Touch the Sun

by Wright, Cynthia

  "I humbly beg your forgiveness for my behavior, Miss South. And I am sorry that you do not have a fan. I doubtless deserve to be swatted." One side of his mouth quirked slightly. "It is my fault for not explaining earlier—about the villa. It has been empty for several years now—abandoned and untended. The owner, Andrew Markwood, was a British Loyalist. When the English were in occupation in Philadelphia, Markwood invited some officers to lodge here. Unfortunately, a neighbor returned home after Yorktown; a man who happened to be fanatically loyal to the American cause. At that time, the Loyalists were badly persecuted, but this fellow rather overdid his part. He and Markwood argued several times and it all ended in a duel. Markwood was killed and his family took the money that remained and booked passage to England with a group of British soldiers who were on their way home. Markwood Villa was confiscated by the government and has been empty ever since, while the superstitions have grown around its past as fast as the weeds in its garden. Now, there's not a woman in Philadelphia would permit her husband to buy it."

  The horses had reached the front steps and Lion drew in on his reins and swung lightly to the ground. Meagan went tense when his strong hands encircled her waist to lift her down.

  "Why are you interested in this house, then?" she asked, glad for the diversion. "It looks like it would take a great deal of work to restore it."

  After tying the horses to a large oak tree, Lion started up the steps to the front door.

  "That's what I'm here to decide—exactly how much work would be involved. This was a showplace a dozen years ago, and I think it's a crime to let it decay because of a lot of ridiculous, wild tales."

  Meagan leaned around his elbow as he tried the door. "What sort of wild tales?"

  "Oh, people are convinced that Markwood's spirit is still in this house. Every now and then someone claims to have seen him," he replied in an offhand tone.

  The door swung open with a long creak and Lion stepped inside, only to feel Meagan pull at his sleeve. Her feet were rooted to the doorsill.

  "People have seen him?" she echoed in a high voice.

  "Meagan! I thought you were too intelligent to believe such nonsense! I was teasing you when I said that you were chickenhearted, but perhaps—"

  "Oh, all right! I suppose you can protect me if we should encounter Mr. Markwood."

  "That's the spirit." He put an arm around her shoulder. "You must take an oath not to tell Priscilla about these tales if I should decide to buy the house. I have a feeling she would adapt easily to the role of the hysterical wife."

  "I won't say a word to her, but I cannot make promises for Anne Bingham."

  Lion wasn't listening. His keen eyes were scanning the entry hall and Meagan followed his gaze. Mouse and bird droppings were scattered across the patterned brick floor, and the furnishings that had been left behind were covered with a layer of gray dust. The air was pungent with must.

  Still, Markwood Villa's innate elegance shone through. Meagan held on to Lion's arm as they toured the house, never quite losing her uneasiness although Lion was clearly ebullient. He was obviously pleased with what he saw and Meagan, in spite of everything, was inclined to agree with him.

  The walls were beautifully paneled, while above them ran intricately decorated stucco ceilings, works of art in themselves. A stunning, though dirty, Turkey carpet covered the parlor floor and a tile-faced fireplace dominated the east wall of the room.

  Meagan was speechless at the sight of the staircase, which consisted of an elaborate, amazing arrangement of trellises, once painted white but now yellowed and peeling. Lion told her that the style was called Chinese Chippendale and Meagan declared that she had never seen such a thing in Virginia.

  Upstairs, the rooms continued the pattern of basic loveliness with handsome woodwork and ceilings and well-designed bedchambers, each with its own painted floorcloth. Meagan trailed along as Lion examined every corner of the house; then, finally, they went outside to explore the grounds. The sun shone so brightly overhead that Meagan felt silly to have worried about encountering a spirit. The gardens were badly overgrown, the boxwood borders choked by weeds and vines. Still, there was a kind of beauty about the place that was undeniably appealing.

  "Well?" Lion asked abruptly. He had not dropped Meagan's hand and she was suddenly very conscious of his touch.

  "I love it. I honestly do! I must say, it's a far cry from the classic simplicity of Southern homes, but it has a certain quality..."

