Lion leaned closer in the candlelight. He had the distinct feeling that she was not the least bit impressed with him; worse, he feared that she was on the verge of laughter. Meagan dropped her eyes before his scrutiny and turned her attention back to the now lukewarm soup. Lion watched her eat, frankly curious.
Sipping his wine, he thought back over the past three days. His preoccupation with the weather and their progress had coupled with his extreme irritation with Priscilla, leaving him little time to notice Meagan. Now he remembered clearly the way she had slapped her mistress that day on the ferry. Thinking back, it seemed now that she had done a great deal to keep Priscilla going. Lion could recall seeing Meagan leading her by the arm, her eyes conveying a stern message. Now, as the serving-girl filled their plates with molasses-cured ham, mashed carrots and parsnips, and hot potato rolls, Lion said, "I gather that you have been with Priscilla for a long time."
Meagan met his sharp blue gaze, her own eyes smoky in the firelight. "Yes."
"You seem to know how to handle her."
Meagan took a sip of wine, measuring him. Suddenly she smiled. "It is an acquired art, sir, and one that is impossible to perfect." Her smile widened enigmatically before she turned to her dinner.
Lion continued to watch her as they ate, wondering. Her speech patterns were distinctly refined and her delicate, intelligent features had an aristocratic quality.
"Have you always been a servant?" Lion asked suddenly, surprising himself.
Meagan stared at him in astonishment, and for a brief moment he thought she looked alarmed. "I can't imagine why you should ask such a question, Mr. Hampshire. But since you have—the answer is no."
"Would you tell me the reason?"
"My parents died."
The burnished brows drew together, shading his eyes in the half-light. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be prying into your affairs. I know how irritating that can be." He leaned back in his chair, staring off into space as he sipped his wine.
Meagan watched him as she ate, glancing out from under her long lashes. There was a hard, bitter cut to his handsome profile as he gazed into the fireplace. Meagan saw the pain flickering in his icy blue eyes and for the first time since she had seen him outside West Hills she felt prepared to be his friend.
Chapter Six
The remainder of their journey North took nearly ten days, and Meagan wondered frequently if it would ever end. Or, more to the point, if they would live through it. The weather grew worse the farther they traveled, and Lion's mood darkened with the ominous clouds that dogged their progress.
The night at Spurrier Tavern had formed an odd, unspoken alliance between Meagan and her friend's fiancé. He came to realize that she could keep Priscilla's tantrums in check, while she managed to convey to him that the less he was seen the fewer scenes there would be. To Lion, the silent bargain was a good one, for his daily battles with the elements were exhausting enough; he had no desire to take on his whining bride-to-be as well.
The master and servant learned to communicate with their eyes behind Priscilla's back as Meagan reassured him that she had everything under control. There was little opportunity for further conversation. The days were long and tiring and Meagan began to eat her nightly meals in her room with the pouting Priscilla. She regretted her unguarded behavior during her dinner with Lion Hampshire and had no wish for a repeat performance to further arouse his curiosity. Her performance that night had been unskilled; she had committed the clumsy blunder of dropping her guard and showing him herself. She knew that he had been intrigued by her and now she was panicky at the thought of getting herself in any deeper. So she played the role of lady's maid to the hilt, staying out of Lion's way and dropping her eyes with proper subservience when he came near. She could feel his mocking smile as he watched her, making her cheeks burn with the indignity of her position. But she refused to let down her guard again. The thought of his finding out the truth and sending her home to Virginia in his anger caused her scalp to chill and prickle with unaccustomed fear.
When she wasn't preoccupied or worried about Lion or Priscilla, Meagan found herself actually enjoying the long hours of travel. The country was new to her and she longed to see it in the rich verdant garb of spring. Baltimore was a lovely surprise. Half the size of Philadelphia, it was a quaint, charming town perched on a hill that sloped down to Chesapeake Bay. Meagan tried to visualize the spacious streets under blue skies and sunshine, with the numerous dovecotes filled with singing birds. Lion told them that the townspeople believed the doves and swallows would bring prosperity, but none were in evidence as the carriage clattered down the sleet-swept streets.
