"The authorities think she killed someone? Whom?"
"A blackleg. A professional gambler, I mean." Now Morgan nodded. "In Carson City, a Western mining town in the Nevada territory. Rough sort of place."
"How could she be blamed for something there? I thought she'd lived in Oregon."
"The land speculator who bought her farm wired funds there. She went to collect the money and settle her husband's gambling debt to the blackleg. She was the last person seen near the man's room before the body was found. Somebody poisoned him."
Morgan rubbed his eyes. "I never considered anything criminal. Bloody hell. A murderess!"
"You can't believe for one minute she did it? The charges are based on circumstantial evidence. It's a big mistake." Every trace of warmth disappeared from the woman's eyes.
Morgan gave his head a negative shake. "I'm quite certain she didn't. But it comes as a shock to learn one's wife is wanted for a capital crime."
"Paper's here, Sheila." The strapping doorman tossed it on the table in front of her.
The newspaper! Morgan nearly choked as he realized he'd held the key in his own two hands just before they left the ship. When he'd reshuffled their belongings after the privateers departed, he'd found a newspaper below the almanac with Rachel's clothes. It had been an old Philadelphia paper, but he'd perused it briefly, hoping to pick up some useful information before visiting there. He'd seen an article about an Eastern gambler poisoned by a young woman. That's where he'd first seen the name Richelle.
"She wouldn't tell me much about her family. Only got a few glimpses of her past. I thought it was because of her husband's death. Do you know this fellow Jonas, her old suitor? How does he figure in all this?"
"He was with her in Carson City. Her father tried to locate him and get his statement."
"I received a message to come here. Did Richelle summon me?"
Sheila reached over and squeezed his knuckles. "I did, honey. She doesn't know you're here. I'm not going to ruin that little surprise. She'll be very relieved you've come. She's in love with you, and I'm so glad. She hated her first husband."
"Apparently with good reason." Morgan realized she studied him with keen interest. "Why do I get the feeling you want something, Miss Reeves?"
"Sheila. Plain old Sheila." Her tone became all business. Morgan recognized it. He usually heard it from men. "You've been to that house, so you've seen for yourself Richelle isn't going to starve any time this century. Her stepmother wants part of what Jeremiah left his daughter. That fortune hunting witch and her lover made Richelle a prisoner in the house. She climbed out an attic window and came to me, thank the Lord. You'll have to stay until we can figure out what to do. Heard you're good with pirates."
Morgan chuckled. "I was lucky my scheme worked."
Sheila's eyes twinkled. "I hadn't seen Richelle in years. Not since she was a young girl. She appeared on my porch spouting tales about a murder charge, being tricked into marriage on a trade vessel, pirates, and relatives taking her hostage. Anybody else would say the kid had been in the frontier sun too long, but I know my cousin. She's never been one for flights of fancy."
"I did trick her into marriage. She got word her father was ill, and I refused to let her sail back alone. She won't face this new problem alone, either." He tilted his glass in a salute. "I'm in your debt, madam."
Sheila handed him the bottle of brandy and led him up the stairwell. "I put her in this room." She pointed to a closed door. "Bath's a the end of the hall. Have a hot soak and relax. My housemaid will fix you a plate and I'll have Patrick bring up your trunk. Anything else I can do to make you more comfortable?"
Before he could answer, doors opened and several whores poked their heads into the hallway.
Sheila noticed. "Ladies, this one's off limits. He's married to my cousin. They'll be staying here a spell. I catch any of you within a foot of this Englishman, you lose your cut for the month."
The harlots disappeared. "You are some handsome devil. I can't blame them. You're sure there's nothing I can do for you while Richelle's gone?"
Morgan understood the hidden meaning in the subtle question. "I'll likely never again find myself in such surroundings, and never before have been offered the premiere lady of such a house. I'm sure you'd make it a memorable and discreet experience."
