There was a startled silence, then Royce grinned ruefully and murmured, “I suppose I deserved that!”
Della could be forgiven for the satisfied smile that curved her mouth. “Yes, you did, you handsome bastard!” she said without heat. “You’ve used me most dreadfully.”
“My conduct has been deplorable,” Royce agreed readily, noting with relief the faint glimmer of laughter that lurked in her wide, brown eyes.
“Abominable!” she said.
“Reprehensible!” he conceded.
Della laughed. “Shall we cry quits? Or shall we continue?”
Royce smiled wryly. “I think we should cry quits and admit that my conduct was indeed dreadful, deplorable, abominable, and reprehensible!”
Della’s fingers reached out again to touch his face. A warm expression in her eyes, she murmured, “I shall miss you, Royce Manchester.”
Royce captured her hand, and pressing a kiss into the palm, he muttered, “Thank you, Della. You have treated me most handsomely in spite of my shabby behavior.”
“Ah, but it will cost you, Royce,” Della said with a twinkle in her eyes. “I think you owe me that pair of chestnuts you drive ... and a high-perch phaeton to go with them.”
“Done!” he answered without hesitation. “I will have the horses delivered first thing tomorrow morning and shall put in an order for the phaeton at Tattersall’s immediately.” There was a slight pause, then he asked almost sheepishly, “Would you mind telling me the name of the gentleman who replaced me so speedily in your affections?”
For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse, and he would not have blamed her, but with a shrug of her slender shoulders, she answered calmly, “Of course not. He is one of several gentlemen who had been paying court to me before you arrived on the London scene. I had just about made up my mind to accept his offer when you appeared.” She added bluntly, “And quite frankly, I now wish I had not let your handsome face turn my head and had become his mistress in the first place.”
Royce looked suitably chastened, although there was a mocking glint in the depths of those amber gold eyes. “Yes, I know,” he admitted meekly, “that there were several friends of mine in the running to gain your favors—Newell and Atwater make no bones about it that I stole you right out from under their noses.”
“As well as those of Devlin, Wetherly, and Stafford!” Della couldn’t help bragging.
Telling himself it was no longer any of his business, but disliking on principle the idea that it might be Devlin who was now keeping Della, he inquired bluntly, “And is it the Earl?”
“No,” Della replied, “it is a very wealthy gentleman named Jasper Simonds.”
Royce frowned. “Jasper Simonds? I don’t believe that I have heard his name before.”
“Probably not,” Della replied. “He is somewhat reticent and he does not talk a great deal about his background. I do know that he is very wealthy and that while he does not mix with the highest in the land, he is very friendly with several members of the aristocracy, Including the Earl of St. Audries and his friends Stafford and Wetherly.”
Greatly relieved that his break with Della was being accomplished so easily, Royce spent the next several moments chatting quite amiably with his former mistress. Prior to his taking his leave of her, he elicited the information that she would be staying the night with Simonds, since her new protector objected to bedding her in a house being paid for by her former lover.
Curious about the man who had so opportunely replaced him in Della’s life, Royce immediately went in search of his cousin, George. He found him at White’s, surrounded by his usual coterie of friends, Atwater and Newell among them, and it was some time before Royce was able to have a private word with him. Eventually he cut his gregarious cousin out from the pack, and finding a quiet corner in the club, he was finally able to ask George about Jasper Simonds.
“Jasper Simonds, hmm?” George said thoughtfully. “Tall, black-eyed, slender fellow? Keeps to himself? Might have the smell of the shop about him, but full of brass?”
Royce looked impatient. “George, if I don’t know the fellow, how the devil would I know if he was short or tall, fat or skinny? Do you know him, and what do you know about him?”
George shrugged. “Think you do know ’im. Met him already. Know I introduced you to him when you first arrived.”
“George!” Royce began in exasperation. “You introduced me to half of London when I first arrived! How am I to remember everyone? Now, quit teasing me and tell me what you know about him.”
“Not much to tell,” George offered with sleepy amiability. “He don’t run in our crowd very often—sticks more with the Devlin bunch. Very wealthy, but no one knows where his blunt came from. Haven’t heard anything about his family. Might be shopkeepers and he don’t want it known. Why d’you want to know?”
Smiling ruefully, Royce returned, “He’s Della’s new protector.”
“Oh!” George replied, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “Feel like he set a pair of horns on your head, hey?”
“Not precisely, and Lord knows I deserve them after the trick I played on Della with Morgana, but I was just curious about him. I feel, well, sort of a sense of responsibility toward her, considering the way our relationship ended.”
“Shouldn’t worry,” George murmured. “Women like Della—like cats—always end on their feet ... or backs, as the case may be!”
They spoke for a few moments more, then just as they were about to end their conversation, Royce asked slowly, “George, have you ever heard anything about a ... a one-eyed man?”
The effect on his unflappable, convivial cousin was startling. George stiffened as if shot, and his normally ruddy complexion became pasty. “And what do you know about him?” George demanded in a hoarse voice.
“I think I asked the question first,” Royce returned quietly, George’s reaction filling him with an odd anxiety. Good Lord! His cousin couldn’t possibly have had dealings with such a creature. Not George!
