"Confound it, man, aren't you going to ask me about Reems?"
Lion looked up, appearing rather bored, but amused by Bingham's consternation. "By all means, do give me the news before you burst with it."
"Ahem!" He scowled, puffing on his pipe. "The fact is, things did not go well for him, though at least the ship returned intact this time. The man simply lacks talent as a sea captain, I fear. The crews he chooses are inept and untrustworthy, and he makes bad bargains in the Orient. I suppose I needn't spell it out for you. If I didn't know better, I would think the man simply doesn't give a damn, but you should have seen his face when I told him I'd not give my backing again!"
Lion lifted gilded eyebrows. "You went that far?" He smiled cryptically. "I can well imagine Marcus's reaction."
"Well, it's made cursed unpleasant by Anne's regard for the man. She claims to find him charming— 'mysterious'—and invites him here even yet. I could swear that she enjoys having him about simply because the situation is so uncomfortable!"
Mockery infected Lion's smile. "Why don't you tell her you won't allow it?"
The other man choked on his port. "For God's sake, don't you think I've tried? You're a fine one to be giving advice on wife-management. Wait and see a few months from now!" However, watching Lion's cool, lean face, he doubted whether any woman would cross him—even a wife. Such men were hard to come by, and with a qualm, Bingham remembered his recent conversation with Benjamin Franklin.
"I have been told that you may not take a ship this spring," he blurted, coming to the point.
Lion looked up, his eyes like blue flames. "How does that set with you?" he inquired bluntly.
"Naturally, as your backer, I'm disappointed. Mordecai and I have two magnificent ships almost finished at the Kensington shipyard and I was counting on you to captain one of them. No one else has your spirit, your quality of leadership, your competence. You are so at home on the sea, and the men sense it—" The flowery compliments died on his lips when he realized that Lion had withdrawn. "Listen to me. More than disappointment, I feel curiosity. What are you doing? Why this sudden marriage? And why don't you want to sail? Is it because of Priscilla Wade? As your friend, I am concerned—"
Lion laughed so bitterly that Bingham stared in surprise and puzzlement.
"Come on, William. We both know that my prime qualification for your friendship is my ability to line your pockets with gold when I sail your ships home up the Delaware! As to my current plans, I really don't feel like discussing them now. The whole affair is getting too damn complicated and all I want to do is go home and sleep. I'd be gratified to wake up tomorrow and find all my problems solved." He paused and sighed, closing his eyes. The firelight mingled with his golden hair and softened the hard lines of his brown face.
William Bingham wavered between sympathy and frustration, his basically selfish nature winning out. "Damn it all, you can't dismiss me so easily! I have backed you for more than three years now, making it possible for you to acquire a tidy fortune and majority ownership of two fine vessels. I have offered to shelter some unknown southern girl just because you asked me to—no questions asked. I believe, however, that I am owed some answers! I will not have you deposit some featherbrained chit on my doorstep and then proceed to tell me you don't wish to take my ship this spring without some clarification. You owe me—"
Tired of watching William's face redden and swell, Lion shifted his eyes to watch the shadows leap over the carved cornices and across the decorated ceiling.
"Really, William, I do wish you'd spare me this tirade," he interjected coolly. "If you continue at this rate, you'll be struck with an apoplectic seizure and I shouldn't like that on my conscience. I'll tell you this much. I am considering a career in this new government and that is why I am marrying, and why I don't wish to sail this spring."
The hot blood drained rapidly from Bingham's face. "Or ever?"
Lion studied his frilled cuff, straightening it with tanned fingers. "That remains to be seen."
"How can you do this to me? What about your ships? I can't believe you're saying this!"
"You needn't doubt my veracity, William. And don't worry, I won't leave you and Mordecai so coldbloodedly. I'll still be down at the waterfront, and I flatter myself on having an eye for a competent seaman. You can count on me for anything except my presence on board when those ships sail next month. As for my own craft... I'll have to think about that."
The note of finality in his voice was unmistakable, and Bingham knew that the subject was closed for the time being. Feeling ill, he took a long drink of port and muttered bleakly, "Your audacity is quite incredible. But, I suppose I must forgive you."
