Or—oh, God help her—might it clutch her with rotted hands, the bones cutting into her flesh, the yellow teeth sinking into her breast as he once…
The image itself choked her, caused her to start up in panic. Lalia wanted to call out to Morgan, even to go to his room and let him comfort her. She wanted to be harbored by his clean, muscular body, to feel the crisp hair of his chest against her breasts—for him to kiss her with firm, gentle lips, driving away the horror that stalked her.
But she knew, if she did that, what must follow. She weakened more every day, her need and desire for him eroding her good intentions and her will. But she had not yet made up her mind to succumb to his lordship. An affair between them could be only of short duration, and her poor, foolish heart already yearned for what it could not have. She could not lean on him forever, though the need was as seductive as the man himself. She must protect herself—as best she could.
So she lay with the night candle lit and tossed until morning.
Much to his surprise, Morgan got the opportunity to talk to Lalia’s half brother without any plotting on his part at all. He had climbed to the top of the wall to better use a small telescope to see what vessels he might spy on the horizon. Sir Roger Poleven came sailing into the cove aboard a small sloop at high tide, skillfully avoiding the menacing rocks.
Morgan took his time climbing down, giving the newcomer a chance to secure his dinghy and climb to the top of the cliff. Sauntering in that direction, Morgan waited until the man cleared the defile leading to the cove and strolled across the lawn toward him. Roger bowed, and Morgan nodded, not wishing to extend any more hospitality than absolutely required. “Good afternoon, Poleven. To what do we owe this pleasure?”
“Oh, just out for a sail. Thought I’d stop in. I’m told the ship that wrecked most recently was one of yours?” He cast a speculative glance at Morgan. “A great loss to you, I’d think.”
“Bad enough. I lost a number of good men.”
“Oh, aye. Your men.” Apparently Poleven’s sympathy waned rapidly. “She carrying much cargo?”
“I haven’t had an accounting yet.” Morgan began to suspect that his guest’s purpose was to fish for information from him. He began to doubt that he would learn anything of use from Poleven and started considering the quickest method of ridding himself of him.
Roger suddenly looked past Morgan’s shoulder. “Well… I believe I see my little sister approaching. She’s grown into an attractive lady.”
As Lalia and Jeremy came within earshot, Morgan bit back an acid comment as to how long it had been since the man had laid eyes on his sister.
“Why…! Roger?” Lalia stopped, looking startled, and gave her half brother a long inspection. “I didn’t even recognize you.”
He stepped forward and planted an unenthusiastic kiss on her cheek. “Lalia. How do you go on?”
“Very well, thank you.” She backed away a step, and Morgan, from the expression on her face, fancied that she restrained herself from wiping the kiss away with the back of her hand. Turning to Jeremy, she nodded at her brother. “Roger, may I present Jeremy Pendaris. This is Sir Roger Poleven, Jeremy.”
“How do you do, Sir Roger?” Jeremy made a credible bow, his little boat tucked under one arm.
Roger grinned slyly, but nodded at the boy without looking at Morgan. “Good afternoon, Jeremy. Are you planning to sail that?”
“Well, I want to, but Miss Lalia says the tide is too high.”
Lalia shook her head smiling. “Nothing would do but that he come and look for himself.”
“Best listen to her, lad.” Roger jerked his head at the waves pounding the path to the cove. “When it’s like this, it’s no place for landlubbers.”
“I am not a landlubber!” Jeremy propped indignant fists on his hips. “When I grow up, I am going to be a sailor. I am going to be a captain on Uncle Morgan’s ships, and I am going to have my own castle on an island and sail my ship there.”
“That’s a fine ambition, but best wait until next week to pursue it. Well, I must get back to my craft. Your servant, Carrick.” He bowed in Morgan’s direction, then turned to Lalia. “What do you say, little sister, to my coming to visit for a few days? We can get reacquainted.”
Morgan took a quick step forward. Best to scuttle that notion without further loss of time. “I’m sorry, Poleven. We are renovating Merdinn and cannot entertain guests at present.”
