Intimate Betrayal

  “Oh, Morgan,” she whispered, reveling in the powerful surge of desire his wondrous touch ignited.

  She rolled her hips forward, the torrent of sensations breaking within her as his tongue laved her moist, aching flesh.

  He rose up on his elbows, wrapping his arms around her, his thighs insistently pushing her legs apart. He eased himself inside her warmth and moistness. Her eyes widened and she gasped. “Morgan,” she said in a strained voice.

  “Am I hurting you?” Morgan asked with concern.

  “No . . . no. You’re just so large.”

  He groaned at her candid remark and felt his arousal grow. “You do it then, love,” he whispered in her ear.

  She looked up into his face, intoxicated by his silver-gray eyes and the barely contained desire within them. Tentatively her legs rose up and clasped around his waist. Slowly she thrust herself up upon his swollen manhood.

  “You are remarkable,” Morgan managed to get out.

  Gradually she built up the rhythm with long, lazy strokes that left them both breathless at the sweet torment. With each penetration, Morgan felt himself slipping further and further out of control as he drove himself deep inside her.

  His hand slid down between them, delving into the warm, moist curls until he found her, and he skillfully brought her to a second climax as he reached his own release.

  Morgan loomed above her, his breath choppy, wanting to hold her close, but not wanting to burden her with his weight. His manhood was still swollen, nestled inside her body.

  He gazed affectionately down at Alyssa. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, her breathing soft. She looked so peaceful, so contented. He shifted his weight off her and rolled onto his back pulling her up against his side.

  She curled up around him, swinging her arm across his chest and wrapping one leg over his thigh. Morgan reached over and pulled up the satin coverlet to keep them warm. He heard her deep sigh and felt terribly arrogant at her obvious satisfaction.

  And then her calm, clear voice broke the silence. “Is Madeline Duponce your mistress, Morgan?”

  Alyssa immediately felt the change in his body as he stiffened in shock. His hand squeezed her arm tightly as though he were fighting to remain calm.

  “Grandmother explained about my grandfather’s opera singer,” he answered, ignoring her question entirely. “And your violent distaste for expensive jewelry.”

  She cleared her throat nervously. “Yes, well, I am sorry about the necklace,” she said. “I do realize I overreacted. But I still want to know about Madeline Duponce.”

  “No,” he stated in a flat tone.

  She pulled out of his arms, sitting upright so she could view his expression. “No.” she repeated, her voice rising. “No, you will not tell me, or no, she is not your mistress?”

  “The latter,” Morgan drawled.

  “Oh,” Alyssa responded, lowering her voice considerably. She waited a moment and then once again leaned back in her husband’s arms. He welcomed her eagerly.

  “Was she ever? Your mistress, I mean,” Alyssa pressed on.

  He looked up at the rose-colored silk bed trimmings.

  “Madeline Duponce is not at present, nor has she ever been, my mistress. I have never bedded the woman; in fact, I have never even kissed her. Truth be told, I don’t even like her very much. I have not kept a mistress for quite a long time. The last woman I approached with the notion gave me a rather severe dressing down and told me she never wanted to see me again.”

  Alyssa winced at the memory of that encounter.

  “She sounds like a very intelligent woman,” Alyssa ventured lightly.

  “In the past I always greatly admired her intellect. As of late, I am not as certain of her capacity for rational thought and behavior,” Morgan replied.

  “Why did you buy me that necklace?”

  “Fool that I am, I thought my bride would appreciate a wedding gift,” he said in a sour tone.

  “It was lovely,” Alyssa whispered, genuinely sorry for her earlier actions.

  “How could you tell?” he commented wryly. “You hurled it at me so quickly, I doubt you had time to see it.”

  “But it flashed so brilliantly in the sunlight,” she quipped. “It must be magnificent. And knowing you, it is probably very expensive.”

  “It was,” Morgan said with an exaggerated sigh. “Now I don’t know what I shall do with it.”

  Alyssa punched him on the chest playfully. “You shall give that lovely necklace to your wife, sir.”

