If her message hadn’t reached Sano in time, soldiers would soon come to evict the household and arrest her, the wife of the traitor who had attacked the shogun’s mother. If Sano had gotten the message and heeded her warning, they would be spared a disgraceful death, but Reiko doubted whether he would forgive her latest defiance. Many a proud samurai would rather die than lose face. Sano would probably send her back to her father tonight. Either way, her marriage was over.
With painful hindsight, Reiko saw the mistakes she’d made. Why hadn’t she placated Sano’s male pride and negotiated a compromise, instead of alienating him from the start? It was her curse always to want what she couldn’t have. Her impetuous nature had cost her the man who challenged, angered, and aroused her; the man she’d hated and wanted with an intensity she’d never before experienced.
The man she loved.
Reiko experienced the knowledge as a bittersweet ache in her heart.
She yearned to know what had happened in Lady Keisho-in’s chambers. When would someone come and end the terrible suspense?
The lamp flame wavered like a feeble beacon of hope in the night. In the charcoal braziers, hot embers crumbled softly into ash. Reiko’s shadow climbed the furniture, the paper partitions, and the painted wall mural as she paced. Apprehension tightened her muscles into rigid steel cords.
Then, just before midnight, came the sound of quiet footsteps in the passage. The moment had arrived, with this stealthy approach that was more menacing than the clamor of armed soldiers Reiko had imagined. Perhaps the shogun intended to spirit the traitors away from Edo Castle, execute them in secrecy, and preserve the appearance of Tokugawa invincibility. Or maybe Sano had sent an envoy to remove her quietly from the house, thereby avoiding a scandal. But Reiko was not one to cower before danger. She hurried to the door and flung it open.
There stood Sano, alone in the corridor. Disconcerted, Reiko stepped backward. She hadn’t expected him, and he looked strangely different. Weariness shadowed his handsome face. He wore no swords. His gaze was somber; the arrogance had vanished. For the first time, Reiko saw his essential humanity, instead of the product of a thousand years of samurai training and discipline. Confusion rendered her speechless.
Sano broke the silence. “May I come in?”
Though Reiko would have defied an order, she couldn’t refuse the plea in his voice. She let Sano enter, then closed the door. With the household asleep, they were more alone together than they’d ever been before. Sano’s new vulnerability magnified his physical presence; the barrier of anger was gone. Now Reiko was keenly aware of them as man and woman, not opposing arguments. A trembling began inside her. Something was going to happen, but perhaps none of the events she’d imagined.
To hide her nervousness, she blurted, “I wasn’t expecting you.” At the same time, Sano said, “I’m sorry to disturb you so late.” After an awkward pause, Sano spoke again. “I got your message, and I wanted to thank you. You saved me from making a bad mistake.”
He explained what had happened with Lady Keisho-in. Reiko experienced horror at how close they’d come to ruin, then relief at the outcome. But the question of their marriage remained. They couldn’t continue as they’d begun; a perpetual war of wills would destroy them both. Though the attraction pulled Reiko toward Sano ever more strongly, she wasn’t ready to surrender her dreams, especially after proving her worth. When he finished speaking, she averted her face, loath to betray her conflicting desires.
“Reiko-san.” To her astonishment, Sano knelt at her feet. “I’ve misjudged your skill, and I beg you to accept my apology. If I were half as clever a detective as you, I might have discovered Chamberlain Yanagisawa’s plot in time to avoid a lot of trouble.” A self-deprecating smile quirked his mouth. “But I was stupid. And blind. And stubborn.” The words came out haltingly, as if they caused him pain. “I should have listened to you in the beginning, and not been so quick to refuse your help.”
Reiko stared down at him in wonder. A samurai abasing himself to a woman and admitting he’d been wrong? As much as she’d admired his bravery and his dedication to principles, Reiko now admired Sano’s humility. She’d learned that it took more strength of character to acknowledge one’s faults than to fight sword battles. The ice of her resistance toward Sano began to thaw.
