“So you came to look at the monster.”
Morganna hardly recognized his voice; it was gruff and raspy—no doubt the lingering effects of the ventilator tubes. “No. I came to visit a friend.”
“Right.” Sarcasm dripped from the word. “So Sloan told you I was better, did he? Easy for him to say. He’s not lying here in splints and casts and bandages, not even able to move to a more comfortable position.”
She leaned on the bed rail. “You must be very angry and resentful right now.”
He laughed bitterly. “Don’t bother trying to sound understanding, Morganna. I’ve had just about as much sympathy as I can take from people who don’t have a clue what they’re talking about, because they’ve never looked at the world from this side.”
“We’ll do everything we can to get you back to normal, Joel.”
“Normal? You think I’ll ever be normal again?” He began to swear.
A voice from the doorway cut across the stream of words. “I’d say your visit hasn’t exactly been soothing, Mrs. Montgomery.” The fire investigator came to the opposite side of the bed.
Morganna’s fingers clenched on the rail. “I haven’t been deliberately upsetting him, if that’s what you think.”
“It usually doesn’t take much to set off a burn victim, to remind him that he innocently made just one wrong move and now his life will never be the same.” He tipped his head to one side and looked closely at her. “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Not at all,” Morganna said sweetly, “as long as you don’t mind if I don’t answer without consulting an attorney first.”
The investigator laughed. “Oh, it’s nothing like that. I just wanted to hear your description of your husband’s office. You did visit your husband’s office at one time or another, didn’t you?”
“Once in a while,” Morganna said warily. “Why do you want my opinion?”
“The woman’s point of view. Ask a man what’s in a room and he’ll say, ‘Just the usual stuff.’ No details. But women—now women notice things.”
“I hadn’t been in the factory for a couple of weeks at least. So anything I remember isn’t necessarily the way it was the night of the fire.”
The investigator nodded. “I’ll consider what you tell me to be only background information. You’re just helping me to visualize things.”
Morganna hesitated, but she couldn’t see any reason not to answer. “It was a pretty basic office. From the doorway, you looked straight across to the window over the factory floor. The desk was in between, with one end pushed up against the wall on the left side. Sloan liked to sit with his back to the window, because that way he could just stand up and see what was going on down on the production line. There were a couple of chairs between the doorway and the desk, for visitors.”
“Anything else in the office?”
Joel muttered, “There was a row of little furniture under the window.”
Morganna was startled. He’d gone so silent that she thought he’d drifted off to sleep once more.
“Little furniture?” the investigator asked doubtfully. “Like what?”
“I’d forgotten about that,” Morganna said. “The pieces were sales samples from decades ago. It was real furniture, built the same way the full-size pieces were. But these were made small enough to haul around to show to the customer.”
The investigator looked at Joel. “Were the pieces there the night of the fire?”
Joel didn’t open his eyes. “I can’t remember any more today than I did yesterday.”
“Too bad.” The investigator looked at Morganna. “Anything else?”
Morganna racked her brain. “Nothing of special value, if that’s what you’re looking for.”
“I’m not looking for anything in particular. Only the truth.” The investigator turned toward the door. “Thanks, Mrs. Montgomery. Joel, if you remember anything, have the nurses give me a call.”
Morganna put out a hand. “Just a minute, please. About those alibis…You’re absolutely certain they’re solid?”
“Absolutely, Mrs. Montgomery.” The investigator went out.
Morganna wondered if it was her imagination, or if there really had been a tinge of sympathy in his eyes.
Morganna’s hands trembled as she took her tiara from its storage box and nestled it carefully into her upswept hair. The crystals lining the elegant silvery curves caught the light and sparkled as convincingly as the diamonds they imitated. She took as deep a breath as she could manage and rose, shaking out the full skirt of the fuchsia ball gown.
Abigail was already in the drawing room, wearing peach crepe and the newly repaired tiara which was a remembrance of her own reign as queen of the Carousel Ball thirty years before. But Morganna had eyes only for Sloan, standing in front of the fire, tall and lean and incredibly good-looking in his classic black tuxedo.
His gaze swept over her and then shifted for an instant to the portrait above the mantel. She wondered what differences he saw between the real woman and the painted one. Did the strain she was feeling show, despite her best efforts?
Apparently it did, for he handed her a champagne flute and said, “I know that seeing Joel this afternoon upset you, Morganna. I feel guilty every time I leave his room, because he’s stuck there. But it won’t do him any good for you to let it ruin your special evening.”
She appreciated the sentiment, even though he was wrong about the cause of her distress. It wouldn’t be fair not to warn him, she knew—but how? She’d been trying to find the right words all the time she was dressing. “Sloan, about this evening—”
Selby announced Emily and Jack Hamilton and ushered them into the drawing room.
“It’s freezing outside,” Jack said.
Sloan nodded. “There’s a storm hanging over the lake. It’s supposed to snow by morning.”
