Wright, Cynthia

by Touch the Sun

  "How do you like it? It is very current."

  Meagan wrinkled her nose. "I think it is quite garish."

  The meaning of this word escaped him. "Ah, so you do like it!" Pleased, he hooked fat thumbs in his emerald silk waistcoat and rocked back on his heels.

  Meagan spun around in exasperation. "No, I do not like it! I think it is flashy and vulgar and—and— obscene!" Her violet eyes flickered around the room, resting on a door in the far wall. "What is that?" she demanded suspiciously, but did not wait for the stunned Henry Gardner to answer. Crossing the floor, she pulled the golden knob open and stamped on into a dressing room and the suite of rooms beyond. Seconds later, she reappeared, her cheeks bright with color.

  "Odious lecher! Think you that I would accede to this so docilely?" She spat upon his buckled shoes. "Think again!"

  By now, Gardner's utter astonishment at her behavior was wearing off and he felt a surge of rage.

  "Listen here, missy! Just who do you think you are? You are mine, understand? My servant, and you'll accede to anything I say!" His red ham of a hand gripped her arm around the nearly healed knife wound and Meagan let out a gasp of pain. Gardner's lip curled in a sneer. "Not so high and mighty now, are ye? You'll do well to remember my power, missy, and be thankful that I've seen fit to give you such a fine room and high position in my house! If you co-operate and keep your place, you'll be paid handsomely. Now, this time, I will forgive you for your insolence, but if you ever show me such discourtesy again, you'll regret it."

  Meagan heard the heavy threat in his words, but she burned with an outrage that could not be cooled. "Greasy swine," she hissed, violet eyes smoldering with contempt, "I would die before letting you use me."

  Gardner's face grew so red that Meagan wondered if he might explode. His eyes bulged grotesquely and a bit of yellowish foam bubbled to his thick lips. Still holding her arm in a punishing grip, he brought his other hand up to strike her full across the face.

  Meagan felt her neck snap backward and her ears began to ring from the force of the blow. At first, the entire side of her head seemed numb; then it began to throb and burn so that scalding tears stung her eyelids. Through a blur, she tried to focus on the huge form in front of her, raising her chin a notch and straightening her shoulders. "Such treatment serves only to reinforce my opinion of you."

  "You little baggage! You forget yourself! I'll see you humbled yet. You'll be begging to do my bidding and share my bed before I am through!" His eyes began to glow as he ranted on, but Meagan was too furious to feel any fear or apprehension.

  "Never!" she vowed through clenched teeth. "You will have to kill me and bed my corpse."

  His obese face swollen with hot blood, Gardner pulled her against his foul-smelling body and bent to kiss the lips that so tempted him. Meagan angrily brought her knee up sharply to his stiffening groin, smiling with satisfaction when his hands dropped away and he fell backward against the doorjamb.

  Henry Gardner held himself, whimpering as he rocked to and fro. Meagan was not quite sure what she had done to cause him such agony, but she had once seen a stableboy quickly dispatch a quarrelsome young footman with just such a tactic.

  Intent on escape, she made for the dressing-room door, thinking to exit from the other end of the hall. However, Gardner's pain was apparently more intense than prolonged, for he caught her as she came dashing out the door of his adjoining suite.

  "Vixen, you shall rue this day," he choked, inflamed with a consuming rage.

  "I rue the day you were born, you repulsive pig!" she told him audaciously.

  As he hauled her roughly back down the stairs, Gardner growled under his wheezing breath. Meagan resisted him, dragging her feet and clutching at the fancy mahogany balusters and an occasional piece of heavy furniture. They passed through the opulent parlors with their carved marble mantelpieces, crossed a deserted kitchen, and finally reached the pantry and its attached storeroom. A door broke the wall between the rooms and Gardner flung it open.

  Damp, musty air assailed Meagan's nostrils and, wrinkling her nose, she peered into bottomless, inky darkness.

  "Charming spot, isn't it?" he sneered, pleased with her instinctive reaction. "Certainly not flashy, or— what was it? Garish? Oh no, it's not garish in the least down there!" He laughed at his own wit, then thrust her onto the wet stone steps.

