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Authors: Mary Jo Putney
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prostitute. But Hugh Montgomery would not have been pleased to see his only daughter as a fraudulent clerk, ashamed to raise her head or look anyone in the eye. When she was small he'd told her bedtime stories of Mary, Queen of Scots, who'd led her men into battle with her long red hair flaring behind like a banner. He'd explained how in Britain women were forces to be reckoned with, not humble creatures with less value than even the least important man.
And he'd raised her to be a Christian who believed in heaven, and who had no need to make offerings to the dead so that they could survive in the shadow world.
Damn Maxwell ! It was his fault that she now remembered her childhood dreams of riding recklessly across Scottish moors, and arguing with men as an equal. Of being a woman and proud of it, rather than hiding her female garments like a shameful secret.
She set the smoldering joss sticks into a porcelain holder and rose to pace about the small room in agitation. Maxwell had no interest in her, except to the extent that she could appease his traveler's curiosity. He would not lie in bed at night, dreaming of her in his arms, as she would lie yearning for him…
Shaking, she came to a halt and pressed her hands over her face. Soon he would be gone, and she would be content once more.
Yet when she finally went to bed, she wondered bleakly if she would ever know peace again.
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Kyle awoke early the next morning, muscles aching ferociously from the kicks and blows he'd received. Troth must have decided that if Kyle was well enough to argue, there was no need to rouse Gavin Elliott. But Gavin must be informed now.
After splashing cold water on his face, he limped down the corridor to his friend's room, which also faced the river. Junior members of the firm had to make do with breezeless rooms looking onto narrow courtyards or toward the city wall.
When he knocked, Gavin called, "Come in."
Kyle entered to find his friend working on correspondence at his desk by the window. Wearing a loose Chinese robe and surrounded by a mixture of Western and Eastern furnishings, he was the portrait of a merchant prince. He'd recovered from the financial difficulties he'd inherited along with Elliott House and was well on his way to becoming one of the richest men in America.
Gavin gave a low whistle at the sight of Kyle's bruises. "What the devil happened? Did you decide your visit to Canton wouldn't be complete without joining a sailors' brawl on Hog Lane?"
"I only wish that was it." Kyle helped himself to a cup of tea from the tray on Gavin's desk, nodding with approval at the taste. "I like this blend. Lemon?"
"Right. It's the best yet, but I'll keep experimenting. And don't change the subject—what happened last night?"
Kyle settled carefully on a wooden chair. "I was lured from Hog Lane by the promise of singing crickets, then attacked by six members of a gang. They seemed interested in murder, not robbery."
"Good God!" Gavin laid down his pen. "That's unheard of. Within the Settlement, Europeans have always been completely safe. How did you escape?"
Kyle had already worked out an edited version of the truth. "Luckily I had a knife. Though I was roughed up some, I managed to return to Hog Lane without any serious damage. Jin Kang saw me—he'd been working late at the English Factory, and he helped me back here." Gavin crossed his arms on his chest, frowning. "Did Jin have any idea why you might have been singled out for attack?"
"He thought it might be the work of one of Chenqua's enemies. My damned title again—killing a lord would produce a far greater scandal than killing a normal person."
"Too true. Chenqua will take care of this—the men who attacked you will probably end up being sliced slowly into dog meat within the next forty-eight hours. But you'd better confine yourself to the hong until you leave."
"No." Kyle got to his feet. "There's already little enough of China that I can see. I'll be
And he'd raised her to be a Christian who believed in heaven, and who had no need to make offerings to the dead so that they could survive in the shadow world.
Damn Maxwell ! It was his fault that she now remembered her childhood dreams of riding recklessly across Scottish moors, and arguing with men as an equal. Of being a woman and proud of it, rather than hiding her female garments like a shameful secret.
She set the smoldering joss sticks into a porcelain holder and rose to pace about the small room in agitation. Maxwell had no interest in her, except to the extent that she could appease his traveler's curiosity. He would not lie in bed at night, dreaming of her in his arms, as she would lie yearning for him…
Shaking, she came to a halt and pressed her hands over her face. Soon he would be gone, and she would be content once more.
Yet when she finally went to bed, she wondered bleakly if she would ever know peace again.
Chapter 8
« ^ »
Kyle awoke early the next morning, muscles aching ferociously from the kicks and blows he'd received. Troth must have decided that if Kyle was well enough to argue, there was no need to rouse Gavin Elliott. But Gavin must be informed now.
After splashing cold water on his face, he limped down the corridor to his friend's room, which also faced the river. Junior members of the firm had to make do with breezeless rooms looking onto narrow courtyards or toward the city wall.
When he knocked, Gavin called, "Come in."
Kyle entered to find his friend working on correspondence at his desk by the window. Wearing a loose Chinese robe and surrounded by a mixture of Western and Eastern furnishings, he was the portrait of a merchant prince. He'd recovered from the financial difficulties he'd inherited along with Elliott House and was well on his way to becoming one of the richest men in America.
Gavin gave a low whistle at the sight of Kyle's bruises. "What the devil happened? Did you decide your visit to Canton wouldn't be complete without joining a sailors' brawl on Hog Lane?"
"I only wish that was it." Kyle helped himself to a cup of tea from the tray on Gavin's desk, nodding with approval at the taste. "I like this blend. Lemon?"
"Right. It's the best yet, but I'll keep experimenting. And don't change the subject—what happened last night?"
Kyle settled carefully on a wooden chair. "I was lured from Hog Lane by the promise of singing crickets, then attacked by six members of a gang. They seemed interested in murder, not robbery."
"Good God!" Gavin laid down his pen. "That's unheard of. Within the Settlement, Europeans have always been completely safe. How did you escape?"
Kyle had already worked out an edited version of the truth. "Luckily I had a knife. Though I was roughed up some, I managed to return to Hog Lane without any serious damage. Jin Kang saw me—he'd been working late at the English Factory, and he helped me back here." Gavin crossed his arms on his chest, frowning. "Did Jin have any idea why you might have been singled out for attack?"
"He thought it might be the work of one of Chenqua's enemies. My damned title again—killing a lord would produce a far greater scandal than killing a normal person."
"Too true. Chenqua will take care of this—the men who attacked you will probably end up being sliced slowly into dog meat within the next forty-eight hours. But you'd better confine yourself to the hong until you leave."
"No." Kyle got to his feet. "There's already little enough of China that I can see. I'll be
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