She had a swift memory of their night in Feng-tang, when he’d forced her to leave him to save her from the fury of the mob. If she had saved his life, he’d also saved hers. She had no right to anger. It was time to put it aside, before it corroded her soul. “You may not plan on remarrying, but life is surprising. Don’t close the door to possibilities.”
Pearl Blossom chose that moment to make a mighty leap onto the table. As the kitten enthusiastically jumped toward the flower arrangement, Troth scooped her off the tabletop. “You’d best keep your door closed, my lord, or dangerous females may enter and assault your person and possessions.”
Cat on her shoulder, she pivoted around the bed and headed toward the door, wondering what woman would ultimately share that bed with him.
Not her. Never her.
Chapter 36
Damned if moving the bed didn’t help. Kyle’s nightmares subsided from regular horrors that woke him shaking in the night to occasional bad dreams. A vast improvement. His energy was also noticeably improved.
Unfortunately, none of that helped his relationship with Troth, who treated him with exquisitely polite coolness. A good thing she was keeping him at a distance, since his increasing strength was accompanied by a painful awareness of her.
This year England was cursed with an early, pleasant spring. All too soon it would be time for them to head north to Scotland—and when that happened, he knew in his bones that Troth wouldn’t return with him.
But at least she was leaving him the chi exercises. The morning sessions left him calm and relaxed, ready to face what the day had to offer. He had several sets of loose Chinese-style garments made for himself, with two more sets for Troth so she wouldn’t have to wear the same outfit every day.
Each morning she left the house silent as a cat, apparently indifferent to whether or not he joined her. He made a game of trying to intercept her when she left, or locate her in the gardens when he didn’t, since she varied her exercise locations depending on weather and mood. This morning she was already heading out when he glanced from his window, so he’d have to search.
He’d become good at guessing, and wasn’t surprised to find her in a small grove of fruit trees at the far end of the garden. With the trees flowering on a perfect spring morning, the location was irresistible, each puff of breeze sending petals drifting gently to the grass.
He paused at the edge of the grove, heart tightening as she moved gracefully through the shafts of sunshine that fluted between the branches. There was no one else like her, not in China or Europe or the Americas. This morning her hair was unbound, the dark mass swirling enticingly around her shoulders as she danced through the chi forms and blossom-scented air.
She turned and saw him, inviting him to join her with the warmest smile he’d seen in weeks. He fell easily into the tai chi patterns, visualizing energy flowing into him from the earth. The peace that unfurled within him was a balm. Though soon he’d be exercising alone, in hidden ways Troth would always be with him.
After leading him through three routines, Troth picked up a fallen branch and snapped the shorter branches off. “Now that you’re stronger, we can try some sparring. Have you ever seen pole fighting?”
“Not wing chun style, but I’ve seen quarterstaffs in England and Indian stick fighting.” He prepared a branch for himself. “These will break easily.”
“Bamboo would be better, but no matter—we’re not out to do damage.” No sooner had Kyle prepared his stick than she slammed hers to the ground, using the bounce to send a blow upward at him. He blocked it barely in time, sweeping her stick aside.
They fell into a swift, playful bout of strike and counterstrike, complicated by the fact that their sticks weren’t smooth. Kyle didn’t like the idea of hitting Troth, but she had fewer inhibitions and landed several stinging blows. But even she wasn’t fighting seriously—she could have done far more damage if she wanted to.
Becoming bolder as he recognized how adept she was at blocking him, he began to fight more aggressively. One swift rush sent her skittering up into the lower branches of a tree, setting off a shower of blossoms. Laughing, she said, “Well done! Did you learn to fight with a quarterstaff when you were a boy?”
He shook his head. “No, it was fencing with the best master in London. Not the same as stick fighting, but related.”
With a theatrical cry, she leaped from the tree, stick swinging. He whacked back, and was rewarded with a sharp crack as both branches shattered.
Ruefully Troth regarded the piece left in her hands. “Thus endeth the stick-fighting session.”
He tossed his broken branch aside, not wanting the sparring to end when both of them were enjoying it so much. “Maybe we can do the sticking hands exercise?”
“Very well.” She raised her arms and he pressed his against them.
Slowly she began making circles in the air as he attempted to maintain the contact. Was that her energy he felt flowing into him, subtly flavored with essence of Troth? Or was he just under the spell of her brown eyes and supple, perfectly fit form? Chi wasn’t the only kind of energy that was flowing between them. The attraction that had been building for weeks was in full spate this morning.
Smiling mischievously, she increased the pace and began to add footwork to the exercise, falling back or sidestepping deftly. Several times she almost eluded him, but he always managed to stay with her.
“You’ve become quite good,” she said a little breathlessly. “Perhaps I should try to throw you. The ground is soft enough here so I won’t do much harm.”
“Confident, aren’t we?” he said with a grin. “Go ahead, do your worst.”
She advanced, shifting her weight before suddenly sliding her leg behind his and knocking him over. As she’d said, the turf was soft.
He rolled to his feet and connected with her hands again. “A few more years of practice and I may be able to do that to you.”
Some of the enjoyment in her eyes dimmed. “You have only days to learn, my lord. Twenty-one, to be exact.”