Sheila's dark eyes flashed and she looked as though about to reply, so he rushed ahead to finish. "But I love your cousin, and I took vows to be faithful to her. Unless I hear from her lips that she's released me from them, I mean to honor them."
Sheila burst out laughing. "Guess I won't be having Patrick throw you back out into the street. We'll talk again after you've had a chance to discuss things with Richelle. And don't go ripping my bed linens during those 'discussions.'"
* * *
Richelle returned just after dusk. Sheila's friend at the War Department had been sympathetic, but couldn't give any assurances. Richelle felt ridiculous in the disguise Sheila had persuaded her to wear: a blonde wig of fat sausage curls and flashy blue satin gown. Richelle was only too glad to peel off the gaudy things in the bathroom and sink into a tub of hot water. She scrubbed away the face paint and pulled on her borrowed wrapper before ducking into her bedroom. She locked the door and struck a match. Then burnt her fingers and dropped it as a deep baritone voice came out of the darkness.
"Evening, Love."
The words came from the chair beside the window. Richelle made out a dark silhouette. Her heart was pounding. How had the man gotten in? She'd needed her key.
"No greeting for your new husband?"
"Morgan?"
"Aye, and I'm waiting for a kiss from my bride."
She forgot all about the lamp, dove across the dark chamber and flung herself onto his lap. His torso was bare, his breath smelled of liquor. Richelle thought she'd found heaven. She hugged him fiercely and kissed him with an audible smack. "I was afraid I'd never see you again!"
"You do have a nasty habit of eluding me, Colonial. I think it's time we got better acquainted. I'm the innkeeper from Crowshaven, Morgan Tremayne. And you're the dissembling American heiress who's been calling herself Rachel Cordell."
She dropped her arms from his neck. "I can explain."
"I've been counting on that; however, full details can wait. Now I want answers to a few basic questions. This man they believe you poisoned, who was he to you?"
"A stranger. I never met him. I arranged to meet with him in his hotel room, but he never arrived. I left the money Cletus owed with a note. Later I found out he'd been killed and the desk clerk placed me at the scene. Someone put poison in his whiskey decanter."
Morgan's deep laughter stunned her. "You think it's funny? Your wife being charged with murder amuses you?"
"Nay, but poison in a whiskey decanter is the last way you'd kill a man! You railed at me about men making occasions to drink. You poured my brandy overboard. Poisoning a liquor supply would hardly be your method of choice. I'm none too certain you'd attempt a stabbing or blow to the head, either—the way you criticize males for dueling and spilling blood." He took another sip of brandy. "You were distressed when I beat those sailors. I'm not convinced you're at all the murderous type."
"You believe me! You know I'm innocent."
"Of course I do, love."
"God, I hoped...I should have told you aboard the ship. I honestly did try to force myself, even though I was so frightened and ashamed, but—"
"I interrupted you in mid-sentence. I've been sitting here waiting for you, mulling things over. I had time to remember the occasions."
"Oh Morgan, are you horribly angry? I was afraid you'd hate me."
"Hate you? I probably should, but all I can think about is how I've missed you," he whispered, kissing away the salty tears on her lips. "I know your sire was gone before you made it home, and I'm sorry about that." His voice sounded rough and strained. "Having seen his grand house, I understand why you spoke of annulling the marriage. Whe
n I believed you a widow of limited means, I considered myself worthy. Naturally, marriage to a struggling English merchant is out of the question. Your use of an alias means the marriage probably isn't legal. So there's no real harm done, other than damage to my pride."
She choked in horror. "What?"
His voice was thick with drink and emotion. "Christ, if I'd ever dreamt you came from such affluence, I never would have proposed in the first place. Don't know how you kept from laughing in my face."
"My talk of annulment had nothing to do with my father's money, Morgan."
"Oh no?" He eased her off his lap and got to his feet, draining the last from the brandy bottle. "You can't mean to imply you'd have chosen a man from some tiny English hamlet. I don't blame you for your obvious reluctance to wed me."
