“Keep her out of my way.”
Lalia had hoped that Morgan’s eviction of the Reverend Nascawan might be permanent. Unhappily, that did not prove to be the case. Two days later he not only appeared in the entry hall as she had the ill fortune to be passing that way, he had obviously let himself in the front door. Apparently, Watford had recently been effective in excluding him when he knocked. He bore the inevitable cloth bundle, this time all black.
“Ah, Mrs. Hayne. I am indeed fortunate today.” Lalia backed away from him a bit. He favored her with a mournful look, taking immediate steps to prevent her escape by deftly maneuvering her into the angle of the corridor formed by the wall of the great hall. His expression became distinctly reproving. “I have been attempting to bring these to you for several days. I know that you will wish to be appropriately attired after the death of your husband.”
Lalia took the clothes from him, willing herself not to wince at the chill of his fingers against hers. At least this parcel wasn’t wet, even if it smelled no better than the last lot. “That was very thoughtful of you, Reverend Nascawan.”
He was standing much too close. She edged away from him along the wall. He took a furtive step to block her path and she slid back the other way. Predictably, he moved with her. She stepped back. So did he. She was about to try the other direction again when it struck her. This was ridiculous! The two of them dodging back and forth like prizefighters.
Lalia stopped in her tracks. She was finished with being kind and polite. “Reverend Nascawan.” She pushed at him with her palm against his chest. “I must ask you to step back.”
Instead of complying, the preacher grasped her hand and pulled her closer. “Now, Mrs. Hayne, do not say that you do not return my regard. I’m sure I have observed in you a partiality for me. I cannot have been mistaken.” He got an arm around her waist. “Your reticence is, of course, very becoming. I have tried in vain to restrain my feelings, but now that there is no obstacle in our way…”
No obstacle in their way? And just what did he consider his wife? Let alone Lalia’s own reluctance. He bent his head toward her lips and her voice rose in panic. “Sir! You mistake the matt…please don’t…”
She shoved with all her might, but he drew her inexorably closer. His mouth, damp and hard and cold, came down on hers. She was kissing a corpse! Nausea rose in her throat and she began to struggle frantically, a scream trying to force its way out.
Suddenly she was free, the clergyman jerked back and flung away from her. He stumbled across the corridor and fetched up against the sideboard that stood against the opposite entry wall. Vases went crashing to the floor, flowers scattering in all directions. Lalia’s knees failed her and she began to slide toward the floor. Morgan advanced on Nascawan, murder in his face. Twisting his left hand in the preacher’s shirt, he lifted him onto his toes and drew back his right fist. A tense moment ensued.
“Damnation! I can’t strike a man so much my senior, but hear this, Nascawan. You had better never set foot in this house again. And if I ever find you further molesting Mrs. Hayne, your cloth and your years are not going to save you.”
“She is a lewd woman. She caught me in her toils just as she has you.” The preacher’s whine grew louder. “The devil is in both of you.”
Morgan’s lip curled in disgust. He dragged the man to the door and thrust him through it. The black clothes lay on the floor where they had fallen. Morgan gathered them up and heaved them out after Nascawan. The door crashed shut and Morgan strode across to where Lalia sat on the floor, her hands covering her face. He gently pulled them away and she stared into his face.
“His mouth was so cold and wet, and he…” She shuddered.
Morgan lifted her to her feet. “He is gone now.” He smoothed her hair. “I doubt very much that he’ll be back.”
“Did he really think I wanted him?” Lalia pressed a fist to her lips. “I can’t imagine that I…”
“The man is an idiot. Even I know when to back off.” Morgan drew her hands into his and gazed down at her. “Do not take the blame for him. Your comportment is never anything but modest.” He smiled, and his voice lightened. “At least your grandmother cannot attribute this disturbance to your husband’s ghost.”
Lalia returned his smile, comforted by his reassurance. “Don’t be too sure of it, my lord. She will say that a muló can inhabit another body.”
