Touch the Sun

by Wright, Cynthia

  Lion held her hands now as he listened, but there was a look of pain and disbelief in his eyes, and Meagan could feel the warmth of his skin being replaced by coldness.

  Still, her voice went on, seemingly of its own volition. "You, in your endless charm, could not call halt at taking my virginity and my illusions, though! You had to be certain that I was truly down with my nose pressed in the dirt by offering to keep me. A glorified prostitute! However, most insulting of all is Priscilla Wade herself. I might be able to accept your degradations if your prospective wife were some paragon of intelligence and wisdom—but—"

  Strong arms enfolded her and her cheek went naturally to the place where his shirt was open. His heart beat against her ear and she felt the same maddening current of passion in her blood that always came when their bodies touched.

  Lion lifted her up and carried her to the bed, laying her over the beige and blue counterpane. He stretched out beside her and held her close until she was suffused with a glowing physical warmth that drove all coherent thoughts from her mind.

  "Meagan, I am sorry. Truly. I never meant to hurt you this way. I always thought you were too sensible and strong—"

  "Oh, Lion, you did not! Don't make excuses!"

  He smiled against her glossy hair, heartened by the typically spirited response.

  "I have said, though, from the first, that I had no place for love in my life at this point. Perhaps I've been too obtuse, but I thought it necessary. And even now, I cannot change." He sighed harshly. "I will be honest with you. You are a remarkable girl, a thousand times more wonderful than Priscilla, but damn it, I have made the decision to marry for position and I intend to stand by it! And damn it, you are a servant! Why haven't you acclimated yourself to that fact by now? If I have blundered with you, it's partly because I don't expect you to—to expect so much!"

  Meagan had pushed away from him during this speech, watching his face and growing more outraged as her own composure returned. Now she flung herself from his embrace and scrambled off the other side of the bed.

  "Fine! You have made yourself abundantly clear—sir! You stand by your decision and we'll see who plays the fool!"

  * * *

  Sleep eluded Meagan that night. She did not feel strong enough to grapple with the emotions churning in her heart and mind like water boiling over a blazing fire. Over and over again she saw his face, his body, felt his touch, and worst of all, heard all his bittersweet words.

  What was the solution? Lion, and his compromise, at the expense of her pride? Self-respect and resistance, which equaled the dull emptiness of life without him?

  Neither choice satisfied her in the slightest.

  The walnut tall-clock in the stair hall struck two, and Meagan was still awake. A portion of her consciousness listened for Lion, though she could not admit it even to herself, especially as the hour wore on. Finally she gave up tossing and turning. Plumping up the deep, soft pillows, she sat up in bed and watched the fire slowly die.

  Carefully, Meagan attempted to analyze the situation: Instinct told her that her feelings were Lion's as well. Her brain suggested over and over that she simply tell him the truth and end it. A perfectly simple solution! If Lion learned that her own lineage was as noble and respectable as Priscilla's—if not more so—

  Meagan was certain that he would break his engagement with a huge sigh of relief and marry her.

  It was not the first time such a thought had occurred to her, but it was the first time she had really considered and examined it seriously. And she knew that she could never give him such an easy way out. All their lives she would be brooding over it, thinking that she was not good enough by herself.

  So, as she gazed at the flickering orange embers, Meagan chewed at one fingernail and came to a decision.

  Before she would consider those two awful alternatives again, she would challenge him at his own game. For the first time, Meagan began to think in positive terms about her future with Lion.

  It would be a desperate gamble. If she lost, she knew that she would face ten times the pain and humiliation that she had suffered so far. But, Meagan decided, the dream—if she could achieve it—would be worth the risk. And if Lion couldn't come to choose her as a wife, for love's sake alone, then she knew there would be no place for her in his life.

  It would be all or nothing.

  Chapter 24

  The confrontation with Meagan disturbed Lion more than he would admit even to himself. In an effort to banish the persistent recollections of her face and voice which plagued him throughout the theater performance, he deposited Priscilla soon afterward at Mansion House.

