It took three tries before she could actually let her knuckles fall in a light rap on the wooden panels of his door. Part of her hoped he was not in his bedchamber, after all, although she had distinctly heard him enter it. A vain hope.
He opened the door.
Lalia looked at her feet.
She heard a quiet sigh of relief and satisfaction, and a warm hand closed around her arm and drew her through the door. She heard it close behind her. Slowly she let her gaze travel to his face. The fire in the green eyes rivaled that in the emerald pin holding his cravat. Only deeper, hotter.
“Lalia.”
One word. One word imbued with all the longing of the ages. He led her to a spot beside the bed where the flicker of the reading candles fell full on her.
“Sweet torment.” He framed her face with his hands and gazed into her eyes. Lalia stood silent, her voice frozen somewhere in her throat. “Gentle lady.”
Morgan traced her throat with one finger, letting it trail down the neckline of the gown, his eyes following the finger. It lifted the robe off first one shoulder, then the other. The wrapper fell unnoticed at their feet. Something somewhere in Lalia’s lower body tightened. She felt the slide of silk down her body once more as he guided the gown over her arms. His gaze never left her breasts. She sensed it like a weight against her skin, as she stood naked before him. Her breasts began to ache.
Morgan’s eyes returned to hers. Without looking away, his hands slipped into her hair, finding a pin, pulling it free. Lalia felt the arrangement slide. He found another pin, dropped it to the carpet. A lock fell over her shoulder. Another pin. Another strand tickled her back.
One more pin and the whole heavy mass tumbled down around her.
Morgan continued to gaze into her eyes, and the heat warmed her. With both hands he drew her hair over her shoulders and smoothed it over her breasts. Sensation coursed through Lalia, increasing as his hands found her nipples through the shimmering veil, his fingers applying gentle, pulsing pressure. She sighed and closed her eyes. His breathing roughened, and his mouth found hers, his tongue demanding entrance.
When she opened to him, he did not plunge into her as she expected, but teased her lips and the tip of her own tongue with his. His hands carried on their mesmerizing work, and Lalia grasped his arms to steady herself. The whole room seemed to be swaying. But it was not the room. Her own hips moved to the rhythm of his lordship’s hands and mouth.
Her whole body moved, brushing against his. He spread his legs and she felt his answering movement against her, his hard shaft pressing against her. Her knees failed, and Lalia sat suddenly on the bed. Morgan followed her down, covering her with his body, kissing her hard now. His scent welled around her.
She never quite knew when he had gotten his clothes off, but now he was standing between her legs, holding her thighs with strong hands as he forged into her. Lalia moaned as the room circled around her and clasped his body with her legs.
“Yes. Yes, Lalia.” His hands were now back on her nipples. She could not stay still. She writhed and moaned as he thrust faster. Now there was a strong pressure against the taut nub straining against him. A strong, insistent pressure, demanding response. It wound the tension in her tighter and tighter, until suddenly, like a spring breaking, she flew apart. Lalia swirled away into a whirlpool of peacock colors, Morgan’s voice dimly heard mingling with her own cries, his grip on her thighs scarcely felt as he surged into her urgently.
She settled back to earth, gasping, to find him collapsed across her, his breathing ragged, his solid weight filling her with a sense of wholeness.
Lalia drifted off to sleep in a cloud of peace and comfort.
Somehow he managed to straighten them on the bed. Morgan drew Lalia into his arms and cradled her against him as she slept. Back in his arms at last. Safe. His.
At least for the moment.
No! Morgan refused to consider the possibility that they might be separated soon. He would not let her go. She needed protection. His protection. She needed someone to care for her. She needed him.
He needed her.
What? That thought struck him on his blind side. When had he started feeling that? And why? Why did he need anyone? And why Lalia? For the sake of passion? There was that, of course. He could not remember ever being so caught in the toils of desire before. Nor had he ever been aware of this compulsion in him to shelter and comfort a lover. To hold her forever as he wished to do at this moment.
Forever?
Morgan stiffened. Forever was a very long time. That was indeed a disconcerting thought to a man who, but a few months ago, had found it always easier to move on than to stay. Would this feeling fade in a few months, as his other infatuations had? It didn’t seem likely at the moment. But how could he know?
