Page 7 of The Countess's Awakening (The Lovers’ Arch #3)

CHAPTER 7

D espite Esther’s unflinching faith in him, he was not triumphant in everything. In fact, his failings were greater than his victories. Wang only had to look around him in this neighborhood to see reminders of his biggest failure of all.

He was also failing miserably at controlling his feelings for her.

As he pushed her wheelchair out of the tearoom they had visited today, he almost regretted having to leave the cozy atmosphere. And it wasn’t because of the food, although it had been excellent. It was her company. Something had blossomed between them, nourished by the way Esther savored every dish, her curiosity about his culture, about him, and his unquenchable attraction to her

At some point between the therapies and these intimate meals that had become customary over the past few days, they had reached a new level of intimacy.

Being here was bittersweet, the joy of speaking his native Cantonese and being among his people overshadowed by the signs of opium addiction he saw in many of the faces.

Opium dens abounded in this part of town, stealing the lives of the poor souls who fell victim to deceiving lure of the devilish substance.

He tried to help them. While he waited for Esther to change after being in the pool, he used the time to speak to people. Gave them medical advice when needed. Prescribed herbs and treatments. He also spoke to them about how to break opium addiction if he observed it was a problem. The latter advice wasn’t always welcome, regardless of his offer to help, and his reassurances that, once the first few terrible days passed, there was light and hope on the other side.

He had even made a few house visits, returning in the afternoons and evenings, to treat those who needed more help. Had he been successful? Most likely not. Those addicted needed a lot more help than he could provide during a few brief visits.

He turned the corner toward their parked carriage, and three men stepped from a doorway’s shadows into their path. They wore low hats that obscured their eyes and unfriendly snarls on their faces.

Every protective instinct Wang possessed went into high alert, preparing him for a fight.

“Well, if it isn’t the good doctor and his aristocratic cripple,” the one in front, who appeared to be the leader, said in Cantonese.

“I don’t want any trouble. Just let us through, and we’ll be on our way,” Wang replied in the same language.

“Thinks he’s better than us, hobnobbing with the aristocracy, bringing a white lady to our neighborhood, talking to people about opium. Trying to take our business away,” said the second one.

“I have nothing to do with you or your business,” Wang said in the calm voice used to pacify a feral animal.

“Probably talking to the police as well,” the third one in the group said. “He’s probably a rat, scurrying in here to ferret out our secrets and then bring the coppers down on us.”

“I am certainly not going to talk to the police,” Wang replied with conviction.

“Of course not. Because we won’t let you,” the leader said.

While the man still spoke, the other two charged.

Even as he cursed himself for a fool, not realizing that bringing Esther here would put her in the path of danger, Wang’s trained reflexes took over. He jumped in front of her to protect her. Muscles tensed, mind cleared and focused, his body centered and ready.

Fighting multiple combatants at the same time was the ultimate challenge. Doing it while also protecting someone made it all the more difficult, but he would prevail. He had no choice but to do so, for he wouldn’t let these ruffians harm a hair on Esther’s head.

E sther barely had time to cry out before the ruffians lunged toward them. She didn’t understand a word of the preceding conversation, but it wasn’t difficult to deduce by the tone that it wasn’t a friendly one.

Wang had valiantly stepped forward, placing himself firmly between her and the advancing men. A glint of steel flashed in the light, freezing the blood in her veins. Good God, they had a knife.

But Wang moved like a liquid shadow, twisting away from the blade with a speed that defied belief. His arm shot out, a single strike sending the attacker staggering back, clutching his ribs with a strangled grunt. After that, everything was a blur of fists, kicks, seemingly impossible acrobatics and fluid movement. This was the fighting technique he had talked about. It was beautiful and deadly. A lethal dance. The attackers knew it, too. But Wang was faster, surer. He met them with an elegance that was almost hypnotic.

