Chapter Forty-Four
“You can’t be serious.”
Max winced at his mother’s strident voice as she burst into the library.
She was resplendent in her velvet gown, every inch of her declaring her status as a duchess.
She wore forest green and gold with rubies dripping from her ears and across her chest. And yet the magnificent effect was spoiled by her disgusted expression.
“Put those away,” she commanded. “Save them for the woman you will actually marry.” She gestured with disdain at the ancient emerald jewelry set he’d spread out on his desk.
He bristled at the words. “Yihui is my fiancée. These are the gemstones appropriately worn by my bride.”
“Exactly! Your bride!” She picked up one of the earbobs and carefully cleaned the stone. “I thought these were safely locked away at the Cornish estate.”
“They were. I got them the moment I realized she would be presented at court.” Indeed, he’d left the morning after he’d first graced her bed. It had been a long trip, but well worth the effort. He couldn’t wait to see Yihui wearing them.
“But if she wears them, then everyone will think she’s been accepted as your bride. I thought she was to throw you over.”
He folded them up in their case. He had to carefully modulate his tone. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the plan anymore. “She can’t throw me over if I don’t appear to embrace the wedding as Prinny commanded.” He looked up at her. “You’re the one who decided she should wear green and gold.”
“Because they’re our family colors and we dressed her,” the lady huffed.
“That doesn’t mean she should wear jewelry.
” She huffed out a breath. “Think, Max. People need to see a reason for her to throw you over. If we give her the minimum of support—just enough to not be embarrassed by her—then it will make sense when she declares you don’t suit.
After all, who wants to marry into a family that despises you?
But if we give her all the trappings of a future duchess…
” She pointed at the gemstones. “Then whyever would she refuse you? No sane woman throws away such an opportunity.”
He folded his arms across his chest. “That is convoluted logic, even for you.”
“It is the truth of the ton, and you men never understand it.”
“Because it’s nonsense!” This time he made no effort to moderate his angry tone.
“Yihui deserves a great deal more than these stones. From the beginning, she has acted for our benefit, not hers. She agreed to this ridiculous charade. She could have gone back to China if she’d wanted.
Instead, she has worked tirelessly to act as you decree, to learn what you dictate, and to bring honor to this family.
And what does she get out of it? Your scorn. And that, mother, is beneath you.”
“Have you taken leave of your senses? She killed a man upstairs! I wish she had gone back to China, but she doesn’t want to. Instead, you are paying for her shop and bedecking her in emeralds. If you ask me, she has gotten far more out of this charade than any of us.”
Max felt his blood settle into a frost that chilled him from head to toe.
It was a shock—but not a surprise—to realize that after all this time, his mother did not see Yihui’s character.
She didn’t recognize Yihui’s resilience, patience, or her medical skill.
Neither did she see Yihui’s kindness to the servants and his mother.
Damn it, Yihui had even learned English history, not to mention a new language.
All his mother saw was a foreigner, and that, apparently trumped everything else.
“You are blind, mother,” he finally said. “I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself until such time as you can see people for who they truly are.”
His mother sputtered in outrage, but Max ignored her. He was already heading to Yihui’s bedroom where Millie and Emmaline were helping with her toilette.
He paused outside her door to smooth his clothing before knocking. He wanted to calm his emotions before seeing Yihiu. Placing these jewels upon her body was important, and he had no wish to taint the moment because he was cross with his mother.
He was just about to knock when he heard a burst of feminine laughter.
Not raucous, of course, but filled with excited delight.
Such a delicious sound, and not just from Millie.
He heard Emma’s chuckle as well. Thanks to the new butler he’d hired, her daily responsibilities had dwindled.
He’d thought she’d come out into the world more, but instead, she’d locked herself in the attic painting.
It was grief, he knew. Every day that passed with no word from Christopher led him to believe that his best friend was dead. He’d gone to a dangerous area of London to confront a dangerous man. It was foolishly noble of him and had likely gotten him killed.
Pain tore through Max whenever he thought of it, but it was nothing compared to how wrecked Emmaline had seemed.
And yet, listening at the door, he was sure he’d heard her laugh and that gave him such joy that he felt suffused by it.
His sister had giggled like a schoolgirl again and his wife was the cause of it.
Or the center of it. Or simply there in the midst of such joy.
He didn’t want to interrupt it. And yet, he equally wanted to be part of it. So he rapped twice on the door and waited in gleeful anticipation for his first sight of Yihui in her gown.
The laughter quickly muted and a moment later, Millie opened the door. She curtsied to him as did Olivia from her place near the dressing table.
“Max! Don’t you look handsome,” Emmaline said.
He didn’t answer. His gaze was on Yihui alone.
She was dressed in his family colors, rich green silk with gold accents.
Her hair was pulled up in an elegant sweep of ebony strands accented by gold filigree.
But it was her face that caught him. He realized now how often her face had been obscured from him.
He recalled the beads that had blocked his view of her the first time they met.
Other times, her face had been dirty from work or with her hair always across her cheek or dipping low across her brow.
Not this time. Her hair was pulled up, and he saw for the first time how very elegant she was. Clear skin, raised cheekbones, and dark, exotic eyes that had been accented with kohl.
“I do believe my brother has been struck dumb.”
“I…I have,” he confessed. Yihui was a rare beauty who now flushed dusky red at his words. “You are exquisite.”
