Page 6 of The Countess's Awakening (The Lovers’ Arch #3)

CHAPTER 6

A lthough he promised Esther he would take her to Limehouse, Wang had no intention of taking her there before he did a thorough reconnaissance of the area by himself. He knew there were many hardworking Chinese immigrants living there, and he even hoped to obtain some herbs and medicines from his homeland.

But he wasn’t na?ve. The neighbourhood was in the East End. Poverty and crime were not the same thing, but they often went hand in hand. Gangs operated on those streets, and multiple opium dens flourished beyond the reach of the law.

If he found adequate facilities they could use, he then had to ascertain if it was safe to bring Esther here. She had shown an interest in his culture, and it touched him. Even Hartfield had expressed little interest beyond the medical field. But Esther wanted to learn about everything. The food, the customs, the music, the religion. Her curiosity knew no bounds. He appreciated it and wanted to share everything that had shaped him with her. But he didn’t want her experience of his culture to be one of violence and crime.

Therefore, after locating a newly constructed bathhouse in the neighborhood, he went in for a visit. This was not nearly as luxurious as the facilities on The Strand. Those catered to a wealthy clientele and were designed for a pampering experience. In contrast, the one in Limehouse was purely utilitarian. It featured private bath cubicles and laundry facilities. This was not for pampering the elites, but for working-class people who couldn’t afford running water in their homes to get clean and wash their clothes.

But it also featured a pool, and that was exactly what he needed. Alas, the water was cold. And it wouldn’t be private. The best they could do was to go when the bathhouse saw less traffic. Which was midmorning. At that time, the working-class patrons were at their jobs and only a few elderly people visited the baths. Although it wouldn’t be as comfortable as the previous baths, it was the best option they had found at the moment, and he felt inclined to take it, as he didn’t want to interrupt the treatment. The morning time was also safer. He was perfectly capable of defending himself in even worse neighborhoods, but he wouldn’t put Esther in danger.

To his surprise, Esther showed absolutely no reluctance about the new accommodations. It could even be said she was enthusiastic about them. She got into the pool without a complaint, even though goosebumps rose on her arms, and her breath caught as the cold water enveloped her.

But her determination to perform the exercises warmed her soon enough. She had donned a heavier and more proper bathing garment, but by now her legs had regained enough strength that she could manage the heavier pieces.

“I shall need sustenance after all these exercises, Mr. Wang,” she announced as their session drew to an end and he carried her out of the pool and towards the women’s dressing room where her maid awaited to help her get dressed. “I have not broken my fast yet.”

“Of course, my lady. We shall not dally in here, for the establishment has no private room in which I could perform the acupuncture and massage. We shall go straight home so that you can partake of breakfast with your family.”

“Oh, that is not what I had in mind. In any case, they would have finished breakfast by now. What I meant is that I would like to sample Chinese cuisine. Isn’t there an establishment nearby where you could take me for luncheon?”

“Oh… I don’t know, my lady. You may not like it.”

She smiled, and it felt as if the sun was shining on him, warming places in his soul that had long been cold and desolate.

“I trust you to introduce me to the culinary delights of your people.”

There were many delights he would like to introduce her to, and none of them were culinary in nature. Perhaps the delight of his lips dancing upon hers? Skimming along her elegant spine and lower still, over the gentle slope of her backside that he had never seen uncovered, but had nevertheless featured in his fantasies from the first moment he had her unclothed under his hands. After he feasted on the luscious mounds, maybe then he would turn her about and start by kissing the arch of her foot, and proceed up her leg to the center of her… He wasn’t sure if he was completely successful in containing the groan that image tore from his chest.

He hurried over to the entrance of the dressing room, where the maid waited with her wheelchair and placed her delicately on it. She looked at him with a puzzled expression, as if she was trying to decipher what he was thinking. Pray she never found out. If she did, she would lose all trust in him, and then he wouldn’t be able to continue helping her.

“I will see what I can arrange, my lady,” he said succinctly as her maid wheeled her away.

H alf an hour later, Wang wheeled her into a small Chinese dining room. Tucked into a narrow, cobbled street near the baths, with a red lacquered signboard adorned with elegant golden Chinese characters hanging above the doorway, the place appeared to be a cozy establishment. Her wheelchair just fit through the door, but inside, there was nowhere to move. Tables and stools occupied most of the space.

This had been a bad idea. Her cumbersome wheelchair could never navigate the cramped space, and even if Wang carried her inside, she could never sit without support in one of the stools. At least not for long.

An older man wearing a simple tunic and trousers greeted them in what she assumed was Chinese language, and Wang responded in the same tongue. A lively exchange started between the two men. Esther didn’t even try to hide her fascination as she listened to the musical lilt of their conversation, even if she couldn’t understand a word of it.

Wang spoke English flawlessly, but there was an ease to him when he spoke his native tongue. She would be hard-pressed to define it, but it was sort of like a sense of fitting. Like wearing a comfortable garment. Even the timbre of his voice seemed to change, flowing and ebbing with the cadence of the words.

