“You remember my niece Mei Ling, Mr. O’Shea,” Chen said. “She has done well in her work as maid since she came to replace Mary. Her English is already becoming very good.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Liam returned the girl’s smile. “You’re comfortable here, Mei Ling? Not afraid?”
She ducked her head. “Not afraid. Safe… here.”
Probably safer than she had been even in the hidden sanctuary where the other rescued slave girls boarded until they could find new homes far from their erstwhile masters. The tongs still found ways to trick some of the girls back into their clutches, but they’d been less and less successful of late. Liam knew how to deal with corrupt lawyers and bought policemen.
“Yes,” he said. “You’re safe here. Let your uncle know if you need anything.”
The girl gave a self-conscious nod and retreated back down the hall. Liam’s smile faded as he thought of the countless children like her who had been far less fortunate. But if all went well tonight, a dozen of her sisters would have a second chance at freedom in their new country.
There was just enough time for a few hours’ rest. Fastidious Chen was probably near to swooning at the sight of his employer; Liam hadn’t shaved or bathed in two days. On expedition that was common enough, but tonight he couldn’t afford to be less than sharp and alert.
“I’m going to clean up, Chen,” he said. “Don’t bother with a meal—a sandwich will do.” Liam patted the top of Norton’s shaggy, massive skull and started toward the staircase. “One more thing. If you receive any messages from Mr. Bauer, bring them immediately. He’s doing some work for me.”
Not by the twitch of a brow did Chen reveal a hint of curiosity. He might assume that Liam had engaged the private investigator to help with the raid against the tongs, as he’d done in the past. But Liam had set Bauer a far more personal task.
With a bow Chen withdrew, Bummer at his heels. Norton bounded up the stairs ahead of Liam. Thick, richly patterned carpet muffled the footsteps of man and beast. The sound of the clock in the parlor filled the echoing quiet. Handsome, expensive paintings on each wall flowed one into another as Liam passed by.
Home. It should feel more welcoming after three years and all the money he’d put into the place. Nothing had changed; why should it? He’d wanted the beauty and grandeur for Caroline, not himself.
He’d be happy with a hut in the jungle, with lakes and streams for washing and flowers for decoration. A place without high walls that closed the world into a pretty little box.
In less than two weeks those days of freedom would be behind him.
He paused on the upstairs landing and turned toward the chamber that would be Caroline’s. It had been decorated in her favorite colors, with no expense spared: a queen’s quarters, connected to his rooms by a wide pass closet. When they were married she could retire there—when she was not sharing his bed.
Restlessness twitched through him as he entered his own room. He glanced at the great walnut bedstead, imagining Caroline in it, her golden hair spread across the pillows. He censored the notion before it could fully form.
But another image filled the vacant place in his mind: snubbed nose, smudged face, dark hair cropped short as a boy’s, snapping dark eyes, bold mouth, and outthrust jaw.
Mac. Mac in his bed, challenging him to join her.
Mac with her lean firm body twisting catlike around his own. Mac dueling wits with him, winner take all…
Liam strode into the bathroom and snapped on the bathtub faucets, letting the tub fill with cold water.
Devil take it, what was wrong with him? He hadn’t touched Mac in nearly a month, though they’d traveled side by side in the jungles and mountains and slept within a few feet of each other.
But this afternoon, at the Palace, when she’d faced him down so bravely…
He strode to his dresser and tossed his coat over the back of a chair. No—he tugged his limp tie loose and threw it likewise on the desk—there was no good reason to think of Mac at all. Not when his thoughts should be only of his future wife.