The notion made her feel quite gloomy. She shoved the emotion away resolutely.
Discovering the bathroom without any trouble, Marjorie was pleased to note that he had full indoor plumbing. She took advantage of it, slightly embarrassed to be doing so in a bachelor’s quarters, but more interested than abashed.
Delightful ginger-, sandalwood-, rose- and jasmine-scented soaps were heaped in a Chinese bowl on the wash stand. Marjorie recognized them from some he’d given to her and Loretta a while back. One of his patients had made them. Naturally. She actually smiled when she shook her head, thinking what a wonderful man he was, really, in spite of his tendency toward jocularity in the face of what Marjorie considered serious concerns.
The shake had been a mistake. She pressed her hand over her lump to prevent her head from falling off.
Nevertheless, and for the first time, she considered the possibility that Jason might use humor rather as she used strict manners: as a way of protecting himself from emotional pain by keeping people at a distance. It was an interesting notion, and she contemplated it as she explored.
His bedroom was quite lovely, considering its windows opened out onto one of the busier streets in the Chinese district. A good deal of noise entered through those windows. But they were accoutered with pull-down window shades and covered with filmy curtains that Marjorie suspected had been hand made for him by another of his patients, probably one of those poor slave girls, like Jia Lee. How sad their situation was. One could only thank Providence for one’s own life, she supposed, even when one’s own life didn’t seem exactly perfect.
The thing Marjorie appreciated most of all about Jason’s quarters was the lovely fragrance that permeated everything. Closing her eyes, she sniffed deeply. Then she opened her eyes fast when she felt dizzy. Stupid lump.
Some silk flowers stood in a gorgeous Chinese vase on his bureau, and when Marjorie leaned closer to inspect them, she realized that they were fragrant, too. How unusual. The bureau itself was covered with a perfectly splendid runner of embroidered Chinese silk with silken fringes. She sighed, thinking how nice it would be to have such things in her own room.
Actually, there was no reason she shouldn’t have such trappings; they were available right here in Chinatown. Marjorie wondered why she’d never thought about buying Chinese silks before, but not for long. She knew why. Buying Chinese silk would have been a departure from her rigidly structured life and, therefore, frightening.
What a bore she was!
Wandering back to the bed, she fingered the coverlet, which was also Chinese silk, this time in a brocade that was a feast for Marjorie’s eyes. Dreamily, thinking about Jason, alone amid all this beauty, she sat on the bed and then jumped when Jason himself suddenly appeared before her. The jerk made her lump ache, and she pressed it, frowning.
“Marjorie! You’re awake. How are you feeling?” Without a thought to propriety—not that it wasn’t already too late for that—Jason plopped himself down on the bed beside her.
“My lump hurts,” she said, trying to draw away from him.
He threw his arms around her, and she couldn’t. “Oh, God, Marjorie, I’m so sorry about all of this.”
She felt a little fuzzy, perhaps because she’d taken a teeny drop of laudanum before lying down to rest, at Jason’s command, since he said he wanted to keep an eye on her for a few hours. “Is it your fault this happened?”
He buried his face against her hair, and Marjorie opened her eyes very wide. This wasn’t right. This was wrong. This man, who was not her husband or even her fiancé, was out of bounds, holding her in this shocking manner and burying his face in her hair. The embrace felt so good, she had a hard time making herself care.
“It must be my fault.” His words were muffled, due to the aforementioned hair.
Marjorie said, “Oh.”
“I’m so, so sorry. Lo Sing and I don’t know who those fellows were or who sent them.”
That was moderately unsettling, Marjorie supposed, although, again, she couldn’t quite work up much indignation at the moment. In fact, undoubtedly because of her fuddled condition, she found herself struggling not to turn into Jason’s embrace and let herself go entirely. When she felt his lips on her neck, she almost swooned.
Head injuries, she told herself. They cause these problems.
That being the case, and because her loose behavior wasn’t her fault, she did turn into his embrace.
“Oh, Lord, Marjorie, I was so afraid for you.”
How nice. She said, “Mmm.”
