Lyon Hearted, page 6
HE did not understand. He didn’t see that already her heart was beating triple time and her hands were sweating where they were wrapped together. But at least she didn’t’ become breathless. She retained enough rationality to respond with reason.
“Where am I to put this money?”
“What?”
“Where would I put this money? In a bag in my bedroom to tempt thieves?”
“You put it in a bank. I can explain the process to you if it would help.”
“And will they honor that this money is mine? A Chinese woman with no protection?”
“Of course. Those are the rules.”
She stared at him, wondering if he was pretending to be stupid or if he truly didn’t know. A moment later, he flushed, showing that he did understand the problem.
“You will need a man to open the account for you. Someone you trust. But then the money will be held for you.”
“You mean him. I will not be able to get the money by myself.”
He grimaced, showing his teeth. “That is why it must be a man you trust.”
She let the silence hang. He leaned against the wall as he studied her.
“I could set up the account for you. I would give you full access and instruct the bank to respect your requests, but you do not trust me, so that is no inducement.”
“Are you so powerful that you could force them to honor your statement? Or would they forget again and again until you have to intervene?” She had heard Mrs. Dove-Lyon fume about just this problem, and that lady was a widow in control of a lucrative gambling den.
“That is a cynical thought.”
She didn’t respond. She didn’t have to.
“But not a false one, I gather.” His expression turned grumpy. “If I could find a way for you to control your money, then would you paint something for me?”
“One tiger does not rule the jungle.”
He snorted, a low sound that was as much grunt as laugh. “I am the tiger in this scenario?”
She certainly wasn’t.
“Well, this tiger has done business in many countries and with many banks.” He lifted his chin. “I will see this handled, Miss Lina, to your satisfaction.” He straightened off the wall as he looked at her. “But I get the impression that it wouldn’t matter, would it? It’s not about the money.”
He was a perceptive tiger.
“Can you explain to me why you will not consider selling your paintings?”
Because the very thought made her entire body itch. “They are mine, Lord Daniels.”
“Yes, of course they are. Why won’t you let me sell them?”
“Because they are mine.”
He frowned at her. He didn’t do anything more, and she was watching for every minute shift in his body in preparation for an attack. Nothing happened except his frown.
“You will not explain?”
She forced herself to find the words. “My paintings are my thoughts, my feelings—”
“Yes, of course. That’s why—”
“Listen!” She waited a moment while he pressed his lips together. “I was six years old when I began work as playmate and servant to the first daughter of the local Mandarin. My days and nights were given to that child until we were both grown. When her brother began to see me in a new way, his father sold me to a ship captain headed to England.” She did not tell him that it was her painting that revealed the love between her and the boy. Her first and only love turned into disaster. “Mrs. Dove-Lyon won me in a dice game and now I work for her.” She looked into the tiger man’s eyes and pleaded with him. “My paintings are not work, and they are not a thing to be sold like chattel. They are my feelings and heart stroked onto a page as a way of releasing them. To sell such a thing would be to sell anger or happiness. It is not possible.”
“It is possible. Indeed, I do it every day.”
She shook her head.
“Well,” he finally said, “I hope I can change your mind. Meanwhile, let me know if you need anything while working on the ledgers.”
She straightened, completely thrown. “I thought that was a ruse.”
He shrugged. “It was a convenience. I want you to study the ledgers and report to me if you find any errors.”
“Do you think there are any?”
“I don’t know. The steward is an ass, but that doesn’t mean he’s a cheat. And since I would like you to remain here while we get to know one another, I have hired you to do that task. Are you willing?”
“It is what Mrs. Dove-Lyon told me to do.”
He nodded. “Very good. I had intended for you to stay at the manor home, but as I said before, it’s under repair. You’ll need to work here. Do you have everything you need?”
“Yes.” Indeed, she had managed with a great deal less than what was provided in his cluttered office.
“Tell me or Mrs. Hocking if something comes up.”
She straightened then as she had been taught when she was a child. She stood still with her head bowed and hands clasped before her until she was dismissed.
He sighed as he stared at her. “I don’t beat people, Miss Lina. I’m a fair employer and an excellent art dealer. It is my hope that you come to believe in my good intentions and trust that I will do you no harm.”
She said nothing. She didn’t even look up. But in her mind’s eye she saw a fierce tiger watching her while in repose. He was not poised to strike, but only a fool would believe him harmless.
“I have seen your paintings, Miss Lina. I watched you create something bold and fierce. I can hardly reconcile that with what I see before me now. Will you please raise your head and look me in the eye?”
She did so because he commanded it. She lifted her chin, but kept her gaze lowered because to look a tiger in the eye was to challenge him.
“Meet my gaze, please. It makes it easier to see my sincerity.”
He was toying with her—cat to mouse—but she was not powerless. She looked up and met his eyes. What she discovered was that a tiger’s gaze was something more powerful than a normal man’s. Once she met Lord Daniel’s gaze, she stood utterly transfixed.
