A Dangerous Seduction

by Patricia Frances Rowell

  Morgan laid the gun on the desk and motioned the man to a chair. So—the Gypsies had access to the house through Lalia’s grandmother. Interesting. “I see. Are you the person to whom I owe thanks for preventing the theft of my horses?”

  A small smile flitted over the man’s face. “I may have spoken with a few people.”

  “If so, I am in your debt.” Morgan held out the brandy decanter, his eyes questioning.

  “Yes, thank you.” Veshengo settled himself and accepted a glass. “I understand that you would like to apprehend those who are responsible for the destruction of your ship.”

  “You understand correctly. I will apprehend them.”

  Veshengo nodded. “Some of my people have noticed that a certain churchman stores a surprising number of goods in his cellar.”

  Morgan’s eyebrows rose. “Oh? Spirits?”

  “And other things.” Veshengo sipped his liquor. “Things that might more properly be stored in the hold of a ship. They seem to appear there at night.”

  “Hmm.” Enlightening, indeed. Morgan twirled the liquid in his own glass. “How do your people know this?”

  Again the man smiled, but said nothing.

  “Ah.” Clearly better not to ask. “Are we discussing the Reverend Nascawan?”

  “Just so.”

  Aha! Now he had more than a hunch and a dislike of the clergyman to go on. Morgan sighed with satisfaction. “I’m much obliged for that information. I’ll think further about how to pursue it.”

  “There is another subject, my lord, which worries me and my mother—the affair of the muló. This is not a matter to dismiss lightly.” Veshengo leaned forward and placed two small cloth packets on the desk.

  Morgan picked one up and studied it—another talisman. He looked inquiringly at the Gypsy.

  “The gadje do not take the presence of a muló seriously enough. They can be very dangerous. My mother sent for us when it first appeared.”

  “Oh? How did she do that?”

  Veshengo shrugged. “We have arrangements for passing messages.”

  “I see.” Morgan spoke noncommittally. He now had several more candidates for the identity of the specter. “I hope you understand that when I find the person responsible for frightening your niece, I shall be extremely displeased with them.”

  The enigmatic smile reappeared on the Gypsy’s face. “As you should be. But I do not think you will find them, my lord. Not on this earth. Those—” he indicated the amulets “—are for you and the boy.” His expression became serious. “Do not underestimate your possible peril, Lord Carrick—or his.”

  Morgan nodded. He did not want Jeremy exposed to such superstition. Morgan would not give him the charm, but he decided to accept the gift in the spirit he hoped it was given. “Thank you. I appreciate your concern.”

  Veshengo rose and started for the door. In the doorway he stopped and turned to face Morgan.

  “I think you should know, my lord, that I am very fond of my niece. I should be extremely displeased to find she had been treated badly.” Another moment and he was gone.

  Morgan leaned back in his chair studying the empty doorway. Apparently Lalia’s uncle had come to deliver warnings of several types.

  The question of how to proceed on the information given him about Reverend Nascawan troubled Morgan’s sleep for the rest of the night. The simplest thing would be to pass it on to Hastings and let him pursue it. He rejected that notion on several grounds. In the first place, the preventive water guard was not well paid, but often they were well bribed. Hastings didn’t seem the sort, but you could never be sure. In the second place, he did not want to attract more animosity toward himself than was necessary. The most important place was that he wanted to catch the actual perpetrators, not just their onshore confederates.

  Accordingly, he decided to do a little looking around himself. He had James saddle Demon, his favorite black, and set out on a tour of the countryside the following morning. The parson’s cottage lay a little distance outside the village, but as it gave every evidence of being occupied, he could see nothing that looked suspicious.

  Morgan grinned, brushing his curls away from his forehead. After his last encounter with the reverend, paying an afternoon call hardly seemed the proper course of action. He would have to return after dark and lurk about, where he might see a load brought in or perhaps even find a way into the basement, as the Gypsies must have done.

  He rode back along the cliffs, trying to decide which was the likeliest cove in which goods could be brought ashore. The possibilities were endless. The pirates might choose a different location every night. His best chance lay in catching the knaves red-handed.

