She searched the area, her gaze taking in the walkway, the flowers, and the trees of the dark forest beyond. Nothing. No one else—only the two of them.
She angled her head and eyed the giant stone structure with its many wings aimed in all directions of the atlas. She looked intently at each window, not knowing what she searched for. A shadow? The hair on her scalp prickled as a strange awareness settled over her. Someone observed. A shiver very much like dread overtook her body.
Morgan stood by the window in the darkened room. As if his thoughts conjured her up, she appeared next to the fountain. He could not take his eyes off the figure standing beside the stream of running water.
Juliana.
Long flowing hair, a vibrant shade of red with a chestnut hue, surrounded her shoulders. The unusual color had caught his attention years ago when he’d first laid eyes on her.
He curled his fingers into a fist and a muscle ticked above one eye. She was here. Bitterness and resentment filled his soul. His grim smile had nothing to do with cheerfulness and everything to do with retribution.
The unfortunate scene in the alley had delayed their meeting. Morgan’s hand went to his side, caressing his wound. He hadn’t thought to ask what happened to the girl he’d saved. He supposed his men saw her home or paid her off. Juliana had been the only thing on his mind since George told him they had brought her to Whetherford.
What would it be like when they came face to face? Would she plead with him? The way she had at their last meeting—when she wanted to be the next Lady Whetherford and he’d laughed in her face. He made it clear he never accepted the title and had no intention of taking a wife.
Those were the days when his dark soul commanded his movements. The boy with loving parents and a brother he worshiped disappeared the day his family sailed to a watery grave. Nothing and no-one mattered. A woman was simply a tool to ease his lust.
He shook the unwelcome memories away.
She’d wanted a titled lord then. He wondered if she ever got one. Would she strut through the door as if she were the lady of the manor and act like she owned the world? He remembered how Juliana had tossed her flowing red hair about her shoulders and sneaked a glimpse of him from beneath her eyelashes sending sexual innuendos with every female propensity in her curvaceous body.
Maybe he would let her entice him again, before he threw her out.
Bloody hell! The head that sat atop his shoulders could not allow the head that lived within his trousers to govern. He needed to think of his mother’s necklace.
Morgan moved toward the bed and grimaced as he reached for the bell pull. To hell with Doc’s orders of bed rest. His body had healed enough. It galled him to call for help, but he needed to be dressed for this. He would not allow his weakness to interfere with what must be done.
It was time.
Kat had been summoned. He had requested her presence, not demanded. Beckoned, as if she were an invited guest. The irony of it all.
Her stomach was tied in knots—had been ever since she received his invitation. She tried to slow her breathing. She swallowed, but the lump that lodged from her throat to the center of her chest never moved. Her head throbbed. The pulse in her temples pounded with every beat of her heart. So loud in volume, she feared surely someone could hear it. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw the blond man’s smirk, which was becoming all too familiar. He waited for her to enter the lion’s den. She faced the huge solid oak door, the only thing between her and her impending fate.
The vein in her neck throbbed. If she didn’t calm down, she would be at his mercy. And that would never do. She could not allow him to know how defenseless she believed herself to be.
Lord Whetherford should have absolved her by now. If he was any kind of a gentleman, he would have set her free. She hesitated another moment outside the door. He was at fault—not her. She would demand to be released at once. Her body as taut as a tightly-drawn corset, she knocked on the wooden door.
Hearing his utterance, Kat smoothed her hands down the sides of her gown and squared her shoulders. Knowing Hathridge studied her, she summoned the courage to enter with a confident determination she did not feel.
She opened the study door.
He stood by the window, facing the sunlight, his back to her. A large, dark, muscular man, in all his finery, with broad shoulders and a commanding stance. Inky black waves hung thick and unruly. Tresses just long enough to curl over the neck of a white shirt peaking from the collar of his black suit coat. This man stood as tall as her brother, and Stephen loomed well over six feet. Even from the back, his broadness showed plenty of muscle. Remembering his fight with the ruffians made her sigh, marveling at the instant craving that pierced her torso.
The latch of the closing door generated a spike in her already rapid pulse. No chance to flee since Hathridge, quite possibly, barred the door. She lifted her chin and forced her arms by her side. Not knowing what to say, or if he expected her to say anything at all, she waited. He remained motionless, taking his darn sweet time to acknowledge her presence. Why didn’t he turn around? Why did he ignore her? The silence drew out so long she thought her unsteady legs would not hold her much longer.
Finally, he spoke. “Would you like a drink, my dear?
She had forgotten the low deep timbre of his voice. The rich baritone sent surges of awareness down her spine. An unexpected, distinct wakefulness. She resisted the urge to clasp her hands and entwine her worrisome fingers. Kat answered in a voice she hoped would not crack. “No, thank you.”
