by Mary Blayney
~ ~ ~
The group standing by the fireplace broke into laughter. Morgan sipped the port and wondered how long it would be before they rejoined the ladies. You would think the newly engaged Monksford would be anxious to return to his fiancée. The clock chimed and he realized that it had been less than thirty minutes since they had finished dinner.
The whole evening seemed interminable.
He had watched Christiana during dinner, flirting with Monksford’s cousin, who was seated next to her. He was sure she was not the slightest bit interested in the jackanapes. His clothes were outlandish, his laugh bore a close resemblance to a braying donkey, and he talked as though each of his words were a pearl of wisdom. Of course, Christiana appeared to be hanging on each of those pearls, so perhaps the idiot was entitled to the feeling.
She was so quiet. Not that she did not partake in conversation, but even her demeanor was quieter now, as though her grief had drained her enthusiasm. He missed that the most. It was one of her most endearing traits. Had she really changed that much? He hoped not, for he so missed the Christiana Lambert he had come to love.
Monksford’s suggestion that they rejoin the ladies was met with some teasing and Morgan held himself still so as not to be the first to leave the room.
“Gentlemen,” Monksford hailed them as they began to move to the door, “there are some whist tables set up, if you would care to play. And billiards.”
Good, Morgan thought, if all else fails I can look for someone eager to lose a few guineas.
Most of the conversation in the blue salon came to a halt when they walked in. Morgan scanned the room, but could not see Christiana. Had she gone to bed? Not long ago, she would have been the last to leave a party.
He circled the room, chatting with each of the ladies, spending a little more time with the crippled daughter of Monksford’s sister. She would be old enough for a Season next year and this was her first social outing, by way of rehearsal for her visit to Town. Her shyness was understandable, but within ten minutes he had found her passion: horses. She was as familiar with the stables as any man he knew, explaining that, “It hardly matters if one of my legs is shorter when I am on a horse.”
Too bad there were not more opportunities for riding in Town. Perhaps her best hope for an alliance would be at house parties like this.
He moved on to talk with Mrs. Lambert, in hopes of finding out where Christiana was. It was an endless ten minutes but his reward was her insistence that he go out to the garden and “tell Christiana to come indoors.” With a prayer of thanks to the god of protective mothers, he stepped out onto the stone walkway that led to the garden. He could see her sitting on a bench at the foot of the steps, where it led into the formal garden.
She turned at the sound of the open door and shrugged when she saw who it was. Hardly welcoming.
He came down and sat beside her. “Your mama wants you to come inside. She instructed me to tell you that she is too busy to nurse you if you take sick.”
“Very well.”
To his utter surprise, she stood up and started toward the house. When had she ever obeyed her mother? “Please do not leave because of me.”
She looked at him and then at the garden, aglow in the light of a full moon, as haunting and lovely as his memories of her.
“It is beautiful out here. Quiet and peaceful.”
“Romantic?” Now why had he said that?
“With the right person, it would be irresistible,” she agreed.
He closed his eyes a minute and tried to convince himself that was not rejection. Standing up, he moved closer to her.
“Richard? Is that who you were thinking of out here?”
“Richard?” She laughed with genuine surprise. “No, my lord, Richard was more interested in money than he ever was in marriage to me.”
“He was engaged to someone else?”
“Oh no, but I found out from my father that he was being paid to marry me.”
“Oh, Sprite, that’s absurd.” He leaned against the back of the bench and folded his arms across his chest. “Who would need money to be convinced to marry you?”
She gave him a real smile. It was small and self-conscious, but as real as he had seen in the twelve hours he had been here. “Lord Morgan, I do believe that is one of the nicest things you have ever said to me.”
“The truth.” He bowed to her.
“For some perhaps, but why would my father make it up? Sir Howard was going to pay Richard to marry me and bring that old land dispute to an end.”
“Ahh, I see.” It did make sense and it would be devastating to her.
“Yes, well, it is over now. I would be foolish to mourn for something that was nothing more than an illusion.
“You seem so calm, too calm.” It was almost a question. Indeed he did wonder how deep it went.
“I think I have matured. Life is not one long endless entertainment.”
He stepped closer and took her hand. “It could be vastly more entertaining than it has been.”
She pulled her hand from his. He saw a flash of anger, but it was soon gone. “Whatever you may think, my lord, I am not given to dallying in gardens.”
“To my knowledge, you have only done it once before. It is one of my most treasured memories.”
She looked at him in some confusion as though she was not sure she could trust him. “Is that meant as flattery, my lord? I want you to know that I am not as susceptible as I used to be.”
“You wound me, Sprite.” He tried for a light tone, but she had almost convinced him.
“I trust I only wound your ego, my lord.”
“What about our friendship?” In the old days he could have easily teased her into a show of temper with this interchange.
