A Dangerous Seduction

by Patricia Frances Rowell

  She must have done so, however. When the sound roused her, she had been dreaming. Something vague and fuzzy, but far from comforting, dispersed into the dark as she came to herself.

  Lalia sat up. A stiff breeze from the sea now flowed through the window and thunder rumbled in the distance. Perhaps that is what she had heard. Lightning danced on the horizon. The air was cool now and smelled of sea and rain.

  She heard the noise again.

  Lalia froze, waiting, listening. Again. It came from Morgan’s room. Perhaps he had come home. She slid off the tall bed and started for the door. Another bump stopped her. It sounded as though someone was blundering about in the dark. Morgan knew his own room much too well to be doing that. She turned back and picked up the pistol. Should she call for help? Would the guards in Jeremy’s room hear her? If not, or if they were slow to respond, the intruder would get away at the sound of the alarm.

  She needed to be able to see. Lalia lit the night candle on her bed table and took a deep breath to steady her hand. She quietly turned the key in the connecting door. As she pushed it open, a figure leaning into Morgan’s wardrobe spun around, then stopped abruptly, arrested by the sight of Lalia’s pistol.

  “Roger!” The pistol wavered. “What are you doing in here?”

  “Good evening, little sister.” The crouching form straightened. “I thought you were asleep.”

  “Obviously.” The shock made Lalia’s voice sharp. “And you also clearly thought his lordship was away.”

  “His lordship is away.” Looking relaxed now, Roger took a step toward her. “I made sure of that before I came in.”

  Lalia brought the pistol up. “Don’t, Roger. Don’t come any closer. You are frightening me.”

  Roger shoved something into his pocket—a paper. “Why, Lalia, you don’t think I’d hurt you, do you?”

  “I don’t know what you would do.” Anger and suspicion stiffened her resolve. “I hardly know you at all.”

  He moved another foot closer. “But I, on the other hand, am quite certain you will not hurt me. Gentle little Lalia? Rescuer of kittens and the downtrodden? Shoot your own brother?” He took another step. “You won’t do it.”

  “No, but I will.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  At the sound of Morgan’s voice, Lalia and Roger both whirled. His lordship stood just inside the door to the corridor, his own pistol leveled at Roger. Roger moved to lunge for Lalia, but the steely voice stopped him in his tracks.

  “Don’t.”

  Roger didn’t. Morgan gestured with the pistol. “Take off your coat. Now.”

  Lalia’s brother struggled out of the tight coat, finally dropping it near his feet. Morgan shook his head. “Don’t try it, Poleven. You forfeited your life when you broke into my house. Only your kinship to Lalia is keeping you alive. Back up and sit in that chair.”

  Roger slowly complied, keeping a wary eye on Morgan.

  Morgan held out a hand for Lalia’s pistol. “Lalia, see if there is a weapon in his coat.”

  She gave him the gun and knelt by the coat, soon pulling out a small pistol. She laid it aside. “Morgan, I saw him put a paper in his pocket… Ah, here it is.”

  She stood and perused the document. Morgan kept his eyes firmly on Roger. “What is it?”

  “I—I don’t know. It sounds very legal.” Lalia wrinkled her brow. “I don’t understand it. It has my name in it and…” She turned the paper over. “That is my father’s signature.”

  “Hmm. That’s interesting. What is it, Poleven?”

  Roger glared at him sullenly. “Read it yourself.”

  “I shall. But not right now. You and I have a score to settle.” Morgan moved up to loom over Roger, anger in every line of his body. Roger pulled back into the chair. Morgan’s voice rose. “You bastard! Why have you been tormenting your sister? Didn’t you hurt her enough by marrying her to Hayne in the first place? Now you have to frighten her half to death with these hauntings, ruin her gowns. What were you hoping for? To drive her away?”

  “What? Now just a bloody minute. You better pull in your horses, Carrick. I don’t know what the devil you are talking about.”

  “No?” Morgan shoved the pistol against Roger’s forehead. “Perhaps I can refresh your memory.”