And almost as if he could read his mind, George said hastily, “Don’t know ’im myself.” He shuddered and glanced nervously around the room before adding, “He’s a bad ’un—had a good friend, a dear friend who got caught in his toils. Killed himself. Messy affair.” Dread evident in his blue eyes, George clutched Royce’s arm and demanded apprehensively, “You ain’t met him yourself? You’re not, er, having him do things for you, are you? Not wise, Royce. If you need help, come to me—I’ll sport the blunt. Don’t go to that one-eyed devil. Be the end of you! Like my friend!”
Soothing his cousin’s fears that he had not employed the dubious services of the one-eyed man took some time, but eventually Royce was able to deftly segue the conversation around to the more pleasant topic of his impending removal to Tunbridge Wells. George immediately brightened, and in the course of their conversation, somehow—and he was never certain how it happened, which was the way it always was with George—Royce found himself inviting his cousin to come and stay at Lime Tree Cottage. Shaking his head at his own folly, he strolled back to the house on Hanover Square, rather than riding on such a fine day, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine.
Royce had not spoken to Morgana about either the purchase of the house or their imminent removal to Tunbridge Wells—he had not even mentioned it to the servants. Deciding that it was past time to do so, upon his arrival home, he called Chambers into his office and explained everything to him.
Chambers did not so much as blink an eye at the stunning news that in less than six days they would all be leaving London and taking up residence in Tunbridge Wells. His voice colorless, Chambers replied, “Of course, sir. I shall see to everything.”
Smiling faintly, Royce said apologetically, “I should have said something to you sooner, but I have had other things on my mind. Will it be terribly inconvenient for all of you?”
Chambers thawed just a bit. “Oh, no, sir. Since you leased this house furnished, there will only be our personal e
ffects to pack and transport.” A question in his eyes, he asked carefully, “And is, the, er, cottage furnished?”
“Yes—very tastefully,” Royce answered with a gleam of mockery in his topaz eyes. “I may be using it for iniquitous purposes, but the previous owner had exquisite taste and he sold the cottage to me with all its contents.”
Chambers did not take the bait, and bowing low, he left the room. Royce wandered about his office for several more seconds before deciding that he could not put off telling Morgana about Lime Tree Cottage any longer. Precisely why he was reluctant to tell her, he couldn’t have explained himself, but he suspected it had a great deal to do with his violent distaste for the whole idea of buying his way into her bed. Which was most peculiar considering that he had not thought twice about the expense of keeping Della or the cost of the prized chestnuts and phaeton that were his parting gift to her! Something inside him rebelled at placing Morgana in the same category as Della, and perhaps that more than any one thing infuriated him.
His handsome face set and grim, he stalked from his office and swiftly mounted the stairs in search of the most baffling, beguiling little witch whom it had ever been his misfortune to meet! Entering the luxurious ivory and blue sitting room that separated his suite from hers, Royce found the object of his thoughts seated demurely on a long, low sofa covered in ivory brocade.
The now fashionably cut black curls framing her beautiful face, Morgana was wearing an enchanting gown of lavender muslin, a copy of Lord Bryon’s The Corsair, which had been published the previous year, lying open on her lap.
To his great irritation, Royce was uneasily aware of the sudden leap in his pulse that the mere sight of her caused, and his voice and words were harsher than he intended as he said without preamble, “I’ve found you your bloody house! It is located in Tunbridge Wells, and if all goes well, we shall remove there on Friday.” A dangerous glitter in the golden brown eyes, he smiled insultingly as his gaze raked her up and down. “And after our arrival, I trust that before too many hours pass, I’ll be able to judge for myself if you’re worth the fortune you’re costing me!”
In stunned silence, Morgana stared up into his dark face, a myriad of confused thoughts tumbling through her brain. She had seen so little of him since that afternoon in his office that just his presence here in her rooms was startling. Both longing and dreading for him to come to her, she hungrily drank in the sight of his tall, lean body, his arrogant face, dark and forbidding against the white cravat at his throat. As she watched him stride confidently across the room toward her, her gaze paused obsessively on the full bottom lip of that wickedly attractive mouth, and a flutter, part fright, part delight, in the pit of her stomach reminded her forcibly that this man held her fate in his hands ... because she loved him! And because she loved him, he all-unknowingly wielded great power over her—power that she would never admit to him, power that she hated. She had barely grappled with the conflicting turmoil of emotion his appearance created within her when he had hurled those ugly words at her. Pride coming to her rescue, she tilted her chin haughtily and, determined to meet his cool arrogance with some of her own, said brashly, “Perhaps you should worry first that I approve of my bloody house! I am, after all, the one who must be satisfied!”
To say which of them was the most astonished by her words would have been impossible. Royce’s face tightened, and appalled with herself, Morgana could not quite believe that she had actually said such an outrageous thing. It ranked right up there with the hasty demands that had gotten her in this position in the first place, and she cursed her unruly tongue. But she wouldn’t back down; she had gone too far along this path she unwillingly trod to retreat now, and with a stubborn look on her features, she faced him defiantly.
