Morgana had no answers for him; in fact, it was as if a floodgate had burst open and she had dozens of questions about her father. Royce answered as many as he could, but since his interest in the St. Audries family had been minimal until very recently and his exchanges with the Earl had been hostile rather than friendly, beyond some very basic information, there was little he could tell her. He tried very hard not to let his personal dislike of the Earl creep into his voice, but the very neutrality of his tone gave him away. “You don’t like him very much, do you?” she asked when he finished speaking.
Royce grimaced. “Let’s just say that the Earl does not like Americans, and I, unfortunately, am not particularly impressed by either his wealth or his title ... and I let him know it.” She stared at him for a long time, and Royce wished fervently that he knew what was going on inside her head.
Morgana couldn’t explain very well precisely what it was that she felt. A chaotic multitude of emotions was swirling wildly around in her brain as she sat there, the linen sheet clutched to her breast, her gaze seeing Royce, yet not seeing him. Certainly it was gratifying to find that one’s father was a titled member of the aristocracy, a man of wealth and a member of a family whose name commanded respect ... except Morgana had the distinct and unsettling conviction that while the name commanded respect, her father did not! It wasn’t anything that Royce had said, it was more what he didn’t say! Even taking into account the acknowledged animosity between them, there was a decided air of constraint about her husband when he spoke of her father, almost as if there were unpleasant things he didn’t want her to learn about the Earl of St. Audries... .
She sighed. It didn’t really matter to her—Stephen Devlin’s entire contribution to her life had been merely the fact that Jane had once been his mistress, and Morgana couldn’t say that she had any deep feeling about the man. She had been curious, it was true—who wouldn’t be? But it wasn’t as if she had cherished any real dreams of ever making his acquaintance or of insinuating herself into his life. That one glimpse she’d had of him the day she had picked Royce’s pocket had definitely not encouraged her to seek him out—quite the reverse, she thought with a shudder, remembering the selfish arrogance of his chiseled features. How could a man like that be her father? And whether it was further curiosity, or just a reluctance to accept that supercilious, cold-eyed man as her father, or something else that prompted her next question, she didn’t know. Her dark, curly head cocked to one side, she inquired softly, “You’re positive that Stephen Devlin is my father? He doesn’t have any other relatives who could have been Jane’s protector instead?”
Royce slowly shook his tawny head. “Except for Stephen and Julian, there are no other Devlin men, and Stephen is the right age to have fathered you. Your half-brother, Julian, is only a few years older than you are, and there is no one else in the family that I know of.” A queer expression suddenly crossed his face as he vaguely remembered a snatch of conversation with Zachary. “Wait! There was an older brother... . He held the title before Stephen. If I recall correctly, however, he died years ago—before you were even born—so I’m afraid that eliminates him.”
Deciding that she was really being rather greedy not to be satisfied with a “bleeding lord” for a father, when poor Ben hadn’t even a clue as to who his father was, she smiled and murmured, “It’s not important—knowing Jane, he could have turned out to be a highwayman with a pocket full of blunt just as easily, and so I shall be content to claim an Earl for my father.” She grinned at him. “Just think, I am not quite the little nobody you thought I was—except for the fact that I was born on the wrong side of the blanket, I’m damn near a bloody lady!”
Royce smiled back at her, but his thoughts were not wholly on her words. There was an uncomfortable niggle in the back of his brain that talking about the Earl’s dead brother had roused into being. Hadn’t Zachary mentioned something about the previous Earl’s wife and infant daughter dying? Wasn’t that how Stephen Devlin had come to inherit the fortune he was so quick to brag about? The infant who died would have inherited everything, except, of course, the title ... but incredibly, if she had lived, it occurred to him, she would have looked very much like Morgana and have been about Morgana’s age.... The most extraordinary suspicion suddenly sprang into full being within his brain. No! he told himself firmly. It couldn’t be! Morgana was Stephen’s illegitimate daughter! There was no other explanation. He was just letting his imagination run wild with him to think otherwise!
