The Right One (One and Only Series)

by Samanthya Wyatt

  “Good God, woman,” he managed, between a groan and a shout. “There are all kinds of devils lurking about—waiting for the unsuspecting—the innocent! Worse than the two who grabbed you. You could have been . . .” Sheer terror knifed him in the chest. He clenched his hands at the thought of someone hurting her. He would bloody well kill the bastard.

  Katherine gaped at him as though he’d sprouted horns. “I know how foolish it sounds.”

  He scrutinized her, regretting every panicked heartbeat he had caused her. “I apologize for the outburst.”

  “Tis no more than I would have received from my brother.” She smiled. “Actually, he would have done much worse.” Shuddering, her face scrunched up as if she saw an unpleasant image. Then, just as quick, the frown was gone and uneasiness creased her face with worry. “Will you help me find him?”

  How could he deny her? His fierce need to protect the chit was unbelievable. He took deep breaths to calm his mental anxiety. Used to living by his gut instincts, he’d always been in control. With her, his reactions surprised him.

  “You will not do anything on your own. Am I making myself clear?” He had no right to make her subject to his vexation after the grief she experienced by his own hand, yet she sat there in accepting silence.

  “I need your help.” She raised beseeching eyes to his. “I will do anything you ask of me.”

  Knocked to his toes, a different kind of excitement built inside of him. Did she even know the innuendo of her offer? His mind filled with images of him helping her out of her clothes, his fingers brushing against soft, white skin. He forced his mind away from that line of thinking. He would not exchange sex for a favor.

  “I don’t need anything but for you to be safe.”

  “Lord Whetherford . . .”

  “Don’t you think we could agree on a more casual address, Katherine? Please. Call me Morgan.”

  “I . . . I cannot.”

  He coaxed and dropped his voice an octave. “In privacy? When it is only the two of us?”

  She lowered her head and he thought she would refuse, until she softly spoke the words, “As you wish.” Once again, she implored him with pleading eyes. “I must find him. I need to know he’s all right.”

  She took a deep breath expanding her well-endowed bosom. No matter how tempting the distraction, he kept his eyes locked on hers. After what seemed an eternity, she spoke.

  “Will you help me?”

  He took advantage of the silence to calm his racing pulse. If she continued to beg with her eyes, he would refuse her nothing. His gut twisted. With great effort, he concentrated on the situation at hand. “To answer your question, yes, I am a powerful man. You can trust me and I must be able to trust that you will do nothing without my approval.” He put emphasis on the word nothing, wondering if it would do any good. He would not be surprised to find this incredible woman was used to getting her own way.

  He glared down on the beauty seated before him. His fierce look probably frightened her, but maybe she needed a good scare. Either that or turn her over his knee and . . . best not think of her appealing backside. “I will never allow anyone or anything to place you in danger again. I must insist you not do anything on your own to find your brother. If you agree, I will help you. Do I have your word?”

  The object of his desire came hurling at him and threw her arms about his neck. “Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you.”

  Morgan sucked air into his lungs. Christ! He couldn’t breathe. Her luscious curves pressed against him were most gratifying . . . for a moment. She was gone before he could truly savor the sensation.

  Chapter 16

  Damn the man!

  Juliana Eastcote paced back and forth on the woven carpet at the foot of her bed. She’d been reduced to this. Forced to stay in rooms at a hostel. She’d hoped to be long gone by now, with a sizable amount of cash. But, a friend of a friend declared the necklace so remarkable it would be hard to resell. He had said the piece was old and would be recognized as a family heirloom. He refused to buy, claiming a transaction too dangerous—for a memorable piece like that would be easy to trace.

  Shaking her head, Juliana fumed. If the imbecile had not been so spineless, they both would have benefited—and she could have lived like a queen.

  What was she to do now? Whetherford would find her. Those jewels were worth a fortune—but he didn’t care about that. Why should he care about money? After all, he hung the moon—or so everyone thought.

  Whetherford would never forgive her for taking what had belonged to his precious mother. If she could not sell the necklace, she would not get money for passage to America. With so many people landing on those shores, she would have been one in a million—like a grain of sand on a deserted beach. She could have disappeared. No matter how many men he sent to look for her, their search would end in defeat.

  Riches had been within her grasp. She had waited for the timing to be right.

  Her hands rubbed the top of her arms for solace. Glancing toward the bureau, she squinted at the sparkles reflecting off the flawless jewels.

  Her uncle’s death had been a boon. After getting over the shock, she enjoyed playing the heiress at Whetherford Manor. Frolicking with young Toby had turned into more than she’d bargained for. The young fool made it simple, and then she’d made her move.

  Used to getting what she sought, Juliana cursed her current state of affairs. She wanted those jewels gone—replaced with hard coin.

  And she wanted out of here. Out of hiding.

  Her resentment escalated to new heights. Her life would be forfeit, if Whetherford got his hands on her. He’d been gone so long, her uncle thought Whetherford dead. Why didn’t the blasted man stay gone? Or better yet, be dead. True she’d wanted him once. But if she couldn’t be Lady Whetherford, she didn’t care if the insufferable lord met his demise.