Why the hell did she keep reminding him? With a stab of irritation he shoved hard against her right hand. As she effortlessly countered, he swept his leg under her, dropping her to the ground.
Falling, she grabbed and yanked, pulling him from his feet so that they sprawled on the turf in a complicated heap, Troth half on top of him. She laughed, her face inches from his. “You learn quickly, my lord. Remind me not to underestimate you again.”
Her hair cascaded silkily over his face and her breasts crushed against his chest, enticing as the fruit offered by Eve’s serpent. Their gazes locked and levity faded as deeper, more primal emotions coiled between them.
He should pull away, stand up, ignore what he saw in her eyes. Instead he said huskily, “You’re overestimating me if you think I can resist this much temptation.” He pulled her head down and kissed her. It had been so long, so very long….
Her lips opened, her tongue touching his. He responded like a starving man receiving manna from heaven. How could he have forgotten the raw power of what was between them? He wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her hard against him. “Dear God, Mei-Lian, I’ve wanted you so much. To touch, to hold, to love.”
“What…what about the chi?” she said breathlessly. “We don’t want to risk bursting into flame.”
“I already have.” Blood pounding, he rolled them over and kissed the satin curve of her throat. Her hands slipped under his loose tunic to caress his bare skin with electrifying effect. As her hands danced distractedly across his back, he raised her tunic and bared her breasts. She arched and moaned as his mouth covered her nipple, tugging as it hardened.
After almost a year’s hunger, he couldn’t get enough of her. Her pale, tender skin was faintly salty, delicious against his tongue. As he pulled off her loose trousers, a breeze scattered pink petals across her torso, a silken accent as he trailed kisses down her belly. Her legs separated under his hand, revealing her most secret fe
male places so he could worship them with tongue and mouth.
She cried out at the intimate kiss, her hips thrusting urgently and her fingers tangled in his hair with sharply erotic power. “Oh, Kyle, Kyle!”
Her passion inflamed him, making him want to return it a thousandfold. Make this last, give her an eternity of pleasure, absorb the untamed wildness of her gasps as they echoed among the trees. After a culmination that went on and on and on, she groaned, “Enough. Dear gods, enough, or I shall die.”
Panting, he rested his head on her belly, inhaling the intoxicating scents of sexuality. Her hands became a caress, stroking back his hair.
When she recovered her breath, she murmured, “Come to me now, my lord,” and tugged at his hair. “My yin calls out for you.”
He stripped, the cool spring air welcome against his heated flesh. She’d spoken truly, for her femaleness completed him as he buried himself inside her. Yin and yang, wholeness of body and spirit expressed in fierce movement and sudden taut stillnesses.
Together they spiraled higher and higher until she climaxed again, carrying him with her into a stunning plateau of ecstasy. Time vanished, leaving only sensation, and the captivating woman in his arms.
Tiring together, they slowed their frantic coupling to a tender, tidal rhythm where they matched each other breath for breath, pulse for pulse. Near exhaustion, he bent his head for a last kiss, wanting to inhale her essence into himself.
“In this, my lord, you are a master,” she breathed against his lips as she curved her hips upward and clasped him internally with voluptuous power.
He shattered in a final convulsion, and his long-withheld seed flooded into her. Mind-hazing rapture paralyzed him, then ebbed to leave anger at his shameful loss of control. “Damnation!” Gasping for breath, he rolled onto his side and held her against him, as if shielding her body with his arms would protect her from his mistake. “I’m sorry, Troth. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
His words were like a torrent of icy water, transforming her exhausted joy to ashes. How could she have been fool enough not to realize that it was her body he wanted to love, not her self? “Of course it was an accident. Dallying with a concubine should have nothing to do with the serious business of getting children.”
“Don’t speak like that.” He cradled her head against his shoulder, as if a gentle touch could mitigate the bitter sting of his words. “The issue here is that one doesn’t carelessly make children with a woman who doesn’t want them.”
She wrenched herself free and sat up, eyes blazing. “What a quandary that would be, if you had to decide between having an unwanted wife or bastardizing your own child. Don’t worry—I didn’t conceive that last time in Feng-tang, and it’s unlikely I did now. You and your precious patrimony are safe from me.”
He sat up, bracing himself with one arm while watching her as if she were a firecracker on the verge of explosion. “Do you truly believe I’m so intolerant that I would reject a child because it had mixed blood?”
She dropped her gaze, knowing she had been unfair. “I don’t think you’re intolerant.” On the contrary, he was the most open-minded man she had ever met, but tolerance was no cure for what divided them.
“Desire is pointless—dangerous, even—when there is no deeper foundation.” When there was no love. Yet now that they had coupled again, how could they keep apart as long as they lived under the same roof? It would be impossible. There was only one solution. With painful certainty, she said, “It’s time for me to leave.”
Shock flickered in his eyes. Trying to deny her real meaning, he said, “We could start for Scotland tomorrow.”
“There is no ‘we,’ Kyle.” She touched his cheek, aching. “We are more than old lovers, yet far less than mates. Being together is only hurting us both. I will go to Scotland alone.”
