Morgan held up a hand. “I’ll write to my mother to ask her opinion and to ask her to send an upholsterer with a selection of covers. Then we will choose.”
“Very well. That will be best. But now I must take Jeremy out for the drive I promised him. We will see you at dinner.”
Morgan watched the alluring sway of her hips as her figure retreated down the hall, considering the unfathomable ways of women.
Somehow, he had just badgered her into doing the very thing he had emphatically forbidden her to do only a few days before.
Lalia lay in the darkness, trying to determine what had wakened her. Something nagged at her senses. What was it? Something familiar, something disturbing. She sat up and gazed around the room. Moonlight spilling through the open window revealed nothing unusual. She slipped from the bed and made her way to the casement.
Then she smelled it.
Cigar smoke. Drifting in from outside. His cigar smoke. Lalia jerked back from the window, momentarily confused. When had her husband come? No… No, it couldn’t be. Her husband was dead. He could not… Lalia shuddered as a cool breeze wafted another whiff of burning tobacco into the room.
It must be someone else. Perhaps Lord Carrick… But he never smoked cigars. Someone should go and see who was prowling about. But not his lordship. Lalia had no intention whatsoever of wakening him at this time of night. Their previous late-night hallway encounter had clearly demonstrated the unwisdom of that course of action. She would go look herself.
She pulled on her wrapper and glided silently down the stairs. Creeping to the door that gave onto the lawn between the house and the seaside wall, Lalia unlocked it, eased it open and put her head out. No one in sight. She searched the darkness with straining eyes. Not so much as a flicker of movement. The odor had faded. She could not detect a trace of it now. It must have been her imagination.
She stepped fully onto the lawn, letting the door swing to behind her with a light thump. Lalia strolled around the lawn for a few minutes, enjoying the quiet rushing sound of the sea and the soft light of the waxing moon. She considered going to her room in the tower, but decided she was too sleepy, so she let herself back in through the door. She stepped quietly into the corridor.
And someone seized her and flung her up against the wall.
Chapter Seven
“What the devil!” Morgan registered the size of the body a heartbeat after he grasped it, but not in time to prevent the bone-jarring collision with the stone wall. He heard a distinctly feminine gasp for air. “Lalia?” Confound the woman! Couldn’t she stay in her bed at night? He lowered the pistol in his other hand and reached out to support her. “Are you all right? I heard the door close. What were you doing out there?”
“I—I smelled something.”
“You smelled something? I see.” Morgan sighed, leaned one arm on the wall beside her, and asked resignedly, “And just what did you smell?”
“Cigar smoke. You don’t use them do you?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t care for tobacco.” Her eyes, luminous in the moonlight filtering in through the door, gazed up at him, wide with…something. Fear? If she was afraid, why was she down here? “If you thought someone was lurking about, why did you come down alone? Why didn’t you wake me?”
Lalia opened her mouth to reply, but Morgan stopped her with a gesture and a grimace. “Never mind. I know the answer to that. But if I promise to behave myself, will you promise to stop making these midnight forays by yourself? You have but to tap on the connecting door. What if there had been an intruder?”
“I didn’t think…” Lalia shrugged and studied her bare toes. “It was the sort he always smoked.”
“Ah. Another visitation. Hayne?”
“Don’t say it!” She put her hand to her mouth. “Don’t say his name.”
“Why mustn’t I say it?”
“To speak the name of the dead calls the attention of their muló to you.”
“Lalia.” Morgan made his voice stern. “What is this nonsense? Surely you don’t believe that.”
A hint of a smile played around her lips. “Not in the daylight.”
“There is nothing to be afraid of. There is no one here.” He brushed her flowing hair out of her face. “Except me.” Woefully in danger of breaking the promise he had just made, he let his hand linger against her cheek, looking intently into her face. He was saved from this perfidy by a sound at the end of the hallway.
