Taken by You

by Connie Mason

  “Morgan, about Daisy. Isn’t there another just as capable to serve as my maid?”

  “What is wrong with Daisy?”

  “Nothing, really, except she seems somewhat brazen and forward.”

  “How can you say that when you don’t even know her? Give her a chance, Luca. If she doesn’t suit you, you may choose another. Life will be much easier for you if you learn to get along with the servants in my absence.”

  Luca stopped abruptly. “You’re not thinking of leaving already?”

  “Yes. Tomorrow, in fact. I want to be on hand when the Avenger docks in London I’m on my way now to confer with Clyde Withers, my steward. He’ll take good care of things in my absence.”

  It saddened Luca that Morgan was so anxious to leave her. Obviously he couldn’t wait to sample the exciting nightlife of London and join the dissolute court of Queen Elizabeth. He’d been at sea so long he must be eager indeed to immerse himself in political intrigue.

  Morgan’s abrupt departure left Luca with the dismal feeling of being abandoned.

  Chapter 13

  Luca thought her room lovely. It was light and airy and furnished with a delicate, feminine hand, prompting Luca to believe that it had once belonged to a woman. A small door led to a dressing room, which she had yet to explore. The windows overlooked a rose garden that in summer would be magnificent with colorful blooms. Beyond was the orchard, whose lofty branches gave hint of a fruitful bounty. A fire blazed merrily in the hearth, for which Luca was grateful. The inhospitable weather chilled her to the bone. She would never become accustomed to the English climate, she reflected dismally.

  Luca was still contemplating the dancing flames when Daisy entered the room without bothering to knock. “Captain Scott said 1 was to be your maid.” She eyed Luca’s hair and clothing with distaste. “If your trunks have arrived I’ll unpack and select something appropriate for you to wear tonight. But I doubt there is anything I can do about your hair. Is that the style in Spain? You have the dark, Spanish look about you and your accent is atrocious. I can’t believe Captain Scott would marry someone like you.”

  Luca drew herself up proudly. She felt no shame in being Spanish. “Si, I am Spanish. I was born in Cadiz. As for my trunks, I have none. I own nothing but the clothing on my back. If you’d like something to do you may take the dress I’m wearing and make it presentable until others can be made. I will see to my hair myself since I am accustomed to grooming it”

  Instead of helping Luca with her toilette, Daisy stood with folded arms and stared at her with contempt. “The servants are wagering that you’re the captain’s whore, not his wife. Everyone in the household, in England, for that matter, knows how much he despises Spaniards.”

  Luca stepped back as if struck. “How dare you! Get out of here and don’t come back.”

  Daisy dropped Luca a clumsy curtsy and fled. She didn’t regret her words. She was but repeating the widespread rumor circulating among the servants. She happened to be the only one bold enough to confront the Spanish woman about her role in their master’s household. Rushing down the stairs, she careened headlong into Morgan, who had just entered the house. His arms closed around her to keep them both from falling.

  “Daisy, you must be more careful,” Morgan warned as he steadied her. Absently he noted her flushed cheeks and overbright eyes. “Is something amiss? It’s not your mistress, is it?”

  A consummate actress, Daisy trembled and wrung her hands in mock distress. “I fear I upset your lady. She dismissed me and told me not to come back.” Boldly she pressed herself against Morgan and squeezed a tear from her eye. “I tried my best to please her, Captain.” She blinked up at him through a curtain of long golden lashes. Daisy knew she was pretty and her figure winsome, and she used her assets to her advantage as she openly flirted with Morgan.

  Morgan scowled, wondering what in the Hell Luca had done to upset the little maid. Daisy was shaking like a leaf in his arms and seemed truly distraught. He patted her back clumsily. “Don’t fret Daisy, I’ll talk to your mistress. Meanwhile, show the dressmaker upstairs when she arrives. My wife is in desperate need of proper clothing, and the sooner the dressmaker gets started, the better.”

  “I’ll take care of it, Captain,” Daisy said, dimpling prettily. “If there is anything else I can do for you, anything at all,” she stressed, rolling her eyes suggestively, “let me know. I’d be most happy to oblige you in any way.”

