Could he really love her? He must, to come and speak from his heart in such a despairing way. Was he prepared then to go through the rest of his life, shoving his emotions to the bottom of his true self? Evidently he felt that less painful than living with love in a mutually trusting relationship.
He was wrong. She would not permit it. No, one essential point held the key. He honestly didn’t think himself worthy of her. He did not have qualms about their difference in social station, but as he saw it, she was proud of the person she’d become and he was not. He honestly felt inferior. A truly astonishing reversal of what she’d believed to be his feelings.
She would have to contrive to see him alone and attempt to straighten out this whole blasted mess. Who ever heard of a man avowing he’d loved a woman and throwing it off as a kind of unimportant aside? Especially if he wanted to sever their relationship because of a long ago incident outside his power.
The more she thought about it, the more indignant her feelings glowed. Lance Dellafield was not going to have his way this time!
She put on her riding outfit, collected Lily from the stable and set out for Hyde Park. One couldn’t really do serious galloping there, but hopefully the lanes would be free enough so she could canter.
The Park was not teeming as usual, but still more crowded than she preferred. She needed an exhilarating ride, but could only manage one that was halfway satisfying. She turned back, intending to go home. At the last minute, just as she was about to leave the track, a small boy chased a ball directly in front of her.
She pulled the reins tight and jerked them to rear her horse, as the youngster scooted to safety. Lily stopped abruptly, bucking slightly in protest. She could have easily maintained her seat had she not looked up and caught sight of Lance. His carriage was just entering the Park and with him was another beautiful blonde. That perfidious scoundrel! The very day after he’d said other women paled beside his thoughts of her!
Her hold on her reins loosened as she gradually lost balance, slipping slowly to one side and then to the ground. Luckily the mare was well-trained and stopped the moment she felt the weight go off her back.
Lance looked up just in time to see her fall. He immediately pulled up his team, throwing the reins to his companion.
He ran to Morgan, frantically patting her over as much of her as he could reach. She chuffed at his ridiculous pawing. She’d not fallen hard, for heaven’s sakes, why check her whole body for injuries?
She was also completely mortified.
“Morgan, my love, are you hurt? Shall I summon a doctor? Can I take you home?” Lance looked as anxious as if she’d been mortally wounded by a gunshot.
“Get your hands off me, you big oaf! I’m fine. I like taking falls. I do it most times I go riding just for practice in falling gracefully. Go back to your companion, my lord. Another blonde, I see. You must really have a fixation on such light hair. Too bad mine is so much darker.”
She stood and dusted off her riding habit, keeping her eyes down. She would not, she absolutely would not let him see the tears of chagrin in her eyes.
He took a step toward her and she yelled at him, “Leave me alone.”
Leading Lily next to a fallen log, she quickly mounted. She didn’t even glance at him as she rode away, her head as high as she could manage and still ride safely.
If she’d taken a moment she would have seen him grin as his eyes followed her out of sight. She might even have heard him speak quietly to himself before he went back to his carriage.
“Never again, my dear. I’ll not leave you alone ever again.”
* * * * *
The more Lance thought about Morgan’s fall the more bewildered he became. Why had Morgan ranted so at him? He was merely trying to check her for injuries! Surely she didn’t expect him to go riding blithely by when she fell? At the remembrance of exactly why she’d lost her seat, his lips twisted up a little. She’d been protecting the threatened child, of course. Yet her pride wouldn’t allow her to be happy that anyone, especially him, had seen her unwilling descent. Even though she fell as gracefully as she did everything else.
His love was a maddening, unpredictable, strictly adorable girl. Every time he thought he had her figured out, she confounded him. He loved her for her every vagary. The life he now was determined to share with her would not be dull.