"Because of the murder charge, not because of your background. I was the one living a lie. I couldn't promise you a life together." She turned to stare out the window, then swallowed and spoke again.
"It's true I never would have willingly married you. You're the most incredible man I've ever met, but the Bargainer didn't bargain for this. Remember I said we'd both live to regret you forcing me into the marriage at sea? I regret that you've been hurt by this. I never wanted that. And I know you realize now you made a terrible mistake. You're the one with no reason to honor those marriage vows we exchanged on deck."
"Call me stubborn, but there are reasons why I still would." She turned to stare at him. "You're innocent of the crime, for one. And while you ran away from me before, this time you ran from everything but me. You wanted me to find you. That says I have some value to you, even if only as your protector."
"I wanted to spare you. Can't you understand that? I never had any right to get involved with you in the first place."
"Seems I recall the identical thought going through my mind about you."
"I'm sorry! When you came to the ship that day, I thought you wouldn't believe me. After we set sail, I just couldn't make myself confess. You were right about the crew and I needed you to take care of me." She sniffled, wiped ineffectually at her damp face. "Then we became so close, especially after the storm. I let myself get too selfish."
"Selfish how? You already have more than I'll ever be able to give you, Richelle."
She stared into his gray eyes, a single tear coursing down her cheek. "I wanted the fairy tale to come true! I'd had such horrible bad luck up until then. Remember when you asked me didn't I want to love my husband next time?"
"Aye."
"I let myself begin to believe I really was your wife, Morgan. I just couldn't give that up."
His voice was soft. "You are. In my heart, this alters nothing. You're wearing my ring. You share my life and my name unless you choose not to, Richelle."
"You're not furious? I lied to you."
"Furious you've been in danger without me there to look after you. But you didn't truly lie to me. Everyone got the same false tale. That was an act of self preservation, not a deliberate untruth directed at me personally. Though it does sting that after all we'd shared, you still didn't trust me."
"I was too afraid of what you'd think of me."
"I still think you're the most contrary and difficult little wench I've ever met. Risking yourself to spare me pain." He shook his head, but couldn't hold back a grin of white teeth she saw clearly in the murky room
"You're the first woman I can recall who's ever tried to spare me misery. That in itself says something about your feelings. But it's perfectly acceptable for you to put them into words. Or demonstrate them."
He bent his face close to hers. Her lips quivered as he claimed them. They kissed for long moments before he peeled away their scant garments. Then he carried her to the bed. Her arms and legs enfolded him until she was lost in his strength and he in her softness. She came once, then again as Morgan too found fulfillment.
"Felt the bloody fool standing outside a mansion," he mumbled later as she lay quietly in his arms. "Especially when I recalled our debate over a frigging painted lamp. Money back in America, you'd said. Enough to buy all the wares in the man's whole shop! I still can't reconcile myself to the fact you're a very rich young lady."
Richelle smoothed his mustache with the tip of her index finger. "At least I can be sure you didn't marry me for my money. You never knew it existed until now. But maybe now you understand why I want to repay you for out passage. As you said, I can afford to, and you sold your granary."
"I don't want your money, Rachel."
"Richelle," she corrected softly.
"That's much too exotic a name for a Yorkshire matron. But it suits a hellion with a fine, ripe bottom. I was scarcely able to conduct my business in New York for thinking of it in my hands...just so." He squeezed her buttocks in his palms and gave her a lusty kiss. "What shall we do about the villagers calling you 'Rachel'?"
"I don't think we need to inform them you married an accused criminal. Though Pamela would finally see what I had to offer you. Money and adventure."
"Aye, hiding with my fugitive bride in an exclusive American brothel. How many men will ever be able to make that claim? But we can't stay indefinitely. Sheila told me about the trouble in Philadelphia, and having encountered those two myself—"
"You met that vile man at the house?" At his nod, she took a deep breath. "He was my brother-in-law. Cletus was Cameron's younger brother. Cameron bragged that he poisoned that gambler. I don't know if it was an empty boast to scare me, but it's probably true he owed the man money. He and Cletus often gambled together. Cletus owed Smith $500 when he died."
