Perfectly Proper

by Bailey Griffin

  Watching her pink tongue dart out to lick the cream almost undid Tristan. “You certainly startle easily; I’m fairly certain I did not move,” Tristan drawled in an attempt to cover his own discomfort.

  “I do not!” Morgan protested a little too loudly, mostly due to her annoyance at herself for being skittish, and then at him for noticing.

  Before she knew what he was doing, Tristan leaned forward and lightly captured her chin in his hand. She felt like a moth caught in a flame. His eyes burned into hers as he used the pad of his thumb to wipe off the bit of cream that was outside the reach of her tongue.

  Tristan watched her reaction. He could have told her about the cream, but this gave him a reason to touch her, something he wanted to do all day. Her eyes were wide, but unafraid. With the glow of the fire and the warmth of the wine he could no more stop what he did next than hold back a flood. Just a short distance separated him from Morgan, and as he leaned in to take her lips, he viciously tamped down the voice in his head. This isn’t a good idea.

  Morgan held her breath, unsure what she should do. At first she told herself it would be like any other stolen kiss. The sooner she let it happen, the sooner she would have the opening she needed to give him the set down he so richly deserved. But she wasn’t prepared for her eyes to flutter closed, seemingly of their own volition, or the sharp pang in her lower abdomen as his mouth hovered slightly above hers. And then she was lost in a sea of swirling heat and sensation. His lips were firm, but gentle, and Morgan thought her heart would burst when he parted her lips and she felt his tongue slip inside her mouth, exploring. His hand came around to cup the back of her head and Morgan unknowingly slanted her mouth to make a closer fit. She moaned as she was rewarded with Tristan deepening the kiss.

  Tristan knew things were out of hand, and far beyond anything he planned. Not that any of this was planned. He only wanted to feel her lips, but once he touched them, and she opened, he was lost. His erection strained against his pants and he felt an intense urgency. He wasn’t sure what would have happened if the sharp rap on the door had not occurred at that moment. Servants entered at his command to take away the remnants of dinner. He liked to think he would have exercised better judgment without, but he doubted it.

  Morgan was so lost in the kiss that the knock barely registered. She was initially only aware of him pulling slowly away and a keen sense of loss. Reality returned as the door opened and two servants began clearing away the plates. She tried to appear relaxed. Tristan again turned toward the fire, but she tried to avoid looking at him. That certainly wasn't the case with one of the serving girls, who brazenly offered Tristan an invitation with her eyes. The girl left with a slight pout when it was not reciprocated.

  Tristan finally collected himself. “I’m sorry—I should not have taken that liberty—it won’t happen again.” Tristan was angry, with himself and with her. With himself for losing control, and with her for… What? He wasn’t sure, but knew there should be some reason. He was a little surprised however; although her response was enthusiastic, she was definitely a novice. He watched her warily. She certainly behaved like she was used to being surrounded by people making sure things like that kiss didn’t happen. He hoped she didn’t collapse in hysterics. Or, was it part of her cover to appear an innocent and bring out his more protective nature? Tristan narrowed his eyes. Well, he wasn’t one to turn down what was being offered; he would play his part too, just not the part she might be expecting.

  Morgan didn’t know what to say, so she kept her gaze averted and tried to slow the racing of her heart. But she knew she wasn’t sorry. She had never felt anything like that in her life. Alright, so I don’t have a lot to compare it to, but it still seemed rather extraordinary.

  Tristan observed her profile and the frown lines as she stared into the fire. Well, at least she isn’t crying.

  “I’ll be leaving for the stables once the lights are out. You will be safe and no one will know I left.”

  Morgan tried to ignore the pang of regret, but still didn’t trust her voice to be steady, and nodded in reply.