  At first Morgan didn’t catch Daisy’s meaning, for he was too upset over Luca’s unpopularity with his servants. But when it became clear what she was hinting at, he gave her a startled glance. Daisy noted his enlightened expression and lowered her eyes coyly. Then she dropped a curtsy and hurried off to tell the rest of the household about her encounter with the master’s wife, if indeed she was his wife.

  Morgan stared at Daisy’s twitching rump as she walked away, chuckling in amusement. What in the world gave that little piece of blond fluff the idea that he’d want her when he had someone like Luca?

  The dressmaker arrived on time, and before she left she promised that the first of Luca’s dresses would be ready the next day. Luca was grateful that the woman had included a large assortment of velvet and wool, for the winter days promised to be colder than any she had ever known. She had selected a deep red velvet, dark blue wool, and two other gowns of equally warm and sturdy fabric. Morgan had instructed the dressmaker beforehand to include appropriate nightwear, fur-lined cloaks, and lightweight capes. She was also to include gloves and petticoats in assorted colors.

  If the talkative dressmaker had any negative feelings about Captain Scott’s Spanish wife she knew enough not to voice them. Business in the small village of Haslemere was not brisk, and Morgan’s patronage was much appreciated. Still, Luca couldn’t help but notice the strange way in which Mrs. Cromley and her helper stared at her when they thought Luca wasn’t looking.

  After Mrs. Cromley and her shy little helper left, Luca brushed and shook out her gown as best she could and laid it across the bed in readiness to wear to dinner. Briefly she wished she had something elegant to wear, until she recalled that not too long ago she had been more than satisfied with her gray habit and white headdress that covered everything but her face. Morgan had changed her in so many ways she couldn’t begin to count them. And in her opinion not all of them were good.

  A short time later servants arrived with a tub, and Luca took a leisurely bath. Afterward she dressed herself and ran a brush through her short curls. Daisy did not return, which did not overset Luca much. She didn’t need Morgan’s uppity servants criticizing her speech or comparing her to English womanhood. When the hall clock struck eight, Luca started down the stairs. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Morgan waiting for her on the bottom landing.

  She thought him outrageously handsome in a blatant masculine way with his bold, rugged features bronzed by sun and wind and his lithe, muscular body toned by physical activity. He was dressed casually in trunk hose, jerkin, and knee-length breeches. Had he been dressed to the nines she would have been put to shame in her shabby gown. When she reached the bottom stair, he offered his arm.

  “I thought we’d dine informally in the library on trays before the fire,” Morgan said. “The dining room is large and rather intimidating. It can accommodate fifty people easily.”

  Luca looked at him through a fringe of inky lashes. “Gracilis, Morgan, I appreciate your thoughtfulness. m Spain we are not so formal as you English. In my father’s home, in good weather, we often dined on the gallery or patio.”

  They entered the library, a cozy room lit by a blazing fire. The room was lined with bookshelves, all of them filled with leatherbound volumes. She sniffed appreciatively the scent of learner and furniture polish, deciding that no matter how elegant the other rooms, this would always be her favorite. Morgan led her to one of two upholstered chairs placed side by side and seated her with a flourish. Then he pulled up two small tables and eased himself into the c
hair beside her.

  As if on cue, servants entered and served the meal. The food was rather bland English fare and Luca ate sparingly, washing it down with several glasses of excellent wine. Morgan picked at his food but drank copiously, his heavy-lidded gaze never leaving Luca. Luca boldly met his eyes, finding traces of anger, sorrow, and desire in his silent regard.

  “Daisy said you sent her away,” Morgan began after the meal had been cleared and the servants dismissed. “Did she displease you in some way? Should I choose another to serve you? Perhaps I should dismiss her.”

  The last thing Luca wanted was to give the servants another reason to hate her. “I was overwrought and tired. Do not dismiss her on my account.”

  Morgan nodded sagely. “’Tis just as I thought. As I said before, you must learn to get along with the servants. If they don’t respect you you’ll get little work out of them. They all come from good English stock and are trustworthy. I won’t always be here to act as a buffer between you and the staff. If trouble arises you’ll have to fend for yourself.”