Lion's mouth twitched in an instinctive grin. "Imagine my relief!" Bingham flushed and drained his glass while Lion continued suavely, "Will you still find space in your magnanimous heart—and house —for my fiancée? I realize the imposition—"
"My word is good. I said she could stay here, and so she shall."
"If you'll excuse me," Lion said, getting to his feet, "I believe I'll be going home myself. For the past ten days I have dreamt of this evening—of drinking your fine brandy before this fire. But now that I am here, the pleasure seems empty somehow..." His eyes were fixed on the clock above the mantel; then he shook his head, laughing softly. "No offense intended, William. I suppose I am tired after all."
"I don't suppose there's a chance your thinking will change after a good night's sleep?"
"If it does, we'll know that God has heard your prayers."
They came into the brightly lit marble entry hall, their steps echoing through the silent house. At the door, Lion paused as Wickham approached with his cloak and hat, both dry and spotless.
"There is one thing I'd like to ask, William."
"Yes?"
"It's my fiancée's maid. She's no ordinary servant—"
Bingham blinked in confusion and spluttered, "Have you taken leave of your senses? What will you say next? First you tell me—"
"Don't begin again, William," Lion broke in tiredly. "I only want to ask that you have a care with Meagan—that's the girl's name. You can't ignore her. She's tiny with coal-black hair, and incredible eyes like amethysts. And, if I know you..." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Wickham incline his head in their direction. "She's no ordinary servant, that's all. Not common, if you take my meaning. If I find that she's been mistreated, by anyone—"
"You'll what?" William asked in total bewilderment. When it became apparent that Lion did not intend to answer, he demanded plaintively, "What in God's name is going on around here?"
***
The rustle of expensive silk announced the approach of Anne Bingham more eloquently than words, and both girls froze, waiting. The swish of her skirts stopped outside the bedchamber; then there was a delicate tap. Meagan left the dressing table to open the door, taking care to curtsy and lower her eyes.
"Good morning, madame," she murmured, clenching one fist in silent defiance.
Anne nodded ever so slightly in her direction before sweeping forward to greet her guest.
"How did you sleep, my dear? Well, I trust?"
Priscilla met her halfway across the plush flowered carpet, eyes shining with admiration and envy. Meagan was instantly aware that Mrs. Bingham had become her friend's idol and model. Her breath escaped in a disgusted sigh.
"My eyes did not open once the entire night!" Priscilla was exclaiming. "It would be impossible not to sleep well in such a beautiful bed, especially after the ones I have had to suffer this past fortnight during our journey here."
Anne smiled proudly at the massive Hepplewhite and rich gold draperies.
"I'm so happy that you like it, Priscilla. After all, you'll be staying here for several weeks and your comfort is most important to us."
Priscilla was dazzled, blinded. "You're too kind, Mrs. Bingham!"
"Do call me Anne! I thought we settled that last night! After all, I'm not so much older than you.
In a few years, you'll have a house just like this and two little children just as beautiful as mine."
Oh, really, thought Meagan, rolling her eyes.
"I hope you're right—Anne," Priscilla giggled in her most honeyed Southern accent.
"Of course I am. Now you hurry and get dressed. After breakfast you and I are going shopping!"
"Oh!" The green eyes lit up, then clouded. "But Lion said he was coming over—"
"My dear girl, I can see you have a lot to learn about men. That is precisely why you must hurry; so we can leave before he arrives! Constant mystery is the key to keeping a man intrigued. That was the most important lesson I learned in France! You have to keep the chase interesting for him!"
At that moment, only two streets away, Lion Hampshire was standing near his bedroom window, shaving. The sun was warm on his bare back and shoulders, and the blond hair that covered his chest glinted as it reflected the light. Lion shaved with clean, long strokes, trying to force himself into a more amiable frame of mind. First he concentrated on the weather, leaning toward the window to observe the dark clouds breaking up as they receded over the Delaware River. To the west, the sky was an incredible, vivid blue, as blue as his eyes. For a moment he just stood there, absorbing the welcome sunshine. Then, as he dipped his razor in the basin of hot water and continued shaving, he made himself think of Priscilla. Determinedly, he added up her good qualities, pushing away the faults that intruded on his consciousness. His mind lingered on the memory of her lovely eyes, the magnolia scent of her white skin, the perfect curves of her figure.