She looked around her, taking in the walls adorned with silk scrolls depicting Chinese landscapes, calligraphy, and mythological creatures. A small shrine with incense sticks, fresh fruit, and a gilded statue of some deity occupied one corner , and red paper lanterns hung from the ceiling beams, their warm glow creating a cozy, intimate atmosphere. The aromas of ginger and other spices she could not identify floated to her nose, making her mouth water and her stomach protest with hunger.

As a young girl, distant lands and cultures had fascinated her, and she had avidly read the stories of adventurers and explorers, entranced by their descriptions of faraway places. Now, this was the closest she could ever get to those places. Like traveling a thousand miles without leaving London.

A shame she would probably not be able to stay. There was no room for her wheelchair. At least, at this hour, there were no other patrons to gawk at her. Someday soon , she promised herself. One day, she would return to this place on Wang’s arm, walking on her own two feet. Not being pushed around in a wheelchair.

Her legs were already getting stronger, and she felt confident she would be able to walk again. Swallowing her disappointment, she turned towards Wang to let him know she understood if it was not possible to accommodate her, but at that moment, two younger men approached from the back of the shop and removed two stools from a nearby table, right by the window that overlooked the street, and Wang pushed her towards it.

“Thank you,” she told him softly. “For arranging this.”

“It was no trouble at all, my lady.”

The older man who had greeted them upon entering came back bearing a lacquered tray from which he took two bowls of steaming soup and placed them in front of them, along with a pot of what she assumed was tea and several small teacups.

“This smells delicious. What is it?”

“This is a type of noodle soup. It contains thinly sliced meats and vegetables in a broth base.”

“And what are these stringy things?”

“Those are the noodles.”

Esther peered at them with curiosity. A small porcelain spoon lay beside the soup bowl. She dipped it in, attempting to scoop up the elusive noodles, but they escaped. Instead, she lifted a spoonful of clear broth with just a few vegetables.

“How do you eat them?”

“With this,” Wang said, holding two wooden sticks in his hands. “They are called chopsticks.”

“You jest.”

He laughed softly and dipped the sticks into his bowl, using them like pincers to grab a knot of the noodles and bring them to his mouth.

“Hmm, the soup is very good. Brings me back to my youth. Try it.”

Esther picked up the sticks resting beside her bowl and tried to imitate the way Wang was holding them, but when she attempted to pick up the noodles, they slipped from her sticks.

“Let me help you.”

Wang reached over and took hold of her hand, repositioning the sticks and then molding his hand over hers to show her how she should move them to pick up the food.

It was stupid to be flustered by the brush of his hands upon hers. He had touched her much more intimately in the course of the therapies. But this innocent touch seemed much more personal. He was not touching her as a doctor; he was touching her as a man. Here in this small corner, there were only the two of them. With no other purpose than to share a meal and maybe something of themselves.

“Try it by yourself now.” Was it her imagination that his voice sounded lower?

She tried it again, with partial success. Some noodles fell, but she managed to bring a couple to her mouth, but then the slippery strings were falling off. Instinctively, she sucked them in, making a slurping sound. She brought her hand to her mouth, appalled by her lack of manners, but he simply laughed.

“I’m sorry. This is more difficult than I imagined,” she murmured, chagrined.

“Don’t be sorry, my lady. Slurping one’s soup is perfectly acceptable. Chinese culture considers it good manners, and a compliment to the chef.”

“Is that so?” She looked at him in disbelief.

To prove his point, he dipped his spoon in his soup, brought it to his mouth, and slurped its contents, smiling with satisfaction.

“Well, it is an excellent soup,” Esther conceded.

“Yes, it is.”

“I definitely want to compliment the chef.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

His eyes, crinkled at the corner with humor, dared her to follow his example.

So she dipped her spoon and delicately slurped the contents into her mouth, smiling conspiratorially at Wang.

Next came a cylindrical wooden box that, when uncovered, revealed an assortment of dumplings.

“You should dip those in the soy sauce or the chili sauce and eat them. They are like pies, filled with meat, pork, shrimp or vegetables,” Wang instructed.

She tried to lift one dumpling using the chopsticks, but she couldn’t achieve a good grip. The process was trickier than she expected and highly frustrating. Instead of gaining proficiency, her fingers tired of the unusual exercise, and she became clumsier with each attempt. She feared that if she had to feed herself with chopsticks, she would go hungry today.

“Drat!” she exclaimed after the dumpling had fallen from her weak grip for the third time.

“Here.” A dumpling appeared in front of her mouth, dripping with sauce and held expertly between Wang’s chopsticks.

Her eyes widened. “Oh, you would feed it to me?”

His gaze was steady as it pinned her with an indecipherable emotion.

“Yes. Take the dumpling, my lady.”

Mesmerized by his gaze, she closed her mouth around the dumpling and had the satisfaction of seeing him dip his gaze to her lips and swallow hard as his nostrils flared.

There was something between them. An undeniable awareness. Was it merely the result of their close interactions? Perhaps that gave it the opportunity to flourish, but her attraction to him was all because of his own personal magnetism.

