Stormswept

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Instead he shook his head, as if coming to his senses. He yanked his hand back. “Lie down,” he commanded, unbuttoning his breeches. “On the bed.”

  She stared at him, shocked by the change in him. Was this really what he planned—to take her like an animal, to reduce their former lovemaking to a bestial act in payment for the many bestial acts committed against him?

  No. She wouldn’t let him.

  “Lie down, I said! ”

  “Not when you’re like this. I won’t let you punish me by doing something you will regret later.”

  “I won’t regret it,” he bit out, as if trying to convince himself. “I swear I won’t.”

  Faced with his stubbornness, she kissed him. To remind him of what had been, of who they’d been together.

  He froze, and for a moment, she wondered if she’d made a mistake. But then his mouth opened over hers, and he was kissing her roughly, deeply, with soul-devouring thrusts of his tongue that made her weak in the knees in spite of everything.

  Then his hands were caressing her breasts, and his mouth was ravaging her, and she was truly lost. This couldn’t be the same man who’d coldly told her a few minutes ago to undress, who’d threatened to take her with violence. This man was a lover.

  Or a seducer. With a shudder, she fought the flood of warmth that centered in her loins. It was all a trick. She must stop this.

  But she couldn’t. She simply couldn’t.

  She fought to concentrate on how he’d believed her brothers’ lies, but she could only remember what he’d been to her. And when he bent to close his mouth over her nipple, hot and sweet, drawing and tugging on it, she went soft all over.

  “Please . . .” she whispered, hating him for making her capitulate so easily.

  His hand slipped down between their bodies, cupping her, fondling her intimate places. Wherever he rubbed, she burned, and when he continued the magic, she opened her eyes, amazed that he could still rouse her body so thoroughly after all the years of silence.

  He had closed his eyes and was now sucking her breast as if he’d craved it for an eternity. Suddenly his finger slid inside her, delving deep. She couldn’t help it. She moaned and closed her arms about his waist.

  At the touch of her hands on his back, he stiffened and his eyes shot open. He glared at her, his breath unsteady, his face a mask of anger.

  She watched him in total confusion. What had she done?

  “Damn it all, Juliana! ” Cursing foully in Welsh, he shoved away from her. He buttoned up his breeches with furious movements, though his arousal was still visible beneath them.

  She stared at him. “Why are you angry? This was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” Her voice grew bitter. “To seduce me, have me fall into your bed willingly again?”

  “It took very little to get that from you, didn’t it?” he snapped. “It took very little to have you moaning and writhing with pleasure! ”

  At first embarrassment made her blush, but as she realized that he seemed angry that she’d responded, she grew cold inside. “If you didn’t want me to have pleasure, then what did you intend? To make me fear you?”

  He scowled at her, not saying a word.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” The truth created a hollow ache in her stomach. “You meant to make me suffer as you suffered, to punish me.”

  “ ’Tis what you deserve! ”

  “It isn’t. And somewhere in that bitter heart of yours, you know it. You don’t truly want to hurt me. ’Tis why you gave me pleasure, why you touched me with gentleness.”

  “That’s a lie! ” He stalked toward her as if to renew his assault. But when she lifted her face to him in challenge, her eyes unafraid, he whirled on his heel and headed for the door.

  “Damn you! ” he hissed. Then he unlocked the door and stormed out.

  She held her breath, waiting for him to return and make a liar of her by attacking her in earnest. But when he merely locked the door from the outside and strode away cursing, she collapsed onto the bed, finally allowing her tears to flow.

  She didn’t care what he claimed. For a few minutes, he’d forgotten all the lies he believed about her. For a brief time, he’d been the Rhys she’d loved.

  And that glimpse heartened her. Somehow, she’d won the first battle.

  But how many more battles like this could she endure?

  10

  O how I long to travel back,

  And tread again that ancient track!

  That I might once more reach that plain

  Where first I left my glorious train

  —HENRY VAUGHAN, “THE RETREAT”

  Lettice opened the door to her son’s room, careful not to wake him. It was a nighttime ritual, checking on Edgar before she went to bed.