She nearly jumped out of her skin when he whirled around like the lash of a whip. He didn’t speak. He stood like stone, the same as she. Smoldering dark eyes seized hers in a heated, locked gaze, drowning her in their penetrating force. She had not been prepared for the dark threatening expression—threatening in the way that she felt something move within her.
Time stood still.
Nothing else in the room existed but the two of them. His hypnotic pull seared her, sending a tingling sensation beginning in her stomach, then flowing down the back of her knees and extending through her limbs making it impossible to move.
Her throat tightened.
If those eyes could shoot fire, they would sear holes right through her. But the expression on his face . . . he looked like he’d just had a good kick in the teeth.
Chapter 6
Morgan felt as though someone had just punched him in the gut—hard. His breath caught at the sight of the stunning creature before him. Lost in amazing green eyes—adrift in their sparkling jade and mystique sensuality. He scanned her high cheekbones with soft creamy skin, and let his gaze slide down to fasten on luscious lips. Suddenly his mouth was dry
A cloud of vibrant red hair floated around her shoulders—like the brightest sunset at the end of a day, resting on the shimmering ocean. Luxuriant masses of thick curls inviting a man’s hands. He flexed his to keep from reaching for her. The movement reminded him of the snifter in his palm, which brought him some sense of stability.
He took in her exquisite form, stared at the more-than-generous swell of bosom, letting his heated gaze linger there. A notion popped in the back of his mind telling him to breathe. He tightened his jaw to make sure his mouth did not hang open. His hungry eyes moved lower, perceiving a slim waist before the folds of her gown hid the rest. He swore under his breath. She is exquisite.
She stood straight and tall with her chin at an angle in challenge. Even with that rod in her backbone, he sensed her vulnerability. A pang of concern struck his chest.
“You,” he whispered. What the hell is she doing here?
An explosion went off in his brain. Holy Mother of God! Those fools. They must have brought her here thinking she was Juliana.
Blood and the devil!
Morgan’s heart kicked and la
nded somewhere in the bottom of his gut. Choking on the words for this unsettling circumstance, he compelled himself to speak hoping his voice would not betray him. “I owe you my profound apology. There has been a horrendous mistake, madam. And I fear that I have made it.”
Those beautiful eyes blinked. She stared at him as though someone had taken over her senses. Was this woman a simpleton?
He hurried to the sideboard. Even though she could quite possibly be in shock, he ignored the stronger spirits and poured a generous amount of sherry. He didn’t want to knock her on her bum, just bring some color back in her face. He strode back to the unknown beauty and placed the flute in her hand.
Changes came over her face. Stupor—awe—surprise—and . . . anger. Although Morgan was not a patient man, he waited.
Her eyes flamed with fire. “Did I hear you correctly? Mistake?”
Morgan stopped the oath before it left his mouth. “Yes. I believe your being here is a mistake.”
“A mistake.” She echoed with a stupefied look, unseeing the crystal she held in her hand. “That’s what I thought you said.”
She raised the glass and downed the liquid in one swift movement. Tears came to her eyes as she tried not to cough. She marched to the side table and he feared she planned to get more. Instead she set the glass on the table top. When she faced him, her hands were fisted and the fire in her eyes burned brighter than the flames in the hearth.
“Mistake?” she snapped. “I was kidnapped! I have been a prisoner in your home. Forced to come here and forced to remain. I’ve been scared out of my mind. Every day I worried if you still lived. I agonized over what would become of me if you died. Then I walk in here and you have the audacious daring to tell me it was a mistake?”
Morgan ran a frustrated hand through the mane on top of his head. He wanted to drain the glass of brandy and hurl it at the wall.
“Your actions are reprehensible. Explain yourself. Why was I taken if this was only a mistake? They were your men, were they not?”
Morgan saw black. The sudden pain in his jaw came from his clenched teeth. What a deuced dilemma. He needed to sit. His body weaker than he realized, he stumbled.
“Oh, dear. You’ve not healed.” She ran to his side.
“I assure you, madam, I can make it on my own.”
She jerked back. “Very well. Be stubborn.”
Morgan fell, more than sat, in the leather chair. “If you will allow me, I will try to make some sense of this.”
“I don’t know you. I have only your actions to determine my opinion of your character. And thus far, they have not been principled.”
“Would you take into consideration my actions when I came to your rescue?”
She braced her hands on her hips. “Being held a prisoner in your home is what you call rescue?”
He held out his hand and gestured to the twin high back chair facing him. “Please. Sit.” Seeing her uncertainty made him painfully conscious of every second as he wondered how in the hell he was going to explain anything to this woman.
“Please.”
Without another word, she sauntered over to the offered chair and sat, keeping her posture erect.
Taking a deep breath, he began. “My name is Morgan Hurashune Langston, Earl of Whetherford. Whetherford Manor is my home. Would you allow me your name?” He counted the seconds before she answered.
“Katherine Radbourn.”
Shaking his head, he continued. “I’m not sure where to begin.”
“How about at the beginning?”