The fall merely reinforced the feeling constantly clamoring at his mind, refusing to stay buried. He’d tried without success to hide his love for her deep in his soul. He now knew his battle with his emotions was well and truly lost. The shock of seeing her plummet to the ground made him realize without any doubt that he had to have and protect her. All his misgivings had fallen away as he’d watched her pitch off her horse. He’d almost panicked with fear. No matter she wasn’t hurt. The very fact she could have been crystallized his thinking in one powerful moment.
If she didn’t love him surely she wouldn’t mind so much that he witnessed her fall.
One amazing fact he’d been trying desperately to believe also surfaced and was now a sure remembrance.
His love had heard his confession and not turned away. In fact she’d run after him as he left. She did not despise him for his sins. If she, the soul of honor and honesty, did not scorn him, then perhaps he was not so bad.
She valued him for the person he was. Not his title, not his riches, not his high place in society. If anything, the advantages any other girl would prize meant less than nothing to her. They might even be detriments in her straightforward way of thinking.
She was one in a million. No, the odds were longer than that. Even his parents had agreed on her worth. After the opera, the ducal carriage had dropped off a still ranting Belinda. He’d escorted her to her door, bid her a terse goodnight and returned to the carriage. The Duke and Duchess had spoken almost in unison.
“Morgan is a lovely, lovely girl, Lance. No, a lovely person. I like her so much. Her honesty is unusual and admirable. She is very much herself.”
This from his mother. From his father, a paternal grunt and the comment that Morgan was exceptional. He’d been so astounded he didn’t say a word. Thinking back now, he could see that Morgan’s characteristics and independence were exactly those of his mother’s, although the Duchess had learned to mask her unconventionality. Perhaps his unhappiness also influenced their clear approval of Morgan.
Could Morgan learn to accept the life of society? It didn’t really matter. He already chose to avoid most social functions and her beauty and character would embellish the few they favored with their attendance.
Nothing else counted but the unadorned truth that he needed her for his own. Much more than need. He had to have her.
He’d really made a mess of courting her. In fact he’d tried for weeks to drive her away from him. Now he would have to put all his mental abilities into convincing her he’d changed his mind. No, that was the wrong way to think. He’d come into his right mind.
The best place to start was to call on her just as soon as he could get to her house and try to convince her of his love.
Everything else could wait.
* * * * *
Morgan took Lily back to the stables and jumped to the ground.
A boy came running up to her to take the reins, but she shook her head.
“I want to rub Lily down myself today.”
She managed a smile for the worried boy. “No, you’ve been doing a good job, Stanley, it’s just that I need the added exercise. Please lead Lily to her stall and I’ll see to her.”
She spent more time than usual on grooming Lily, loving the horsey smell and familiar feel of the slick and glowing coat. When she finally entered her room, she looked at her riding habit in dismay. She brushed off much of the dirt from the park as well as Lily’s hair and then threw the garment down. It would have to be thoroughly cleaned by an expert.
All her physical effort hadn’t squelched her mortification. She pulled on her gardening outfit, a pair of m
en’s trousers she’d bought for freedom of movement and a loose shirtwaist. She needed, really needed, to dig in the earth. Getting her hands deep in the soil and reaffirming her Druid connection with nature was always her best comfort. She’d often wished everyone had a small portion of dirt to run between their fingers when they needed peace.
Maybe she’d been unduly upset that Lance had seen her fall. But out riding with a new blonde! After telling her the day before he loved her. Of course he had said he’d someday marry and not her, but she thought he could have waited just a little before beginning his search. The deceitful lout!
She calmed a little with each step she took toward her herb garden. Her plants seemed to be thriving and she’d decided to plant a holly in one corner. The holly, also revered by the Druids, was needed to make her garden complete. Soon she would have the most sacred Druidic spot in London.
With a hoe, she marked off the area where she wanted the holly. That meant moving a few herbs to make space. On her knees, she began to dig at the rosemary she decided to transplant. Next she’d use a small spade to turn over the soil.
She had no warning. Why wasn’t her alarm antenna working? Did anger block her perceptions? Absorbed in her digging, she suspected nothing until she heard a grating voice.
