A Dangerous Seduction

by Patricia Frances Rowell

  “Have you heard anything about Poleven?”

  “Sir Roger? No, can’t say that I have. The district doesn’t see much of him—no loss to us.”

  “He’s been here several weeks now.”

  The doctor’s brows drew together. “Is that a fact? Unusual for him. Must be under the hatches.”

  “Probably. Is he friends with Nascawan?”

  “The parson? I wouldn’t think so. What are you after?”

  Morgan shrugged. “Nothing. Just speculating.”

  “In that case, I best be on my way.” Suiting the action to the word, the doctor rose.

  “Thank you for coming.” Morgan walked with him to the door. “I appreciate knowing about the bones.”

  Although he couldn’t say he liked it above half.

  Afternoon found Morgan atop the wall once again, scanning the horizon with his glass. He might see more from the tower, but he did not want to trespass on Lalia’s sanctuary, and the second tower no longer had any steps at all. Perhaps he would have it repaired for his own retreat. There was nothing in view except the Sea Witch, cruising the area. Tomorrow night, if it was clear, he would personally be aboard her in pursuit of his prey.

  Coastal pirates, like all rats, preferred to operate at night, and the moon should be bright. When he got them in his sights, they would soon be drowned rats, their craft resting on the sea bottom. Unlike the preventives, Morgan did not have to capture a prize intact to be paid for his trouble.

  A hail from the ground below him caught his attention and he turned to see James at the foot of the wall. Morgan climbed down and settled himself on a large stone that had fallen centuries since. James found himself a similar perch.

  “Something I think it needful for you to know, me lord.”

  Hmm. Now what? Morgan hoped that the news was less grim than the last bit he had received with that introduction. “What’s that, James?”

  “Been a young fellow from the village hanging around here talking to the stable lads—goes by the name of Breney—George Breney.”

  “Looking for a position?”

  “Nay, not that one. He ain’t that much in favor of work.” James spat on the ground in disgust. “One of the young’uns what got took up by the press gang to fight Bonaparte—probably found that life more exciting than a little honest labor. But they don’t need him no more.”

  “So now he is back.” Morgan regarded his groom patiently. “Well, then, what does he want?”

  “I’m not rightly sure, and that’s what bothers me. There’s something havey-cavey about that lad—very. Hangs about at the Pilchard most days.” James repositioned his spare rump on the hard seat. “With all this talk of pirates and such…”

  Morgan scowled. “You think Breney is recruiting?”

  “That’s what worries me. Not that I think any of our lads would go with him into that sort of meanness. I been knowing them all since they was breeched. Still…”

  “It’s well that you are keeping an eye on him.” Morgan stood. “See if you can find out from one of the boys what he wants. I guess you heard about the find under the Midsummer fire?” No doubt of it, the way news traveled around the district.

  “Aye. A right bone fire—ain’t that what a bonfire really is?” The old man cackled.

  Morgan regarded him with narrowed eyes. “Do you know who it was?”

  “Not I.” James shook his head. “But I reckon we’ll figure it out before long. Can’t no one go missing around here without it gets noticed.”

  “Just so.” Morgan stared into the distance. It all fit together somehow. Just how, he couldn’t yet fathom. But sooner or later, it would come to him.

  He knew how to wait.

  After dinner both Lalia and Morgan announced—to the household—their intention of retiring early, and with much show of formality, Morgan escorted Lalia to her bedchamber. She wondered if they had deceived a single member of the staff. Very likely not. Their intentions were probably writ large upon their faces.

  But true to the pretense, Morgan opened Lalia’s bedchamber door and stepped aside to let her through.

  She had no more than entered the doorway when she froze, her hand clutching her chest. “M-Morgan. Look.”

  He moved her aside and stepped into the room. “Damnation!”

  All of the garments that had been stored neatly in the wardrobe lay in a tangled heap on the floor. The smell of seawater was strong and a piece of muddy seaweed lay on top of the pile. Lalia went to her knees by the soggy clothes, a pain jabbing her breast.

