Читать книгу The Blonde Samurai - Jina Bacarr - Страница 11

I replaced the dildo among the red velvet folds hungry to hug its hardness, then wiped the stickiness off my fingers with a cotton handkerchief monogrammed with my initials. The perfume of my folly lingered to tempt me, but I snapped the box shut. I had no time to linger. Tonight I would entertain visitors.

Important visitors.

At James’s request, I had invited the Viscount and Lady Aubrey to join us for a light supper along with my parents (my mother was eager to make the acquaintance of Lady Aubrey, a lady-in-waiting to the queen). The viscount was a family friend of his lordship and quite an interesting gentleman. No doubt you will have guessed his identity before you turn the page. He has the ear of the queen on foreign affairs and reputedly has been invited to Windsor Castle by Her Majesty to see her personal collection of miniatures. I was impressed with his keen sense of politics and I was certain he had no idea James was a scoundrel. His lordship was very adept at keeping his father’s friends unaware of the dark side of his personality.

I planned a simple menu starting with a clear soup and two entrées instead of the usual four, followed by a dish of duck and ending with creamy pudding and light airy confections smothered with cream. Nothing to tax the digestion, since I knew the viscount suffered with gout.

Dissention set in when my husband informed me he wished to speak to my father alone after dinner about something important. I should have known James never did anything without wanting something in return. What was it this time? I wanted to know. He ignored my outburst and disappeared upstairs “to polish his leather toys.” I wasn’t fooled by his diversionary tactics to take my mind off the situation. I had no doubt the entire visit was a thinly disguised plot for James to elicit more funds from my father for his costly lifestyle.

What I couldn’t have foreseen was a chance remark from the Viscount Aubrey that enchanted me and planted a seed in my mind that grew so quickly I couldn’t stop it, as surely as I couldn’t stop the shadows of night from descending upon us.

“I don’t know what’s gotten into the British government, James,” I overheard my father saying after dinner when I entered the room filled with smoke, “opening the railway in Japan before fixing the damn roads.”

James agreed, his easy compliance making me certain my suspicions about his motives were correct. He added that the roads were muddy and unruly and nearly impossible to travel in wet weather. Neither he nor my father noticed my entrance, so involved were they in their conversation, but the Viscount Aubrey stole a glance in my direction, his bushy eyebrows moving up and down in a curious twist. I imagined he wasn’t accustomed to a lady joining the gentlemen in their frog-trimmed, padded smoking jackets after dinner in the gun room, but I insisted upon it. I had no desire to accompany my mother and Lady Aubrey upstairs with their fluttering fans, bottles of scent, filmy scarves and innocuous talk about croquet, archery and the latest divorce gossip. Nothing that would raise an eyebrow or illicit a nervous cough.

“There was little the British government could do, sir,” James insisted, offering my father a cigar, “since the Japanese government demanded the railroad between Tokio and Yokohama open on time.”

“That project was started more than two and a half years ago,” my father said, leaning back in the padded wingback chair, enjoying its comfort as well as its girth. It did my heart good to see my da enjoy himself, knowing how much turmoil he’d faced these past few years. “Since then, the funds to build more railway lines in Japan have either dried up or been withdrawn.”

“It’s no secret, Mr. O’Roarke, that the situation is at an impasse,” added the viscount, his smoking cap slightly askew on his head. He reminded me of an overgrown elf. “The cost to build more railways in Japan is prohibitive, especially with the financial state of European banks.”

“With all due respect, Viscount Aubrey,” said my father, sticking his thumbs under his plaid suspenders as he always did when he was certain he was right, “I’d bet a barnful of hay the cost could be kept down if you Brits paid more attention to your suppliers. I hear these fellows use twisted rails and build weak bridges.”

“What you say is true,” James added, his manner somewhat condescending, which made me even more suspicious, “but the biggest mistake was that the European director of the railway didn’t know how to handle the Japanese.”

“And I suppose you do, milord?” my father inquired, biting down on his cigar.