“Ha!” He snorted. “The only thing inhabiting that slimy rascal is his precious devil and unmitigated lust.”
And in just what way did he, himself, differ from the slimy parson? Morgan sealed the last letter and franked it. Pouring himself a brandy, he propped his feet on his desk to consider that uncomfortable question in the silence of the sleeping house. Had his outrage stemmed from his disgust of the liberties the man had been taking with Lalia, or from the fact that Morgan preferred to have those liberties reserved to himself?
They did not differ in the matter of lust, certainly, but he did not trap women in a corner in order to kiss them. At least, not unwilling women, he modified conscientiously. When Morgan had realized that, even though Lalia might be attracted to him, she did not intend to fall into his arms, he had had the grace to quit pushing her. Most of the time. He had even very righteously given her up as an element of his revenge.
Not that he had given up wooing her. That was different. Or at least he kept telling himself it was. He had come to truly like the woman, apart from the way her gorgeous alabaster skin molded to her high round breasts. He liked her generosity—working herself to exhaustion to grow not only enough produce for her own tiny household but half her—his—older tenants, as well. He liked the kindness she showed Jeremy and the slow, sweet way she smiled. He even liked her willingness to protect a helpless kitten and to provide the boy with a pet.
A circumspect affair based on mutual liking between two unmarried adults—nothing wrong with that. Her outward serenity made her a comfortable companion, even though he now realized how much pain it concealed. Morgan would like to wipe away some of that pain. The lady had done nothing to deserve it. When he thought how little protection she had against a cruel world, he wanted to hit someone. Several people, in fact.
Well, he could protect her against some things, and he would. If she could be persuaded to move into a more intimate relationship, he would be able to offer her more. The question, of course, was whether she might be so persuaded. The time for flirtatious touches and heated gazes had passed. Lalia did not play the game of dalliance, in any case. He must look for an opportune time for some plain speaking.
That decided, Morgan tossed off the rest of his brandy and picked up his night candle. He made his way silently up the stairs, cautious of waking Jeremy or Lalia. She had had enough midnight alarms. At the top of the staircase he turned to snuff the candles in the wall sconce. Having dealt with that chore, he stepped back.
His foot encountered something soft. Damnation! Morgan tried in vain to arrest the step, but his momentum carried him backward. He lost his balance and went sprawling, narrowly avoiding the stone staircase. Jarred to the teeth, he found himself lying on his back on the stone floor, staring up at the ceiling. Somewhere in the darkness he heard a faint sound.
“Meow.”
Chapter Eight
The first light tap on her door filtered dimly through Lalia’s dream. The second one broke it, the fragments dissipating into the dark. She sat up, pushing her hair out of her eyes. “Yes? Is someone there?”
“It is I.”
“Morgan?”
“The same. May I come in for a minute?”
What now? Lalia slid off the bed and struggled into her robe. Having lit the bed candle, she opened the door a crack. She did, indeed, behold his lordship. She widened the opening slightly. “Has something else happened?”
“You might say that.” He lounged against the door frame, holding something in one hand toward her. Oh, no! Smoke. She took the kitten and glanced cautiously into his face.
A s
ardonic smile played across his lips. “Nothing important, of course.” He straightened and stepped into the room. “Unless you place value on my neck, which oddly enough, I tend to do. This time I narrowly missed tumbling down the stairs.”
“I’m so sorry, my lord.” Lalia cuddled the little cat against her breast. “I thought she was in the morning room. How she got up here…”
Morgan pushed the door closed, aiming a questioning look in her direction. “Do you mind? I have an uncanny feeling that your grandmother will suddenly mysteriously appear.”
“Perhaps…” She moved back from him uncertainly.
He stopped a few feet away from her. “I have given you my promise to behave.” He grinned. “At least up to point.”
“Very well.” Somehow Lalia was not as comforted by this assurance as she might have been. Not that she doubted his word exactly. No, not that. It was more a matter of how she felt with him in her bedchamber with his coat off and his neckcloth untied. He seemed suddenly very big and very… She drew in a quick breath as his scent reached her.
