“You have a spy among your men. How will you keep this plan quiet?”
“Pick only my best, most trusted men.” And pray to God it worked.
“Why not give him the lance like he wants?”
“I would if that were all he wanted.” But Barun made it clear he wanted more. He wanted Morgan back as a slave and he wanted Juliana. The only way to stop him was to lure him away from Juliana and kill him.
“When are you planning on doing this?” Reed watched Morgan pace with half-closed lids, hands crossed over his stomach.
“As soon as possible. I’ll wait a day or two after the wedding.”
Reed shook his head. “Juliana really isn’t going to like this. Have you told her?”
“Hell no, I haven’t told her.” He’d barely seen her in the week since she’d accepted his proposal. Isabelle’s Aunt Sylvia had taken over the planning of the wedding and it included commandeering Juliana for fittings and whatever the hell women did before getting married.
Morgan had given Isabelle’s aunt strict instructions that this was to be a small affair. Close friends only. After the way Barun infiltrated the last ball, Morgan didn’t want the man to get wind of the wedding.
“When are you planning on telling her?” Reed asked. “I want to make sure I’m out of the house that day.”
Morgan smiled. At Isabelle’s insistence, Juliana was still living with the Parkers. Isabelle claimed they were going to do this right and since Juliana had no family, Isabelle and Reed would be her family.
“Please tell me you’re planning on telling her,” Reed said.
“The thought crossed my mind to just slip away,” Morgan said in half-jest. It was a conversation he dreaded, but he couldn’t leave her like that.
“Do me a favor,” Reed said, more serious now. “Leave Isabelle out of this. Don’t inform her of your plans.”
Morgan stopped pacing and stared at Reed. Something else was going on here. He’d felt it a few times in the last weeks but had been too preoccupied with his own problems to give it much thought. “Why?”
“Because she doesn’t need to be involved.”
“It’s more than that.” Isabelle was the best there was with a cutlass and by far the best captain he’d come across. She would be an asset on this mission. Not that he intended on asking her. Reed wasn’t exactly on board when it came to Isabelle’s shadier activities.
Reed sighed and straightened in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees and staring into the fire. “It’s the company,” he said. “We’re having difficulties with some of our clients. They don’t want to do business with a company that has a woman in charge.”
Morgan was beginning to understand. In fact, he had this conversation with Juliana. Women didn’t work unless they were lower class and men didn’t do business with women unless the women were prostitutes. Isabelle was a woman born before her time. She wanted to be in the thick of things, making the big decisions, sailing the ships. And the hell of it was, she was excellent at both.
“You’re afraid if she hears what I’m about to do, she’ll want to help.”
Reed looked Morgan in the eye. “I can’t lose her.”
Morgan knew Reed meant more than Isabelle getting harmed and possibly killed. He was afraid if she tasted battle again, she wouldn’t come back.
“I won’t tell her.” How the hell he was going to keep something this big from his best friend he didn’t know.
A knock on the door had both men turning toward it. Isabelle poked her head in and smiled. “May I join you?”
She walked to Reed and tucked herself beneath his arm. Reed kissed the top of her head and Morgan read the worry in the man’s eyes. Reed would always fear the allure of the ocean that constantly called to Isabelle.
She pointed a finger at Morgan. “I came to speak to you.”
Morgan glanced at Reed, wondering if somehow Isabelle had already heard of his plans. Reed tightened his hold on his wife.
“Aunt Sylvia would like to throw a ball in your and Juliana's honor.”
Morgan took an involuntary step back. “Oh, no. Hell, no.” He hated balls.
“It’s not that bad, I promise. It will be small.”
“Small according to Aunt Sylvia?”
Isabelle’s lips twitched. “I’ll keep it under control.”
“This is not a good idea.” Morgan turned to Reed. “Tell her this isn’t a good idea.” Mostly because of Barun, but partly because he got the hives just thinking of walking into a ballroom with the upper crust of society staring at him. He wasn’t cut out for that life and had no intention of ever being cut out for that life.
“Isabelle,” Reed said. “This isn’t a good idea. Remember the last ball? Barun somehow made it in.”
“I thought of that as well.” Isabelle disengaged herself from Reed. “But Sylvia mentioned the ball to Juliana before I could stop it.” She turned to Morgan. “You should have seen the look on Juliana’s face, Morgan. I don’t think anyone has given her a ball in her honor before.”
Damn. Isabelle was probably right. Parties hadn’t been part of Juliana’s life when she was growing up.
“She practically glowed,” Isabelle said.
“Isabelle—” Morgan warned.
“She was so excited, Morgan. And we could make the place secure. With your men and some of mine, no one could get in here.”
“I don’t think—”
Isabelle took his hand. “I don’t think you know what this means to her.”
Shit. He closed his eyes for a brief moment in resignation. “If it’s small,” he said. “And there has to be enough men to cover all entrances and patrol the grounds. I want Penworth brought up to date. He needs to know what Barun looks like. We’ll put one of my men at the door with him.”
Isabelle smiled, went up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Morgan. Juliana will be happy.”
“When is this ball being held?”
