by Candace Camp
She did not spare a glance at Megan as she said this, and a few minutes later, when Reed and Theo excused themselves and left the room, Lady Scarle took her leave, as well.
For a long moment, the women remaining behind said nothing. Then Kyria exchanged a look with Thisbe, who responded with a grin, and a moment later, they were chuckling.
“Kyria, you wicked thing,” the duchess said without heat.
“Lady Scarle looked as if she had swallowed a bee,” Olivia added.
“I cannot like the woman at all. She is so blatantly pursuing Theo. Can’t she see he is not interested?” Kyria exclaimed.
“Lady Scarle is the sort who sees nothing but herself,” Thisbe retorted. “I am sure she would never believe that any man might not be interested in her. She certainly had her choice of beaux when she came out.”
“Yes, and she married the oldest and wealthiest of the lot,” Kyria added dryly. “Now that he’s gone, she is hoping to move up to duchess.”
“She’s very beautiful,” Anna commented.
“Hmph.” Kyria raised an eyebrow. “Did you like her, though?”
Anna laughed. “No, not at all. I certainly would not choose her for Theo.”
“No, nor would I,” Olivia agreed in her soft voice. A small woman, with soft brown hair, large, intelligent eyes, and a surprisingly mischievous smile, Olivia was a warm person whom Megan could not help but like. Quieter than her two sisters, she struck Megan nevertheless as having a great strength of will.
She went on now, “But, you know, Kyria, perhaps you should have asked Miss Henderson before you committed her to going to the charity ball.”
“I’m sorry.” Kyria turned toward Megan contritely. “I did not mean to be impolite. Sometimes I get a little carried away.”
“But I—surely you do not mean for me to actually go with you,” Megan said, surprised. “I thought you only said that to put Lady Scarle’s nose out of joint.”
Even as she said it, Megan realized that her words were far too blunt for an employee to deliver to a titled lady, and she clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I should not have said that.”
Kyria laughed, joined by the other women in the room. “Don’t apologize. You are exactly right. I did want to put her nose out of joint. But I certainly intended for you to come. Please say you will. It should be quite lovely. Lady Cavendish is getting rather old, but she still has a wonderful sense of style. Her parties are always quite fun. You would enjoy it.”
Megan was a little surprised by how much she would indeed like to go to the party. She had never been one who had envied the wealthy their glittering galas and elegant balls, but as she thought now of sweeping out onto the floor in a lovely ball gown, she was aware of a rush of longing. She decided not to consider why the man in whose arms she saw herself dancing was Theo Moreland.
With an inward sigh, however, she pushed aside that dream. “I’m sorry. I would love to go, but I have nothing appropriate to wear to a ball.”
“Don’t worry about that.” Kyria waved away her objection. “We shall come up with something for you. My maid can alter one of my dresses. She is a wizard with a needle.”
“No, one of mine,” Olivia put in. “We are nearer the same size.”
“We are, as well,” Anna said. “And I just bought a whole hoard of gowns when I came to London. You are most welcome to wear one.”
“There, you see?” Kyria said triumphantly. “I am sure we will be able to find something quite lovely.” She studied Megan, her head to one side. “A warm color, gold or—no, perhaps that rust-colored satin that you wore last summer, Livvy.”
Megan looked at them, warmed by their generosity. “I—I don’t know what to say. You are so kind.”
“Why, say you’ll come. That is all,” Olivia told her.
Megan smiled at her, unable to resist. “All right. I will go with you.”
* * *
MEGAN SPENT MUCH of that evening pacing in her room, worrying about what she was doing. She felt increasingly guilty. She hated the fact that what she was planning to do would hurt the Morelands. They had been terribly kind and generous to her, and she knew that when she revealed what Theo had done, they would all regard her as a traitor.