“A social friendship perhaps, but not a personal one. No, our London months were a game which both of us played very well.” Her answer was cool and slightly amused.
“Neither one of us was playing.” He spoke sharply. That was going too far. He smiled gently and spoke more quietly, as he reached for her hand again. “You are as dear a friend to me as any I have ever known.”
“Speak for yourself, Lord Morgan.” But her hand curled around his. It was the one sign he needed. Dare he call her bluff? “You can prove our friendship is meaningless.”
She was silent for a long moment “How?”
“A kiss.” It was a gamble, and he hoped the long odds favored him, favored them.
“Kiss you! Absolutely not.”
There was the anger. Oh, how he missed it. “You are a coward.”
“I am not a coward.” She stamped her foot.
“Prove it,” he taunted.
With an angry start she moved to him and raised her mouth to his, her eyes open, defiant.
He watched her until her eyes drifted shut and then she touched his lips with hers. They were cool at first, as cool as her false front. But they softened and warmed and he had his answer. She might mistrust her feelings, might be afraid they were not shared, but they were there underneath a most fragile poise.
He would have ended the kiss and begun to build a future, but she would not let him. Suddenly her facade cracked and exposed a desperate torrent of emotion.
Her mouth ravaged his as though passion could erase the pain of reborn feeling. She clutched at his shirtfront. The rest of her body was tense, her mouth was moving over his, her lips open to his. She did not use her tongue, but would have welcomed any move on his part.
He could feel her desperation. He understood the loneliness that made sex seem an easy answer. He never thought for a moment that she wanted anything but escape from weeks of confusion that had held her silent for too long.
She had no interest in the love he had come so earnestly to offer. She would reject the commitment he’d been willing to make. It was humbling. It was maddening.
As he tasted the soft perfection of her lips, he thought of settling for what he could have. He considered for just a momen
t what it would feel like to kiss her back fully instead of controlling his response as he was, to use his hands to ease the tension in her body, to bring her to a sweet, liquid warmth that would welcome him and bring them both pleasure. He wanted to, with every tiny moan that slipped between her lips, he wanted to. He was a fool not to.
He called on his considerable if rarely used control. He would stop her now, but he would not give up. He loved her too much to abandon her, but he was going to play this hand as carefully as any in his life. There was more than money involved.
Pushing away from her he used his body to shield her from anyone else who might happen onto the patio. The brick wall was behind her, cool in the warm night. He welcomed the roughness against his hands where they circled her. It helped distract him from the fire she had so very effectively lit.
He looked at her intently, not sure if censure was what she needed, but sure it would bring her back to her senses.
“Oh, God,” she moaned and deep racking sobs followed. She looked down and made to move away, but Morgan knew exactly how to handle this. He pulled her close and held her closer, murmuring wordless encouragement. The tears were a far safer release than a kiss and he held her until the sobs ended and her breathing evened.
“There, my love, are you feeling better?” He tried to see himself as a kindly uncle and ignored the ache that cast him as a lover.
She pushed out of his arms with an abrupt energy he had not expected. She turned from him and faced the wall that surrounded the garden. Summer bloomed all around them and even though the flowers were shrouded in the darkness, their fragrance bathed them in an evocative scent.
“You sound like some doddering guardian, my lord. I am feeling better, thank you. Mortification has an uncanny way of erasing more meaningful feelings.”
He smiled at the row of buttons on her dress and reached out to turn her just a little. “Christy, my dear, sweet angel, confusion makes us do things we’d never contemplate in our saner moments. And confusion mixed with grief you are certainly allowed.”
He turned her around to face him. She turned willingly though she would not look him in the eye until he tapped her nose. “No, no more tears.” She took a deep breath and a small smile replaced the tremble of her chin. “Your mother has shown admirable restraint in sending no one to look for us, but soon even your father will look up from the card table and wonder where you are.”
“You give me far more credit than I deserve. It would take more than a missing daughter to take Father from his evening cards.” The smile grew, a little cynical when he would have preferred happy, but he would not worry over details. “And Mama is so caught up in Joanna’s engagement that she’ll not think of me until she wants to release every pent-up feeling...”
He knew why her voice trailed off. Like mother, like daughter. The thought passed through his mind as well. “No, no. No more regrets. It was a kiss to end all kisses my dear. Let me hold on to that thought.”
She blushed now with pure embarrassment and he seized the moment to satisfy himself. So much nobility could be wearing.
He deserved a small reward.
He pulled her closer, ever so gently, and whispered against her lips, “Now kiss me sweetly and not like some desperate spinster.”