  Juliana pulled back the curtain and glanced at the street below. Two men stepped from the curb crossing the cobbled street. Her spies. They must have word of his whereabouts. Releasing the thin veil, she turned toward the door. A moment later, the awaited knock sounded.

  “Enter,” she said.

  A tall man met her gaze as he stepped inside. The second man followed and closed the door. The first one, Amos, removed his hat. “His lordship has gone back to Whetherford Manor.”

  “Excellent.” With him gone from London, she could breathe easier. At least now, she’d be able to go outdoors without the fear of running into him on every street corner. “And the men he hired to find me?”

  “Seems something else got his attention.”

  Juliana glared. She had pictured Whetherford tracing her steps and finding the merchant where she’d tried to sell the jewels. The unknown reason he’d suddenly changed his mind unsettled her.

  The second man spoke. “Ya dinna tell us he was the dark devil.”

  Her gaze flew to his. “What do you mean?”

  Amos cleared his throat. “Charlie here, thinks he resembles the one they call the ‘dark devil’. No way his lordship can be him.”

  “Who is this dark devil?” Juliana asked.

  “No one you’d care to meet. He’s a paid assassin,” Charlie said.

  Amos, the calmer of the two, tried to smooth things over. “Some say he’s a ruthless killer for hire.”

  Wound up, Charlie continued. “If you have the blunt, he’ll do any job no matter how dangerous. Tis said he likes killing, whether you pay him or not. He tore a man apart with his bare hands. He’s left mutilated bodies where ‘ere he’s been.”

  Amos turned his glare on the man beside him. “There’s no way the ‘dark devil’ could pass himself off as a nobleman.”

  “How about concentrating on the task at hand?” Juliana gave a glare of her own. “Whetherford is hard-heart
ed, but I doubt he is cold-blooded. Nevertheless, I do not want to be without protection.” She studied the two ruffians. They were strong and she’d been told they were skilled.

  She’d heard of Whetherford’s fierce temper. Why would her informants think him the dark devil? Rumors, of course. Who knew what he’d been up to the last five years. Or why he decided to suddenly come home now? No one expected him back. A foolish mistake on her part, and now she could very well pay the price. Something like panic crept under her skin. If these two brutes were nervous, and Charlie correct in his assumptions, then she better come up with a plan. Quick.

  Nothing would keep her safe from the dark Lord’s outrage. She flung her hair over one shoulder. Her only recourse—return the jewelry.

  Juliana focused on a speck on the wall, her thoughts requiring every brain cell she possessed. She needed leverage. Come Hell or Sunset, she would find a way to save her own skin.

  Chapter 17

  If curiosity was wicked, Kat would ask for forgiveness later. The manor had so many wings and corridors, she could not resist. Once up the curving staircase, she turned and headed to the far end of the second hallway. In the middle of the corridor she found a passageway with several massive doors. She wandered the long hallway coming to rest at the last one. Looking back, no one stirred. She turned the handle.

  Floor to ceiling windows checked one wall. Bulky items covered with white canopies were strewn about. Large stones formed a hearth, so hefty she wondered how anyone managed to cart the heavy things upstairs and then assemble them to form a stunning success. In front of the massive fireplace two covered heaps at an angle faced each other. Lifting the cloth, she found elegant cream-colored, wing backed chairs. For a loving couple? Maybe a husband and wife?

  Someone must come to clean the room, for as she removed the shrouds enveloping the pieces, no dust cloud formed to prove the room had been completely abandoned. She found a few marble top pieces that were too beautiful to be covered up and stored away. This chamber displayed a magnitude of wealth. She wondered if painful memories survived this room. Had a loved one been lost? Perhaps children played here while a devoted mother or grandmother read stories to them. A sense of comfort—peace—love—filled the essence of the air. She had no idea why she felt so drawn to this room, but she longed to know its history.

  Rays of sunshine streamed through large windows tugging her forward. Endless lush green trees filled the deep sweep of the valley. Whetherford land, she supposed, as far as the eye could see. Puffs of white floated in a clear blue sky. Splendor so beautiful, the tranquil image suppressed her anxiousness of the day before.

  She had not seen him since she’d gone hurling into his arms. Had she really thrown herself at Morgan—she could no longer think of him as Whetherford—in thankful jubilation? His stone hard body had sent tingling awareness through her limbs. Just the thought of his fingers on her person made her breathless. She’d always heard about butterflies in one’s stomach. The little devils had taken flight throughout her entire being. Her impulsive body had wanted so desperately to lean into the solid muscle of man.

  Everything he did fascinated her. The way he moved like a panther with stealth—elegant, sure strides. Graceful movements that seemed improbable for a man of his size. His hands were strong and sure and she believed those hands would be gentle when he caressed a woman’s skin. There were times he looked at her as a man looks at a woman. True she was inexperienced, but she was a woman. And he a virile man.