By the time he had dressed in a well-cut dark brown suit, a brocade waistcoat, and a frilled pale-yellow shirt, he had almost convinced himself that he was anxious to see her. The intoxicating weather prompted him to dismiss his waiting carriage and walk the two blocks to Mansion House.
The area of Philadelphia in which Lion and the Binghams lived was universally known as Society Hill. The houses were elegant, most of them built of red brick and trimmed in white. Row houses stretched down the block ahead of Lion, each dwelling three stories tall with one or two gabled dormer windows jutting out from a sloping roof. People were venturing out to sit on the benches before each front door for the first time in weeks, watching the sky suspiciously. Lion nodded to his neighbors, although he knew few of them by name. Young ladies opened their fans to hide blushes while their mothers curiously eyed Lion's wide shoulders and light, gleaming hair as he continued down the street.
The sun had already dried the long wet brick footpaths, and even the wooden gutters were emptying at last. Open carriages appeared on the broad streets holding ladies in unbuttoned pelisses and hatless men. Everyone was smiling.
Lion turned onto Third Street and caught sight of Mansion House's numerous chimneys in the distance, expelling pale gray smoke into the blue sky. As he approached, he could see the people clustered outside the fence, hoping for a glimpse of Philadelphia's unofficial queen.
Brown, the coachman, hurried down the drive when he spotted the tall, golden-haired man at the gate.
Lion grinned at the familiar face, waiting as Brown relocked the ornate doors behind them. "How have you been?" he inquired as they walked down the circular drive. "Still impressing all the tavern wenches with this prestigious job?"
"Laugh if you like, sir," Brown retorted, his dark eyes twinkling, "but it's better than spending the rest o' me life as your cabin boy!"
"Is that intended as an insult?"
"Only to the sea, sir. Those long months staring at the endless water and a crew of bearded ruffians were too much punishment for a bloke like me."
"It did seem sad to deprive womankind of your presence," Lion agreed with mock gravity.
"Now you've got it, Captain!"
"Well, it's good to know that one of us is content with his new pursuits."
Brown glanced up at the taller man quizzically, noting the distant look that came into his eyes. At sea, those eyes had been the identical color of the ocean on a cloudless, breezy day; no one who met Lion Hampshire ever forgot his eyes. Now Brown wondered idly if it was possible for the color to have muted and paled, then chided himself, deciding that the difference must have been due to the absence of the brilliant water as a backdrop.
"Is Bingham at home today?" Lion inquired, breaking into Brown's wandering thoughts.
"No, sir. I drove him to a meeting with Mr. Gilmor and Mr. Lewis better than an hour ago. He was planning to be away all day. Matter of fact, come to realize, you won't find much of anyone here now. The two ladies left not more than a quarter-hour ago, bound for the dress shops in Mrs. Bingham's new landau."
Lion came to dead halt, sun-bleached brows meeting over azure eyes that suddenly came to life.
"What? Are you saying that Priscilla Wade has left the house?"
"Why, yes sir! Can't think why I didn't mention it to you right off." He paused, recognizing the look on Lion's face all too well. "Are you mad, sir?"
"Damn right I'm mad! The wench knew I was going to be here!"
"Per'aps she forgot?" Brown suggested hopefully, only to be rewarded with Lion's most withering stare.
Meanwhile, upstairs in Mansion House, Meagan was busy unpacking Priscilla's trunks. The sound of a familiar voice being raised outside brought her to a standstill, then she carelessly tossed aside the velvet gown she had been holding and hurried to the window. Her palms went cold and damp, her fingers clumsy, as she pushed open the heavy casement. Lion was standing far below on the drive, engaged in what appeared to be a one-sided argument with the young coachman. How handsome he looked! His clothes fit to perfection, setting off his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long well-muscled legs, while the sunlight seemed to strike sparks against the blond hair tied back at his neck. Meagan read the curse on his lips and guessed the reason for his anger. Deciding that it would be wise to stay out of the way, she turned from the window just as Lion glanced up and caught sight of her glossy black hair.
