Touch the Sun

by Wright, Cynthia

"No. I suppose I do rather long for the gaiety, but I wouldn't take the place of any woman there." She laughed, and the sound was like music in the dark garden. "The patches and paint—ugh! If they could only realize how silly it is."

  Smith nodded. "Miss Wade and Mistress Bingham are mild in comparison, too. Did you see some of those women? They've taken to wearing some horrid white paint on their faces. Dr. Rush told the mistress that the paint has lead in it—quite dangerous! Apparently it has been ruining teeth and causing the eyes to swell, and heaven knows what else."

  Meagan made a face, but bit off her reply when she spied a liveried figure coming toward them across the grounds.

  "Good evenin', ladies!" Flynn called merrily. "I thought I recognized my Meagan's sweet laughter!"

  When he stopped before them, grinning, Meagan knew the reason for his boldness. The odor of Madeira assaulted them.

  "Kevin, should you be roaming about tonight? And drinking?"

  He sought to straighten his wig. "My stableboys have matters well in hand. As for the drink—I've barely gotten a taste!"

  Smith stood up, apparently much less perturbed than Meagan. "Now that the party is under way, I suggest that you seek a bit of amusement as well, Meagan dear. Go and put on your beautiful new dress for Flynn and have a glass of wine. Miss Wade won't be needing you for hours, if at all. These affairs frequently go on all night!"

  Meagan was horrified by this suggestion, but Smith seemed cheerfully unaware of her reaction as she waved to them and started back toward the house.

  Alone at last with his lady love, Flynn did not waste a moment.

  "Perhaps," he coaxed, "you'd enjoy a look at the party—see how the other half lives! It might change your mind about the dress." Even in his state of near intoxication, he sensed that more subtle tactics were in order. Meagan was not a girl to be pushed.

  "Well..."

  He did not wait for her to seize on an excuse. Promptly taking her arm, he led her across the dark lawn toward the drawing room's French doors. The light that poured from within was like white-hot fire, and as they drew closer, vibrant strains of music filled their ears. Flynn had to tug a bit at Meagan's elbow to bring her up to the windows, but when they peeked in he smirked triumphantly to himself. What a stroke of luck! There, in plain sight, under the magnificent crystal chandelier, were Captain Hampshire and Priscilla Wade. They were performing an complex minuet, moving in perfect harmony. The picture they made was that of an ardent engaged couple, and Flynn could feel Meagan stiffen when their eyes met in a shared smile.

  "They make a handsome pair," he commented casually.

  Meagan turned away from the French doors, inhaling deeply of the cool night air.

  "I believe you and Smith may be right after all," she murmured huskily. "A bit of amusement is in order. I'll go and dress. After all, I may not get another chance to wear the gown!"

  * * *

  Henry Gardner finally found a moment alone with Anne Bingham when she paused between minuets for a glass of champagne.

  "Ah, my dear Mrs. Bingham. May I compliment you on a lovely party? The beauty of your home is only exceeded by that of its mistress."

  Anne recoiled from the foulness of his breath, but managed to force a bright smile. "Major Gardner, you are too kind. But I shall accept your compliment with some humility, for I understand that your own new home is quite a showplace in its own right!"

  Gardner's ruddy cheeks puffed out in a wide smile. "I am proud of it. I hope that you will honor me with your presence very soon, for I plan to host a number of festive gatherings over the coming months and years."

  "Your importing business is doing well, then?"

  "Confidentially, yes! The demand for wine seems to be on the rise." He could see her beautiful eyes begin to wander and knew that he would have to come to the point before she slipped away. "You know, with the size of my new residence, I find that I seem to need more servants each day."

  Anne laughed politely. "'Tis a problem I am well acquainted with!" At that moment, Samuel Powel stepped forward to claim her for a cotillion, and she gave Gardner a relieved smile in parting. "So nice to see you, Major!"

  Disgruntled by the interruption, he looked around to see Marcus Reems standing nearby, his tiger eyes fastened on the figure of Priscilla Wade who swirled in the arms of her fiancé. Gardner stamped over to him, blustering under his breath.

  With a look of sardonic distaste, Marcus politely acknowledged the major's presence, then returned his attention to the willowy Miss Wade.

