Wild Angels
By Amiboshi-chan
Chapter eleven
Tasuki hastily scanned Tokaki's flower bed, sizing up her chances. The drop was not extreme, but there were other dangers. When the mansion was built, Tokaki had hired skilled masons to install thick paving stones around it, with borders of jagged rocks to protect his prized rosebushes. The serrated edges of Vermont granite would rip and pierce Miaka's tender flesh. She'd be killed - or at the very least maimed - if she fell on them.
Her smooth-bottomed shoes slipped off the crossbars that supported her and she gave a muffled cry. He watched helplessly as she lost her grip on the iron crossbar. As if in a hellish nightmare, she fell like a wounded sparrow that could no longer fly. Her yellow-plaid skirt fluttered and flapped like the broken wings of a goldfinch.
Tasuki's heart lurched upwards to his throat and he was consumed by desperation.
He had to do something to save her- and quickly.
Miaka landed against a strong, hard body, the impact driving the air from her lungs in one mighty swoosh. Black stars danced before her eyes as she struggled to remain conscious. She sagged weakly against the muscled chest of her rescuer, trying to drag air into her lungs, while relief folded over her.
"Good lord, Miaka! Are you hurt?"
An all-too-familiar voice roused her from her stunned lethargy. She drew several ragged breaths into her body, and then forced herself to focus on her rescuer. Sure enough, it was Tasuki who cradled her in his arms. "What—what are you doin' here? I mean doing here?" She corrected her faulty speech, feeling a mixture of gratitude, amazement and stubborn disbelief.
One dark brow rose over a jade colored eye. "Saving your life?"
As his mouth slid into a cocky fanged grin, she couldn't decide if she wanted to slap him or kiss him senseless. Her breathing had returned to normal, but strange prickling sensations of heat danced along the backs of her thighs and spine, where his arms supported her. He held her close enough for her to see the dark auburn hairs scattered throughout his fiery mane.
Too close. Not close enough.
"No, I mean, where did you come from?" She willed herself to stop studying his face, to stop noticing the rough strength of each line and angle. "What are you doing here?"
He shook his head. "The question should be, what were you doing here, climbing down Tokaki's trellis like a cat burglar?"
His voice held a trace of teasing mockery, but his gaze roamed over her face in such an intimate way that made the air catch in the back of her throat. She fancied she could actually feel the caressing touch of it.
"Well, Miaka?" Tasuki's arms contracted and her body shivered in response. "What in God's name were you doing up there?"
"I came to visit Yui."
A muscle beside his eye twitched. "Most guests use the front door."
"I probably would have done the same, except I wasn't exactly invited," she admitted. "As you know, Tokaki has forbidden me to see Yui."
"And we've told you that he'd eventually come around. He is only worried about Yui and looking for someone to blame."
"I didn't want to wait for him to change his mind."
"So you decided to climb the trellis and break your pretty little neck in his rose garden! That seems like an extreme form of revenge, even for you, Miaka." He gave her a lopsided smile.
"I didn't plan to fall," she snapped, but the realization that he had called her pretty took some of the sting from his words. "Don't tease me, Tasuki, not now." She wiggled, thinking he would release her, but his grip only tightened. Tears of humiliation stung her eyes. "I can't take your teasing today! Let me go!"
He didn't.
"I apologize for teasing you. I didn't mean any harm by it." He gave her a warm smile, that made her heart miss a beat. "You scared the hell out of me, honey!"
Scared? Honey?
The words battered all of the defenses she'd erected and scattered her thoughts like dried leaves on a strong wind. She looked away, hoping that would clear the heat from her face. "I got in just fine, and the trellis seemed strong enough." She pointed out defensively. "I didn't know it was going to break."
To her surprise, Tasuki chuckled. "I should have words with Tokaki, Lord knows it is almost criminal the way he has let the trellis into his daughter's bedroom fall into disrepair." His grin was wide and wicked. "What is some gallant young swain should want to climb into her bedroom and ends up breaking his neck? It's downright neglectful! I shall speak to him immediately!"
A small, unwilling smile curved Miaka's lips. "You're teasing me again," she noted, as her gaze returned to his too-handsome face.
"I'm just relieved that you are not hurt." His eyes flicked over her once more, and a sensation like a silken ribbon being trailed along her skin remained. "I don't know what I would've done if you'd been hurt."
She shifted restlessly. "You sound almost as if you care."
Tasuki sighed. "What on earth am I going to do about you?" There was an edge of desperation to his question.
"What do you want to do about me?" She whispered.
For a moment his expression was sharp and assessing, but then he smiled tenderly.
"Stop being nice or you will make me cry," she warned.
