Flame on the Sun Read online

The flushed cheeks, glowing eyes and pouting lips she saw in her mirror made her tremble. She looked like exactly what she was—a woman who had been thoroughly kissed and was ready for a great deal more.

  Sighing, she dabbed on a bit of rice powder, with little or no effect, and tried to regain her composure sufficiently to go back downstairs. Her absence was certain to be noted before much longer.

  Elizabeth would be bound to come looking for her. She was far too conscientious a hostess not to try to find out what was wrong. Erin dreaded the thought of her questions even more than the knowing glances she was likely to receive from the other guests.

  Years before, when working in the military hospital, she had learned to control her emotions under even the most trying circumstances. Then it had been a matter of ignoring the horror and grief she felt when confronted by the mutilated bodies of young men so that she might provide them with the calm, reasoned care on which their survival depended.

  Now it was her own survival she suspected lay in doubt. She had fought long and hard to become the woman she was; she wasn't about to give herself up without an all-out struggle.

  Resolved that if she was to have any hope of winning the battle Storm seemed determined to wage, she had to prevent him from discovering how easily he could hurt her, Erin took a firm grip on her courage.

  Standing up, she smoothed the wrinkles from her skirt, cast a final glance in the mirror and left the room.

  Downstairs, the party was in full swing. Several more guests had arrived, with the result that the parlor could no longer hold them all and they spilled out into the entry-way. No one seemed to mind. True devotees of social convention did not last long in the cosmopolitan colony perched on the edge of an ancient, mysterious empire.

  In one way or another, all the men and women gathered under the Carmodys' roof were adventurers. They were sufficiently brave or restless or desperate to cut loose from the secure world they had known and dare something vastly different. Yet they still carried the outward trappings of that world along with them, like some huge tortoise weighed down by potted palms and overstuffed chairs.

  Erin smiled a bit wanly at the comparison. She wasn't traveling very lightly herself, not when she took into account the burden of her emotions. It might be wise to give some thought to strengthening her shell before it caved in under the load.

  In the whirl of being introduced to the late arrivals and doing her best to satisfy their curiosity about recent events at home, she did not see Storm again until dinner was announced. Hoping that she would be able to avoid him in the crowd, she was dismayed when he appeared next to her.

  Pride demanded that she meet his gaze unflinchingly. When she did so, Erin's eyes widened with surprise. Far from the contempt she had feared she would see, he was looking at her with an odd mixture of tenderness and contrition.

  As he offered his arm, he smiled down at her wryly. "Shall we?"

  Distracted by his sudden change of mood, Erin responded automatically. Her hand rested on the sleeve of his impeccably tailored frockcoat as they joined the couples streaming into the dining room.

  In a single concession to their exotic surroundings, the long table covered by a snow-white linen cloth was set with fine porcelain in vivid blues and reds. Crystal wine and water glasses gleamed beneath gaslit chandeliers.

  Japanese servants dressed in Western-style uniforms were carrying in tureens of soup, baskets of fresh fruit and rolls, platters of beef and vegetables, and numerous other courses. But it was on the array of knives, forks and spoons that Erin's attention focused. She could not restrain a soft gasp when she realized that despite the Carmodys' modest origins, they were all made of gold.

  Beside her, Storm caught her surprise and explained, "Not too long ago, the exchange rate for precious metals was far lower here than anywhere in the West. Many Europeans and Americans made huge profits by importing silver and trading it for gold. No one will ever know for sure how much left the country, but when the Japanese realized how they were being taken advantage of, they clamped down on the practice. Not in time, however, to keep from losing a vast amount of their national wealth and inspiring more than a little bitterness against the foreign 'barbarians,' who, ever since, have been considered less than honorable."

  "Does that mean they aren't all as eager to trade with us as the merchants I saw in the streets yesterday?" Erin asked with some surprise. That possibility had not occurred to her.

  With what she belatedly recognized as a subtle form of condescension, she had presumed the Japanese would all be delighted to finally be in contact with the more technologically advanced and enlightened West.

