They walked on in silence, Meagan lifting her chin into the cool, sun-washed air to inhale angrily. Well! He had certainly put her in her place! Why didn't he make up his mind? Was she to be friend and ally or docile slave?
Lion stole a glance at Meagan, his sense of humor returning at the sight of her striding along beside him. Her black, gleaming curls ruffled back in the breeze, fully revealing the stubborn, indignant expression on her face. He saw his chance to break the silence that lengthened between them when the cupola atop St. Peter's Church came into view.
"Well!" he exclaimed. "Here is our famous St. Peter's Church! As a newcomer to Philadelphia, I'm sure you're suitably impressed?"
Meagan looked at the handsome red brick structure, then turned suspicious eyes on Lion. "It's nice enough," she allowed.
"Nice enough!" he gasped, pressing his hand to his shirtfront as if wounded. "This church is a masterpiece and the pride of Society Hill! You insult it at the risk of offending all the nearby residents."
"Oh, all right!" Meagan burst out, trying to sound more exasperated than amused. "It's a splendid building. I am speechless with admiration."
"That's better." He stared at her until she looked up to meet his eyes. "Truce?"
"It's not that easy, Captain Hampshire. You went to great lengths to wear me down, convincing me to forget my role as a servant in your company. I won't let you use my position in life to suit your purposes—ignoring it and recognizing it at will."
Lion stopped in front of the red brick wall that ringed St. Peter's Church, reaching for her hand. When he touched her, Meagan's skin seem to burn and the nerves tingled all the way up her arm. Common sense warned her to pull away, but she seemed paralyzed.
"You are right, Meagan. I'll grant you that. I promise never to patronize you again. Although it's very obvious you don't approve of my actions, I must ask you to refrain from meddling in my private affairs."
More angry words rose in her throat, but she was unable to find her voice. Sheer panic overtook her when he lifted her palm and pressed his mouth against it.
"You have lovely hands," he murmured. "Soft."
To hide her recurring blush, Meagan pulled away and turned to look at the church, thankful for the wind that blew shielding curls across her cheek.
"This really is a handsome church. Do you attend here?"
He was grinning. "Very infrequently in the past. I imagine, however, that future sabbaths will find me in my pew."
"Tell me, why do they call this Society Hill? Because of the wealthy people who live here?"
"It seems so now, but I understand that the name originally was derived from the Free Society of Traders which was formed nearby a century ago. The name stuck and eventually became quite appropriate. Even this church was built for the comfort of these affluent residents who grew tired of the muddy trek up to Christ Church on High Street. Wouldn't want anyone to get tired!"
Meagan's face cooled down as he spoke and she looked back at him, laughing softly. "Heaven forbid!" As they began to walk again, she asked hesitantly, "Who was that man we met?"
"William Wister? Nobody exceptional, but he's important enough, merely by virtue of his family name. The Wisters are well-respected in Philadelphia; they've been here seventy-five years at least. Daniel Wister, the other brother, owns a fine place north of here in Germantown that's called Grumblethorpe. Are you familiar with the flowering purple wisteria?" Meagan wrinkled her brow, then nodded. "It was named in honor of the family."
Lion stopped in front of an L-shaped brick house, smiling at Meagan. She waited.
"This is my home. Do you like it?"
She was impressed but tried not to show it. Easily the handsomest house on the block, there was an aura of quiet elegance about it that lent it character. It was very large—three stories topped by three dormer windows and numerous chimneys. The first two rows of windows were bordered with clean white shutters; even the paint on the front door looked fresh. While Lion used the footscraper, she studied the two fire-marks that flanked a third-story window.
"Those are the marks of the Green Tree and Hand-in-Hand fire-insurance companies," Lion explained, following her eyes upward. Meagan caught sight of a white marble stone under the eaves which read "1787."
"So that's why the paint looks so new!" she teased. Lion smiled as he opened the door for her.
"I bought the house less than a year after it was built. It's still almost unused, for I have spent little time in residence."