“What was Millicent thinking of to allow a little thing like weather to threaten the Carousel Ball?” Emily murmured. She accepted a glass of champagne and exclaimed over Morganna’s gown. “It was a good choice not to wear a heavy necklace and bracelet with that dress, Morganna. Diamonds would have overwhelmed the effects of the tiara.”
I’ll have to remember that line, Morganna thought. It was as good an explanation as any for her absent jewelry.
Jack was right; the air was frigid for October. It made a handy excuse for Morganna; when the limousine dropped them off at the main entrance of Lakemont’s premier hotel, she pulled her velvet cloak as close as she could and almost leaned against Sloan, not even waiting for him to offer his arm. “I need a minute with you,” she whispered.
“Darling, I’m thrilled, but do you really think that right now is—”
“Dammit, Sloan, just listen to me. Millicent Pendergast has decided you’re guilty, and she is counting on you not showing up tonight.”
His voice was chilly. “Nice of you to warn me.”
“I was afraid, if I told you before, you might decide not to come,” Morganna admitted.
“Do you really think I’m a coward?” His eyes had turned to ice. “I’m not going to run, Morganna, because I haven’t done anything to be ashamed of. Or did you think I’m just too stupid to understand that I have to face down the rumors now or else I’ll never overcome the suspicion?”
She was too stunned to answer, and before she found her voice Sloan had walked on toward the ballroom.
Morganna spent the half hour until the official start of the Carousel Ball constructing mental pictures of what might have gone on in the anteroom where Millicent Pendergast always gave last-minute instructions to her crew of hosts. None of the scenarios in her head were pretty. But Sloan didn’t come back out—and when the lights dimmed, the orchestra struck up the first march, and the spotlights began to circle, he was part of the long parade, escorting a white-gowned debutante.
She released a long breath that she didn’t know she’d been holding. “Have a little faith,” Abigail said. “And smile.”
>
Morganna applied that advice midway through the evening when, with his duty done, Sloan came looking for her, finding her standing at the edge of the dance floor talking to a man she’d known for years. To her annoyance, when she gave him her most brilliant smile, Sloan glanced over his shoulder as if to see who she’d been looking at.
“Darling,” she cooed when he came up to them. She watched as wariness sprang into his eyes, and wanted to kick him. “Are you finally free? I’ve been standing here playing wallflower all evening, desperately regretting that I let Millicent talk me into sharing you with all the debutantes.”
The man with her laughed. “Don’t stretch it, Morganna. You’ve turned down three invitations to dance while I’ve been standing here with you.”
“I hope the long, deprived evening hasn’t made you forget how to waltz,” Sloan said. He offered his hand. Morganna set her champagne glass aside, waved an apology to the man she’d been talking to and let Sloan draw her toward the dance floor.
“Sorry to drag you away,” he said. “If you were turning down dances to stand there with him, he must be something special.”
“Oh, very special. In fact, he was the biggest bore of my debutante year, and time hasn’t improved him in the least—so I was very pleased to see you coming.” That ought to put him in his place, she thought.
Sloan didn’t answer.
She felt the pangs of guilt begin to gnaw; it hadn’t been necessary to insult him. “If you’re tired of dancing, Sloan, we could go look at the auction items.”
“Oh, no. If I have to face down this crowd, so do you.” He drew her a little closer. “You might try to look as if you’re having a good time.”
“Would you prefer me to look excited, delighted, or love-struck?”
“How about all three in turn?”
Morganna did her best. But in fact, what she couldn’t help but feel was sad—for the evening could have been such a precious memory, if only they had not been pretending. To have danced the night away with the man she loved…
Well, she told herself, that was exactly what she was doing. The fact that Sloan neither knew nor cared how she felt was beside the point. So was the fact that he didn’t return the feeling. She could still have a memory to treasure.
Morganna was almost sorry when late in the evening the orchestra took a break. The crowd filtered onto the mezzanine to admire the items that had been donated for the silent auction.
Automatically she sought out the room box she’d donated, and noted that it was drawing considerable attention. A small man with thick glasses was inspecting it at great length and in pinpoint detail, much to the disgust of a group standing behind him, prevented from seeing anything at all.
“I wonder if Emily paid him to block the view,” Morganna murmured. “If nobody else can get a good look, she might not have to bid as high.”
A wicked twinkle sprang to life in Sloan’s eyes. “Emily wouldn’t care. Now if you had suggested that Jack might have hired him to hold the price down—”
She laughed in utter relief. At least he wasn’t angry with her now.
She couldn’t—she wouldn’t—ask for anything more.
The snow must have started right after they went into the ballroom, for they came outside in the small hours of the morning to an icy-cold and surreal landscape. The streets were still reasonably clear, but wet, heavy snow had piled high on trees and shrubs, bending them down till branches rested against the ground.
Jack threw himself back against the seat of the limousine and chortled.
“I can’t believe you’re laughing after what that room box cost you,” Sloan said.
Jack waved a hand. “Oh, that’s nothing. I knew the Carousel Ball would be more fun if you were there. I just didn’t know how much more fun. It was great, Morganna. You’d have loved it. I thought I was going to fall down laughing when Sloan burst into that side room and kissed Millie’s hand.”