  The fire burned low. The dancing shadows on the wall settled as if they were ready for sleep too. Morgan was tired, but couldn’t sleep. Tristan left, but she could still feel his presence. Watching him slip silently out of the window, she thought to tell him to wait, but as their eyes met, she wasn’t sure she could trust herself not to pursue completely what he started earlier. With a sigh she flopped over to her other side. She really needed to sleep; tomorrow was going to be another long day.

  NINE

  The sound was so light, Morgan would have never heard it had she been fully asleep. The tavern below was quiet, but there were still plenty of noises, especially in an old inn like this. She wasn’t sure what the sound was, but she came instantly awake, some primal instinct warning her something wasn’t right. Staying very still, she tried to identify origin of the noise. There! She heard it again, a light scraping noise at window. Morgan knew someone was coming in. Is it Tristan?

  The hair on the back of her neck stood up as the window clicked open. Instinct told her it was not going to be Tristan coming through that window. She slipped silently out of bed, leaving the covers drawn and rumpled. At first glance, it wouldn’t be apparent that someone wasn’t in it. Morgan glanced around the room; it was small and sparse, but she decided quickly. She spied the poker, and tested its weight. It was a little heavy, but all she had to do was hit whoever it was once, and surprise was on her side. Morgan also smelled smoke, and thought it was coming from the fireplace, but the smell became stronger as she moved away from the fireplace.

  To her horror, she realized there was a fire. The sound of burning wood crackling and popping was distinct. Her heart was in her throat and Morgan was momentarily paralyzed as her mind tried to sort out the greater threat. Her decision was made as the figure of a man began crawling through the now partially opened window. Morgan dashed across the small room and yanked open the door, only to be greeted by a wall of smoke. Fire was visible at the end of the hall. Someone else noticed too, because shouts of “Fire!” began to echo. The once-sleeping inn was suddenly awake. Coughing, she slammed the door and whirled around as she heard the intruder land on the floor.

  TEN

  Tristan couldn’t sleep. He went through the events of the past day, trying to place Morgan in some category that made sense. It was ridiculous, but he couldn’t shake a sense of unease. He was outside earlier, and nothing was amiss, but he knew from past experience this feeling would hound him until he could explain it in some manner.

  He stepped back outside, and was immediately alert as he noticed the smell of smoke. Just as he registered that it was the inn, people came pouring from the front and shouts of “Fire!” began. A quick glance told him Morgan wasn’t in the crowd. He grabbed a man in his dressing gown, his hair askew, as he bustled by. “Where’s the fire?”

  “It’s upstairs in the back! The stairs are blocked!”

  Tristan ran around back of the building; many people were calling out to be saved from the upper floor. It was complete chaos; he narrowly avoided being flattened by a man who jumped from a window. Others moved in to try and put out his gown that was on fire. Tristan still did not see Morgan. He looked up, but she wasn’t at her window. Did the smoke get to her? Without hesitation he began to scale the thick mat of English ivy clinging to the building.

  He saw them the moment he pulled himself into the room. Morgan was backed into the far corner with a man advancing toward her.

  Morgan knew when Tristan entered. She didn’t have to look, but she also knew better than to take her eyes off her opponent. Not so her attacker, he apparently did not see her as much of a threat, even though she took him by surprise when he first tried to attack her. He clutched his side where she hoped a couple of ribs were broken. But the poker was heavy, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could do this. As the man glanced toward Tristan, she again took advantage. Morgan landed anot
her blow—sending her assailant’s sword clattering across the floor.

  Thick smoke started to seep in under the door, yet the intruder seemed to keep panic at bay. Tristan started toward him with his sword drawn. With one glance at his face, Morgan was glad to know she wasn’t on the receiving end of Tristan’s deadly intent. Fire spread quickly in wooden buildings, and she could hear it raging in the hallway. Men would later discuss how attempts to put it out made it seem to spread faster. The more water they used, the greater the inferno became.

