Ruel and Li Sung stood on the porch.
"What are you doing here?" Jane whispered. She glanced anxiously over her shoulder, but the knocking had evidently not disturbed Patrick. Her gaze flew back to Li Sung. "What's wrong. Why aren't you at the temple?"
"He wanted to see you." Ruel made a face. "And made his desire known at the top of his voice. It was a question of being thrown out of the hotel or bringing him here."
"What was he doing at the hotel?"
"A wee drop," Li Sung murmured. He swayed and his knees gave way.
Ruel caught him and leaned him against the doorjamb.
"He's drunk," Jane said blankly. "Li Sung never drinks."
"A wee drop . . ." Li Sung's eyes closed.
"Now he wants to sleep," Ruel said in disgust. "He was wide awake and noisy as the devil at the hotel."
"You got him drunk," she accused Ruel.
"Aye, it seemed a good idea at the time." Ruel shifted his hold. "Is there a place here he can sleep, or do I have to drag him back to the hotel?"
"The veranda." She stepped aside and watched him half carry, half drag Li Sung across the room toward the french doors. "Why was it a good idea?"
"Do you think I set out to corrupt your virtuous friend?" He dropped him on the couch, snatched up a pillow, and put it under his head. "If I did, you can bet it won't happen again. After the second drink he insisted on shouting Chinese proverbs at the top of his voice."
"Why was it a good idea?" Jane repeated. "And why was he at your hotel and not at the temple?"
"We ran into each other outside Zabrie's, and I invited him back to have a drink."
"Zabrie!" Her gaze went to Li Sung, who was now curled on his side, sleeping peacefully. "And what were you doing outside— You followed him?"
"I was just out for a stroll."
"You followed him."
"He's crippled and I didn't like the idea of Pachtal— Dammit, how do I know why I did it? I seem to be acting on impulse more often than not these days." He picked up a cashmere throw from the chair and tossed it over Li Sung. "You don't have to worry about him going back to Zabrie's. She went straight from Li Sung to Abdar at Savitsar Palace. After which our friend here felt the need of a bit of comforting oblivion."
"I see." She felt the tears sting her eyes as she looked at Li Sung. "I should never have meddled. She hurt him."
"He said she also made him feel like a giant. You have to take the bitter with the sweet."
She swallowed. "Thank you for caring for him. It was very kind."
"I'm not kind. I told you, it was an impulse that I—" He stopped and then said gruffly, "I don't like to see you worried and unhappy. It bothered me."
She gazed at him in bewilderment. "How strange."
"I thought so too," he said testily. "And there's something else. I've been doing a bit of thinking since this afternoon—" He stopped and then said in a rush, "Oh, what the hell, there's no other way to say it. I've decided I want to marry you."
She stared at him in shock. She didn't think she had heard him correctly. "I beg your pardon."
"Not right away. It's going to be a few years before I can offer you anything but the chance to watch me slave myself half to death. But when I have the mine working and the money starts rolling in . . ." He grimaced. "God knows when that will be. I may be asking you to wait as long as Ian has for Margaret."
She shook her head dazedly. "I don't understand this."
"Ian says I want a home. He says I need . . ." He shrugged. "Maybe he's right. What's a home without a wife?"
"And that's why you want me?"
"Not altogether. I ... feel something for you."
"Lust."
"No, something else."
"Guilt."
"No." He suddenly burst out, "Why do you keep asking me questions? I don't want you to leave me. I want to take care of you." His tone became brusque. "But it wouldn't be a bad proposition for you. I'd make sure you had everything you wanted and wouldn't ask anything except that you occupy my bed and eventually give me a child. Does that sound reasonable?"
"Very reasonable." She felt totally confused. She had never expected this, never even imagined it could happen. Marriage. Ruel. It would be like being wed to a warlock "More reasonable than the idea of you wanting to marry me."
"Well, what do you say?"
She drew a deep breath and shook her head. "No, thank you."
"Why not?" He said quickly before she could reply, "I know we started out wrong, but I can make it right. I respect you and, though you may not admire me, you respect me too."
"I couldn't trust you."
"You'd learn to trust me. I don't betray my friends, and in time you'd find that out."
"The railroad ..."
"I'd take care of your Patrick too."
"Patrick doesn't need taking care of," she said quickly. "And even if he did . . . I'd hate the life you've offered me. Can't you see? I'm not the kind of woman you'd want for a wife." She added flatly, "And you're not what I want either."
A flicker of emotion crossed his face, and for a moment she thought she had hurt him. She would have sworn the Ruel she knew could never be hurt by her, but this strange new Ruel was more vulnerable. No, she must have been mistaken, for he was smiling with his usual mockery.
"I beg to disagree. There are portions of my person you still want very much."
She stiffened. "You're wrong."
"I'm not wrong. Do you think I don't feel it too? It's there all the time between us." His awkwardness was abruptly gone and she was suddenly, vibrantly aware of him. And that was what he wanted, she realized with trepidation. In the wink of an eye he had changed into the sensual mandarin of those days before they had come together in the railway car and she could feel the magnetism he was exerting as if it were a tangible entity.
"You'll find I'm always obliging when it comes to giving a lady what she wants." He turned and moved toward the french doors. "And, as I definitely want to stake a claim before we part ways, I can see I'll have to make an attempt to remind you of just what we've both been missing. Expect me for dinner tomorrow night."
"No, I don't want you to—"
"Expect me." He looked back at her, his gaze running over her loose, shabby cotton robe. "I've never seen you in a nightgown before." He frowned. "If you can call that garment a nightgown. Someday I'm going to see you in something more womanly."
He left the veranda and a moment later she heard the front door close behind him.
"Go away, Ruel," she said as soon as she opened the door of the bungalow the next evening. "I told you not to come. I don't want you here."
His brows lifted. "I take it dinner's not ready?" He took off his wet slicker and dropped it on the porch beside the door. He was dressed more formally than she had ever seen him, in a dark brown suit, crisp white shirt, and black cravat at his throat. The light from the | porch lantern played on the polished sheen of his black boots and the brilliant tawny streaks in his brown hair. His unexpected elegance caught her off guard and made her awkwardly aware of her own rough clothing.
There was no reason for her to feel defensive, she told herself. He was the intruder here. "Go away."
"Well, if you refuse to feed me, I'll just come in and have a word with Patrick. Is he on the veranda?"