  His eventual destination was to be City Tavern where his friends quaffed ale and discussed politics.

  However, on the way, he decided to stop off on Oriana Street to have a word with Benjamin Franklin. The brick house was dark though the hour was barely ten, and Lion worried anew over the doctor's health. Their conversations had never failed to lift his spirits and give him hope for the new day, and Franklin's infectious wit was a tonic he craved on this night, but he decided not to disturb his mentor and to use ale as a substitute.

  When Lion finally reached his own house on Pine Street, he nearly fell over an old trunk which sat next to the front door. Then he smashed his fingers while reaching too speedily for the knob; his state of insobriety had coupled with the thick darkness to cause him to forget about the box lock which placed a doorknob five full inches from the edge. Nursing his throbbing hand and cursing softly, Lion managed to get the door open and pull the trunk in as well. By the light of the candle Wong had left burning on the pembroke hall table, he could see the trunk label which was written in Anne's graceful hand: "Meagan South."

  Lion smiled to himself, deciding instantly that Meagan would be wanting her clothes. Perhaps she was out of clean underthings, he reasoned. After a cursory inspection of his appearance in the nearby oval mirror, Lion heaved the trunk onto one shoulder and set off for Meagan's room.

  Quietly he knocked, but when there was no response, he eased the door open. The fire was fast dwindling to red-orange embers which lent the darkened room a warm molten glow. Meagan looked tiny in the middle of her field bed, raven hair splayed upon the pillows. Lion's heart turned over at the sight of her. Carefully he grasped the trunk with both hands to set it down where he stood. For a moment, he wavered between leaving and staying, but his ale-induced recklessness won easily over any sense of propriety.

  Meagan was clad in the same billowing cambric bedgown which she had worn the night he came to her window. However, this time she had neglected to fasten the buttons which would have covered her neck and Lion thought that her throat looked as soft as ivory rose petals. Gently he kissed her there, his lips brushing upward to press against her cheekbone, then her parted lips.

  Meagan awoke slowly, but remained unsure of her actual state of consciousness, for Lion was the one constant in all her dreams.

  For the moment, she chose to believe it a delicious fantasy. His face and hair were burnished in the firelight, while well-loved blue eyes sparkled above her like stars. When he bent to kiss her, Meagan clasped her arms around his neck and let the heady magic of his lips sweep away all caution. She caressed the muscles in his shoulders which were easily discernible even through his coat and shirt, reveling in the feel of his hard masculine body pressed to hers.

  "I brought your trunk," he whispered, shattering her illusion.

  Meagan shifted her hands to his shoulders in an attempt to separate their bodies.

  "You have taken advantage of me," she protested without conviction. "I thought you were a dream."

  "Why, thank you," Lion grinned. "To be honest, you looked rather like a dream yourself, minx." Tenderly he traced her shell-pink cheek with the edge of his thumb.

  "Well," she said, trying to sound brisk while averting her eyes, "I appreciate this late-night delivery. I do need my clothing, for I haven't had a chance to wash that single dress yet. All
I had space to bring were my fresh aprons—"

  "That reminds me," he interrupted, "I want you to get rid of those awful black dresses. Not that you don't look charming in them, but I do think we might find a more cheerful color. I'll choose your new uniform."

  "I can imagine," Meagan muttered dryly, and Lion laughed.

  "I don't mean to change the subject, but I realized partway through the play's first act tonight that I never did hear what the important matter was that you wished to speak to me about. Will you discuss it now, or are you still angry?"

  "I—" her voice faltered and, still sleepy, she let herself smile. "I should be. Deep inside, I always am, but—"

  "You are unable to resist such a charming rogue."

  "You flatter yourself."

  "Before I suffer a deeper wound from your sharp tongue, let me inquire again what it was that you wished to discuss. Our conversations seem to be plagued by digression."

