Seger, Maura (11 page)

Without taking his gaze from the slender, straight-backed young woman before him, he moved toward her. The faint shadows beneath her eyes and the tightness of her mouth hinted at emotions she was struggling to hide.

For a moment, it was all he could do not to reach out to her, to soothe away her fears and promise everything would be all right. Guilt at what he was putting her through threatened to make him forget the wrong she had done him.

Only the memory of her body, warm and pliant in his arms, strengthened his resolve. It would do her no harm to find out that she could not trample on a man's heart and still expect him to remain bedazzled by her charms.

Accompanying her back to the carriage, he spoke briefly with his assistant. As he did so, Erin climbed back up onto the buckboard. She sat with her eyes downcast and her hands tightly folded in her lap. When Storm settled into the seat next to her and picked up the reins, she did not look at him.

"I'll arrange to have this returned to the Carmodys' later today," he said as he urged the horses to a brisk trot.

Erin merely nodded. Out of the corner of her eye she was aware of him glancing into the back, where her small trunk lay.

"Don't you have any other luggage?"

She shook her head. "I find that quite enough." If he thought her wardrobe less than adequate for the role he was thrusting on her, too bad. With the single exception of the dress she had worn to the Carmodys' dinner party, her clothes had little to recommend them beyond being clean, comfortable and well-suited to her active life. She was not about to give them up in favor of the cumbersome garments weighed down with lace and ribbons that she had once worn.

Storm shrugged, making it clear that her clothes were hardly his prime concern. The appraising look in his eyes seemed to see right through her modest cloak and neat skirt and blouse to the satiny skin beneath.

A pulse beat in his lean jaw, and the rugged lines of his face were drawn even more harshly than usual. If she didn't know better, she would have sworn he was a man wrestling with his conscience.

From some hidden wellspring of courage she found the nerve to ask, "Are you certain this is what you want? It isn't too late to change your mind."

The moment the words were said, she knew she had made a mistake. Lightning flashed in his quicksilver eyes. A wave of anger, almost smothering in its intensity, reached out to engulf her. The smile that curved his hard mouth held nothing of humor. He might have been a wild predator baring his teeth to attack.

"Don't credit me with principles I gave up a long time ago, Erin. I know exactly what I want and I intend to have it. Nothing you can say or do will convince me otherwise."

She had no choice but to believe him. But it still surprised her to discover how much pain his words could cause. They might have been swords, so brutally did they pierce her illusions.

Why should the knowledge that he was unencumbered by scruples cause her such dismay? Was it because she remembered him as he once was, a young, idealistic man ready to lay down his life for his beliefs? Now he seemed interested only in accumulating so much wealth and power that nothing would ever again be able to threaten him.

All his finer, gentler feelings appeared to have been blown away by the searing wind of tragedy. The tender compassion she thought she had seen in him the day before must have been nothing more than her imagination trying to give reality to her most cherished memories of him.

She would do well to remember that, Erin told herself as she sat stiffly beside him in the buggy. Her situation was bad enough without worsening it through indulgence in romantic fantasies that could never come true.

The jolting motion of the matched pair of bay horses pulling the vehicle knocked her against him. She pulled back instantly, as though burned. Storm shot her a sardonic glance. "You'll have to get used to that, you know."

Momentarily confused, she forgot her resolve to remain unaffected by anything he might do or say. Her voice shook slightly as she asked, "Get used to what?"

"To my touching you, of course. You do understand that's part of our... arrangement?"

The wave of color that stained her face was inspired as much by anger as by embarrassment. Was it really necessary for him to rub her nose in it? "I have no difficulty understanding business deals," she informed him frostily. "But even if I did, your terms were unmistakably clear."

She turned away too quickly to see the corner of his mouth twitch in what looked suspiciously like a grin. "I'm glad to hear it. That makes everything so much simpler, don't you agree?"

