Last night hadn’t been a dream.
He and his little tigress had committed themselves before heaven and earth. They’d declared their love with words and their bodies. She belonged to him now as surely as he belonged to her; there was only one more barrier to cross. Wei didn’t fool himself that the Duke of Ranelagh and Somerville would readily accept his suit, but he was determined to prove his worth to her family.
When he’d dropped Glory off at home in the wee hours of the morning, they had agreed that Glory would tell her papa to expect him this afternoon. This gave Wei a few hours to work on his proposal. While he was neither wealthy nor titled, he had sufficient means to give Glory a life of comfort and security. She’d even expressed excitement at the prospect of living at the clinic. Nonetheless, he knew that she was giving up a lot for him, and he would dedicate himself to her happiness, protect her, ensure that she wanted for nothing that was within his power to give.
Hopefully, that would be enough to satisfy her papa.
Wei sat up, stretching before he rose naked from the bed. At the sight of the small stain on the sheets, he felt a twinge of guilt…and a proprietary jolt in his cock. Bloody hell, he couldn’t wait to have his little tigress in his life and his bed permanently.
Getting dressed, he went in search of breakfast and ran into Yao in the courtyard.
“Didn’t think you would be up this early.” Yao waggled his brows. “Not after your little pupil’s visit last night.”
“Show some respect,” Wei said shortly. “She is going to be my wife.”
“About time you admitted it.” Yao grinned. “When will you be bringing home my future shimu? God knows this place could use a female’s touch.”
“I have an appointment with her father this afternoon.”
Yao grimaced. “Good luck with that, shihing.”
Wei would need it.
“By the by, a package just arrived for you. From the Swann woman. I put it in your study.”
Wei’s nape prickled. Mrs. Swann’s delivery had come sooner than expected.
“Thank you,” he said. “Have breakfast sent to my study, will you?”
Parting ways with his shidai, he headed to his study. A box was waiting for him on his desk, and he paused, dread creeping over him. Whatever he discovered in there was bound to be painful—a veritable Pandora’s box of the past. Yet there might be answers in there, the closure that Kray had been in no condition to give.
Wei owed it to his family to see this through to the end. To honor their deaths with the truth. And to give himself peace by laying the matter fully at rest.
Inhaling, he opened the lid.
His gut recoiled, his eyes blurring as he saw what lay inside. With shaking hands, he lifted out his sister’s hair, wetness sliding down his cheeks as he held the dull and lifeless skeins. At that moment, his grief and rage merged again, and he wished he’d torn out Kray’s throat.
He drew a hitched breath. Gently, he set down his sister’s hair and forced himself to remove the other item from the box. The leather-bound journal was tattered, his chest constricting when he saw the title scrawled on the first page: The Adventures of Leonard Kray 1835-1836.
The time of his family’s murders.
Wei made himself read on. Kray was meticulous and depraved, detailing his exploits with bloodless precision and pride. In the story he told, he was a self-made hero. To him, robbing, assaulting, and even killing were valuable skills he’d honed over time. His words showed no remorse or moral conscience, an early entry summing up his view of the world.
I never wanted to be a sailor, but the bleeding Peelers left me no choice but to get out of London with all due expedience. Bastards somehow tied me to the old mort in Clerkenwell. How I don’t know for I left her with a cleverly broken neck at the foot of the stairs…an accident, by all appearances. My recent stint in Boarding School—the whore responsible for my stay is lucky I didn’t cut her throat for her stupid bleating—makes my current flit all the more necessary.
* * *
P.S. The mort’s idiot nephew didn’t pay me nearly enough for the job, and now that he has his greedy paws on her inheritance, I’ll be reminding him that he owes me for my silence.
Kray’s entries simmered with resentment and spite. With the belief that life had cheated him, and he deserved better. Therefore, he felt entitled to take what he wanted.
Grandpapa, that cheeseparing bastard, didn’t want to send me on a Tour, and I hope he’s turning in his grave as I make my own way around the world, doing the Kray name proud. In India, I parted ways with my last ship due to a misunderstanding. The captain wanted to discipline me for the alleged coercion of a native—as if a man ought to be punished for picking fruit off a tree he owns. India is a jewel in the English crown, ours to do with as we please. The nabobs’ estates are teeming with their half-Indian bastards, but as always, wealth makes the rules while men like me suffer unfair consequences.
Battening down his rage, Wei forced himself to read about the path of destruction Kray carved all the way to China. Kray had his usual litany of complaints about the Middle Kingdom: from the food to the culture and people, everything was inferior to England. Having yet again parted ways with his ship, Kray had found work as a guard for one of the British opium traders in Canton. A man named Erasmus Trimble who’d earned a rare modicum of respect from Kray.
Now Trimble, he’s a man of action. He wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and he’s made something of himself. An intelligent fellow, he values all I have to offer. He won’t let the rules of ordinary men get in the way of ambition and greatness.
More glowing accounts of Trimble’s “greatness”—which amounted to bribes and violence in the service of opium smuggling—followed, until Wei arrived at an entry dated three days after his family’s deaths. His blood turned to ice as he read the words.
