Page 4 of Ravishing Camille

“From Bordeaux, yes, terrible. My entire trip was riddled with storms. Straightaway in the China Sea, we encountered a hurricane or as the Chinese call their violent storms,tai-feng. Big wind.”

“A typhoon,” she put in the bastardized English of the Mandarin.

“Exactly. How did you know?” he asked her.

She arched a long golden brow. “We do read here in Britain more than just theTimes.”

“Planning on using such color in one of your novels?” He had to tease her on her success.

She had to tease him. “I thought so. A wicked storm rages over a jagged cliff house. The mansion would be owned by a rich Americantai-pan.”

“Dark.” He had read two of her novels and wondered at her characterization. Her men said little, kept their contemplations to themselves and struggled with finding the right woman to love.

“And brooding,” she added with a nod.

“Do you write any light-hearted fellows?”

She shook her head. “It’s extremely difficult.”

“Don’t you know any?”

“A few.”

Who?He wanted to meet them, learn what they could tell him about…her.

That was silly. He knew her. Had known her for years.

“Any complaints about the accommodations on theEmpress?” His father wanted to hear every detail of Pierce’s experience on the maiden voyage of the newest luxury steamer of the Hanniford Oriental Steamship Company.

“None! The bed was comfortable. The dining room service exceptional. The saloon’s bar well stocked.”

“The electric lights worked?”

“Every time!”

“Exactly as you said they would.” His father chuckled. “It will be profitable then.”

“It will. Did you want a tour to see for yourself?”

“I do. But I’ll return tomorrow for that.”

“I’ll notify the captain, if you like.”

“No. I prefer to arrive unannounced.”

Pierce nodded. “Of course.”

From the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the other passengers hastening down the gangplank. Among them was his best friend from Shanghai and he hailed the man to join them. “Here’s a friend I want you to meet!”

Li Wa-Ren Macfarlane owned one of the biggest and most prosperous export-import companies in the British sector of Shanghai. One-quarter Han Chinese, Lee Warren—as he Anglicized his name when dealing with Westerners—was the son of a Scottishtai-panand his half-Chinese wife. Lee had joined theManchu Empressin Venice, and from there, the two men had spent the voyage by entertaining each other with stories of past adventures. They’d also devised a new business proposal to sell steel to a progressive Confucian viceroy who wanted to modernize the southern Kwangtung countryside near Hong Kong and Macao by building railroads.

“Lee! I’d like you to meet my father and my step-sister.”

A tall reed-like fellow, Lee strode forward with delight written on his long face. He wore a superbly cut suit, this one of midnight black. Beneath, he wore a jade silk brocade waistcoat embroidered with yellow and red dragons, the symbols of the Wa-ren-Macfarlane House.

“Allow me to present my friend, Mister Lee Warren Macfarlane. My step-sister, Miss Camille Bereston. And my father, Mister Killian Hanniford.”

“I am most honored to meet you both.” He doffed his hat and shook hands with them. With serene blue eyes, he smiled at Killian and Camille.