Wright, Cynthia

by Touch the Sun

  Lion tried to sound gruff, studying his cheroot as he smoked it. "You shall earn it, Meagan. Believe it or not, I truly need you here. This house is far from being a home and I expect you to change that."

  "What do you mean? What shall my position be?"

  "I hesitate to define it, but I suppose it would be housekeeper. I want you to oversee the cooking, meal plans, the furniture. Any additions or rearranging will be up to you. See that things run smoothly, but add a touch of—warmth. I would like to see flowers about, that sort of thing."

  "What about Wong? Won't he be offended if I interfere?"

  "Wong should have enough to do as butler and now he can look after my personal needs more efficiently. I will let you two divide the labor as you wish, but I don't want any quarrels; I refuse to act as mediator between you."

  Meagan made a face. "Tell that to Wong! I cannot believe that he will appreciate my arrival."

  "Wong works for me. He must learn to adjust. I have warned him that my staff would need to be expanded, and besides, he chronically complains of overwork."

  "Have you considered Pris—Miss Wade? You know perfectly well that she will want to choose her own servants. I suspect that she would not cast me in this role, and to be honest, I doubt that we would deal well together at all."

  "Come over here."

  Meagan eyed him suspiciously, but Lion put his cheroot between his teeth and tapped a muscular thigh.

  "I promise to behave. Please, let me hold you near for just a moment."

  Her heart turned over and she went to him, perching on his lap stiffly at first, then softening as his arm encircled her waist. With a loud sigh, she leaned her cheek against his burnished hair while every nerve in her body tingled pleasurably.

  "Why can't you relax this way more often?" He ground out his cheroot in a candy dish. "Must you fight me continually as though we were at war?"

  "I should," she whispered huskily. "And you know why. I have told you often enough, and if you truly cared for me at all you would not test me this way. t do not have the energy to fight endlessly."

  "How fortunate for me." He was rubbing her small, tense back, his lean hands moving over it until delicious chills ran up and down her spine.

  "You are as lecherous as Major Gardner."

  "Out of the frying pan and into the fire?"

  "How aptly you put it! By the way, you have avoided my question about my position here after Miss Wade becomes... Mrs. Hampshire. I can see, even if you cannot, that it is impossible for me to remain here."

  "Why?"

  "Must I spell it out?" she cried brokenly. "Would you have me admit my weakness?"

  "For me?" He pretended astonishment. "I am honored, sweetheart."

  She heard only too well the tender note in his voice and tried to resist its effect on her, while Lion traced the baby hair along her hairline with a tan finger.

  "You may not believe it of this self-centered villain, but I have taken your feelings into account. I would not ask you to remain in the same house with Priscilla after our marriage."

  "Oh, Lion, what a relief to hear you say so! I have been thinking more and more lately—especially today during my exile in the dungeon—that the best solution would be for me to leave Philadelphia. I had hoped to save the money myself, but now I fear there will not be time. Since you feel as you do, could you possibly make me a loan? I swear that I would pay you back, every penny—"

  "Meagan," he interrupted, "slow down and retreat. I have no intention of letting you vanish from my life so easily! If that is your choice, however, I will help you in any way I can—after you have made a compromise with me."

  "A compromise?" she echoed, wide-eyed. Lion thought her lashes looked as long and soft as sooty feathers.

  "Of course. You see how civilized and reasonable I can be? Now it is your wish to leave Philadelphia and you would like me to finance the journey—"

  "As a loan!"

  "Shh." He laid a brown finger over her lips. "Hear me out, for I have another side to present—mine. As you know, it is my heartfelt desire that you should stay with me, let me take care—" She started to bolt from his lap, and he pulled her back down. "I'm sure you know what I was going to say! At any rate, this is my compromise. I propose that you remain here as my housekeeper, on a strictly platonic basis, if that is your wish, until my marriage to Priscilla. I am speaking in terms of a period of three or four weeks. At that time, you may decide whether or not you wish to leave me. If you do, I will finance your relocation completely, as a gift. Or, you may remain in Philadelphia—as my lover. Despite what you believe, I know that I could make you happy. Do we have a bargain?"

