Always your affectionate,
Mother
Morgan sighed and dropped the paper on the desk. Somehow his crowning achievement was falling short of expectation on all counts. No chains, no horses, not even a boat. The crushing was going quite well, but had somehow taken on a very different significance. And now his mother no longer wanted to be restored to her long lost home.
Damnation!
She no longer needed his support. His mother was to marry Tavistock. Morgan pondered that fact. Sir William was a good man and blessed with a large fortune. Morgan trusted him to provide handsomely for his new wife, but… The responsibility for her that Morgan had held for fifteen years was difficult to relinquish.
For all those years, and more, he had but three goals. The restoration of his family’s fortune. The utter destruction of Cordell Hayne. To regain Merdinn and to put his mother back in the home that had been torn from her. He had succeeded in all three.
Except that now his mother didn’t want her home back.
She was looking forward to a new life.
And Morgan was looking back at an old one.
Jeremy and Andrew sprawled on the floor of the morning room, each maneuvering a wooden boat, while Lalia worked at some sort of fancy needlework. Zachary, a bit older and more dignified than Andrew, watched the scene indulgently from a position opposite the door. He glanced up alertly when Morgan stepped through the door, coming to his feet and bowing as his employer entered. Andrew scrambled up for a belated salute and Jeremy called out gleefully, “Look, Uncle Morgan. Andrew is the pirates, and I am you, and I am going to send his boat to the bottom.”
“Very ambitious, but suppose Andrew’s pirates do not wish to go the bottom?” Morgan signaled for the footmen to relax and tousled his nephew’s hair.
“Oh, then we shall have a famous battle, but I am sure our side will win.”
“I would think that highly likely.” Morgan winked at his pirately henchman. The young man grinned.
Lalia set aside her work and smiled at him. “Good afternoon, my lord.”
She had wound her braid into a tall crown atop her head, and little wisps of hair whispered around her exquisite nape. She was not wearing the concealing scarf. By dint of strong effort Morgan prevented himself from trailing a line of kisses along her neck, tasting the sensitive skin behind her ear. “Good afternoon. I am riding to the lighthouse. Would you like to accompany me? We could discuss some matters on the way.”
Her face lit with pleasure, but quickly puckered into a frown. “I would enjoy that, my lord. But I haven’t ridden since…” She paused, a new expression crossing her face. “For many years,” she amended.
James had told Morgan that Hayne had sold her favorite mount not long after she had married him. The cur. “Never mind, it is not something you forget, although…” He smiled ruefully. “It might not be as comfortable as it once was.”
Lalia laughed. “Delicately put. I shall no doubt suffer for it tomorrow, but I would love to ride, if you have a suitable horse.”
Morgan did indeed have the perfect horse. He had known as soon as the mount was brought down from London that the dainty black mare would be perfect for Lalia’s petite frame. He had bought it originally for his mother who still loved to ride, but… Well, that was no longer his duty. Now he looked forward to Lalia’s smile of delight when she saw the mare.
She didn’t disappoint him. “Oh, Morgan. She’s lovely.” Lalia smoothed the horse’s nose. “Do let us go immediately.”
Morgan tossed Lalia into the saddle, gratified to see that she clearly knew what she was about. They talked of trivialities on the road, Lalia acquainting herself with the mare’s gait and Morgan drinking in the sight of her as she did so. Her every gesture was grace itself. The subtle movements of her soft curves made his mouth water. How was he to wait until the cover of darkness and bedtime to taste them again? Morgan shifted in the saddle, suddenly uncomfortable. Better keep his mind on his riding.
As they trotted up the lane, he scanned the cottage attached to the lighthouse. Seeing no one about, he dismounted and pounded on the door. Several minutes passed without an answer. “No one seems to be here.”
“Perhaps the new keeper is in the tower tending the light.” Lalia shaded her eyes and gazed upward.
“Perhaps.” Morgan felt no surprise. He had not expected to find anyone. Most likely Breney had abandoned his post when the false fire was lit. Or when parties as yet unknown extinguished it. Just the same… Morgan slipped his pistol from the saddle holster and climbed the stairs to the top of the lighthouse. No one. Returning to the ground, Morgan tried the door of the cottage. It opened readily, but revealed nothing except a disorderly room.
“I best send someone to mind the light tonight.” He vaulted back into his saddle and turned his mount’s head. “Let’s ride home along the cliffs.”
The whip crashed to the deck, spattering blood. Panting, he rubbed his arm. Now that his rage and lust were spent, his shoulder ached with fatigue. His target hung limply from the mast. The ragged form had long since ceased to scream excuses or even to moan. It was no more than the fool deserved. Had he followed orders, the Lark would now be flinders on the rocks, its cargo in the hold of the Harpy, its crew food for the fish.
The young men assembled on the deck watched him warily. Good! Let them see what happened to the man who cost him his prey. He flung one more order at them as he stalked away.
“Heave him over the side.”
Chapter Eighteen
They rode companionably side by side along the cliffs, enjoying the changing colors of the ocean and the countryside as the sun sank slowly toward the waves. Morgan made a quick examination of the area where they discovered the ashes of the deceptive fire, but found nothing to tell him the identity of the culprits, nor who had put out the blaze.