He extended a finger and stroked the kitten under the chin. The finger did not quite touch her breast. Smoke emitted a tiny purr. “What are we to do with this troublesome beast? I suspect she escaped captivity from Jeremy’s room.”
Lalia lifted the cat and rubbed her cheek against its fur. “That isn’t where I left her, but you may be right. He needs someone to play with. Children who are only with adults can become very lonely.”
“As you were, I think.” Morgan petted the cat and then touched her cheek. She lowered the kitten, but his hand stayed against her face. “Are you terribly lonely, Lalia?”
She should move away from him. His proximity disturbed her too much. But the warmth of his hand and the warmth in his voice comforted her, assuaged a bit of that very loneliness he had discerned in her. “Not always.”
His hand now rested on her shoulder. He gazed intently into her eyes. “You know that I find you very beautiful, don’t you?” She shook her head, but he continued. “I do—both beautiful and good. You must know that I want you.”
Both his hands now caressed her shoulders. Lalia studied the bundle of fur in her arms. “I don’t know, my lord. I know you sought to punish my husband.”
“Not now. I did not know you then.” He tipped her chin upward with the edge of one hand. “Look into my eyes, Lalia. Do you see hatred or passion?”
Lalia declined this invitation, staring, rather, at his throat. That also proved to be a mistake. Something about the muscular column ignited feelings she did not want at the moment. She swallowed, finding nothing to say.
His lordship refused to relent. “Do you feel no desire for me? Can you honestly tell me that?”
“No, my lord, I will not try to tell you that.” She turned away from him and carried the kitten across the room to a chair. With a gesture she invited him to sit opposite her, and he did so, his gaze never leaving her face. How could she explain to him? It was all so complicated. She pulled her attention back to what he was saying.
“I appreciate your determination to respect your marriage vows. I think much the better of you for it, but you are no longer tied to Cordell Hayne. You are free now to do as you wish.”
“It is not that simple, my lord.” Lalia finally found enough calm to look into his face. “My word is important to me. I could not break any vow easily. But that is not all. You must also remember my grandmother’s influence on me. The Roma put great emphasis on behavior that is vujo—pure. To them a woman’s lower body is marimé—unclean—to any man save her husband.”
Morgan scowled. “Unclean? I hope you don’t adhere to that belief?”
“No, but I see the value of it. It protects the woman from unwanted attention, and of course, it also keeps her faithful. Who would wish to endanger her lover?”
“I hope that doesn’t apply to widows!” His lordship looked distinctly alarmed.
Lalia chuckled. “I really don’t know. Should I ask Daj?”
“Perish the thought!” Morgan grinned at her. “I still have not given up hope. Kindly do not set up another barrier.”
“There are so many barriers, my lord.” She sighed. How could she make him understand? “All my life I have been under the domination of some man. My father’s was kind and protective, but very isolating. Roger’s…” She waved a hand. “Mercifully brief. And my husband’s—” She broke off and stared out the window.
Morgan’s tone grew serious. “Have the likes of your husband and Reverend Nascawan given you a disgust of physical intimacy?”
She had to think about that. Had they? Certainly they were no recommendation for it, but… “No, only for them, I think.”
“I am relieved.” Morgan leaned back in his chair. “So what then?”
“I have never had any choices. I simply had to accept my situation and make the best of it. It is far more profitable to concentrate on the good and try to avoid the bad.” She stroked the kitten. “And far easier. I have simply drifted with the wind.” She looked into his face. “It would be very easy to drift into an affair with you—to accept your protection—for as long as that lasts. But then what? I must find a place for myself.”
“I see.” He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Be assured that I would never abandon you—however long our time together. Nonetheless, I see that you must consider your decision further, and I will respect your right to do so. Now…” He stood and lifted her to her feet. “May I at least kiss you? Only a kiss, on my honor.”
