Zachary clapped his palms on the desk. “Don’t worry, Mr. Dyer. I always take a businesslike attitude, and I always pay off my debt.”
“That’s good. I don’t want you to misunderstand anything.”
“Rest assured, Mr. Dyer. There is no misunderstanding. And Elizabeth will no longer be discussed.” Zachary drew the line in the sand.
Dyer’s hands skated through the air in a smooth glide, as if mimicking the opening of an acknowledged portal to the earth. His eyes glittered with greed. “Water has no permanent shape, and men like you have no power. There are no constants in the world.”
“Are you trying to discuss the art of war with me? I won’t lay folly to anymore shenanigans you play, and I await you with ease.”
Zachary tossed a sack on his desk.
“What’s this?”
“Payment in full. I’m no longer in debt to you.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Zachary walked along the rows of men rebuilding his engines. With the money he’d found, and with Maguire’s protection, his company had a glimmer of hope. His dream, barring no other catastrophe was plausible.
He thought of when Elizabeth had laid in his arms, nestling her head next to him, and then stroking his neck. A spike of heat hit him low in the gut. He tried not to think of her perfect breasts, and a waist so slender he could span his hands around it and then smooth his hands downward to caress her rounded hips.
His pulse leaped, and he shifted to hide his physical reaction. He gazed down the long rows of machinery that swelled and elongated. He cursed. How she had the power to stir him. She was what every man dreamed of, a vision of incomparable beauty. How could he eradicate the need he had for her?
Fool. And he could bag Saturn and throw the fiery ball into the next universe.
No. He was not worthy of the ground she stood on. Despite him having the potential to be a very rich man, that day was a long way off. Years would elapse before he could provide for her in the way she was accustomed.
His nostrils flared. No way would he tolerate her married off to a dandified aristocrat like the sugar baron or some callous industrialist that would never give her love. He needed to confront his demons, and let the past go. But there were contradictions and paradoxes. To try to let go was to hold more tightly. The hunger he wished to uproot went so deeply to the center of him that it seemed to be him.
Unseen, Zachary halted behind a machine unable to move forward without revealing his presence. Chen, the confirmed bachelor, and Anhe were having a private moment. Never had Zachary seen Chen so poetically poleaxed about a woman.
Chen bowed to Anhe, presenting her with a bouquet of chrysanthemums. “They are a symbol of longevity and happy life,” he said.
Anhe lowered her eyes.
“Your servant.” Chen gave a bow, straightened. “What I want to say…” he hesitated, swallowed, and barely able to speak, said, “is that you are the light I encounter when I first open my eyes in the morning.”
Ever since the monk, now ex-monk, had been escorting Anhe to the sly matchmaker, Mrs. Merriweather, Chen had been in Anhe’s constant attendance. Zachary had heard from a joyous Mrs. Li that Chen, per Chinese tradition, had proposed via a submitted letter to Mr. Li. There was also the circumstance of researching birthdates, cities they were born to determine the numbers that declared the pair a perfect match. A Chinese astrologist had been employed to foretell the perfect nuptial date to ensure a lifetime of happiness, success and prosperity. Chen absolved the Li’s of Anhe’s required dowry for it would be a hardship for their family. Mr. Li had happily given his blessing.
Chen bowed deeply in front of the Lis and presented another gift. This act, Zachary assumed, was another Chinese tradition for he had seen it occur daily over the past week.
Zachary cleared his throat to let them know of his presence as he strolled past. Chen joined him.
“When were you going to announce the happy occasion?”
“Pardon?”
Chen often used confusion when embarrassed. Zachary moved to the middle of the plant. “If I had a dollar for every clever thing you’ve said, I’d be rich. Out with it.”
“In two months.”
“I see the Lis are very happy.”
“In all humility, why would they not?”
Laughing, Zachary clapped him on the back. “In all humility? What a departure. Congratulations.”
Zachary spied O’Reilly sporting a battered derby, shirtsleeves and a vest with enough pockets for a ferry token, keys, fob watch, and everything else imaginable. His prized engineer staggered, hit the wall, and then collapsed. Never had he seen the Irishman in such a state. Whiskey fumes spiraled the air.