“Hmm,” she hummed as the flavorful filling exploded in her mouth. She swallowed and licked her lips before declaring. “That was delicious. But I’m afraid I am in a predicament now.”

Wang raised an eyebrow. “What predicament?”

“I want more, but I’m reliant on you to provide it, for I am useless with the chopsticks.”

One corner of his mouth hitched in a slow smile. “It will be my pleasure to put my chopsticks at your service, my lady.”

Good God, were they flirting? She didn’t flirt. She was too timid for that. And yet, it had come so naturally when talking to him.

Time seemed to still. She couldn’t force her lungs to draw breath. His words ensnared her in a sensual web. Pleasure. Your service. They had her feeling wicked and daring, qualities she had never possessed. But this man seemed to draw forth a different version of herself. Made her feel things she had never felt before. There was something in his warm brown eyes that told her he wasn’t indifferent to her, either. That he would like to make her feel a lot more if only she had the courage to reach for it.

Did she? With anyone else, the answer would be no. She had never possessed the boldness that some women had to engage in a dalliance. And she had not felt desirable in a very long time. But she felt comfortable with him. And now she realized why. He never judged, demeaned, or made her feel inadequate.

With him, she was at her most vulnerable, all her infirmity on display. If anyone knew the weaknesses of her body, it was him. And he still touched her as if she were something precious, with the utmost reverence. She didn’t have to pretend with him.

“How are you so patient and understanding?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he transferred his attention to the basket of dumplings and deliberately removed the top piece from the cylindrical basket, revealing another layer of dumplings underneath. Making it look deceptively easy, he grabbed another dumpling with his chopsticks, dipped it in one of the sauces that came with the dish, and offered it to her.

“Try this one now. I believe this one is filled with meat.”

She captured the dumpling, much as she had done with the first one. Savoring the way he fed her even more than the tasty morsel.

She thought he wouldn’t answer, but he finally did.

“I wasn’t always. At one point, I was angry and bitter. Life has shown me the error of my ways, I suppose. I wouldn’t say I’m wise, but I’ve learned from my mistakes.”

“Is that related to the reason you left your country?”

“You could say that.”

And she sensed he didn’t wish to talk about it. “How long ago did you leave?”

“Over twenty years.”

“And you never returned?”

He shook his head.

“Do you wish to?”

Another shake. “No. There’s nothing there for me anymore. There hasn’t been in a long time. The place where I grew up has changed so much that I suspect I would find it unrecognizable.”

“And yet you appear so at ease here, among your people. Speaking your native language.”

“I am at ease. I share a bond with these people. We come from the same place, have the same customs, speak the same language, sometimes, have similar life experiences. That creates a sense of familiarity. I’ve learned to adapt to my new homeland, but among my people, I feel… understood. But I’m not looking back. I’ve always lived my life looking forward.”

She leaned forward in her chair, placed her hand over his where it rested on the table. “What are you looking forward to?”

“Right now? I’m looking forward to helping you recover.”

That was a mighty amount of expectation to place upon her.

“What if I don’t?”

His hand turned to embrace hers. “You will. You are.”

“I still have a long way to go,” she said softly.

“And I’ll be there every step of the way.”

His eyes were so earnest. “Why is it so important to you?”

Instead of answering, he replied with a question of his own. “What about you, Esther? What are you looking forward to when you recover?”

Once again, he stole her breath. Not only with the use of her name, but by asking about her hopes and dreams. She hadn’t had any in so long. For years now, her existence had been about survival. Even now, all her focus was on simply getting better. She forgot about dreaming. Forgot about living.

Esther wished she could think of something profound or fun to say. But as silly as it was, the image that came to mind was that of a hot-air balloon soaring. She had seen one as a child, and had been fascinated by the sight, the possibilities. What would it be like to float? To rise over the city and the fields?

“I look forward to riding in a hot-air balloon,” she declared and had the satisfaction of seeing his eyes widen and his brows rise in surprise. Esther couldn’t help it. She burst out laughing. She had surprised, even shocked, the unflappable Wang.

He joined in her laughter, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

“I thought you would say something like dancing at a ball. But a hot-air balloon? You are adventuresome.”

“I’ve never been. But after being stuck and confined for so long, without even being able to walk, now I would like to fly.”

“And so you shall, my lady.”

“Esther,” she corrected softly, smiling at him. Now that she had heard her name on his lips, she couldn’t go back to him calling her the impersonal ‘my lady’.

He nodded, smiling back at her. “Kaiwen.”

“Pardon me?”

“My given name is Kaiwen. If I am to call you Esther, you must call me Kai, the way my family used to.”

“Kai,” she repeated. Savoring the name. It was simple and elegant. But also playful and youthful. It evoked a little boy running through a meadow laughing with joy. “It suits you.”

He tilted his head. “How so? Do you know its meaning?”

“No, I like it just by the sound of it. But now I’m curious. What does it mean?”

His lips twisted in self-deprecation. “Triumph or victory, especially in scholarly pursuits.”

Esther nodded, a satisfied smile breaking over her face. “Just as I thought, it suits you, for I have no doubt you will triumph in anything you set your mind to.”