When they finished, he took the remaining, largest package from the bundle and tossed it in her lap. “Here’s a present.”

Wisteria opened the package and found a kimono of crimson satin, lavishly brocaded with waves and swimming carp in rainbow-hued metallic thread.

“How beautiful!” she exclaimed in delight.

“Sure it is.” Lightning smiled proudly, but his tone distrusted her reaction. “It’s as nice as anything those other men have given you-isn’t it?” He was jealous of her high-class lovers, who often brought her expensive gifts.

“Yes, yes,” Wisteria assured him. Stroking the kimono, she didn’t ask where he’d gotten it; knowing how he earned his living, she could guess. Yet she didn’t care, because the kimono was hers now, a promise of a brilliant future.

“You can show me your appreciation now,” Lightning said.

Lust gleamed in his eyes as he swept aside the remains of their meal. He tore off her garments. The cold raised bumps on her skin, but Lightning opened his own clothes and pulled her against his warm flesh. Wisteria moaned, overwhelmed by desire for him. Lightning was her own age of twenty-four, instead of decades older, as were most men who could afford the services of a tayu. Caressing him, Wisteria reveled in the feel of him, so firm and strong instead of pudgy or emaciated like her typical client. His hands on her breasts, her buttocks, and between her legs caused her pleasure instead of disgust. When Lightning climbed atop her, his manhood was erect. No over-refined, impotent gentleman was he!

“I want you inside me.” Gasping, Wisteria wrapped her legs around his waist. “Take me now!”

Lightning reared up from her in sudden anger. “Impatient, are you?” He slapped away her hands and wrenched free of her. “I’m the one who says when and how, not you!”

In her passion, Wisteria had forgotten that he never liked being told what to do. “I’m sorry,” she said hastily, for last night had proven his contrary nature and shown her the peril of trying to impose her will upon him. “Please forgive me.”

His face blazed with bestial rage and desire; he was panting and perspiring, literally steaming in the chill air. He roughly turned Wisteria over on her stomach. His hands jerked her hips upward and pushed her face to the floor. Frightened, though aroused by his brutality, Wisteria cried out in protest.

“Don’t you dare resist me,” Lightning shouted as cheers and laughter exploded in the gambling den. “You’re mine, and I’ll treat you as I wish.”

Mounting her, he yanked her buttocks against his loins; his manhood entered her with a friction that drew moans from them both. “Did Lord Mitsuyoshi take you this way?” he gasped out. He began thrusting deep and fast into Wisteria. “Did you enjoy it with him?”

The floor’s rough planks scraped Wisteria’s knees and forearms. Her pride rebelled against this mistreatment, and she hated that the gamblers would hear her degradation. Her inner flesh swelled with excitement born of pain and pleasure.

Lightning abruptly withdrew from her body. Unable to bear the cessation, Wisteria gave the answer he wanted: “No. No!” She knew he’d hated Mitsuyoshi more than any of her other clients. She wriggled backward, trying to regain him.

“Did you want Lord Mitsuyoshi?” Breathless, Lightning shuddered with his own passion, but he held her away from him while she struggled. “Did you love him?”

“I didn’t want him. I didn’t love him,” Wisteria said, sobbing in her desperation to have Lightning. “Please-”

He reentered her, and as she keened in joy, he said, “Tell me you love me.”

“I love you!” At this moment, with him moving inside her, and the world reduced to the two of them, Wisteria did love Lightning passionately, truly, devotedly.

“Tell me I’m the only man you’ll ever love.”

“You’re the only one,” Wisteria cried. Eyes shut, she concentrated on their climb to pleasure. She lost awareness of the rough floor, the cold, and the other people nearby.

Thrusting harder and quicker, Lightning growled like a wild beast. “If anyone else dares look at you, I’ll kill him. And if you ever shun me or betray me-if you ever cross me in any way-I’ll kill you, too!”

His threats terrified Wisteria, for she knew he spoke the truth. Terror increased arousal, and her climax struck her in waves of ecstasy. She screamed. Lightning’s growls culminated in a triumphant roar, and she felt him release inside her. They collapsed together in heaving exhaustion, and Wisteria’s spirits slid into a black pit of distress.

She realized that her liberator had become her captor, and one more prone to cruelty than any brothel master. Wisteria had extricated herself from financial debt, but she now owed Lightning, whom she must repay in flesh and blood. She’d hoped to harness his strength and daring to further her own aims, yet he was untamable. Last night marked the point at which her control over her destiny had shattered.

No one would know whether she was an innocent witness to murder, or an accomplice in crime. If only Lord Mitsuyoshi hadn’t died! Had things worked out differently, she might now be free to enjoy the fruition of her secret plans.

However, there seemed no use dwelling upon the past. Wisteria recognized that she’d bound herself to Lightning, for good or bad, and she was dependent on him for survival.

She hoped she could survive his jealous rages, his volatile, unpredictable behavior.

And he was still crucial to her plans, which had hinged on him from the beginning.

Closing her eyes, imprisoned in Lightning’s possessive embrace, Wisteria prayed they would escape Edo alive.

Treasury Minister Nitta lived in the Edo Castle official district, in a street higher on the hill and closer to the shogun’s palace than Sano. His estate had the same style of architecture as all the others in the district, with barracks enclosing courtyards, garden, stables, and a low mansion raised on a stone podium and crowned by a brown tile roof. But Nitta’s estate was on a larger scale, befitting his exalted rank.

When Sano and a team of his detectives arrived to call on Nitta the next morning, a hard, brilliant blue sky arched over the castle. The sun melted the snow on the roofs, but the intense cold froze the dripping water into icicles that glittered on the eaves. The snow in the roads turned grimy under the horses’ hooves. But in spite of the weather, the treasury minister emerged from the shelter of his house to meet Sano’s party as soon as it reached the front door.

“Sōsakan-sama. How dare you send troops to invade my home and wake me up in the middle of the night?” He gestured at Sano’s men, standing guard in the courtyard. “This is an execrable offense.”

Nitta was a pallid, gaunt samurai whom Sano knew to be fifty years of age, though he seemed older because of his prematurely silver hair. Silver brows bristled over eyes that seemed too dark in contrast; ire compressed a mouth so thin that it appeared lipless. Clad in a kimono, surcoat, and trousers in shades of gray, he looked like a figure in a monochrome painting. He stood on the veranda, hands on his hips and feet pointed outward, glowering down at Sano.

“Would you now kindly explain why you have placed my entire household under arrest?” he said.

“I apologize for the disturbance.” Sano bowed low, as did his men. “But I need to question you regarding the murder of Lord Mitsuyoshi.”

“Murder? Lord Mitsuyoshi?” Surprise inflected Nitta’s high-pitched voice and sharpened his eyes. “How and where did it happen?”

Sano explained, wondering if the treasury minister’s reaction was genuine, or feigned. Then Nitta’s expression turned disdainful.

“And you obviously consider me a suspect. How ridiculous. Well, I suppose you are desperate to find the culprit, but there was no need for you to treat me, or my family, in such a rude manner.”