Authors: Mary Jo Putney
Now Troth's changes made him recognize how much he could reshape his environment. Though his patrimony was still a sacred charge, the weight of Dornleigh lessened in his mind. As furniture and art and curiosities he'd sent back from his travels became part of the house's new look, he began to enjoy his home. Amazing.
Troth herself was a mixed blessing. He craved her company, and they spent a good part of each day together, starting with
chi
exercises in the garden or a ride across the estate, then her feng shui work. In most ways she was an easy and stimulating companion, interested in everything and full of fascinating information from her own background.
But there was a painful lack of anything personal between them. Though Troth was always amiable, she revealed none of her private thoughts. Worse, she frequently mentioned the time remaining before the end of their handfast. The constant reminder was a sword of Damocles poised over his head.
"Smith, place that against the wall. What do you think, my lord?" Called back to the present, Kyle studied the circular gilt-framed mirror that a footman was holding in place. "Hang away. Interesting how the mirror brightens the area and makes it seem larger. More alive. Where did you find this? I don't recall ever seeing it before."
"In the attics. There is enough furniture there to redecorate the house twice over." She regarded him thoughtfully. "It's time to do your bedroom." He blinked, startled. "Is that necessary?"
"Yes." Without further discussion, she swept from the morning room and up the stairs to his bedroom.
By the time he caught up with her, she was standing in the middle of his room, scanning the area with narrowed eyes.
"Since this is your private area, it needs careful adjustment to keep your energy in harmony," she said briskly. "With that huge globe in your travel sector, of course you were always panting to run off. Worse, the bed is in the coffin position and must be changed immediately. No wonder you have not yet recovered fully."
"Coffin position?" He regarded the canopied bed on the opposite wall, its massive carved footboard jutting toward the door.
"Corpses are laid out with their feet facing the door before a funeral. Good for the dead, very bad for the living." She consulted the compass she had commandeered for feng shui use. "For your best rest, the bed needs to be moved to that wall."
"The room has always been arranged this way."
Her brows arched. "And you always wanted to leave, didn't you? Your instincts were correct."
He thought of the ghastly prison nightmares that still haunted him. If sleeping differently might lessen them, it was worth trying. "Very well, shift away."
"You'll sleep better, feel better."
Silhouetted against the window, Troth was an entrancing sight in her European gowns. She wore her skirts with grace and enticing sensuality, reveling in her freedom to be a woman. He had a swift, disorienting vision of scooping her onto the bed and making love to her.
His strength was definitely coming back.
While the furniture was being repositioned, Troth left to collect several decorative items Kyle's bedroom needed. When she returned, the footmen had finished their work and Kyle was settled in a wing chair with Troth's kitten, now named Pearl Blossom, in his lap. She guessed he'd picked Pearl up to prevent her from being crushed in the confusion, but the kitten, little traitor, was perfectly happy to sit and purr for him.
On a table in the southwest corner of the room, Troth set a cut-glass vase filled with flowers from the glasshouse. She'd done the arrangement herself, and given standing orders to the maid to make sure the flowers were always fresh. Dying flowers were bad feng shui. "This is an auspicious place for cut glass."
Kyle's gaze lingered on the globe's new position. "I think I shall like your alterations."
"You will." Troth produced a pair of ceramic Mandarin ducks she'd found packed away in the attic. It was her private joke—or perhaps gift—to improve the feng shui in the section of Kyle's bedroom that ruled romance and relationships. Mandarin ducks were a symbol of romance and fidelity. Always two—not one, not three, but two.
She'd silently balanced relationship sectors all over the house without explaining what she was doing. Kyle should be married within a year. Perhaps even Wrexham would find himself a comely widow when he returned from London and spent a few months in the house. Or perhaps not. She and Kyle agreed that the earl's personal apartments were not to be altered without his consent.
She placed the ducks beside the sparkling vase. "These Mandarin ducks were made in China. Very auspicious."
"I like having a piece of China in here."
She turned the ducks so they faced each other. "Twenty-eight days left." His faint smile vanished. "Where will you go when you leave here, Troth? What will you do? What would you like to do?"
Her hands stilled on the brightly glazed ornaments. "Perhaps I shall stay in Scotland. Find a little cottage and learn to raise sheep."
"A lonely life."
"At least I should be able to afford living like that. Though perhaps not. I have the money left from what you gave me before we left Canton, plus a sum from Gavin Elliott as heir to your shares in Elliott House. Properly speaking it all belongs to you and should be returned. I've thought about seeking a clerk's job in a trading house in Edinburgh or London."
"You are not going to be driven penniless into the night," he said with exasperation. "I've always intended to settle an income on you—enough so you can be comfortable the rest of your life."
Her mouth twisted. "Wrexham suggested two thousand pounds a year, but that would be a great waste of money. No need to buy me off when I'll leave for nothing."
"Damnation, Troth! You're prickly as a hedgehog." He set Pearl Blossom on the floor and rose from his chair. "Stop throwing my father's wrongheaded notions at me. There is no question of 'buying you off.' You saved my life. Since I put a high value on that, why shouldn't I give you an annuity as a token of my gratitude?"
Gratitude. Another form of obligation. Simmering with anger, she said,
"A hundred pounds a year will keep me well enough. You mustn't waste your patrimony on a former mistress. Better to keep the money for your pure-blooded sons and daughters."
He stalked to the table and glared at her over the bouquet. " Let me repeat: the question of 'pure-blooded' children will not arise, since I have no intention of ever remarrying. I'm no damned good at it." She'd never seen him this angry before, not with her. Why was she goading him, implying that she was being ill-used by him and his family?
His father was a gruff old bigot, but Kyle had always been unflinchingly honest with her. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't love her. 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.
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…