He spun around, pistol once more ready. Lalia’s grandmother stood at the end of the hall, watching silently. Morgan hastily lowered his weapon and stepped away from Lalia. She touched a finger to her lips quickly, but briefly, and there was no mistaking her message.
“Good evening, Mrs. Veshengo. I’m sorry to have disturbed you. I thought I heard something sinister, but it was only Mrs. Hayne.”
“Daj, you should not be up. The air is too cool.” Lalia hurried toward the older woman. “Let me help you back to bed.”
Morgan realized that Mrs. Veshengo was leaning heavily on a stout walking stick. Lalia took her arm and guided her labored steps back toward the housekeeper’s suite. He could hear the murmur of conversation between them, but the old woman still had not spoken a word to him. How had she heard them from her room? Her hearing could hardly be that acute at her age.
But she could probably still wield that cane to good effect.
No, it was a good thing for him he had moved away from Lalia when he did. He might have had some very embarrassing bruises to show for his trouble.
It was a glorious day. Birds wheeled in a blindingly blue sky, and Lalia could hear their cheerful calls as they tended their nests in the adjacent trees. In the sunshine her fears of the night before seemed distant and foolish. Probably she had been dreaming again, or possibly the cigar smoke had been carried by the wind from a passing ship. Unlikely, but…
Lalia sat with Jeremy on the path above the cove, watching the breakers of the high tide pound the lower trail and the beach. He had wanted to go down to play, but the water was much too high. The boy never seemed to get enough of the ocean. They settled for watching the action of the waves, a pastime she enjoyed as much as searching for shells. Jeremy, however, was finding the entertainment a bit slow.
As Lalia was wondering what to do with him for the rest of the morning, she heard a step above her and turned to find Lord Carrick on the path behind her. He was dressed for driving in buckskins, top boots and a fashionable black coat, his dark curls carefully arranged in a dashing style. Lalia was suddenly very aware of her faded dress and kerchief. And her braided hair.
“Did you pass the rest of the night undisturbed?” He looked down at her and smiled.
“Yes, although it took me a long time to fall asleep again.”
“What did your grandmother have to say?”
“Nothing to the purpose. I didn’t tell her about the smoke.” Lalia shrugged. “I knew all too well what she would say.”
“And you do not want to hear it.” He watched her solemnly for a moment. “It frightens you.”
Lalia rubbed at arms that had suddenly developed gooseflesh, avoiding his gaze. “But she knows, nonetheless.” She stared off at the sea. “She always knows.”
His lordship settled on a rock outcropping beside her, and Jeremy immediately jumped up and ran to him. “Where are you going, Uncle Morgan?”
Morgan put his arm around the boy. “I came to see if you and Miss Lalia would care to go for a drive to the village.”
“In your curricle? Hooray!” At his uncle’s nod, Jeremy bounced up and down. “Come on, Miss Lalia.”
“That’s a fine idea.” Lalia heaved a sigh of relief. That should keep young Jeremy nicely occupied until afternoon. She stood and brushed off her skirts. “You’ll enjoy that, but I think I better go back to the house.” What she would do with herself once there was another question. There was always mending, of course. She sighed.
“Oh, no. You must come with us. Mustn’t
she, Uncle Morgan?”
“Of course.” Lord Carrick took her elbow and helped her over a rough spot. “She is definitely to accompany us.”
“Thank you, my lord, but I think not. I am not dressed for going out.” Nor do I have anything in which to dress to go out. She left the thought unspoken and smiled at the two gentlemen. They looked very much alike, she reflected, although Jeremy’s coloring was a bit lighter, his hair more auburn. A very handsome pair. She certainly could not equal their smart appearance. “I best remain here.”
“I won’t hear of it.” His lordship firmly guided her in the direction of the waiting curricle. “I have already told my cook that we will not require a luncheon. You might starve.”
Lalia laughed. “I imagine I might avoid that fate. He is always cooking something.” She pulled back against his tug. “I surely can’t appear in the tavern looking like this.”