  Morgan turned Demon away from the sea and made his way back to Merdinn’s lane. Just before he emerged from the wooded motte, the view of the house and lawn opened up before him. Near the flower beds Lalia and Jeremy were engaged in a noisy game involving a ball, while their bodyguards lounged in the shade near the main doorway of the house. He paused to admire the scene.

  Suddenly, movement from the woods across the cove caught his eye. A huge hound had cleared the trees and the gully and was now bounding across the grass toward the players. Morgan stood in his stirrups for a better look. The dog was not one of his. Alarm flooded him, and he set his heels to the horse’s sides. At the same moment he glimpsed Lalia’s grandmother hurrying toward her from the housekeeping wing, making surprisingly good speed in spite of her heavy walking stick.

  As the hound came into their line of sight, Andrew and Zachary began running to intercept it. They were going to arrive too late. They were too far away. Morgan kicked Demon again, and the stallion charged across the lawn at a full gallop. Lalia looked up from her preoccupation with her game, flung the ball at the animal, and quickly stepped in front of Jeremy. The dog leapt at her.

  Her grandmother jumped between them, shrieking, “Muló!” She swung her stick, but the hound dodged away. The footmen had pistols in their hands now, but could not shoot into the group around the dog. Lalia looked toward the sound of thundering hooves and seized her grandmother’s arm, pulling her away from the hound. The old woman continued to flail with her cane.

  The snarling beast also heard the oncoming horse. Surrendering to a superior force, it spun away from the fray and fled back toward the cove. Both footmen fired, but the dog ran on, unharmed. Several of the stablehands, alerted by the commotion, pursued it toward the trees, brandishing various implements. Morgan was turning his mount to follow when he was stopped by a scream from Lalia.

  “Daj!”

  Turning, he spied Mrs. Veshengo crumpled into a heap on the ground. Leaving the chase to the grooms, he reined in and sprung out of his saddle. Lalia knelt beside her grandmother, sobbing and calling her name. One glance told him that Jeremy’s bodyguards had wisely stayed with their charge, so he turned his attention to the women, gently moving Lalia aside so that he could lift her grandmother to a sitting position.

  The old woman’s face was gray with pain and she clutched her chest, gasping for breath and muttering, “Muló. Wolf. Muló.”

  Morgan shouted for James. The older man came hurrying from the direction of the stable. “Take Demon and ride for Dr. Lanreath. Go!” As James climbed into the saddle, Morgan scooped the fallen woman into his arms and stood. “Zach, you two get Jeremy into the house. Lalia, show me her room.”

  Lalia ran ahead of him and pulled the door open. As Morgan strode across the lawn with his burden, the old woman continued to murmur, “Muló, muló.”

  Dr. Lanreath straightened up from listening to Daj’s heart, patting her comfortingly on the shoulder. “You will be all right after a little rest, I think. This was just a spasm, but it is your heart, you know. You must not go racing to any more rescues. It won’t stand much more of that.” He turned to Lalia who covered tears of relief with both hands. “I will give her a composer, so she should sleep for the rest of the night. Keep her in bed with light food, if you can, tomorrow, al
so.”

  Lalia sniffed and nodded. “Thank you, Doctor. I have tried to get her to consult you before, but she will not. She prefers her own remedies.”

  “Hmm.” The doctor smiled. “They may be as good as mine.” He turned to Daj. “Do you use foxglove?” She nodded. “As I thought, nothing better. But you take my tea tonight.” He handed Lalia a packet.

  “I’ll see that she takes it.” Lalia walked Lanreath to the door of the room. “Thank you so much for coming. She…she is all I have.”

  “Of course.” He squeezed her hand. “I’ll see you again in the morning.”

  The door closed behind him and Lalia turned to Morgan, who stood back in the shadows. “And thank you, Lord Carrick. I’ll stay with her tonight.”

  Morgan nodded and reached for the bellpull. “I’ll order us some supper brought in, and some hot water for her medicine.”

