A woman of his own. Morgan liked the thought. The lands that were to have been his had first belonged to his father, then his brother, and finally to an Englishman. The women he had possessed over his checkered career had never been his. The clothes on his back had often been rags or uniforms paid for by a mercenary army. When he had finally possessed coins enough to buy his own clothes, he had made certain that they were of the finest quality. He would be a fool to do less with a wife.
Chapter 11
Faith heard the thundering hoofbeats of Morgan’s arrival but refused to run to the window. All day she had denied the hopes that Morgan’s journey to London raised. It would be impossible to find her family in a city that large. They would not live in London. They would all be dead or have lost their money and traveled to other shores.
Worst of all, they might all be alive and well and want nothing to do with her.
She stirred the stew and checked the bread and carefully arranged the plates on the table while Morgan took his horse to the barn. Even if he had the most exciting news of the century for her, he would brush down his horse first. Perhaps his care for his animals was one of the reasons that she trusted the highwayman.
So she prayed as she heard Morgan’s boots coming up the path. She would never grow used to the sight of him as he flung open the door and entered in a rush of fresh air and masculine energy, the lace at his throat and wrist catching in the breeze, the firelight illuminating the blue-black gleam of his clubbed hair. By day’s end his jaw was shadowed, giving his broad cheekbones a pirate’s cast, but his white smile could charm the devil himself. Faith fell for it every time.
“I don’t know which is more heavenly, the sight of you or the smell of bread baking.” Morgan strode in, peeling off his black coat in the room’s warmth. In shirtsleeves and waistcoat he seemed some demigod ill-suited to his crude surroundings.
Faith smiled as the room filled with the sight and sound of him. “I rather suspect the bread,” she said with a hint of humor. “When did you last eat?”
Morgan grinned and flung his satchel over the chair. Then in a stride he crossed to where she set down his pot of coffee and lifted her clear of the floor to plant a swift kiss on her.
The suddenness left Faith off-balance. He set her back on her feet before she could protest.
Morgan was already searching for his coffee mug, but she could still feel the overpowering strength of his arms and chest surrounding her, and the surprising fierceness of his lips on hers. She touched a wondering finger to her mouth before hurriedly wiping her hands on her apron and returning to the stew. He was just happy about something and meant nothing by his exuberance.
His happiness made her hopes soar despite her best efforts. She finished setting the table and tried to ignore the bulging satchel as Morgan poured his coffee. When he started unpacking it, Faith tried to don an expression of disapproval. Surely he had not gone thieving in broad daylight—but his purchases were bought with ill-gotten coins too, she reminded herself.
“If you are to work for me, you must have some serviceable clothing,” Morgan announced authoritatively.
Faith’s hopes plummeted. She managed an obedient nod before removing the bread from the iron oven.
He had not been able to locate her family and hoped to soften the blow by buying her more clothing. She didn’t wish to dampen his jovial mood or seem ungrateful for his generosity, but she missed her parents dreadfully. It had seemed a small wish that there might be family somewhere that she could claim.
Morgan tore open the dressmaker’s package and produced a soft silver wool. “This is not very fancy, but it will keep your knees warm when you walk to the barn.”
Faith had to giggle at such a description and turned to admire the gown he held out. As usual, it was better than any she had ever possessed, and far too grand for watering animals. The soft fabric drew a reluctant smile. “You spoil me, Morgan. My other gowns are quite warm enough. Now, sit, and let me fill your plate.”
Doggedly Morgan ignored her offer and produced a smoky blue gown of identical make but with the addition of a touch of lace to sleeve and modesty piece. “I couldn’t decide which color would look best with your eyes, so I had the seamstress make up both.”
Faith stared incredulously at the gowns. “Make it up? These are never new! Oh, Morgan, that is criminal waste! You should not have. I can do very well with the needle. I made the green gown fit, didn’t I? You must not be spending your coins on me. There are too many things you need here. You could have bought seed for a garden, or a cow, or new plates and cups. Why would you do such a thing?”
