Tempted Tigress (21 page)

Chapter 9

Zhi-Gang waited until the governor's wives left the room. The wailing started soon afterwards, about five steps into the hallway. Long enough for the First Wife to remember that she was supposed to grieve for her husband's death, not feel complete and total relief.

That's what he'd seen in the seconds after he'd delivered the news: blatant relief. The youngest wife had even flashed a shaky smile. Even if Zhi-Gang hadn't understood the governor's character before, the wives' expressions—complete with ugly bruises—told him that China was better off without Governor Bai.

Unfortunately, false grief was usually much, much louder than real grief. He closed his eyes as the sobs crested to a head-splitting shriek before beginning again. Tradition demanded forty-nine days of wailing for a husband. He intended to be gone in the morning. As for now, he had an errant wife to interrogate.

She was dressed beautifully in black silk that hugged her lush breasts but remained too loose around her waist. In Peking he would hire the best seamstress and shower her in gowns that accented her full curves. Except, of course, they were not going to Peking. As the Enforcer, he had full authority in the wilds of China. If he wanted a white woman, no one would dare question him. But in Peking, politics muddied everything. No one could predict how the Empress Dowager or the white ambassadors would react to such a thing. Zhi-Gang might be thought of as progressive, or more likely assassinated as an example to all.

He sighed and settled into the nearest chair. Anna remained seated across from him, her body completely stiff, her eyes wide with anxiety. Though he hated to see the panic in her expression, he could do nothing to alleviate it. He had to know the truth. And for that to happen, she had to fear him.

He sighed. "That was a wonderful story you created. You are a gifted liar."

She swallowed, and he watched her grip her hands together. Probably to stop them from shaking. But when she spoke, her voice was steady and strong enough to be heard over the wives' wailing.

"They needed the fantasy. Women need to believe in love."

He frowned, thrown by her response. "Why?"

"Because there is so little of it in this world."

"So, you do not really believe in it, do you?"

"So, you are not really going to let me leave China alive, are you?"

He blinked, startled. He had not expected her to challenge him. And yet, he found himself smiling at her spirit. "I stand by my word to help you escape China. It makes little difference to me if you get onto a boat or are dead and buried, so long as you disappear."

"Then let me go. I want nothing more than to escape your horrid country."

He shook his head. "But we are desperately in love according to your story. How would it look if you left now?"

She had no answer, so she dropped her gaze to her hands. Odd, how perfectly she appeared a demure Chinese wife. And yet underneath...

"You are not really a nun," he said. "And the opium that Jing-Li used was yours."

Her eyes leaped to his at the word
opium,
but then the blood drained from her face.

"Yes," he confirmed. "Jing-Li smoked it with the boat captain and his family. I think I destroyed the rest, but I cannot be sure." He shook his head. "I dare not sail again until any remaining drug is gone. An opium-dazed captain is very likely to sail us straight into the rocks."

He fell silent, watching her closely. He saw her struggle to control her expression, fighting to hide the desperation and longing he had seen too many times.

He sighed, feeling the painful truth deep in his bones. "You are an addict."

She flinched, but did not deny it.

"Now where," he mused, "would a white woman get so much opium?" He looked across the room at his beautiful wife—the liar and cheat. "You are a runner. You pretend to be a missionary, carry the opium into the interior of China, sell it, then travel back to Shanghai for more."

She looked impossibly pale, but once again she surprised him with a steady voice, steady stare. "If that were true, then why would I be running south with the opium?"

He had wondered the same thing, spent most of the walk to Huai'an asking the same question. It was only moments ago as he had listened to her story of love and longing that he realized the truth. The secret that underlay her story was there for any who chose to listen.

She longed for something, craved it desperately, and when she held it in her hands could not bear to give it up no matter what the cost. She'd labeled it love in her story, but he knew the truth: she wanted opium, craved opium, would die for her opium.

He heard himself laugh, the sound unpleasant. "You are an addict caught in the same snare you set for my people. You ran because you could not bear to sell the drug you crave so desperately." He shook his head, surprised as always by such stupidity. "You must know you will be killed. If not by the buyer who has no opium now, then by the man who supplies you. And what did you intend to do when the poison ran out?" He shook his head. "Stupid, stupid, stupid."

"And how like a woman," she drawled, her voice matching his for dark humor. "To not think beyond the current moment. A smart man would skim little bits off the top. It's probably even expected as the normal price of doing business. Steal a little for myself, sell the rest. That way my supply would remain, I would still have the opium, and no one would be trying to kill me. But because I am a woman, you assume I cannot think that clearly."

Exactly so. But her tone indicated otherwise, so he leaned forward, ashamed of the hope that sparked in his breast. Could she be honest? Impossible, and yet he so wanted to believe in her. "Then tell me the truth. Who are you? Why are you carrying opium?"