  Roger, apparently perceiving that his brains were likely to be decorating his lordship’s chair in the immediate future, sat very still. Sweat broke out on his forehead. “No! Have you taken leave of your senses? Do I look like a ghost?”

  “Morgan.” Lalia’s voice was soft. She touched his arm lightly.

  Morgan stepped back, obviously trying to get control of his anger. “Lalia, don’t defend him. He doesn’t deserve it. This scoundrel deserves to be thrashed to within an inch of his life, just for what has done to you, let alone…”

  “I damned well don’t deserve that, nor all these absurd accusations, either.” Roger glared indignantly.

  “You haven’t been breaking in to search for whatever that is?” Morgan nodded at the paper in Lalia’s hand. “You haven’t been playing ghost while you were at it? To terrify your sister—for your amusement, apparently. Convince me.” He pulled the gun up again.

  “Hold on, now. I have been in the house hunting several times since Hayne died. You almost caught me going through your desk the first time. After that I came at night.”

  Morgan looked skeptical. “Who let you in?”

  Roger held up a pacifying hand. “No one had to, Carrick. A place this large always has something unfastened—especially with all the workmen coming and going. I just came in to have a look around. I haven’t done anything to my sister, you have my oath.”

  “For whatever that is worth.” Morgan relaxed slightly and took the pistol out of Roger’s face.

  Seeing that Morgan’s rage was momentarily checked, Lalia shifted her attention back to the paper in her hand. “Hold a minute, Morgan. Let me read a little more.”

  Silence ensued while she lit Morgan’s night candle and pored over the document, sitting on the bed. After a few tense minutes Lalia lifted her head. “I am not perfectly sure, but I think that Papa left me some money—there’s something about a trust.”

  “Oh?” Morgan raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess who the administrator of the trust is.”

  “Yes. I think it is Roger, but there is something about my husband, also.”

  Morgan glowered at Lalia’s brother. “Is it worth your life to keep this secret, or will you explain it to us? You have been looking for this?”

  Roger eyed the weapon still inches from his face. He nodded. “Hayne made me give it to him. He knew…well, he threatened to tell the preventives that…” He broke off and Morgan bristled. Roger hastily added, “I had to, Carrick. I was to be the trustee until she married, then it would be her husband, so Hayne insisted on marrying her. Once he died…” He shrugged.

  “You again became the administrator of Lalia’s money. But why all this secrecy? Why hide the document?”

  Poleven wiped his brow and watched Morgan through slitted eyes. “I never told her about the trust—nor did Hayne. As it was set up, neither of us could touch the principal. As trustee, we were supposed to pay her an allowance out of the interest. Hayne gave her a little of it to keep up the castle and told her it was from his rents, but he spent all those. She will have control of all the money when she is twenty-five, but he intended never to tell her about it.”

  He winced and pulled away as Morgan leaned over him, his voice little more than a growl. “You bastard! You spent Lalia’s allowance yourselves—first you and then Hayne. And now you want to do it again.”

  “I’m deep in the River Tick, Carrick. I need the money badly. If I had it for another year, I might come about.”

  “And if you were lucky, she might never learn of its existence and you would have the income indefinitely?”

  Roger shrugged again, but did not try to refute the charge. “The rest—this nonsense you are on about, ghosts, hauntin
g, ruined clothes—you’re fair and far off. I have nothing to do with that.”

  “And nothing, I suppose, to do with the piracy in our waters?” Morgan sneered.

  “God, no!” Roger looked genuinely appalled. Morgan looked unconvinced. As he lifted the pistol, his eyes narrowed and he spoke very softly.

  “And who gets the principal if Lalia dies?”

  Poleven gasped in horror, throwing up a hand and cringing away from the threat in Morgan’s voice. “No, Carrick! It does come to me, but I wouldn’t hurt Lalia! With God as my witness. You must believe that!”

  “Oh? Must I? Why?”

  “Because I’m not a pirate nor a murderer! The money…the money is different. It should have been mine in the first place. My father should never have married that…” He glanced up at Morgan and stuttered for a moment. “That…that woman.”