  "At the bottom, you'll find my dungeon. Every now and then I have cause to punish some of my seamen, for they can be as stubborn in resisting my authority as you have been. A day or two down there usually brings them around; they decide that even I am preferable to hungry rats!" His laughter sent a chill down her spine. "As it happens, there are a half-dozen being brought in tonight, so you are in for a double treat, missy! You'll get your fill of the damp, the darkness, the rats and the spiders down there and —after a few hours—the sailors will be along to amuse themselves with you." Slowly, he was closing the door, leering maliciously. "Who knows? They may never want to come out!"

  The door clicked shut and Meagan was engulfed in total darkness. Suddenly it opened again, letting in a thin ray of white light and the rank smell of Gardner's breath.

  "Listen, missy, I am going to prove to you that you've misjudged me. I'll allow you to come out and start fresh with me, whenever you call. Take a few minutes to think about that rich chamber waiting upstairs—and the seamen who will be arriving soon to join you. I'll be waiting."

  With that, he slammed the door in her face and Meagan heard the bolt slide across.

  Gardner's lumbering footsteps receded as she shouted, "Loathsome vermin! Odious gargoyle! Noxious, slimy scum!"

  If she could have thought of any more epithets, she would have employed them. The sound of his retreat had ended by the time she fell silent and now all Meagan could hear was a steady dripping in the dungeon below, accompanied by an odd squeaking from time to time.

  Rats, she thought in revulsion. Ugh!

  There was no light whatever and even after several minutes passed on the step, her sight had barely improved. She could make out the gray outline of stone walls and steep, wet stairs that curved downward into more blackness.

  Meagan was afraid to sit down or lean against the slimy walls, imagining that great hordes of rodents or spiders would swarm over her. The air was cold, its chill increased by the dampness. Through her black dress, Meagan's skin prickled, and after a short time she grew stiff. She waited tensely for the arrival of the seamen, all hardened criminals—murderers perhaps—in her imagination. At length, she decided that some course of action was called for. Summoning every ounce of courage from within, she descended haltingly to explore the dungeon below in hopes of discovering either a hiding place or an effective weapon.

  Once on the cobbled floor, the sound of scurrying rats intensified. When one nibbled at the toe of her slipper, Meagan thought she would die of fright and revulsion. Convulsively, she kicked out, feeling stiff wet fur brush across her foot before the rat came loose and flew against the far wall with a dull thud.

  "Dear, merciful God!" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the hammering of her heart. "That Gardner monster was right. He does begin to look good next to this place!"

  But Meagan knew she would never give in to him. Since the day she had left Fairfax County, she had been forced to compromise her standards again and again until her once fierce self-respect and pride were badly eroded. She knew now that this was the one time she would have to stand firm, for if she submitted to Gardner she would despise herself even more than she despised him.

  Feeling more determined, Meagan began to move slowly through the dungeon. She discovered chains and shackles bolted to the stone walls and shuddered as she thought of the poor men at Gardner's mercy who had suffered here.

  There were no tiny storerooms or closets for her to hide in, but she did discover another huge room annexed to the dungeon. It was filled with wooden crates and barrels which were packed with wine and liquor. Meagan was elated. She decided
she could stave off a dozen men with the bottles, using them full as clubs or empty and broken to stab her attackers. She chose two hefty quarts of burgundy and perched atop a barrel to wait.

  As luck would have it, barely an hour passed before she heard the door creak, followed by footsteps on the stone staircase. There was low, indistinct conversation, and then, as the men drew nearer, Meagan recognized the bluff voice of Henry Gardner.

  "Where could the little she-wolf have gotten to?" he wondered, then called out, "Missy, show yourself!"

  They approached the door and Meagan stationed herself, bottles poised and heart pounding, around the corner from it. As the first man came into view, she brought the quart of burgundy crashing down over his head and he crumpled to the floor at her feet.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  There was no time for shock. Meagan disposed of the dripping, splintered bottleneck and instantly grasped the second one with both hands. Even as she raised it, peering in the darkness for her next target, a steely hand caught her wrist. Pressure was applied until Meagan exclaimed aloud in pain and her fingers opened to surrender the heavy instrument. However, if her attacker thought that she would be a willing captive, he was in for a surprise. As powerful arms held her fast, drawing her near, she began to kick, wriggle and claw the air in search of his cheeks.