Yet long after Morgana had gone back to sleep, he lay there awake, seriously considering the unthinkable. If he believed that Stephen was blackhearted enough to murder his brother’s infant daughter, possibly even her mother, in order to get his hands on the fortune, which Royce did, then it wasn’t such a far leap to consider that something may have gone very wrong with Stephen’s despicable plan... . . The one-eyed man!
Giving up all pretense of sleep, Royce slipped from the bed and, dragging on his robe, began to prowl restlessly about the room. If Morgana really was the long-supposed-dead heiress, it would supply answers to so many baffling questions. Suppose Stephen had contacted the one-eyed man to dispose of the child, and suppose, for his own reasons, the one-eyed man had not done so. Instead, Royce thought slowly, he could have placed the child in the care of someone he could trust ... Jane Fowler, who had raised the child as her own. Precisely what the one-eyed man hoped to gain by this, Royce couldn’t quite understand, but if his surmise was correct, it would help explain why the one-eyed man wanted her back so desperately—if for no other reason than to keep Stephen from discovering that he had betrayed him all those years ago!
And if Stephen had done as Royce was beginning to suspect with increasing conviction; if Morgana Fowler was really the Lady Morgana Devlin, heiress to a great fortune, then it gave Stephen Devlin a powerful motive for death.... It would explain why, after all these years, the Earl was suddenly very interested in her, why he had been nosing about the estate asking John Bullard questions about the young lady staying here ... and why someone had tried to poison her last night.
It was a vile and exceedingly ugly scenario that was unfolding in Royce’s brain, but as the minutes passed and he continued to consider it, he became even more convinced that he had stumbled onto at least part of the truth. He wandered over to where Morgana slept, her features bathed in the golden light of the candle that he had replaced on the table near the bed.
Was his little pickpocket an heiress to a great fortune? Instead of being a “bloody lady,” as she had laughingly called herself, was she, in fact, a lady of fortune? The legitimate daughter of an Earl? It mattered little to him. It had been the little pickpocket who had utterly captivated him, who had all-unknowingly stolen his heart—he loved her, and antecedents be damned! He may have looked originally for a bride of birth and fortune, but that was before he had fallen in love with Morgana, and in his heart, he didn’t want her to be anything but “Pip.” He most definitely didn’t want anyone else to be able to lay claim to her emotions or loyalties—he loved her, she was his wife, and that was all that truly mattered to Royce as he stared down into her lovely face.
But suppose she was that infant daughter who reportedly died years ago? he questioned grimly. What then? Was he selfish enough to want to keep her heritage from her? He didn’t think so. If there was even a remote chance that she was indeed the supposedly dead heiress, then the truth had to be discovered and proven.
Unconsciously playing with his signet ring, he continued to pace, his thoughts veering furiously between complete incredulity at what he suspected and grim conviction. If she was Morgana Devlin, it neatly explained everything—the one-eyed man’s obsession for her ... Stephen’s sudden interest and the murder attempt. He could think of no other solution that fitted all the pieces of the puzzle so well. Frowning, he stopped abruptly in the center of the room, staring down at his signet ring ... the ring he had promised to send to Ben as proof that a message came from him...
.
If the scar on her hip proved to be the crest of the St. Audries family ... could it be that the brand served the same purpose as his ring? Proof of identity? His heart beating with painful strokes, he gazed blindly at the ring on his finger. Was the brand on her hip inflicted not as an act of cruelty, but as a desperate means to identify her?
“Royce?” Morgana called softly, interrupting his fantastically flying thoughts. “What is it? Can’t you sleep?”
Wrenching his mind away from the path it seemed determined to follow, with an effort he focused on Morgana and discovered her half sitting, her clear gray eyes fixed curiously on him. “I’m sorry,” he said apologetically. “Did my pacing wake you?”
“No, not your pacing—it was you I missed!” she answered with a faint blush on her cheeks.
