When Marrying a Duke.... Helen Dickson

woman sidled up to Oliver.

      ‘You likee me?’ she said, playing coy.

      ‘Yes, but not now.’

      A portly middle-aged Chinese man with long moustaches drooping on either side of his small, fleshy mouth seemed to appear from nowhere, his hands tucked into his sleeves. He bowed respectfully.

      ‘May I present Tiger Lily and Jasmine. They are offering you their services with the magic of their exquisite bodies. They are skilful and will soothe your aches in some infinitesimal degree, but if their clumsiness is offensive, you should beat them for their correction and your pleasure.’

      ‘No,’ Oliver said. ‘I have not come for the girls, Mr Chang.’

      Mr Chang accepted this and clapping his hands sharply, the girls melted into the background. He paid small interest to Marietta, who had her eyes cast down. Facing Oliver, he bowed in greeting while Marietta felt inordinately pleased with herself when his eyes passed over her without suspicion.

      ‘It is good to see you again, Mr Schofield,’ he said in silky tones as well as perfect English. ‘Will you honour me by accepting refreshment?’

      ‘I should be glad to, Mr Chang.’ Turning to Marietta, he said in quiet but firm tones, ‘Wait for me in the carriage. I’ll just be a few moments, but on no account wander off.’

      Resentful at being so casually dismissed, but knowing better than to argue, Marietta returned to the carriage, expelling a sigh of exasperation on seeing the driver with his head bowed taking a nap. As time passed and Oliver did not return she became annoyed. The shadows were lengthening and the native quarter was beginning to wake from its afternoon torpor. Deciding she’d had enough, she stood up, then climbed down from the carriage and went back into the building to look for Oliver.

      Like a moth blundering in the lamplight she stumbled over the cushions littering the floor. Eventually she saw Oliver. She was disappointed to find he had given in to the temptation to sample the wares. He was reclining on a pile of cushions with a pipe in his mouth, sucking in the vapour from a bowl held over the flame of a lamp, holding it in as long as possible, then slowly letting it out through his mouth. He was already on the blessed edges of oblivion, the strong narcotic having dulled his senses to forgetfulness and Marietta’s presence.

      Angry that he could be so irresponsible, forgetful of her disguise, before he could take another pull from the pipe she snatched it from him and, placing her hands on his shoulders, shook him hard.

      ‘Oliver, wake up. Please pull yourself together.’

      When he opened his eyes they were unfocused, his pupils just pinpricks in the centres of his irises.

      ‘Do not be alarmed.’ Mr Chang suddenly appeared silently behind her. ‘Your companion will wake soon and be none the worse for smoking the pipe.’ Turning his glittering black eyes on Marietta, he saw her more clearly. He opened his slit eyes a fraction wider. ‘Ah, you are English missee.’

      ‘Yes, I am English missee,’ she repeated crossly.

      He moved closer and brushed her cheek. ‘And with skin like a peach. A treasure beyond price. You stay here, English missee. There are many who would pay handsomely for your company.’

      Not so naïve that she didn’t know what he implied, she gasped. ‘How dare you? Despite what I look like, I am a respectable English girl and my father counts for something on the island. Be good enough to wake Mr Schofield and we will leave.’

      Ignoring her, Mr Chang took her arm. ‘Not so hasty now, English missee.’

      Beginning to get alarmed and feeling a sudden chill when she became aware of furtive figures lurking in the shadows, Marietta shook her arm free. ‘Do not touch me. I warn you that the British Consul knows of our whereabouts and you will be in serious trouble if you try to keep me here.’ Looking at Oliver, she saw him stir. ‘Oliver, wake up,’ she said sharply. ‘You must take me home at once.’

      Seeming to remember where he was, Oliver thrust the pipe away. Shaking his head, he staggered to his feet, struggling to fight the opium fumes that fogged his brain. ‘Marietta! Oh God—forgive me—I quite forgot.’

      ‘Clearly.’ She raised a knowing eyebrow. ‘What a complete idiot I have been. I thought you had come to buy the drug for an acquaintance when all the time you wanted it for yourself.’

      Swaying slightly, Oliver regarded her for a moment with a closed expression, then leaned in with a confidential whisper. ‘There you have me, Marietta. I will confess that I am here to purchase the narcotic for my own use. As you have witnessed yourself, I am rather fond of the odd pipe. It’s quite common, you know.’

      ‘I don’t dispute that, but how could you, Oliver?’ Marietta found the idea of smoking opium frightening. Her imagination was already vibrant. She was aware of what happened to people who took mind-altering substances, that it ruled its addicts with its weapons of need and distrust. Once in its grip, there was no escape. She sincerely hoped that, where Oliver was concerned, his indulgence in this particular vice was a passing phase. ‘Now pull yourself together for I think there is some villainy afoot. I think your Mr Chang wants to keep me here.’

      Taking his arm, with great difficulty she managed get him on to the veranda, relieved when no one tried to stop them and ignoring the pipe smokers who rose and drifted away into the shadows.

      ‘Devil take it,’ Oliver mumbled, stumbling to his knees and grabbing at a post to keep himself from falling flat on his face. ‘I’m all at sea.’

      ‘It jolly well serves you right,’ Marietta scolded.

      Suddenly a tall, lithe black-haired man materialised from across the street. ‘Get up, man,’ he retorted as he hoisted Oliver to his feet.

      ‘Thank you,’ Oliver muttered. ‘I am much obliged.’

      Marietta’s head spun round on hearing the strong authoritative tones. Suddenly she wished the ground would open and swallow her up. She lowered her head to hide her face, for there was no one in the whole world she would so much dislike to discover her in this disguise as Lord Trevellyan.

      ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ Max demanded of Oliver.

      Oliver’s eyes darted about, but he saw there was no escaping Lord Trevellyan’s interrogation. ‘I—came on behalf of a friend to collect a package, and before I knew …’

      ‘Like hell you did,’ Max ground out. ‘You knew what kind of establishment this is—that not only is it a house of ill repute, but that Chang deals in narcotics. If you are hell-bent on self-destruction, young man, you are going the right way about it.’

      Marietta was about to move behind Oliver when a warm hand on her shoulder pulled her back and spun her round to face him.

      ‘Wait. Are you with him?’

      Knowing there was no escape, Marietta raised her head and met his gaze, her eyes wide with horrified embarrassment. She saw astonished recognition in his eyes and tried to shrink away, but he held on to her shoulder, his fingers digging into her soft flesh.

      ‘Miss Westwood. Just as one might have expected. What an absolutely tiresome girl you are.’ She flinched before the exasperation in his voice. ‘I might have known—although I didn’t expect to meet you engaged in yet another mad escapade quite so soon. It leaves me wondering what the devil you’ll get up to next.’ He rounded angrily on Oliver. ‘Have you no sense? You must have known it was the height of dangerous folly to bring a young girl to a place such as this. Not only does Chang deal in opium, but slaves are his speciality—the younger the better, and the fairer the skin the higher the price.’

      ‘I hadn’t meant to bring her, but …’

      ‘She insisted.’ Max fixed his fierce gaze on Marietta. ‘Do you go out of your way to court danger and excitement? I suppose it’s pointless me asking if your father knows you are here?’

      Marietta shook