  Morgan grabbed her arms and lifted her up to his face, their noses touching. She saw the flash of humor in his eyes, and then the mocking scowl. “Pray tell, my love, just what exactly has my wife done to deserve such a rich prize?”

  Alyssa forced herself to look contrite. “I suppose, my husband, I shall have to earn my reward,” she remarked, placing a hungry, demanding kiss on his lips. Morgan laughed, savoring the feel of her lips and tongue, his passions beginning to stir again.

  “If you continue kissing me, my dear,” he teased, “I will have to purchase more than a mere necklace for you.”

  Alyssa smiled provocatively at him, rubbing her breasts tantalizingly against his chest.

  “Sweetheart, wait,” he requested, as his manhood stiffened. “I don’t want to start something we cannot properly finish. Are you sure this is all right?”

  “It is very all right, Morgan,” she whispered.

  “We shall be late for dinner,” he protested half-heartedly. “Grandmother is planning a special dinner to properly welcome you into the family.”

  “Since I am the guest of honor, they cannot begin without us,” Alyssa reasoned, lowering her head to his stomach.

  “It would be most impolite,” Morgan agreed in a hoarse voice as Alyssa pressed kisses down his stomach and then on his thighs. “To start without us, I mean.

  “Yes, it would be most impolite. The dowager duchess would never be that rude, would she, Morgan?”

  “No.” Morgan groaned. Alyssa slowly lowered her head between his thighs. He could only tolerate a few minutes of her torture before pulling her up on top of him. “I do believe we shall be very late to dinner, my love,” he told her, kissing her hungrily.

  “I do hope so, Morgan,” she whispered, returning his kisses with equal enthusiasm. “I certainly do hope so.”

  Caroline paced the floor by the large bay window in her bedchamber, attempting unsuccessfully to contain her distress. Tristan sat in a comfortable chair by the roaring fire, book in hand, casually observing his wife as she marched.

  “Sit down, Caroline,” he admonished. “I believe you are starting to wear a hole in the carpet.”

  “I do not find that the least bit amusing, Tristan,” she said, her blue eyes flashing. “How can you sit there so calmly? Don’t you realize what has happened?”

  Tristan slowly lowered his book and stared at her. “I am not sure I understand what you are referring to. Would you care to enlighten me, my dear?”

  Caroline threw her arms up in agitation. “For God’s sake, Tristan, stop being so obtuse. You know perfectly well I am referring to Alyssa. Your brother’s new wife. The latest Duchess of Gillingham. Who looks as though she is about to birth the new heir to the dukedom at any moment.”

  “I fail to see how Alyssa’s condition directly affects you,” he commented dryly.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Stop toying with me, Tristan. We both know you are next in line to inherit the dukedom. All that has now changed. Morgan has a new wife who will obviously be producing the next heir anytime. I simply cannot believe Morgan has done this to us!”

  Tristan snapped the book shut in anger over her last remark. “What are you babbling about, Caroline?”

  Caroline hesitated a moment, then continued with her tirade. “Morgan always said he would never again marry. He has formally named you his heir. Even on our wedding day he remarked he fully expected me to carry on the Ashton line and produce the
next duke. I always assumed you would eventually inherit the title.”

  “Obviously your assumptions were incorrect,” Tristan said strongly, his voice still laced with anger.

  “It is not fair!”

  “I had no idea you were such a snob,” Tristan said lightly, his face void of emotion. “I fear you have made a grave mistake in your choice of husband, Caroline. If you had your heart set on becoming a duchess, you should have set your sights higher than a mere second son.”

  His words stopped her dead in her tracks. Caroline glanced over at her husband. She could tell by the very blankness of his expression he was wounded by her thoughtless remarks. Remorseful, she rushed over to Tristan’s chair and knelt at his feet.

  “Oh, Tris,” she whispered, clutching at the sleeve of his coat. “I did not mean to distress you. Morgan’s sudden marriage has been a great shock.”

  “I am sorry I cannot give you what you so greatly desire, my dear.”