  As he held out her chair, Storm nodded. "It certainly does. We face a great deal of opposition from some very powerful corners."

  "That's putting it mildly," snorted the English naval officer on Erin's other side. "This whole blasted country's about to erupt over exactly that issue."

  "You're exaggerating," Madame Chantail insisted. She shrugged her creamy white shoulders and smiled prettily. "All the Japanese I know are very happy to have us here."

  "Then you have been most fortunate in your acquaintances," the Dutch silk merchant pointed out from across the table. "I had the bad luck to be on a ship in Yokohama harbor back in sixty-three when those Choshu fanatics attacked. None of us expected to escape with our lives."

  "Choshu?" Erin echoed, her eyes wide with surprise. "What is that?"

  "A fiefdom in western Japan," Storm said. "Its daimyo—in Europe I suppose he would be an earl or duke—was the first to object to the Western presence in Japan. But he is no longer alone. Since then, several other powerful lords have asked the shogun to get rid of us, or at least impose greater restrictions than we currently face."

  "But I thought the Japanese nobility made a great deal of money from trade with the West," Erin said. "Why would they wish to stop it?"

  The Dutchman set down his wineglass and sighed resignedly. "Like everything else in the world, it all comes down to greed. Those lords closest to the shogun do very well. Those he does not favor get nothing. So they are naturally resentful."

  "Don't forget," interjected Monsieur Chantail, "that there are some Japanese who are opposed to dealing with us simply because they think their country should have been left to itself in the splendid isolation it enjoyed for centuries. They have not yet come to terms with the fact that your Admiral Perry forced them to accede to his demands by virtue of superior military strength."

  "The treaty to open Japan wasn't forced on anyone," Ned objected, though only mildly. "It was negotiated to the mutual satisfaction of all parties."

  Storm shook his head derisively. "'Negotiated' is a strange word to use for what went on in the shadow of Perry's cannons. Which, I might add, he took pains to show off to the Japanese before the talks ever began."

  "Are you suggesting he should not have?" Madame Chantail twitted. "But then, none of us—including you, Mr. Davin—would be making so much marvelous money."

  Inclining his head graciously, he sent the lady a smile which made Erin's stomach clench. "You are quite right, madame. We must never lose sight of exactly what we are doing here."

  Raising a glass half-full of blood-red burgundy, he offered a toast. "To the Japan Trade. May it prove as profitable as the Triangle Trade that preceded it, but not, in the end, as costly."

  "Should I conclude from that," the Dutchman inquired perceptively when the toast was drunk, "that you are a Southerner?"

  "I was," Storm corrected quietly. "And I saw to my own misfortune how the search for profits can end in violence. The Northern shipowners were quite content to supply the vessels that hauled slaves and cotton, so long as their pockets were well-lined. Their conscience was conveniently quiet until they found easier ways to make money. Not until then did they discover their sense of outrage or their desire to stamp out the system they had helped to create."

  "That is an enormous oversimplification of a very complex problem," Erin objected.
Though her family had never dealt in the slave trade, she was still stung by the suggestion that their business was somehow founded on hypocrisy. "There was far more at stake than simply money."

  "You think so?" Storm asked skeptically. "Oh, there was a smokescreen of morality thrown up around what was really a brutal effort to stamp out a way of life incompatible with what Northern industrialists visualize for the country's future. I suppose there might actually have been a few people who believed the dogma they spouted. But there's precious little evidence of them now."

  "It's true Reconstruction has spawned enormous abuses," Erin admitted. "But that doesn't change the fact that there are well-meaning people on both sides who are trying to make things better."

  "Spare me the wages of good intentions," he chided. "I'll take plain old selfishness and greed anytime."

  Frustrated by his cynicism, she responded more sharply than she intended, "Yes, I'm sure you would. After all, if you claim people aren't really capable of anything other than self-interest, then you automatically excuse the same deficiency in yourself."

