Wright, Cynthia

by Touch the Sun

  Cold rage flooded him, turning his eyes to blue ice. Even as he stared at them, the far-off melody from the drawing room drew to a close and the lone dancers stopped. When Brown did not release Meagan, but pulled her nearer and began kissing her, Lion was transformed into a jungle cat infused with a killing instinct. His hard fingers clenched his glass until it popped and broke into splintery pieces, then he moved toward the garden door.

  Out on the lawn, Meagan was nearly as angry. She cursed herself for putting on the violet-sprigged gown and dancing alone like this with Brown, for it was obvious that drink gave him courage. Sober, he was impulsive but manageable, but now he was like a slobbering fool. Meagan was horrified when he began to hug her clumsily, then totally revolted by his intimate embrace. She tried to push him away, but he only intensified his assault, devouring her like a starving man who has suddenly found food. Her hands struggled free to find his face as she attempted to force his lips from her; when that failed she dug her nails into his cheeks mercilessly, for her revulsion was giving way to real fear.

  Suddenly, it was as though a great wind had lifted him into the air, and she stumbled back against a tree. Through a haze she recognized Lion, and she watched as he hit Brown with such raw force that she thought the smaller man's neck must be broken. Even in her own overwrought state and in spite of the darkness, she could see that Lion had become a person she had never known before. He was the embodiment of a real lion, his tan face fierce with absolute fury, his lean, hard-muscled body moving with all the instinctive grace and power of a wild animal. Certainly no man had ever looked like this.

  Meagan was so mesmerized by the sight of him that she forgot to be afraid. When Brown lay unconscious, sprawled across the lawn, Lion turned to move toward her and she stared up at his face in wonderment.

  Blazing eyes seared her and steely fingers gripped her arm. "Bitch!" he spat, a muscle moving in his jaw as he sought some control. "Whore! Would you like to see him dead? Dead because of desire for you?"

  "But, Lion—"

  "Don't try to work your charms on me. I could snap these bones with little provocation right now." The pressure on her soft forearm increased to the point where she blinked back tears. "You are no better than the scheming females in that drawing room. Look at you! In that dress! What the hell were you up to?"

  Meagan felt a reassuring surge of indignation and she raised her tiny chin. "Don't you take that tone with me! I saw you dancing with your precious Priscilla, mooning over her like a lovesick calf! You don't own me. In fact, I thought I made it quite clear last week that there are to be no ties between us whatever—"

  "Damn you! Would you have me ignore the sight of you in his arms? Did you want that?"

  Meagan was suddenly weak, almost faint, and she swayed against his wide chest.

  "Oh, Lion, don't be a fool. Just look at his cheeks. I assure you that no tide of passion caused me to leave those marks."

  "Well then, what are you yelling at me about?" The soft suppleness of her body against his cooled his rage considerably. "Did I imagine it or have you just admitted that you got yourself into this mess because you were jealous of Priscilla and me?"

  Meagan almost smiled at the note of elation in his voice. "I am too upset to talk sense. Perhaps I was delirious."

  A grin flashed in the darkness as he drew her closer.

  "Ah, Meagan, you silly minx. How can you think that I could care for Priscilla, let alone enjoy myself with her?" His eyes moved down to take in her dress, which had turned out perfectly. Skillfully sewn, it accentuated her coloring, the smallness of her figure, and all its sweet curves. Meagan had arranged her hair in loose curls atop her head, leaving a cluster of luxuriant ringlets to tumble down her back.

  "You look lovely. Enchanting." His dark fingers grazed the gentle swell of her breasts above the low neckline. "For God's sake, how could you let him see you like this? Hold you like this?"

  When his arms encircled her back, Meagan melted with light-headed longing. All the turbulent emotions that swirled within her broke in a flood, and she clung to Lion's shoulders for support. The armor of anger and bitterness that she had built around herself during the past week was destroyed.

  Hard, insistent lips came down to cover her own and they kissed with a fierce hunger that neither of them thought to question any longer. Meagan could feel all his muscles tauten where their bodies touched and as he held her ever closer, her feet left the ground.

