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Whisper To Me of Love

Page 42

by Shirlee Busbee


  Fear evident in his eyes, Chambers replied in appalled tones, “Sir! You do not think that someone will try to poison her again!”

  “I don’t know,” Royce retorted sharply, “but I am unwilling to run the risk! It was pure luck that I arrived when I did, and I’m not willing to wager that luck will always be on our side.” His features hard and dangerous, Royce added grimly, “Keep your eyes and ears open, and watch everyone—someone tried to kill your mistress tonight, and if we don’t want them succeeding, we will have to take better precautions than we have so far.” He frowned and said, “I don’t know if there will be any way of stopping Clara from spreading the real story, but I want you to give out that the cat died naturally—which, of course, upset Morgana since everyone knew how fond she was of the animal. I believe that Clara will probably go along with what you say, since this situation does not present her in a very good light—and even if her tongue wags from here to London, I still want her out of here as soon as possible! And keep a sharp eye on her until then!”

  After Chambers had departed, Royce returned immediately to the sitting room, where he had left Morgana. Determinedly casual, he smiled tenderly at Morgana and asked lightly, “Would you mind waiting here for me while I go talk to your brother and Zachary and let them know what has transpired?”

  Despite herself, Morgana yawned, and trying to match his mood, gave him a sleepy smile as she replied, “No, but don’t be surprised if I am asleep when you return.”

  He laughed and, dropping a faint kiss on her upturned lips, went in search of Zachary and Jacko. He found them in the billiard room, and from their absorption in the game they were playing, it was obvious they were unaware of what had taken place upstairs only moments previously.

  As concisely as he could, over snifters of brandy, Royce brought them up-to-date, deliberately telling them about his trip to London and the arrangements he had made to secure Ben’s release from Newgate before introducing the ugly subject of the murder attempt on Morgana. If both young men had been reasonably satisfied with the outcome of the trip to London, they were horrified at the attempt on Morgana’s life. Royce was able to calm their most immediate fears about Morgana’s safety, but not unnaturally, it was some time before he could leave them and return to Morgana.

  When Royce entered the sitting room, he discovered Morgana drowsing, curled like a kitten, in one corner of the sofa, and reaching down for her, he murmured, “Come along, sleepyhead, I think it is well past your bedtime.”

  Before she knew what he was about, he had scooped her up into his arms and was striding rapidly into his bedchamber. Misty-eyed, she stared up at his dark face, admiring the firm jut of his jaw and the chiseled perfection of his long, mobile mouth. He had saved her life, and if she hadn’t already been in love with him, his actions tonight would have sent her tumbling head over heels into that state. As it was, she was feeling something dangerously close to adoration, and only by focusing on him and the emotions he aroused within her was she able to conquer the suffocating fear that welled up inside her every time she thought of Ratter’s lifeless body... .

  It was obvious that he was treating her like fragile porcelain, and she was grateful for the way he was trying to keep what had happened in perspective—not lightly brushing it aside, yet not unduly dwelling on the subject either. She knew someone had tried to kill her tonight, and that awful knowledge filled her with terror, but she was strong and she was resilient and she wasn’t about to simply give in to the icy fear that lurked at the edges of her subconsciousness—a fact that Royce seemed not to know, if his indulgent actions were anything to go by. When he had deposited her gently on his bed and, with all the care and cosseting of a nanny, had removed her lavender robe and placed her under the covers, a pile of soft pillows at her back, she muttered half-teasingly, half-seriously, “Royce, I really am all right. I was frightened at first and I am saddened by what happened to Ratter, but I am not about to go into a decline! Remember I grew up in St. Giles, and I am not so delicate that I cannot bear to ever sleep in that room again! I’m fine, really!”

  Undoing his cravat and tossing aside his jacket, still deliberately playing it with a light hand, Royce grinned at her. “Ah, but you have misconstrued my motives, sweetheart! It is I who cannot bear to have you sleep in that room! I want you right here beside me, so that I can sleep soundly knowing you are close at hand.” His eyes were full of mocking laughter, but there was a deceptive blitheness to his tone that belied how very serious he was—after what had nearly happened tonight, he could not tolerate the notion of not having her safely within touching distance!