  “That Gypsy, you mean.” Lalia slowly lowered the paper, the import of what she was reading gradually becoming clear to her. “Is there any money left in the trust?”

  “I don’t know. Hayne took it over eight years ago, but I should think so. He couldn’t touch the principal, only the income.”

  “Do you mean…” Anger began to rise in her chest. All the drudgery, the need… “Do you mean that I might have had my own money… That… You and he have been stealing my money while I all but starved! Wore used clothes… Struggled to maintain his property… Endured his abuse… I might have been able to leave him.” Words failed her and she dropped the document into her lap.

  She stared into space for several heartbeats, then covered her face with her hands.

  “Papa did not forget me after all.”

  Morgan just wanted to get the man out of his house before the desire to kill him grew too great. He marched Poleven downstairs and had him reveal the unlocked door. By now the storm had broken in earnest. Thunder crashed and lightning blazed. Wind pounded the house and whipped the trees. Rain cascaded from the heavens in sheets.

  “You best see to your craft, Poleven.” Morgan opened the door. “I saw your dinghy tied in the cove.”

  Roger looked out the door in dismay. “You aren’t going to put me out in this, are you? I can’t sail in this weather.”

  Morgan considered the man who had sold Lalia into virtual slavery and now had attempted to steal her inheritance for the second time. Perhaps he was not their ghost. Perhaps he would not stoop to murder. Still…

  Without warning, he drew back his fist and planted the facer he had longed to administer flush against Poleven’s nose. Roger stumbled backward out the door and sprawled in the mud, his nose gushing blood.

  “Good night, Poleven.” Morgan closed the door and locked it before proceeding to send Watford with a contingent of footmen to ensure that every opening on the first two floors of the building was secure. Then Morgan hurried back to Lalia. He found her sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of his wardrobe.

  “What are you doing?” He crossed the room and lifted her to her feet, taking her into his arms.

  “I was wondering where he found this paper. The envelope was glued under the bottom shelf.” She pointed, and Morgan bent to examine her find.

  “So.” He pulled the envelope loose, glanced inside and, finding it empty, crumpled it and tossed it into the cold fireplace. “I wondered how I had not found it before.”

  “What did you do with Roger?”

  “I showed him to the door. Or rather, I had him show me the door through which he entered. I showed him out of it.”

  A tiny chuckle emerged from Lalia. “In this storm? I guess he deserved it. Do you think he was our ghost?”

  Morgan pondered the question. “I wish I knew. He sounded convincing enough, but he is probably an accomplished liar. I would say the issue is still unresolved. He has entered the house clandestinely, several times by his own admission. What bothers me the most is that he would benefit by your death.”

  Lalia frowned. “I can’t believe he would try to kill me. He is dishonest, yes. But I doubt he has the resolution to kill someone in cold blood. Besides, no one has done me any physical harm.”

  “True.” Yet. “Nevertheless I intend to set a guard in the hallway in addition to the ones in Jeremy’s room.” Morgan let the statement go at that. He didn’t want to frighten her any more than necessary.

  “Is he with the pirates, do you think?”

  “I think that question also is still unanswered. He is certainly a good enough sailor to captain a lugger. I think we may know when I catch them, certainly not before, and possibly not then.”

  “Did you see any sign of the Harpy tonight?” Lalia snuggled closer into his shoulder.

  Morgan held her a little tighter. “No. When I saw the size of the storm that was developing, I decided to come in. We might have ridden it out, but I had a strange feeling that I should return. I sent the Sea Witch to harbor.”

  “I am so grateful you did come in when you did. I don’t know what would have happened otherwise.”

  “Otherwise, he certainly would have made off with that document. You would never have shot him. I’m glad I heeded my hunch. How do you feel now?”

  Lalia sat silent for several heartbeats, staring at the envelope in the fireplace. At last she sighed. “Very strange. And very relieved. I hadn’t realized how hurt I felt that Papa had not arranged for my future in any way, that he had apparently abandoned me completely. I guess I didn’t let myself think about it. Now that I see that he did provide for me, the hurt…” Tears welled up in her eyes, and a sob escaped her. “Now I f-feel it.”