  His slate-gray eyes narrowed slightly as he toyed with the beef on his plate. "Actually, I don't do anything of the sort. When a man reaches a certain level of achievement, he has no need for excuses. Other people will be more than happy to make them for him."

  "Such cynicism!" Elizabeth protested, apparently not at all put out by a conversation that went far beyond the usual dinner-table chitchat. "You would have us believe you care for nothing but your profits, Mr. Davin. When in fact it is well known that you are one of the most outspoken proponents of fairer dealings with the Japanese. Unless I am very much mistaken, you have gone so far as to spend a large amount of money on housing for the workers at your boatyard, as well as a school and medical clinic that is open to everyone in Yokohama, most particularly all the Japanese not served by Western establishments."

  Her emerald eyes twinkled as she observed the effect this revelation had. Storm looked decidedly put out at having his good works discussed. Erin was at once surprised and relieved. So the mask of cynicism was only that—a facade behind which the man she remembered might still exist.

  Nothing could prevent the warm smile that curved her generous mouth. Storm returned it with a glare. In an attempt to undo the damage done by his overly knowledgeable hostess, he said, "It is simply a matter of good business. People who have decent shelter and medical care, and who don't have to worry about what their children are doing all day, tend to work more efficiently."

  "Whatever the reason," the Dutchman muttered, "you aren't doing the rest of us any favors. That sort of coddling sets a bad example."

  Erin tensed slightly, believing that Storm would respond angrily. But instead he merely brushed the comment aside. "I am perfectly content with both the manner in which I conduct my business and the profits it produces. Therefore, I see no reason to change."

  "Not even when you know you are creating problems for your associates?" Monsieur Chantail asked waspishly.

  "Associates? I have none. If you mean that I should feel some sense of fellowship with other Americans and Europeans simply by virtue of their presence here, I cannot agree. That would be a singularly narrow-minded approach to a highly complex situation."

  Meeting Erin's eyes, he added, "I have already been accused of oversimplification once tonight. Pray do not attempt to lead me into the same trap again."

  Heedless of curious looks from the other guests, who were hardly unaware of the tension rippling between the compellingly attractive pair, they gazed at each other silently for long moments. A world of communication passed between them, but it consisted solely of questions.

  For Erin, there was a gathering sense of bewilderment. Who exactly was this alarming yet somehow vulnerable man? A man who had triumphed over tragedy beyond most people's comprehension, yet claimed to have learned nothing of mercy or compassion in the process. A man who showed none of the narrow-mindedness others exhibited, but who carried a legacy of hate he was not willing to relinquish. A man who could make her desire the most fundamental reaffirmation of life possible at the same time that he threatened her destruction.

  Even as those thoughts and more whirled through her mind, Storm was fighting his own inner battle. He wanted to believe she was the same shallow, selfish girl he had foolishly loved eight years before, if only to justify his desire to punish her. But he could not ignore the unmistakable signs of great change.

  Not only was she far lovelier in a somehow haunted, wistful way that made his heart ache, but she was also much more sensitive to other people than he would have thought possible. He was torn between the urge to strip away all her defenses and discover what lay beneath, and the need to protect her even from himself.

  With the ruthless honesty that marked his life, he recognized the conflict he faced. But he also saw that time was on his side. She would have to come to him about the ships. He would see to it that she had no other alternative if she wanted to save her company. And when she did . . .

  His thoughts trailed off, replaced by images that made him regret they were both seated at a dinner table surrounded by other people. A slight smile curved his hard mouth. Soon enough he would have her alone.

  Beneath the quicksilver fire of his gaze, Erin shivered. She had a fairly good idea of what was going through his mind. She supposed she should be outraged. But much as she tried, she couldn't manage' it. A growing sense of anticipation blocked out even the most basic instincts for survival.

  Storm had spoken of a trap. She could almost feel the sharp teeth of it about to close on her.

  Chapter Four

  "The boatyard?" Meg repeated disbelievingly. She sat bolt upright in the bed, resisting Erin's efforts to calm her. "You're not seriously planning to go there alone? What will people think?"