  After so many years of privation, of having nothing new or pretty to wear, the beautiful things had meant far more to her than any material thing should. She knew that. She should be ashamed of herself. They were just dresses. Still, all she could do was sit on the floor and stare wordlessly up at Morgan, tears trickling down her cheeks.

  He knelt on one knee beside her and brushed the moisture away. “Don’t cry, Lalia. The gowns can be replaced.”

  “I know.” But she could never afford it and she drew back from allowing him to do it. It spoke too strongly of the kept woman.

  Morgan gathered up the top layer and moved it aside. “See, the bottom of the stack is still dry. The water did not have time enough to soak through. Where is Sarah?”

  “She was not feeling well. I sent her to bed.”

  “So there was no one up here?” Morgan strode into the hallway and looked both ways. “Surely we would have seen someone had they been in the corridor. But Andrew and Zachary are both in Jeremy’s room. Whoever did this had ample time to make good their escape while we were at dinner, if they were silent about it. Is the priest’s hole securely fastened?”

  “I certainly hope so.” Lalia trailed him across the room, drying her cheeks with her handkerchief. “I always keep it locked.”

  Morgan reached for the hidden mechanism that opened the panel. But he never touched it. “It is open. The door is ajar.”

  Lalia gasped.

  “And there are damp footprints. It appears that…” Morgan’s voice faded as he made his way down the stairs. “Yes… Yes…here… There is little doubt they entered this way. Here is spilled water.” His voice got louder rapidly.

  He erupted from the tunnel and dashed passed her. Moments later Andrew and Zachary ran into the room and disappeared into the opening. Morgan followed with an excited Jeremy in tow.

  “Oh! A hidden door. This is above anything, Uncle Morgan! Is there one in my room?”

  Morgan collared his nephew, preventing him from following his guards. “I fervently hope not. Jeremy, do leave off the questions for a moment. Go sit down. I will explain in a moment.”

  Minimally subdued by the unaccustomed impatience in his uncle’s voice, Jeremy obeyed, perching on the edge of the hearth chair and obviously containing his curiosity with some difficulty.

  Eventually the shuffle of footsteps was heard from the concealed passage and Andrew and Zachary reappeared through the small door. “We could find no one, my lord.” Zachary frowned. “He had too great a start on us. We saw nothing in the cove, either.”

  Morgan nodded. “Never mind. I did not expect you to find him, though I hoped you might. You may take Jeremy back to his room.”

  But Jeremy had caught sight of Lalia’s pale face. “Are you all right, Miss Lalia?”

  Lalia heard the anxiety in the boy’s voice and started to answer when Morgan cut her off. “Some one has played a wicked trick on her and ruined part of her clothes.”

  “That was mean of them.” Now the voice was definitely disapproving.

  “Indeed it was.” Morgan nodded at his footmen. “Keep a sharp eye. This may have been intended as a diversion.”

  “Aye, my lord.” Andrew gathered up Jeremy while Zachary made sure the hidden door was fast. “Come on, Mr. Jeremy. It’s bed for you.”

  Jeremy waved at Lalia. “Good night, Miss Lalia. Don’t worry. Uncle Morgan and I won’t let anyone play any more tricks on you.”
r />   “G-good night, Jeremy. Thank you.” She had to struggle to get it past the lump in her throat.

  After the three had left the room, Morgan went to close the hall door, but stopped short as he spied Watford standing in it. “Yes, Watford?”

  “It is Mrs. Veshengo, my lord. I intercepted her trying to climb the stairs. I persuaded her to let me come and see what the commotion is. It seems very difficult for her to negotiate steps.”

  “Oh, thank you, Watford.” Lalia shook her head. “I cannot persuade her…”

  “You may tell Mrs. Veshengo that her granddaughter is well and safe. And that I will see to it that she stays that way.”

  Lalia was so busy with her own thoughts at breakfast the next morning that she missed hearing Morgan enter the room.

  “Lalia. Lalia! What are you thinking on so hard?”

  “Oh!” Lalia started and looked up at him. “Nothing… I… Nothing.”