Morganna’s eyebrows soared. “You charmed Millicent Pendergast?”
“Actually, she was a long way from being charmed,” Jack explained. “She was furious—but helpless when confronted by a perfect gentleman who insisted on acting as if he adored her.”
“But I doubt she’ll be inviting me next year,” Sloan said. “We weren’t supposed to get this much snow. And it’s heavy—look at the pine trees sagging under the weight of it.”
The limousine pulled into Pemberton Place and stopped in front of the Georgian mansion. “Thanks for the lift,” Sloan said. “Unless you’d like to come in?”
“Oh, no,” Jack said easily. “Not that we wouldn’t enjoy being snowbound with you, but if the electricity’s going to go out, I’d rather be at home.” He gave a wicked chuckle. “With my wife, who owes me for a very expensive room box.”
As soon as they were inside, Abigail said good-night. Sloan kissed her cheek and watched her climb the steps.
Morganna carefully wiped snow off her shoes and tried not to mind that the good-night gesture she received would not be as tender. “I’m going up, too,” she said.
“Morganna,” Sloan said softly. “We need to talk.”
Feeling the weight of regret settle back on her shoulders, Morganna paused in the center of the hall, not turning to face him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about Millie Pendergast earlier. And I’d like to make it clear that it never crossed my mind that you might be a coward.”
“I wasn’t asking for an apology. I was trying to make one. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” He moved closer, till she could feel his warmth. “You didn’t have to do that, Morganna. You could have let me walk into the trap, and enjoyed watching me be embarrassed. Why didn’t you?”
She shook her head a little. She should be glad that he didn’t understand all the reasons she’d done it. “You’re my husband.”
“I wish that was really true.” The rasp of the words sounded as if his throat hurt.
Morganna shot a startled look at him.
“Oh, it’s legal,” he said. “I’d just like it to be more than legal. I need you, Morganna.”
Her eyes filled with tears. Is it me you need, she wanted to ask, or the Carousel Ball queen? But what was the point in asking, when he might not even understand the difference? If she tried to explain, she’d certainly give herself away. And that she could not bear.
As if he had heard the unspoken question, he whispered, “I need you, Morganna. Just you.”
She looked up at him for what seemed forever, her gaze searching his face. Then she gave a little sigh and took a half-step toward him. Slowly and carefully, she laid her palms flat against his shoulders. “In that case, Sloan…” Her voice was hardly more than a breath. “Let’s make it more than legal.”
CHAPTER NINE
IT HADN’T been so difficult after all, Morganna thought with a tinge of surprise, to reach out to him. All this time she had been jealous of her mother’s ease with Sloan, but when she had finally stepped across the invisible line she had drawn between them, it had been almost easy. And it felt so right, to stand within the circle of his arms and feel the beat of his heart under the palms of her hands.
I need you, he had said.
It wasn’t everything Morganna wanted. But it was more than she had ever expected to hear him say, or even dared to hope for.
The man she had married hadn’t needed anyone at all. He had chosen the wife he wanted and single-mindedly gone after her—but that was an entirely different thing. No matter how much he had wanted Morganna, she’d never been under any illusion that his life would have been ruined if she had turned down his offer. He would merely have moved on in his search for a trophy to the next suitable candidate.
No, he hadn’t needed her then. But now…
The fire had changed him. It had burned away some of the self-assurance that he had used almost as armor to hold everyone around him at an emotional distance. The loss of his business had left him vulnerable—and it had made him far more lovable.
/> There had always been a basic inequality in their marriage—because he had rescued her, and therefore she owed him. Sloan had never put it in those terms, of course, for he had never been crude. But Morganna had always been painfully aware that at any time he could reject her as easily as he had selected her in the first place.
In a feeble attempt to protect her emotions, she had closed herself off just as effectively as he had. For a long while she had refused to admit that she loved him, because caring for him would only increase the imbalance.
But things had changed. More important, Sloan had changed. And if he needed her, then perhaps they could build a new kind of relationship, one with more symmetry between the partners. It wasn’t the romantically loving marriage that she dreamed of, but for right now, the fact that he needed her was enough. And perhaps someday it could be more than that….
Don’t get your hopes up, she told herself.
Before she could lose herself in dreams of what she’d like, Morganna went after what she could have. She let her hands slip from his shoulders to the back of his head, and drew his mouth down to hers.
His lips were gentle, asking rather than demanding, persuading rather than forcing. But under the softness she could taste a hunger in him that both delighted and frightened her.
She was delighted because the sensation was confirmation that making love to her was not the casual act she had once feared it would be for him. And she was frightened because she sensed that, unleashed, the hunger could consume them both.
Sloan held her away from him and looked down into her face. “I have wanted you for so very long, Morganna.” Then he kissed her again and everything else melted out of her mind.
She hardly noticed climbing the stairs beside him. She barely remembered him helping to remove her tiara after she somehow got it tangled in her hair.
But she would never forget the wonder in her heart and the brilliance in his eyes as she gave herself up to him. Or the way he held her, afterward, as if he would never let her go.
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