“I’ll never forgive myself for what happened today.”
Dramatic, but also nice. She repeated herself. “Mmm.”
“Look at me.”
She did.
“God, your poor head.”
And with that, he bent his own head and captured her lips with his. Marjorie melted into the kiss as if she were accustomed to such embraces. His lips were gentle but insistent, and she found herself eager to allow them to do their best.
She meant their worst.
No, she didn’t.
She wanted this. She needed this. And whatever it led up to.
Did that make her an abandoned woman? She supposed it did. For once in her life, Marjorie discovered she didn’t give a hang. Convention could go chase itself. She, for once, was going to enjoy a new experience that was more interesting than food.
“You drive me crazy,” Jason mumbled into her hair. “I don’t understand it.”
Neither did Marjorie, but she was willing to accept whatever it was that seemed to draw the two of them toward each other. It made no more sense to her than it did to Jason. On the surface, they were as unlike as broccoli and newspapers. But oh, how good she felt at the moment. Her head didn’t even ache.
She didn’t realize her robe had come open until she felt Jason’s hand on her breast. How shocking. How terrible.
How absolutely, perfectly wonderful. She knew her nipples had pebbled under his tender assault. She guessed she should be embarrassed, but she wasn’t.
“You’re perfect, Marjorie.”
If her eyes had been open, she’d have blinked in surprise to hear such words coming from the lips of Jason Abernathy, the man whom Marjorie had come to consider the bane of her existence over the past few years. She almost come to the conclusion that she ought to act shocked, even if she didn’t feel shocked, when his lips replaced his hand on her breast, and the thrill was such that she forgot about acting any way at all.
Heaven. His touch, his lips, his hands, they were all heaven on her body. How fascinating.
“Everything will be all right, Marjorie. I promise you.” Jason’s voice was husky.
With a sigh, Marjorie sank back on the pillow, the fragrance of sandalwood wafting around her, and her conscience at bay. Everything would be all right. She had Jason’s promise on it. “Aye,” she whispered.
Her robe was completely open now. Marjorie lay in a soft bed of silk, and she felt rather like a pagan princess—if pagans had princesses—as Jason continued to caress her in places that Marjorie had never in her wildest imaginings dreamed could be caressed. She hadn’t once thought about how blissful making love to the right man would be, either.
That thought made her remember Leonard. Guilt assailed her so suddenly and so sharply, she cried out.
Jason pulled away from her, alarmed. “Marjorie! What is it? Did I hurt you?”
“Aye.” She gulped. “Nae. Och, Jason, I dinna know!” And she broke out sobbing.
As gently as if he were dealing with a newborn bairn, Jason took her into his arms and cradled her as she cried. “Marjorie, what’s wrong? Did I upset you? I’m so sorry.”
Her voice thick and shaky, she whispered, “It’s’na you, Jason.”
“Can you tell me about it? Did I frighten you? I didn’t mean to.”
“Nae.” He was being so kind to her that Marjorie’s guilt expanded to include him as well as Leonard. “I’m sorry,” she sobbed. “It’s
auw my ain fault.”
“Nuts. Nothing’s your fault, darling.”
Darling? Had he really called her darling?
But Marjorie wouldn’t allow herself to become distracted. Jason deserved an explanation for her strange behavior. He handed her a clean handkerchief that he’d grabbed from somewhere and that smelled sweet, and she mopped her eyes as he continued to cuddle her to his large, warm chest. His arms were strong, and Marjorie felt safe. She hadn’t felt safe for such a long time.
“I guess I got carried away, Marjorie. I’m terribly sorry. It was such a shock to see you injured that—”
She pressed two fingers to his lips. “It’s’na you, Jason. It’s . . .” A huge well of hurt rose in her chest, but she fought it down. “It’s that I just remembered.”
“Remembered? Remembered what?”
“It’s’na what. It’s whom.” She took a deep breath. She’d never talked about Leonard with anyone except Dr. Hagendorf since the horrible, horrible night he died. She couldn’t account for the urge to tell Jason about him, but she decided to give into it.