  Tonight the full moon cast its kindly light over his sweet face, kissing his soft cheeks with moonbeams. His childish features were so painfully familiar to her. She’d tried not to notice over the past few years how much more he looked like Morgan with every passing day, but it was impossible not to.

  Darcy, however, saw none of it. It sometimes amazed her that he never questioned why his “son” didn’t resemble him.

  She closed the door, her throat tightening. If Darcy ever did realize how she’d tricked him . . . what would he do? What would she do?

  Glancing around the modestly furnished bedroom she shared with Darcy whenever he visited, she sighed. In truth, Darcy treated her like a queen. He came to her often and brought her endearing gifts. She had her own cottage away from prying eyes, and plenty of time to care for it.

  Of course, the townspeople looked down on her for being the mistress of a married English nobleman whom they despised. Still, she tried not to let it bother her. At least she had a home for her and her son.

  Besides, Darcy treated Edgar well, since his wife had given him no children. Although he couldn’t acknowledge Edgar as his son except to her, he gave Edgar a generous allowance and promised to educate him as a gentleman. And Edgar thought the world of “Uncle Darcy.”

  So why wasn’t she content? Why was it that, whenever she looked into Edgar’s sparkling black eyes, she thought of the one man who’d made her melt with just a touch? Darcy couldn’t do that. Their lovemaking was pleasant and adequate . . . but with Morgan it had been a glorious feast, a celebration of joy.

  A knock at the door downstairs disturbed her thoughts. Darcy? He’d said the engagement party would go late and that he wouldn’t see her for a day or so, but perhaps he’d changed his mind.

  She hurried down and opened the door without a second thought. “I didn’t expect—”

  Her words caught in her throat. Standing before her was a ghost—a flesh-and-blood ghost she’d never hoped to see again.

  The years melted away. “Morgan! Is it really you?”

  His only answer was a hard stare.

  She wanted to throw herself into his arms and cry for joy, but the chill in his expression halted her. What was wrong? Why did he look at her so sternly?

  Then she remembered. She was another man’s mistress now. And he couldn’t have found her without learning that.

  Her heart sank. He’d changed a great deal. His clothing was richer than before, and he wore it with the arrogance of a man of position. A jagged scar creased one of his cheeks, and his hair was quite long.

  But his black eyes were what truly showed the years, for they were no longer merry. They were solemn and unsmiling. And they remained fixed on her with an unnerving intensity.

  “May I come in?” he rasped.

  “Yes, of course.” She stood aside to let him pass. She shut the door and slumped against it, needing something to hold her up. The shock to her heart was so great, she didn’t know if she could absorb it. Morgan was here, alive and standing before her. But he was obviously not happy to be here.

  Somehow she contained her tumultuous emotions, so that the words that sprang to her lips showed none of her feelings. “Would you like some tea?”
/>
  He turned from surveying her cottage to fix her with that same icy gaze. “You see your ‘true love’ after six years and all you can do is offer him tea?”

  The sarcasm he put into the words “true love” wounded her. He’d been gone for years without a single letter, and now he expected everything to be exactly as it had been before? She swallowed her hurt, smoothing her expression into one of nonchalance. “To be honest, after all this time hearing nothing from my ‘true love,’ I’d assumed I didn’t have one anymore.”

  Her coldness seemed to rouse him from his aloofness. He came toward her, fists clenched. “I sent a letter to Northcliffe Hall. It was returned with the words ‘No longer at this address’ written across it. I didn’t know where else to look.”

  “Obviously you found me tonight.”

  His eyes glittered. “Yes. I went to Northcliffe Hall, and they told me of your whereabouts. And of the nice cottage that your lover, the new Lord Northcliffe, bought for you.”

  As his contempt washed over her, righteous anger surged. How dared he accuse her! Thanks to his dangerous politics, he’d left her pregnant with no way of supporting herself, no possible future. Yet he’d expected her to wait for him? Forever?