  Caroline felt the tears gather in her eyes. “No, Tris, I am the one who should apologize. For being such a fool. The title isn’t important, truly. Without your love, I honestly don’t believe I could survive. Please tell me I am forgiven,” she pleaded.

  Tristan lifted her into his lap, and she snuggled against his broad chest. “Of course I forgive you, Caroline,” he said softly. “I regret you allowed your emotions to become overset. Still, you were gravely mistaken believing you would someday become the Duchess of Gillingham.”

  “But Morgan said—” she began, but stopped when Tristan glared at her.

  “I don’t care what Morgan said,” he interjected, becoming annoyed again. “Despite what my brother may have led you to believe, I have always known he would once again marry when the time was right. We should wish him joy now that he has finally found the proper woman.”

  “My goodness, Tris, I cannot believe you don’t feel any resentment toward your brother. Morgan gets everything, merely because he is the firstborn son. My father was a younger son and has had to struggle financially for most of his life. I always resented my uncle for inheriting the lion’s share of the wealth.”

  “My situation is entirely different, Caroline. I have substantial properties from both my grandmother and mother, not to mention an allowance and a significant share in a vast majority of Morgan’s business ventures.”

  “Oh,” Caroline answered in a small voice. She was completely unaware of their financial situation. Tristan had always been very casual about spending money, and there always seemed to be plenty of it. Who or where it came from was never an issue. “Are you telling me that we are . . . are well off?”

  “Extremely,” Tristan answered dryly. The muscles in his jaw cramped. “Apparently I have misjudged you, Caroline. You are not really a snob. In truth, you are a fortune hunter.”

  “Hummph,” Caroline huffed with a toss of her blond curls. “Forgive me for being pleased to learn of our financial security.”

  He gave her a small hug. “I suppose we ought to have discussed this sooner.” He kissed her temples soothingly, and she relaxed against him.

  “Does this mean we are very rich, Tristan?” Caroline turned her head up, gazing at him with sparkling eyes.

  Tristan wrinkled his nose at her. “Perhaps,” he responded cagily. “This does not mean, however, you have my permission to start spending money like the regent, Caroline.”

  Caroline gave a small laugh. “I understand, Tris. It is a great relief knowing we have financial security. When I think of my poor sister Priscilla, I shudder. Lord Ogden’s lands were entailed, and since there were no children born from her marriage, Priscilla received nothing from her husband’s estate or family. It was dreadful and she was very hurt and angry. Now Priscilla depends solely on my father for her keep, and you know how tightfisted he can be.”

  “You need never worry about that happening to you, Caroline,” Tristan said seriously. “There is more than enough money for you to be well provided for if something ever happened to me.”

  Caroline felt a lump rise in her throat at the thought of losing Tristan. She didn’t know how she would possibly cope. How could she face each morning without her beloved Tris?

  “I have been acting like a complete ninny over this entire incident,” she said, her blue eyes darkening with distress.

  “I know it must be difficult for you to comprehend my feelings in this matter, but I truly don’t resent my brother for being firstborn. Morgan has always been kind and generous. He has watched over and tried to protect me most of my life. In order for me to succeed the title, Morgan must die without issue. Surely you can understand, Caroline, ’tis far too high a price to pay.”

  “I understand,” she said softly, sincerity replacing the distress in her lovely face. “I, too, care for Morgan. I promise I shall work very hard at making Alyssa feel welcome in our family. For Morgan’s sake. And yours.”

  “Thank you. I know Morgan will appreciate your efforts. I suspect their sudden marriage will prove a difficult adjustment for both of them.” Tristan patted her hand affectionately. “Do cheer up, Caroline. This baby might be a girl. Then if you and I have a son, he could inherit the title.”

  Caroline’s face lit up at the thought, but she frowned, wondering if Tristan was mocking her. “It wouldn’t be disloyal to hope that Alyssa’s baby is a girl, would it, Tris?”

  “A healthy, normal baby girl?”

  “Naturally.”