  Meagan's eyes were amethysts, narrowed as she regarded him.

  "You are a cad," she muttered at last. Lion laughed out at that and she finally pinched him hard to make him stop. When he composed himself enough to speak, his smile was inscrutable.

  "That is what I love" most about you, sweeting. You are so quick with compliments; I feel like a new man when we are together."

  "Let us hope he is an improvement over the old one!"

  Suddenly Meagan could see that Lion was tired of their constant badinage. The laughter went out of his brilliant azure eyes as he pulled her down into the curve of one arm, bringing the other firmly around her back. A thrill ran through her body and she had no heart for a struggle; warmly she accepted his kiss, lost in its magic.

  When at last he drew away slightly to let her catch her breath, Meagan managed to gulp, "I will never say yes. I shall meet your bargain since I have little choice, but Lion, you'll never see me settle for anyone's leftover love. Not even yours!"

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Lion played his cards very carefully. He made himself scarce for three days until Meagan found herself positively yearning for the sight of his smile turned upon her or the sound of one of his clever quips.

  She had been correct in her suspicion that Wong would not appreciate her presence, or more exactly, her interference. Lion spoke plainly to him at the outset, but it was difficult for Wong to relinquish any of his responsibilities to a newcomer. To Meagan, it seemed that he was constantly hovering in her wake, waiting for her to make a mistake.

  None were made. Without Lion's distracting presence, she threw herself into her new role with gusto, infusing the house with her own taste and personality. Meagan turned to Wong for advice whenever possible,

  but limited her dependence only to asking where she might find what she desired. With his help, she acquired, among other things, greenery-grown flowers of every variety and hue which she coordinated with the color schemes in each room of the house. Lion realized that he had truly been taken at his word when he discovered a small vase of purple hyacinths in his dressing room.

  Meagan quizzed Wong about Lion's taste in food and drew up imaginative menus for those few meals he took at home. However, the cook was not nearly as skilled as she would have wished and it was concerning this issue that she first approached Lion for a conversation. He had been taking care to greet her very perfunctorily, and Meagan was only too well aware that he intended to hold out until she made the first move. Although she passed each day nervously listening—hoping—for his arrival, she convinced herself now that it was merely business which brought her to approach him.

  She looked for an opportunity for two days, but Lion was out of the house most of the time. When he was at home, he worked or read in the library, frequently taking his meals there at the commodious knee-hole desk. When he did eat, hurriedly, in the dining room, Meagan stubbornly stayed away from him in hopes that he might invite her to join him. On the third night, however, she decided that her business could not wait, and she sought Lion out in his bedchamber as he dressed for a night at the theater.

  He had requested that a tray be sent up with a few slices of roast chicken, a buttered muffin, and a decanter of brandy. Meagan decided to deliver it, waiting until Wong reported that Lion was long out of his bath. Her pulse race
d and her palms grew moist as she stood outside the paneled oak door. Finally, she lifted her hand, rapping so softly that she could barely hear it herself.

  "For God's sake," Lion barked, "get that food in here! I am famished!"

  Meagan balanced the tray against one hip and turned the knob. Afraid that he might be only partially dressed, she peeked around the door hesitantly.

  His scowl vanished at the sight of her enormous violet eyes and riotous curls.

  "Meagan! Come in!"

  She could not repress a smile, so euphoric did she feel under his warm gaze.

  "I brought your tray."

  "So I see. Did Wong break a leg?" His eyes glinted like the ocean under an April sun.

  Meagan blushed. "No—sir. I wished to discuss a matter of business with you, and since you are so seldom home, it seemed prudent to take this opportunity."