He ignored her threat and moved his face closer to hers. "You are reckless beyond belief, Missy."
"I am not." She knew he was telling the truth, but for some reason she had to disagree—had to keep fighting him.
"Yes, you are." He inhaled deeply and stared into her eyes for a moment. "And you are driving me to distraction. I believe I will have to marry you to keep you out of trouble."
Before his outrageous words could register, he lowered his head and captured her mouth.
The last thing Miaka had expected for him to do was to kiss her, but the surprises didn't stop there. Instead of pushing him away, she wantonly wrapped one hand around his strong shoulder, while the other palm kneaded the column of his neck. It felt so natural and so right to be locked in his embrace.
She opened her lips, drawing in a tiny sigh of satisfaction. Yes, this kiss was the last thing that she'd expected, but it was wonderful and exciting. A flock of butterflies winged their way through her middle, and she managed to keep the nagging question of his fiancée pushed to the far corners of her mind.
He couldn't stop kissing her. Perhaps it was he was afraid that if he did, she'd smack him, or that they would return to the same old silly bickering. Whatever the reason, he held her tight as if to reassure himself that she was solid and not some nymph he had conjured from thin air. As he nibbled her bottom lip, he told himself to let her go, but he was no more able to do it now than he had been able to let her fall.
Slowly, deliberately, he traced the inside of her mouth, committing every delicate impression to memory. Her flavor and scent made a heady combination, innocent and sensual, demure and yet wild as the territory that had spawned her.
Sugar cookies and lemon tea.
He inhaled deeply, trying to stop his pulse from racing.
She smells like summer sunshine.
After indulging in a few moments of absolute bliss, he reluctantly pulled back and looked into her dark eyes. They were hazy, like evergreens filtered through thin winter clouds. Her lips were moist and becomingly pink.
She blinked several times, as if waking from a dream. "Put me down now, Tasuki."
He obeyed her order, placed her on her feet and told himself that it had only been a momentary lapse of control and nothing more. It had been the excitement of saving her life. He had just been swept away in the passion and urgency of the moment.
But the more he tried to convince himself of it, the more a nagging fear that something monumental had happened nudged at his conscience. "I'll take you home."
He put his palm at the small of her back, and a hot sensation sizzled through him. Immediately, he jerked his hand away and stared at it, but wasn't really surprised to see it was unchanged. Whatever made his knees go weak and had clouded his judgment was not going to be found in his rough and callused palm, but within the dark, smoky eyes of Miaka Brooks.
Miaka squeezed herself back against the leather seat of the carriage. Each turn and sway brought her knees brushing against Tasuki's legs as he sat in the seat across from her. The innocent contact made her middle twist into knots of desire.
No, no, no. He is engaged.
What could she have been thinking of? She hadn't been, and that was the problem. Even though she knew he was promised to another, and even though she knew his proposal had been preposterous, she had wholeheartedly responded to his kiss. That kind of wanton behavior was unforgivable for a lady here in the city—Yui had said so.
Consarn it all! Just when she was learning to ward off his taunts and silent disapproval, Tasuki had found a new way to baffle her.
By saving your life and then kissing you? a voice inside her head quizzed.
All right, it was good that he had saved her from harm, but why did he have to go and kiss her?
As she watched him from under the protective fringe of her lashes, she thought about her talk with Yui. For the first time she had openly broached the subject of Violet Ashland but Yui had been little help. All she could tell Miaka was that yes, Tasuki had given Violet a ring shortly before he'd left for the Territory. And that a scandal could taint both families' names.
Tasuki's kiss had curled her toes. The simple touching of lips had made her heart beat so hard that for a moment she'd thought she might die from sheer physical pleasure. It had been more potent than the night he'd come into her room. He kissed her in a way that made her soft and vulnerable. And then...he had simply stopped kissing her and had turned colder than ice. She lowered her head and sneaked another glance at him. Had he suddenly remembered Violet? Had he recalled his promise?
Though she was careful not to look straight at him, she needn't have worried about Tasuki noticing her scrutiny; his eyes were fixed unblinkingly on something outside the carriage window. She doubted he was even aware she was there.
A chill swept over her body. The kiss that had addled her brain and turned her blood to liquid fire hadn't done a thing for him.
Because he loves Violet.
Damn him, she thought with entirely too much zeal. Damn, damn, damn him.
Why did he do it? Why did he give her that bone-melting kiss if it meant nothing? How dare he kiss her like that and then sit and stare out the window as if nothing had happened between them?
He was as unpredictable as a rattler shedding its skin. She turned to stare out her own window, refusing to give him any more notice at all, determined to make that damn kiss as insignificant to her as it was to him—determined to make it the last.