“Oh, well. Perhaps later. I may be in Cornwall for a while. Servant, Carrick. Lalia.” With this fond farewell, he climbed back down the trail to his boat.
Morgan watched him with narrowed eyes. “What do you make of that?”
Lalia frowned. “I don’t know. Perhaps he wants to live off your bounty. He must be in really serious financial straits. I can’t think of any other reason he would want to come here.”
What other reason, indeed? Morgan would have to give that question some serious thought.
“Jeremy? Jeremy, where are you? It’s time for your bath.” Lalia strolled toward the stable, an eye open for her charge. He had been so cross for the past two days because the high tide in the afternoon had prevented him from sailing his boat that James had offered to take him to the smithy. Lalia had sent him on his way with relief and spent the time with Sarah altering the gowns from the providential trunk. She had seen the two return from their mission an hour ago, but Jeremy had been happily following James at his chores—the old man good-naturedly giving him small tasks—so Lalia had not disturbed them.
A quick look into the stable showed her no sign of them. She hailed one of the undergrooms. “Where are James and Mr. Jeremy?”
“I dunno, ma’am.” The young man paused in his work and gave her a quick bow. “The last I saw they was pushing a barrow load of straw to the cove path. His lordship’s got some of the lads shoring up a washout near the top, and they need the straw to hold the dirt.”
“Oh, I see. Thank you.” Lalia headed for the cove, only to encounter James, the empty wheelbarrow and several stablehands on their way back to the stable.
James paused and wiped his brow. “Evening, ma’am. We’re calling it done for today.”
Discomfort stirred in Lalia. “Where is Jeremy? I thought he was with you.”
“Yes, ma’am, he was, but he went back to the house just a few minutes ago. Didn’t you see him?”
“No.” Lalia didn’t feel the relief she expected from this statement. Why hadn’t Jeremy passed her? James and his crew continued their retreat to the stable, and she hurried in through a side door, encountering a workman in the hall. “Did his lordship’s nephew come in this way?”
“I haven’t seen him, ma’am, and I’ve been here this good half hour polishing the flags. He ain’t been this way.”
Serious alarm rose in Lalia. Surely he was too obedient a child to defy his uncle and return to the cove alone. Wasn’t he? Was any seven-year-old boy? The temptation was great. And if not there, where was he? She dashed back out the door and headed for the cove. “Jeremy! Jeremy, answer me.”
Was that a faint response above the sound of the surf? Lalia lifted her skirts and ran. The tide was rapidly reaching its zenith, flooding most of the rocky path. She hurried down the zigzags until she reached the spot where the waves lapped the track. “Jeremy?”
Again she heard a indistinct call off to her right. Casting about, she saw the boy at last in a small cul-de-sac on a switchback a level below her. He stood on a boulder that yet lifted him out of the water, but the surf beat at the path on either side of him. He still clutched his boat. Lalia raced down the trail until she was directly above him and, kneeling, leaned over the ledge and tried to reach his outstretched arms. She couldn’t do it. Oh, God.
“Here, Miss Lalia, I’ll stand on my toes.” He elevated himself a scant four inches, wobbling on his perch. “There’s water in my shoes.”
Sparing a glance for his feet, Lalia saw that, indeed, the waves were surging upward, now wetting his legs. S
he turned so that she could sprawl stomach down, lying lengthways on the narrow trail. Thank heavens! She could just grasp his hand. He lifted both arms to her.
And dropped the boat.
“My boat!” He turned and started to lunge after his toy.
“No!” Lalia’s shriek was whipped away by the wind. She all but threw herself over the edge of her precarious perch, grabbing for his hands.
She got one of them. A larger wave thrust him back toward her, and she was able to catch the other. “Jeremy! Let the boat go. We will make you another.” She strained downward and finally reached his wrist. “Help me. Hold on to my wrists, as I have yours.”
He did as instructed, and Lalia sighed. Now she could secure him against the waves, but she couldn’t lift him. Her position, face downward on the stony path, was too awkward.
“The w-water is up to my waist, Miss Lalia.” The quaver in his voice betrayed a small crack in his courage. “It’s getting higher.”