  The thought of being left on her own gave Luca a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Morgan, perhaps you should send me home to Spain. I don’t belong here. You don’t want me, and your people hate me. Why do you insist on torturing us both?”

  Morgan’s blue eyes grew hard as diamonds. “We’re married. Or have you forgotten? I’m not letting you go, Luca, forget it.”

  “I don’t understand.” She was thoroughly confused.

  “Nor do I” Morgan replied, staring morosely into the leaping flames. His frankness startled her. “Witchcraft,” he muttered to himself. “Nevertheless,” he said more clearly, “you are mine and shall remain mine. Do you really think your father wants you back after leaving your betrothed?” He laughed harshly. “I think not. At least I can keep you safe and see that you want for nothing.”

  Except your love, Luca thought silently. You can’t give me your love and that’s the only thing I want from you.

  Luca rose abruptly, intending to leave, but Morgan grasped her arm and pulled her back into the chair. “Do I have your word that you’ll try to get along with the servants?”

  Luca nodded. Satisfied, Morgan released her. Touching her was pure torture. He felt himself being drawn again into her seductive web, and past experience with Luca had proved he wasn’t strong enough to resist the overwhelming power she had over his senses. Reminding himself that Luca was Spanish and recalling his hatred for those bearing Spanish blood failed to quell his clamoring need for his sultry wife. He wished he could just let her go and forget her.

  It would be a simple matter to return her to her father, or send her to a convent with enough blunt to ease her entry to their order. A seething cauldron of resentment boiled inside him. Something was happening to him he didn’t like and couldn’t control.

  “I’m leaving in the morning, Luca. I don’t know when I’ll be back. London is but a short distance from Scott Hall. I’ll keep in touch with Withers and Forsythe. They in turn will keep me informed of your welfare. Should you need anything, ask Withers, he’ll present himself tomorrow to meet you. You may shop in the village if you wish. Charge anything that you fancy to my account.”

  His words sounded so cold and impersonal. Did all husbands and wives in England lead separate lives? She knew so little about marriage. Couldn’t Morgan see how much she loved him? She could tell he was attracted to her. How could he make love to her with such tender feeling if he didn’t care for her? He wanted her; she saw his hunger for her in the hot depths of his blue eyes, in the torrid heat emanating from his pores. It was the same with her. Dios! Just looking at him turned her to cinder.

  “I wish you a good journey, Morgan.” Her cool words belied her seething resentment. “Will you be home for Christmas?”

  Luca’s chilling gaze left Morgan bruised. Bloody Hell, it took every ounce of his willpower to resist her.

  “Go to bed, Luca,” he said gruffly, fighting for survival of his soul. If he lost the battle, the life he knew and had grown comfortable with would be lost to him forever. “There is nothing more to discuss. As for Christmas, ‘tis unlikely I’ll return for the holidays.”

  “You are a fool, Morgan Scott,” Luca hissed from between clenched teeth. “Avoiding me will accomplish nothing, and lying about your feelings is dishonest. You are fooling no one but yourself.”

  Morgan closed his eyes, suffering the blast of her accusations with stony calm. God, how could she be so wise? When he opened his eyes, Luca was gone.

  Luca’s words hit a raw nerve inside Morgan. Damn her! Was she deliberately making him feel like a fool? His gaze found the brandy and glasses Forsythe had thoughtfully left on his desk, and he poured himself a generous measure. It went down so smoothly he poured another. By the time he finished his third he was wallowing in self-pity. Bloody Hell! His life had taken a surprising turn. He’d never asked for a wife, and now that he had one he didn’t know what to do with her.

  He knew it would be courting disaster to arrive at court with a Spanish wife at his side. He’d be foolish to imagine the queen would welcome Luca without reservation. It was going to take some doing to explain Luca to Elizabeth. By now the queen had already been informed of the marriage and was anxiously awaiting his explanation. During his last visit to London the queen had hinted that she was seeking a suitable heiress for him to wed. Morgan sighed. Right now his head hurt too badly to think about Elizabeth’s reaction to his sudden marriage.

