But he still had a month in Canton. Even if he couldn't arrange to visit the Temple of Hoshan, he must learn as much as possible about the China trade. When he inherited the earldom and took his seat in the House of Lords, he'd have to deal with issues of trade and foreign policy, and there was no substitute for firsthand knowledge.

Opium was an integral part of the China trade, and public sentiment back home disapproved of the fact that British merchants were purveyors of drugs. Kyle agreed. A major reason he'd saved Elliott House from bankruptcy was because the American firm was one of the few companies that didn't deal in opium.

Of course, America had furs and ginseng and other products the Chinese wanted. Traders from other nations weren't so lucky. China wasn't interested in European manufactured goods-but opium from Turkey or British India was quite another matter.

He entered the office. Half a dozen clerks were there, most of them Portuguese. Jin Kang sat at a corner desk working the odd collection of beads known as an abacus. The thing looked like a child's toy, but was supposed to be useful for calculations.

Making a mental note to get someone to explain it to him later, Kyle silently approached Jin. "How is your ankle, Jin Kang?"

Jin gave a swift, startled glance before dropping his gaze to the abacus again. His eyes were indeed a warm brown rather than black. "It is well, sir." His voice was so soft it was almost inaudible.

Kyle drew up an empty chair and sat beside the desk. "Mr. Elliott gave me a letter that he'd like you to write for him."

"Of course, sir." Jin set the abacus aside and pulled paper and other writing equipment from a desk drawer. Kyle watched with interest as the young man ground part of a black cake on a stone, then mixed in water to make black ink.

When Jin was ready, Kyle slowly read the letter aloud. Using a brush instead of a quill or a pen, the young man painted a column of complex symbols down the page, starting on the right side of the paper and working toward the left. Occasionally he would pause and ask for clarification of a word or phrase. Though his English was slow and awkward, he was conscientious.

When the letter was finished, Kyle remarked, "Chinese writing is very different from European writing. Elegant."

"Calligraphy is a great art. My writing is crude. Fit only for trade."

"It looks fine to me. So many different letters. Can you teach me the alphabet?"

"It is forbidden to teach Chinese to a Fan-qui.'" Jin kept his head down. He was capable of carrying on an entire conversation without looking up.

"Good Lord, why?"

"It is not for me to try to guess the reasons of the Celestial Emperor."

No doubt the prohibition was based on the general distaste of the Chinese for foreigners. Three days in Canton had taught Kyle that even the poorest Chinese looked down on the foreign devils. It was amusing to imagine how enraged a stiff-necked, bigoted English aristocrat would be to realize that a shabby Chinese boatman considered himself superior.

Paradoxically, the Chinese Kyle had dealt with personally were the soul of courtesy, and he'd seen what seemed like genuine respect between Cantonese merchants and the Fan-qui with whom they did business. This was a nation of contrasts. "Surely teaching me the alphabet would not be the same as teaching me the language."

Jin shook his head, his thick queue swaying. "We have no alphabet."

"No alphabet? Then what does this mean?" Kyle pointed at a character.

"It begs the honor of the merchant's attention." Jin set his brush on a porcelain rest, his brow furrowing as he sought the words to explain. "In your language, each letter stands for a sound. Putting them together shows the sounds for a whole word. In Chinese each character is an… an idea. Combining them produces a new idea. It is… subtle."

"Fascinating, and very different. How many characters are there?"

"Many, many." Jin touched the abacus. "Tens of thousands."

Kyle whistled softly. "It seems like a clumsy system. Surely it takes years of study to learn how to read and write."

"It is not to be expected that everyone would excel at such a high art," Jin said stiffly. "Writing, poetry, and painting are the Three Perfections. Skill in all three is the mark of scholars and poets."

"Since you can write, does that make you a scholar?"

"Oh, no. My learning is not fit to take a scholar exam. I have only the skill of a clerk." His tone implied that Kyle's question had been absurd.

"Can you show me how to write a single character? Surely that is not the same as teaching me how to write."

The corner of Jin's mouth twitched slightly. A repressed smile? "You are very persistent, sir."

"Indeed." Kyle examined the ink cake. It was octagonal, with a dragon embossed on one side. " Better to yield now, since I will pester you until you show me."

Yes, Jin was definitely trying not to smile. "A humble clerk cannot resist such force, my lord." He placed a blank sheet of paper on the table. "Watch as I draw the character for fire. The strokes must be made in the correct order." Twice he drew the same simple, star-shaped character, working slowly so that the strokes were clear. Then he freshened the ink on the brush and handed it to Kyle. "Try."

Even to the most casual eye, Kyle's attempt was not a success. "This is harder than it looks." He tried again, getting closer to the shape of the character but creating nothing like the elegance of Jin's writing.

"You hold the brush wrong. Not like an English pen. More straight. Like this." Jin put his hand over Kyle's, changing the angle of the brush.

A strange tingle went through Kyle. What the devil? Jin felt something, too, because he quickly pulled his hand away.

Could this boy be a holy man like the one in India? Sri Anshu's gaze could melt lead, and perhaps Jin Kang concealed similar inner fires. Or was the basis of that inexplicable reaction rooted in something that didn't bear thinking about?

Though disturbed, Kyle forced himself to act as if nothing had happened. "The brush should be more upright?"

"Yes." Jin swallowed. "And held more loosely."

Kyle painted the character several more times. Holding the brush differently did produce a more delicate stroke, but he still had a long way to go.

And he had made no progress toward understanding his baffling response to Jin Kang. Quite the contrary.

England

December 1832

Troth awoke in a soft bed with lavender-scented linens. It was night, but flames crackled cozily in the fireplace to her right. She felt warm for the first time in what seemed like months.

A quiet, familiar voice asked, "How are you feeling?"

She turned her head to the left and saw the man whose appearance had caused her to faint when she arrived at Warfield Park. Kyle. Yet now that she saw him more closely, he was not Kyle, despite the uncanny resemblance. "You are Lord Grahame?"

He nodded. "And you are Lady Maxwell, my brother's wife. Before we start talking seriously, do you need food or drink? Water?"

She realized that she hadn't had anything since early that morning. "Water… would be nice."

He poured a glass from a pitcher on the bedside table, then piled pillows behind her so she could sit up and drink. His hands were kind, but they were not Kyle's hands.

She swallowed thirstily, emptying the glass. Her dizziness faded. "He didn't tell me that you and he were twins, Lord Grahame."