  Dragging in a bracing breath, she met his gaze. “It took you a very long time to come searching for me. I know you must have served in the navy for a while.” She trailed her gaze over his rich attire. “But obviously you went on to greater success. I suppose making a fortune in some far-off country kept you too busy to return.” She straightened her shoulders and walked toward the fireplace.

  But he caught her arm. “What kept me busy was finding a way to return without being hanged for desertion! ”

  All the stored-up resentment of six years exploded in her. “If you hadn’t gotten yourself involved with those damned Sons of Wales, you wouldn’t have had to worry about it! If you hadn’t printed those wretched pamphlets—”

  “And if you hadn’t told Northcliffe about them! ”

  “What the devil do you mean?”

  He thrust her away, disgust contorting his face. “I didn’t believe him when he said you’d betrayed me.” His sweeping gesture encompassed the cottage. “But I talked to the servants and discovered how long you’ve been here. Ever since I left, you’ve lived here as his mistress.” He shook his head. “You were obviously willing to go to any extent to stay out of poverty, weren’t you?”

  She gaped at him. “What did Darcy tell you? Did you see him tonight?”

  “No. If I had, he’d be dead for what he did to me.” He drew in a ragged breath. “For what he and you did together.”

  Her heart’s pace slowed to a crawl. “A pox upon’t, what did he do? What is it you think I did?”

  His eyes narrowed. “You know he had me impressed.”

  She staggered back, her legs suddenly too weak to hold her up. Somehow she found a chair and dropped into it. She shook her head mindlessly. “Darcy? Are you sure?”

  Morgan clenched his fists. “Quite sure. I’ll never forget how he gloated about how you’d confirmed that I was the one who’d printed those pamphlets. How you’d done it to keep from losing your damned position.”

  She jerked up straight in her seat. “I never told him that! I wouldn’t have! How could you even believe it?”

  “It’s hard not to when you’re sitting here as his mistress, obviously snug as a cockle in the cottage he paid for! ” His voice rose to a shout. “How stupid do you think I am? You expect me to believe you had no part in it?”

  “Yes, I do! ” Jumping from her chair, she prepared to give him a thorough set-down, but a childish voice coming from the stairs stopped her. She turned to find Edgar standing on the bottom step, rubbing his eyes.

  “Mother, why are you shouting?” He eyed Morgan with curiosity. But when Morgan gave him a hard stare, he fidgeted. “Good evening,” he said bravely, then destroyed the effect of his manly speech by sticking his thumb in his mouth.

  Edgar only sucked his thumb when he was frightened. She said quietly, “Go back to bed, Edgar. Everything’s all right, and we’ll try to be more quiet.”

  “Wait.” Morgan looked Edgar over. When her son stared at him with a trace of fear, Morgan softened his expression and went down on one knee. “Good evening to you, my boy.”

  With mixed emotions, she watched Morgan examine Edgar’s features. She wasn’t sure she wanted Morgan to know he had a son—not after what he’d accused her of. Even if he was telling the truth and Darcy had spoken such lies about her, how could Morgan have believed them?

  “Your name is Edgar?” Morgan asked.

  “Yes, my lord.” Edgar’s eyes were round as saucers as he stared at the big stranger.

  A faint smile touched Morgan’s lips. “You needn’t call me ‘my lord.’ ”

  Taking his thumb out of his mouth, Edgar cocked his head to one side. “But I call Uncle Darcy ‘my lord.’ ”

  Morgan’s smile faded. “That’s because . . . ‘Uncle’ Darcy is a lord. I’m not.”

  “What should I call you then?”

  “ ‘Sir’ would do nicely, I suppose.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I’ve seen your mother, and now I’ve met you, but where is your father?”

  Lettice cursed under her breath. Must he torment poor Edgar like this? She stepped forward to intercede, but Morgan gave her a hard glance that froze her.