  "Oh, yes,—ma'am," he mocked, grinning at her knowingly. He stood in the doorway of the dressing room, clad in stockinged feet, spotless white breeches, and a fine linen shirt which was unbuttoned to reveal the chest that Meagan ached to touch. His hair was freshly washed, gleaming gold, swept and tied in back with casual neatness. "I have meant to inquire about how you've been getting along. I am sorry that you were driven to—"

  "Beard the lion in his den?" she supplied with a winning smile.

  Lion laughed at the pun and came out to take the tray. He set it on a bow-front chest of drawers, immediately removing the decanter's stopper and pouring a small amount of brandy into a glass.

  "Do you always drink before you go out?" Meagan asked bluntly as she watched him drain the glass and refill it.

  "If you want me to admit that I can only tolerate Priscilla with my senses dulled, then I suppose I must."

  She clicked her tongue. "Will she have a drunkard for a husband?"

  "Perhaps not if that husband has someone else to supply what his wife lacks."

  Meagan turned away from his keen gaze and paced across the room, stopping short before the handsome testered bed. Hurriedly, she retraced her steps, but kept her distance from him.

  "I had better come to the point before it is time for you to leave. This matter is quite important to me."

  "You have my undivided attention," he assured her, even as he took his glass and disappeared back into the dressing room. Undaunted, she followed and found him in front of a large oval mirror, breeches unbuttoned as he tucked in his shirt.

  "Really, Lion, must you continually strive to embarrass me?"

  He pretended innocence. "Does the sight of my naked belly make you blush? Come now, Meagan, I never took you for a hypocrite!"

  His candor brought hot blood rushing to her cheeks as the memory of his glorious unclothed body burned in her mind.

  "If you expect me to remain here for a month, you cannot do this! I will not be reminded constantly that I have played the fool for you—"

  His brown left hand shot out to catch her arm while the right one cupped her delicate chin so that she was forced to meet his eyes.

  "Do not say so. Never belittle yourself, do you understand me? You are the one woman I know who does not play the fool, and I will not have you disparage any part of what we have shared!"

  Meagan's eyes pooled with tears, but her voice was steady as she replied, "I do not need to belittle myself; you have done it well enough, over and over, by reminding me that I am not good enough to be anything but your servant or your mistress. If I feel debased, Mr. Hampshire, it is because you have made me feel so."

  His eyes clouded and the long, taut fingers which gripped her chin relaxed. Meagan knew she was going too far, but it was as if a dam had burst within her and she could not stop.

  "I gave myself to you with such innocent trusting! Isn't that a joke! Won't you laugh? Where is your ready laugh?"

  "I believed in love, I believed that love was the most important thing a person could acquire in life. How absurd; don't you see the humor? In my ridiculous naïveté, I thought that what I offered you that day at Markwood Villa was more important than a prestigious marriage—or even a seat in the Congress, if it came to that choice!"

  Lion held her hands now as he listened, but there was a look of pain and disbelief in his eyes, and Meagan could feel the warmth of his skin being replaced by coldness.

  Still, her voice went on, seemingly of its own volition. "You, in your endless charm, could not call halt at taking my virginity and my illusions, though! You had to be certain that I was truly down with my nose pressed in the dirt by offering to keep me. A glorified prostitute! However, most insulting of all is Priscilla Wade herself. I might be able to accept your continual, progressive degradations if your prospective wife were some paragon of intelligence and wisdom— but—"

  Strong arms enfolded her and her cheek went naturally to the place where his shirt was open. His heart beat against her ear and she felt the same maddening current of passion in her blood that always came when their bodies touched.

  Lion lifted her up and carried her to the bed, laying her over the beige and blue counterpane. He stretched out beside her and held her close until she was suffused with a glowing physical warmth that drove all coherent thoughts from her mind.

  "Meagan, I am sorry. Truly. I never meant to hurt you this way. I always thought you were too sensible and strong—"

  "Oh, Lion, you did not! Don't make excuses!"

  He smiled against her glossy hair, heartened by the typically spirited response.

  "I have said, though, from the first time we spoke, that I had no place for love in my life at this point. Perhaps I've been too obtuse, but I thought it necessary. And even now, I cannot change.