Despite his invitation, it was Morgan who kissed her this time. First his lips touched hers gently, as gently as a butterfly lands on a rose. A caress, all softness and delight, he moved his lips over every inch of her mouth, lifting then settling again, a light tasting that renewed pleasure with each touch. Finally, he settled his mouth on hers, deepening the kiss just a bit until he tasted the soft inside of her lip. He stopped one brief moment before the kiss became more than he planned, but he stopped considerably short of satisfied.
She was smiling when he lifted his head, her eyes soft and shinning. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He wanted to ask her what she was thanking him for, but decided it would be better if neither one of them knew. Instead, he offered her his arm and escorted her into the drawing room. They parted as soon as they entered the room and when he looked about a moment later she was listening to her aunt and mother as they chattered on about some nonsense. If they noted she was a little disheveled they did not comment. But then no one noticed what he saw now for the first time in a long while.
He recalled the night they met, the way she had flashed that smile at him, the smile that invited him across the room and shocked him into awareness. She might never be quite that bold again, but her love of life was back; he could see it in her eyes, in the way she responded to her mother, in the way she glanced around the room for someone to share a private joke with. He caught her eye and the smile became a laugh, which disappeared as quickly as her mother questioned her levity.
He could not hear what she said, but he watched her suck in her cheeks to hold back the laughter. He turned away, afraid if he watched her much longer he would lose all sense. He walked toward the card room but he moved slowly, letting his imagination do what he could not.
Nineteen
“Why does it have to rain tonight of all nights?” Joanna stared out the bedroom window as if sheer will would lighten the sky. “The moon is full and I so wanted to be able to see the stars.”
“It will be perfect, Joanna. You wait and see.” Christiana hurried the rest of her toilette. This was Joanna’s night and vanity was her sister’s alone to command.
“How can it be lovely when the weather is not?” Joanna sounded as perplexed as a man in a milliner’s shop.
“The rain will make everyone more relaxed. You will see. They must hurry indoors and there will be a jumble of people in the hall.” She took her sister’s arm and urged her to the door. “They will all look just a little wet and so no one will worry too much if their dress is a little wrinkled or their hair a little damp. You watch, tonight will be a dream come true.”
Apparently mollified, Joanna turned from the window. “One wish has come true. You and Lord Morgan are friends again.”
“We are.” She nodded and refused to blush. It was obvious they had renewed their friendship. They had spent the better part of the day in each other’s company.
“Of course there were plenty of chaperones for the two of you, but he was never far.” She paused dramatically then added, “Except for that time when he and Papa went off to the stables.”
“Oh, Joanna, please, I assure you there is only going to be one engagement announced tonight.”
Her sister actually looked disappointed.
“Jo, that is as it should be. Tonight is your night. Yours and John’s. And I promise you the rain will only make it more special.”
She was right. As she explained to Lord Morgan later as they stood by the punch bowl, “It helps that everyone knows each other. I think it is so much more convivial than the balls in London.”
“Undoubtedly.”
“Are you paying any attention at all? You are looking at me, but I think your mind must be someplace else entirely.”
“Sprite, I am hanging on your every smile.”
She grinned. She could not help it. He was such an engaging flirt. “Well, do you agree with me? Is this not more friendly than any number of balls we attended?”
“I suppose, but we are of a different mind now as well. That might have as much to do with it as anything.”
“Oh.”
“The only unfortunate consequence of the rain is that there is no garden to wander in.”
“I do believe the conservatory is open. And there is always the portrait gallery.”
Lord Morgan offered her his arm.
“No.”
He looked confused if not disappointed and Christiana hurried to explain.
“We must only wait until Papa announces Joanna’s engagement.” She nodded toward the small platform that the musicians were playing on. Her father was there, attempting to climb up to make his announcement. But each time he made a move, his wife would pull him back for o
ne more consultation. Finally with an exasperated grimace, Lambert offered to let his wife take his place. She shook her head and moved back with an irritated huff.
“Oh, Mama.” Christiana laughed and turned to Lord Morgan. “Do you think I will be that managing?”
“You are her daughter.” Morgan appeared to be giving the matter some thought. She wanted to slap his wrist with her fan, but feared that would prove the point. “No, no, my dear, I think that you will learn from your experience and find your own way to rule a household.”
The room quieted as her father, finally, was allowed to step up on the riser. He introduced John and Joanna, as if most of the guests had not known at least one of them since childhood. He said all the right things about John’s character and Joanna’s beauty. They stood together while he pronounced a blessing and then everyone was invited to join in a toast to the happy couple with the champagne the footmen passed around.
Christiana sipped and giggled. “It tickles my nose.” And then she sipped again. “This is sooo much nicer than brandy.”
The musicians began playing again and without a word between them, Morgan and Christiana left the room. Leaving their glasses at the entrance to the conservatory, they walked into the dimly lit jungle of plants.
“We could be lost in here for a week.” Morgan could see the path, though most of it was overgrown with some sort of ground cover run amok. “They would have to send a rescue party.”