  Edgar shifted from foot to foot and stared down at the steps. “I haven’t a father, sir.” He screwed up his face into a frown. “Other children do, I know. Is it odd that I have no father? I mean, Mother says Uncle Darcy is as good as a father.”

  Morgan visibly tensed. “And do you like Uncle Darcy?”

  Edgar’s face brightened. “Oh yes, very much. He brings me lovely presents. And he likes to play quoits. Do you like to play quoits?”

  “Of course.”

  Lettice could stand it no more. “Edgar, it’s time for you to go back to bed. It’s very late.”

  Morgan stayed the child with one hand. “Only one more question, and then you must do as your mother says.” His voice shook. “How old are you?”

  Lettice closed her eyes and sighed.

  “I’m five. My birthday was this past May Day. We always have a jolly time. I’ll be six years old next May Day, and a very big boy.”

  Morgan remained silent an endless moment. She could almost see him figuring the dates.

  After scrutinizing Morgan carefully, Edgar blurted out, “Would you like to come to my birthday party?”

  Morgan stood up and patted Edgar on the head, but the pat turned into a caress before he drew back his hand. “I should love to.”

  Lettice bit her lip to keep from crying. “Go to bed, Edgar,” she choked out, and this time the boy obeyed.

  As soon as they heard the upstairs door shut, Morgan whirled on her, eyes alight. “Does Northcliffe know that Edgar is my son?”

  She turned away, trying to hide the emotions she knew must be blazing in her face. “Who said that Edgar is your son?”

  “Don’t lie to me. I can look in his face and tell he’s my child.”

  Her only answer was a barely stifled sob.

  Coming up behind her, he made her face him. “Does Northcliffe know?”

  “No! Why in God’s name do you think I’m here? Why do you think I’ve been with him all this time?”

  He stared at her, uncomprehending.

  “When the press gang took you,” she whispered, “I had just realized I was pregnant. And on that same day, the old earl dismissed me without a reference for ‘consorting with radicals’ and not properly watching out for Lady Juliana.” Her voice rose. “I was with child, and without a position or family, and you were nowhere to be found! ”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “So when Darcy asked me to be his mistress, what do you think I said? ‘No, my lord, I’d rather take my chances that some fool would hire a pregnant woman’? ‘No, my lord, I prefer to
wait endlessly for my lover while my child and I starve’?”

  Rage made her voice shake. “What would you have had me do, Morgan? What grand plan had you made for me, in case you were punished for your illegal activities?”

  He stared at her, clearly stunned. “The old earl dismissed you? But Darcy said you betrayed me in order to keep your position! ”

  “I didn’t betray you. I never would have. But my position was precarious, and my association with you was all it took to have me lose it! ”

  The color drained from his face. “Good Christ, I never dreamed . . . You didn’t tell me you were pregnant . . . I didn’t know . . .”

  “I had only just found out myself. But even if you’d known, would you have stopped what you were doing?”

  Pacing the room, he muttered, “I don’t know . . . perhaps . . .”

  “And another thing,” she bit out. “Why in God’s name would I have betrayed you to Darcy, when I was carrying your child? I’d have been a fool to endanger my child’s father! ”

  Morgan flinched, then turned to stare at her, the truth dawning on him. “So Northcliffe lied. You had nothing to do with the impressment.”

  “I told you, I knew nothing of it! ”

  Remorse shone in Morgan’s eyes. “Devil take it, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, love. I . . . I didn’t believe him at first. I truly didn’t.” He paused. “But you don’t know what hell Rhys and I went through. Our captain flogged his men at the slightest provocation. Rhys suffered through many floggings. Fortunately, I had only a flogging or two once the captain discovered I was a good cook. That was my salvation.”

  She stared at him wide-eyed. He’d suffered. She could see it in his eyes. “I’ve heard life on a man-of-war is horrible.”

  “Aye,” he clipped out. “And after a while you start to hate anyone and anything that put you there.”

  Her anger had dimmed, but the hurt burned even brighter. “Even your ‘true love’?”