A little farther along, he pulled in his mount, indicating a convenient boulder with a nod of his head. “Would you like to dismount for a while?”
Lalia nodded. “Yes, I confess that I am already a little saddle sore, but I am enjoying my ride too much to go home yet.”
“Poor Lalia.” Morgan grinned and lifted her down. “I do hope you are not too sore to…well, perhaps I should not be greedy.” He glanced around them, and seeing no one else, wrapped her in his arms for a leisurely kiss. A few breathless moments later he led her to the boulder and sat beside her. They watched the breakers in silence, and Morgan gathered his thoughts.
At last he spoke. “I had a letter from my mother this morning.”
Lalia looked at him with lifted eyebrows. “She’s well?”
“Apparently so. She’s getting married.”
“Married?” Lalia turned in surprise. “Is this unexpected?”
Morgan shrugged. “It was to me, but perhaps… I don’t know why I never thought of it. Sir William was certainly in her company a great deal.”
“You sound a bit disappointed.”
He considered that in silence for several heartbeats. “Yes, if I am honest, I must say I feel that, but I don’t understand it. I’m happy for her. Tavistock will make her a good husband. It is just that… She has been in my care since I was nineteen.”
“A heavy responsibility for a man so young.”
“I suppose. I didn’t think of that at the time. I was just determined to do a better job of it than my father had. Then, when Hayne shot me in the back, I became determined to ruin him and reclaim her home and bring her back here to her proper place.” Morgan grimaced. “Now she doesn’t want to come.”
Lalia laid her hand on his wrist. “So your dream will not be fulfilled. I can understand your feeling dispirited.”
He covered her fingers with his other hand. “This has caused me to realize something else. I have achieved my great goal. I have done what I set out to do. I have recovered my family’s fortune. My home is being restored. My enemy is dead. What do I want for my life now?”
“I don’t know. What do you w
ant?” Lalia looked attentively into his eyes.
“That’s where the devil’s in it. I never gave it any thought, other than to bring my land back to prosperity. My mother recommends marriage, and of course, my association with you has also made me think in those terms, but…”
She covered his mouth gently. “You don’t have to explain. I doubt very much that your mother would consider me a suitable bride.”
“It isn’t that!” Morgan turned and looked at her sharply. “She would welcome you as you deserve, and even if she didn’t, it is my decision.”
“And mine.” Lalia regarded him soberly.
He glanced at her, startled. Had he, in his vanity, been assuming that she would jump at an offer from him? Yes. Yes, he had. What made him so cocksure? Before he could answer, she continued.
“Even if you were sure of your feelings, I am not sure of mine. I—I cannot hide from you how much I care for you. I have been in love with you since the first night you came here, I think. But I am by no means certain that I am ready for another husband. I need time to heal. And drifting into another marriage because I have no better choice would fair to neither of us.”
Morgan had not considered that. It was certainly not what he wanted. But he believed she did love him. That was evident in the wholehearted way she gave herself to him, worried about him. But was her love based on her need? He liked being needed. This business of his mother’s marriage had shown him that. He resented no longer being needed. And he liked being loved.
But was need an adequate reason to love? To marry? He didn’t like the sound of it. He wanted to be loved for himself, not because he was the solution to someone’s problems.
At the same time another realization was taking form in his mind—the greatest reason that his revenge against Hayne must always be incomplete. He would never see tears for Hayne on the faces of his loved ones.
The man had had none.
Hayne had loved no one, and no one had loved him.
Morgan was suddenly damned sure he didn’t want that outcome in his own life.
Lalia expected him to argue with her, but he only held her hand and gazed into her face, his expression searching. She didn’t know what else to say. Somehow, suddenly, she had known that even if Morgan asked her to marry him, she must not, not yet. Somehow, somewhere she must create a life for herself, become her own person, to become a whole person, before she could give herself to anyone. Even to someone she loved.
Especially someone she loved.
She lifted one hand and stoked his hair back from his face, then rested her palm against his cheek. “Do you understand?”
“I think so.” Morgan mirrored her gesture with his own, cupping her face in his big hand. They sat thus, silent for several heartbeats, gazing at one another. “It seems we have much to consider.” He slid his hand behind her neck. Drawing her to him, he placed a lingering, thoughtful kiss on her lips, then looked deep into her eyes. “These desires will not be denied, Lalia, but we must learn more of what they mean for us.”
She nodded, and he stood, helping her to rise.
They took their time riding toward Merdinn, enjoying just being together and the twilight as it crept in from the eastern sky. From time to time they paused to gaze at the sea, watching the breakers of the incoming tide crashing against the rocks. They were almost back to Merdinn when something on the crest of a wave caught Lalia’s attention.
“Look, Morgan, what is that?”
His gaze followed her pointing finger. “Where? Oh, I see.” He scowled and nudged his stallion a little closer to the edge.
Lalia pulled her mount up beside him and squinted for a better view. In a flash of intuition recognition struck her. “Oh, God, Morgan. It is a person.”