The narrow entrance hall where they stood ran straight through to the garden behind the house. Meagan could see it through the arched doorway leading outside. "There is something about this place," she mused, "that puts Mansion House in the shade for all its opulence." Sunlight streamed through the fanlight over the front door, throwing triangular patterns across the paneled floor that led up to the stairway. At that moment, soft, quick footsteps were heard overhead, growing closer. A tiny, odd-looking man appeared on the landing.
"Missa Lion, I so solly!"
Meagan couldn't have been more startled by the appearance of Lion's butler. The man was more than a foot shorter than his employer, with distinctly Chinese features set off incongruously by a curled white wig. There was nothing Oriental about his dress either, for he wore a plainly cut black broadcloth suit, a black-and-white striped silk waistcoat, a white stock, white silk knee stockings, and black shoes with gold buckles. Shiny teeth dominated his angular face as he grinned up at her.
"Missy Priscilla, I so happy to make yoh acquaintance!"
"Wong!" Lion broke in. "This is not Priscilla. This young lady is a new maid in my employ—presently in Miss Wade's service. Her name is Meagan South. Meagan, this is Wong Washington, my butler, who manages to meddle in affairs of mine that have nothing to do with the management of this house."
Meagan could not restrain herself. "Wong Washington?"
"I want to be American!" Wong declared, smiling. "So I choose new name."
"Well, that's certainly American!" she laughed.
"Wong sailed over from China last year," Lion explained. "He attached himself to me when we were in port and Flynn was ill. So I gained an extra valet whom I have been unable to lose since, despite valiant efforts on my part!"
"He love me," Wong whispered loudly in Meagan's ear. "He lost without me!"
Lion made no move to deny this, merely smiling over the butler's head at her.
"Listen, Wong, I would like to discuss a luncheon menu with you. Meagan, why don't you wait in the library? Pour yourself a glass of wine and I'll join you in a moment." He gestured toward a door near the stairway, then turned in the direction of the kitchen, one arm draped across Wong's narrow shoulders.
Meagan was feeling rather giddy with good spirits as she opened the paneled door to the library. Inside she was faced with a long wall of books, the red and earth-toned bindings glittering with gold letters. Oh, she thought, I could lose myself in this room! I could bury myself for days. Her eyes searched for a likely daybed or chair in which to hide, and it was then that she spotted the other girl. Afterward, Meagan would wonder how she could have stood there so long without noticing her, for her golden hair was as bright and shining as the sun. Until the girl spoke, Meagan thought for a moment that she was not real, so complete was her physical perfection. Her face, framed by the sunny curls, was exquisite with its large, soft, sky-blue eyes, tiny nose, and rosebud mouth. Her complexion was peaches and cream, her neck graceful, and lovely, firm breasts swelled over the lacy neckline of her dress. Suddenly she moved, and Meagan could see the huge eyes pool with tears.
"Are—are you—the girl? The one he's going to marry?"
"Me? Oh, no. My name is Meagan. I'm just one of the servants." The faintest hint of amusement touched her voice. "Actually, I'm lady's maid to Miss Wade."
Crystal droplets rolled out to the ends of the beautiful girl's long lashes, flickering off onto her cheeks. "So—so—it's true!" Now she began to weep in earnest, but Meagan
noticed with envy that her eyes did not puff up and her face remained pink and white.
Meagan went over and gingerly perched on the edge of a chair across from her, wondering how to handle the situation. She was spared a decision, however, for at that moment the door opened and Lion entered, his eyes stormy.
"Damn Wong! If his head weren't attached, he'd have lost it by now! Trust him to let me send you in here with Clarissa already—" His voice broke off as he became aware of Clarissa Claussen's ladylike sobbing. "Devin take it! What's going on here?"
Meagan watched with a twinge as Clarissa got up and hurried into Lion's arms. She saw all too clearly the way he held her to him, whispering against the wet pink cheek and gently caressing her flaxen curls. Meagan wished she could climb out the window.