“A man?” he asked softly.
She nodded. “Aye. Leonard. Leonard Fleming. We were engaged to be married.”
Silence greeted this revelation. Marjorie dared to open her eyes and look at Jason. She was surprised to find that he appeared almost stricken. “Jason? What’s the matter?”
“I . . . I didn’t know you’d been engaged, Marjorie. Who was the fellow?”
“I just told you. Leonard Fleming.”
“But . . . who was he?”
“He was the chief steward on Titanic.”
Jason sucked in a breath.
“He died that night. He—” A sob interrupted her.
Jason’s arms tightened around her. “I’m so sorry, Marjorie. I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t know.”
“Nobody knew.”
“I’m so sorry.”
His voice conveyed such honest sympathy that Marjorie was strangely comforted. “You’ve lost a loved one, too, Jason.”
“Yes,” he said. “I have.” After a moment, he said, “But I knew it was coming, because Mai was sick. You had no warning.”
They stayed that way for a few minutes, wrapped in each other’s arms, neither speaking, Marjorie’s tears gradually drying up. It was she who spoke first. “I’ve nivver spoken of Leonard to anyone before, except to that alienist friend of Loretta’s.”
After a second or two, Jason said, “Will you tell me about him now?”
He sounded as if he truly wanted to hear her story. Marjorie hadn’t anticipated this, but she appreciated it. Bracing herself, because she wasn’t accustomed to confiding in anyone, she began. “We met during our employment, of course. I was a stewardess, ye ken, and he was a steward.”
A soothing noise issued from deep within Jason’s chest. Marjorie took it as a sound of encouragement. “I loved him.” She choked slightly. “I loved him dearly.”
“I know you did, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart? First darling, and now sweetheart. The endearments played upon Marjorie’s senses like a healing balm. How odd.
“And that night . . .” Another wave of pain stopped her voice for a moment. Jason only held her, allowing her all the time she needed, God bless him. “I was working on the first-class deck.” She almost chuckled, but couldn’t quite do it. “That’s where I met Loretta.”
“Good old Loretta.”
“Good old Loretta.” She paused to swallow the pain in her throat and take a strengthening breath. “And then, after I’d cleared the first-class deck and everyone was aboon—above, I mean, I went looking for Leonard.”
Jason shook his head, anticipating what was coming.
“We found each other, and he led me upstairs to the life boats.”
“I understand there weren’t enough of them.”
“Nae. There werena. But he found one and put me into it. I thought he would get in after me, but he didna.”
“Women and children first,” muttered Jason.
“Aye.” She heard the bitterness in her voice. “And he paid for my life with his ain.” Her breath caught in her chest with another stab of pain. “Och, God, that awful night.”
“I know he felt the price was low, Marjorie. He loved you and wanted you to live.”
She let that settle for a moment, pondering it, wondering if Jason was right. Unconvinced, she said, “I wanted him to live, too, though. I didna want to be alive in the world wi’out him.”
A deep, shuddering sigh escaped from Jason. “I understand, Marjorie. I understand completely.”
She looked up at him. “You felt the same, didna you, when you’re wife died.”
He nodded, and looked very, very sad.
They lay on his bed, wrapped up in each other’s arms for a long time. Marjorie didn’t know when she drifted off to sleep.
Chapter Thirteen
From the other end of the telephone wire, Loretta’s voice conveyed deep shock. And extreme titillation. Jason, who was worried sick about Marjorie, was not amused. “I’m keeping her here for observation,” he said sternly. “She took a terrible blow to her head.”
“Good for you, Jason.”
“I mean it, Loretta. This isn’t funny. Somebody hired two thugs to intercept us on the street. Marjorie might have been killed. And I don’t even know who the villain is.”
His words seemed to sober her. “I’m sorry, Jason. You’re right. Do you want me to move Jia Lee?”
“No. Just keep her locked in.” Thoroughly puzzled and furious that he hadn’t been able to spare Marjorie, he said, “I’m calling a private police firm to patrol your house.”