On the other hand, she felt as if she were letting down her own family by even worrying about Theo’s family—and how could she let herself join in their activities, even enjoy them? She should be searching for evidence about Dennis’s death, not eating meals that melted in her mouth with the family of his killer, or jaunting off to charity balls in a dress that probably cost more than her entire year’s salary.
On the other hand, she argued with herself, going to the charity ball was not without purpose. She could get Julian Coffey alone and talk to him there, something that was obviously difficult to do while she was staying at Broughton House.
With a sigh, she sank down into the chair beside her bed. The fact was, she knew, she could bring this whole problem to a close quickly. She might not even have to talk to Julian Coffey again or remain as the Morelands’ tutor if she could put her hands on the pendant that Barchester has seen Theo holding after Dennis’s death. And she knew where she was most likely to find that pendant—in Theo’s bedchamber.
She was holding back only out of fear. Not just fear of getting caught. Megan felt that, of course, for there was absolutely no reason for her to be in Theo’s bedchamber, and if someone walked in on her there, it would probably lead to her immediate dismissal.
But more than that, she knew, she was afraid of finding the pendant, for it would be more evident that Theo had killed her brother. No matter how sure she was in her head that Theo had been responsible for her brother’s death, something in her heart stubbornly refused to accept it. Even today, when she had seen the look on his face as he stared at the exhibit, she had struggled against the obvious interpretation of his moody gaze. She had wished for some other explanation for the crisp, almost unfriendly way he spoke to Julian Coffey, or the way he turned aside questions about the trip he had made, or his knowledge of South America. Could it not be that he was simply remembering the sorrow of her brother’s death? she urged in her inner dialogue.
Still, she knew she had to look for the pendant. She could not simply go on not knowing the truth. She had to sneak into Theo’s room and search it thoroughly. And the sooner she did it, the better. She needed to bring this to a close before her tangled emotions got even more confused.
But when? Megan rose and began to pace again, chewing at her lower lip in thought.
There were always servants about, and she had no idea when Theo might be in his room—or when some other member of the family might be coming out of one of the other rooms and would see her slip into Theo’s. She could try, of course, late at night, when the servants and family were in bed, but then she would have to wait until some night when she knew that Theo was out. Even then, she would have no idea when he might return, and she couldn’t have him walking in on her.
Of course, there was one time when the servants were all downstairs in the servants’ area and the family was also away from their rooms—the evening meal.
If they were home, every member of the family was there, which was not the case with luncheon or breakfast or high tea. There would be no one to see her enter Theo’s room. And as the meal took some time, with all its courses and the Morelands’ lively conversation, she would have a good thirty minutes or so in which it would be safe to search.
Of course, she would be expected to be at the meal, as well, but surely she could take care of that problem by pleading illness. She could get a tray from the kitchen or even go without food, if she had to.
The more she thought about it, the more the idea grew on Megan. It would be the perfect opportunity, and she could seize it tomorrow night. There would be no waiting around to learn when Theo was going to be out in the evening. She could do it and get it over with. And if she could find the pendant, then the whole thing would be o
ver with quickly. She would not have to stay with the Morelands, growing fonder of them every day. She would not have to wrestle any longer with her wayward feelings for Theo.
It would be done with.
And though the idea put ice in her stomach, she was certain it was what she must do.
Megan went through the twins’ lessons distractedly the next day, the search she planned preying on her mind. Her frequent frowns and distracted air caused Alex to inquire if she was feeling quite all right.
Seizing on the opening his remark offered, Megan admitted that she had a headache and planned to lie down with a lavender compress on her forehead after the end of the day’s studies.
When she sent Alex and Con off for their science lesson with Thisbe, Megan went to her bedroom, closed the curtains and did as she had told the boys she would, lying down in her bed with a lavender-sprinkled warm cloth on her head. Later, when one of the maids came in to see if she needed help with her buttons as she dressed for dinner, she raised her head from the pillow and offered the girl a wan smile.
“I am afraid I won’t be able to come down for dinner, Millie,” she told her, hoping that the nerves dancing in her stomach made her look ill.