  "Cursed difficult to carry on a conversation, what with people hopping out to dance all the time!" Gardner complained, receiving only a shrug in response. "Do you know this household well, Reems?" he pressed.

  "I may."

  "Any of the servants?"

  "A few."

  Maddened by the man's cool indifference, Gardner burst out, "The fact is, I am in sore need of help in my new home, and I've taken a fancy to a serving-girl I saw here tonight. Gad, what a winsome little beauty! Black hair, great violet eyes..."

  Suddenly, Marcus was alert, but showed his interest only in the slight movement of his head and the flickering of his eyes. "I know the girl you mean," he said in a bored tone. "Unfortunately, it will do you no good to make inquiries to Anne, for Captain Hampshire is the girl's actual employer. She is lady's maid to his fiancée. I doubt whether he would let the chit go since she accompanied Miss Wade from Virginia."

  Marcus Reems's attitude was so discouraging that Gardner fell silent, deciding not to approach Anne Bingham about the maid again. The cotillion had ended and she was standing nearby with Mayor Powel and his wife Eliza.

  Anne narrowed her pretty eyes as Marcus asked Priscilla for the next dance—a scandalous act in itself. However, Lion only served to inflame the situation. Moodily sipping brandy, he seemed unconcerned by this breech of etiquette, and when Marcus and Priscilla moved onto the dance floor, he picked up his glass and sauntered off toward one of the other parlors.

  "It's the best party we've seen in months!" Eliza exclaimed. She had to repeat herself three times before Anne heard.

  * * *

  Lion was bored. The strain of playing the enamored, attentive fiancé had given him a headache and he knew that he would never last the night without a respite. It angered him that he could not summon the strength to carry off one sustained performance in this new role he had chosen. There would be talk about his leaving her alone to dance with Marcus, for the popular custom demanded that the same partners stay together throughout the evening, yet he could not care.

  All the parlors on the ground floor were ablaze with lights, but he headed straight for the extensive conservatory which opened off one of them. It offered much needed quiet, solitude, and darkness. Lion longed to loosen his cravat as he moved between the rows of greenery and flowers toward the windows. Leaning against the cold glass, he felt the tense muscles in his back and shoulders relax.

  "It's Priscilla," he mused bitterly. "If I cannot abide her now, how shall it be when we are married?" His thoughts spun back in time to the day he and Meagan had strolled together in Markwood Villa's overgrown garden. Lion could hear her voice in his mind, predicting that his act would never work, and he let out a harsh sigh. "She may well turn out to be right. In my blind arrogance, I have probably blundered—"

  A movement outside in the trees caught his eye. When he could distinguish the two figures dancing slowly on the velvety lawn, he gave it little thought, assuming that they were errant party guests. His brandy was gone before he glanced out again, and this time a spark of recognition kindled. There was something familiar about that diminutive, raven-haired girl—then Lion recalled that every woman in the drawing room had powdered hair. A cloud moved obligingly to unmask the moon and in the silvery light, he could see that the man was clad in the Bingham livery.

  Cold rage flooded him. Even as he stared at them, the far-off melody from the drawing room drew to a close and the lone dancers stopped. When
Flynn did not release Meagan, but pulled her nearer and began kissing her, Lion was transformed into a jungle cat with a killing instinct. His hard fingers clenched his glass until it popped and broke into splintery pieces, then he moved toward the garden door.

  Out on the lawn, Meagan was nearly as angry. She cursed herself for putting on the violet-sprigged gown and dancing alone like this with Flynn, for it was obvious that drink gave him courage. Sober, he was impulsive but manageable, but now he was like a slobbering fool. Meagan was horrified when he began to hug her clumsily, then totally revolted by his intimate embrace. She tried to push him away, but he only intensified his assault, devouring her like a starving man who has suddenly found food. Her hands struggled free to find his face as she attempted to force his lips from her; when that failed she dug her nails into his cheeks mercilessly, for her revulsion was giving way to real fear.