Maryland's rolling countryside charmed Meagan even as it frustrated her. The roads were poor, seeming to grow muddier with every mile. Each hill became a frightening challenge as the horses struggled to bring the yellow post-chariot to the summit. Through the rain, Meagan could see the farmhouses and stone barns standing desolately under the frozen gray sky. Flocks of sheep huddled together, nibbling at the dry, brown stubble that poked through the frosty ground. Meagan consoled herself with the knowledge that soon enough the fields would be moist and warm and filled with flax, with the sheep happily roaming the lush hillsides.
Luck favored them the day they ferried the Susquehanna River, for though it was dangerously swollen, the weather was unusually peaceful and mild. There were no frightening winds or sudden lurches during the crossing, and Meagan managed to keep Priscilla from becoming agitated.
The next few days took them across the head of the Elk River and on into Delaware. The journey to Newcastle, which was usually accomplished in one day, took them two. Meagan could see that Lion was becoming less tense, however, as they neared the Pennsylvania border. The next day they left Newcastle and followed the majestic three-mile-wide Delaware River northward.
When they drew up outside a remote tavern that evening, Lion helped the girls down with an irresistible grin. "Ladies, this is our last stop, God willing. This time tomorrow night I hope to be deep into a bottle of Bingham's brandy!"
Meagan felt herself smile back at him, caught in his high spirits and her own excited anticipation of the future.
Priscilla, on the other hand, managed to sniff loudly while looking the other way. "I must say, it is about time! I can't imagine enduring a more terrible ordeal than the last fortnight has been for me. My upbringing certainly did not prepare me—"
Lion's eyes had hardened to sapphire ice as he regarded her with distaste. "It is evident that your upbringing neglected to prepare you for anything worthwhile."
Priscilla's lower lip trembled with rage as she sought a retort. Failing that, she turned and flounced into the inn, her lovely head erect on its long, white neck.
Meagan thought privately that the entire effect of her profile was spoiled by that willful lower lip. Shrugging tiredly, she started after Priscilla, Lion at her side. Meagan ventured a tentative glance in his direction, expecting rage and finding instead an expression of rueful amusement. One side of his mouth curved cynically as he rolled his blue eyes at her, and for a moment Meagan feared he might chuckle aloud. Priscilla was as testy and volatile as a little child, growing worse by the day, and Meagan had no desire to endure another of her scenes.
Once upstairs in their room, Priscilla calmed herself with a glass of wine. Two more were consumed before their supper arrived, by which time Priscilla was stretched out across the narrow bed in her chemise. While she rambled about her plans for the future, Meagan busied herself by scrubbing with cold water and a rough cloth, trying to ignore her. When the innkeeper's wife arrived with their supper, the two girls sat down facing each other, sharing the wobbly table between the beds. The stew held more barley than beef and seemed to have cooled down considerably during the trip upstairs. Priscilla pushed around in the bowl with her spoon, searching for meat and smiling strangely to herself.
"What do you look so pleased about?" Meagan demanded.
"I was just wondering w
here I'll be dining tomorrow night... I'll wager that I'll be living like a queen by then. Did you hear Lion mention the name Bingham? Do you suppose he knows them? I've heard such tales from James about their house! It's supposed to be modeled after the Duke of Manchester's, only Anne Bingham wanted it grander—"
"If I were you I'd tread a little more cautiously," Meagan broke in curtly, "If you don't use more discretion in your dealings with Mr. Hampshire, you may find yourself eating with me in the kitchen!"
Priscilla wrinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue, a gesture which ended in a huge yawn. Stretching like a cat, she lay back on her bed and was fast asleep, the empty wine glass dangling from her slender fingers.
Meagan sighed as she leaned over to remove it and spread a quilt across her friend. By now the stew was cold. The fresh decanter of wine beckoned to her, and after pouring a large glass, she leaned back against the feather pillows to feel sorry for herself. Dusk had darkened into night by the time she finished the wine and ceased her brooding. On an impulse, Meagan decided to venture downstairs. There was a longing inside her for honest human contact, a craving for laughter.