A muscle jerked in his jaw. “It hasn’t been a year and a day.”
“The handfast was a…a social fiction. There is no reason to continue going through the motions when the whole point is that we are not married, and never were. The handfast can run its course as easily when we are apart as together. More easily.” She stood, needing to get beyond the lure of touching him. “With or without your approval, I’m leaving, Kyle.”
His naked body dappled by sunlight, he sat on the grass as still as a Greek statue except for the clenching and unclenching of one hand. At last he said, “Take the travel coach—it will be more comfortable. And…and if you decide to return it will be ready to bring you back.”
“I won’t return, my lord,” she said softly. “What would be the point?” She pulled on her garments and braided her hair, wondering if they would have behaved so intemperately if she’d kept it tied decently back instead of wantonly loose. No, it was the playfulness between them that had proved their undoing.
He stood and dressed also, his hands clumsy with the simple garments. “Will you at least write now and then? Surely there is a strong enough bond between us for that.”
“Perhaps. But first I need to get away. Far away.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, an absurdly casual caress after the feverish intensity that had briefly fused them together. “I’m very glad to have known you, my dear lord.”
He raised her hand and kissed it. “And I you. I…I wish things were different.”
“So do I,” she said with soul-deep regret. “So do I.”
The travel coach would allow her to go like a turtle, with all her worldly goods on her back. It didn’t take long to pack. Calmly she bade farewell to the servants she knew best, as if her departure were part of a long-existing plan. Bessy the maid and Hawking the butler stared at her with great accusing eyes, but spoke no reproach. She wondered how much they guessed of the situation between her and Kyle.
Just before going down to the coach the next morning, she realized she still wore his ring. She pulled it off and set it on the dresser, then found the matching Celtic knotwork bracelet Meriel had given her. Family treasures were held in trust, and she was no longer a Renbourne. She never really had been. She set the bracelet around the ring so that they were concentric circles, like the rings of a tree.
Beyond anger, she turned and walked away for the last time.
Chapter 37
There were times and places to get drunk, and Kyle was in one of them. He’d managed to see Troth off in proper fashion, loading her down with cash and a draft on his bank in Edinburgh to keep her until he had a settlement drawn up.
She had behaved with equal formality, manners impeccable, expression inscrutable. After all, they had both known this was coming. Just…not so soon.
After a pleasant nod, she climbed into the travel coach. She’d refused the offer of a maid to accompany her; Troth could and would take care of herself. Her only companion was her little cat, safely stowed in a covered basket.
He memorized her still profile before the footman closed the door. Hard to remember that twenty-four hours earlier they’d been twined in the ultimate intimacy.
After the well-sprung coach had rolled out of sight along the newly curving front drive, he’d gone upstairs to her bedroom. He’d never entered while she was here, but he wasn’t surprised to see that the room had changed from his vague memories from seven years before. Furniture had been rearranged, hangings and decorations changed.
The effect was pleasant, but chillingly empty. All her possessions were on the coach heading to the Great North Road. There wasn’t a shred of evidence that she’d lived here, except for her abandoned ring and bracelet. There was a terrible finality in the precise way she’d left them, one inside the other.
Saddling Nelson, he went for a blazing gallop over the hills. When they’d both tired, he converted his ride into tenant visits, a proper landlord checking on conditions during spring planting.
In younger days he’d felt suffocated by these responsibilities, with the implication that he was tied forever to the estate. Oddly, now he enjoyed the work even though he’d never hav
e Dominic’s genuine passion for farming. In the past, he’d always been a conscientious steward of the family properties. In the future, he would also find satisfaction in being part of the eternal cycles of the land.
Estate documents and correspondence kept him occupied until dinner. He ate in solitary splendor, face impassive. Then he retired to the study and set out to become seriously drunk. Not too quickly—that would be vulgar. A genteel lowering of the level in the brandy decanter should have him pleasantly foxed by mid-evening, and ready to retire upstairs, probably under his own power, an hour or two later.
Perhaps he should go to London. There were plenty of distractions there: endless entertaining, friends he hadn’t seen in years, more time with his father.
Marriageable young ladies and ambitious mothers who would love to capture the next Earl of Wrexham.
He shuddered at the thought. Best to avoid London during the Season.
He was on his fourth glass of brandy when he heard distant voices in the entry hall. Hawking and someone else, probably a footman.
Then the study door opened and his brother entered in travel-stained clothes, as casual as if they’d dined together an hour before. “Ah, perfect. A glass or two of brandy will dispel the chill. It was a long ride.”
Kyle stared, knowing he was nowhere near drunk enough to be hallucinating. “What the devil are you doing here?”
“Just passing by, so I thought I’d spend the night at Dornleigh.” Dom poured himself a glass of brandy and settled into the other wing chair.
“Dornleigh is not on the way from Shropshire to anywhere you could possibly want to go.”
“So I lied,” Dominic said peaceably.
A footman arrived with a tray of food. Dom directed him to set it on a side table, then asked for a fire to be built. Kyle waited until the footman had complied and left before saying dryly, “Go ahead, make yourself at home.”
The China Bride (Bride Trilogy) Page 26