  "Well, well," a sharp voice broke in, only a few feet away. "This is all very interesting."

  Over the top of Lion's broad shoulder, Meagan made out the figure of Anne Bingham, tapping an Alencon lace fan against her ball gown.

  Chapter Twenty

  If Lion was shaken by Anne's sudden appearance, he hid it well. Unhurriedly, he set Meagan on her feet, turning to face the other woman with one blond brow arched.

  "We seem to be found out," he told Meagan in a stage whisper.

  "So you are," Anne declared, frowning at his nonchalance.

  "Would you have me quake with fear? Surely you are not innocent to such situations, dear Anne. It cannot have escaped your attention that I bear little love for my intended."

  "I am not your mother, Lion, if that is what you are trying to say. But I must consider Priscilla's welfare. She is still so naive, so filled with romantic ideals! It would truly destroy her—"

  Lion laughed caustically. "Pray halt!" he mocked. "Poor, darling Priscilla—how could I have been so heartless? I am overcome with guilt: I repent!"

  "This is not a joke! And, incidentally, what has happened to poor Brown?"

  "Poor Brown, poor Priscilla—all victims of a cruel scoundrel!" His expression sobered then as he caught sight of William Bingham approaching across the lawn, and he leaned down to speak to a dazed Meagan. "You had better be off to your room before a crowd gathers, little one. Worry not. I shall take care of everything."

  Usually she would have balked at being sent away in the midst of such excitement, but this time she was relieved to escape. Her leg muscles were weak as she lifted her silk skirts and ran across the grounds toward the servants' entrance. Once in her room, Meagan dashed to the window, straining to view the drama on the lawn. Panic swept her each time she remembered that first sound of Anne's icy voice, but she could not doubt Lion's ability to settle the matter somehow.

  William, Anne, and Lion stood together talking for a few minutes, and then Priscilla and Marcus Reems came strolling across the lawn to join them. Through it all, Lion appeared supremely relaxed, even laughing from time to time. Before long, the group dispersed. Lion slung Brown over his shoulder and carried him off toward the coach house, with William walking along at his side. Anne returned directly to the drawing room, while Marcus and Priscilla took a more leisurely route. Meagan noticed that he kept his hand at her elbow or waist through it all, even in Lion's presence. What a strange world they live in! she thought. And I am sunk right in the middle of the scandal and intrigue!

  As she exchanged the violet-sprigged dress for her cambric bedgown, she vowed for the hundredth time to stay away from Lion Hampshire. He may have pacified Anne Bingham once, but Meagan knew that lady was not to be underestimated.

  ***

  Marcus sat in Anne Bingham's boudoir, waiting curiously for the lady to make an appearance. It was past two in the morning, but there were still plenty of guests downstairs.

  Marcus wondered what could be on Anne's mind that wouldn't wait until tomorrow; something serious enough for her to risk his presence in her private boudoir. The elegant room adjoined her bedchamber and served as an ultra-intimate sitting room. Propriety dictated that no man save her husband should venture within, so when Anne had told Marcus to wait for her here, he was more than a little intrigued.

  White doves continued to coo sleepily in the Japanned which were liberally scattered around the pale blue and white room. Marcus thought the furniture looked too fragile to support his weight and expected the gilt chair to
snap beneath him at any moment.

  Anne came in as silent as a thief, closing the door noiselessly behind her. Marcus decided that she looked as cool and stunning now as at the beginning of the evening and wasted no time in telling her so.

  "Spare me your flattery, Marcus," she said briskly, spreading her brocade skirts as she sat down opposite him. "I am not seeking a lover—this time—only a friend whose sly mind I value."

  Marcus gave her a sardonic glance. "At your service, madame."

  "Good." Without wasting a word, Anne explained the situation that existed between Lion and Meagan, omitting the tale of Meagan's true background she had learned just recently. She stressed the need to protect poor Priscilla's interests, finishing, "You can see, I'm sure, that after what I witnessed tonight, that wench must not remain in this house."