  "Charm. Personality. I am totally in favor of this new style that Washington is bringing with him to the North, but I am not particularly worried about following the current mode myself. Once the house is finished, it will be a warm and inviting place to be."

  "Your home in Philadelphia already fits that description. Why do you need this place?"

  "It is the accepted thing to do! All the upper class have summer homes where they can escape the 'horrid crush' of the city. I must do what is expected of creditable men these days, you know!"

  Meagan glanced up at the cynical tone in his voice. "I do not understand you."

  "It is not your place to understand," he returned brusquely.

  "But, if you are so eager to do what is correct, why choose this estate? Certainly you could find a more acceptable—"

  "I know. And there's the rub. I know that I have to do a lot of things that I despise, so to keep a fraction of my self-respect, I cannot resist rebelling just a bit. The whole affair has become an absurd sham. The only thing that keeps me going is that goal..." His expression softened. "When I feel like telling everyone to go to hell, I force myself to remember that summer in the Constitutional Convention. I truly believe that if I can have that every day, I will be able to endure all the rest."

  "It's a shame," Meagan said softly, her eyes on the brick walkway.

  "What is that supposed to mean?"

  "I think it is a shame that you should be forced to become a hypocrite just to have a career that is supposed to be so moral and honest. It doesn't make sense."

  "Well, perhaps the day will come when my status will be such that I can do as I please without fear of retribution. But, for now, this is the only way I can get into Congress soon. My reputation is in sad repair and it will take a great deal of redemption on my part to mend it."

  Meagan stopped and looked up at him. "You won't like my saying this, but I don't think this act of yours will work. I believe that your character is too strong for you to play it out. Someone like William Bingham or James Wade, perhaps, but not you."

  "I happen to take the opposite view," he shot back. "I am counting on my strong will to carry me through. Are you finished now with these wise observations?"

  Meagan saw his jawline harden, but he met her brave gaze with eyes that held a gleam of admiration.

  After a long moment, he spoke again. "Your nerve is excessive. It irritates the hell out of me, but at the same time, I do appreciate your honesty." He paused, allowing a slight smile to flicker at his lips. "Just don't get carried away. You wouldn't want to make me mad. I tend to lose all reason when I get angry enough."

  Meagan relaxed at the sight of his indulgent smile, forgetting herself as she stared at his splendid face. His eyes were a vivid sea-blue, and they seemed to sparkle with a life all their own, while his sculpted features radiated vitality and strength. Right now, his expression was one of wry amusement.

  "Meagan, what can you be staring at so assiduously? Is there a wart forming on my nose?"

  She flushed with embarrassment. "You are tactless, sir."

  Lion laughed out at that, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing her fingers. "What a statement! To coin a phrase of Doctor Franklin's, the pot is calling the kettle black!"

  Her hand burned under the pressure of his lips. Suddenly flooded by panic, she pulled away from him and stumbled on into the overgrown garden. Why do I always go to pieces when he is near? she thought in frightened bewilderment. Why did I ever agree to come with him today when I told
him only a few nights ago that I wanted nothing to do with him?

  The garden gave way to uncleared land, mostly oak and elm trees which grew close together. Meagan welcomed their shelter, for her breath burned in her throat and her eyes stung. Unexpectedly, a thick gray root which had burst its cover of dirt caught her foot and sent her reeling sideways against the nearest tree trunk. Her hands grasped at the ragged bark and she regained her balance, but a sharp pain twisted up her leg when she tried the injured foot.

  "Oh, dear God," she choked, "what next?"

  Lion came into view then, his eyes unreadable as he drew near. Wretchedly, she covered her face to hide tear-filled eyes. Lean, gentle fingers cupped her trembling chin and through a blur she saw a half-smile playing about his lips.

  "Have I said something amiss? My only intent was to amuse you, sweeting, but you have surely shaken my confidence in my wit!"

  In spite of herself, Meagan felt a bubble of laughter rise in her throat. Forgetting her ankle she reached out to cuff his arm and suddenly gasped in pain. Lion's arms went around her back, holding her up, as Meagan dissolved into gulping sobs and pressed her wet face against his fawn coat.