His gaze riveted by the sight of one impudent nipple peeking out over the linen sheet, his dark thoughts vanished in an instant, to be replaced almost immediately by a sudden hunger for her. Walking over to the bed, he shrugged out of his robe, and an eager glint in the depths of his golden eyes, he murmured, “What a demanding little wench you are ... and how fortunate for me!”
Morgana hadn’t meant her comment precisely that way, but at the first touch of his mouth against hers, she decided blissfully that she was the fortunate one to have such a passionate lover for her husband. They made love unhurriedly, savoring each other’s bodies, exploring and teasing until each could bear the sweet torment of the other’s touch no longer, and frantically joining together to find a shatteringly exquisite assuagement from the passions that drove them.
With Royce’s head resting against her breast, one muscled thigh thrown over her hips, Morgana listened to his even breathing, wondering why, now that he was finally asleep, she was wide awake. Of course, she told herself prosaically, it wasn’t every day that she got married ... nor every day that she discovered her father’s identity... .
It was strange how the news that her father was an Earl affected her. She wasn’t precisely elated, but she was relieved that he hadn’t turned out to be some wealthy scoundrel who just happened to have had Jane in keeping at the time she was conceived ... except—and this was what probably was keeping her awake—she had the definite impression that the Earl was a wealthy scoundrel! Royce hadn’t wanted to tell her about him, and though he had chosen his words with care, the fact that her husband disliked her father a great deal had been unmistakable.
It bothered her, too, that until tonight, Royce had never introduced the subject of her father. She pulled a face. Well, she would have to take the blame for some of that—she certainly hadn’t been exactly eager to talk about him either!
She had come a long way from St. Giles in a remarkably short period of time, but even though she had grown used to wearing silks and satins and to having servants wait upon her every whim, the essential Morgana hadn’t changed—there was still more than a little of St.-Giles-raised Pip within her, and Pip was uneasy. In the world she had inhabited since birth, everyone’s motives were suspect, no one did anything without expecting to gain from it, and anything that seemed too good to be true usually was!
It was incredible that she was married to the man who lay sleeping by her side; incredible that he had bought this house for her; that he was willing to expend so much time and money on a little pickpocket and her brothers ... except, it turned out, she wasn’t just a little pickpocket—she was the daughter of an Earl! Granted it was the illegitimate daughter, but she found it curious and just a bit suspicious that Royce had never made any mention of that interesting fact until after they were married. He hadn’t even mentioned her father until last night, just prior to asking—no, telling—her that she was going to marry him, even having conveniently gone so far as to obtain a special license....
Feeling decidedly guilty and just a little mean-spirited to be entertaining such perfidious and disloyal thoughts about the man she loved, a man who had shown her nothing but kindness, she stirred restlessly. It was all nonsense! There was nothing the least bit suspicious about what he had done! Morgana told herself fiercely. Instead of lying here trying to make something ugly and underhanded out of his actions, she should be down on her knees thanking God that such a wonderful man had wanted to marry her!
But why? asked Pip coolly. He never said a word about love, and if he didn’t love her, then why had he wanted to marry her? There were any number of wellborn, respectable young ladies for him to choose from—why you?
I don’t know! Morgana answered hotly. There are probably lots of reasons—he just hasn’t mentioned them yet. I love him, and that’s all that matters!
Perhaps, Pip replied cynically, but I would give a great deal to know why his curiosity about that scar never came out until after you were married and why he never mentioned that your father was an Earl until after he had you safely bound to him by marriage.
It was a stupid argument, and her fists clenched tightly, deliberately Morgana shut out Pip’s taunting questions. It was mere coincidence that they had discussed the scar and had talked for the first time about her father tonight. Mere coincidence—there was absolutely nothing sinister about it!
Hating herself for even considering any nefarious motive for Royce’s actions, she snuggled closer to him, as if the warmth of his big body could drive away the chill that Pip’s questions had aroused within her. It didn’t matter! she repeated savagely to herself. She loved him!
