“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.”
CHAPTER 8
“Whyarewegoingto Hyde Park?”