"Meagan!" he shouted. "Is that you? Come down here!"
She hesitated only a moment before she ran across the bedchamber and out into the hall, relishing the sudden taste of excitement.
Lion was waiting in the entry hall when she came rushing down the wide stairway and he smiled suddenly at the sight of her, skirts raised incautiously to reveal slender ankles and lacy petticoats. He was shocked by the sudden stab of enchantment he felt at the sight of her, accompanied by a hot wave of desire to lift her dress and explore the delights hinted at by those charming ankles. It took his entire reserve of discipline to remember that his wild, reckless days must now be ended. She is a mere lady's maid, he thought fiercely, and I am betrothed to the lady she serves!
Meagan was halfway down the stairs when her mind finally caught up to her feet, causing her to slow her pace and lower her skirts. Her cheeks were hot as she met his eyes from the bottom step, and Lion could feel his resolve melting under her blush.
"I seem to forget myself, sir," she murmured.
"Invariably," he agreed, his voice full of laughter. "Predictably. Delightfully."
Her blush deepened so that she put her hands up to her face, hoping to cool her burning cheeks. Lion reached out for one of them, his own hand dry and strong.
"You are so easily embarrassed that I cannot resist the temptation to bait you. Only do not bide that charming blush; it is most becoming."
Brown was standing in the background, watching the scene with high interest.
The news of Captain Hampshire's betrothal had come as a stunning surprise to Brown; one which was compounded by his first glimpse of Priscilla Wade stepping out of her carriage the night before. Physically, she was beautiful, but there was an artificial quality about her. Brown had always believed that if the captain ever married, the girl would have to be the embodiment of every feminine virtue, but this Wade female seemed common enough in a city filled with shallow beauties, all of whom went limp at the mere mention of Lion Hampshire's name.
Bro
wn had seen the girl now standing with Lion when he had first glimpsed Priscilla Wade. Even from a distance in the misty darkness she had appeared piquantly lovely. Then, this morning, as he drove Mr. Bingham to the office of Mordecai Lewis, his employer had warned him against making brash advances to the new maid. Brown had been perplexed, wondering if Mr. Bingham had designs on the girl himself, but now he was totally baffled.
He had a feeling that these mysteries were all pieces of an intricate jigsaw puzzle which he now attempted to assemble mentally: Captain Hampshire's puzzling engagement; the warning from a man who generally couldn't tell the serving-girls apart; finally, the scene unfolding before him now, the mysterious maid blushing prettily before the bantering captain. Brown shook his head, realizing that the combination of the riddles only served to worsen the tangle. So, in his usual brash way, he decided to join in the drama. Peering around the taller man's shoulder, he grinned at Meagan and cleared his throat.
Lion glanced down, exasperation and affection mingling in his expression. "Are you trying to tell me something, Brown?"
"Pardon me, sir! I just remembered that I ain't had the pleasure yet of meetin' Miss—"
Meagan smiled back, feeling very friendly. "South. But do call me Meagan, Mr.—"
"Brown!" Lion snapped. "This questionable character was my cabin boy during the last two years; so that accounts for his excessive nerve in my presence. He's the coachman here now; so you'd better watch out for him. His reputation with women is decidedly unsavory."
Meagan regarded the small, wiry young man who stepped out from behind Lion to reveal the Bingham livery. He wore a curled white wig, but slashing black brows and merry dark eyes betrayed his coloring.
"I'm pleased to meet you, Brown, and I promise not to judge you on the basis of anything Mr. Hampshire has said!"
Before Brown could reply, Lion turned to him and said, "Why don't you go dust the wheels or something so I can find out what's going on around here?"
One blond brow was arched in a way that Brown had come to recognize and respect. Quickly he flashed his brightest smile at Meagan, bade her good morning, and scurried back outside.
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