Tasuki knew the moment Miaka turned away. No, that actually wasn't right; he had felt her stop looking at him. It was like the caress of spring sunshine being replaced by a bitterly cold winter wind when her sly gaze left him.
What in hell have I done? He asked himself for the twentieth time. How could he have allowed his control to slip like that? This was Missy, for God's sake! No matter what her real name was, no matter how she had altered her appearance, she was still Chichiri's baby sister.
Had he lost his mind? Probably. Certainly while he held her in his arms he was beyond rational thought.
The memory of Hotohori's taunt drifted through his head. A muscle in his jaw jumped in response. He simply could not allow himself to be in love with Miaka until the sordid situation was resolved with Violet, and he could not do that until negotiations were complete and the papers signed.
Only then would he be prepared to bring scandal crashing down on his family and friends.
As soon as the carriage arrived at the brownstone, Miaka pleaded a headache and escaped to the privacy of her room. She could not look at Tasuki and she could not face the O'Bannions with the guilt of what she'd done burning in her mind.
But the afternoon wore on slowly as the memory of the kiss lingered. Then later, as the moon rose and made its arc across the sky, she still tossed and turned in the lovely canopied bed, repeatedly telling herself that kisses didn't mean a thing—at least not to him—and therefore she couldn't allow them to mean anything to her.
But if that was true, why did she tingle from head to foot each time she thought about how wonderful it was to be held by him? And why did her eyes burn with unshed tears when she thought about him and Violet becoming man and wife?
Miaka was awake to see the first gray streaks of dawn. She forced herself to remain in her room until she hear the sounds of Tilly moving about downstairs, preparing breakfast and opening the house for the day.
Miaka dressed in a simple green twill sprinkled with tiny white flowers and lavender ribbons. Then she spent extra time coiling her hair and twisting it into a chignon, which she covered with a finely woven white net.
By the time she opened her door and stepped out into the hallway, she was in control, determined to act and feel the same as she had before. But when she neared Tasuki's room a combination of dread and hope surged through her. She pause, fingers frozen on the banister, staring at his closed door.
"Oh, damnation, what do I care if I see him?" she asked herself sharply. "I don't. I don't care one whit."
With more confidence and indifference than she really felt, she lifted her chin a notch and marched downstairs. She refused to allow herself to be in a bad mood when the glory of spring was beaming through the windows.
Patricia greeted her from the dining room table as soon as Miaka appeared at the foot of the stairs. "Miaka? Is that you, child? Come in here, dear, and have breakfast with me."
The older woman was in her customary morning attire of a colorful silk wrapper, with her ribbon-tied hair trailing down her back. Watermarked stationary lay near a half-full cup of coffee.
"You are up early." Miaka remarked, as she joined her hostess.
"A message came this morning. I'm surprised you didn't hear all the commotion. The McCarty Company has summoned Donovan and Nakago to Chicago." Patricia sighed, then sipped her coffee.
"Not bad news, I hope." Miaka frowned as she poured, and then laced her coffee with cream and sugar.
Had Tasuki gone to Chicago as well? Was he still upstairs? Would he walk through the door and join them? Questions filled her head until Patricia's voice drew her attention.
"It was a small problem with the shipping business. Donovan has been working on some sort of merger. He never tells me anything, but I think there has been some crisis or another. He rarely discusses these things with me because he thinks I will worry too much." She smiled indulgently. "I do miss him, but I know how much he enjoys his work. The only thing I regret is that they will both miss the party tonight."
"A party?" It was the last thing she felt like doing. Miaka gulped down a swallow of hot coffee as Patricia gave her an odd look.
"The fundraiser for St. Michael's Hospital is this evening."
How could I have forgotten? Miaka chided herself for her lack of concentration. According to Yui, this fundraiser was the biggest social event of the season. "Oh, yes, of course! Yui insisted that my dress for tonight be very special." She said brightly, though the idea of going without her friend saddened her. "but since Yui is ill, I don't know that it's right that I should go..."
Patricia's head snapped up. "Nonsense! Of course you will! In fact, both of us will attend, for I refuse to let Donovan's absence prevent it." Her tone gentled. "Please put your mind at rest—I have it on good authority that Yui's health is much improved since yesterday afternoon, so much so that Tokaki has relented. He was very puzzled by the abrupt change in her health, but has agreed to allow her to resume a normal social schedule as long as she is careful."
Though happiness filled her at the news, the memory of falling from Yui's balcony made Miaka shiver.
"Are you feeling all right, my dear? Are you cold?" Patricia reached out and softly touched the back of the young woman's hand. "You are not coming down with the ague?"
"I'm fine," Miaka assured her. "Just a little chill."
Her hostess looked relieved. "I confess that I am glad to hear it, because I have a special favor to ask of you."