  "My ankle!" she cried at last, though it was but a part of her distress. Relief showed on Lion's face, for he was infinitely more comfortable dealing with physical pain than the emotional sort. Slipping an arm under her knees, he lifted her effortlessly off the ground and carried her through the trees until they gained sight of a charming gazebo-like schoolroom which stood in a clearing.

  Inside there were wide benches circling the window-lined wall, muslin sheets protecting the plush velvet cushions beneath from light and dust. Three writing tables had been pushed against the far wall, collectively draped with another thin white coverlet.

  Lion sat down on the bench and Meagan found herself on his lap. She could feel the hard muscles in his thighs through her pelisse before he shifted her onto the cushions so that her legs rested over his. Without a word, he lifted her skirts and surveyed her ankles, softly turning the right one until she bit her lip to keep from crying out.

  "It's not broken," he reassured her. "In fact, I doubt that it will swell any more than this. It's painful, I know, but I'll wager that you'll be much improved by morning."

  "Thank you, Doctor Hampshire," she said with a weak smile and was rewarded by his quick, flashing grin.

  "I wouldn't overdo the sarcasm, my girl," he admonished playfully. "You and your ankle are rather dependent on my good nature right now!"

  She was suddenly acutely conscious of his large, sun-darkened hand resting on her bare leg, and her mouth went dry. Silence grew between them and Lion watched her face until she slowly raised her eyes to meet his own. His gaze caressed her, lingering over gleaming raven curls, black-lashed violet eyes, rose-hued cheeks, and finally moving irresistibly down the delicate line of her neck and throat. Meagan felt naked under his eyes as they seemed to strip away the lavender muslin from her swelling breasts. Reality receded, replaced by some heady magic that wove its spell around them until Meagan felt nothing but Lion's presence, his warm touch against her leg, his mesmerizing stare holding her willing prisoner.

  His lean fingers slid up her satiny leg and Meagan's breath caught in a gasp as a throbbing heat spread where her thighs joined. Strong hands caught her waist and then she was against him, drinking in the feel of his firm, brown skin pressed to her cheek and the scent that was so much a part of him. Long fingers laced through her hair, lifting her face, and Meagan's temples pulsed against his palms as their mouths came together. She was suffused with a terrible yearning as his tongue touched hers with fire; her arms twined about his sturdy neck while she felt his own like steel across her back.

  It's like drowning, she thought fuzzily, her will and strength sucked under in the tide of their passion. Lion's warm, hard mouth traveled over her face and neck, tracing her fragile bone structure, while his fingers removed her open pelisse and unfastened her gown with skillful ease.

  Somehow, her dress and chemise came away from her shoulders and his head bent, inhaling the lilac fragrance of her silky hair, then scorching her petal-smooth skin with his lips. When they touched her breasts, Meagan cried out softly. His tongue and lips and teeth lingered there until she flushed hot and cold, tingling with the sensations he aroused in her. Lion shifted, leaning her across the muscles of his arm, and she felt the hard, bold manliness that strained against his buckskin breeches.

  Suddenly the velvet cushions were uncovered and strewn across the floor; strong arms laid her lightly down, and through a haze, Meagan saw Lion strip away his clothes. Spun sunlight poured through the windows, silhouetting him in a golden luster that added to her dreamlike state of mind. His body was more magnificent than she could have ever dreamed—bronzed, with taut muscles that flexed and rippled with every movement. His broad shoulders and chest tapered down into lean hips and long, powerful legs. Silently, with the grace of a jungle cat, he knelt beside her and slipped her own garments over her hips and down her legs. Meagan's eyes were liquid with desire and her loins ached with a need she could not name. She flinched as their bodies first came together, then shivered in his arms, poignantly conscious of the difference between them. His manhood pressed against her belly and she arched her hips by instinct while melting under the heat of his kiss. His mouth devoured her fragrant, soft body, lingering over her newly aroused breasts until they strained against his lips and Meagan gripped his hair.