“It is the clothes,” she said humbly. “The dress—”
“What dress? It’s you, Yihui. You look…” Ravishing? Beautiful? Words failed him.
His sister laughed. “Wonderful? Stunning?”
“Yes,” he said as he stepped forward. Then he found the word.
“Regal.” He caught her hand and bowed over it.
“Well, she should,” Emma said. “She’s supposed to be a Chinese princess.”
“I am the luckiest of men. It will be my honor to stand beside you tonight.”
Yihui didn’t answer. She seemed tongue-tied until she finally whispered, “Thank you, my lord.”
“But there’s something missing,” he said, and her head shot up.
“Oh no,” she murmured, her eyes wide with horror.
Her hands went to her face as if to hide, but he caught one and gently flipped it over. Then with a grin, he poured the emeralds into her palm.
She gaped at them. And then she gaped at him.
Emmaline straightened up from her place on the bed to see what he had done.
“Ah yes, the emeralds. Very good.”
“But—” Yihui gasped. “But—”
“But nothing,” he said as he gently disentangled the necklace from the pile. “My fiancée must wear these.”
He laid them across her neck and carefully set the clasp. The earbobs came next. He struggled with those. He was not used to putting those on a lady.
“There is not much call for an apothecary to wear finery.” Her words were near whispers, but he heard them nonetheless. So once her earrings were set, he stepped back.
“Tonight, you are my fiancée, soon to be Lady Artanges and then afterwards, my duchess.”
He could hear the echo of his words, unspoken but so loud between them. This was for tonight. Just as he had loved her on other nights, this was for now, and for the rest of the week before she cried off on Friday.
A lump formed in his throat, and he struggled to speak around it.
“One more jewel,” he said as he picked up the ring.
It was a heavy thing. A huge square emerald set in gold and encrusted with diamonds.
It didn’t fit her hand. It was meant to be worn above a glove.
And yet he put it on her finger and then drew it up to his lips.
He kissed her ring as if she were a queen.
And with his fingers, he stroked her palm in a slow caress.
“It doesn’t fit,” she said.
“It will,” he answered.
He wanted to kiss her. The urge burned in his body. His blood pounded, and his cock thrust forward. He already knew how she tasted, knew how she would feel. In this moment, she was his duchess in heart, in body, and in soul.
But not in fact.
He stepped back.
She looked down as the ring flopped on her hand. “I will lose it,” she cried.
“It goes over your glove.”
Millie stepped forward, quick to hand Yihui her long gloves. Together they quickly set her to rights. He watched, his heart in his throat. He didn’t even move until his sister shoved him aside.
“Get out of the way, you lummox. And yes, brother, I do look stunning. Thank you for saying so. But I need to get my wrap, so get out of my way.”
He did because she gave him no choice. And then he waved Olivia back when she stepped up to carry Yihui.
Though it had been over a month since her initial injury, Yihui’s feet could not easily bear weight without risking further injury.
Not to dance and certainly not to stand for hours on end, awaiting the prince’s pleasure.
Mr. Torres recommended at least two more weeks before she stressed them.
Privately, Max determined to carry her for another month.
Or he would have, if she weren’t set to throw him over at the end of the week.
“I’ll carry her now,” he said to Olivia while emotions churned within him. “But I won’t be able to in the palace, so that will fall to you.”
“I am pleased to do so, my lord,” she answered formally, using more words than he had ever heard her utter before.
“And you look wonderful in that uniform. You will put the palace guard to shame.”
Olivia was a contradiction in body and form.
She was very obviously an Irish woman and a lovely one at that.
But instead of a gown, she wore the livery of a man in his household.
She was the one who was there to carry Yihui wherever she was meant to go inside the palace.
And as such, Olivia had the position of status among the four other footmen who would carry Yihui’s litter into Buckingham.
“You won’t mind using the palanquin again, will you?” he pressed Yihui as he carried her downstairs. “I had it remade. It’s quite sturdy now—”
“I saw. It’s lovely.”
“You’ll ride in the carriage with me. The palanquin is for when you enter.”
“I know.”
“You’re every bit a Chinese princess, Yihui.” He looked down at her face. “I hope you enjoy tonight. You are to be celebrated at every turn.”
She looked into his eyes. She was still in his arms held close enough that he could see the dark striations in her pupils and the sweet red of her lips.
“Max…” she whispered. He waited, but she said no more. Just his name and a longing he felt echo in his own soul.
He wanted to give her a compliment then. He wanted to tell her what she meant to him, what this night presenting her to the haut ton meant in his world. She was at the pinnacle tonight, and he was stunned by how gloriously she shined. Stunned and proud.
But the words didn’t come. And then his mother interrupted them with an exasperated groan.
“Whatever are you thinking, Max? Put her down. Your clothes will be a disaster. Why isn’t that Irish woman carrying her? Isn’t that—”
“Her name is Olivia, Mother, and she is coming.”
With that, he nodded to their new butler who swept open the door with the pompous grace of a duke’s butler. That he was also young and grinning in no way detracted from Max’s delight.
“Thank you, Butler,” he said, still amused by the irony of the man’s surname. His butler was named Butler.
“Have a good evening, my lord, Miss Wong.”
“Our evening shall be splendid. Absolutely, amazingly, wonderfully superb.”
“My goodness,” Emmaline chuckled behind him. “Setting your sights a little high, aren’t you brother?”
“Never.”