips were raw. She wanted it off, all of it. The powders, the perfume and all pretence that she could be a lady worth any notice.

‘Yan Ling.’

He rose from his desk to move towards her. She stared down at the handkerchief as her vision blurred. It was smudged with red.

She stood in a panic, keeping herself turned. ‘I have to go.’

‘Yan Ling.’

His voice was louder this time. Closer. She tried to slip past. Wouldn’t look even when his hands closed around her shoulders.

In the next moment, she caught a glimpse of Fei Long’s face, of his dark and tortured eyes. A muscle tensed along his jaw before he lowered his head.

Her breath rushed from her at the first touch of his mouth. His hand lifted to slide over the back of her neck while his kiss soothed over lips still sensitive from the rough scouring she’d given them. Yan Ling trembled, confused. A lost sound escaped from her.

With that, Fei Long broke the kiss. His fingers lingered on the side of her neck while he looked at her, an unspeakable question in his eyes. He was breathing hard.

Her thoughts came too fast. This was more than just the press of lips together. Fei Long’s touch burned away all memory of Bai Shen’s kiss. There was no mistaking this. Fei Long desired her. He desired her the way she desired him.

His lips parted as if to speak, but he said nothing. He started to pull away, but she couldn’t let that happen. Not after she’d yearned for him for so long.

She came to him, tilting her head up. Her heart thudded with so much force she shook with it. She wanted so much to glance away. To hide. Fei Long was so masculine and so beautiful that it frightened her.

He took her chin in his hand. The pad of his thumb caressed her cheek and her chest seized.

‘Yan Ling.’ The third time he’d said her name, and each time so different. This was the one that pierced her. His voice burrowed so deep that she ached inside.

She dug hers fingers into the hard muscle of his arms as his head lowered. He tipped her chin gently to receive the kiss and a breathless hunger took over as he claimed her with his mouth. Harder this time. He used his tongue to taste her and she gasped—excited, frightened. With his hands against the small of her back, he pressed his body hard against her, making her knees go soft. Whatever came next, she wanted it.

Suddenly, his hands tightened over her hips. He held her so fiercely it was nearly painful. She could feel the heat of his skin and the taut coil of muscle and sinew through his robe. A shudder ran through him.

He pulled away roughly then, holding her at arm’s length when he couldn’t get enough of her only moments earlier. His chest heaved as he stared at her as if he didn’t know what had just happened. But she knew, in every part of her, to the very tips of her fingers and toes.

‘Forgive me,’ he breathed.

It was the first time he’d apologised since she’d met him. For the one thing she’d wanted more than anything else for him to do.

With surprising calmness, Fei Long went to the door. Before she understood what was happening, he’d left her. Yan Ling remained alone in the study with her heart caught in her throat. The heat of his embrace slowly ebbed from her skin until she was left cold.

Chapter Fourteen

H
e had to put an end to this.

Fei Long retreated to his chamber where he soaked a washcloth and ran it over his face. The cooling effect of the water was only temporary. He had to leave the house. Perhaps ride out to the parks outside the city.

Because Yan Ling tasted like cloves and honey and he had to get away. He doused himself with more water.

Avoidance hadn’t resolved anything. Being away from her only left him wanting, which led to the disaster in the study. He could control these feelings. He
had
to control them.

These urges were entirely inappropriate. He was master of the house, not a creature of impulse and passion. What he needed was a strict plan of action. He left his chamber and found Dao at the front of the house, dusting the furniture and antiques.

The girl straightened and bowed, surprised to see him. ‘Lord Chang.’

‘Have Miss Yan Ling join me for dinner tonight.’

‘I’ll tell her, my lord.’ She regarded him while a band of heat circled his neck like a noose. Was that disapproval and speculation lurking behind her dormant expression? He must be imagining things.

He turned to go, but then remembered. He hated the appearance of uncertainty as he faced her again. ‘One more thing. She’s most likely in my study. If you’ll tell her…tell her that there is nothing else for today. She’s free to go.’

Dao nodded and he left her staring after him, her eyes wide with curiosity. He went to Old Man Liang next. The steward was preparing to take several documents to the municipal office as well as to collect payment on the farmland sale. Fei Long informed the steward that he would take over those tasks.

‘Y-yes, my lord.’ Old Man Liang looked wounded as he handed over the papers. He stroked his grey beard in thoughtful silence.

Somehow Fei Long was managing to offend everyone today. Ever since he’d returned to the capital from his military post, there had been an uneasy balance within the house. The servants went about their duties while he maintained peace and order on the surface, but behind it all, he was holding together the ragged edges of an open wound, frantically stitching it closed with one hand.

They had some semblance of harmony, didn’t they? At least for a brief moment. Though Pearl and Lady Min were gone, everyone had seemed content. Even Yan Ling had seemed happy. As Fei Long walked through the courtyard, it was as if a storm had washed over the mansion. The harsh wind had scoured away the thin veneer of paint from the surface, revealing the rot and decay beneath.