“To put it bluntly, sir, yes,” James said with a confidence that surprised me. “I’ve become acquainted with their way of thinking, how they move together as one unit, not individuals. How they use a subtle form of communication when dealing with westerners and never answer a question in a direct manner.”

My father laughed. “Back home we call that hedging.”

“The Japanese call it business as usual,” James answered in a glib manner. He smiled like a little boy trying to fool his governess. I looked away, refusing to be drawn into his game.

“Then you’ve been to Japan?” my father asked, surprised.

“No,” James said, “but I’ve been escorting the Japanese emissary around London. He’s a likable chap with a solid knowledge of English and a good head on his shoulders.”

Escorting him to the brothels on York Street and the newly fashionable Bayswater district, I imagined, easing myself down on a plush divan after pouring an after-dinner drink from the row of decanters of claret, port and sherry sitting on the sideboard.

I leaned forward, eager to jump into the conversation. I thrived on lively discussion, from a rousing round of politics, discussing the iniquities of the parties—whether they were Tory or Whig or Labor—to current books and plays. This evening I was eager to discuss the latest filibustering in the House of Commons. I had no desire to listen to their mindless prattle about Japan, a barbaric country where, according to what I’d read in Lord Penmore’s letters, packhorses were the choice of transportation, carrying items for trade from city to city by means of narrow footpaths cut into fields of farmland.

“The Japanese will beat us at our own game if we don’t beat them first,” my father bellowed, his stiff celluloid collar choking him and turning his face red. I had to smile. I knew he’d rather be lifting a pint with his cronies in a pub. He hated the formalities required of an English drawing room, while my mother reveled in it.

“What are you saying, Mr. O’Roarke?” the viscount asked, his eyes stealing a glance at me when he thought I wasn’t looking. I tipped my glass to him and smiled. His features softened and he returned the smile.

“The Great Western Railway from here to Swindon barely tops fifty-three miles an hour and it took you British years to build it.” He looked at my husband and grinned. “I’m certain we can build a railway from ōzaka to Kobé in half the time. And my son-in-law has convinced me he’s the man to handle the deal.”

So that was the reason James invited my father for this get-together.

Angry with my husband’s subterfuge, I fiddled with my fan, bending it until it cracked. James had convinced my father there was a fortune to be made by working with the mikado’s government to finance a string of railways across Japan with Thomas O’Roarke investing in the rails, tank engines, wood for bridges and carriages needed. All financial arrangements, his lordship added, would be handled through the Oriental Bank of London.

He didn’t count on his frustrated young wife playing a game of her own. Bored, restless and sex starved, I remained defiant in my approach to this marriage. I refused to be treated like an aftereffect of his greed and often baited him with subtle, sexual innuendos regarding his secret life.

As in this instance, when Viscount Aubrey dropped a casual remark that the British government held fast to its goal in bringing Occidental values to Japan. Curious, I asked him how they proposed to change a pagan country cut off from civilization for nearly two hundred fifty years (Lord Penmore’s letters contained material of an informational nature as well as salacious). He answered in his wry manner that the British Legation had already engaged a governess and a seamstress to teach the female gentry of Japan about English household customs.

“I imagine visiting the mysterious Orient tempts the adventurer in all of us,” I said, envisioning myself floating in a world of silk, flowers and fans. And bare breasted with numerous combs and needles decorating my hair, as I had seen in the tinted photographs of the geisha included in Lord Penmore’s letters. “Including me.”

“I had no idea you were so interested in Japan, my dear wife,” James said, laying his hand on the back of my neck and rubbing it, making me stiffen. “I see I was mistaken.”

He kissed my hand, expecting me to quiver. I didn’t withdraw it, signaling to him that I alone controlled my emotions. Instead, I said, “There are many things you don’t know about me, my dear husband.”

“That’s my Katie,” my father said, smiling at me. “A girl with spirit. I see no reason why you couldn’t accompany your husband to Japan.”

“Splendid idea, Mr. O’Roarke,” the viscount added, as if the thought were his own. “Your daughter would be a most excellent addition to the British delegation at the mikado’s court.”