  A familiar, dry chuckle broke the tension. Meagan's eyes went wide as she drew back, trying to confirm the man's identity. Through the inky blackness she perceived the glint of fair hair and flash of ivory teeth and wondered how she had not recognized those warm strong hands, arms that had held her so many times before.

  "My little vixen!" he laughed softly, enfolding her in an embrace that Meagan willingly accepted. "How fortunate for both of us that I chose to allow Major Gardner to lead the way!"

  Her bones seemed to melt as she sobbed, "Oh, Lion!" and pressed her face against the clean-smelling starched expanse of his chest. "Please take me away! Do not force me to remain here—I simply will not! I refuse!"

  Suddenly she shuddered, swept by a cold, prickling chill, and huddled closer to his muscular frame.

  Lion lifted her off the ground so that he might study her face in the gray light; he found it filled with the warring emotions of anxious fright and rebellious determination.

  "Meagan, what could make you imagine that I would force you to remain in this place? Why do you think I am here? To pay a social call on the ingratiating Major Gardner?"

  "B—but—Mrs. Bingham told me you agreed that I should work here—"

  "Don't be a fool!" he broke in, his voice hard. "You know me better than that. I came to take you away as soon as I learned what she had done."

  Meagan's shuddering subsided into a few last tremors of pure relief as Lion scooped her up like a child and moved confidently through the darkness toward the curving stone steps.

  "You can see in the dark!" she accused him happily. "Like a cat! A lion!" Boldly, she snuggled her face against his neck, the collar of his fine linen shirt and touched his gleaming blond hair. "Thank you for rescuing me, though I should have managed myself somehow."

  Lion was grinning as they came into the brightly lit pantry and he set her on her feet.

  "That I can believe! And Major Gardner will have the swollen head to prove it."

  She held fast to his arm during their brief tour of the house to retrieve her belongings and inform the butler of his master's whereabouts. Lion laughed out in great amusement when they entered the vulgar red bedchamber.

  "I can see that the good major had high hopes for you! I gather that you preferred the accommodations belowstairs?"

  "You seem to find much humor in my troubles, Mr. Hampshire," Meagan retorted, blushing hotly. "You might not laugh so, were you in my position."

  He gave her one of his dazzling smiles, sea-blue eyes sparkling, as he replied, "It is only that you get into trouble so frequently and with such irresistible charm—"

  "The last time I believe you described me as 'comical.' "

  Lion tried to appear thoughtful. "Yes... well, on that occasion I was privileged to witness the performance. This time..." He gestured with a dark hand to indicate the ostentatious bedchamber, "I can only use my imagination."

  "There is little to imagine," she replied in a scathing tone. "I simply made my position known and Major Gardner hoped that a stay in that hideous dungeon might change my mind. But I should make it clear that rats could have eaten me alive and I would not have given in to that swine."

  "Egad!" Lion exclaimed. "What courage! What fortitude! I am only glad to have spared Major Gardner such an agonizingly endless wait."

  Meagan bit off a tart rejoinder when she saw the affection in his eyes. Instinct told her that his mocking banter masked a fair amount of admiration.

  As they started toward the stairway, Lion hooked an arm around her tiny waist and commented, "You know, little firebrand, it occurs to me that I seem to be greatly occupied with your safety and welfare of late. Snatching you from the jaws of death, so to speak."

  "So to speak," she repeated in a voice heavy with irony.

  Lion allowed her a half-smile before continuing, "This may come as a tremendous shock to you, but I do have other things to do besides check on you and tend your various battle wounds."