“Three days from now. It was the earliest Sylvia could plan it. I’ll go tell Juliana now.” She left and Morgan and Reed exchanged worried glances.
“Looks like your plans will be delayed,” Reed said.
“Looks like.” That gave Barun two extra days to live. Two extra days of haunting London. Two extra days to get at them.
The day of the wedding dawned dark and dreary, like every other day Juliana had been in London. Not for the first time she wished she were on Morgan’s ship with the wind in her hair and the sun on her face, listening to his crew sing sea shanties as they went about their duties.
With shaking hands, she smoothed the fine silk of her wedding gown. It wasn’t anything special by eighteenth-century standards. She learned from the modiste from hell that white was reserved for debutantes so she chose a deep peach that brought color to her cheeks.
The service would be short, with only a few in attendance. Juliana chose Isabelle and Sophia to stand up for her and Morgan chose Reed and Patrick.
“Are you ready?” Isabelle stood in the doorway, her mass of black hair pinned up yet looking like it would tumble down at the slightest breeze. Somehow the effect was alluring. She wore a dress for the occasion. A beautiful gold-colored dress that shimmered when she walked. “You look as nervous as Morgan,” she teased, and Juliana smiled, too nervous for words.
Making her way down the grand staircase, she wondered at the fate that brought her two-hundred-some years to the past, to a place that held everything she was searching for and more.
She stopped and took a deep breath, suddenly scared. Suddenly understanding there was no more job at the Chicago Sun, no car and no air-conditioning. Her hard-won independence, her career, the home, her comfy clothes and time-saving appliances were all gone. She was living in the eighteenth century about to marry the man of her dreams who also happened to be the man of her past. Her heart did a little double skip of apprehension. Could she do this? Did she have a choice?
Isabelle stopped beside her and arched
a brow in silent question. Juliana knew if she told her friend she was having second thoughts, Isabelle would sweep her away, no matter her friendship to Morgan. But Juliana wasn’t having second thoughts. She took the quiet moment to reflect on what was and what was to be.
Her vision of life with Zach was much, much different than this. But this new vision, this new life seemed right and at this moment, the moment before she opened those doors and stepped into her future, she couldn’t think of another place or another time she’d rather be than right here among ex-pirates and ladies and lords.
She smiled and nodded at Isabelle, who opened the doors to the library. Morgan stood by the fireplace. His hair was combed into a queue, his shirt was a brilliant white, his breeches dark gray, his coat a light gray. Yet a gold earring still winked at her by the light of the many candles and the look in his eye was all pirate.
Somehow her feet carried her to him. There was no music, no pomp and circumstance. It was just she and Morgan, their friends and a somewhat frightened-looking minister who clutched his Bible and whose gaze darted around the room.
She felt Morgan’s hand in hers, the warmth of his arm as it brushed hers. She listened to his deep breaths and the shuffle of feet behind her. The minister’s words were a drone in the distance. And then the words took on substance and meaning.
The minister turned to Morgan and said, “Do you, Zachary Morgan Langtree, take thee, Juliana MacKenzie as your wife? Do you vow to honor her through all the days of your life, through sorrow and pain, happiness and health?”
Juliana’s gaze flew to Morgan’s. He was looking down at her, a soft smile on his lips. She’d been trying hard not to cry but the use of his real name, the name he’d forsaken because he thought he wasn’t worthy of it, brought on the tears. Morgan disengaged his hand from hers and wiped the tears with his thumb.
“I do,” he said to the minister. He kissed her on the nose. “You deserve a last name at the least.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Juliana had been in Morgan’s home before but it’d been the night they dragged him from The Scabbard, pissed as the British liked to say. Which she learned meant drunk and not angry. Naturally she hadn’t had a chance to look at where he lived but she did now.
With a touch of apology in his voice he explained his home wasn’t as elegant as Isabelle and Reed’s estate but other than the size of the homes, Juliana couldn’t see much difference. Yes, the Parkers’ home was bigger but in all honesty she much preferred Morgan’s smaller home.
Morgan exited the coach and reached in to help her down. She learned early on to take what help she could get with the voluminous skirts that were always ready to trip her up, but she was getting better at maneuvering around in them.
Dusk was quickly approaching and shadows partially hid his home. The windows glowed with candles lit from within. The place was neat and tidy on the outside, sitting right on the quiet, cobblestoned street.
“I don’t have servants,” Morgan said, again almost apologetically. “As soon as we’re settled you can hire as many as you like.”
She snorted, still looking up at the stone edifice of what was now her new home. “Right,” she said. “Like I know the first thing about hiring servants.”
Morgan chuckled and took her hand to lead her up the four steps to the door. He opened it himself and they stepped in. Someone had been here earlier and lit the candles, casting the entryway in a warm glow. It was so much like Isabelle and Reed’s except on a much smaller scale that she wondered if Isabelle picked it out for Morgan. Juliana couldn’t picture Morgan choosing furniture.
He pulled her down the short hall and pointed to closed doors. “The sitting room, the library and the study,” he said, indicating each door in turn. “I usually use the study when I’m in town and keep the other rooms closed but you can open them up if you like. The kitchen is in the back. I do have a housekeeper who comes in while I’m in residence. She cooks too, but she doesn’t stay here.”