  Blowing out the candle that flickered on the marble-topped table beside his bed, Royce hurriedly finished undressing. A moment later, he slid into bed, his arms instantly reaching to pull Morgana’s small body next to his. With her protectively enveloped in his strong embrace, her slender body resting confidingly against him, some of the fear and tension that he had kept rigidly under control all evening lessened. But, he thought with a sigh, they couldn’t just pretend the murder attempt had not taken place—they were going to have to discuss it more thoroughly.

  Dropping a brief kiss on her temple, he tightened his arms a little and he said huskily, “I don’t want to distress you, sweetheart, but we have to talk a bit more about what happened tonight.”

  He felt her nod her head and he asked gently, “I know we haven’t talked a great deal about your life in St. Giles, but beyond the one-eyed man, and I don’t know that he was behind tonight’s attack, is there anyone who, for any reason, would want to harm you?”

  Morgana stirred uneasily. While Royce had been closeted with Jacko and Zachary, she’d had time to think a great deal about what had happened, and it still had her completely baffled. . . and scared. It was terrifying to think that she had an unknown enemy, someone who wanted her dead and who had gone to considerable trouble to arrange for her to die—a rather gruesome death, if Ratter’s pitiful body was any indication!

  Royce’s question was a logical one, and she had already asked it of herself—and had found no answers. Her fingers idly toying with the hair on his chest, she said miserably, “While you were talking to Jacko and Zachary, I thought and thought about who could possibly hate me so much that they would try to murder me, and I can think of no one!” She swallowed convulsively. “Royce, in the city, we kept to ourselves—partly because of my deception. Believe me, we didn’t want anyone taking a second look at Jacko and Ben’s little brother! And partly because of the way Mum raised us—we were always aware of the double role we played, not only because I was a girl disguised as a boy, but because we didn’t really fit in with the others.” She sighed and said unhappily, “It was difficult speaking and acting one way with Mum and then another with everyone else, and it just seemed safer to keep to ourselves. Besides, Mum made it plain she didn’t really want us mingling with the usual inhabitants of St. Giles. When we weren’t out pilfering for the one-eyed man, we were usually with Mum. Oh, it’s true that Jacko and Ben roamed about more than I did—because of my deception, I stayed close to our rooms.” Despair evident in her words, she cried, “I didn’t know anyone, so how could they hate me?”

  Royce couldn’t think of an answer to her pitiful question, and he spent the next several moments comforting and calming her. When he thought she could handle further probing, he asked quietly, “What about the one-eyed man? Would the fact that he had not been able to get his hands on you make him want you dead?”

  Morgana gave a heavy sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but then, I never thought that anyone would try to kill me!”

  Kissing her softly on the cheek and brushing the springy curls back from her forehead, knowing he could not put off the question that had haunted him from the instant he had realized that someone had tried to poison her, Royce asked carefully, “What about your father?”

  Morgana stiffened, the picture of that coldly elegant face suddenly flashing through her mind, the slightly s
lanted gray eyes, gray eyes that she had inherited, hard and icy. She had been instinctively aware from the moment she had seen him on the fateful day when Royce had come into her life that the tall, disdainful gentleman represented some sort of danger to her, but she had pushed the unpleasant idea aside. And perhaps it had been instinct, too, that had quelled any further desire to find out more about him. Beyond that first rush of excitement in seeing him, she had not given him much thought, all her emotions and feelings taken up with what had been happening between herself and Royce... .

  But, she mused slowly, recalling her first sight of the man who had fathered her, Royce, too, must have felt something menacing, for he had kept her face hidden from the man’s view. He obviously knew her father, and had not thought it wise that he recognize her. She sighed unhappily. She had often wondered about the man who had fathered her, and there were dozens of things that she wanted to know about him, but oddly enough, now that the subject had been broached, especially since it had been under these sinister circumstances, she found herself reluctant to ask too much about him.