Morgan drew Faith into his arms and tried to comfort her. “I’ll buy you a cow and seeds if that is what you wish, but do not begrudge the few coins I spend to please myself. It is not often I have a lovely woman to come home to. I would see her dressed to suit me. You are too lovely to be hidden by old sacks and other people’s castoffs. I did not mean to make you unhappy.”
Faith curled her fingers into the luxurious satin of Morgan’s waistcoat and let the strength and comfort of his hold seep through her. She was so lonely, and he held her so securely, she could not resist this moment as she ought. Leave it to Morgan to paint a selfish face on his actions.
Perhaps he had done it for himself, but he could just as easily have bought his horse new tack. But the horse wouldn’t care, and she did.
“The gowns are too lovely for the likes of me,” she whispered before separating herself from this tempting embrace. “I know I must work for a living now. Only a lady of leisure deserves such finery.”
Morgan caught her arm and didn’t let go. His gaze was fierce as it held hers. “I’ll buy you more should these be ruined with your perennial tasks. I can’t offer you much, Faith, but you’ll find me generous with what I have to give. I don’t wish to lose you.”
Faith’s heart fluttered in her chest at the sincerity in his deep voice and the possessiveness in his hold. She glanced up to catch the intensity of his green gaze, then forced herself to ask, “You found nothing of my family today?”
***
Morgan had hoped to seduce her with gowns, but she was too wise for that. But in this lie…she made it so very easy for him. Better to leave her this small hope than dash it with the bitter truth.
He traced the delicate line of her cheekbones with his finger. “I could find no Lord Montague, lass. Did you not bring away your parents’ marriage lines, or some official document of your birth? You will need those in any case to prove your parentage.”
And to claim that trust fund the deuced heir was going to cough up, if he had any say in the matter. And then when that was secured, they could flaunt those papers in the face of London society, and they would have to accept Faith for what she was.
Faith’s eyes lit. “I left my father’s books and papers behind with a neighbor. All the information will be in there, I am certain.” Her smile faltered a little. “It could take weeks to return to Cornwall. I left in such a hurry...”
Morgan pushed her into the chair. “Don’t fret over it now. Have a bite before it all gets cold. We will plan something. Perhaps we can write to your neighbor and have her put the papers on the coach.”
Faith obediently filled her plate. “She cannot read. She would have to take the letter to the vicar or squire, and they hated my father. I would not have them learn of my father’s papers. He was writing a book, and that manuscript is all I have left of him.”
This was a new facet of her life he did not know. She seemed to find it perfectly acceptable to be despised by such pillars of village society as the vicar and squire. No wonder she had adapted so well to his life as society’s outcast.
“Let me ask around and see if I cannot find someone who knows the area or will be willing to go there. Could none of your Methodist friends read?”
“Wesleyans. They are called Wesleyans. I suppose if a new teacher has been sent to the area, he would be able to read, but I would not know to w
hom to address it. My neighbor might take a letter to a new Wesleyan teacher if there were one. Do you really think it might help if you have those papers?”
Morgan savored his mouthful of stew before answering. If nothing else, those papers would secure that trust fund for her future. He swallowed the stew and nodded. “There may be names and places on those papers that I could use to search for your family. Write the letter, and I will find someone to send with instructions on who’s to read it.”
Faith threw him the grateful look he had expected earlier. “Thank you, Morgan de Lacy. You are a good man when you wish to be.”
He snorted and returned to his food. She knew nothing about men or she would not say that. By the end of this week he meant to have her beneath him in his bed. Good had nothing to do with him. “Clever” and “determined” would have been better words.
While Morgan left to tend his horses after their meal, Faith dried the last fork and tucked it away before examining the rest of his purchases.