Erin shrugged, refusing to answer him. She stared out at the passing street, pretending great interest in the new protective measures being rushed into place by the shogun.

Already the shops damaged by the rampaging attackers were being quickly repaired, the burned merchandise was hauled away, and the bloodstains were scrubbed from the wood-plank walkways. New bamboo awnings were being lifted into place above the display windows, new signs were being carefully painted, and the usual bustle of the market was slowly resuming.

But none of that detracted from the wariness evident in the watchful eyes of heavily armed samurai, the guarded behavior of Western visitors, all of whom now had handguns strapped to their sides, and the nervousness of the Japanese merchants caught in a vise which threatened to destroy everything they had worked more than two decades to build.

"Have the men responsible for the attack been caught yet?" Erin asked. Her need to know what lay behind her own brush with death was so overwhelming that she was even willing to turn to Storm for information.

From Ned she had been able to gather only that the entire city was in an uproar, the diplomatic community stunned, and no one with any clear idea of what might happen next. She could hardly blame the young consular officer for being dazed by the assault, but she was willing to bet that at least a few people had a much firmer grasp of what had happened, and that Storm would be among them.

He did not disappoint her. Waiting until the buggy was out of earshot of any curious passersby, he said, "Unfortunately, the few attackers who didn't manage to flee the area couldn't be questioned. Before there was any chance to take them alive, they committed suicide."

"Suicide?
But that's horrible. Why would they do that?"

"It's a Japanese tradition. All fighting men follow the code of Bushido, which translates roughly to 'the way of honor.' The greatest dishonor possible is to be defeated in battle. That failing goes far beyond what a Westerner might consider the worst sin. It is so bad that the only possible response to it is to leave this life as quickly as possible, namely by one's own hand."

His explanation only worsened Erin's dismay. Her vivid memories of the many young men she had seen die despite their desperate struggles to hold on to life made suicide seem a particularly obscene act. She could not hide her repugnance as she said, "You sound as though you approve of men killing themselves."

"No, I do not. But if I have learned anything in Japan, it is that making too swift value judgments about other people's way of life is usually an expression of bigotry. Bushido has worked well for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years. It is well worth trying to understand."

His obvious sincerity softened her outrage. More gently she asked, "But isn't it also extremely difficult to ever reach past the surface and achieve even the slightest grasp of what is really going on underneath? I've been in Japan only a few days, yet already I feel as though I could easily spend the rest of my life trying to get to know these people."

Storm shot her an assessing glance. "Are you saying you would consider staying here?"

"Why, no . . . that is, I can't stay, even if I did want to. My business is in the States."

"I thought all that was left were your two ships?"

"Yes, but once I get them back, I'll need to set up an office somewhere, perhaps in San Francisco." Aware that he might easily belittle her aspirations, she said stiffly, "You may as well know that I intend to stay in the Japan trade. Whatever the difficulties, it provides the best opportunity for me."

"I don't dispute that," Storm informed her mildly. "But why do you automatically presume you have to be based somewhere like San Francisco? You can run such a venture just as successfully from this end. I do."

"It's different for you." Unwilling to admit the problems she had encountered with the merchants, she saw no reason to elaborate. But Storm understood her all too clearly.

"Perhaps I should have warned you about how Japanese men regard doing business with a woman. But I was sure you wouldn't believe me. It seemed to be a lesson you had to learn on your own."

The knowledge that he was fully aware of her predicament strained Erin's already overburdened temper. Angrily she snapped, "Dare I hope there is nothing more you believe I need to be taught?"

"That depends," he muttered, his bronzed hands tightening on the reins.

Erin's eyes were drawn to them irresistibly. All too clearly she remembered how they felt moving over her body. Hardly aware that she did so, she asked, "On what?"

His mouth thinned to a sardonic line. "On how well you please me, of course." As she turned away quickly to hide her embarrassment, he continued remorselessly, "I may as well warn you right now that you are up against considerable competition. Japanese women are raised from birth to serve men in all possible ways."