  "I gather that this is where I fit in?" Marcus inquired with cynical amusement. Beneath his smile, his mind was busy. Anne is truly amusing! he thought. She is so self-absorbed that she cannot see that my interest in Priscilla is personal. She thinks I use the girl as an excuse to be near her and will do anything to win the favor of my goddess! His smile twisted slightly. "You must let me think about this."

  "Fine. I trust you to find a solution, but we must work quickly! I should go now, before someone begins to worry. Do be careful when you leave."

  She bestowed her most brilliant smile on him before making her exit, and Marcus sat back to let his thoughts circulate.

  Of course, the last thing he really wanted was to remove Lion's little lovebird, for she had proved to be a perfect wedge between the engaged couple. Certainly there was no possibility of Lion marrying the chit, but the little affair left Priscilla ideally vulnerable.

  On the other hand, if the serving-girl were removed, it might clear a path for Clarissa who was still fuming at Marcus about last week's fiasco. If he were to count on her continued help, he must do something to cheer her up and this certainly seemed a made-to-order opportunity.

  Lastly, he could not afford to cross Anne. She was his ticket to Priscilla and if she closed Mansion House's doors, God himself could not get him back inside.

  So, it seemed there was no choice... for the moment.

  It did not take Marcus long to remember his earlier conversation with Henry Gardner and he grinned wolfishly at the thought of the black-haired wench in the clutches of that gentleman.

  Morning came shortly after the last of the guests had departed. The sun was shining and a chorus of birds could be heard even indoors. The help at Mansion House was as busy as it had been the day before, undoing all that had been so carefully prepared. Every servant worked at top speed, cleaning furiously, until at noon it seemed impossible that a party had gone on in the house just a few hours before.

  For Meagan everything appeared uneasily normal. No one mentioned the altercation which had taken place on the lawn; indeed, everyone seemed unaware of it, though Smith commented quite casually that Brown was "indisposed." Laughing, she whispered to Meagan, "He undoubtedly imbibed a bit too freely!"

  There was plenty to keep her busy all morning while Priscilla and the Binghams slept. It seemed that all would go on as before, but in the back of her mind she worried and was curious to know how the affair had ended. How had it been explained to Priscilla?

  When she took a breakfast tray up to Priscilla's darkened bedchamber at noon, she seemed to be her normal self. Surprisingly, she displayed no irritation with Meagan for leaving her clean-up chores half done the night before. She prattled on excitedly about the party, relating conversations she had had with the celebrated guests and remarking more than once on the charm and good looks of Marcus Reems. Apparently, the episode in the garden had been explained to her complete satisfaction.

  Meagan was beginning to believe that all was well as she hurried back to the kitchen with her tray. There was little time to spare for her own lunch before she must prepare Priscilla's bath and help her dress.

  In the kitchen a fragrant pepper pot bubbled over the fire, and she felt her appetite return as she breathed in the aroma.

  "Oh, I am hungry! That smells delicious!" she exclaimed to Bramble. Setting down the silver tray, she reached for a bowl and spoon, but the cook put out a bony hand to stop her.

  "Before ye eat, I'm told the mistress would see ye. In the library, as I recall."

  Meagan's heart turned over. A vague nausea replaced the ravenous appetite of moments before, and it was with a feeling of dread that she made her way through the maze of paneled hallways to the library. Her hesitant knock brought an immediate response from within.

  "You may enter, South."

  Meagan took a deep breath and opened the door. At first, she was struck by the walls of books, but her attention was immediately diverted by the sight of Anne Bingham, who sat before a mahogany secretary. Sipping tea, she appeared erect and cool to the point of frostiness. In a wing chair facing hers sat a man Meagan had never seen before. His size was enormous and was emphasized by a startling crimson velvet coat and emerald green silk vest. The stockings which covered his fleshy calves were lavishly embroidered with clocks, while jewels sparkled on his stubby hands and in his stock.