“We’ll take the private parlor.” He took her by the waist and lifted.
Obliged to brace herself on his shoulders, Lalia found herself sitting on the carriage seat. Jeremy scrambled up on the far side, and Carrick climbed in behind her, sandwiching her between them. He signaled his groom to step away from the horses’ heads, and soon they were tooling down the road toward the village, Lalia their not altogether reluctant captive. A ride in a sporting carriage with a stylish gentleman was infinitely more appealing than mending her second-best bonnet.
“It’s kind of you to treat us, as busy as you are.” She smiled up at him. “I fear Jeremy is often bored. He needs a playmate, and I have never known much about playing.”
“Something we must remedy.” He returned her smile. “All work and no play makes Jill a dull girl.”
Lalia laughed. “Alas, I’m afraid that is true. I have become a very dull girl.”
“I don’t find you so at all.” There was something else in his glance now. “And I’ve heard no complaints from Jeremy.”
“He is a very good-natured child. Fortunately, he seems to enjoy helping me in the garden, although he is very firm that he does not want to be a farmer. But with the new staff, we…”
An oath suddenly escaped his lordship as they rounded a curve only to be required to scrape the hedge to avoid another open carriage being driven in the opposite direction at a gallop. Lalia flung an arm around Jeremy, clutching Carrick’s coat with her other hand.
He brought the curricle back to the road without mishap and glanced over his shoulder in annoyance. “If I am not mistaken, that was a relative of yours.”
“Roger?” Lalia released her grip and looked back in the direction of the disappearing vehicle.
“I told you he called on me.”
“Yes, and I find it very strange that he came to the house. He never does so. Nor does he usually stay in Cornwall this long.”
“I’d like to know why he is doing it now. He asked to borrow money that day, but… I had the impression that was not his real purpose.”
Lalia wrinkled her nose. Her half brother was as much an embarrassment to her as she was to him.
The men in the smoky taproom turned to stare as the three of them came through the door. Lalia resisted the temptation to smooth her skirts and hair. These people were nothing to her, she told herself. She turned her back to them and smiled serenely at the burly landlord. He rewarded her with a surly scowl.
Lord Carrick fixed the man with a cold look. “We require your private parlor, if you please, immediately.”
Killigrew nodded brusquely and turned to lead the way. At that moment one of the younger men behind her guffawed and said something to his companion that Lalia was just as glad she did not understand. The only words she could discern were “…his bed now.” Hot blood flooded her cheeks.
His lordship turned slowly and stared. The man grinned insolently for the space of three heartbeats, but the grin began to fade when Lord Carrick took a step toward him. Carrick continued to regard the offender silently, one eyebrow raised. The man squirmed a bit but did not turn away until his lordship spoke softly, his voice silky. “I beg your pardon. I am sure I did not understand what you just said. Would you care to repeat it?”
The man shook his head sheepishly. “Nay, m’lord. It was nothing.”
“Then I may assume that you will not repeat it again?”
“Nay, m’lord.”
The man turned back to his companion awkwardly, and Carrick followed Lalia and Jeremy into the parlor. He held her chair and squeezed her shoulder. “Pay no attention to the likes of him.”
“Thank you. I appreciate your gallantry, Lord Carrick, but I should not have come.”
“Morgan.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Please call me Morgan, and why should you not have come?” He pulled out a chair and sat.
“I avoid public places.” Lalia studied the hands clasped tightly together in her lap. “My husband was not well thought of in this area, nor is Roger. And of course, they all know that my grandmother is…” She jumped as his open hand cracked down against the table.
“Enough. You are the daughter of a gentleman and an honorable woman who has done far better than most could have done in such difficult circumstances. You have no reason to hang your head, nor to avoid the public—except to protect yourself from boors of that sort.” He leaned back in his chair and frowned. “But forgive me for not realizing what you have been putting up with. And believe me—I will personally see to it that you will not have to put up with it in the future.”