  The intruder realized there was no place to go. Much to Morgan’s horror, the man turned and flung open the door. As the door opened, the fire found a new source of oxygen and raged forth into the room. Without a backward glance, the man threw himself into the wall of flame- the fire and smoke quickly, and thankfully, obscuring him. Morgan stood paralyzed. She was overwhelmed with the horror of what just happened.

  Tristan reached her side. She was pale and beginning to shake. Her eyes were unfocused; he knew she was going into shock, but needed her help to get them out the window.

  “Morgan! We have to get out of here!” Tristan shook her by her shoulders and thankfully, her eyes found his. He pulled her toward the window. "Hold my hands!” Tristan lowered her as far as he could and let her get a hold on the vines. It really wasn’t that far. Tristan quickly followed, quickly positioning himself behind her to begin their descent. Her hands trembled, but she responded to his encouraging murmurs and both reached the safety of the ground.

  Tristan was sure the man had been an assassin. He was just as sure the man set the fire. The real question was; who was he trying to kill? Now, there was also no doubt in Tristan’s mind that Morgan was agent. Just the ease in which she handled the poker as weapon told him that. He didn’t frequent a lot of ton events, but he was fairly certain sword-play had not replaced embroidery as one of the finer qualities ladies were required to gain. But who was trying to kill her and why? Was the assassin meant for him? Was she being dispatched for failing something? Tristan didn’t have enough information to answer his questions, but he was determined to get them.

  Morgan was pale and somewhat shaken. She allowed herself to be led to the stable area. Still in her night rail, she didn’t remember Tristan putting his coat over her shoulders, but was grateful and pulled it closer against the damp night air. She didn’t know the coat was as much for him as it was for her.

  The flames were bright enough to back-light the thin material she slept in, showing off every shadowy curve. Tristan couldn’t believe, after all of the excitement of the fire, that bedding her right then and there seemed like a good idea. Gritting his teeth, he placed his coat around her, praying the darkness and chaos would hide the obvious bulge in his pants. Tristan did have to admire her resolve. Once in the stable he checked her for injury and found none, other than a smudge of soot on her cheek. Morgan was too distracted to notice as she searched the crowd.

  “He’s not there. Do you think he…?” Her voice trailed off as if she couldn’t really comprehend someone hurling themselves into an inferno rather than risk being caught.

  Believing her horror to be genuine, Tristan tried to offer what comfort he could. “Desperate men will do desperate things.”

  “But how could being caught for robbery equate to taking your own life in such a manner?” It was the bewilderment in her voice with a touch of tears that triggered Tristan’s more cynical response. She is a great actress. He gave her credit for being quick-thinking enough to minimize the encounter as simple robbery, but there was no way a true young lady of quality would not be in complete hysterics or crumpled in a faint at this point. Tristan had to bite his tongue to keep from confronting her. “Come, there’s no reason for us to remain here.”

  Forcing herself to remain calm, Morgan tried to focus and walk with a steady gait. Fencing at home was one thing, fighting for one’s life with an improvised weapon was another. She dared not swoon or fall apart now. She could hear the hard edge of impatience in Tristan’s voice. He would surely leave me behind if I don’t get myself together.

  Tristan saddled their mounts while Morgan donned the only clothes she had left, a pair of breeches with a lawn shirt. She’d hastily shoved them in a saddlebag before they left London. She was glad she chose that attire instead of another dress when Tristan originally limited what she could bring. Her riding boots were also in the stable as they were being cleaned. Tristan brought her horse and she mounted by reflex, not even noticing her sidesaddle was replaced.

  As they departed, neither noticed a figure in the woods—watching.

  ELEVEN

  Tristan continued to study Morgan as she rode. With her riding astride, and knowing she could ride well, he pushed a little harder and took some of the back roads. She was obviously skilled with a sword, so her possession of the dagger at the docks may not have been the false bravado he initially surmised. Something was definitely afoot with her; he did not believe in coincidences, and many people had seen them at the docks together. They could have easily been followed, making her story about being Jack’s sister even less plausible. But how did she know he would be at the docks? Jack’s life was put in danger once before due to leaks at the agency. He wouldn’t allow it to happen again.