She shook her head, confirming exactly what he believed even as she spoke in a completely different way. "Your friend," she said. "Jing-Li. Is he addicted?"

Yes. "We are not speaking of my companions."

Ignoring him completely, she pushed on. "And does he not do stupid things when he smokes? Says too much or too little? Shares things he does not have or own?"

Yes. And yes. And also no.
They were alive now because two eunuchs thought Jing-Li was too insensate from opium to understand that the Empress plotted against her own son. But he'd woken from his sleep too late to help the Emperor, and barely soon enough to save Zhi-Gang.

"Why?" he challenged. "Why do you ask?"

"What would you do," she answered, "if you were raised to... to run opium? If that was all you knew?"

"Whites have many choices. We did not ask you to come to China. We do not want you here."

She nodded. "And I do not want to be here. But Chinese or English—women have few choices." She abruptly pushed to her feet, anger fueling her movements. Anger, and a raw desperation that set her entire body to quivering. "I. Hate. This. Country. I hate the opium I carried. I hate the men who bought the damned drug, who poisoned the villagers who then destroyed their own lives with craving the evil thing. I saw them, you know. I saw the farmers and the children, the merchants and the leaders—all of them, one by one—after years of smoking, they came to the mission hospital. I saw them wasted and dying, still craving that last breath of dirty smoke. I saw them," she hissed.

"And you became one of them?"

"Yes!" Tears filled her eyes and she spun away.

Oddly enough, he never found her more beautiful than now, when fear and desperation left her with only raw honesty. But that did not change who she was. "So you stole the drug you carried. Why? To smoke it yourself?"

"No. Yes." She threw up her arms in disgust. "I don't know, and it doesn't matter anyway."

But it did matter to him. He wasn't even sure why. She was a confessed opium smuggler. He had the moral right and obligation to kill her for her crimes. The drug traffic had to end. Lenience had never been an option. Certainly not for the man called the Emperor's Enforcer. And yet, he didn't want to kill her. He wanted to understand.

"Where were you going?"

She didn't answer, but he saw her reach toward her neckline. She once wore a tiny Christian cross there, he remembered. Apparently the memory still lingered because she kept her fingers right above her heart, twisting and rubbing though she wore no ornament.

"Where?"
he abruptly shouted, and he saw her start in surprise, her hand dropping away from her throat.

She whipped around to face him. "England! Or Australia!" There was conviction in her whole body. She truly had meant to leave. But then she looked away. "It doesn't matter. I was leaving. I want to leave."

"With your drug?"

She threw up her hands in disgust. "I could not sell it anymore! It would only be sold to farmers, to mothers, to people who could not afford such a thing. Don't you understand? We sell ourselves, our heirlooms, even our children just for more of the damn stuff! I couldn't do that anymore. I couldn't." Her voice broke on a strangled sob as she turned her back to him.

He pushed to his feet, his instincts urging him forward, telling him to wrap her in his arms. She was in pain. He could see it in her tight body, hear it in her stuttered breath, even feel it in the air between them. But he was the Enforcer. He had to know the full truth. He had to know exactly who she was and what she did. Only then could he find a way to save her.

"What did you do?" he asked softly. "What did you sell?"

She shook her head, refusing to answer. And so this time he did go to her. He wrapped her in his arms and drew her close to his chest. Despite his intentions, he stroked her arms, surrounding her with his strength as he comforted her. And yet, he still had to know.

"What did you sell?" he pressed.

She trembled beneath his hands. Her entire body shook with the power of her emotions. He need only wait and she would tell him. He knew this, and yet part of him didn't want to know. Part of him wanted to help her hide from what she had done. "Marie—" he began.

"Anna," she whispered. "My name is Anna. And I don't know."

He blinked, confused by her words. "You don't know what?"

Her body stilled beneath his, her shoulders dropping in defeat. "I don't know what I sold. I was drugged already. And when I woke..." She swallowed, unable to go on.

He tightened his hold, willing his strength into her. And in time, she stumbled into speech again.

"I woke naked. There was blood where there shouldn't be. And I was sore, so sore." She shook her head. "I remember fighting him. Them. But I was too weak." She took a breath, her tears flowing freely. With a gentle touch, he urged her to turn around. She went easily, burying her face and her tears into his chest. "That was the first time I took opium. The other times..." She shook her head. "It was to forget the first."

"Who?" he demanded. "Who did this to you?"

She sighed. "Another runner. The one who taught me the trade." Then she abruptly straightened in his arms. In her eyes, he saw a haunting desperation. "Kill me, please. Do it soon... and quick. But first let me smoke a little more. Just a tiny bit. The First Wife has some, I am sure of it. Let her give me a little, then you can... you can do what you will, as you will. Take turns with Jing-Li. Whatever you want. Just give me a little to smoke first. Just a tiny bit and I won't fight..."