Against her better judgment, Erin snapped, "I suppose that is one custom you do not hesitate to approve?"

"Hardly. What could be more delightful than for a man to find himself in a country where every female is devoted to fulfilling his slightest whim? Frankly, my dear, you couldn't have landed in a better place. From what I can see, your education in that area has been sadly lacking."

Long years of self-discipline enabled her to bite back the sharp retort that trembled on the tip of her tongue. But it could not wipe out her increasing nervousness as they neared Storm's home. The full implications of what she was doing were only just beginning to sink in.

Once she entered that house, she would be subject to anything he might choose to demand. Her ignorance about precisely what went on between a man and a woman behind bedroom doors did not prevent her from realizing that she could be badly hurt. Not only her body, but her heart and spirit could suffer enormously.

Her throat tightened painfully as she fought against an almost overwhelming upsurge of fear. Faith in her own instincts made her believe that Storm was not truly capable of harming her. But what if she were wrong? What if the romantic fantasies she had already resolved to disregard were affecting her more than she thought?

Glancing up at him, she was surprised to find his eyes focused on her narrowly. "It's a bit late to have second thoughts."

"I wasn't…"

He laughed mockingly. "Of course you were. Whatever else you may be, you are hardly stupid. However, just to be sure there are no misunderstandings between us, let me spell out the situation. Once you step inside my home, I will take that to mean that you are in full agreement with our arrangement and I will behave accordingly. You will have no opportunity to change your mind or to try to back out."

As Erin tried to interrupt to insist she had no such intention of doing either, he ignored her and went on relentlessly, "Nor will there be anyone to rescue you. If you have any ideas about appealing to Ned for help, forget them. He is far too aware of the need to maintain good relations with the business community to risk my anger. Besides, by coming here of your own free will, you have provided him and anyone else you might appeal to with a built-in excuse for refusing you aid."

His gaze swept over her lingeringly, taking in every delicate line and gentle curve of her slender body. "The prideful belle of Boston is about to become a fallen woman. I wonder how you will react to the experience."

Prideful?
Was that how he thought of her? Perhaps he was right. Certainly it was pride that enabled her to face him expressionlessly, all her fears hidden behind a frozen mask.

"I daresay I will react as well as I have to other grim experiences in recent years. Nothing you can do can be worse than the sight of a young man bleeding to death from severed limbs, or the stench of decay so thick as to be suffocating, or the sounds of dozens of soldiers screaming in agony until their throats were raw."

She hadn't meant to reveal so much of what her life had been like during the war, but when she had done so, she was glad. Whatever else she might have accomplished, she had at least managed to silence Storm. Beneath his tan, his skin was oddly gray. She did not dare look at him closely enough to try to read the expression in his eyes, but she suspected his callous bravado was at least dented. He did not attempt to provoke her further as they completed the journey through Yokohama and arrived in front of his home.

Chapter Eight

Erin studied the house curiously. The day before, she had been too upset to take in much about it. Now she made up for that with a careful appraisal that missed little of the subtle interworkings of nature and craftsmanship. Once past the perimeter wall, it was immediately apparent that what appeared bare and uninviting from the roadway was in fact a refuge of remarkable beauty and comfort.

Given as she was to preferring uncluttered spaces and simple designs, Erin had no difficulty appreciating the clean lines and discreet ornamentation of the house. It did not disturb her that two of the four outside walls were nothing more than sliding screens built around a dark wood frame. The idea of being able to open the entire residence to the sun and air delighted her. Nor did the unpainted plank walls of the remaining two sides look unappealing. She recognized how the subtle weathering of the wood had created patterns no artist could ever duplicate.

Small, enchanting details were revealed wherever she chose to look. The lintel above the entrance was made from a twisted, bleached piece of driftwood. Its austere lines were echoed in the brush strokes of a water-color decorating the sliding door of an alcove just off the vestibule.