Juliana looked at the high ceilings, the marble floor, the small table that in her time would be a pricey antique, and the lit wall sconces. “How did you get used to it all?” she whispered. She’d been here just a few weeks and she still woke up in the mornings disoriented.
He shrugged. “A little at a time, I guess. Mainly I spend my time on the ships where I feel the most comfortable. City life isn’t my thing as Isabelle probably told you. That’s why there are no servants.”
Was he going to keep sailing now that they were married? Was he planning to take her with him? She had no desire to be stuck alone in London while Morgan sailed back and forth to America on the Parkers’ ships yet she didn’t know what she wanted to do with this new life. Morgan told her a little of Isabelle’s problems. The woman was a genius when it came to sailing and shipping, but was ostracized by the leaders of the industry because she was a woman.
Juliana wanted to be more than the lady of the house, yet truthfully she hadn’t thought past the wedding. Now that it was over her questions hovered around her. What now?
But she didn’t voice them. This was their wedding night and she wasn’t going to ruin it with her anxieties.
Morgan looked down at her. “Have I told you how beautiful you are today? When you opened the door to the library and I saw you standing there…” His voice trailed away and he shook his head as if he couldn’t go on.
He didn’t have to say more. She knew. Tears popped into her eyes and she quickly brushed them away.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what my problem is lately. I usually never cry.”
“It’s been a long day and you haven’t exactly been in your element lately. I should say I’m sorry, but right now I can’t be sorry for something that brought you back into my life.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Ah, Juliana. You have no idea what your presence means to me.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist. “I think I do,” she whispered. “All these years I’ve waited and everyone said I shouldn’t. They told me to give up on you and I wouldn’t.”
“You should have. You had every right to.” His voice trailed away and she shook her head.
“I couldn’t. I must have known. Deep down I must have known.” She squeezed him.
He tilted her head up and kissed her. “I don’t think I can wait much longer,” he said against her lips.
“What’re you waiting for?”
He groaned, grabbed her hand and hurried her back through the hall and into the entryway. The stairs were spiraled, made of solid, dark wood with a thick covering of carpet. “We could do it right here,” she said breathlessly. “On the steps.”
Morgan stumbled, fell forward and had to catch himself on a step. He groaned and hung his head. “Good Lord, Juliana. Warn me next time you’re going to say something like that.”
She shrugged. “Just saying.”
He chuckled and tugged on her hand again. “Maybe later. Right now I want you on a bed without the ocean beneath us.”
“I kinda liked the rocking of the ocean.”
He groaned and tugged harder. They were practically running up the steps now. The hallway was dark, lit only by a few candles. Halfway down, Morgan pushed open a door. Juliana knew this room well. She sat here for hours waiting for him to wake up from his drinking binge. There was nothing remarkable about his bedchamber other than the fact it was in the eighteenth century, but knowing Morgan slept here made it special.
He bent her backward and lowered her to the bed while her feet stayed on the floor.
She loved the feel of him. Loved the hard contours of his body, the silk of his hair as it fell across her and created an erotic tent around them. She ran her hands through his hair and he smiled down at her.
“I love you, Morgan.”
“I know.” His voice was husky. “I’m not sure why or how I deserve this but I know. I love you too, Juliana.”
His erection pushed into her but he didn’t move, even though she saw the need
in his eyes and felt the tightly coiled muscles holding him back. She touched his face. “Make love to me,” she whispered.
“I will. I just… Right now I want to look.” His fingers skimmed the line of her jaw. “Sometimes I still don’t believe.”
She smiled. “I’m here. I’m not leaving.”
He shook his head as if he didn’t quite believe it either. Only time would convince him and she had all the time in the world.
He kissed her mouth but when she raised her head, eager for more, he drew away to kiss her chin, her jaw, the sensitive spot below her ear that made her gasp. “Damn gowns,” he muttered and she laughed. Definitely the attire of the day made it harder to undress in moments like this.
“The buttons are in the back,” she said.
“I know.”
She tried to roll over to give him access but he held her down and simply but efficiently raised her skirts. The cool air felt good on her legs but his large, calloused hands felt even better. She shivered as he lightly stroked the inside of her thigh and she let her knees fall open.
If the female wore more clothes than seemed possible, the male wore just as many. Morgan pulled away for a moment to shrug out of his coat and vest, except they weren’t called a coat and vest. At the moment she didn’t give a damn what they were called as long as he was free of them. With trembling hands, she pulled his shirt over his head exposing the golden skin of his torso. She unbuttoned his breeches. Her hands brushed against his engorged erection and he sucked in a breath. When the last button was released, he cock sprang forward into her hand and she wrapped her fingers around him. Morgan groaned and dropped his head. Sweat was already beading on his shoulders and his hips thrust forward. He threw his head back, pumping into her hand. She watched the play of emotion on his face as she squeezed, then stroked, squeezed, then stroked. His breath came fast, jagged. The skin around his eyes tightened and he gasped.
“Enough,” he ground out between clenched teeth.
Wherever You Are Page 17