“That’s impossible, milord,” James blurted out, startling me.

And making me angry. How dare he speak for me?

He continued, “My wife has no intention of leaving London during the Season.”

Ignoring his outburst, I replied, “You flatter me, Viscount Aubrey, but tell me, how could I be of assistance to the legation? I know nothing about the Japanese, though I admit I’ve been reading about their fascinating country in Lord Penmore’s letters to my husband.”

The look of fury on James’s face was instant. Cold, fierce. I swear if he could have, he would have taken the whip to me at that moment so intense was his anger toward me.

I pretended not to notice and continued discussing the British alliance with the Japanese with the viscount, though I was more interested in contrasting the volatile state of my relationship with my husband with my seemingly innocent remark about the romance of travel.

“I’m certain the mikado’s court would be honored to receive you and be graced by your wit, Lady Carlton,” said the viscount, ignorant of the drama being played out between my husband and me, “as well as your charm and intelligence.”

I smiled. I was beginning to enjoy the game. I curled my fingers around my broken fan and tapped it against my cheek in a coy manner. “In that case, how can I resist such a delightful invitation?”

“What are you saying, my dear wife?” My husband’s voice held an edge only I recognized.

I lowered my lashes to veil my naughty thoughts from him. “Isn’t it a wife’s duty to accompany her husband to his new post?”

“Not if he wishes her to stay home,” he countered. “A wife must obey her husband’s wishes in all matters.”

“All matters, James?” I flipped open my cracked fan and fluttered it about me wildly. “This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve gotten my way, would it, my dear husband?”

I could see his eyes flashing with contempt, knowing I had baited him and he couldn’t bow out gracefully in front of Viscount Aubrey.

I laid my fan down on the divan, fingering the broken spine. I wouldn’t break as easily. I’d made my point, shown him he couldn’t make me surrender to his will. I’d let him simmer for a few days, feed his sexual temperament with provocative thoughts of me watching his every move in the Orient, then I’d invoke a woman’s prerogative.

I’d change my mind.

You see, dear lady reader, I had no intention of going to Japan. The idea disturbed me, images of intense strangeness and violence making an indelible mark upon my mind. Besides, I’d made my place here in London and occupied it with a surety and confidence I’d never experienced at home. The viscount would understand my position when I explained my trepidation and withdraw his offer gracefully. After all, what sane woman would wish to travel halfway around the world to such a barbaric country?

“Katie, me girl, you saved the old man a heap of anguish tonight.”

“What are you talking about, Da?” I asked, curious. I poured myself another glass of claret, still gloating over how I had perturbed my husband about accompanying him to Japan. I also knew the power of an eloquent silence and didn’t protest when James excused himself and left the gun room in haste with a feeble excuse about finding his manservant to bring more liquor. Most likely he ventured off in search of a plump bottom to vent his frustration upon with his favorite crop. The viscount finished his port then rang for his driver, citing his gout as the reason for his early departure.

Leaving my father and I alone.

“I don’t know how to say this, Katie, but I’m worried.”

“About what, Da? Is Mother overdrawn on her account at Fortnum & Mason again?” I was well aware of my mother’s appetite for fine pickle relishes and peach preserves.

He smiled. He never denied his adored Ida anything, but it wasn’t my mother’s spending habits that made him peel off the wrapper of another cigar and hold it tightly in his palm before crushing it. “I overheard something about that husband of yours that set the old man’s ears atwittering.”

“You did?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. Did he know about James’s sexual indiscretions? This upset me more than I would admit. After all the times I spoke with my father in blunt terms about the world of politics and life’s frailties, I felt embarrassment at the thought of my da knowing about my husband’s sordid liaisons with prostitutes. Rare to blush, I put my hand to my cheek and the burn meeting my fingertips surprised me.

“Yes,” he continued. “Some braggart from Parliament mentioned a stock deal James got himself involved with that had shady overtones.” He paused, tossing down the cigar, then said, “Though he couldn’t prove it when I challenged him.”