"Oh, Lion," Clarissa wept, "how could you do this to me? When I heard the news, I just wouldn't believe it, but I saw her today with Anne Bingham. I mean, I just assumed! I was on Second Street and I didn't even wait for my carriage... I ran all the way here. And then—then—Wong even admitted—"
Lion glanced sharply at Meagan. "Wait for me in the parlor across the hall."
She scrambled up and hurried past them, catching a glimpse of Clarissa straining upward to find and cling to Lion's mouth. There was a pain near her heart like the twist of a knife, but Meagan managed to convince herself that it was due to simple hunger.
The parlor was charming and elegant. Meagan moved around the room, touching the rich upholstery and warm, polished wood of the furniture. The quietly elegant pieces were interspersed with priceless treasures from the Orient and Europe, but the total effect was never overpowering. Meagan paused before the handsome mantelpiece faced with gleaming marble, wondering what was happening in the library.
Then she heard the sound of a door opening across the hall and she caught a glimpse of two heads passing. More quiet sobbing, interrupted by Lion's firm voice. Meagan couldn't resist peeking out the window to watch them walking to the carriage he had ordered for Clarissa, but she dashed back across the room when he started back up the walk. His tanned face was further darkened by a frightening scowl as he strode into the parlor. Silently he crossed the room and stopped beside her at the fireplace, slamming his fist down on the mantel. The force of the blow caused Meagan to jump involuntarily, her eyes like saucers, and suddenly Lion's mouth twitched. Laughter followed as he turned to look at her, but she was too confused and startled to join in.
"Meagan," he choked at last, touching her cheek, "you are invaluable. I find it impossible to remain in a bad mood when you are nearby. I wish you could have seen your face!" More laughter. "Did you think I would gobble you up? Do I really appear to be such an ogre?"
"Well..."
"I have an idea that you would be perfectly capable of defending yourself if the need were to arise."
The smile lingered at the corners of his mouth as he moved to pour red wine into two glasses. After handing the one to Meagan, Lion proposed a toast.
"To the most refreshing female I have encountered in years." His expression was typically sardonic, but Meagan sensed a note behind the amusement in his voice that turned her knees to water.
"It is a pity that Miss Wade isn't here to accept that compliment in person," she retorted, hoping that she sounded sufficiently prim.
Lion laughed with frank delight. "Perhaps this day has possibilities after all, in spite of Clarissa's interruption."
Meagan thought to follow him over to the settee but sat down in a large chair some distance away. A heady gulp of wine bolstered her courage.
"She was certainly a lovely girl. If you'll pardon me for saying so, I can't imagine why you'd traipse all the way to Virginia to propose marriage to Priscilla Wade when that girl was right here and obviously willing—"
"I had my reasons," he said shortly. For a long moment he stared at Meagan, unaccountably angered by the penetrating intelligence of the gaze she returned. Suddenly he heard himself shout, "Since you persist in prying into my affairs, I suppose I may as well tell you the reason for this marriage, if only to shut you up! I want a seat in Congress by the next election and it seems that because of my scandalous past, it is necessary that I acquire a wife."
Her eyes were huge with surprise at his announcement and outrage at his groundless anger. The sheer loveliness of her expression only inflamed him further.
"Shocked, are you? I suppose that you think me a cold-blooded villain! Let me remind you that your mistress was just as cold-blooded in choosing her husband, so we should suit well, don't you think?"
"But—why—"
"My future plans do not allow time for a lovesick bride. If love and beauty were all I wanted, let me assure you that there are more ladies in my life than just Clarissa who would fit the bill. So, part of it was the fact that I didn't want a clinging woman at my elbow all the time—"
"And?" Meagan prompted in a tiny voice.
Lion scowled at her. "And I wanted a wife with an impeccable family background—one that would make up for my lack. Virginia is the seat of respectability these days."
"Well, I must say, you laid your plans well!"
"My dear, you are absolutely right."
"And is there no room for human emotion or error—?"
"That is what I must avoid at all costs."
"No matter whom you hurt? Even Clarissa?"