An oil lamp had been lit in the paneled hallway, throwing elongated shadows down the steps. Meagan descended quietly, listening to the muffled voices that drifted up from the kitchen and the taproom. Although she had been hoping to run across the friendly wife or daughter of some fellow traveler, the first person she saw in the taproom was Lion Hampshire. The room was not empty. A handful of men were gathered around a large gate-leg table arguing over a sheaf of papers, two more were hunched across a game table, and one lone fellow snored against the wall near the fireplace. Lion sat not far away, scowling at a newspaper while taking long drinks of brandy from a stoneware jug. His gilded hair was as bright as the nearby fire, while his skin seemed more bronzed than ever in the evening light.
The wine gave Meagan courage to venture in among the men, and she walked up to Lion and peeked over the top of the paper. "Hello."
He turned his chin a fraction as he observed her, squaring his jaw. Meagan noticed the blond hair that showed above the open collar of his shirt, curling against his honey-brown neck. She felt alarmed at the sudden pounding of her heart.
"Ahh, Meagan. Is anything wrong? Has Her Highness made a proclamation?" He smiled a little, in spite of himself, showing a flash of white teeth. Meagan's own mouth twitched helplessly.
"No, as a matter of fact, she's asleep."
"Then, why—?"
"I'm bored silly, and that dark room was driving me to distraction." She glanced longingly at the chair next to his. "Would you mind very much if I sat down for just a few minutes?"
"Please! Be my guest. I apologize for not offering you a seat sooner."
Meagan sank down, spreading her skirts.
"Let me get you a glass of wine," Lion said, gesturing to the tavern keeper. From behind his cage-topped bar, the burly man poured the glass and brought it across the room, eyeing them knowingly. Lion managed to ignore him as he grinned at Meagan. "I can see why you might feel a little berserk after an evening shut up with Priscilla."
Meagan was startled by his comment. Suddenly she decided to speak her mind. "Pardon me for saying so, but I think that's a rather odd attitude for a man to hold about his fiancée!"
"You're absolutely right."
"You admit it?" she exclaimed incredulously.
"I fear I must. I have no talent for deception." He smiled slightly as though he were making fun of her, but there was an unmistakable bitterness in his expression.
Meagan stared at him hard before she spoke again. "I know this is unpardonably rude of me, but I simply cannot help myself! Why ever are you marrying Pris—that is, Miss Wade? Is it for money? I didn't think that they had so awfully much on hand."
A voice in the back of her mind told her that she was way out of place as a servant, but she took another gulp of wine to silence it. Lion Hampshire was leaning back in his chair, looking at her with the same interested curiosity she had seen in his eyes the night they had dined together in Baltimore. He grinned, and Meagan felt as though a fire had been lit inside her. It was the kind of dazzling smile she had left her room in search of, and she responded to it instinctively.
"There is something very suspicious about you." Lion attempted to sound stern. "I sensed it that first day when you ran me down in the entryway at West Hills. The trouble is, I can't put my finger on it. And the other problem is, I like you. I don't trust you —but I like you. And I appreciate your efforts to make this journey as bearable as possible—not to mention as safe as possible for your mistress. If I'd been alone with her she'd probably be at the bottom of the Potomac right now." There was a glint of laughter in his eyes as he raised the mug. "Am I right in assuming that we are allies of a sort?"
Meagan strove for a dumb expression. His bluntness took her by surprise, and she knew that any good lady's maid would never show any disloyalty to her mistress. Valiantly she attempted to take Priscilla's side, but when she met his eyes, she felt her cheeks grow hot and the words died on her lips.
Lion grinned triumphantly. "I knew it!" He leaned close to her blushing face, and Meagan felt faint as she breathed in the scent of him. "We are friends, aren't we? I don't suppose you'd care to reveal the solution to your mystery...?"
I must never talk to him alone again, Meagan thought wildly, her violet eyes widening. Aloud, she stammered, "No! That is, there is no mystery! It is all in your mind."
Lion shook his head with amusement as he leaned across the table to light a cheroot on the guttering candle.