Royce felt her move against him and gave up all pretense of sleep, the wild speculations about Morgana’s past having come back to bedevil him the moment he had surfaced from the dreamy ecstasy of their lovemaking. Pulling her to him, he asked quietly, “Can’t you sleep either?”
She shook her head, but before she could answer him, they both stiffened at the sound of a furtive rap on the door to the sitting room that separated her bedroom from his. The fitful light from the guttering candle threw Royce’s features into sharp relief as he motioned Morgana to be still; with a quick, supple movement, he sprang from the bed and, jerking on his robe, stopped just long enough to grasp the pistol he kept beneath the pillow before stealthily leaving the bedroom. Her eyes huge in her small face, Morgana sat up, her heart beating at a frantic pace.
“Royce, are you awake?” came Zachary’s hushed tones from the other side of the door as he quietly rapped again.
Instantly relaxing, Royce called over his shoulder to Morgana, “It is only Zachary.”
Knowing that something significant must have occurred to have Zachary knocking on their door at this time of night, Morgana swiftly found her night robe and, hurriedly wrapping it around her naked body, followed Royce into the sitting room. She found not only Zachary with Royce, but her brother as well, and from the tense expressions on the two younger men’s faces, she knew that she had not been wrong in her surmise.
“What is it?” she asked anxiously as she walked farther into the room, tying the belt of her robe about her slender waist.
Zachary spoke first, an apologetic look on his face. “I’m sorry to disturb you, but I saw the light under the door and thought that you might still be awake.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Royce replied easily. “You must have thought it important or you would have waited until morning. What happened?”
“Well, we did as you requested. We drove into Tunbridge Wells and we wandered about—stopped at a few gaming establishments and one or two other places. We met quite a few people from London, and I introduced Jack to them, and then we both babbled like excited old maids about your wedding to Morgana today.” Zachary grinned. “As you can imagine, everyone was rather astonished.”
An answering grin curved Royce’s mouth. “No doubt,” he replied dryly. “But did you see any of Wetherly’s house party in town?”
Zachary nodded his dark head. “I’m coming to that. We finally ended up at a public ball being held in one of the pump rooms in town, and it was there that we managed to track down Wetherly’s party. We saw all of them�
�Wetherly, Stafford, Atwater, Newell ...” He hesitated and then added carefully, “Even the Earl and his Countess were in attendance, as well as the widow Cresswell and Julia Summerfield and some others.”
Royce could feel the tenseness that suddenly emanated from the two young men, and unconsciously he reached for Morgana, pulling her protectively to his side. “And?” he asked harshly. “What happened?”
Jack and Zachary exchanged glances and then Jack cleared his throat uneasily and muttered, “We had been enjoying ourselves, almost forgetting that there was another reason than merely passing a pleasant evening on the town for us to be where we were. Zachary had been introducing me to everyone, and as you said, I fitted right in—everything was going along very smoothly and we had made certain that everyone who crossed our path knew about the fact that you had married Morgana today.” He took a deep breath. “We were in the pump room and had circled it several times, visiting and speaking with several people, when we came upon the Wetherly party, and I heard his voice!”
“His voice?” Royce repeated, puzzled.
“The one-eyed man’s!” Zachary burst out excitedly. “Jack recognized it right off! The one-eyed man is one of Wetherly’s guests!”
“You’re certain?” Royce demanded swiftly, but not exactly surprised.
“I could not mistake it!” Jack answered stiffly. “He was there, and while we did not notice anyone leave the group, once we approached it, I never heard him speak again. He either kept quiet, having recognized me immediately and aware that I would know his voice, or he disguised it during the time we spent with the group. While Zachary performed introductions and made the announcement about your marriage today, I took the opportunity to unobtrusively examine each man carefully, looking for some clue that would reveal him to me.” Jack shook his head disgustedly. “There was nothing about their faces that seemed familiar, and yet I know I heard his voice!”
Whisper To Me of Love Page 45