  This trip would all be on his terms now. If family were trying to retrieve her without scandal, they would just come in and get her, not try to burn the building down around her. The problems with putting the fire out also had him on higher alert. She wasn’t telling the truth. But what if she really is Jack’s sister? He had to keep all possibilities in consideration. That left him with another complete set of dilemmas. Not only would Jack kill me for bringing Morgan, I tried to seduce her within hours of meeting her. If the first decision didn’t get him killed, the second certainly would. It was too ludicrous to consider.

  Tristan pushed them to travel through the woods most of the night, and it was almost morning. They needed to stop at some point, but Tristan wasn’t sure he wanted to risk another inn. Was his mission real or a trap for him?

  Reigning in his horse, he signaled for Morgan to do the same as they reached the edge of a clearing. Here would be as good as any. Tristan was intrigued by the pensive look on her face; he was sure she would have tried to hide it if she knew she was being observed. He was proven right as her expression became shuttered when he dismounted.

  “We’ll spend the rest of night here. I don’t want to risk another inn. It’s obvious we were followed.”

  Morgan was confused by Tristan’s almost accusatory glare, but was more concerned with how, and more importantly where, she was going to sleep. She looked around trying to see what Tristan did that made this suitable. “What do you mean we’re being followed? I’m not even sure where we are.” Direction was never a strong suit for her.

  Tristan’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I know it’s not the luxury you are accustomed to, but you will just have to make do if you want to continue with me on your little adventure.” He purposefully didn’t answer her direct question, and tended to his horse.

  Morgan found she was just too tired to argue and decided to dismount as well. While Tristan took care of the horses, she set about making a small fire. Tristan took bedding out for both of them, but placed them each on opposite sides of where she was building the fire. He was taking no chances. He did note how adept she was at building a fire, yet another skill he doubted well-bred ladies were expected to acquire.

  “We’ll start again in the morning.” Satisfied the fire was safe, Tristan crawled into his own bedding. Morgan was too exhausted to complain, but was still surprised with the ease with which she slipped into sleep.

  TWELVE

  Tristan woke to sunshine breaking through the canopy of trees. Instantly alert, his muscles tensed with the sense of something amiss. He was a light sleeper; so whatever it was just happened. He lay still and allowed his senses to gather information. The fire was barely smoldering, the horses were still there; he could h
ear their shuffling. Then he knew. Morgan was gone. Smothering an oath he tossed off his blanket. With both horses still there he knew she could not go far on foot. But what well-bred lady would wander off from the safety of a camp? Tristan snorted—they wouldn’t, only someone pretending to be a lady would. He allowed his anger to push away what concern he felt when he first noticed she was gone. Instinct led him into the woods.

  Morgan shivered a little as her body adjusted to the water with each step. She planned to just wash the grime and soot from her face, but the water felt so refreshing, she just couldn’t resist. The sun was warm, and she would be quick. Two days without a bath was simply unacceptable! Morgan stripped off her pants and the shirt. The chemise she wore under her night rail smelled like smoke. She would bathe in it and change back in to the dry clothes. Morgan sighed and tilted her face toward the sun, surprised it was so late in the morning. The night’s excitement must have left them both drained. Despite the obvious danger they were in, she was not going to give up trying to find her brother. Last night actually hardened her resolve. Besides, if she were honest, the real danger may prove to be her growing attraction to Tristan. Morgan closed her eyes and allowed the image of a strong, muscled chest, bronzed by the sun appear before her. She already felt a little wicked bathing almost nude in the open, but was still surprised at the tingling between her legs. Some girls of her acquaintance last year were whispering about a book from India. She never saw the pictures, but the descriptions were enough to make her hair ribbons smolder. She had to be honest with herself; Tristan was exactly the kind of man she could picture in some of the descriptions.