"Whatever you say, little one. For my part, I also deny any ulterior motives... save the more noble one of true love."
Meagan cast a dubious glance at his dancing blue eyes. "I don't believe you."
"Neither do I believe you." His smile flashed in the shadows. "You are an enigma. I am sure that solving the mystery will provide an entertaining winter diversion."
"Don't trouble yourself," Meagan murmured darkly under her breath. Across the room, the three men rolled up the sheaf of papers and got to their feet, chairs grating harshly on the planked floor.
"Careful," Lion taunted. "Let's not be insolent. I shouldn't like to be forced to dismiss you."
"You—" Meagan began, rising to the bait. Her teeth bit her tongue as she stopped herself.
"Ah, that's more like it." Leaning closer, he grazed her neck with his mouth.
For a frightened moment, Meagan was unable to exhale, then recovering her senses, she glared at him with smoldering violet eyes. "You behave strangely for a man overcome by true love," she commented.
Lion laughed out loud at this and reached out to catch her wrist. "What unbelievable nerve! You are the one behaving strangely, my dear lady's maid!"
Meagan snatched her hand away just as a magnolia-scented shadow fell across the table, and they both looked up to find Priscilla standing there.
Immaculately gowned, she smiled at them with narrowed green eyes. "My, what a cozy twosome you make," she purred. "I don't recall giving you permission to leave the room tonight, Meagan."
Meagan's knuckles went white as she gripped the edge of the table, all too conscious of Lion's interested eyes watching them.
"I'm sorry, ma'am. You were asleep, and I felt the need for some fresh air."
"It seems to me that this air is decidedly smoky," Priscilla returned sweetly. "Why don't you run along now, dear? I'm sure you have bored Mr. Hampshire quite long enough with your chatter. From now on, I suggest that you remember your place."
Meagan stood up, cheeks crimson, her eyes drawn to Lion's by some magnetic force she couldn't control. While Priscilla took over her chair and proceeded to link arms with Lion, he winked at Meagan quite deliberately. Meagan dragged her eyes away and murmured with cold effort, "I beg your pardon, Miss Wade, Mr. Hampshire. It won't happen again."
Blood pounded in her head as she turned toward the doorway, but it couldn't drown out their voices.
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"I hope you won't think me too forward, Lion, but I've decided that it's time you and I became friends," Priscilla was saying in a sugary voice. "I'm afraid I haven't behaved very well these past two weeks, but I'm hoping you'll forgive me and we can start afresh."
"My dear, you have read my mind. Those are my thoughts and desires exactly."
Chapter Seven
Darkness and silence stretched the minutes out in Meagan's imagination as she lay in her narrow bed, waiting. The room grew starkly cold. At last she forced herself up, hurrying across the frozen floor to agitate the embers in the fireplace. She was turning the hot brick at the foot of her bed when Priscilla came in wearing a satisfied smile that doubled Meagan's rage.
"Meagan, are you still awake? I would have thought you'd be asleep ages ago!"
Meagan regarded her angrily in the darkness, thinking that Priscilla's pieces no longer fit together so predictably. The empty-headed stare was gone; a new shrewdness lurked behind her innocent expression. Meagan's keenest instinct warned her to speak with care, but her temper had raced beyond caution. "Don't you put on airs with me, Priscilla Margaret Wade! I am so mad at you I could spit! How could you speak to me the way you did tonight?"
Priscilla, unhooking the front of her gown, widened her eyes in an effective imitation of incomprehension. "I can't think why you're so angry! I was only trying to act my part, Meagan! You've lectured me so often about being a bad actress, and now you're doing the same thing when I'm good! I thought I was supposed to treat you like a servant!"
Her pretty chin trembled in the shadows, but Meagan warned herself not to be taken in.
"I know better than that, Priscilla. You loved that scene downstairs! You really enjoyed acting high and mighty with me."
"I think that's a hateful thing to say, Meagan Sayers!" Loud sobs were heard as she lifted her dress over her head, but when her face came back into view it was dry. "Besides, maybe it's my turn. You've been bossing me around ever since we were tiny children."
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