“Stand up, you bitch. Now!”
She did so, slowly, trying to orient herself. A disheveled older woman stood before her, pointing a gun directly at her heart. A blood red aura surrounded the unknown foe. A relentless and frightening scarlet.
The woman was poorly dressed, her clothes not only shabby but dirty. Her gray hair was loosely pushed behind her ears, straggling and uncombed. She had a wild look in her eyes as she darted them around the garden and then focused on Morgan.
“You’re the bitch who led the police to my son. He told me all about how you tricked him with your evil witchcraft. Did you know they hanged him this morning? Would you like me to tell you how his heels kicked in the air and his body jerked? Would you?” Her voice was shaking and vicious. “Do you know I can’t even retrieve his body for burial? That I don’t have enough money to give him a decent grave? He was still hanging there when I left.”
Even the hand holding the gun shook, but not enough. At this range even a shaking hand could hardly avoid hitting Morgan.
Everything came together in Morgan’s mind. Tomlinson’s mother and as demented as he was, although perhaps she had more reason. The same frenzied air. The same manic edge to her voice. Morgan tried to batten down her fear. Guns frightened her even more than knives.
“What do you mean to do, Mrs. Tomlinson? I assume that’s your name, ma’am?”
Mrs. Tomlinson laughed, not pleasantly.
“Don’t tell me you’ve sent more than one man to the gallows. Can’t be sure who I am? No wonder he called you a bitch. You’re a whore, too. Look at you, dressed in men’s trousers.”
Morgan tried to think how to defuse the situation. “I only assist the police occasionally, ma’am. Your son was taken into custody when he tried to kill me in this very garden. I would hate to have you suffer the same fate. My staff check on me often when I’m out here.”
“You’re lying, you bitch. They think you’re safe now my son’s been hanged and will let you grub away in peace. You’re usually out here for an hour or more. Lucky for me you make it quite a habit.”
The thought that this madwoman had been spying on her shocked Morgan to the point that she felt herself begin to quiver. Had her longing for Lance so blunted her cautionary instincts she’d not felt this vicious woman nearby?
“Do you mean to shoot me here? You know you won’t get away.”
The rictus that twisted her face could hardly be called a smile.
“Do you think I care? Got nothin’ left to live for anyway. But my Tommy will be laughing loud and hearty-like. I can hear him now, he’ll be so pleased.”
She didn’t know what to say that might possibly calm the woman a little. Nothing she could think of even made sense. She couldn’t remember a single thing about her murderous son that was complimentary.
She thought of screaming but knew that would be her death knell.
Then once again and unbelievably, she heard the deep voice she loved. Trying to save her from danger yet once more. Lance must be more receptive to warning signals than she to be here when she needed him. Needed him to save her from a second Tomlinson.
“I see I’m a little late,” he drawled. Throwing a bunch of flowers down, he stood, unmoving now, at the edge of the house.
Mrs. Tomlinson cackled. “My God! The dreaded Lord Lance! Not so lucky, this time. Maybe I can get both of you before I’m caught.”
“Why don’t you just settle for me?” Lance moved a little closer, but still in a position where she would have to swing her gun around to get him in range. “I’m the one who testified in court against your murderous son.”
She gave a shriek of rage but never moved the gun from Morgan. “I know that, you bastard, but you’ll suffer more if I shoot her first. Neither one of you will get away this time.”
Morgan kept quiet. Lance was deliberately pushing the woman to her limit. Why? Did he have a reason besides trying to divert the rage onto himself? Was there any way she could help him?
Lance’s eyes glanced just for a second at the ground at Morgan’s feet and then faced the insane woman with a smile.
“If you’d like to know more I can tell you all about the women your son murdered. Exactly how he savaged them and wrote messages with their blood.”