The servants all looked upon him with nervous anticipation in their eyes. He saw hope there, but he also saw fear. They never complained and always did their duties, but they were waiting for the inevitable. If he couldn’t resolve the debt, everyone would be left destitute. Loyal people who had spent generations in service to the Chang family.

If he hadn’t sworn off spirits long ago, he might have considered a drink.

He wasn’t as adept as his father at hiding their troubles. All he could do was face them head on. He headed out to the stables to fetch his horse himself, leaving another shocked attendant at his breach of procedure.

This fire inside him would fade, Fei Long insisted as he rode from the house. There were more important matters to attend to. Much more important than his own desire for a woman he had already decided he couldn’t have.

* * *

By the time he returned for dinner, Fei Long had his strategy mapped out. He’d rehearsed what he would say. Yan Ling was a practical, intelligent woman. She would agree with him.

Warm, welcoming smells greeted him as he re-entered the courtyard, a further sign that peace and order had been restored. The dining room was set up with lanterns. The panel doors facing the courtyard had been propped open and the curtains tied back to provide a view out into the courtyard.

When the family had all been together, they would share their meals every night: Father, Lady Min, Pearl and himself. Many, many years ago, Mother had been there as well. Lately he had been taking his meals in his study or with Old Man Liang in the front parlour. The dining room was practically a mausoleum.

He only had time to lock the payments away in the back rooms before returning. At the dining-room entrance, Dao intercepted him, stepping smoothly into his path with her head bowed humbly.

‘Do you need assistance, my lord?’

‘Not at this time.’

He tried to continue forwards, but she slipped around him again, resuming the same humble position.

‘Dao—’ he began, in a warning tone. She was becoming bolder since Yan Ling’s arrival. Her demeanour almost bordered on impudence.

‘Assistance with your robe, my lord? And I can have a wash basin brought to you, if you so wish.’ Her eyes flickered over him and the sheen of dust from the road seemed to magnify into a mud bath.

He exhaled impatiently. When he dined alone or with an old steward with age spots, he didn’t need to worry about such things. However, Yan Ling would likely come to dinner impeccably dressed and groomed, down to the very last eyelash. A lady in manner and appearance. Wasn’t that the purpose of her education and training?

Fei Long conceded defeat and retreated to his chamber to wash his face and change into a fresh robe. He returned to the dining room just as Yan Ling appeared, or more likely she had been waiting for his arrival to co-ordinate her entrance.

‘My lord.’

‘Miss Yan Ling.’

Always the same greeting, but his heart pumped harder this time.

Her outer robe was a thin, lace-like material and patterned with silver butterflies. The silk sheath she wore inside was a pale blue and the black of her hair caught the light. It was combed smooth and pinned on top, but otherwise allowed to fall free down her back. He could make out the shape of her shoulders through the gown. As she walked beside him, the fall of the silk hinted at the slender waist and gently rounded hips beneath.

Dao had been right to urge him to change. He would have looked like a peasant beside Yan Ling, their roles unacceptably reversed. Yan Ling had grown beautiful, he had to admit it—no, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t as if she’d transformed in the last month. He and his hapless crew consisting of the shameless actor and the clever servant girl couldn’t take credit. He had simply wasted too much time not noticing.

They seated themselves across from each other at the table that was meant to hold at least three times their number. Yan Ling glanced briefly at him before staring down at the table. Her hand wandered nervously to her neck. Oppressive silence hung between them.

He cleared his throat. ‘How long has it been since you came here?’

She looked up, startled. The drop of a feather could have startled her at that moment. ‘Heavens…over a month, my lord.’

There was something different about her. A warmth that blossomed over her skin. And a nervous vulnerability that only made her more vibrant. More real. Which was not favourable for him. Not favourable at all.

When she was perfect and composed, he could distance himself, but tonight her cheeks were pink, her eyes alight. She looked exactly as she did right after he’d kissed her, as if it had just happened. As if he’d just let go of her only a heartbeat ago.

And he had. The kiss was still very much alive and unfaded for both of them.

Yan Ling looked down again, suddenly very, very interested in her bowl. He did the same. Yes, it was fascinating. There were blue patterns in it. He didn’t give a damn about it or this dinner. Only Yan Ling.

‘I’ve decided that we should discontinue our writing lessons,’ he said.

‘Oh.’ She looked up, blinking in surprise. ‘I suppose I can continue practising with Dao.’

‘Dao?’

She looked uncertain, as if she’d offended him. ‘I couldn’t remember everything you taught me each day, so Dao would help.’

His chest rose. Something welled within him. Pride. He laughed, shaking his head in amazement.

‘What is it?’

‘Dao is quite clever, but it still took a long time for her to learn how to read,’ he said. ‘It takes many, many years.’

Her expression fell. ‘Why would you try to teach me in so short a time then?’

‘I wasn’t teaching you how to write.’

She frowned.

‘I was trying to instil patience and discipline.’

‘Patience and discipline.’ Her voice trailed away, not quite understanding.

‘You did throw a pot of tea at me the first time we met,’ he reminded her.