Morgan bolted upright. "He killed his creditor and let you take the blame? A woman, his own brother's wife? What kind of monster would—"
She rolled away from him. "He is a monster. I can't believe Elaine's hooked up with him, of all people. I hate that man. He's the only person I ever hated worse than Cletus."
The hackles rose on the back of Morgan's neck. "Why? You'd best tell me the whole of it right now. Out with it, no matter what you fear I might think."
"This isn't about trying to protect you."
"Tell me. You had good reason to hate your first husband. What worse reason makes you hate his brother?"
"The miscarriage wasn't Cletus' child. It was Cameron's."
"And you threw up a string of bastards to me? I haven't any, to my knowledge, and at least I've never committed adultery. You . . ."
He stopped in mid-sentence. He'd been on the verge of accusing her of intentionally sleeping with her husband's brother. It wasn't inconceivable, in light of her powerful dislike for her spouse. She wouldn't have been the first abused or unloved wife to seek the shelter of other arms. But he couldn't picture Richelle deliberately cuckolding her husband, no matter what he'd done or how she'd come to wed him. He knew her too well to believe that of her. Even as his mind had formed the words, he'd known they felt terribly wrong.
Which left only one other conclusion as to how she'd become pregnant by her own brother-in-law. "The son-of-a-poxed-whore raped you."
She didn't replay, but her shoulders stiffened. "That's it, isn't it? The reason you hate him so. He forced himself on you, his own brother's wife."
"Cletus was drunk and passed out cold. I was seventeen and afraid of Cameron, then. But I wouldn't let him touch me this time."
Morgan's pulse began to pound everywhere. In his temples and chest. In his closed fists. "This time? You're my wife this time!"
"But he doesn't know. I didn't tell them I'd remarried."
"That rakehell is bedding your father's widow. Doubt that's coincidence. Either he has a penchant for rutting with women within the family, or there's a purposeful scheme behind all this."
Richelle got up and pulled her wrapper back on. "He's known my family for years. He and Cletus both worked at Papa's factory. He probably went back to Philadelphia asking for his old job back. Elaine's the type to latch onto any available man. Particularly one she can control."
"Widdershins," he muttered.
"Excuse me?"
"Widdershins. Other way 'round. The man more likely controls her. I suspect he always has. There have been too many little coincidences in your life, Richelle. Perhaps Nash had his mistress marry your father in hopes she'd outlive him, which she has. Did she encourage the arranged marriage to Cletus?"
Richelle nodded. "To my everlasting regret."
"Cameron's own flesh and blood, who cared less than nothing about you, as you've said. I doubt the union was even about that free land, though it didn't hurt. I suspect Cletus was forced to wed, too, probably in exchange for a promise he'd share the wealth later."
He beat his fist against his thigh. "I sensed something amiss when I visited that house. Elaine lied, claimed she hadn't seen you in over a year. But she recognized my signet ring when I shook her hand. You didn't have that until two months ago. I knew she'd seen you since our marriage, no matter what she said."
"But we're probably not married, remember? I signed the license Rachel Cordell."
He crooked a finger at her. He pulled her back into bed and his naked embrace. "We've spoke briefly about pregnancy. Even now I could have given you a child. It only takes once, as your brother-in-law proved in such a revolting manner." He shuddered. "I still can't believe that animal raped you."
"I wish you hadn't made me dig up that ugly part of my past. It was long ago."
"It amazes me you'd let any man within twenty feet of you after the experiences you had with the Nash brothers. But you let me kiss you and hold you, even back in the village. Hell, you asked for lessons in passion."
"I always knew you were different." It was stated calmly, but firmly, with no teasing lilt in her voice. Morgan's manhood began to swell along with his heart.
"I love you, Richelle. I want to make love to you, tenderly and often. I would like children, but I'm not the one who must risk carrying them. There are precautions we can take if you don't want to take that risk."
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