The fight was swift and brutal, and yet Wang remained in control. He caught a wrist mid-strike, twisting it with a sickening crack, sending its owner to his knees with a pained cry. Another came at him from behind—she tried to shout a warning, but Wang had already ducked, sweeping his leg in a clean arc that sent his foe sprawling onto the cobbles.

Within moments, it was over. The three men groaned on the ground, beaten, broken, but alive. Wang stood above them, breath steady, his eyes sharp as flint.

Esther’s heart pounded as if she had been the one fighting. She stared at Wang, her voice trembling. “They…they knew what they were doing, didn’t they?”

Wang turned to her, his dark eyes softening slightly. “Yes,” he said simply. “But arrogance is their weakness. The first rule of fighting is never underestimate your opponent. We should leave before they recover.”

He stepped behind her once again, grabbed the handles of the wheelchair and pulled her away from the fray, towards the relative safety of the carriage, standing farther down the alley.

By the time they arrived home, and Wang reached in to carry her inside, her heartbeat had returned to a semblance of normalcy. But when she draped her arm around his shoulder, she touched a wet spot on his jacket.

Lifting the hand, it came away bloodied. “Kai, you’re injured!”

“Just a scratch. One of the ruffians had a blade.”

“We need to clean and close the wound,” she stated.

“I know.” He gave her a small smile that melted her heart. “I’ll ask Colin to patch me up.”

“No, don’t. If you ask Colin, then you’ll have to explain where we were and what we were doing. I can do it.”

“They’ll have to learn soon enough, Esther,” he said.

“I know. But not just yet. I-I’m not ready. Let me do it. Please. Let me take care of you as you did of me.”

He studied her with that steady, penetrating gaze, and whatever he saw on her face satisfied him, for he agreed. “Very well. My bedchamber or yours?”

She sucked in a breath and stared at him wide-eyed. Had he really said something as suggestive as that? Did he mean to fluster her? The humor dancing in his eyes and the way his lips twitched, as if to contain a smile, told her he was perfectly aware of the double entendre of his words, and her reaction amused him. She narrowed her eyes at him in mock outrage.

“You are naughtier than you appear, Mr. Wang.”

He started climbing the staircase, still holding her in his arms. She felt more than heard his husky laugh as it rumbled through his chest, and a gentle puff of air grazed the hairs at her temples.

“My bedchamber, please. It’s where I have my sewing kit.”

Seated at the comfortable armchair by the fireplace, she watched as he walked out and returned shortly with a small bag, then walked around, gathering the supplies needed to clean and stitch his wound. He brought the basin from the washstand and placed it on a table in front of her.

“For washing your hands. It’s important to do that before treating wounds. It prevents infection,” he explained.

Handing her the soap bar, he lifted the ewer and poured water over her hands. She washed thoroughly, not wanting to risk his wellbeing.

But when he removed his shirt and stood in front of her bare-chested, her mouth went dry and she stared dumbstruck.

Good God, his body was beautiful. All corded muscle and sinew. He was not a big man. His height and bulk appeared no more than average when clothed. It revealed nothing of the strength and sculpted beauty underneath. But when the layers were peeled away and the chiseled strength of his chest and arms was revealed, he was breathtaking.

She wished she could study every contour of his torso, run her hands over his shoulders and arms, skim her fingers over the ridges of his abdomen, but he only gave her a second before he sat on the footstool by her chair and turned his back to her, exposing the wound on the back of his left shoulder. She suspected that if it were in a different location, where he could easily access it, he would have tended to it himself.

She started cleaning the wound gently with water and soap, following his instructions, then applying the antiseptic solution. And then it was time to stitch it.

“Are you sure you are comfortable doing that?” he asked gently.

She smiled. “If there’s something I’m perfectly able to do, it is to place a stitch. Don’t worry, you’ll have the prettiest wound in all of England.”

He offered a grin before he settled back against her legs. She had to give him credit for not flinching when the needle punctured his skin.