  Meagan wrinkled her nose, aware for the first time of the alcoholic smell which mingled with those other body scents she loved so well. Peering more closely at his face, she discerned subtle changes in his expression; the way his usually firm mouth seemed to tilt slightly at one side, the brash gleam in his eyes, replacing their generally keen watchfulness.

  "Lion, are you intoxicated?"

  He grinned, pretended to be offended, brows flying up as he clasped a protective hand to his white shirtfront.

  Meagan noticed then that his cravat was slightly askew, an unusual bit of negligence which convinced her more surely than any other piece of evidence. Lion's attire was never any less splendid than the body it covered; even his most casual riding clothes were perfectly tailored, spotless, and unwrinkled.

  "No wonder you had the effrontery to burst in here in the middle of the night!" she scolded.

  Lion smiled mischievously, but then his expression grew more serious. "I drank tonight to blunt the pain, attempting to banish your face from my mind. The ale helped for a time, but now its only effect seems to be a lessening of all the checks I have kept on my heart and my tongue. I feel as compelled to reveal my emotions to you as you were earlier tonight."

  "Perhaps you should leave then," she suggested rather weakly. "I wouldn't want you to say anything that you might regret tomorrow."

  "If I were sober," he replied with an ironic smile, "I expect I would leave. No doubt I would have overcome the temptation to come in here at all. But, I am sick to death of being strong-willed. I am sick of the role I must play with Priscilla, sick of the deceit, and of forcing myself to recall my ambition whenever I would listen to my heart." A jaw muscle quirked. "You doubt that I have one? Well you might. But I do. I shall tell you something now and I suggest that you listen carefully, for when sobriety returns, so shall my guard." He picked up one of her hands, examining it tenderly. Against his own, so dark and lean, it seemed as small as a child's.

  "Soft, sweet..." he mused, "and as unique as its owner. There could not be another serving-girl alive with delicate, fine hands like these." Looking up, he met her eyes squarely, but the firelight camouflaged her guilty blush.

  "Meagan, you imagine that I have used you—as a plaything, a diversion. You think that I toy with your feelings because of the amusement you give me. I am telling you now that you are wrong. My feelings for you are anything but casual though I have tried to convince myself that they were just that. On the occasions when I have made overtures toward you, it was not for the sake of diversion but because my mind could no longer master my heart."

  She saw the line of his jaw harden as his eyes mellowed with poignant longing. It was impossible for her to breathe; she could not have made even a finger move, and under the cambric of her bedgown, the downy hairs along her arms stood up.

  "If only we had met earlier, before I laid these plans for my life! If I had known you even a season ago, I'd have married you in an instant." Firelight played across his face, and Meagan shivered deliciously at the sight of his rakish grin. "You see, that's the rub. All my life I have thrown caution to the wind. I've been a devil. Then, for once, I found something that I wanted but could not have. Something of serious substance—a seat in Congress. Can you not understand the forces that pull me from you? That day I arrived at West Hills, I was alive with my dream, excited at the prospect of working toward it. A loveless marriage? It was only a step toward that goal. I was happy to have found some meaningful purpose in life beyond adventure and wealth. I'm no longer young—"

  "Oh, Lion!" Meagan could not suppress a delicate snort of laughter.

  "I'm not!" he argued. "What do you know about it? What are you? Eighteen?"

  "My age is not the issue. You are croaking about your own as if you were in your dotage! Look at this!" Her hand slid under his open jacket as she sought to squeeze his narrow waist. There was not an inch of spare flesh; Meagan could not even pinch him.

  "Or this!" Her fingers moved to his arm, which bridged her hips, bracing him against the bed. Under the concealment of his beige coat, she felt the pattern of steely muscles and glanced at him triumphantly. Lion smiled down at her in the secret way that made her feel so uncomfortable.

  "Or this!" Her voice faltered a bit. She had thought to save her best point for last, but as she reached out to touch that magnificent face, her nerve seemed to crumble. Her fingers trembled against his cheekbone. One of Lion's dark hands came up slowly to cover her own, flattening it along his cheek and temple.