  “You know who he is, don’t you? You saw him that day—and didn’t want him to see me. Why?” she finally asked.

  In the darkness Royce grimaced. “Yes, I know him. And yes, I saw him the day you tried to pick my pocket, but as to why I didn’t want him to recognize you—and you have to remember that I was still under the impression that you were a boy!—I can’t tell you. With everything else that was happening at that moment, it just didn’t seem like the proper time for him to acknowledge you, if you understand what I mean.”

  Royce felt her nod and he found himself tensing for her next question—he didn’t relish talking about Stephen Devlin, and the fact that the Earl was her father made him even less inclined to talk about the man. If Morgana had pushed curiosity about him aside, Royce had been perfectly happy to let sleeping dogs lie, and he had hoped that she wouldn’t ask too many questions about her father until some of the current animosity that existed between him and Devlin had lessened—especially now since he wanted to make her his wife! He didn’t think that being a hairsbreadth away from challenging your prospective wife’s father to a duel was a particularly auspicious start to a marriage!

  But tonight’s events had forced his hand. In view of what little they knew, it would have been foolhardy on his part not to have introduced the subject of her father. Now that he had, however, he was extremely reluctant to pursue it beyond his initial question.

  It wasn’t likely that Morgana was going to change the topic, and with a sinking heart, he heard her say uncertainly, “He looked, um, rather haughty and forbidding to me that day, but perhaps I was wrong in my impression of him. Is he a nice man?”

  Now, how in the hell did he answer that? Royce inquired savagely of himself. Nice was not a word he had ever heard applied to Stephen Devlin. Cold, arrogant, disdainful ... those were words that had been frequently ascribed to the current Earl of St. Audries, as a matter of fact, his own dislike of the man aside, Royce couldn’t recall anything pleasant ever being said about Stephen Devlin—or his wife, for that matter! Which was not something he particularly wanted to tell the man’s daughter! Frantically Royce groped for some way to explain to Morgana about her father without letting his own antagonism for the man color his speech.

  Royce hesitated so long that Morgana grew apprehensive. She had asked a simple question; why couldn’t he give her a simple answer? Was her father a monster? Perhaps he knew some terrible scandal about the man and didn’t want to tell her, she speculated uneasily. It was only hours later that she would wonder if Royce had purposely kept the truth from her, but in light of what had happened this evening, suddenly anxious not to plunge into what might very well be another unpleasant and distressing scene, she said quickly, “Never mind! I don’t know him—nor do I care to! And since he never paid me any mind in the first nineteen years of my life, why, now, should he not only be interested in me, but want to kill me?”

  Inordinately relieved that she had saved him from a nasty explanation, Royce instantly seized on the escape she presented him and said hastily, “I don’t know that he is behind what happened tonight! And you are probably right—if he abandoned you at birth and didn’t care enough to find out what happened to you, he can’t have any reason to want to kill you.”

  There was an uneasy silence between them, then Morgana snuggled closer to him and asked in a small voice, “What are we going to do, Royce? I-I-I don’t want to die.”

  Her fear was evident, and his heart clenched in anguish for her. Desperate to distract her from such horrifying thoughts, he did the only thing he could—he crushed her next to his big body and kissed her with all the love and passion that was in him. “You’re not going to die!” he said fiercely a few moments later, still holding her tightly to him, his mouth exploring her cheek and ear. “What you’re going to do,” he declared vehemently, “is marry me!”

  Morgana froze, hardly able to believe her ears. “Marry you?” she finally got out in a dazed tone. “But you don’t want to marry me!”

  He kissed her very thoroughly, and when he lifted his head, a hint of laughter in his voice, he murmured, “Oh, but I do, sweetheart! I find that I want to marry you more than anything else in the world.”