  "I'm afraid I can't be too concerned about that. For three days now I've tried to convince Captain Davin to meet with me here or at the consulate. He insists he will speak to me about the ships only if I go to his office."

  Erin saw no reason to mention that Storm had suggested an alternative to the boatyard, namely his home on the outskirts of Yokohama. The amusement her vehement refusal had provoked still rankled.

  "If you could only wait a bit," Meg suggested, "until this blasted ankle is better. Then I could go with you."

  "You know perfectly well the doctor said you mustn't try to get around for at least a few weeks. That was a bad fall you took."

  "My own darned foolishness. If I'd been looking where I was going ..."

  "Anyone can have an accident," Erin reminded her gently. The memory of finding Meg crumpled at the bottom of the stairs still made her tremble. She could hardly bear to think of how close her dearly loved friend had come to something truly serious.

  With deliberate lightness she added, "Heaven knows, you saw me through more than a few bumps and scrapes. The least I can do is make sure you follow the doctor's instructions and stay in bed."

  "I don't suppose a bit of rest would hurt me," Meg allowed grudgingly. "But I'm sure to be up and about in a couple of days."

  Erin was privately certain that would not be the case, but she wasn't about to say so. Instead, she pointed out, "The easier you take things, the faster you'll get better."

  "I suppose. ..." Gazing at her worriedly, Meg asked, "Do you really have to go see him now?"

  "I'm afraid so. There's no reason to think Captain Davin will become more reasonable over time. In fact, the contrary is more likely. But besides that, I can't simply sit here twiddling my thumbs and waiting for someone else to solve my problems."

  A rueful smile lit the Irishwoman's black eyes. "No, that wouldn't be like you. You were always a great one for taking the bull by the horns."

  "This is more a matter of bearding the lion in his den."

  Meg chuckled, but her tone was serious as she asked, "Couldn't you ask Miss Elizabeth to go along with you?"

  "I don't think that would be a good idea. Our ho
stess has been looking a bit green in the mornings and has taken to skipping breakfast."

  "You mean . . . ?"

  "I suspect so."

  An envious sigh escaped Meg. "It wouldn't do you any harm to take a lesson from her."

  With some effort, Erin managed a look of pained shock. "Meg Gilhoully, I'm surprised at you. Suggesting such a thing to an unmarried lady."

  "Get away with you! You know perfectly well what I'm saying. It's time you settled down."

  "I have one or two things to do first. Getting my ships back, for a start, and then building the Conroy line up again. That's going to take all my time and energy for quite a while."

  Meg didn't appear impressed. "The finest shipping line in the world won't keep you warm at night or fill your arms with children. You'd do well to remember that."

  Erin did, but she wasn't about to admit it. Instead, she talked awhile longer with the older woman, to be certain she was calmed down enough not to try to leap out of bed and go chasing after her. Meg had dozed off by the time she let herself out of the room and made her way quietly downstairs.

  Ned and Elizabeth had thoughtfully put a carriage at her disposal. The groom who hitched up the horses for her looked doubtful when he realized she intended to drive herself, but his concern faded at the sight of her able hands on the reins.

  The soft gray-blue cashmere day dress she wore beneath a white fringed shawl was warm enough for the pleasantly cool fall day. Its high collar and long sleeves were secured by rows of tiny buttons that matched the fabric's delicate shade. The tapered bodice and narrow waist did not disguise the perfection of her figure, but neither did they unduly emphasize it.

  The silken mass of her ebony hair was caught up in a loose coil on the crown of her head. Feathery wisps caressed her smooth brow and slender throat. As usual, she had eschewed a bonnet, preferring to feel the sun and wind against her skin.

  Despite the seriousness of the task ahead of her, she could not deny a sense of pleasure in the day. It stemmed in part from the sparkling perfection of the cobalt sky reflected in the tranquil water lapping at the shore, the vibrant colors of the goods on display in the market, the exotic scents and sounds that reached her as she carefully maneuvered the phaeton through the crowd of shoppers and browsers.