  "Are you trying to tell me that you like the way I look, or is this inventory of my body being done from a purely objective point of view?"

  Meagan blushed so profusely that no amount of flame-hued firelight could disguise it. "I—I—"

  "Let me help." The polite tone of his voice mocked her gently. "I believe I was opening my heart to you; baring my soul, if you will. My guess is that you felt the situation growing rather sticky, particularly as you saw the conversation on the point of being tossed to you, so you grasped at this straw of a distraction—the issue of my age." Lion's eyes began to sparkle now, and his mouth curved up slightly. "With your typical enthusiasm you set off to change the subject completely, never realizing—until it was too late—that you were only digging yourself in deeper!"

  He allowed himself a soft chuckle as Meagan's face grew hotter. Embarrassment was joined by indignant outrage and she tried to pull her hand from its warm nest, wishing she had the nerve to hit him.

  "If you were sober, I should slap you!"

  Lion startled her by laughing and bending to enfold her in his arms. "You are very considerate of my infirmity," he murmured against her ear, obviously highly amused. "It is kind of you not to take advantage of a man in my weakened condition!"

  Meagan struggled like a kitten in its first bath; she was at once vehement and ineffectual. She had the feeling that Lion could have held her there with one hand if he so desired.

  It was perfectly obvious to her what was in his mind and she rebelled at his self-assurance. I will not be aware of his body! she repeated silently, while continuing to squirm against all those warm muscles.

  Lion waited for her to quiet, but when she showed no signs of giving up, he decided to spare her the discomfort of exhausting herself. Smiling at her piquant face, he bent his head and found her lips.

  Meagan wanted to shout, Cheat! but instead she sobbed deep in her throat, pressing her body closer to his, feeling him harden against her even through the quilts as she parted her lips to answer his kiss.

  Then Lion's warm breath and firm mouth sent shivers all along her nerve endings as he alternately devoured her and savored her. It was as though he lost control and couldn't get enough fast enough, and then he would remember how long he had yearned to hold her and kiss her so and would wish to make the interlude last forever.

  Meagan was born and died a hundred times under the sensuous magic of his mouth, hands, entire body. She pressed hot, sweet kisses over his chiseled face as he flicked open the buttons down the front of her gown and gently sl
id it off.

  To Lion, she was as perfect, as soft and gracefully made as the cream and pink roses in the Binghams' greenery. With every kiss or caress, he felt her silky skin prickle, then warmth would blossom where he had touched and he knew that she responded to him as sentiently as he did to her.

  Even in the heat of passion, Lion perceived that Meagan had abandoned restraints, but not permanently. She was indulging them both—because of the things he had said to her? Did she understand, even if she would not say so? He believed, as her lips clung to his, prolonging a kiss even when he would have broken it, that she did. When he was naked beside her, she welcomed him with such uninhibited joy that he knew she loved him. Loved him in spite of what he had done to her.

  Neither of them could have spoken aloud, but on through the night, Lion and Meagan communicated, again and again, in that most universally eloquent of languages.

  * * *

  Soft, apricot light filtered through the muslin bed-hangings and Meagan opened her eyes to the first blush of dawn. Oh, she thought contentedly, this is paradise.

  The bed was warm and rumpled, embracing them as they embraced one another. Lion lay almost on his back, one lean-muscled arm holding her against his hard chest while the other fit itself to the curve of her hip. Their legs were entwined, so totally different in every respect that Meagan found herself staring at them. How wondrous is this man-woman phenomenon, she mused. Her eyes turned up to drink in the sight of Lion's face, splendid yet so vulnerable that her heart ached with love.

  In all the plans that she had laid the previous night before sleep overtook her, Meagan had not allowed for this contingency. Now as she tried to memorize every detail of his face, she wondered if those glorious hours she had just spent with Lion would prove to be a fatal mistake. It was difficult to concentrate with her body molded to his, but she knew that she must reassess her strategy before he awoke.