  Us? Good heavens! Did he mean to stay? Lalia glanced up at him with alarm. She couldn’t bear to have him so near. Already she ached inside. “You…you don’t need to stay. I can take care of her.”

  His lordship pulled up two chairs. “I’m sure you can. But who will take care of you?”

  Lalia awoke, still in the chair that Morgan had pulled near Daj’s bed for her. A blanket covered her. Where had that come from? At some time near morning she had obviously fallen asleep. She looked at Daj anxiously, but her grandmother snored peacefully, having accepted the doctor’s medicine with a minimum of protest. Lalia stretched.

  “Good morning.”

  “Oh!” Lalia jumped at the greeting. His lordship sprawled in another chair a few feet away from her, the black shadow of his beard darkening his chin. “Have you been here all night?”

  He yawned. “Yes, I have decided to give up sleeping. I seem to be doing very little of it lately.”

  “I—I’m sorry. There was no need for you to stay. I would have awakened if she had called out.”

  “Don’t look so guilty. I’m sure you would have.” He stood and stretched. “But I would not have heard you call had I been above stairs in my room. I—”

  A knock on the door interrupted him, and Lalia hastily smoothed her hair and straightened her skirts. Dr. Lanreath came in and, after listening to Daj’s heart, confirmed his opinion that she would recover from yesterday’s excitement. “And now I want the two of you to get some sleep, before I have two more patients.”

  Lalia opened her mouth to insist that she felt well enough to watch Daj through the day, but Morgan firmly grasped her arm and ushered her and the doctor out of the room. He did not relax his grip after they parted from Dr. Lanreath, but guided her tired steps up the stairs to her room.

  Once inside it, he turned and spoke sternly. “I will send Mrs. Carthew to care for your grandmother. So…will you ready yourself for bed, or must I do it for you?”

  A spark of rebellion flared in Lalia’s exhausted brain. “You will do no such thing. I will go to bed if and when I wish to.”

  “Have it your own way, then.” He seated her on the side of the bed, knelt and removed her shoes.

  Lalia tried to pull her feet out of his grip and, when he reached under her skirt for her garters, indignantly swatted at his hands. “My lord! That will be quite enough, I thank you!”

  He kept his hold on her ankles and grinned. “Will you promise to go to bed? I find this very pleasant. I would as lief continue.”

  Lalia gazed at him in exasperation. The wretch would do it. “Go away and leave me alone.”

  His lordship sobered and released her. “Is that what you truly want, Lalia?” He stood and smoothed her hair back from her face. “For me to leave you alone—forever?”

  A lump rose in Lalia’s throat. “Y-yes.”

  “I don’t believe you.” Morgan sat beside her on the bed and put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

  Tears of fatigue and misery trickled down her face. Lalia sniffed determinedly, but to no avail. The dratted tears continued fall. She swallowed a sob.

  Morgan pulled out his handkerchief and, after wiping her face gently with it, gave it to her. “I don’t want that, either. I can’t bear the thought of giving you up. I just don’t know at this moment what is right for me to do. I understand your misgivings about living as my mistress, but I have never before formed a lasting attachment, Lalia, so I am afraid to predict my future feelings. I don’t know if I am capable of constancy—and you deserve no less. And marriage…marriage would badly complicate my plans for Jeremy’s future.”

  “I never expected marriage from you, my lord.” Lalia choked back another sob. “Nor from anyone else.” She was feeling sorry for herself—something she should not allow. At the moment, however, worn out and forlorn, it seemed perfectly justified.

  “A lonely prospect.” He studied her quietly for a few moments. “I don’t want that for you.”

  “But I know I am not the sort of woman…”

  He laid his hand over her mouth. “Don’t say that. You are a very desirable woman whose circumstances are very difficult. Any man would be fortunate to have you as a wife—including me. It is just that… I must consider a number of things.”

  Lalia sniffed and gazed into his eyes. “I know that, Morgan. I will not ask anything of you.”

  “I hope you will not ask me to leave you. Not now. This may be the only time we have.” He stood, regarding her soberly. “And please… Please, don’t run from me and lock me out. There is no need for that. I would never hurt you or force you. Nor will I press you now. You also need time to think. And you need sleep.”