Her time in the Lyon’s Den had subjected her to all manner of men as they paid their debts or cashed in their chips. Privileged whiners who acted like spoiled dogs. Angry oxen who bullied but were dull witted. Sly monkeys who chittered and thieved. And occasionally, the bored dragons who gambled for sport and went away richer.
This was the first she’d locked eyes with a tiger. She expected to see darkness there and the absolute awareness that he could destroy her at his whim. Instead, she saw his green gold iris and a calm regard. Like a cat lazily stretched in a beam of sunlight. His demeanor was relaxed, and yet his power was undeniable. It was in his size and the muscles that adorned his body. But it was also in the flat awareness of himself as an apex predator. He did not need to preen. He did not beg. And he certainly did not need to bow to a woman. Indeed, he was forcing her to an awareness of her smallness before his greatness. He could order even the disposition of her eyes, and she could not naysay him.
“I am your employer, yes?” he asked.
She answered without thought. “Yes.”
“And if I ordered you to draw a painting for me?”
“I would make black dots on a piece of paper and hand it to you.”
He nodded as if he expected as much. “Black dots?” he said, humor curving his lips. “That is what you would paint for me?”
Like his eyes. Black dots surrounded by striations of grey and white. She would not use color. She could not compete with what nature had given him. But having been caught by them, that is what she would paint.
He sighed without sound. She knew it because his chest expanded as if with a deep breath, and then it deflated without once changing the pull of his eyes.
“Miss Lina—” he began, but she was angry at being trapped by his eyes. Angry that she had lost herself from something so smalls as a pair of eyes. So she spoke without thought, the correction blurting out like a mouse squeaking out defiance.
“Li-Na!”
“What?”
“Li-Na. My name is Li-Na. Two words” She narrowed her eyes. “You show ignorance every time you say it wrong.”
His brows arched. “Lina is not your surname?”
“It is not.”
“Then what is your proper name?”
She swallowed down a bitter retort. Instead, she spoke with brutal honesty though the words scraped her throat. “I have none.”
His head tilted in confusion. “I don’t understand. I thought everyone—even the Chinese—used surnames.”
“I might have had one as a child, but when I was given to the Zhong family, it was taken from me. I was simply Li-Na to them.”
“What do you mean, when you were given to them?”
How to explain something she barely remembered. “My parents brought me to the Zhong family head, the local mandarin. What you would call the local lord. I became servant to their young daughter.”
“Were you paid for this job?”
“I was fed and dressed. If there was payment, it went to my parents.” Her body softened slightly in memory. “They were happy years. The Zhong first daughter was kind.”
He held up his hand. “I don’t need to hear more. You were treated as a slave, and now you think you are one here. You are not. You can speak your mind, you can walk in the sun, you can spend your coin however you wish.”
“You mean, I can paint for you.”
“Yes! But not for me. For you. Whatever you want.”
He watched her closely, clearly hoping to see her change her mind. He wanted her to say, yes, sir, I will happily give my heart away! She clenched her jaw in denial. The tiger man might eat her, but he would not take her soul. And so she remained as impassive as a blank slate while in her mind, she drew dark slashes of restraints around him and an impenetrable wall between them. It was enough to hold her still while he waited as a great cat would.
In the end, he nodded.
“I understand. You are free to do whatever you want.”
“Do I check the account books?”
“Yes. But only until Mrs. Hocking comes. That was the arrangement I made with Mrs. Dove-Lyon. Afterwards you may walk the moors, dance in the sun, sing to the trees.”
Or paint.
And when she put brush to paper, he would lie in wait, stalking her and her art until he could take it for himself. Was she to give up everything in this life?
Not this. Her paintings were her own. She would walk in the sun, she would see this strange land, but she would not paint.
With that decision made, she curtsied to him. “I will start on the ledgers now.”
He nodded and waved her away. She began her work. She felt calmer once the abacus settled in her hand. The familiar sound of her calculations helped her relax. But not even the steady march of numbers could erase his two eyes from her thoughts.
Honey green tiger eyes that stalked her soul.
Chapter Seven
“She doesn’t have a last name. I spent an entire day calling her by the wrong name, and now what am I supposed to do? She doesn’t even have a last name!” Daniel paced in front of his sister-in-law, his body tight, his hands searching for something to do as he alternately clenched them or fiddled with his watch. The idea of a woman without a last name was so appalling to him that he’d rushed from the castle rather than vent his anger anywhere around Miss…er…Li-Na.
Nessie pursed her lips as her gaze watched him cross and recross the parlor. They were in her private room at the inn where she and her sons were residing while the manor home was repaired. It was a plain room with sturdy floors and hard chairs. But she seemed comfortable enough, as did her son, Joseph, where he sat in the corner playing blocks. Daniel, on the other hand, paced about the room.
“Why don’t you ask her what she wants to be called? You can’t really be blamed for not knowing her name if she doesn’t tell you it.”