  He gave her a heart-melting smile. “I don’t see why not. It can be our little secret.” Enfolding his young wife in a passionate embrace, Tristan amply demonstrated his forgiveness.

  The dowager duchess beamed with delight as she sat in regal splendor at the head of the large mahogany dining table. Morgan sat to her right and Tristan to her left, and seated closely beside them were their respective wives. The dowager occupied the position at the head of the table, and Priscilla sat at the opposite end.

  Both couples arrived sheepishly late for dinner, but the dowager duchess was not upset, especially in the case of Morgan and Alyssa. Morgan seemed far more relaxed than he had been in months, and Alyssa fairly glowed, the sparkle in her deep green eyes as brilliant as the stunning emerald-and-diamond necklace she proudly wore around her neck. As always, Tris and Caroline mainly had eyes for each other, but the dowager was pleased to note Caroline’s subtle attempt to compensate Alyssa for her rude behavior earlier. Time and again, Caroline addressed her comments and questions to Alyssa, deliberately steering the conversation toward topics that would specifically include Alyssa’s participation.

  Yes, the dowager duchess was very pleased indeed with her two handsome grandsons and their lovely wives. Ceremonially, she lifted her wineglass, and pushing back her chair noisily, rose to her feet.

  “Children,” she said in a firm voice. “I should like to propose a toast.” She waited while everyone stood up, glasses in hand. “To the new Duchess of Gillingham. And the duke. Long life, good health, and great happiness.”

  “To the duke and his bride,” Priscilla said merrily.

  “Hear, hear,” Tristan chimed in loudly, drinking down his wine.

  “And to my beloved Tristan and dear Caroline,” the dowager duchess continued. “A lifetime of love and happiness.”

  “Tris and Caroline,” Morgan echoed with a smile, his goblet raised high. “And to you, Grandmother. For your endless love, devotion, and above all, great wisdom.”

  The dowager duchess felt the tears well in her eyes as they all faced her with glasses raised, genuine affection evident in each face. I am truly blessed, she concluded. Pray God it will last for a very long time.

  Chapter Nineteen

  In the following weeks, Alyssa gradually adjusted to her new role as duchess. Ramsgate Castle was already run with great efficiency under the combined guidance of Burke and Mrs. Keenly, and Alyssa saw no need to intervene when it was obviously unnecessary. The dowager duchess remained at the castle, and both Morgan and Alyssa were happy she elected to
stay rather than accept Tristan and Caroline’s invitation to return to London with them for the remainder of the season.

  Alyssa felt her relationship with Morgan was progressing, even though they were a far cry from achieving the honesty and trust she knew was vital to maintaining a lifelong involvement. Alyssa held her love for Morgan deep within her heart, allowing it to surface on those occasions when circumstances were simply too emotional for it to be contained. Morgan’s feelings for her remained a mystery, yet she knew he cared for her, and Alyssa secretly harbored the hope he would someday come to love her.

  For now, Alyssa was content to concentrate her efforts on the coming birth of her child. To that end, she sat in the drawing room on this chilly morning in late November, carefully embroidering neat, tiny stitches on a small garment for the baby. Caroline, recently arrived with Tristan the evening before for a short visit, sat with her.

  “Your stitches are perfectly uniform,” Caroline remarked, gently fingering the small garment. “I doubt I possess the patience to produce such exquisite stitches.”

  “I share your amazement for my handiwork,” Alyssa responded, holding the tiny garment aloft. “Being in confinement produces a sudden interest in the most unusual activities.”

  Caroline cast a sympathetic gaze at her sister-in-law. “The endless waiting must be maddening.”

  “It is,” Alyssa readily agreed. “The only thing keeping me sane is knowing it will soon be over.” She patted her large belly gently. “And it is for a very good cause.”

  “What good cause?” Morgan inquired casually, entering the drawing room. His eyes immediately rested on Alyssa as if he could tell merely at a glance how his wife was faring this morning. Her color was high, but her face looked fatigued, and he detected faint circles under her eyes. He wondered if she had had difficulty sleeping last night.

  “Did you sleep all right?” he asked solicitously.