“I see that, Jeremy, but don’t worry. The water will help us. It will lift you until I can pull you up to me.” She prayed that it were so, and that the uneven path above them would remain clear. Even now she could see that the dips were filling. Was this a spring tide or a neap tide? She couldn’t remember. If it was a full tide, they might yet be cut off. If the tide was too low, it might not lift him enough. Well, she would just stay here all night if she had to.
But he was already shivering. Could such a small body stand that much exposure? Could she? “It will be all right, Jeremy. Hold on to me and don’t let go.”
“I—I’m trying to be brave, Miss Lalia.”
“You are being very brave. Just a little longer now.” I hope.
Suddenly, over the pounding of the sea, she heard the rattle of falling stones behind her. She couldn’t turn to look, but a highly polished boot appeared on the path a few inches from her face. Morgan! Thank God.
“Good girl.” He knelt before her. “I can’t reach him this way. Hold him. I’m going to have to get into position with you.”
Lalia felt him cautiously step over her, placing a foot between her legs on the shallow shelf of rock. Then his weight gradually came down as he stretched out full-length on top of her. A sob of relief burst from her as two long arms moved past her face and two large hands clamped around Jeremy’s arms.
“H-hullo, U-Uncle Morgan.”
“Hullo, yourself. You sound cold.” Morgan shifted his weight. Lalia winced. “Damnation! I can lift him now, but have nowhere to put him. Am I hurting you?”
The sharp stones of the track were cutting into her in a dozen places. She gasped. “N-no. I’m fine. Just get him up.”
“Very well. Can you hold him around the waist when I lift him a bit?”
“I think so.” Morgan pulled and Jeremy’s body moved past her face. His added weight crushed Lalia farther into the rough ground, but she clamped her teeth over her lip, refusing to make a sound.
“Now.” Morgan waited while Lalia locked her arms around the boy. “Don’t let go and don’t move. I’m going to stand behind you.” He pushed away from the edge with one hand, still holding one of his nephew’s arms with the other.
Lalia clung to the small form with all her might. At least she could breathe as Morgan’s bulk shifted off her.
“I have him now.”
As she felt the upward tug, Lalia forced herself to release her grip on the boy. She collapsed limply against the earth.
“There you go, Jeremy.” His lordship’s voice had never been more reassuring. “Climb up while I push. That’s my lad. Now—sit down and do not move so much as a finger until I tell you to do so.”
As Lalia pushed herself to all fours, strong hands gripped her around the waist and pulled her to her feet. A welcome pair of arms wrapped around her, holding her upright as she ordered her bruised knees to work. She covered her face with her hands and forced herself to breathe.
“Can you climb? We best go straight up. The track ahead of us is going under.” She nodded, and he cupped his hands. Lalia stepped into them, letting him toss her up. She got a hand on a rock and, while his lordship pushed from below, pulled herself safely, if not very elegantly, onto the ledge above them. She moved aside while Morgan, with a leap and a scramble, drew himself up beside her.
“We can make it from here.” He took a firm grip on Jeremy with one hand and Lalia with the other, and marched the two of them up to the house.
Lalia knew she would never be able to look him in the face again. Her negligence had all but cost their precious Jeremy his life. Why, oh, why, had she relinquished him to James even for a moment? His lordship would hate her forevermore. And surely he would send her away immediately and hire a more responsible guardian for his beloved nephew. The months in which she had hoped to find a position dwindled into hours.
Chapter Eleven
While Lalia bathed, Sarah clucked and fussed over her ruined dress and the bruises and cuts that covered Lalia’s arms and body. Lalia brushed away her concern. What were a few scratches compared to a child’s life? It was time to dress for dinner, but she declined the dinner gown Sarah produced from the wardrobe and chose instead a simple morning dress. Lord Carrick would hardly want her company for dinner tonight.
She had Sarah braid her hair while it was still wet, ignoring the girl’s protests that it would dry all crinkled. This was no time for vanity. Lalia was reaching for her kerchief when the knock she had been dreading fell on her bedchamber door.