“Those men, why did they attack us?” she asked to distract him, but also wanting to know what that had been all about.

“I suspect they are gang members and probably control some opium dens in Limehouse. They took exception to my trying to dissuade some people from consuming opium.”

“I see. When did you do that? I never saw you talk to anyone.”

“During the times you were changing after being in the pool. I tried to advise people of the dangers of opium, offered solutions and encouragement to overcome the addiction. I should have known that would upset the people who profit from it.”

“Why did you do it, then?” she asked quietly, placing another careful stitch.

“I see all those poor souls enslaved to that dreadful vice, being led to their death. I couldn’t not do something.”

“This issue is personal to you.” She didn’t know how she knew, but she was certain. There was a sort of bleakness, a sense of desperation and vehemence when he spoke about opium addiction.

“I saw this vile vice poison and humiliate my city and my entire country. As a doctor in Canton, I treated numerous people afflicted by this addiction. I did my best to help them, but in the end, it was like drawing water with a bamboo basket. No matter how hard I strived, I seemed to get nowhere.”

She sensed there was more, but she didn’t want to pry. Besides, she was all done with the stitches.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, placing her palm on the center of his back. She wasn’t sure if the need to offer comfort or the urge to touch him motivated the gesture. “There, you are all sewn up.”

He stilled under her touch, his breathing halting for a few heartbeats. She relished the warmth of his skin. The smooth expanse invited her to touch, glide her hand outward, caress the supple flesh covering steel muscles. For a heart-stopping moment, he relaxed into the caress, then he shot out of the stool as if scalded.

“Thank you, my lady,” he said, snatching his shirt and punching his right arm into the sleeve.

“Don’t you want to examine the wound? See if I did it properly?”

“I’m sure it’s fine.”

“I would feel better if you looked at it.”

“As you wish.” He strode to her dressing table, his shirt still half off, and twisted to look backwards over his shoulder to see the wound in the mirror. “Looks great. Just as you said, the prettiest little stitches. I believe they won’t even leave a mark. Although I hope they do, to have the memory of the time you embroidered upon me.”

A chuckle burbled from her at his fancy. “Oh, be serious. Although… I did embroider something for you.”

“You did?” He turned to face her, his face tilted in inquiry. Thankfully, or maybe regrettably, he put his shirt back on, so that magnificent chest was out of sight.

“Yes. I noticed the embroidered tapestries in the establishments we visited, and I loved the designs. I wanted to make something like that for you, to show my appreciation for all you are doing for me.”

She reached down into the embroidery basket she kept by her chair and pulled a piece of midnight blue silk from it. “I saw this tunic in a store window and thought it would be perfect for you. I embroidered the design on the back myself.”

He reached for the cloth, seeming at a loss for words. “You didn’t have to,” he finally croaked.

“It’s nothing, really, a mere trifle. Do you like it?”

He spread the tunic, peering at the design of a leafy tree with a flowering vine twining around its mighty trunk. The design was in the style of Chinese embroidery. All stylized shapes and mixed vibrant colors. She saw him swallow hard, as if trying to push down some emotion.

“It’s brilliant. A work of art. Esther, you are so talented. Thank you.”

“It’s just embroidery. Every lady learns to do it.”

“I doubt that’s the case. At least not as well as this. I shall always treasure it.”

Her cheeks heated with embarrassment and elation.

“I also got a gift for you,” he said. “Although it’s not an object, but rather, an experience.”

“Oh?” She was immediately intrigued. “What is it?”

He shook his head. “It’s a surprise. Can you be ready tomorrow at sunrise?”

Her eyes widened with excitement, and she clapped her hands together in front of her. “Oh, this sounds like an adventure. How exciting! Anything in particular I should wear or avoid wearing?”

“Just something comfortable and warm.” His eyes danced with merriment and a tender, almost indulgent emotion.

“Very well then. I shall be ready and waiting for you.”