“I’m sorry, miss,” the maid said sympathetically. “Is it the headache? Cook brews up a good tincture. Take it and go to sleep, and you’ll feel right as rain tomorrow.”
“That would be very nice,” Megan responded. If she was lucky, she would not have to drink it in front of the girl. She sat up slowly. “Would you take a note down to the duchess for me, saying I won’t be there?”
“Of course, miss. Would you like for me to bring you a tray of food?”
“That would be very sweet of you,” Megan told her. “I’m not sure how much I can eat, but perhaps later…”
She penned a brief note excusing herself from dinner and gave it to Millie to carry to the duchess. Then she lay back down to wait for the sounds of the rest of the family going downstairs.
Millie brought her back a tray of cold cuts, bread and fruit, and laid it on the dresser for Megan to eat later. She also left a small brown bottle with instructions for mixing it with water and drinking it.
Megan assured her she would, and after the girl left, she poured a bit of the brown noxious-looking mixture in a glass, then tossed the contents out the window. She nibbled at the food as she listened to the footsteps outside her room.
Finally the corridor fell silent. Going to her door, Megan leaned her ear against it, listening, then eased open the door and peered out. The hallway was empty. After a glance in either direction, she tiptoed out of the room and moved quietly down the hall and around the corner. The door to Theo’s room stood ajar, and she carefully peeked inside.
There was no one, so with another quick glance around at the empty corridor, Megan stepped into the room and closed the door softly behind her. If by chance some servant or other family member did come down the hallway, it would not do for them to see her moving about inside the room.
It was a pleasantly large room, befitting, she supposed, the heir to the family title. An expanse of windows across one wall looked out over the back garden. Dark green velvet drapes decorated the windows, drawn back with ties to let in the last faint glow of daylight.
A large bed dominated the room. Four dark walnut posts supported a high tester the same dark green velvet of the draperies, and the wide, thick mattress was covered with a heavy gold-and-green-patterned brocade bedspread. The rest of the furniture was also black walnut, massive, but with clean, elegantly simple lines. A leather chair and hassock stood next to a standing lamp, a small table beside them, piled high with books. It was a comfortable-looking place, with jumbled bookshelves and odd masculine bits and pieces of things stacked in corners and on shelves—an old cricket bat, a fishing rod propped in one corner, a flat dish in which lay a hodgepodge of coins and keys and an old, dented metal pocket watch.
Megan’s eyes went first to the bed. It was, after all, impossible to miss. She thought of Theo lying in it at night, and an unexpected heat curled through her abdomen. Telling herself not to be foolish, she walked forward into the room. She made a quick circuit of the chamber, noting the odd foreign-looking piece here and there. A small jade statue sat on his dresser, and an oddly twisted walking stick leaned against the walnut wardrobe. A straw mask of a demonic creature hung on the wall, along with a graceful watercolor of a white heron picking its way through bamboo plants.
She saw nothing that reminded her of any of the objects they had seen at the Cavendish the day before, nor did she spot any pendant. But, then, she had not really expected Theo to have left it sitting out in plain sight.
She would have to look inside the drawers and chests and compartments, something that went against her grain. Steeling herself to snoop, she turned first to the small desk.
It did not take long to check through all the drawers, finding little except pen nibs, papers, pencil stubs and the like. She turned to go to the large chest that lay at the foot of the bed. It was intriguingly carved with the figures of exotic animals, and it looked like the sort of place where one could stash all sorts of items.
Megan went down on one knee before the chest and placed her hands on its rim, starting to lift it. Suddenly, behind her, there was a loud metallic groan, as of hinges moving. Megan jumped, the lid of the chest slipping from her hand and crashing back down, and whirled around.
Theo Moreland was standing in the doorway of his room, looking at her.
CHAPTER 11
Megan jumped to her feet. She could feel the blood flooding her face in embarrassment, and she clasped her hands together in front of her, unable to speak.