  Her lips stinging from the passionate force of his kisses, her body shamefully tingling with anticipation of his lovemaking, Morgana could hardly make sense of what was happening. Feeling as if she had wandered into a world comprised of frightening nightmares and blissful dreams, she tried to make out his beloved features in the darkness. Royce must be suffering from shock, she finally decided. Scant hours ago, someone had tried to murder her, and now he was saying that he wanted to marry her!

  Morgana loved him with all the passion of her young heart and body, and if she had been asked what she wanted most in life, she would have answered without hesitation—to spend the rest of her days with Royce Manchester! But marriage! It was a state she had never conceived to share with the man at her side—she was his mistress, a bastard who, until a very short while ago, had earned her living picking pockets! She had no fine relations; one of her brothers was currently in Newgate, for heaven’s sake! She had no powerful connections and no money, her only asset her slender young body, which was already his for the taking, and yet this rich, wellborn American appeared to want to marry her! It was incomprehensible!

  She shook her head as if trying to clear it and muttered gruffly, “I think that you must have had one brandy too many when you talked to Jacko and Zachary!”

  Her reply wasn’t precisely what Royce wanted to hear, and he was a little shaken that his first, and he hoped only, proposal of marriage was being met with such an unflattering degree of skepticism! A trifle hurt, he demanded half-angrily, half-laughingly, “Morgana, don’t you want to marry me?”

  “Oh, but I do!” she averred helplessly, her soft hands unconsciously caressing the hard planes of his face. “I do want to marry you ... but you can’t possibly want to marry someone like me!”

  “Oh, but I do!” he mimicked her softly, his lips brushing tantalizingly across hers. “I very much want to marry you, and I intend to marry you without further delay! I obtained in London a special license, and it is resting at this moment ever so securely in the pocket of my coat ... and with your consent, I have every intention of putting it to excellent use tomorrow!” He kissed her again, a sweetly tender kiss, and asked huskily, “Are you going to marry me tomorrow, sweetheart?”

  “Oh, yes!” she answered giddily, fearful that this was a wondrous dream and that all too soon she would wake.

  He kissed her again, this time more hungrily, his hand going to her breast, to cup and fondle the warm flesh. “By this time tomorrow,” he said thickly when he finally lifted his plundering mouth from hers, “you will be my wife, and then no one will be able to take you away from me ... ever!”

  His words thrilled her, and they more than fulfilled every fantasy she had ever had a
bout Royce Manchester, but she was painfully aware of words that he had not said—three extremely simple words that every woman wants to hear ... I love you! She told herself that she was being greedy, that Royce had offered her far more than she had ever dreamed or had any right to hope for, and yet ... and yet there was a little ache in the region of her heart, a tiny pain that would not quite go away.

  Telling herself angrily that she was being greedy and ridiculous to wish for more, she clung to him, planting small, unknowingly provocative kisses at the corner of his mouth, trying to convince herself that it was enough that he wanted to marry her, trying desperately to push away the uneasy questions that kept tumbling through her brain.

  She should be ecstatic, she thought unhappily, delighted that she would join the ranks of respectability—that she no longer had to fear that one day she would end up as her mother. She should be overjoyed that the man she loved wished to make her his wife, and yet she could not help wondering why, out of all the women he could have married, women far more his equal, he had chosen to marry her, a bastard child with no fame or fortune, a little pickpocket from the notorious precincts of St. Giles... .

  CHAPTER 27

  The marriage of Royce Manchester and Morgana Fowler was, by necessity, a small, very private affair. It took place in the parlor of a local justice of the peace, and despite being rather hastily put together, it went off surprisingly well.

  When apprised early that next morning of the approaching nuptials, Zachary and Jacko, after excitedly and happily congratulating the principals, immediately threw themselves wholeheartedly into seeing that it was no shoddy event. In this endeavor they were ably assisted by Chambers and the staff from London. Chambers and his wife, Ivy, were especially pleased at this very satisfactory outcome to a situation that had caused them much heartburnings—they could once again hold their heads up high, confident in the knowledge that they were working in a respectable household!

 

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