“I brought your tea. I am glad, by the way, that you have developed a taste for it. I collect coffee is near unobtainable in China.”
“Why have you come?” she repeated crossly.
“Because I love you, Teresa.”
Now she did turn, a questioning look on her worn face. “Love me? But you are betrothed to Muriel.”
“Muriel is betrothed to your cousin.”
“Oh!” She paused. “So that is what Annie tried to tell me. It is very noble of you to give her up to him.”
“It is not in the least noble. I have been wishing myself free of that entanglement this age. You are the only one I love.”
“Then why,” she cried, “oh, why did you call out to Muriel when Scrawny Sid shot you?”
“I did?” he asked, startled. He thought back to that moment. “What exactly did I say?”
“Just ‘Muriel.’”
A grin of delight and relief spread across his face. “Is that why you ran away? Of course, it must be. You could not guess that I was just trying to tell you that Muriel and your cousin Tom were obviously in love and I was free at last.”
Teresa’s resistance was at an end. She threw herself into his welcoming arms.
Manfully ignoring the pain in his ribs, he pulled her to him and buried his face in the black waves of her hair. “I do love you, Teresa. Do you think you can ever come to care for me?”
She looked up at him, and the warmth in her dark eyes made him tighten his clasp. “I have loved you a long time, Andrew. Even when I thought it was quite hopeless.”
Despite his joy, the ache in his side warned him to sit down. Fortunately the chaise was just behind them. He pulled Teresa down at his side, his arm about her shoulders, her hands in his. She snuggled against him.
“My darling, will you come adventuring to China with me?”
A glimmer of a smile turned up her lips. “As your
chère amie?”
“You promised six months since not to talk to me of lightskirts, my incorrigible sweetheart. No, as my wife.”
“May Annie and Gayo go with us?”
“Of course, if you swear not to teach Gayo to swear in Chinese.”
“I swear. I will go anywhere with you, Andrew.”
He bent his head to kiss her.
Gayo took exception to this. “
Cochon!”
he shouted. “
Canaille! Sacré nom d’un chien!
”
Distracted from his purpose, Andrew glanced at the parrot reproachfully. “Chef Jacques, I suppose,” he murmured. He looked down at his beloved to share his amusement.
At last their lips met.
“What a pity,” sighed Gayo.
Copyright © 1989 by Carola Dunn
Originally published by Walker
Electronically published in 2003 by Belgrave House
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
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This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.