Daniel paused and frowned at the woman. “Yes, of course, I will ask her. I was too angry at the time to worry about…” He dropped his hands on his hips. “Nessie, that’s not at all what I’m angry about.”
“Forgive me. What exactly is the difficulty?”
“She doesn’t act like a person. She’s always standing with her head bowed and her hands clasped.”
“Of course, she does. She’s a servant! Really, Daniel, you seem remarkably unsettled.”
“I assure you, no servant of mine has ever acted like a statue.”
“Well, you’re unusually free with your people. It’s one of the more unsettling things about you. I blame your travels.”
He sighed. Yes, he knew that any odd aspect in his personality was blamed on his travels. No one thought that perhaps he travelled because Cornwall was especially stifling to a younger son. “I’m aware that Peder thought it wasn’t respectable.”
His sister-in-law waved that aside. “It isn’t respectable, but Peder also pointed out that you provide work for those normally unfit for service.” She glanced to the side of the room where her eight-year-old son Joseph organized blocks in a long straight row. He was the sweetest boy Daniel had ever known, but there was no denying he was different. He had soft, flat features and his intelligence did not match his peers’. Even now at eight years old, he did not speak beyond a grunt or whistle. He was nonetheless loved by all, most especially his mother, though she clearly worried what was to become of him.
“About Joseph—” Daniel began, but Nessie obviously didn’t want to talk about him. She interrupted as if she’d never stopped speaking.
“Peder used to ask me how anyone different was supposed to survive. Was Mrs. Hocking to starve just because she doesn’t know how to smile? They started calling her a witch just because she cursed out the steward for cheating her on her pigs. But you hired her and now she’s got money to feed her boys.” She lifted her chin. “Peder appreciated your foibles, and so do I, now.”
Damned by faint praise. Daniel was used to being compared unfavorably to his brother. God knew he’d never been as fun or flashy as his brother. At least, not until he’d escaped England in search of his own fortune. That was when he’d discovered there was so much more to the world than Cornwall. Still, it was reassuring to know that his late brother appreciated him, and nice to hear his sister-in-law echo the sentiment. It wasn’t exactly a declaration of family love, but he would take it and be grateful.
“Thank you, Nessie.”
“Now stop fussing. You’ve finally gotten a proper servant. You should be grateful.”
“This is well beyond proper behavior, Nessie. She folds her hands and stands like this.” He mimicked her statue-like attitude.
“Excellent behavior.”
“No, it’s not!” He huffed. “I’ve been served in palaces, dined with the Pope, even—”
“Yes, yes, I know. But you’ve also crossed swampland up to your neck, slept in jungles with insects the size of a fist, and ridden a camel.” It was clear that last one was the most outlandish in her opinion. “What you consider commonplace is most assuredly not.”
He couldn’t argue with her there, but it still aggravated him that Miss Li-Na acted as if she were a beaten dog. He found it deplorable to treat an animal in such a fashion. He thought it a high crime for a woman to be so debased.
“It’s wrong,” he said flatly.
Nessie shrugged. “She’s Chinese. What do we know of their customs?”
“She’s an artist. A painter of such amazing works.” He shook his head. How could someone so cowed create the works he’d seen?
“An artist? Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a woman.”
And here he returned to a familiar argument among the buyers and purveyors of art. “That has nothing to do with anything. Nessie, you’re embroidering new seat covers right now. What is that but art?”
“It’s decoration for furniture. That’s not—”
He stomped over to her work. “It’s a design of your own making. It’s a flower that looks to be moving even though it’s stitched down. It’s art.”
She sniffed as she put the fabric down. “I told you, it’s a chair. To replace what was lost when the roof collapsed.” She lifted her chin and repeated what she had been taught as if the vicar himself were moving her mouth. “Women make babies. We make homes and families. We teach the next generation. That is the natural order of things.”
“Nessie, that’s natural for you. It’s not natural for everyone.”
The woman pointed her finger straight at him. “And if your new Chinese servant stands like a statue and doesn’t want to paint, then that’s what is natural for her.”
He didn’t respond. There wasn’t any point. Nessie saw the world in one way, and he in another. She never believed his tales of women who threw spears as well as the men. Or women who managed their own money while the men waited for handouts. And though she deplored the accusation of witchcraft against anyone, he had heard her wonder how Joseph had come to be cursed.
That was not the way he viewed the world, but she was set in her beliefs. Meanwhile, Nessie turned her attention to her youngest son.
“Leave the blocks, Joseph. It’s time for nuncheon.”
Her son ignored her. Indeed, he might have been deaf for all the reaction he gave.
“Do you stay to dine with us?” Nessie asked Daniel.
“What? Oh, no. I need to repair the fence along the Mellin farm. Bob is still laid up and there’s no one to do the work.”
Nessie pursed her lips. “Doesn’t Anne have family? A brother or some such to help her?”
“Not that she’ll ask for help.”
“You can’t be doing the work of the own tenants every day. People will think you’re doing something with Anne and that won’t help her at all.”
He was aware. But if he didn’t do the work, the family might very well starve.