Royce took a deep breath and regarded her hostilely. “Oh, I don’t think there will be any doubt of your liking it,” he sneered. “Although there is a possibility that you may find it a bit too elegant and refined for your liking—it is, for your information, one of the former properties of a Duke. And even if he is a gambler and fool enough to sell it to finance his losses at the faro table, he is a man of excellent birth and breeding—something that can’t be said about a little guttersnipe like you!”
There was a wealth of insult in his last words, and infuriated by both his manner and his remarks, Morgana sprang to her feet, her hand flashing to strike his dark face before either of them knew what was happening. The ringing sound of her palm connecting solidly with his cheek seemed to echo in the dangerous stillness that suddenly filled the room.
His eyes glittering with a golden fire, Royce caught her shoulders in an iron grasp and jerked her up next to him. “By God, it only needed that!” His mouth came down punishingly on hers and there was no gentleness in him as he forced her lips apart, compelling her to accept the hungry ravishment of his tongue. He meant to hurt her, meant to punish her for not only the violent turmoil she created within him, but also for possessing the rapacious greed of a whore, but ... ah, Jesus, it was sweet to have her in his arms again, so incredibly gratifying to feel her slim body next to his, to fully taste the honied warmth of her mouth once more. Compulsively he kissed her, wanting desperately to make her suffer for what she was doing to him, for turning his life upside-down, for evoking confusing emotions he did not want to feel, but against his will, the fury eased, only to be instantly replaced with a powerful, implacable desire.
The moment Royce had laid hands on her, Morgana had stiffened, and she had begun to struggle to escape even before his mouth came down so brutally on hers. Equally enraged, she had fought him, wanting to hurt him as he was hurting her, her fists striking viciously about his broad shoulders and tawny head as she had tried furiously to escape from his intentionally bruising kiss. But it was to no avail as ruthlessly he took what he wanted, her lips parting helplessly beneath the fierce onslaught of his. The blood thudding violently in her temples, she battled to break away from him, to escape from the insulting heartlessness of his kiss, but he easily captured her flailing arms and crushed her even closer to the hard wall of his body.
Blind fury at her helplessness burst through her, and in that moment, she actually hated him. How dare he treat her this way! And yet, even as that thought flashed through her mind, she was dimly aware of a subtle change within him. There was still no escape, he still held her clamped tightly against him, and his lips and tongue still ravaged her mouth, but there was something different in the way he embraced her.... The sudden swell of his manhood against her belly was stunning, and a new, wildly potent emotion, still fierce but having nothing to do with anger, erupted between them. Locked relentlessly in his hungry embrace, his urgent arousal boldly evident, it wasn’t surprising that the memory of his naked body thrusting deeply into hers washed over Morgana, making her cling where once she had fought so wildly to escape. Instinctively she responded to the difference in him, her body pressing against his, her lips softening, almost hesitantly seeking the further plunder of his tongue.
A primitive desire, not untouched by the fury that had racked Royce and Morgana both only a second before, swept them relentlessly onward as Royce’s hands impatiently found her soft breast, his fingers cupping and teasing their slight shape, creating a savage flood of wanting within Morgana. She trembled, her breasts tight and throbbing under his touch, her loins contracting almost painfully with the blunt force of the hunger that knotted and clawed in her belly. He had awakened her to passion, and her slim body now knew the meaning of that frantic, pulsating ache that grew deep within her, knew that the ache would only grow until it overshadowed everything but the wholly elemental need to have him possess her.
Consumed by the same inexorable emotions that gripped Morgana, Royce lost control, and with a muffled oath, he swung her up in his arms and blindly found his way to her bedchamber. Following her body down onto the silken coverlet, he hurriedly swept her clothing aside, his fingers feverishly seeking the sweet heat between her pale thighs, his own body a
ching and eager to take hers.
At his probing touch, Morgana moaned, her hips surging upward against his hands, clearly revealing her own helpless arousal. His heart pounding wildly, barely aware of his actions, Royce tore open his breeches and, with an animalistic exclamation of pleasure, in one frenzied movement buried himself deeply within her. Passionately he kissed her, his big body driving urgently time and again into the eagerly receptive heat of hers, the intensely erotic sensation of flesh sliding silkily against flesh hurtling them both almost instantly into rampant ecstasy.
For a long time afterward, they lay locked together on the crumpled coverlet, Morgana stunned and ashamed that such a wantonly violent act could have given her such undreamed-of pleasure. Could that wild creature thrashing and moaning beneath Royce have been herself? Could one go from such intense anger and rage to such intoxicating oblivion so swiftly? Her body ached and tingled from his ungentle taking, and to her everlasting mortification, she could not deny that she had actually taken pleasure in their fierce lovemaking.
With a start, she felt Royce move away from her, and highly embarrassed and shocked by not only what had just transpired between them but also the licentious picture she must make with her skirts tossed up about her shoulders, her thighs still half-splayed from locking him to her, she sat up quickly. A hot flush stained her face and there was a distinct tremble to her hands as she hastily arranged her rumpled skirts into some semblance of order. Unable to meet his gaze, she kept her face averted from him, her eyes fixed dully on the satin coverlet of the bed.
Whisper To Me of Love Page 28