  Suddenly, it was as though a great wind had lifted him into the air, and she stumbled back against a tree. Through a haze she recognized Lion, and she watched as he hit Flynn with such raw force that she thought the smaller man's neck must be broken. Even in her own overwrought state and in spite of the darkness, she could see that Lion had become a person she had never known before. He was the embodiment of a real lion, his tan face fierce with absolute fury, his lean, hard-muscled body moving with all the instinctive grace and power of a wild animal. Certainly no man had ever looked like this.

  Meagan was so mesmerized by the sight of him that she forgot to be afraid. When Flynn lay unconscious, sprawled across the lawn, Lion turned to move toward her and she stared up at his face in wonderment.

  Blazing eyes seared her and steely fingers gripped her arm. "Bitch!" he spat, a muscle moving in his jaw as he sought some control. "Would you like to see him dead? Dead because of desire for you?"

  "But, Lion—"

  "Don't try to work your charms on me. I could snap these bones with little provocation right now." The pressure on her soft forearm increased to the point where she blinked back tears. "You are no better than the scheming females in that drawing room. Look at you! In that dress! What the hell were you up to?"

  Meagan felt a reassuring surge of indignation and she raised her tiny chin. "Don't you take that tone with me! I saw you dancing with your precious Priscilla, mooning over her like a lovesick calf! You don't own me. In fact, I thought I made it quite clear last week that there are to be no ties between us whatever—"

  "Damn you! Would you have me ignore the sight of you in his arms? Did you want that?"

  Meagan was suddenly weak, almost faint, and she swayed against his wide chest.

  "Oh, Lion, don't be a fool. Just look at his cheeks. I assure you that no tide of passion caused me to leave those marks."

  "Well then, what are you yelling at me about?" The soft suppleness of her body against his cooled his rage considerably. "Did I imagine it or have you just admitted that you got yourself into this mess because you were jealous of Priscilla and me?"

  Meagan almost smiled at the note of elation in his voice. "I am too upset to talk sense. Perhaps I was delirious."

  A grin flashed in the darkness as he drew her closer.

  "Ah, Meagan, you silly minx. How can you think that I could care for Priscilla, let alone enjoy myself with her?" His eyes moved down to take in her dress, which had turned out perfectly. Skillfully sewn, it accentuated her coloring, the smallness of her figure and all its sweet curves. Meagan had arranged her hair in loose curls atop her head, leaving a cluster of ringlets to tumble down her back.

  "You look lovely. Enchanting." His dark fingers grazed the gentle swell of her breasts above the low neckline. "For God's sake, how could you let him see you like this? Hold you like this?"

  When his arms encircled her back, Meagan melted with light-headed longing. All the turbulent emotions that swirled within her broke in a flood, and she clung to Lion's shoulders for support. The armor of anger and bitterness that she had built around herself during the past week was destroyed.

  Hard, insistent lips came down to cover her own and they kissed with a fierce hunger that neither of them thought to question any longer. Meagan could feel all his muscles tauten where their bodies touched and as he held her ever closer, her feet left the ground.

  "Well, well," a sharp voice broke in, only a few feet away. "This is all very interesting."

  Over the top of Lion's broad shoulder, Meagan made out the figure of Anne Bingham, tapping an Alencon lace fan against her ball gown.

  Chapter 20

  If Lion was shaken by Anne's sudden appearance, he hid it well. Unhurriedly, he set Meagan on her feet, turning to face the other woman with one brow arched.

  "We seem to be found out," he told Meagan in a stage whisper.

  "So you are," Anne declared, frowning at his nonchalance.

  "Would you have me quake with fear? Surely you are not innocent to such situation. It cannot have escaped your attention that I bear little affection for my intended."

  "I am not your mother, if that is what you are trying to say. But I must consider Priscilla's welfare. She is still so naive, so filled with romantic ideals! It would truly destroy her—"

  Lion laughed caustically. "Pray halt!" he mocked. "Poor, darling Priscilla—how could I have been so heartless? I am overcome with guilt: I repent!"

  "This is not a joke! And, incidentally, what has happened to poor Flynn?"

  "Poor Flynn, poor Priscilla—all victims of a cruel scoundrel!" His expression sobered then as he caught sight of William Bingham approaching across the lawn, and he leaned down to speak to a dazed Meagan. "You had better be off to your room before a crowd gathers. Worry not. I shall take care of everything."

