The Daughters of Nightsong. V. J. Banis

a city she’d lived virtually a prisoner in her husband’s palace, bearing a son as well as April. It was ten years later that he’d taken them to Peking, to the palace of the Dowager Empress in the Forbidden City, where he deserted her and April in favor of another, a Chinese courtesan.

      Yet, she still wanted to hate Peter MacNair even though it was increasingly difficult to do so in retrospect. A part of her wanted to believe the things he’d told her, his explanation for his seemingly cruel, selfish actions in China, his feelings for her and his interest in her when he found her again in San Francisco.

      Hard as she tried, she could not quiet the voice inside her that whispered that she was being foolish to rely on and trust this man, for all his handsome good-looks, for all his charms, and the smile that played havoc with her heartbeat every time she looked at him, as she was looking at him now through the concealing darkness of the carriage.

      If only there weren’t so many facets to the man, Lydia said to herself. It would all be so simple if he were a scoundrel, plain and simple. But Peter MacNair? No woman could ever feel entirely safe and secure in his affections. She’d seen the way he’d looked with disdain at his own wife, the way he’d treated her, humiliated her in front of another woman, a woman Lorna MacNair knew to be her one-time rival. Peter was unlike any other man who had crossed Lydia’s path, she told herself, with one singular exception perhaps: Ke Loo, her Mandarin husband.

      The two men were alike in that they were both arrogant and heartless and neither would stop at anything to get what they wanted. But unlike Ke Loo, Peter had a soft side too; he would take a woman by force, if necessary, but he would be tender as well as wildly passionate in his lovemaking.

      Lydia closed her eyes as her insides began to ache. It might have been only last night when she lay in Peter’s arms, feeling the heat of his mouth upon her, his hands searching, discovering, his body so hard, so heavy atop her own.

      “Damn,” Peter swore, slamming a fist down on the cushioned seat between them.

      Lydia’s eyes flew open, her reverie splintered into a million fragments.

      “Damn,” Peter said again. “How could they be so foolish?”

      Lydia looked at his handsome profile. Even etched as it was in anger, its chiseled silhouette thrilled her.

      She wanted to touch the soft full lips with her fingertips, press her mouth against his cheek, listen to the words of love he’d once spoken to her.

      She calmly collected herself. “They are children, Peter,” she said. Just speaking his name tugged at her heart.

      “Children be damned,” he growled. “You were no more than April’s age when you managed for yourself in China.”

      Her beautiful thoughts raced away when she remembered her tears, her misery, the harshness of the Mandarin’s sexual assault when Peter left her in his clutches.

      He felt her sudden coldness and turned to look at her. “You were only about seventeen. You had sense.”

      “Sixteen,” Lydia corrected with an icy edge to her voice. “And I did not choose my fate, it was chosen for me.”

      “You still hate me for that?” he said as he looked at her with a hurt expression.

      “I will never forgive you for what you did.”

      “For God’s sake, Lydia, what will it take for you to believe me, or has China become a part of you also? Do you live by their ancient belief that revenge is a sacred duty?” He noticed the way she flinched. He’d touched a nerve, he saw. “Damn it, Lydia. Revenge isn’t some child’s playtoy. It’s a damn bomb that could just as likely go off in your hand.”

      She drew her lips into a thin line and narrowed her eyes when she turned to look at him. “Vengeance makes grief bearable,” she said in an even voice.

      She watched the steadiness of his gaze upon her, the intense concentration that gathered around his eyes, the change in his expression and she felt suddenly powerless before him. Even as Peter grabbed her arm and pulled her roughly against him, she felt herself void of any weapons of defense.

      He kissed her hard on the mouth, crushing himself against her breasts, hurting her, holding her so tightly she felt her bones would crack. She knew he was leaving black and blue marks on her arms where his wide, thick, powerful fingers encircled them, but the heat of him, the pressure of his kiss made her weak with desire for his love.

      “Damn it, I adore you, Lydia. Don’t you know that?”

      She opened her eyes and saw his face. She felt so vulnerable she wanted to cry out from the pain of it. How could she allow him to manipulate her this way, she asked herself as she felt the rage begin to mount? She slapped his face as hard as she could.

      To her utter amazement he raised his hand and slapped her in return, then pulled her back into his arms and began kissing her wildly as she struggled against him. She felt his hands on her breasts, pulling at the bodice of her dress. Something began to tear as she felt a scream catch in her throat.

      The trapdoor in the roof flopped back and the driver said, “We’re at the docks, Mr. MacNair. Do you know which ship it is?”

      Lydia and Peter flew apart, back into their own private hells.

      “Look for the first one with its deck lanterns lighted,” Peter said gruffly, adjusting himself on the seat.

      The moment the carriage stopped Peter was out and up the ramp of the sailing ship, its deck alive with sailors and stevedores.

      “You can’t come aboard,” one of the ship’s officers told him, blocking Peter’s way at the top of the gangplank.

      “I must see the Captain,” Peter demanded.

      Lydia came up behind him, holding her cloak tightly around her. “A young couple,” she said to the officer. “A Eurasian girl and a young American boy. We’ve got to find them.”

      The officer gave a scornful smile. “Oh, yeah. They just came aboard a little while ago,” he said. “They’re in the steering house with the Captain.”

      The Captain was an old sea mongrel who delighted in lecturing young, headstrong people such as the two before him. He felt it his duty to talk at length about anything that would help to cool the young, sensual heads of his charges.

      When the door to the steering house burst open and Peter and Lydia hurried in he was just reaching for his Bible. “You don’t barge in like that,” he scolded. “I am the captain of this vessel and I am getting ready to marry these two young people.”

      “There’ll be no marriage,” Peter said firmly.

      “You can’t stop us!” David cried. He and April clung tightly to one another.

      “I can and I will!” Peter said, his voice deadly calm.

      “April, you must come home,” Lydia said, and at the very same moment, April cried, “Leave us alone.”

      “Look here,” the Captain said, “This is my ship. I say what goes on here.”

      “If you want to sail on the tide, Captain,” Peter said, “I suggest you permit us to remove these two young people. Here is my identification. I am not unknown in the more influential circles here in San Francisco. Your ship could be detained while this abduction is investigated.”

      “Abduction?” The Captain sputtered. “Sir, there is no abduction here. These young persons came aboard of their own volition.”

      “And by the time that’s proved to the harbor master’s satisfaction, your ship will be well behind schedule, which I’m sure will not please her owners.”

      The Captain cleared his throat. He had been at his business since a boy, and he had learned never to argue with a threatening sea, but always to ride with the waves. He shrugged at David and April and slammed shut the Bible. He was glad to see the whole kit and kaboodle of them off his ship.