"Of course, anything." She was grateful for anything that would keep her busy and her thoughts away from Tasuki.
Patricia wrote as she spoke. "I need you to take a message to Tasuki."
Miaka's stomach lurched as her coffee threatened to come back up. "Tasuki?" His name was a strangled sound on her lips.
"He evidently left the house before Donovan got the message and could speak to him. Nakago was very reluctant to tell me where he was, but I managed to pry it out of him before he and Donovan left." Patricia's expression was grim, yet triumphant. "I don't know why he made such an issue over Tasuki taking his exercise at the gentlemen's club. My son can get some very odd notions at times."
She smiled then, as if dismissing the thought, folded the piece of stationary and slipped it inside an envelope. "Here is the message for Tasuki. I'll have the carriage brought round when you're ready." She handed the envelope to Miaka. "And if you can, dear, persuade him to come back with you. It's a matter of some urgency."
Miaka stared at the envelope as if it were alive and about to bite her.
Patricia sighed. "I know you two haven't been getting along all that well, but this is rather important to me." She prodded gently.
"Then I am happy to do it," Miaka replied, forcing a smile. After all, it was only half a lie. A deep, hungry part of her longed to see Tasuki, to recapture the tumultuous sensation of that kiss- even though the thought also had her middle flip-flopping like a catfish in shallow water.
When she walked through the main lobby of the gentlemen's club, the stares of the men inside made Miaka feel like some sort of polecat. The scents of bay rum, brandy and tobacco smoke hung in the air as several sets of eyes followed her progress. One elderly man, bald as an egg, looked up from his paper. She nodded and gave him what she hoped was a proper smile.
"Excuse me, I am looking for—" she began.
"I know what you're looking for." He interrupted, laying his paper in his lap.
"You do?" Miaka frowned.
"You are not the first lady to come looking this morning." The man's eyes held a knowing twinkle.
"Not the first one?" She repeated, dumbly. Were other women looking for Tasuki?
Violet Ashland.
A jolt of possessiveness ripped through her, and she struggled to stamp it down. She had to stop this, get a rein on her emotions. Damn it, he was engaged!
"Straight down the corridor, and to the left." The old man directed. "And enjoy yourself." Chuckling, he lifted his paper and went back to reading.
Miaka stood there for a moment, puzzling over the bizarre commentary. The old gentleman had said he knew who she was looking for, so perhaps Patricia had sent word that she was coming to find Tasuki? That had to be it, for she was sure this place was not accustomed to ladies unexpectedly cropping up for a visit.
Putting the matter out of her mind, Miaka left the man to his reading. Her heels clicked on the diamond-shaped patterns of lustrous gray-and-white marble, the sound echoing sharply off the polished stone walls. A bright shaft of light from a set of double doors on the left bisected the hallway. She turned and went through them, surprised to find herself in a room of enormous proportions.
A square platform constructed of padded canvas had been roped off in the center of the room. Rows of chairs were positioned around it, and young women of every size and shape sat in them, gadding with each other and closely observing the pair of men standing inside the cordoned off space.
Miaka scanned the group until she was sure Violet Ashland wasn't there. Something like relief washed over her, but she shook it off and tilted her head to take in what the other women were watching so avidly. Her view wasn't the best, but she could see that the men in the ring were now shaking hands like civilized gentlemen.
From that moment on, things got stranger and stranger. The two men went to opposite corners, then, at a shouted command, they came towards each other once more. Bouncing around like Mexican jumping beans, they began to throw punches, each man obviously trying hard to land a telling blow.
Miaka had never seen anything like it. She had witnessed plenty of fistfights, both the sober, serious kind and the drunken, foolish kind, but she had never watched anything like these two galoots doing it for fun. Having two brothers and Soi in the family had insured at least two donnybrooks a month, but never in Miaka's born days had men pranced around in their long underwear like a couple of riled up banty roosters while women oohed and aahed at their antics.
New York City was a mighty odd place.
Soon the men were standing toe-to-toe, trading glancing blows that mostly missed their mark due to the agility of both opponents. At last, the taller of the men landed a hit that made her unconsciously wince. His red-haired adversary staggered backward until the ropes surrounding the ring halted his momentum; the hemp cords hummed with the impact of his hard, muscled body.
The man sagged against the ropes for a moment, then recovered himself. Pulling himself to his feet, he spat, "I suppose you think that makes us even?"
The rough timbre of his voice sent shivers skipping over Miaka's arms and down her spine.
Tasuki.
A smooth, amused-sounding voice replied. "Hardly even, but it's a start."
Hotohori.
Silently cursing, Miaka turned away from the spectacle. The fools had lost their damn minds!