Blackmail. The ugly, unspoken word hung between them. Sano saw Wisteria flush and pitied her for having to expose her friend’s flaws. But the flush reminded him of the way a woman looked when sensually excited, as did the way her breath quickened. His own excitement mounted. To add to his discomfort, the couple next door had abandoned their duet. A rhythmic thumping shook the thin walls. Sano looked away when Wisteria smiled briefly at him. She probably meant the smile as an apology for the noise, but to Sano, it said, “Wouldn’t you like to do what they’re doing?”
To cover his embarrassment, Sano asked quickly, “So Noriyoshi was paid for his silence. By who else besides Kikunojo?”
“One other that I know of. A sumo wrestler, but I don’t know his name.”
Maybe one of Noriyoshi’s other friends would know. “Did Noriyoshi collect a large payment shortly before his death?” Sano asked, thinking of the gold he’d found in the artist’s room.
Wisteria’s eyes misted. “Maybe. He said he was about to come into enough money to pay off my debt to the Heavenly Garden, and to start his own gallery. We were going to run it together. He even had a building picked out. One with rooms behind it where we could live. But I don’t know if he ever got the money.”
Sano decided not to tell her about the gold that Cherry Eater had taken. It would only hurt her. Besides, the sum he’d seen, while considerable, wasn’t enough for such an enterprise. Noriyoshi must have been expecting much more. Maybe Kikunojo had killed him to avoid having to pay.
“Kikunojo might very well have murdered Noriyoshi,” Wisteria said bitterly, echoing Sano’s thoughts. “He threatened to do it. And Noriyoshi’s other enemies-” She reeled off a long list of people, both samurai and commoners, that Noriyoshi had owed money to, offended, or cheated. “I don’t think they cared enough to kill him.”
Here at last was some information he could take to Magistrate Ogyu. Bowing, Sano said, “My thanks, Lady Wisteria. I’ll do everything in my power to bring Noriyoshi’s murderer to justice.”
He rose to leave… and found himself unable to move away from Wisteria. Her eyes drew him into their dark depths; her body reached for him without moving. He gazed at her helplessly, longingly.
“Wait.” Wisteria caught his sleeve. “Don’t leave me alone.”
She tried to pull him back down to the floor. “Stay with me tonight.”
Sano pulled away. His manhood, already erect, now sprang to full, demanding life at the thought of lying with her. He saw now that for the whole time he’d spent with her, she’d been subtly, deliberately seducing him. His whole body ached for her. But there was no way he could afford her price.
“I’m sorry, my lady,” he managed to say, removing his sleeve from her grasp. “Please.” Please don’t make me humiliate myself by admitting that I’m too poor to have you.”
She stood, playing the fingers of one hand down the length of his arm. “No, you don’t understand. I ask nothing of you.” Her other hand stroked his chest. “Nothing except… you.”
“Why?” Sano couldn’t believe that a yūjo who kept company with the wealthiest, most powerful men in Edo would want him. Who cares why, his body asked as his skin tingled under her touch.
“Because with you, I don’t have to hide my sorrow.”
She stepped away from him. With a graceful gesture, she slipped the knot of her sash. Her kimono opened, then fell away from her body. Naked, she stood before him. Her breasts were small and round. Her arms and legs were slender, her skin a flawless golden ivory. At her shaven pubis, trademark of all yūjo, the delicate cleft of her womanhood showed. Beneath her perfume, Sano could smell her natural scent, pungent and intoxicating. She took his hands and lifted them to her breasts.
A moan escaped Sano when his fingers touched her nipples. Then he recoiled as she closed her mouth over his. Like other samurai, he’d experienced the pleasures of sex often enough- with his neighbors’ maids, or with girls he met in the entertainment districts of Nihonbashi. But he’d never tried seppun, the exotic practice of touching mouths that had been introduced to Japan by the banished foreign barbarians.
“It won’t hurt you,” she murmured, her breath warm against his lips. Amusement shimmered in her voice.
At first the slippery wetness of her lips repelled him. Then his desire flared, and he opened his mouth to admit her probing tongue. Who would have thought that this outrageous exchange of breath and saliva could be so arousing? He pulled away just long enough to cast off his garments, hating to take his mouth from hers, his hands from their exploration of her breasts and buttocks.
They sank onto the futon together, and she pressed her body to his with an ardor that surprised Sano. He’d heard many stories about yūjo: their expertise, the elaborate games they played with costumes, toys, pillow talk, and aphrodisiacs, their false but flattering cries of ecstasy. But unless he was much mistaken, her sighs and arching back were not mere theatrics. He saw no cold mechanical technique in the way she caressed his chest and loins and grasped his erection-just a woman’s simple and ancient desire for a man. And she couldn’t have simulated the ardor that his hands read in her hard nipples, in the wetness between her legs. For a moment he wondered why she differed from other yūjo. Was this her special talent, her ability to want the men she bedded? Maybe she was trying to bury her sorrow over Noriyoshi’s death in physical pleasure with someone whom she had no obligation to entertain. The reason didn’t matter. Her apparently real lust for him brought Sano to the brink of climax. Almost swooning with pleasure, he entered her.
And stopped thinking altogether.
Sano had slipped so easily from wakefulness into sleep that he’d hardly been aware of the transition. Now he awoke with a jolt to the sound of quiet sobbing. He sat upright, throwing off the quilts. He looked toward the corner, where candle flame made a hollow of light.
Wrapped in a white robe, Wisteria knelt, her profile toward him, before a low table. On it she had arranged among the fruit, flowers, and guttering candles a collection of small objects. She bowed her head over them, lips moving as tears ran down her face. Sano crawled off the futon and moved to her side. He saw a cotton headband on the table, with a tobacco pipe and a hand of playing cards. The cards, each with a miniature shunga on the back, seemed hardly suitable for a Buddhist altar. Then he understood. Noriyoshi had painted the cards; the headband and pipe were his. Wisteria, in her white mourning clothes, was praying for Noriyoshi’s spirit.
Both moved and embarrassed, Sano tried to think of something to say. He wasn’t used to seeing such an open display of grief; most people kept their feelings hidden, even at funerals. Maybe he should let her mourn in privacy. But he couldn’t leave without somehow acknowledging what had happened between them. He laid a tentative hand on her shoulder.
“Go to your new home in peace, Noriyoshi,” Wisteria murmured. “We will meet again someday.” She turned to Sano. Her round eyes were wells of misery, her nose and mouth swollen from weeping.
Sano felt her pain echo inside his own chest. “I’m sorry,” he said inadequately. He tried to take her in his arms, but she shrank from his touch.
“My only real friend is dead!” she cried, sudden anger sparkling through her tears. “And how have I honored him? By bedding a yoriki!” A choked sob burst from deep within her. “You, who care nothing for other people’s pain!
“You come here asking questions and acting so concerned. But there is no justice for lowly peasants, who cannot pay or influence our rulers to provide it. You’ll go back to your desk and write up a pretty little official version of what happened to Noriyoshi. Shinjū. Nice and neat and easy. No inquiry to make more work for you or your superiors, or to trouble the family of that girl, whoever she was. You’ll stamp Noriyoshi’s disgrace with your seal and your silence. While the one who killed him goes free!”