“I never heard anything about it, Da.” I bit my lip the second I said the words. Why was I defending my husband?

“I hope you’re right, Katie. I was leery about sending that husband of yours off to Japan with a letter of credit worth thousands of pounds sterling honored by my bank here in London,” my father said, laying his hand on my shoulder, “but with you going with him—”

“Me? Go to Japan?” I turned around so quickly I spilled the wine, the deep burgundy staining my fingers red. I grabbed a cloth from the table and wiped up the mess, my victory over James dissolving as quickly as the cloth soaking up the liquid. “I—I can’t go, Da.”

“But you seemed so eager—”

“I was. I mean…it sounded so romantic…” I shuddered, my breath ragged. What had I done?

I couldn’t tell my father about the dangerous game I played with my husband, the sexual innuendos, unfulfilled lust, his blatant adultery. Thomas O’Roarke already harbored a prejudice against the Englishman because of James’s high financial demands for our marriage settlement. My father had paid the exorbitant amount to make my mother happy and to secure my future. Or so he believed.

“A sea voyage will do wonders for you both,” my father answered in that glib manner of his I knew so well when he wanted something. “Think of it as a holiday.”

I tried to smile, but couldn’t. It didn’t matter what I said or did. My father would see only what he wanted to see, the range of his vision clouded by his personal motives.

“A trip to Japan would be most illuminating,” I lied, “but Mother needs me here in London to help her, especially since Elva and the baby are coming to visit.”

Though we had our differences, I was looking forward to my younger sister’s visit. Elva was the pretty one, dark and dainty, the daughter my mother groomed to marry a duke or a prince. Instead she’d gotten pregnant at seventeen and had her baby in a Paris hospital. I was eager to see her.

I continued, making excuses. “I spoke without thinking, Da.”

“I’m mighty glad you did.” He lowered his voice. The glibness was gone. That surprised me, made me uneasy. So unlike the rogue Irishman who could talk a gang of rail busters into working extra hours for no pay. “I need this deal with the Japanese, Katie. Need it bad.”

No fragmentation of thought, just straightforward talk. I stared at him, something about the edge in his voice frightening me. “What are you saying?”

“We’re heading for bad times with the railroad boom in the States coming to an end. Banks are overextending themselves and President Grant invoked the gold standard for the money supply.” He paused, chewed on his cigar. “I’m dead certain we’re going into an economic crisis before the end of the year.” He thought about what was on his mind, then finished with, “I fear I could lose everything if I don’t diversify my holdings.”

“I had no idea it was that serious.”

“It’s worse, Katie.” Thomas O’Roarke shook his head, his jowls drooped, the toll of many years of track walking for the railroad in his younger days showing on his face. Success had its price, I knew, though my father would never admit it. He’d come up the hard way, working with his hands till they bled, but it was his quick, mathematical mind and keen business sense that had put him at the top of the railroad game.

“If what you’re saying is true, Da, wouldn’t it make more sense if you went to Japan with James?”

I rattled my brain for an excuse, any excuse not to go on a long, tiresome journey halfway around the world with a man I feared and hated. No warmth existed between us, any attraction I may have felt toward him disfigured by his deviant games of domination, and if I stripped away the pretense we had forged with each other, it revealed only emptiness.

“I wish I could, Katie, but I can’t.” He spoke harshly. “You must go to Japan and keep an eye on my business interests.”

“But Japan is a pagan country,” I reminded him, “run by barbarians and samurai.”

My father ignored my plea. “You’re a strong girl, Katie, not letting anyone get the best of you and speaking your mind.” He smiled, pleased. “You remind me of meself when I was starting out, all fired up with ambition, a wild temper and always breaking rules.”

I grinned, remembering the photo I’d seen of my father back in his youth, a tall, thin young man with pants too short for him, a lantern in his hand and a whistle between his lips. I saw that young man come alive again when he said, “There’s nothing more beautiful in the world than miles of railroad track, all straight and shiny, calling to you.” He laughed. “Except your mother, of course.”