  Morgan cradled her head against his shoulder and stroked her hair. He let her cry, hoping the old and painful emotions would dissipate. He knew nothing else to do, nothing useful to say. God, he felt helpless. Tears burned behind his own eyelids. How could anyone be so cruel to a spirit as sweet as Lalia’s?

  At length her sobs ceased, much to Morgan’s relief. He continued to smooth her hair while the two of them sat quietly listening to the howl of the wind around the house. Eventually, another question began to nag at him.

  “What will you do now that you know you have an income?”

  Lalia sat up and looked at him thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. I may find that there is nothing left in the trust, after all. Or not enough to help me. But if there is… Well, I will have more choices than I have ever had. I will have to think about it.”

  More choices. She could now choose to go away. To leave him. Morgan’s arms tightened around her, pulling her back against his body. God! He didn’t want her to do that. But if she chose to stay…then what? All of his previous goals were whirling around him, demanding realignment. His future, once so clearly defined, now appeared murky and indistinct. He half wished that they had never discovered that damned document.

  But they had.

  “Your half brother will still be the administrator of the trust until you are twenty-five, but now that he is found out, he should have no recourse but to pay the allowance. Would you like for my man of business to look into this for you? He can alert the bankers.” He let his hands stroke her body, her warmth assuring him that she was still in his arms, still his.

  “Yes, if you please. I have no way of doing that.” She snuggled closer.

  “Very well.” Morgan cupped the shape of her bottom, so soft, so round and womanly. His hands moved over it as though of their own accord. Down over her thigh, so welcoming. Up her side to the gentle swell of her breast. His body began to manifest his need, hardening under her legs.

  She sighed. With an arm under her back, Morgan lifted her so that he might reach her breasts with his mouth. Lalia moaned and her head dropped back, exposing her throat. He devoured it, her sweet sounds driving him. When he lifted his head for a moment, she opened her eyes and he saw the deep blue of her passion.

  With a choked groan, he slid off the chair, carrying her to the floor with him. He needed her. God, how he needed her. He fought his britches fastening, wrested her nightgown upw
ard. She opened to him. He came into her with more urgency that he could remember ever before feeling. She closed around him, sheltering him. They gazed into one another’s eyes for a long moment before he began to move.

  Then his desire took him, took them both, fusing them into one body, one spirit. Her cries rang in his ears, his own deeper voice entwined with hers into one harmony, rising, rising, the crescendo climaxing with them.

  They drifted downward slowly. Morgan rested his forehead against hers, unwilling yet to give her up. The anguish in his voice startled him. “I don’t want you to go away, Lalia.”

  Her arms held him close.

  “We must know, Morgan. We both need to know what our feelings will be in this new situation.”

  It must be some sort of feminine conspiracy. Much later in the day Morgan propped his feet on his desk, hands behind his head, and stared at the ceiling. The letter rested neglected in his lap. But surely his mother had never made Lalia’s acquaintance, let alone that of her grandmother.

  He picked up the missive again, staring at the elegant script.

  My dearest son—

  I received your letter of last week with great happiness. It is good to hear that my old home is being restored to its former grace and beauty.

  It warms my heart that you wish for me to come there to make my home with you. I am indeed blessed to have such a loving son. But, Morgan, my dear, I must tell you that coming to Merdinn is not my wish. I am very happy in London.

  But more importantly I must tell you that today Sir William Tavistock has done me the honor of asking me to be his wife. We both beg that you will look favorably on the union and give us your good wishes. Morgan, dearest, you cannot know what a comfort it is to me to have a companion for my declining years.

  As for you, my cherished son, I can only hope that you will consider the benefits of matrimony for yourself. It is time to put aside the hurts of the past and move on. As much as we both love him, Jeremy can never be the earl of Carrick, and it is neither wise nor right to separate the title from the estate. I know that you will provide richly for him in any event. It is my daily prayer that you will soon find the lady to become the mother of your own children and make you as happy as I am today.