He grasped her bridle and abruptly turned the horses away from the sight. Both the mare and Lalia protested this cavalier treatment, the mare with a toss of her head, and Lalia with an exclamation.
“This is not something I want you to see.” Morgan urged them into a canter. “I will take you home and come back.”
And none of Lalia’s objections moved him one iota from that intention.
Lalia ordered dinner held back until Morgan returned from the expedition to retrieve the body they had seen from the cliff. He had taken several men with him and, also, had sent for the doctor and Hastings. Several hours passed before he came into the drawing room, weary and disheveled.
“I’m sorry to be so late. You must be perishing from hunger.” He sprawled into a chair and loosened his cravat. “Let me but catch my breath, and I shall go and change for dinner.”
Lalia poured out a glass of sherry and handed it to him. “I see no reason that you may not be comfortable in your own house. Catch your breath and drink your wine, and we shall go directly to the table. I gave the order when I heard you come in.”
He captured her hand as he took the sherry from her, smiling up at her. “Can you stand me in all my dirt?”
She scrutinized him with mock severity. “Perhaps. Just this once I may be able to tolerate you.”
After a grateful swallow, he set the glass down, pulled his cravat off and, with her help, shrugged out of his fashionably tight coat. “You are a very gracious lady.”
He slipped an arm around her shoulders and brushed a kiss across her lips. The warm scent of his body wrapped around Lalia, causing her to take a sudden breath and reflect that she could tolerate him very well with his collar open and his sleeves rolled up. Apparently taking her sigh as encouragement, he took her in both arms and kissed her more thoroughly.
When they were both gasping for breath, he lifted his head and cast a guilty look over her shoulder. “I best leave off before we are discovered.”
Lalia nodded and hastily shook out her skirt and patted her hair. He offered her his arm and they strolled toward the dining room.
“But tell me, my lord, what you learned.”
Morgan’s smile disappeared and a crease formed between his eyebrows. “I hesitate to tell you. The implications… It was George Breney.”
“The man who was supposed to be watching the light?”
“The same.” They entered the dining room and Morgan held Lalia’s chair for her to be seated before taking his own. “I suspected that he was in league with the pirates, but I had not expected to find him dead. Now I wonder if they killed him in order to put out the true light. But why would they have—” He broke off frowning.
Something in his expression sent a chill through Lalia. “Why would they what?”
“They… I should not tell you more. I’m glad I brought you away before you saw him.”
“Come now, Morgan, you cannot say that much and not finish.” Lalia sent him an exasperated glance.
Morgan considered for a long moment, but finally answered. “He had been beaten until the bones of his back… Suffice it to say, he was probably dead before he hit the water.”
Lalia covered her mouth with both hands. “Dear God.”
“I’m sorry.” He reached across the table and clasped her hand. “I should not have said as much. I would not have, but that it preys on my mind. You didn’t know him, did you?”
She shook her head. “No. I didn’t, but how could any human do that to another?”
“They have ceased to be human.” He gave her a wary glance. “And don’t think I am talking of ghosts.”
“No. No, I know what you meant. Isn’t there something in the Bible…something about, ‘they are as ravening beasts’?”
Morgan grinned. “You have me there. I’m not all that well informed on biblical quotations. But of course, that is very apt. They have become beasts. But we knew that. We have seen their work before. I have my work cut out for me to stop them.”
Lalia’s heart sank. “Will you go out tonight?”
“No. It is too late now.” A sly smile curved his lips. “Besides, I do not feel like hunting pirates tonight.”
The hour being late, they made short work of din
ner and retired. True to their carefully maintained fiction of propriety, they made their way to their bedchambers, nodding a greeting to Eric, the new guard, where he sat in the hallway. Morgan opened Lalia’s door and glanced quickly around the room, his eyes concentrating for a long moment on the priest’s hole. Satisfied, he turned back to the corridor. “It looks as if the coast is clear.” Then in a whisper, “I’ll come in as soon as I’ve washed up. I’ve already sent Dagenham to bed.”
Giving her a hasty kiss, Morgan stepped back into the hall and entered his own room. Just as he sat down to pull off his boots, a small strangled sound from the next room, almost too soft to hear, caught his attention. He went to the connecting door and peeked in.
“Lalia? Did you call?” Another choked sound emerged.
Lalia stood by the bed, clutching the post for support.
“Lalia!” Morgan dashed across the room and slipped an arm around her waist. “What’s the matter?” She silently pointed to the bed, then jerked around and buried her head in his shoulder. His gaze followed her gesture. “Good God!”
On the carefully arranged pillow lay two bloated, severed fingers.
“Eric!” Morgan sprang to unlock the door, half dragging the wilting Lalia, shouting orders as he ran. “Rouse Andrew and Zachary, but don’t let them leave Jeremy. Then look around. Someone is about.” He tugged on the bell cord with enough vigor to summon several servants at a run. In the moments before they arrived, he settled Lalia in a chair.
“My lord, you rang?” Watford hurried in, puffing for breath. Just beyond him Sarah could be seen over his shoulder.
A Dangerous Seduction Page 21