  "Mmmm," she moaned aloud, and felt his head nod in response.

  He slid back up to find the secret places on her neck and throat, kissing her nape where baby-down curls grew along the hairline and teasing her ears with his tongue. Then their mouths came together again, passion building until kiss followed kiss, each one sweeter and deeper than the one before. Meagan's hands ran along his ribs, then down to the lean, narrow hips. She could feel the muscles contract when she touched the firm surface of his buttocks and, beneath him, she burned against his hardness.

  Neither of them could have formed one lucid thought at that moment, for fate would win out, as it was meant to. The last kiss ended slowly, Meagan clinging to him as her need washed over her in hot waves of nearly unbearable sensation.

  "Oh, Lion, please..." she whispered brokenly, opening her thighs to welcome him.

  Gently, he went into her, probing deeply until he felt her respond. His strong hands turned her hips so that she panted with mixed pain and pleasure, finding his rhythm and meeting him at each thrust as her pain receded. He groaned then, teeth clenched, and as he drove up inside her, Meagan's own frustrating ache gave way to a flood of pleasurable relief that swept up her belly and down her legs.

  Corded veins stood out on Lion's forearms as he braced himself above Meagan, slowly lowering his head to taste her moist lips. After moving to lie beside her, he drew her against him and she pressed her cheek against the light matting of hair covering his broad, dark chest. The drumming of his heart slowed as she listened until at last it was regular. For herself, mindless passion and hunger had been replaced by a creeping glow of contentment. His arms about her felt right and she sensed that they had communicated more in those minutes of prelude and union than they could have in hours of honest verbal conversation.

  "Meagan?"

  She drew her face away from his warm chest with reluctance and looked up to find him staring at her intently, his eyes full of wonderment, questions, and contradictions. Her own were calm and guileless as she gave him a blissful smile.

  "Yes?"

  "I—" He dropped his gaze from hers, already feeling the prick of guilt, wondering what to say He was well-versed in the art of casual love, skilled in the subtleties of conquest, bedding, and adroit elusion of the inevitable marital trap. None of his rules fit Meagan, and what had passed between them had been something unknown to him. Was such—such magic possible, or could it have been the sun...? Perhaps his mind had been playing tricks. Eyes fixed on the curve of her hip, he sought words t
o ease his predicament, already wishing he had avoided this situation, for some instinct warned him that unheard-of complexities would arise and weave themselves about him in the future. The first one showed itself as he noticed the smear of crimson on her thigh. Blood. Lion groaned as softly as possible.

  "Oh, Meagan," he implored, meeting her eyes again, "tell me you weren't a virgin!"

  "I could say it... but it would be a lie," she replied frankly, seemingly undisturbed by her plight.

  Lion pressed a hand to his forehead and closed his eyes. "Oh, sweeting... How could you let me?"

  She giggled lightly in spite of herself. "Must the responsibility lie with me?" Reassuringly, she ran a finger along the lean line of his jaw. "I do not blame you, though, for I cannot think that a crime has been committed. Rather I would give you credit for bringing me as near to heaven as a mortal could come."

  Abruptly he let her go, turning away and sitting up.. A long arm stretched out to hook his fawn jacket, while Meagan felt a corner of her dream crumble to dust as she sensed reality's invasion. His hand sought a handkerchief in the pocket of his coat, but she was distracted, looking past him as a movement outside caught her attention. A slender blond figure was just disappearing into the trees and Meagan's heart froze with instinctive recognition.

  "Lion?" she asked as he turned back, holding out the snowy linen for her to use.

  "Hmm?" His eyes avoided hers. "Are you—that is, you aren't in any pain?"

  "No, no. Lion, what did Mr. Markwood look like?"

  His mind spun. "Markwood? Why, he was quite tall, I believe. Heavy-set, brown hair. What a question at such a moment! Don't tell me you've seen him too?"

  He was clearly amused, relieved by the distraction, but Meagan's worried eyes were fixed on the clearing outside. The alarm and perplexity she felt chilled the last of her radiance.

  "No—I'm afraid I haven't."