  "I will be honest with you. You are a remarkable girl, a thousand times more intelligent and intriguing than Priscilla, but damn it, I have made the decision to marry for position and I intend to stand by it! And damn it, you are a servant! Why haven't you acclimated yourself to that fact by now? If I have blundered with you, it's partly because I don't expect you to—to expect so much!"

  Meagan had pushed away from him during this speech, watching his face and growing more outraged as her own composure returned. Now she flung herself from his embrace and scrambled off the other side of the bed.

  "Fine! You have made yourself abundantly clear— sir! You stand by your decision and we'll see who plays the fool!"

  ***

  Sleep eluded Meagan that night. She did not feel strong enough to grapple with the emotions churning in her heart and mind like water boiling over a blazing fire. Over and over again she saw his face, his body, felt his touch, and worst of all, heard all his bittersweet words.

  What was the solution? Lion, and his compromise, at the expense of her pride? Self-respect and resistance, which equaled the dull emptiness of life without him?

  Neither choice satisfied her in the slightest.

  The walnut tall-clock in the stair hall struck two, and Meagan was still awake. A portion of her consciousness listened for Lion, though she could not admit it even to herself, especially as the hour wore on. Finally she gave up tossing and turning. Plumping up the deep, silk-encased pillows, she sat up in bed and watched the fire slowly die.

  Carefully, Meagan attempted to analyze the situation: Instinct told her that her feelings were Lion's as well. Her brain suggested over and over that she simply tell him the truth and end it. A perfectly simple solution! If Lion learned that her own lineage was as noble and respectable as Priscilla's—if not more so—Meagan was certain that he would break his engagement with a huge sigh of relief and marry her.

  It was not the first time such a thought had occurred to her, but it was the first time she had really considered and examined it seriously. And she knew that she could never give him such an easy way out. All their lives she would be brooding over it, thinking that she was not good enough by herself.

  So, as she gazed at the flickering orange embers, Meagan chewed at one fingernail and came to a decision.

  Before she would
consider those two awful alternatives again, she would challenge him at his own game. For the first time, Meagan began to think in positive terms about her future with Lion.

  It would be a desperate gamble. If she lost, she knew that she would face ten times the pain and humiliation that she had suffered so far. But, Meagan decided, the dream—if she could achieve it—would be worth the risk. And if Lion couldn't come to choose her as a wife, for love's sake alone, then she knew there would be no place for her in his life.

  It would be all or nothing.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  The confrontation with Meagan disturbed Lion more than he would admit even to himself. In an effort to banish the persistent recollections of her face and voice which plagued him throughout the theater performance, he deposited Priscilla soon afterward at Mansion House.

  His eventual destination was to be City Tavern where his friends quaffed ale and discussed. politics. However, on the way, he decided to stop off on Oriana Street to have a word with Benjamin Franklin. The brick house was dark though the hour was barely ten, and Lion worried anew over the Doctor's health. Their conversations had never failed to lift his spirits and give him hope for the new day, and Franklin's infectious wit was a tonic he craved on this night, but he decided not to disturb his mentor and to use ale as a substitute.

  When Lion finally reached his own house on Pine Street, he nearly fell over an old trunk which sat next to the front door. Then he smashed his fingers while reaching too speedily for the knob; his state of insobriety had coupled with the thick darkness to cause him to forget about the box lock which placed a doorknob five full inches from the edge. Nursing his throbbing hand and cursing softly, Lion managed to get the door open and pull the trunk in as well. By the light of the candle Wong had left burning on the pembroke hall table, he could see the trunk label which was written in Anne's graceful hand: "Meagan South."

  Lion smiled to himself, deciding instantly that Meagan would be wanting her clothes. Perhaps she is out of clean underthings, he reasoned. After a cursory inspection of his appearance in the nearby oval mirror, Lion heaved the trunk onto one shoulder and set off for Meagan's room.