“Miss Henderson, what a surprise,” Theo said calmly. “I had been told you were sick, but when I came up to see how you were feeling, I found your room empty. And this door, which I had left open, was closed.”
He paused. Megan cast about wildly for something she could say to explain herself, but her mind was a blank. What could possibly excuse her being in his room, snooping into his things?
When she said nothing, he smiled faintly. “Cat got your tongue?”
Theo strolled into the room, closing the door behind him. “This is indeed an unusual moment. I can only assume that, feeling ill, you must have been searching for a headache powder. I am sorry to disappoint you, but I fear that I have no such remedies. I rarely get headaches.”
“Theo—I mean, Mr. Mor—Lord Raine—” Megan stumbled over the words.
His smile broadened into a grin. “You are quite alluring when you’re flustered, Miss Henderson—or shall I call you Megan? I think we could dispense with the formalities, don’t you, seeing as how we are standing in my bedchamber?”
“I—I can explain….”
“Can you?” His eyes danced. “I would truly enjoying hearing it.”
Megan’s eyes flashed. “All right. I cannot explain it. You know I cannot.”
“Well, a mystery is better than a lie,” Theo mused.
He strolled over and stood looking down at her. He was too close, but Megan stubbornly refused to back away from him. It would seem too much like cowardice. Instead, she tilted her head back and looked up at him, defiance in every line of her face and posture.
“I am left to wonder…” he said as he reached out to trace the line of Megan’s jaw with his thumb. “What reason would there be for a woman to enter a man’s bedroom?”
Megan could feel his touch all through her as he moved his thumb along her jaw and up onto her cheek. She could not hold back a quiver of response.
“There are doubtless prosaic sorts who would assume that you had come in here to steal something from me. In that case, I suppose I should search you.” His eyes swept down her body, lingering on her breasts. “You might have something concealed about your person.”
He stroked his thumb across Megan’s full lower lip. Her eyes fluttered closed as a damp heat blossomed between her legs. Theo, watching her, sucked in hi
s breath sharply at the obvious stamp of desire on her face. His hands came up to cup her face.
“I prefer to think ’tis something else that brought you here,” he went on in a husky voice, his breath sharper and faster now. He bent and pressed his lips against hers, softly tasting, nibbling, teasing at her lush mouth.
Megan shuddered and let out a quiet, involuntary noise, her hands coming up to clutch at the lapels of his coat. His arms went around her, pressing her into him so hard she could scarcely breathe—if, indeed, his kiss had not already taken her breath away.
She trembled, a hot, fluid ache growing within her, spreading and filling her, as his kiss deepened, the testing turning hungry and demanding. Desire surged in him, and Megan could feel it in the tightening of his arms, the insistent pressure of his flesh against her, the sudden, uneven rasp of his breath.
“Megan…” Her name was part sigh, part groan in his mouth, as he tore his lips away from hers and kissed his way across her face to nibble at her earlobe.
His hand caressed her hair, fumbling at the pins that held it, then sinking into the springing mass. His fingers twined through her curls, popping loose all the last restraining pins, so that her hair tumbled down around her shoulders. The warm red-brown curls were as soft as silk, tugging at his calloused hand, wrapping around his fingers. He clenched his hand in the lush strands, as he had been aching to do for so many days now.
Desire thundered in his head, drowning out all other sounds, all other thoughts. The doubts he held about her, the questions he had asked himself, all fell away, thrust aside in a passion that made any other thought unimportant.
Theo’s hands slid over her, caressing Megan through the barrier of her clothes. Her breasts were soft and yielding beneath his hands, her body warmly inviting. He yearned to feel the texture of her skin under the clothes, to taste her heat and sweetness.
His mouth moved down the tender flesh of her throat, sipping, nibbling, tracing patterns of delight with his tongue. Passion jolted through Megan, stunning her. She melted against him, letting her head fall back, giving him easy access to her throat.