The bolt of linen brought a smile to her lips. She had a dozen uses for the cloth, and her fingers itched to begin measuring and cutting. If she only had lace, she could make Morgan a shirt unmatched by any of the tailored ones he owned. But without lace she could make more serviceable garments. Her chemises were too small and beyond repair. She could make new stomachers for her old gowns.
Lifting the cloth to better size it, Faith discovered a tapestried case beneath. She set the linen aside and gently touched the fabric. It resembled her sewing kit, only much larger. The possibilities such a case could conceal were limitless. Her fingers trailed along the edge of the case to the fastening.
She really shouldn’t pry. It could be a gentleman’s shaving kit, perhaps. He hadn’t offered it to her. But curiosity was more than she could bear. What would it hurt to just peer inside? He hadn’t hidden it, after all. Surely he knew she would tidy away whatever he left on the table.
Reassured, Faith pried open the fastening. Inside, a glitter of silver made her catch her breath. The firelight caught and reflected the polished gleam of long-nosed scissors, an assortment of fine needles, and a thimble engraved with the delicate lines of a rose. The other side of the case held several spools of thread in different colors.
Tears puddled Faith’s eye. Never had she owned such luxury. And beyond the shadow of any doubt, she knew the impossible man meant it for her use. Morgan de Lacy had never put thread to needle in his life.
Clutching the marvelous gift, Faith lifted her head at the sound of his contented whistle in the yard. That she had disappointed him with her reaction to his generous gift of the gowns, she knew. But she had been devastated by the dashing of all her dreams, and the gowns weren’t adequate compensation. But this... She glanced down at the gleaming silver, and her hopes soared again. With tools like these, she could do anything.
Without giving a second thought to what she did, Faith lifted her skirts and flew out of the house.
The meager warmth of the March sun had faded with evening, but the chill could not compare to the ice of the winter. Well-fed and cosseted during these months in the highwayman’s home, Faith felt no cold now. Warm blood flowed through her veins, stirred by the spring air and an indefinable something that emanated from the man lathering down his horse in the yard.
Morgan looked up in surprise as Faith raced toward him, her skirts flying about her legs, her curls escaping the braid’s confinement, her cheeks rosy, and her lips parted with some secret joy. The image lingered, printed on his brain for many days after. She was laughing, and the happiness reached her eyes for the first time since they had met. His heart turned over in his chest, and without thinking, Morgan dropped his brush and held out his arms to take her up.
She flew into them without hesitation, her arms wrapping around his neck in exuberance. “It’s lovely! Why did you not tell me you bought it? May I use it? Please? I’ll sew you the finest shirt you’ve ever owned. I promise Morgan, tell me I may use it.”
Had she not held the object of her affection in her hand, Morgan would have been hard pressed to place the source of her joy. As it was, he grinned and held her a little more closely than was necessary.
“I merely sought to replace your old ones, my cailin. ’Twas the least I could do in return for your talented fingers.”
Breathless now that she was trapped against his hard body, Faith turned her gaze to Morgan’s rugged features. A shock of ebony hair fell across his high brow. The hard lines at the corners of his mouth softened, and his eyes crinkled with amusement. That smile sent a sudden jolt through her chest, and she knew she had behaved with unfitting abandon. That smile told her so, but she could not move away.
Fascinated, her gaze lingered on his lips, then daringly met Morgan’s eyes, and then there was no stopping him.
Faith’s lids fluttered closed as Morgan’s mouth touched hers. She tasted him, the flavors of beef and coffee mixing with the seductive brush of his lips. There was only the strength of his arms around her and the need to be closer. Faith sank her hands into his queue, reveling in the coarseness of his thick hair. Her lips parted beneath the pressure of his tongue, and all was lost.
As his tongue tenderly taught her the meaning of possession, Faith clung to Morgan’s shoulders. Her whole world spun, and this man was her axis. Her surrender was complete, and had he gone further, she would not have protested.