Another cry of rage, a more guttural sound than the last screech. Mrs. Tomlinson started to swing the gun and Morgan’s brain started working. She snatched the hoe at her feet and hurled it at her. The hoe caught Mrs. Tomlinson in the arm, exactly where Morgan had prayed it would.
As the gun fell to the ground Lance swept it up. The woman was now raving and grappling with Lance for the gun. Morgan picked up the hoe again and using the wooden handle, brought it down hard on the woman’s head. Mrs. Tomlinson didn’t crumple, but she did jerk and pause long enough for Lance to grab her in a headlock. He quickly wrestled her into submission.
Lance looked at Morgan as he clutched the insane woman, his relieved glance like a kiss on Morgan’s face.
“Bring me something to bind her hands, Morgan.”
She removed an oversized handkerchief from her pocket, one she used to wipe off sweat if she worked too long. Now she effectively immobilized the woman’s hands as Lance held them, although she was trying to kick Lance anyplace she could reach. Her rage gave her undue strength and Lance, with a sigh, finally rendered her unconscious with the same pressure point he’d used on her son. He stripped off his cravat and secured her ankles.
He straightened with a twisted smile. “I wonder if any more members of this hellish family are alive. I’ll check it out immediately. I don’t want to meet any more of them in your garden.”
He stood still for a moment, looking at her with undisguised love and relief.
Tears ran down Morgan’s cheeks. “I can’t stand it, Lance. You’re in constant danger. I can’t stand it.”
He gathered her into his arms. “Still thinking of others, my love?”
He kissed her hair, holding her tight against his body. Then he held her aside while he ran his hands over her to be sure she hadn’t somehow been hurt. She clung to him as much as he’d let her until he finished with a relieved sigh.
Then he answered her last remark.
“As a policeman’s wife you’ll have to learn to stand it. Although I think since we’ll want a family I’ll follow Devon’s urging and accept the rank of Commander. That way I can supervise all the other lucky devils doing the actual hunting. Will that be better for you, my dearest love?”
Before she could say a word he buried his hungry mouth, briefly in her hair and then on her lips. She tried to remember what she’d been angry about, but gave up as his kisses grew bolder and moved to the vee in the neck of her shirt.
They were both breathing heavily and Morgan thought Lance might be talking to give them each a time to regain a little composure. They’d been so close to death. Again. She reared back in his arms.
“What, my hair is suddenly pleasing in your sight? Are you sure I’m blonde enough to be your love?”
He groaned. “You’re a minx. The lady you saw me with this morning is a friend of my mother’s and staying with my parents. She’s also known me since I was born and thinks I’m a scoundrel for not marrying sooner. Are you going to help me get back in her good opinion, love?”
Morgan humphed. “If you call that mixed-up bunch of sentences a proposal, I don’t.”
Lance pushed her out of his arms and ran to the spot where he’d dropped the flowers. He brought them back and held them out to her.
“This is supposed to go with my proposal. Devon left me his dictionary of The Language of Flowers. I think he suspected I might be needing it.”
He dropped on one knee and presented them to her with a flourish and a beseeching grin.
“Will you please marry me, my darling Morgan?”
She took the flowers from him, tears flooding her eyes so she could scarcely identify them. “Camellias for ‘adoration’, orange blossoms for ‘eternal love and marriage’ and red tulips for ‘please believe me’. Oh, Lance.”
He caught her to him in alarm. “Dear one, they are to please you, not make you weep!”
She sniffed into his handkerchief. “But you don’t want to marry yet. And not me, remember.”
He groaned. “You little tyrant. I knew it wouldn’t be easy convincing you, that’s why I brought the flowers. I guess I should have bought more tulips. Morgan, the simple truth is I can’t live without you. Please say yes.”
She didn’t even try to make him more anxious. She threw her arms around his neck as his eyes ignited with hope.
“I adore you, Lance. Of course I’ll marry you.”
Her heart turned over at the look on his face as he grabbed her to him. He kissed her until they were both breathless again.
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