  Morgan’s brows drew together. “Humph. You don’t expect me to believe that, do you? Allow me to hazard a guess. You still half believe that, even though we found tracks in the priest’s hole, that Hayne’s ghost is somehow behind last night’s visitation.”

  Lalia studied her plate. “No… Well… Not really. I saw the footprints. It is just that Daj keeps insisting that he is angrier than ever because of…because we… Well, you know.”

  “Indeed I do.” Morgan’s smile took on a seductive quality. “And I am very happy to say it. But his post-humous interest or lack of it is not what concerns me. I want to know how the door to that tunnel got opened.”

  “Yes. I do, too. I’m positive I did not leave it that way—especially since the other disturbances we have had.”

  “Perhaps the catch has broken. It has been there for centuries, after all. I want to test it.”

  Morgan laid aside his napkin and rose. The two of them mounted the stairs and entered Lalia’s room. The pile of clothes had been spirited away by Sarah, who promised to work miracles of restoration. Lalia had her doubts—the cottons, certainly, but the silks? Unlikely. Unless, of course, Sarah was conspiring with his lordship for their replacement. Lalia didn’t know whether to smile or to frown at that possibility.

  Morgan operated the hidden catch and slid the secret panel back. “Close it behind me. Let me see if I can open it.”

  Lalia followed these instructions. After a few moments and some scraping noises, his muffled voice sounded again. “Very good. Let me in.”

  A devil of mischief momentarily overcame Lalia. “Say ‘please.’”

  “Lalia! Open that… Oh, very well. Please.” He did not sound amused. Lalia quickly opened the panel.

  Morgan stepped through the secret door, giving her a grimace. “This is not funny. That door did not open itself—nor was it opened by a bucket-wielding ghost. I believe the time has come to nail that opening shut.”

  Dismay washed over Lalia. “Oh, no!”

  “What?” Morgan looked perplexed. “Why not? It clearly presents a danger to you.”

  “But…but… It is…” Lalia stammered to a stop, not knowing how to explain.

  “Ah. I think I see.” Morgan brushed a hand down her cheek. “It also represents a means of escape to you.”

  Lalia nodded. “Yes, that is it. I always knew I could get out if…if he cut me off from the corridor. But now, of course… He is…”

  “Gone but not forgotten.” Morgan wrapped his arms around her. “It will no doubt take years for you to feel safe again. Very well. I will set guards in the cove near the entrance. Perhaps it will serve as a trap. I intend to find whomever is terrorizing you. But you must check it carefully each time you come into the room. Will you do that?”

  “Oh, yes. You may rest assured on that point.”

  Morgan placed a lingering kiss on her lips, at last lifting his head and gazing into her eyes. “I can’t stay. I have appointments today. I’ll see you at supper.”

  Lalia sighed and clung to him, reluctant for him to leave. She was coming to depend on his comfort more and more. That did not bode well for her heart.

  Morgan had to see her alone for a moment, had to offer his desire at least a crumb of comfort. Just before dinner was served, he tapped on the hall door to Lalia’s bedchamber. Sarah opened to him, so Morgan bowed and addressed Lalia with the utmost formality. “Excuse me, Mrs. Hayne, may I speak with you for a moment?”

  Lalia gestured at the maid. “Thank you, Sarah. That will be all for now.”

  Morgan waited for the girl to leave. Then he carefully closed the door behind her. And turned the key. Lalia stood up from the dressing stool and he quickly crossed the room to her and took her in his arms. He intended to kiss her carefully, so as not to muss her artfully arranged hair and one of the few gowns that had escaped the dunking. But his restraint proved to be unequal to the task. Her mouth was too warm, her breasts too soft upon him.

  And she melted against him with far too much heat.

  He did manage to keep his hands out of her hair, but they, apparently with no instruction from him, found other things to do. Morgan slid them across her bottom, relishing the sensation of curves barely concealed by clinging fabric.