Sarah held the door while the footman delivered his message.
“Mrs. Hayne, Lord Carrick requests that you join him in the library, if you are quite recovered from your experience.”
“Yes, of course. I will be right down.” Lalia tied her scarf over her hair and marched slowly toward her fate, fighting for composure. She found his lordship seated behind his desk, sipping brandy. She sat in the chair across from him and tried to meet his eyes.
He took one look at her and poured another glass. Walking around the desk, he pressed it into her hand. “You are white as a sheet.” He ran an appraising eye over her. “What? Have you put on sackcloth and ashes? That’s a little premature. Jeremy is not dead, and only a little the worse for his adventure.”
Lalia covered her mouth with one hand to hold back a sob. She had hoped to address him with dignity, but that capability was rapidly slipping away from her. “I—I don’t know what to say to you, my lord, except that I am w-wretched with shame that I very nearly allowed Jeremy to come to grief. How I c-could have…”
Morgan knelt on one knee before her and lifted her hand away from her lips, enclosing it with both of his. “Come now. Had I never been a seven-year-old boy, perhaps I might blame you, but I remember all too well the ploys I used to escape my various governors. Nay, Lalia. Don’t cry.”
But she could not obey that injunction. The boy had almost drowned. One sob after another burst through her control, until, taking the brandy from her and placing it on the floor, Morgan drew her head onto his shoulder and patted her back comfortingly.
“I engaged you to supervise Jeremy’s care, not to be his constant gaoler. There is no reason you should have not allowed him to go to the smithy with James or to accompany him later. I loved doing so myself as a lad. James is very good with children. Jeremy simply took advantage of the situation to give you both the slip.”
After several rather damp moments, Lalia was finally able to bring her tears to an end. Morgan pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and dried her face, then handed it to her.
She blew her nose and put his handkerchief in her pocket. “I’m so sorry, my lord. He is such a dear child, and I have become so fond of him. I would never forgive myself had he come to harm, and I am overcome with gratitude that you…”
“Nonsense. The boot is on the other leg.” He restored her glass to her and stood. “Here, drink that. It is I who am grateful for your quick action. Without it, he very likely would not have survived this escapade, and had
I not come looking for the two of you, you might have perished with him. I know you never would have let him go. The debt is mine. Now—let us have the real culprit down here to face us.”
A few minutes later a very subdued Jeremy appeared under escort of a footman. The man left them, Morgan again sat behind the desk, and Jeremy was arraigned before the bench.
“Well, young sir, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Jeremy studied his shoes.
His uncle went on relentlessly. “I believe that you have completely understood that you are not to go into the cove unless either I or Miss Lalia is with you. Is that correct?”
“Yes, sir.” A barely intelligible murmur.
“So why did you go there alone?”
Another inaudible mumble.
“Speak up, and look at me, if you please.”
Jeremy reluctantly raised his head, expression sullen. “Someone called me.”
His uncle raised an eyebrow and regarded the boy warningly. “Jeremy.”
“Well. I thought someone did.”
“And who did you think it was? A man? A woman?”
The miscreant hung his head again. “I dunno.”
His judge considered him sternly. “Jeremy, not only did you disobey, I suspect that now you are telling me an untruth. I am very disappointed.” The boy bit his lip, and Morgan continued. “You are to go to your room now and go to bed without your supper.”
A spark of life blossomed in the condemned. “But we’re having blackberry tart!”
“Perhaps missing that will remind you to be more obedient.”
Lalia ventured a small intervention. “My lord, do you think that wise? He was so very cold. He needs something…”
Morgan held up a hand. “Do not intercede for him. He deserves a sound thrashing. But perhaps a long and hungry night will be sufficient to remind him of his duty. Let him take his punishment like a man.”
Jeremy squared his shoulder resolutely. “Yes, Uncle Morgan.” He turned and marched bravely out of the room, only pausing at the door long enough for a whisper to drift back to them before he disappeared into the hall. “I did hear someone.”
A Dangerous Seduction Page 12