I poked him in the ribs. “You always did know how to turn a phrase, Da.”

He didn’t give up his cajoling, now that he had my attention. “Railroading is in your blood, Katie. When you were a wee girl, I’d take you along with me down to the tracks and we’d watch the big trains roaring into the station. Side by side they came, the crew heaving coal into the engines, the iron horses puffing, straining every bit of steel and muscle, passengers hanging out the windows and waving handkerchiefs, the rolling black smoke turning the sky dark overhead, the great iron steeds rounding the sharp curve and arriving at their destination, brakes screeching, tracks sparking.” He let go with a heavy sigh. “’Tis a sight to behold, but railroading is a young man’s game and the old man is running out of steam.” He patted his belly protruding over his trousers.

“Not you, Da. You can do anything.” I remembered those days with my small hand clasped in his, hanging on to my soft blue bonnet whipped by the wind. I hugged him with warmth in my heart, but I couldn’t stop a cold fear growing in my bones.

“Not this time, Katie. Your husband may be what we call an upstart back home, but he’s shrewd and can get the job done.” He leaned forward and looked me square in the eye. “I’m counting on you to see that he does.”

I found the courage to return my father’s hard stare, though turmoil raged inside me, a smooth sheen of sweat moistening my upper lip. I remained silent for several minutes, my insides churning with something I didn’t understand, an anticipation of the unknown knocking my inner compass off course. I’d been so sure of myself, filled with self-direction, capable of making my way unaided, asserting my freedom as Lady Carlton, but all that ended if I followed my father’s wishes and journeyed to Japan.

I looked away, guilt flooding me. How could I explain to him my husband was a madman who reveled in floggings, whippings and spankings? My father believed I was a happily married woman, though sexually I moved in the shadows, darkness cloaking my secret, my cries of ecstasy mingling with silence, my solitary game bringing me release but little joy.

How I longed to crush my nude breasts against the muscular bare chest of an imaginary lover, rubbing my hard nipples against him, the heat of my need stirring his desire. Moving his body on mine, then thrusting his cock into me until the loneliness I lived with day after day ceased and my body hummed with a comforting rhythm I had yet to experience.

When we did meet, my samurai relit my soul with acts so profound and passionate, so brilliantly intense I existed in a floating world. Every gesture, nuance and caress teasing me with the finest blue silk pulled taut over my breasts so my nipples peaked through the sheer fabric, inviting my samurai to linger at the task before stripping it off me and exploring me further, capturing my spirit and giving me pleasure with consummate skill. My nude body glimmering with such translucence it was as if I were bathed in mica dust.

Yet at that moment I believed that would never happen with this new set of circumstances entering my life. Strange, I had gotten myself into this situation because I wished to strike back at my husband, make him see me as an equal, not as a sexually repressed woman. Agonizing, meandering thoughts consumed me. Questions haunted me, but the answer didn’t change. I had no choice but to embark on this journey.

Reluctantly, over the next few weeks I assisted James with making the necessary arrangements regarding our identity papers, letters of credit from the bank along with a signature book and visiting cards, as well as securing passage to America, then Japan. I owed my father that much, but I couldn’t shake the uneasiness overtaking me as his lordship and I undertook our long journey to the Orient, a land of myth, pagan rituals and strange customs. I prayed I would survive nameless dangers I had yet to contemplate.

What I didn’t know, dear lady reader, was that I would face a clear-cut danger the night we were to board the steamer to Yokohama from San Francisco.

I shiver still, remembering the frightening incident that nearly cost me my life. Read on, if you have the courage. You won’t be disappointed. I have worked hard to re-create that night with witty dialogue and pertinent details as I remember them; but I must warn you to keep your smelling powders close at hand since I have also included a most explicit scene with my samurai that will—

No, I will let you see for yourself, but I beg you to read the chapter in its entirety so as not to lose sight of the story line.

That is why you’re reading this book, isn’t it?