Or maybe it’s because her feet were broken. He was about to turn on the bastard and speak his mind, when she grasped his hand. “Not yet,” she pleaded. “They fight. Swords.”
He winced. He’d gotten rid of all the guards, but the captain still had his sword and who knew what the mandarin hid beneath his robes. Even if Max could defend himself—maybe—his mother and sister were here, not to mention a score of servants. This was not the place for a violent altercation. And so he nodded to Yihui, swallowing down his fury until a more practical time.
He turned back to the captain. “If she cannot walk, then how is she supposed to function?”
“Their ladies—the highborn ones—got to be carried. That’s why they bring all those guards. They do the lifting and hauling, so to speak.”
“I sent them back to your boat to get her luggage.”
“Aye, my lord. I saw that.”
But he hadn’t seen fit to explain before? “Captain, you are beginning to irritate me. I suggest you fix that immediately.”
The man straightened in outrage, but if he thought to strut about in a ducal household just because he spoke Chinese, then he was sorely mistaken. Especially since Max knew that Yihui spoke English.
Meanwhile, he solved the problem. No one could object to her fiancé carrying her, and so he leaned down and picked her up. It was awkward, to be sure. The palanquin was so small he could barely fit his shoulders in it. But she helped him with a surprisingly strong grip. She took hold of his shoulders and settled into his arms.
His first impression was that there was a solidness to her belied by her small stature. She was slender for a woman, buthe felt muscles flex powerfully beneath the fabric as she pulled herself upright in his grip. And damn those clacking beads that dangled between their faces.
And surprise of surprise, her breath was sweet. That was a rarity even among the elite.
Crossing into the parlor, he set her carefully on a cushioned wingback chair. It was his father’s favorite seat, but Max felt it appropriate for her as the seat of honor. The thing made her appear very small, but she sat tall. And when he offered her tea, she took it with small, unsteady hands.
Was it the drugs or terror? Either way, he had to get her out of here as soon as possible.
“Well,” said his mother as she entered the parlor, “now that everyone is comfortable…”
Max looked up to his mother. He hadn’t been seated, so he had no need to rise. The captain, of course, understood English custom, so he leapt immediately to his feet. The mandarin, however, did not know he was supposed to stand at the entrance of a lady. The obnoxious man continued to drink his tea without even looking up.
It was made even worse when his sister entered the room. Her expression was genial. Emmaline was always kind, but her eyes widened at the mandarin’s obvious rudeness. Meanwhile, the captain grew uncomfortable in the growing silence.
“Begging your pardon, Your Grace, but he doesn’t understand. As a general rule, the Chinese women serve. The men don’t stand.”
“Really?” his mother responded, her tone icy. “And if he were meeting with the Empress of China?”
The captain’s eyes widened in horror. “He won’t kowtow to you, Your Grace. Not outside of China.”
“I gather kowtowing is some sort of polite behavior? A bow of sort?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Only it’s done on the knees.”
“I see. But he won’t do it to me because…?”
“You’re not the Empress of China.”
“And because he doesn’t respect our customs or believe that he must perform any type of courtesy to me. Correct me if I’m wrong, doesn’t he serve a merchant?”
“Er, yes, Your Grace. The Wong cohong—”
“And does he carry a title?”
“Not as you mean, Your Grace.”
She nodded slowly. The mandarin at last sensed that he was the topic of conversation. He turned his head slowly, a single eyebrow lifted in query. Max’s mother returned it with one of her own. And when she spoke, her words were chilly.
“Why is he here then?”
The captain shifted awkwardly on his feet. “I believe he must see—”