  “Mrs. Beasley said this is where I could find you.” His deep voice sent chills vibrating over her flesh.

  Letting out a breath, she turned, taking in his dark form. “I hope you don’t mind?” Her voice came out as a breathless gasp.

  “What are you doing up here?” His tall, dark form appeared almost sinister.

  Excitement bloomed within as he stepped from the shadow. “I’m curious by nature and you have an interesting home. There are so many rooms and wings.”

  “Yes, some of them were closed off.” He examined the room with a forlorn look. His face displayed vulnerability, opening something inside her. “It’s been years since I’ve been up here.”

  Unsure if she should ask about his family, she decided she would steer away from the subject unless he spoke of them on his own. “There are some lovely pieces in this room. Too beautiful to be hidden.”

  “I only returned to Whetherford Manor recently.”

  “Returned?” The word flew out of her mouth before she thought to stop it.

  He crossed over to one of the white linens that had yellowed with age. He raised the faded cloth and angled his dark head as he peered underneath. “I had planned to open the estate again. Intended to marry and raise a family in the home where I grew up.”

  A tightening curled around her chest. Did he have a woman in mind? Had he decided to marry the one who ran away? The tightness turned to pain. It shouldn’t, but it hurt to think of another woman—any woman—as his wife.

  How ridiculous a thought.

  He uplifted another shroud. Seeming satisfied, he removed the covering to reveal a roll top desk. “I haven’t had the chance to come up to this level since I moved back. I’d forgotten what’s up here.”

  “How long have you been gone?” A mournful expression crossed his features revealing he suffered something painful from his past. She wondered how many of the sinister stories she’d heard were true. He did not threaten her—not in the way of impending doom. But his presence loomed in a delicious forbidden manner, making her susceptible.

  “My parents . . .” He hesitated, then started again. “My older brother was to inherit. He took my parents on his ship . . . They had been married for twenty five years and he gifted them with—what was supposed to be—an anniversary voyage.”

  She dreaded what was coming next. Hating she had most likely opened an old wound. With her heart in her throat, she waited, not daring to say more.

  “They suffered a storm and the ship broke apart.” He turned toward the sun’s rays coming through the window. “All were lost at sea.”

  She wished she could take away the remote look of painful remembrance.

  “At the time, I was in my last year at Eton. I guess I thought my parents would live forever.” His shoulders rose and fell as he took a deep breath. “To lose them both at the same time was . . . quite a shock. To learn my brother was lost as well . . . I was devastated.”

  Oh God. Her knees grew weak.

  When his gaze caught hers, his eyes held a hollow emptiness. “A lad of seventeen years, on the brink of manhood, I became an angry, temperamental scoundrel.” He turned back to the oak desk. “I behaved outrageously.”

  Her heart broke for the boy who was forced to become a man overnight. She held back tears as he ran a finger lovingly over the well-worn wood. He picked up an inkwell and examined it as though looking to see if any liquid remained.

  “The Devil took residence in my body, and I rebelled. I sought adventure—the more dangerous, the better. No perilous journey turned down, no threat too great to refuse.” He stood like the rock of Gibraltar. Hard, like granite, with a compelling sincerity that drew her toward him. He set the inkwell back on the desk with notable care. “After all, what did I have to live for?”

  She could not hold back the surprise of anguish caused by his casual lack of concern for his life. If he heard her gasp, he showed no sign of it. He continued, evading the ghosts haunting his memories.

  “Giles—before he became the Duke—he and I met a man who had connections. We involved ourselves in some risky missions. Nothing was too treacherous. Giles had his own demons to fight.” Morgan took a deep breath and exhaled as if the weight of the world rested on his shoulders alone.

  “By then I was a man of five and twenty. Together, we could do anything. We risked our lives at the blink
of an eye, on any whim, and stayed fervently ready for the next undertaking. No mission was too great. There was no such thing as defeat, and we never left a job undone. I lived by my wits.”

  His hypnotic voice rolled over her in alluring waves. Those lips and his hollow expression—so distracting. She blinked back moisture, which threatened to fall. When he swallowed, her gaze fastened on the lump that moved undeniably up and down his appealing throat. That simple motion had her swallowing right along with him. His hands, his fingers, every movement—every action—made her aware of feelings in her body that she had never felt before. She wanted to go to him, put her arms around him, in comfort.

  She didn’t move. She didn’t breathe.

  “I am not proud to say, I was a nasty piece of work. I thought I didn’t give a damn. Somewhere along the way, I grew up. I knew I had to accept my duty and carry on the family name.”

  His gaze swept the space again. “I haven’t been in this room for a score of years. I came back a few times to check on the estate. Everywhere I looked, I saw my parents. My brother should have been here. If I stayed in any part of the house for long, the walls closed in on me. My guilt . . .”

  “Guilt?” Up until now she dared not interrupt. But, she could not hold back her distress when he blamed himself.

  He locked his gaze with hers. “I lived. They didn’t.” The emotion behind those words explained everything.