  “Ah, sweet torment.” He lifted his head and was gratified to see that her eyes had taken on the deep-sea blue of her passion. Now her gown and her jewels echoed it exactly. He bent and kissed his way across the skin revealed by the open neckline, blessing the clever modiste. With just a little more effort…

  Morgan slipped a finger under the fabric and the slightest tug revealed one taught nipple. He closed his mouth over it and Lalia sighed. At the sigh the ache in his groin threatened to undo his control completely. He lifted his head. “I must leave off, else I will not be able to. Besides, I am leaving marks.” With a possessive satisfaction he gently touched her swollen lips and the reddened patches his carefully shaved beard had created on the fine skin of her breasts. “That won’t do.” He restored the gown to its proper place. “We must go down to dinner shortly.”

  “I suppose we must.” Lalia smiled a bemused smile, a hint of regret in her tone.

  Morgan placed his hands on her arms and looked into her face. “I’m afraid so, and I also must tell you that this will have to satisfy me for now—though I believe it has only whetted my appetite.” He smiled ruefully. “I am going aboard the Sea Witch as soon as I’ve eaten. I will not be back until perhaps tomorrow afternoon—longer if we engage in a chase. I don’t want you to worry at my absence.”

  Lalia covered her mouth with both hands. Not worry? How could she possibly not worry? She could find nothing to say and so gazed up at him silently.

  “Now, Lalia.” Morgan lifted her hands away from her mouth. “There is nothing to concern you. I have a well-armed craft and experienced men at my back. Besides, I would be much luckier than I expect to be to find the blackguards at work the first time I look.”

  Still no words came to Lalia. How could she tell him how she felt? He would not want to hear it.

  “Lalia?”

  She dredged a weak smile up from somewhere in her depths and grasped at the tatters of her calm facade. “Of course, my lord. I do hope you will be cautious.” Another thought occurred to her. She turned and lifted a small cloth packet from the dressing table and handed it to him. “Keep this in your pocket.”

  Morgan turned the little bundle in his hands. “What is it?”

  “A…well, a good luck charm. My grandmother made it.” She struggled for another smile.

  “A Gypsy talisman?” He started to lay it back down.

  Lalia stopped him with a hand on his arm. “Please, my lord. To ease my mind.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Just some herbs and a small piece of bread. Won’t you keep it for my sake?”

  “Very well, if it will calm your fears.” Morgan shook his head indulgently and slipped the amulet into his pocket. “I suppose you have one for yourself?” She nodded. “Good. I want you to be very careful until I return. I a
lso worry.”

  She nodded again, and he pulled her closer. “Now, give me a proper goodbye kiss. We will have no opportunity after we eat.”

  At the rate she was going, Lalia knew her poor heart stood to be shattered into a million pieces when summer ended and Morgan sent her away.

  He could do nothing else. His mother would return and it would become completely impossible for her to continue living in the mistress’s bedchamber. Already Daj grumbled about that arrangement. Besides, when Jeremy’s new tutor arrived, she would no longer have a role in the household. At least she now felt sure that his lordship would help her find a place for herself and her grandmother. He had promised not to abandon her and she believed that.

  But, oh, the ache in her soul.

  How had she allowed herself to fall in love with him? To depend on him? She who had relied on no one but herself for so many years? She must pull back before her feelings made her helpless to do so. But how? How could she tear herself away when the very sight of his square shoulders made her ache with longing? When the sound of his voice made her heart leap into her throat? It was so easy to go on leaning on him, lying with him. Loving him.

  But it was time to stop.

  Time to take control of her life while she still could.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The night’s search had proved fruitless and Morgan came home tired and irritable. But the thought of Lalia awaiting his return lightened his spirits. He had no intention of going to sleep early after they had eaten—not when he could have Lalia’s sweet sighs to inflame him, her soft, round hips to cradle his own. No, tonight was no time to catch up on lost sleep.

  Morgan stepped through the connecting door into Lalia’s bedchamber and dropped the talisman onto her dressing table. He had divested himself of everything but his trousers, and the sight of Lalia sitting fully clothed in the chair by the hearth startled him. He knelt beside her and took her hands in his, kissing first the backs of them and then the palm. “I have returned your charm. Apparently it did its work well. I am quite unscathed.” He looked up into her solemn face. “Did you miss me?”