Lalia had no idea how she wished to answer that question. It proved not to be necessary. He pulled her braid over her shoulder and wound it around his hand. “Your hair is wonderful.”
His lips brushed her forehead, touched her eyelids, her ear. Then he gently covered her mouth with his. Its warmth seeped through her, comforting her, inviting her to lean into him—to lean on him. After a few moments he drew in a shuddering breath and dropped a kiss into her hair.
He looped the braid lightly around her neck and took the kitten out of her hands. “I’ll put her back into Jeremy’s room.”
The next minute the door closed and he was gone.
Morgan was tired of looking at that dress. As deliciously titillating and tantalizing as he found it, no lady should own but one dinner gown. But he had sufficient experience with the opposite sex to know where an excellent modiste might be found. And he had sufficient money to ensure both discretion and speed. A very few days had passed since he posted his letter to this tactful entrepreneur, but already he had a reply that his order had been dispatched by carrier.
With so much work being done on the house, carriers arrived almost every day with boxes of supplies. To accommodate the influx, Morgan had established a ware room in the stable where the merchandise could be sorted and inventoried. Recognizing that guile was called for, he made it his business for the next several days to appear at the stable late in the day to hunt for the particular shipment in which he was interested. At last it appeared, and without even trying to suppress a smug smile, he went in search of James.
He found him in the tack room, mending a harness. The old man glanced up as Morgan came through the door and started to rise, but at Morgan’s signal for him to keep his seat, he went back to his task. “Evening, me lord.”
“Good evening to you. You’re working late today.”
“Aye, a bit. Can’t depend on these young’uns to do nothing right. All this new help is well and good, but about all they’re good for is hauling hay and currying hides. What brings you out at this hour?”
“I have a little job I need for someone to help me with—quietly.”
“Aye?” James’s expression took on more interest.
“Yes. I have something that needs to be found in the cove.”
“Now, Lord Morgan, you don’t need to tell me you’re up to no good. I knowed you too long.” The groom laid the bridle aside. “What’s the lay?”
Morgan grinned. “Old retainers a
re supposed to forget boyhood indiscretions.”
“Humph. I ain’t forgot nothing, nor remembered too much, neither.” James picked up the harness again. “You’re not going to get me picked up by the preventives, are you? I’m getting too old to run.”
“Not this time.” Morgan shook his head. “This is more of a diplomatic mission.”
The old man squinted at him speculatively. “Sounds like a woman in it somewhere.”
Morgan smiled. “How well you know me—but I merely wish to give Miss Lalia a gift.”
“Ah.” Frowning, James stood and hung the repaired tack on its peg, then glared at his employer. “What sort of gift?”
“What’s this scowl about? It’s just a gift.”
“Miss Lalia is a right decent woman—a real lady.”
“I am well aware of that.” Morgan glowered in turn. “And she doesn’t need you for a guardian. She already has her grandmother. Besides, I assure you, my intentions at the moment are of the most honorable. I know she won’t accept a gift if she knows it comes from me. The lady needs some new clothes.”
“That she does. Pity—a pretty lady like her, wearing castoffs from the parson. What have you got?”
“A big traveling trunk—too big for me to carry down the path and lodge in the rocks at the high tide mark by myself. You up to it?”
“Ain’t I always?” James stood and, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, mopped his forehead. “Hot tonight.”
Something glittering tied in the corner of the kerchief caught Morgan’s eyes. Before the old man could stuff it back into his pocket, Morgan reached out and fingered the delicate gold chain that had escaped the knot. Uneasiness gripped him.
“What’s this?” There was no real reason the groom shouldn’t have a bauble, but fine gold on his income… Morgan held his retainer’s gaze for several moments.
James shrugged. “Just a trinket, me lord.” He untied the handkerchief and held out a small gold locket for Morgan’s inspection. “Found it on the beach at the last shipwreck, lying under one of the bodies.”
A Dangerous Seduction Page 9