“You’d better hire them to patrol your clinic, too.”
Frowning furiously, he admitted, “You’re probably right.”
They hung up after a few more desultory words. After arranging with a private detective agency to patrol the Quarles’ home and his clinic, Jason went back to his office. The sun had set hours before, but Lo Sing had remained, waiting for Jason, because they both knew they needed to discuss the matter of the attack. As far as Jason knew, there were three possible sources of the bullies who’d attacked them on the street: The Chan tong, the Gao tong, either one of which might be worried about losing face in the community; and the white man who had imported Jia Lee. He suspected the last but didn’t have an idea in the world who the man could be. Lord, what a mess.
They didn’t solve the problem that night, either, although they discussed it for a couple of hours, picking the pieces of the puzzle apart until there didn’t seem to be anything left. And still, they had no answer.
“It’s unlike a tong to hire thugs to club people. They’d be more apt to send a hatchet man to do me in some night in a dark alley, although I don’t know why they’d bother. I’m no threat to anyone.” Except to whomever was so eager to get Jia Lee back. Why did they even want her back? He frowned, his confusion as complete and infuriating as ever.
Lo Sing finally said, “I don’t think any of the Chinese tongs would go after you, Jason. You’re too important to the community.”
Too tired to be flattered, Jason muttered, “Maybe. It’s probably the merchant. But who the devil is he, Sing? I don’t have a clue. Have you heard anything from anyone?”
Lo Sing, who looked approximately as exhausted as Jason felt, shook his head. “Don’t know. Could be any one of a number of importers, I suppose.”
“Damn.” They sat there for a few minutes without speaking. Then Jason swallowed the dregs of his tea, rose, and stretched. “I’m going upstairs. Are you staying here tonight?”
“Yes. I think I’d better.”
“I’ve hired a guard for the building.
“I know, but I’d feel better, knowing somebody’s here in the office.”
With a nod, Jason said, “Thanks. I know none of this is your problem.”
Lo Sing gave him a wry smile. “Everything that goes on in Chinatown is my problem, Jason.
You know that.”
Jason clapped him on the back. “I know. You’re a good friend, Lo.”
“Likewise.”
The two men parted, and Jason dragged himself up the stairs. In a way, he was glad he was so tired, because he wouldn’t be so tempted by Marjorie’s presence in his bed in his current state of exhaustion.
Or so he thought. As soon as he entered his room, tiptoed over to see how she was doing, and saw her lovely red hair spread out on his pillow, lust surged through him. Ruthlessly driving it back, he smoothed the hair back from her white brow, winced when he saw the bruising that had spread out around the bandage, and told himself he would just have to sleep frustrated that night.
Taking a blanket and pillow from the linen closet, he shucked off his coat and shoes, and tried to make himself comfortable on the sofa. Fortunately, he was so tired, he fell asleep even though his efforts failed.
He didn’t know how long he’d been sleeping when someone’s voice awakened him. Sitting bolt upright, he blinked into the darkness, unable to see a thing and wondering why his back ached and he was hearing voices. Then he remembered, and he listened harder.
“Och, nay,” Marjorie muttered. Jason heard the bedclothes rustle, as if she were thrashing about. “Nae, please.”
Befuddled, both by Marjorie’s words and with sleep, he turned a lamp on low, got up from the sofa, and tiptoed to the bed. The dim light made her appear almost magical. With her fair skin and beautiful red hair, she reminded Jason of a fairy princess from out of the books he’d read as a youngster. She seemed to be asleep and dreaming. To judge by the worried expression on her lovely face, her restlessness, and her mumbled words, the dream was not a pleasant one.
“Nae, Leonard, come wi’ me!”
With a jolt of painful clarity, Jason realized she was dreaming about her lost fiancée. He knew he shouldn’t be jealous of the late Leonard Fleming, but he was. Hell, he hadn’t even known Marjorie existed on earth back then, any more than she’d been aware of his existence. Nothing that went on in her life before he met her should matter to him. But it did, damn it all. Everything about her mattered to him.
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