  He pulled her to her feet, turning her to unfasten the back of her dress. He briefly touched his lips to her bare back, then turned her to face him.

  “Now go to bed.”

  Morgan slept for the better part of the day. Late afternoon found him once more atop the wall with his spyglass. Today, in addition to scanning the ocean, he also scrutinized the woods along the cliffs. The hound had disappeared into them yesterday, and its pursuers had lost it. Nor had a search today turned up any sign of it. Where had the bloody thing come from? And where did it go?

  One opinion on the subject was shortly forthcoming. Hearing his name called, Morgan looked down to find a familiar figure standing near the wall. So Yoska Veshengo moved about in the daytime as well as at night. Morgan climbed down.

  “Good afternoon, my lord.” The Gypsy bowed politely.

  “Good day, Veshengo. Have you come to see your mother again?”

  “Of course. Word reached me of her collapse yesterday. She was so frightened, I feared her poor heart might stop.” He shook his head sadly. “One dislikes seeing his parents declining, but unfortunately, the process is inevitable.” He brightened a bit. “But I believe she has survived this encounter.”

  “So the doctor assured us.”

  Lalia’s uncle studied him, eyes narrowed. “You still do not believe in the muló.”

  “I fail to see what that dog had to do with our nocturnal visitations.”

  “Ah. But the muló can take another body—often a wolf. And as England no longer has wolves…” The man shrugged. “This spirit is very vindictive. You must give the boy the talisman—he is a target as well as my niece. The dog might have seriously injured both of them. My mother is too feeble to protect them. That is why she sent for us.”

  Morgan rubbed his chin, but decided not to comment. Lalia’s words came back to him. Daj always knows. So it seemed. Every time their ghost walked, she appeared as if by magic.

  Veshengo accepted his silence, shrugging again. “Very well. I cannot compel you. I appreciate your care of my mother, my lord. I assure you, whatever happens, I will provide for her, but it is better that she has a quiet home.”

  Morgan nodded. “I am happy to furnish her one. She is an interesting lady.”

  “Indeed she is.” Veshengo nodded his agreement. “Did you know that a new keeper has been appointed for the lighthouse? A man named Breney.”

  “George Breney
? What happened to Old Tom?” As if he didn’t know. Bones under the bone fire.

  “No one knows. He has not been seen for some time. I think we can guess.”

  “Almost certainly.” Morgan frowned, his anger flaring in his chest. An old man—murdered and burned. “Now what does that mean, I wonder?”

  “Who can say? But it seems to me that the lighthouse bears watching, as well as the parsonage.”

  “And…?” Morgan raised an inquiring eyebrow.

  The Gypsy smiled. “We hear things. If I have further news, I will bring it.”

  He bowed his farewell and strolled off toward the lane. Morgan hoped that meant that the Roma would be doing the watching.

  And that he could trust them.

  She would have to be the one to do it. As difficult as that might be, Lalia knew she must. Morgan would not approach her again. She had heard in his voice, when he’d helped her to bed, how hurt he had been when she’d fled from him, yet he had explained his feelings and respected hers. When she arrived for dinner, he had been cordial, polite, absolutely correct in his behavior. Leaving it to her, as he promised, to decide.

  Well, she had decided.

  She couldn’t be any more unhappy at the end of the summer than she was now. She might as well enjoy what time fate had given her to feel at least wanted if not loved. To feel the warmth of another body against hers. To feel the rush of desire through her blood. To see the heat in his lordship’s emerald-green eyes. Memories to store away against leaner times.

  Memories of more than two nights of passion.

  Lalia let Sarah help her out of her dinner gown and sent her away without allowing her to brush her hair. Hands shaking, she donned a white, silk nightgown and robe heavy with lace, both much too sheer, too revealing. Oh, heaven. Could she actually do this? Perhaps if her hair were down she would feel more covered. Yet she somehow felt braver with it up, the elegant coiffeur creating a fragile shield of propriety.