"Clarissa is by no means the angel of purity that she appears," Lion shot back with a brief, bitter laugh. "She knows she will always have a place in my bed. She'll come to me when desire has overcome her hurt pride."
Meagan hoped that her face did not reflect the shock she felt. "I think you are quite awful. What about your own human emotions? Do you intend to avoid those, too?"
"Your conversation is quite unique for a servant," he observed harshly. "I suggest that you save your clever insights into human nature for the cook or the butler."
Meagan jumped to her feet and paced back and forth in front of him, her eyes snapping angrily. "I feel rather stifled suddenly! And I feel an overpowering desire to say a lot of things that would get me into terrible trouble with my employer!" She stressed the word sarcastically. "So, if you will excuse me, Captain Hampshire, I believe I'll be on my way now."
Lion stood up and caught her wrists. Meagan stared up at him with open contempt, but his own expression was one of delighted amusement.
Meagan fought the effect that his nearness worked on her; she was furious as she felt her cheeks heat up so predictably.
"Let go of me! I want to go home!"
"Damn, what a wildcat you are!" His grin was tantalizing and Meagan's skin tingled against his strong brown hands.
"I would rather be a wildcat than the low form of life that you are, sir!"
His loud laughter brought a new rush of blood into her face and she struggled to break the grip on her wrists only to have him transfer his hands to her back. In one easy movement he encircled her with arms that were as unyielding as iron, and Meagan felt her heart leap into her throat as she inhaled the masculine scent of his starched shirtfront. She forgot to fight when he tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his flashing eyes.
In the next moment, his mouth covered hers and the world began to spin.
Meagan had never been kissed in earnest before. There had been a few boys who had attempted clumsy embraces, but she had never had much trouble putting them in their places. Besides, her breeches and renegade personality had not served to make her the belle of Fairfax County, so she had little in her past to prepare her for this headlong plunge into womanhood.
Lion's kiss was lazy and insistent at the same time, his practiced lips driving all thoughts from Meagan's usually energetic mind. Completely intoxicated, she stood on tiptoe and responded ardently when he parted her lips to explore the sweetness beyond.
Chapter 10
Buttery yellow light outlined the figure of Sally Bache as she stood in the narrow doorway, waving. Meagan turned before Lion could help her into the
carriage, looking back over her shoulder at the older woman, then up to the candlelit second-floor window. Once seated against the familiar leather upholstery, she shivered and sighed at the same time. Lion pulled the door shut, dropping down beside her, but to her relief he did not speak. The inside of the carriage was all inky blackness, broken only by the orange ember of Lion's cheroot, glowing as they clattered off down Oriana Street.
The long eventful day had left Meagan little time for reflection or consideration, and she was anxious now to sort out her feelings. A soft, wine-induced haze clouded her brain, but she attempted to dispel it.
How tangled her life had become in such a short time! All the years she had passed reading novels under the pecan tree in the meadow had not prepared her for so much living all at once. Of course, the issues were complicated by the fact that she was no longer Meagan Sayers; the entire day she had just passed had only occurred because Lion Hampshire had the power to direct her actions. A small voice taunted her: what if he had ordered you to share his bed? Meagan's conscience shouted back that she would never have acceded, that the forfeit of her position and security would be far preferable to the loss of her virginity and self-respect. Even as she reassured herself, the memory of that incredible kiss flooded her with an involuntary, liquid-like warmth that was almost frightening.
She stole a sidelong glance at the man beside her. His dark profile was sporadically illumined by an occasional street lamp, his clear-cut features seeming harder and more enigmatic than ever. His eyes were narrowed thoughtfully as he smoked, and Meagan wondered for the dozenth time why he had decided to take her to meet Benjamin Franklin.
After the infamous kiss—which he had ended with startling abruptness that left her humiliated—Lion had apparently decided to pretend it had never happened. They had lunched together and talked about safe subjects—the city, politics, China and sea trade. It was nearly dusk when Lion announced that they would pay a visit to Dr. Franklin, telling her that the appointment had already been made and assuring her that one female would do as well as another.
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