It was how his father had taught him discipline: thousands and thousands of writing drills. Perfect strokes and lines. Before you could learn to express yourself with the brush, you had to learn the rules and perfect them. Fei Long didn’t realise at the time that discipline was the one thing his father was wholly unqualified to teach.

‘Well, I—’ She stopped herself.

‘What is it?’

Her lips tightened, but then she took a deep breath. Her back straightened as if she were readying herself for battle.

‘I liked our lessons.’ Yan Ling raised her chin and held on to him with those captivatingly dark eyes of hers. ‘I’ll miss not having them, but maybe we should speak plainly about why you’re really doing this.’

Despite her bold words, a hint of pain flickered across her face. It was magnified a hundred times in his own heart.

‘Because it’s the honourable thing to do,’ he said steadily.

‘Not honour.’ Color rose to her cheekbones. ‘Rules. Your
Three Obediences and Four Virtues
.’

‘I am thinking of your welfare.’

He tried very hard not to think of the texture of her skin and how she had felt beneath his hands. Cool to the touch, but still warm beneath. There were other women. Plenty of them. He could have one that very evening, if he wanted.

Just having the thought while Yan Ling sat across from him sickened him. He really was a dog. Lower than a dog that you kicked just for the hell of it. He had to remember that.

‘What happened today will never happen again.’ His words fell heavy, as if he were a magistrate handing down a sentence. His own sentence. ‘I can promise you that.’

‘Can you?’ she challenged softly.

‘It will not happen again,’ he said, forcing conviction into the words. ‘It cannot.’

All the light drained from her. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Yes, I know.’ When she faced him, her eyes glistened, but she didn’t turn away. ‘You told me as much the very first night we were together, didn’t you?’

‘The first night—?’

‘In that tiny roadside inn. Because of who you are.’ Her voice faltered. ‘And who I am.’

She dropped her shoulders back in the chair, retreating as far away as she could.

‘You have a good memory,’ he said stiffly.

A few painful moments passed. The attendants had all but disappeared though the dishes remained on the table. In the way of servants, they knew when to stay away. When Yan Ling met his eyes again, the light had come back into them, but it was a different fire there. One that sparked.

‘This isn’t about my welfare. You’ll always be Chang Fei Long and I’ll always be the humble tea girl. The silken robes, the lessons, they don’t matter at all. You wanted me to fool everyone, but I could never convince you.’

Her words cut into him, one stab after another, too quick for him to defend. ‘That isn’t what I meant. We can’t be together—’

‘Because I’m beneath you.’

‘No.’

The force behind his retort stunned her into silence. They could hear the crickets in the garden.

She pressed the back of her hand over her mouth as she tried to compose herself. He could hear the catch in her breath. Her face revealed a flood of emotions: yearning, disappointment, despair. The two of them were like twin mirrors set against one another. Yan Ling reflected everything that he kept hidden. He wanted so much to take away the pain.

‘No,’ he said, quieter. He could feel the spirit draining from him. ‘That’s not it at all. Don’t you understand that I can’t allow this to happen? My father—’

He stopped himself. He wanted to try to explain to her, but it was too personal. A private matter that should be buried with his father. Fei Long stood and looked out into the garden. Beyond the glow of the lanterns, there was nothing but dark and formless shapes.

‘I think of you, Yan Ling, more than I should.’ A wave of longing struck him. ‘When I see your face at night, I don’t see the tea girl or the elegant lady. I only see you.’

He could see her now, even though he couldn’t face her.

‘I think of you, too.’

Her soft confession nearly unravelled him. He had to get this all out and be done with it.

‘If I acted on these feelings, if I…if I took what I wanted, it would be an abuse of authority. You’re under my care. That was what I meant when I spoke of our positions. I won’t treat you like that.’ His mouth twisted. ‘As if you’re here for my pleasure.’

The whisper of silk told him Yan Ling had risen. She approached him while he counted each step with the thundering beat of his heart.

‘You told me I wasn’t your servant,’ she said.

‘You aren’t, but that doesn’t change who I am.’

He turned before she could reach him and took a step away. They had to keep their distance. Yan Ling came closer anyway.

‘The only hours of the day when I’m truly awake…’ her lower lip trembled ‘…are when I’m with you.’

He dug his nails into his palms. It was the same with him, the very same. Yan Ling was his sanctuary, a butterfly trapped within cupped hands. But no one could ever keep a butterfly. He’d have to let her go.

‘You have a future in Khitan as a princess. Here, there’s nothing but ruin and sorrow.’

She was close enough to touch. He could smell her perfume.

‘I’m not afraid, as long as we would be together,’ she said.

‘No.’

Her voice rose. ‘If I’m not your servant, then I can choose.’

He was suddenly weary. ‘I’m asking you not to. It would be pointless.’

The finality of it sank deep into him. He was tempted to tell her about the debt, the dishonour that hung over them, and how he sometimes wished he wasn’t shackled with this duty. But the shame of it stopped his tongue. He’d vowed to shield her from all fear and uncertainty so he swallowed the secrets like a bitter poison.