  "This may come as a shock to you, but I could look out for myself! I never asked for your protection. I could have easily done without that unique cure that you administered when I twisted my ankle at Mark-wood Villa! You seem to think—"

  A hand came around to cover her mouth and Meagan glared up at him. Lion arched a gold eyebrow in seeming disbelief. "Didn't anyone ever teach you that women are supposed to keep quiet when a man speaks?" His eyes were sparkling, but he managed to keep a stern expression. "When I desire your opinion, I will ask for it. Understood?"

  Meagan jerked the hand down. "Certainly not! And you stop making a jest of every word I utter!"

  They came out of the house and into the sunlight. Lion let her march along down Fourth Street, breathing with heated passion.

  At last she demanded, "Where are we going?"

  "I thought you would never ask! Home, fondling. You are going to remain where I can keep an eye on you and see that you stay out of trouble—at least for as long as that is possible!"

  ***

  It was not an arrangement that Meagan could pretend to approve of, but secretly, within her deepest self, she was excited. Living in Lion's house! Seeing him every day and doubtless spending a fair amount of time in his company... When she pondered that, Meagan felt all her hard-won pride dissolve. It irked her to realize how her heart sped merely at the thought of spending her days surrounded by his things, eating at his table, breathing the air that he breathed which held the intoxicating scent of him even after he had long departed from a room. On the surface, it seemed enough, but Meagan knew that the giddy pleasure she felt now would go sour before long.

  Lion had enough sense to give her a room downstairs. In fact, he took great care not to insult or offend her, for he knew that her pride was vulnerable. Now, as she folded some chemises into a drawer of the polished maple armoire, Meagan smiled. It was not something she would have let Lion see, but she was not above admitting to herself that he held a powerful, tantalizing attraction for her.

  A voice broke her reverie then. "Well, I see that you are feathering your nest."

  Meagan spun around to find Lion lounging in the doorway and smoking a thin cheroot. He had shed his coat and vest and now wore only ecru-colored breeches, topped by his snowy linen shirt. It was open to reveal the familiar sienna chest with its mat of golden hair. Bits of lace fell across the backs of his dark hands.

  Meagan stamped a tiny foot in exasperation. "You could knock! Am I to have no measure of privacy?"

  Lion seemed to be enjoying himself. Strong teeth showed in a disarming smile as he answered, "I offer my humble apologies, milady." Straightening, he backed away and closed the door. A second later, there was a knock.
"May I have your permission to enter?"

  "Oh, you are truly a witty knave!" Meagan retorted sarcastically, her cheeks flushed from his mockery.

  Lion opened the door a fraction and blue eyes peered inside. "Have I won your favor?"

  "Kindly cease these vagaries and come inside."

  He grinned wickedly. "With pleasure, sweeting."

  Meagan had no way of knowing how lovely she appeared to him. As usual, her curls were untidy, the gleaming jet-colored tendrils framing her rose and cream face. Her violet eyes were large and sparkling with life, her cheeks were stained with color, and her mobile pink mouth showed her displeasure. Lion glanced warmly at her petite, temptingly molded form, noticing the way her breasts strained against the black silk of her dress as anger quickened her breath.

  When she saw the way his eyes lingered there, Meagan turned away to finish unpacking the few belongings she had brought from Mansion House.

  Lion sat back on his heels before the fireplace and arranged the wood inside, then lit a taper from his cheroot and touched it to the slender logs.

  "It is nearly dark," he commented, settling into a nearby wing chair. Meagan did not reply, so Lion smiled at her back and surveyed the rest of the room.

  He had forgotten how lovely it was; so perfect for this exquisite little gamine. The walls were papered in a pattern of lacy white stripes on a buff background which blended well with the polished maple furniture. There was a stunning field bed, its high curved canopy draped generously with light, unbleached muslin while the feather tick was covered by a glazed wool spread exactly the same shade of pale yellow as the stitching in the yellow and ivory brocade wing chairs which flanked the fireplace. There was a Queen Anne dressing table, a blanket chest, and, finally, the handsome armoire where Meagan stood.

  "Do you like the room?" Lion inquired. "Is there anything you require?"

  "That is supposed to be my question," Meagan said tartly, but she softened at the sight of him. "Actually, the room is charming. Far too lovely for me, as you well know."