  Usually she would have balked at being sent away in the midst of such excitement, but this time she was relieved to escape. Her leg muscles were weak as she lifted her silk skirts and ran across the grounds toward the servants' entrance. Once in her room, Meagan dashed to the window, straining to view the drama on the lawn. Panic swept her each time she remembered that first sound of Anne's icy voice, but she could not doubt Lion's ability to settle the matter somehow.

  William, Anne, and Lion stood together talking for a few minutes, and then Priscilla and Marcus Reems came strolling across the lawn to join them. Through it all, Lion appeared supremely relaxed, even laughing from time to time. Before long, the group dispersed. Lion slung Flynn over his shoulder and carried him off toward the coach house, with William walking along at his side. Anne returned directly to the drawing room, while Marcus and Priscilla took a more leisurely route. Meagan noticed that he kept his hand at her elbow or waist through it all, even in Lion's presence. What a strange world they live in! she thought. And I am sunk right in the middle of the scandal and intrigue!

  As she exchanged the violet-sprigged dress for her cambric bedgown, she vowed for the hundredth time to stay away from Lion Hampshire. He may have pacified Anne Bingham once, but Meagan knew that lady was not to be underestimated.

  * * *

  Marcus sat in Anne Bingham's boudoir, waiting curiously for the lady to make an appearance. It was past two in the morning, but there were still plenty of guests downstairs.

  Marcus wondered what could be on Anne's mind that wouldn't wait until tomorrow; something serious enough for her to risk his presence in her private boudoir. The elegant room adjoined her bedchamber and served as an ultra-intimate sitting room. Propriety dictated that no man save her husband should venture within, so when Anne had told Marcus to wait for her here, he was more than a little intrigued.

  White doves continued to coo sleepily in the Japanned cages which were liberally scattered around the pale blue and white room. Marcus thought the furniture looked too fragile to support his weight and expected the gilt chair to snap beneath him at any moment.

  Anne came in as silent as a thief, closing the door noiselessly behind her. He decided that she looked as cool and stunning now as at the beginning of the evening and wasted no time in telling h
er so.

  "Spare me your flattery," she said briskly, spreading her brocade skirts as she sat down opposite him. "I am not seeking a lover—this time—only a friend whose sly mind I value."

  Marcus gave her a sardonic glance. "At your service, madame."

  "Good." Without wasting a word, Anne explained the situation that existed between Lion and Meagan, omitting the tale of Meagan's true background she had learned just recently. She stressed the need to protect poor Priscilla's interests, finishing, "You can see, I'm sure, that after what I witnessed tonight, that wench must not remain in this house."

  "I gather that this is where I fit in?" Marcus inquired with cynical amusement. His smile twisted slightly. "You must let me think about this."

  "Fine. I trust you to find a solution, but we must work quickly! I should go now, before someone begins to worry. Do be careful when you leave."

  She bestowed her most brilliant smile on him before making her exit, and Marcus sat back to let his thoughts circulate.

  Of course, the last thing he really wanted was to remove Lion's little lovebird, for she had proved to be a perfect wedge between the engaged couple. Certainly there was no possibility of Lion marrying the chit, but the little affair left Priscilla ideally vulnerable.

  On the other hand, if the serving-girl were removed, it might clear a path for Clarissa who was still fuming at Marcus about last week's fiasco. If he was to count on her continued help, he must do something to cheer her up and this certainly seemed a perfect opportunity.

  Lastly, he could not afford to cross Anne. She was his ticket to Priscilla and if she closed Mansion House's doors, God himself could not get him back inside.

  So, it seemed there was no choice... for the moment.

  It did not take Marcus long to remember his earlier conversation with Henry Gardner and he grinned wolfishly at the thought of the black-haired wench in the clutches of that gentleman.

  Morning came shortly after the last of the guests had departed. The sun was shining and a chorus of birds could be heard even indoors. The help at Mansion House was as busy as it had been the day before, undoing all that had been so carefully prepared. Every servant worked at top speed, cleaning furiously, until at noon it seemed impossible that a party had gone on in the house just a few hours before.