He scrutinized her sparkling fierce gaze. Her beauty vanquished every sane thought in his head. His fingers tightened on the glass in his hand. Never before, had he been unsure of his actions, but he had no idea what to do next.
“I am deeply sorry for any suffering I have caused you. Until this moment, I did not know you were here. When you came through that door, and I heard your voice, I realized you were not the woman I had expected.”
She’d made no sound to interrupt.
At her silence, he continued. “You see . . . the woman I expected to be here, Juliana Eastcote, took something from me. Something which belongs to my family.”
He rubbed a frustrated hand down his clean-shaven face. Good God, how I have bungled this. “I went after her.” Morgan marveled at the similar, yet distinctive variance as he studied the young woman’s features. “You do look a great deal like her.”
She bristled at his observation.
Good God. He had to be more careful. Upon closer inspection, Miss Radbourne bore only a slight resemblance to Juliana. The high cheekbones, the same arched brows, and the long auburn hair. Only Katherine Radbourn’s hair possessed a deeper, more intoxicating shade of red.
Another man might think they looked the same. Not he. A slender nose, rounded on the end. Full cheeks giving a slant to her amazing green eyes. Winged brows, further accenting the arch of her curving lids. Skin so creamy smooth, the impulse to touch peaked his longing. Ahh, and a pert little chin, showing strength.
“The last thing I remember seeing was you, just before I hit the ground. Then everything went black until I woke up in my bed.”
“Didn’t anyone tell you they brought me here?”
“My men assumed you were Juliana. They believed I’d found her and was bringing her—that is you—back when we were accosted.”
Morgan looked down at the amber liquid as his fingers clutched the glass. He wished his hands were wrapped around Juliana’s neck. She had started this unforeseen chain of events.
“So, all this time I’ve been locked up in a room, you thought I was this other woman?”
Like a pocket watch wound too tight, his innards coiled—a spring ready to snap. Damn his weakened body. He placed the snifter on the oak table beside him, and with years of practice—mechanically controlling his emotions—he forced himself to continue.
“My embarrassment and humiliation at this moment could not come close to what you must have felt. My deepest regret is I let that bloody idiot stab me when I should have prevented this entire situation.” His eyes bore into hers, willing her to see his concern to be real.
“I have been here for days.” Her eyes softened and her voice took on a desperate beseeching tone.
Morgan shook his head. “I concede my apology is not enough. And my injury is not an excuse. But, I was unconscious. My men assumed you were she. I was instructed not to leave my bed. Thank God, I did not follow Doc’s orders or you would still be locked in your bedchamber.”
“You would have kept this other woman under lock and key?”
By the shock on her face, she must think him an animal. “Please let me explain. No, I would not normally consider such a thing. This woman invaded my home while I was gone. She stole from me. I went to London to retrieve my family’s property. As I walked past that alley, I heard your scream.” He shrugged and grimaced as the pain in his side reminded him of the gaping hole there. “The rest you know.”
“Ahh. That explains something Doc said.”
Morgan’s gaze flew to hers. Even the crease across her brow was lovely. “What did he say?”
“You know you could scare someone half to death with a look like that.”
Hiding his surprise, Morgan relaxed his features.
“That’s better. Doc is an interesting man. Your men supposed I’d stabbed you.”
“What!” Bloody hell.
“I’m glad I saw your heroism before I was brought here. You can look quite menacing, you know.”
He frowned.
“Oh, don’t pout.”
The insult stung. “Madam, I assure you, I never pout!”
“It’s amazing, really.”
The woman boggled a man’s mind. “What is amazing?”
/> “You appear most menacing, but I don’t feel threatened at all.” Her dainty nose sloped upward and her words so soft, he pondered if she meant for him to hear them.
He inhaled slowly to calm his vexation and tried again. “What did Doc say to you? And where did my men get such an outrageous idea?”
“Oh, yes. Well, you see, blood was everywhere.” As she talked, her hands fluttered about in explanation. “When you fell to the ground, I think I returned to my senses. I must have been in shock or something. I ran to you. You were face down in the dirt. I tried to roll you over. You’re a very large man, by the by.”
Good God. Would she quit looking at him with those ravishing eyes. Such scrutiny had him fighting the urge to touch her, to run his finger across her cheek—across those full lips.
“It was difficult. But I managed, and that’s how I got blood all over my hands.”
His instincts sharpened. “Blood on your hands?”
“Yes. You were bleeding profusely.” Holding out her hands, she studied them. “So much blood. So fast. It poured . . .” Her voice halted. Her eyes grew round. Good God, she relived the scene in the alley.
Afraid she might go into shock again, he interrupted. “As you can see, I am fine.”
Her hands fell to her lap as she studied him. Concern etched her brow. “Are you? Really?”
Her gaze captivated in a way that astounded him, making his voice come out gruff. “Of course I am.”
“But, before . . . I saw you stumble.”
The Right One (One and Only Series) Page 5