Lalia’s heart began to warm, the glow spreading out to her very toes and fingers.
“Thank you, Morgan.”
Ordinarily, Morgan was no more given to introspection than the next man. However, it seemed that for the last several days he had spent a great deal of time occupied with that exercise. His desires and his principles were becoming more and more at odds, and he could no longer justify his actions as a part of his revenge. Hayne was dead. Morgan could no longer hurt him.
But Lalia was wrong about one thing. She believed that her husband had not cared that she might be taken by another man. He had even offered her to his cronies. But Morgan knew that Hayne would have cared, and cared a great deal if that man was Morgan Pendaris. Hayne’s enmity had been as strong as his own. Perhaps his ghost was jealous of Morgan’s intentions toward his widow.
Morgan heartily hoped so.
But now he had just vowed that he would put a stop to the slurs that Lalia had been forced to endure. How could he stop them if, in fact, the slur that they had overheard in the tavern described exactly that which he was attempting to achieve? All would be well until his mother and Jeremy’s tutor arrived in the fall. Lalia had a legitimate reason to remain at Merdinn. At that point, however, he would have to consider impeccably discreet arrangements for Lalia Hayne.
And some arrangement for her suspicious grandmother.
Lost in his contemplation, Morgan stepped through the door of the drawing room and almost fell on his face. Something small and gray tangled itself in his feet, and only by grabbing the door frame did he keep himself from sprawling headlong. Searching the shadowy room for the cause of his trouble, he at last discovered a very small tabby kitten peering at him from under the dust covers that shrouded the sofa.
“So. What the devil are you doing in here?” Morgan knelt and reached for the tiny cat. It scrunched backward out of range. Morgan leaned his shoulder against the seat, groping with one arm into the space underneath.
“Ow!” Sharp little teeth sank into his hand, and he jerked back, banging his shoulder against the frame of the sofa.
“Damnation!”
“My lord! What happened?” Morgan stood, rubbing his shoulder as Lalia dashed in, casting furtive glances around the room.
“I suspect that what you are looking for is under the sofa.” He shoved a booted toe into the space and sucked the spot on his hand where the kitten had bitten him. “It retreated there after almost causing me to break my neck. That was before i
t bit me, of course.”
“Oh, dear.” Lalia put fingertips to her lips. He couldn’t tell if she was hiding chagrin or a laugh. “I’m so sorry, my lord. I didn’t think you were using this room.”
“I’m not using it, but I wish to use it, and I intend to have the workmen up here next. It is time we had a presentable drawing room. I suggest you take the livestock to the stable.”
“I can’t. You see her mother is lost and…”
“And no doubt she will starve without your aid. Another hungry mouth.” Morgan held up a hand to halt explanations. “Very well. Take her to the kitchen.”
“Oh, my. You don’t understand. If Daj saw her she would be going about the house purifying everything. The Roma do not approve of pets in the house.”
“One matter in which Mrs. Veshengo and I are in complete agreement.”
“Did you find her?” Morgan’s nephew barreled into the room, coming to a screeching halt when he saw his uncle. “Oh, good morning, Uncle Morgan.” Jeremy sidled up to Lalia and spoke out of the side of his mouth. “I told you, you mustn’t let him see…”
“You are too late. I have already seen. The object of your concern is under the sofa.”
“Oh. Well, then…” Jeremy lowered himself to his stomach and slithered under the divan, emerging after a few moments with the kitten cradled in his arms. “I know you don’t like animals in the house, but you see, Uncle Morgan, she is too little to live in the barn and…”
“So I understand. But now that the two of you have the matter in hand, will you please find a location for the orphan that is out of both my and Mrs. Veshengo’s sight?”
“Her name is Smoke.” Jeremy carefully rubbed the top of the small head with one finger.
Morgan sighed. Something told him that once a pet had a name, it would be very difficult to eject. “Just keep her out of the way of the workers, and, Jeremy…”
“Sir?”
A Dangerous Seduction Page 8