  "Well, well," he leered, his florid face ballooning in a smile that made Meagan cringe, "you have come at last."

  "Don't just stand there," Anne ordered crisply. "I want a word with you."

  Meagan had a feeling that she was walking to her death as she crossed the room. "Yes, madame?"

  "This is Major Henry Gardner, the famous import merchant. Major, this is Meagan South, Mistress Wade's abigail."

  Closer up, he was even more repulsive. His large teeth were stained, his eyes bulged, and his entire red face was glazed with sweat. An unpleasant odor surrounded his chair and Meagan thought that the ugly white wig he wore looked rather fusty.

  "How do you do?" she murmured, dropping a curtsy, then turned keenly questioning eyes on Mrs. Bingham.

  "I suppose you are wondering what this is about? Well, I shall come directly to the point. After last night, I do not see any future for you in this house. For everyone's sake it is imperative that you go, and I have taken the liberty of securing a new position for you with Major Gardner. He has purchased a truly grand home nearby and has desperate need of qualified servants."

  "Indeed I do!" he agreed heartily, his bloodshot eyes roaming over the length of Meagan's figure.

  She was aghast. "Mrs. Bingham, I am in the employ of Mr. Hampshire! You have no right—"

  "I am merely relieving him of this unpleasant task, South. He has seen where his duty lies."

  "I don't believe you!"

  Anne's face was as cold and perfect as a piece of sculpture. "You have little choice. Have you forgotten your station in life?"

  Oh God, thought Meagan, she knows.

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Henry Gardner's new house was magnificent and he knew it. Even Meagan allowed herself a moment's admiration for the huge, leaded-glass fanlight which crowned the double front doors.

  Gardner had escorted her himself, waiting at Mansion House as she freshened up and gathered a few belongings. Anne had promised sweetly that she would have her remaining clothes and possessions sent over immediately, then hurried the two of them out the door with an audible sigh of relief. Meagan was not even allowed a moment to say good-bye to Priscilla or Smith; even as she closed the door to her room for the last time, one of the other serving-girls was on her way upstairs to prepare Miss Wade's bath.

  During the quarter-mile walk to the Gardner house, Meagan's mind was working hard and fast. What was she going to do? Of one thing she was certain: she would not stay with this lecherous man who ogled her in broad daylight as they walked up South Fourth Street. At one point, feeling his bloodshot eyes on her breasts, she had given him the most angry, indignant look she could muster.

  Gardner had appeared momentarily surprised before letting out a delighted guffaw. "I believe that we shall deal well together, missy!" he chu
ckled.

  "Then you delude yourself, Major Gardner."

  They came to his house then and he waved her inside with a flourish. A silent, stone-faced butler approached to take their wraps, disappearing almost immediately. Meagan was looking around the marble-tiled entry hall and into the first parlor when Gardner took her arm and began to lead her up the wide staircase.

  "What do you think you are doing?" she inquired coldly.

  Gardner was perspiring. "I thought I would—ah— show you your new chamber, and we can—uh—discuss your duties here."

  Meagan pulled back, grasping the mahogany rail with her free hand. "I am going to sleep upstairs?"

  "But of course, my little mouse. You are to be my head housekeeper! Since I am unmarried, you will be in charge of everything, and I want you to have a chamber befitting your position."

  His grip tightened painfully as he continued to mount the stairs. Meagan reluctantly let go of the rail and trailed along. When he opened the door to her new room, she stepped inside and gasped.

  The chamber was nearly the size of Anne Bingham's state bedroom and decorated so vulgarly that Meagan wondered briefly if it were a joke. A brightly patterned Kuba rug covered the yellow pine floor and on it stood a giant Hepplewhite bed. Its high posts were carved with serpents that peeked around the folds of the scarlet brocade drapes. Numerous chairs with heart-shaped backs were placed against the walls though their bright red-and-yellow striped seats appeared unused. There was an ornate armoire in one corner, flanked by an Adamesque looking glass and one of the new tambour desks.