A spark came into the American’s eyes. Hope...a refusal to give up the fight.
Wei knew Williams would be all right.
A deep, cultured voice came from the doorway. “Still beating your pupils over the head with Confucius, Master Chen?”
“Your Grace.” Wei rose as the Duke of Hadleigh strode into the room. “I am gratified that you recognized the wisdom of the world’s greatest philosopher.”
“Heard it often enough, old boy,” Hadleigh said wryly.
In the eyes of English society, Benedict Wodehouse, the Duke of Hadleigh, was a gentleman who had everything: status, wealth, and a lovely young wife and daughter. To look at the robust dark-haired duke, immaculately garbed in the latest fashion, one would not guess the destructive path he’d once traveled.
“Doc’s philosophy ain’t half bad,” Williams said shyly. “And it’s a hell of an improvement over the thoughts running through my head.”
The wry humor dropped from Hadleigh’s countenance. His blue gaze sharpened.
“Williams, is it?” he said in imperious tones.
“Y-yes, sir.” Looking awed that a duke was addressing him by name, the American stammered, “I m-mean, er, Your Majesty.”
“Take it from me, the treatment works. Don’t give up on it…or yourself.”
Williams gave a reverent nod.
Amused, Wei asked, “Do you have time for tea, Your Grace?”
“If your fine lapsang souchong is on offer, I shan’t refuse.”
As Wei and the duke headed back to the study, they passed students practicing kung fu in the courtyard. The men bowed, chorusing, “Good morning, Shifu Chen.” Wei acknowledged their greetings with a nod and waved them on to continue their drills.
“I could use a training session myself,” Hadleigh remarked. “My skills are getting rusty.”
“You are always welcome to practice here.”
“I know. I’ve had my hands full of late.”
Wei cocked his head. “How is Her Grace’s injury?”
“Her ankle is coming along, and she wishes to convey her thanks for the poultice you prescribed.” Hadleigh’s eyes crinkled at the corners. “If you have a similar poultice to cure her impulse to get up and about before she is ready, I would forever be in your debt.”
Wei felt his lips twitch. “I am a healer, Your Grace. Not a miracle worker.”
It would take a miracle to cure the duchess of her headstrong nature; fortunately, Hadleigh cherished his wife’s spirit. Indeed, willfulness seemed to be a quality shared by Her Grace’s friends. On cue, Lady Glory burst into Wei’s head. Since their adventure last night, she’d intruded constantly upon his thoughts, and even years of contemplation practice could not rid him of the memories.
Of being trapped in that wardrobe with her. Of her scent. Of her innocent-yet-wanton curiosity, that instant when arousal had broken through the barrier of his self-control, his cock rising hungrily against her sleek curves…
Thoughts are like rambunctious children. It will not do to indulge them.
Pushing the wayward duke’s daughter firmly out of his head, Wei led the duke into his study. Like the rest of the clinic, his sanctuary was stark and uncluttered, furnished with simple rosewood furnishings. A pair of his shifu’s calligraphy scrolls graced the wall behind his desk, and his meditation cushion sat on the floor next to the ancestral altar.
With a bittersweet pang, Wei ran his gaze over the three spirit tablets on the altar: one for his mama, baba, and mei mei. The narrow wooden plaques were carved with their names, and the incense he’d burned for them earlier lingered in the air. Next to the tablets, the offering of oranges gleamed in their bowl…Ling Ling’s favorite.
I hope the oranges are sweet, little sister. As sweet as the vengeance I vow to one day offer you.
The thought focused him, reminded him of everything at stake. For fifteen years, he had been hunting down the villains who’d murdered his family. He’d delivered justice to one, but a job half-done was a job not done at all. He had another killer to find, and he would not let anything—least of all a fleeting and irrational physical reaction—distract him.
The maid arrived with tea. Wei and his guest sat at the round table, the smoky aroma of the lapsang souchong rising from their porcelain cups.
“I came to thank you,” Hadleigh said. “For escorting Her Grace’s friend last night.”