“It’s hard for me to trust people,” Sano went on. “I always try to do everything myself-partly because I don’t want to harm anyone else, but partly because I think I can do better than they can.” Color rose in his cheeks, and he spoke faster, as though hurrying to finish before he lost courage. “You showed me the self-deluding fool that I am. You were right not to give up investigating the murder and leave your fate in my hands. I don’t blame you if you’d rather go home to your father than live with me. If you want a divorce, I’ll agree to it.
“But if you’ll give me time to improve my character, a chance to learn how to be the kind of husband you deserve-” He drew a deep breath and blew it out. “What I’m trying to say is, I want you to stay. Because I’m in love with you, Reiko.” His eyes shone with ardor. Then he looked away. “And I… I need you.”
Behind the quiet words Reiko could almost hear the echo of a fortress crumbling. Now Sano faced her again, the hesitancy gone; his voice rang clear and true. “I need you, not only as a wife, or a mother for my children, or for my pleasure, but as the woman you are. A partner in my work. A comrade in honor.”
Reiko struggled to absorb everything he’d said. Sano not only returned her love, but he was offering her a marriage on her terms! She could have him, without losing herself. Gladness swelled within her.
Savoring the triumph of the moment, she stood perfectly still, not daring even to breathe. But Sano was waiting for her decision, anxiously trying to read her expression. Emotion choked Reiko’s throat; words would not come, so she answered in the only way possible. She held out her hand to Sano.
Joy lit his face as his warm, strong fingers grasped and covered hers. Rising, he gazed down into her eyes. An eternity passed in wordless mutual discovery, the exchange of a million unspoken thoughts. In silence Reiko conveyed her love to Sano; he promised her freedom as well as protection. Between them shimmered a vision of the future, hazy but radiant. Then a troubled sigh gusted from Sano.
“This isn’t going to be easy,” he said. “We’ll both have to change. It will take time-and patience. But I’m willing to try, if you are.”
“I am,” Reiko whispered.
Even as she gave her pledge, fear quaked under her happiness. Sano’s maleness intimidated her. She felt his need in the grip of his hand around hers, the quickening of his breath. Her own vulnerability appalled her.
Now Sano drew her nearer, cupping her face in his hand. She realized that this was for her the first test of their marriage. They couldn’t always be like two soldiers marching side by side into battle. The power balance between them would shift back and forth, one prevailing while the other yielded. In the arena of carnal love, he had the advantages on age, strength, and experience. It was her turn to submit to him first. Yet the force of Reiko’s response to Sano weakened her instinctive resistance. Desire was a voracious hunger. Ardently she pressed herself against him.
His arms came around her. She saw lust darken his features, felt the insistent rhythm of his heart and the frightening hardness at his groin. Terror leapt inside Reiko. But Sano caressed her hair, her neck, her shoulders with extreme gentleness: He was restraining himself because he understood her fear. Emboldened, Reiko touched the bare skin at the neckline of his kimono. His hands circled her waist. Gazes locked, they moved toward the futon, and Reiko couldn’t tell whether Sano was leading the way, or she.
They sank onto the futon, and at Sano’s touch, Reiko’s hair tumbled free of its combs. Willingly she let him untie her sash, but when he tried to slip off the layered kimonos, she recoiled. No man had ever seen her naked, and she feared his scrutiny, especially if she must be exposed while he remained clothed.
Sano withdrew at once. “I’m sorry.” As if reading her thoughts, he untied his own sash. He shrugged off his brown kimono and white under-robe. Reiko stared in amazement.
Scars seamed the tanned skin on the lean, sculpted muscles of his arms and chest, the flat planes of his stomach. The skin on his calves was pink and flaky, healing from burns. Naked except for his loincloth, Sano looked like a survivor of war and fire. A tender pain arced through Reiko. She touched a large, dark scab just below the outer right edge of Sano’s collarbone.
“What happened to you?” she asked.
With a rueful smile, he said, “An arrow wound, while I was in Nagasaki.”
“And the burns?”
“The man who shot a Dutch merchant tried to stop the murder investigation by setting my house on fire.”
Reiko touched a long line of puckered flesh on his upper left arm. The wound had been serious. “What about this?”