  Staggering to his feet, Morgan sought his bed.

  Luca stripped to her chemise and climbed into bed. She tried to sleep, but her heart was heavy, her mind too beset by her insurmountable problems, and, despite the fire in the grate, she was shivering from cold. Life in the convent had been so simple and uncomplicated, she sighed, recalling those happier days. Why hadn’t God seen fit to leave her there to live in peace? Why had He thrust her into a world of strife and turmoil and given her an annoying man like Morgan Scott to love? If God wanted her to love Morgan Scott, why didn’t He make Morgan love her in return? It was all so confusing.

  Flipping to her back, Luca stared at the mingling of shadow and light upon the ceiling. Somewhere in the distance she heard a scraping sound but paid it little heed. In a house this size mere was always activity of some kind, even in the dead of night. Luca couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment she knew she wasn’t alone. Raising herself on her elbow, she squinted at the door. Nothing. Swiveling her neck, she glanced toward the dressing room.

  The door was ajar. Morgan stood in the opening, limned in a flood of light from a lamp behind him. Vaguely Luca realized that Morgan’s room was connected to hers through the dressing room. She could see past him into his room beyond.

  His name left her lips on a trembling sigh. She couldn’t see his face, for the light behind him obscured all but the muscular outline of his body. He was balanced on the balls of his feet, his muscles flexed, his hands fisted at his sides.

  “You are right, Luca, I am a fool” he rasped, slurring the words. Luca’s heart soared, but his next sentence laid her high hopes to rest. “A lackwit for allowing you to affect me in ways I’m not strong enough to resist.” He walked more fully into the room, and Luca sucked in a ragged breath. He was nude. Totally, gloriously nude, his aroused manhood fully distended.

  Luca’s mouth went dry, and she licked moisture onto her lips. “That’s not what I meant, Morgan. I called you a fool for denying something that’s inevitable. Something we both want Can’t you see what’s beneath your nose? Don’t you realize that I lo…” Her sentence fell off. What good would it do to tell him she loved him? He still couldn’t see anything past his hatred for her Spanish blood. “I had nothing to do with the deaths in your family.”

  Twice Morgan tried to turn back to his room, and twice he failed. He was drawn toward the bed and Luca like a bear attracted to the scent of honey, aching for the sweet delicacy despite the risk. The promised reward made the effort well wort
h it.

  When Morgan staggered slightly, Luca was quick to realize he wasn’t sober. “You’re drunk!”

  Morgan grinned. “Not too drunk.”

  The bed shifted beneath his weight. He gave her a wobbly grin and ripped away her shift The worn material gave way easily, and he tossed it aside. He pulled her into his arms, letting her feel the hard ridge of his desire. “At least this is always good between us,” he vowed. “Losing myself in your sweet flesh makes me forget who you are and what I am.” He groaned as he ground his arousal against her stomach and buried his face between her breasts. God, she smelled good!

  “I am a woman and you’re a man,” Luca contended. Her body needed little encouragement to respond to Morgan’s touch. “And we are husband and wife. If only you’d allow yourself to…”

  He stopped her words with a searing kiss. He didn’t want to hear them. He refused to heed what his heart told him. If he listened to Luca and his heart he’d no longer be El Diablo, and he wasn’t ready yet for that. Maybe he’d never be. For his own peace of mind he needed to remember that he was a man driven by hatred for his Spanish enemies. He intended to remain that man for a very long time.

  Morgan’s thinking process broke down completely as his rampant desire for his Spanish wife manifested itself in the aching hardness of his loins. Bloody Hell, Luca set his pulses racing, and she tested his control. Just looking at her stoked his desire to a raging inferno. He should have sent her back to her father in disgrace after he’d taken her virginity instead of keeping her for his own selfish enjoyment. Or better yet, he should have taken one look into her innocent eyes and not touched her at all. If fortune favored him, he’d have his fill of her tonight and go off to London with a clear mind and sated body. In the sexually charged atmosphere of Elizabeth’s court it would be easy to forget he had a wife, he told himself.