As if he sensed the direction of her emotions, Morgan regretfully pulled back. He continued to caress her face with light kisses, lingering at the corners of her eyes, brushing against the wisps of curl along her brow, giving them both time to come to terms with the desires overtaking them.
“Bean sidhe,” he murmured against her hair, “you take my breath away.”
Reluctantly Faith attempted to disengage herself. Heat rose to her cheeks at the realization of how wildly she had abandoned herself. “Faerie woman? I’m scarce even a woman, and certainly not a faerie.”
Morgan grinned and kept a grip on her long braid so she wouldn’t go far. “You’re definitely a woman, lass, or you would not have kissed me like that. And you must have a faerie’s magic, or I would not have kissed you back. You’re dangerous to a man’s sleep. I’ll hear your wailin’ all the night long now.”
Faith noted the laughter in his eyes with suspicion. “Why would I wail all night long? That sounds absurdly foolish.”
He chuckled, tilted her chin with his finger, and placed a kiss on her nose. “I’ll explain someday. Would you like to see a bit o’ city on the morrow? I’m thinking you stay on the mare well enough now.”
She knew to distrust his brogue. He turned it off and on with the same charm as his elusive smile. Morgan de Lacy was a dangerous man. But the thought of seeing something other than the four walls of the cottage damned suspicion.
“London?” she asked in amazement. “Can we really reach London? Is it as large as they say?”
“It is, so you’d best be up early to see it all. Write that letter to your neighbor and we’ll send it off while we’re there. And kiss me one more time to keep me warm until I come in.”
Faith favored him with an uncertain glance, but Morgan gave her little time for indecision. With a swiftness that left her gasping, he bent and took what he wanted. The heated caress of his lips was swift and searing.
Faith turned and fled to the house the instant he released her. By the time she reached the protection of the door, her heart was pounding painfully in her chest, and it wasn’t from the exertion of the run.
Chapter 12
Faith didn’t like this place Morgan had brought her to. She squirmed nervously under the scrutiny of a wizened old man behind the counter. The stench of the docks crept in through every nook and cranny, and there were more than enough of those. Her gaze drifted to the bare cobweb-coated rafters, and she shivered, imagining a giant wharf rat staring back at her. The filthy windows high above the floor gave no light. Only the ancient lantern behind the clerk provided any illumina
tion at all. Faith decided it was better that way.
The man’s shrewd eyes followed her as she stopped behind Morgan, lifting her petticoats from the filth of the floor. She wished Morgan would hurry with his business.
From the odd assortment of items lining the shelves and walls of the warehouse, Faith greatly suspected this was where Morgan brought his ill-gotten goods to sell. That meant the old man was as much a thief as Morgan. She had difficulty remembering that her employer was a man with a price on his head, that he had in all probability murdered in his efforts to enrich himself. She ought to be looking for a way out, planning her escape, but instead, she moved closer to his protection.
His business completed, Morgan took Faith’s arm and led her out into the spring sunshine. The unexpected warmth promised rain later in the day. Faith turned her face eagerly to the sunshine.
“Now that your letter is safely off, where would you like to begin, milady? The shops in Bond Street, perhaps? We could buy you a frilly cap and some ribbons for your hair. Or find you some of those high- heeled shoes the ladies are so fond of wearing. What is your choice?”
Faith bit her bottom lip and threw Morgan a hesitant glance. She had only wanted to see the city. She hadn’t meant for him to spend money on her. If she reprimanded him for spending his stolen coin, he would be insulted and it would ruin their outing. But if he insisted on spending his money... Her glance grew thoughtful as she regarded his impatient expression.
“Is there a market where I might buy a few herbs? And seeds, for a garden. And if they had some new onions...”
Morgan stared at her as if she had gone berserk; then, shrugging his shoulders, he hoisted her back on the mare. “Let us stable these nags,then we’ll walk through Covent Garden. Perhaps you’ll find something a little less prosaic than onions there.”
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