“I think this is what Joanna meant when she said the house had been too long without a woman’s touch.”
He pulled the branch of a gigantic rubber plant to the side and they found a lovely iron bench near a fountain whose pond was choked with water lilies. The large glass windows were open and the rain added its music to the sound of the fountain.
Christiana sat down. “Was it only yesterday I was counting the days until I never saw you again?”
“Yes, less than twenty-four hours ago I could see you, even talk to you, but the hope of ever kissing you again was nothing more than a desperate wish.” He picked up her hand and kissed it and did not let it go.
She put her head on his shoulder and sighed. “Christiana, there are some things I want to tell you, to make clear.”
She raised her head, looking doubtful. “Do I want to hear them?”
“I most sincerely hope so.”
“Well, then...” she prompted.
“I have never lied to you. The only person I ever lied to was myself.” He took her other hand and looked at her with as direct a gaze as his heart would allow. “How could I not see that you entranced me from the first, that mesmerizing dance at Westbourne’s? I thought I agreed to our pretend courtship because it suited my ends. What a fool I was. I agreed because it was the only way to be near you.
“And every time you drew me closer I told myself it was the logical progression of friendship.” He shook his head, and looked away, words beyond him for a moment. “It was the night of the masquerade that I realized the truth. Odd, what, for the mask to come off at a masquerade?”
He turned to her again. “I am going to tell you now what I realized then.” He did not speak right away. He waited as though giving her a chance to stop him. “I love you.”
He leaned forward and touched her smile gently with his lips. “I think I must have loved you from that morning we met in the park. You were so embarrassed to be caught riding that impossible nag.” He shook his head. “I fell in love with you then and I will love you for as long as I live.”
He was finished. And she knew it was her turn. Instead her eyes filled with tears. “The words fail me, Morgan. I’m so sorry, but I am too afraid to say them.”
He nodded slowly but she could see his disappointment.
“Everything about you is precious to me, my lord. The way your hair shines in the candlelight, the way your eyes crinkle when you are unsure. The way you pray to every pagan god there is, and the way they come to your aid.” She stopped and then laughed lightly. “How silly of me to be afraid of the words. I love you, of course I do.”
It was her turn to lean closer and kiss him lightly. Then her smile disappeared. “But I have so recently been wrong. And that mistake led to more heartache than I ever want to experience again. Not only my heartache, but yours as well. I know it is too late to stop myself loving you, nor do I want to. My world is a much happier place with you in it. Saying the words is one thing, but accepting the future they imply...” Her voice trailed off and her tears were an eloquent apology.
He stood up and held out his hand to her. She took it, gripped with an unholy fear. Was he going to leave her? “Morgan, what are you going to do?”
He drew her into his arms, his expression filled with reproach. “I am going to wait until you are ready to accept the future.” He touched a kiss to her temple and then to her cheek. “But I am going to be an impatient lover, Christiana.” The next kiss, full of ardor and longing, proved it. He trailed kisses along her neck, pausing at her ear to whisper, “You must let me know if I grow too demanding.”
With a sigh she gave herself up to the feeling of his lips, his hands, until she thought she would drown in the sensations and die happily. When the kiss ended, she wanted to stand with her eyes closed and remember each blissful moment. When she did open her eyes, she saw he was watching her with an unsmiling intensity that was as arousing as his touch.
“My lord, do you think perhaps we should return to the ballroom?”
“Oh yes, I certainly do. But dancing will seem very tame after this interlude.”
They worked their way through the plants, following the overgrown pathway. By the time they were in the hall, Morgan had her laughing at his silly insistence that he had surely saved them from some man-eating plant.
“Are there such things?” she asked between her giggles.
“If there are then they are alive and well in that conservatory. I want you to warn your sister not to go in there alone.”
He stopped to talk to a footman on station in the hall. “I think you should put a sign on that door,” he said, pointing to the conservatory. “Not everyone will be able to find their way out of there.”
The footman nodded in that tolerant way they all learned in the earliest stages of their training.
“My lord, what have you been drinking?” She was almost sure that since dinner he had had nothing more than a few sips of champagne.
“No spirits, my love. I am drunk on the prospect of claiming your affection.” He bowed to her.
“Come, let’s dance. It is just what we need.”
He held her back a moment. “Sprite, it will be our third dance.” His raised his eyebrows in a silly imitation of a wicked villain. “Do we dare?”
She nodded as a conspirator would. “My mother is out of the room and we only have the gossips to fear.”
“Then we are going to dance. Shall we look for ourselves in the paper tomorrow?”
Christiana laughed and clapped her hands. “It would be perfect, absolutely perfect!”
Morgan nodded and enclosed her hands with his. “We will try, my heart, and at the very least it will be as perfect as love can make it.”
The End