Never mind. For now he would keep her close and hope that time would tell. She had come back to him. He did not have to let her go yet. Convulsively, Morgan pulled Lalia to his chest.
Not yet.
Chapter Sixteen
The next evening the Sea Witch stood just off the headland, awaiting Morgan and the tide. The dinghy was already in the cove. Lalia had kissed him goodbye in the privacy of her room and now bravely climbed the stairs to her tower. She had not thought she could let him go, but necessity had thought otherwise. She had no way of stopping him. And would not have if she could. How could she keep him from his duty? She could only pray for his safe return, for more than three nights of passion.
Just as she gained the watch platform, Morgan emerged from the back of the house and gave her a casual wave. Lalia waved back, grateful that in the gathering twilight he could not see the tears on her cheeks. How many of his ancestresses had stood as she did on that tower, seeing their men off to the sea? How many had waited there in vain for a return that never came about, never knowing what the fate of her love had been? Lalia took a sustaining breath and turned her attention to the view as Morgan sauntered across the lawn toward the ship.
Lights were beginning to be lit along the coast. The fire of the lighthouse flickered and then burned brightly. Lalia let the familiarity of the scene comfort her. He would be home again. He would.
She cast another glance across the cliffs. Now it seemed to her that the lighthouse light did not burn as steadily as it should. Nor was it, now that she studied it, exactly where she thought it should be. Lalia measured the distance with her eye and scanned the coast for the well-known landmarks. She could not be mistaken. She had gazed at this vista far to often. Something was wrong.
“Morgan! Morgan wait!” Lalia commenced waving frantically, but the wind whipped her words away and Morgan continued toward the cove. “Morgan! Morgan!” Her voice took on the desperation she felt. But he could not hear her. And she could not get down the tower before he climbed down to the dinghy. “Morgan!”
As though something of her feelings had communicated themselves to him, Morgan paused at the head of the path and looked back at her. Gasping with relief, Lalia renewed her gesturing, beckoning him to the tower. He hesitated, glanced at the sea consideringly, and turned toward the tower. Striding toward her almost at a run, he dived into the tower door. Lalia hurried to fling open the door at the top of the damaged stairs to provide him with enough light to climb them.
“What is it, Lalia? I must not tarry long.”
“The light. Morgan, the light is in the wrong place.”
A bit out of breath, he pulled out his spyglass and followed her pointing finger. “How? Wait…I see. It is too near— Probably this side of Sad Day Cove instead of… Damnation!” He whirled and raced down the steps, shouting back “I must go. I’ll speak with you later.”
He tore across the lawn at a full run and bounded down the trail, quickly being lost to Lalia’s anguished gaze.
Morgan was shouting orders before he was even on board. The cutter’s master brought her about and, mounting full sail, they glided downwind toward the spurious fire. Dark had fallen now and there was no moon,
and though Morgan alternately paced the deck and peered through the spyglass, the starlight showed him little save the treacherous light on the headland.
Morgan’s heart sank. A ship would be expecting to hug the coast once it cleared the lighthouse. That fire would lead them directly into the jaws of Sad Day Cove. As the Sea Witch rounded the last headland, he saw the lanterns of a shipping vessel, a brig, just entering the cove. The ship’s master had perceived the danger and was attempting to steer his vessel out to sea, but another ship, a lugger, blocked his way, forcing him toward the reefs.
Training his glass on the lugger, Morgan could see the steel of many cannons glinting in her running lights. She had her quarry neatly trapped. The captain of the first ship must either choose the rocks of the inlet, or come near enough to his attacker to be boarded. Preparations to fire could now be seen aboard both crafts, but the brig was clearly outgunned and being pulled by the currents much too close to the jagged stone teeth.
“Fire a shot!” Morgan snapped out the order, and within seconds the Sea Witch’s first cannon sounded. At the sound, the lugger began to pull away, running with the wind past the cove. Morgan prepared to give chase until a cry from the rigging stopped him.
“It’s the Lark!”
Morgan directed his glass to the distressed brig and a string of curses burst from him. The ship was his. And she was in trouble. Although her master tried valiantly to pull out of the cove, the cliff blocked the wind, creating unreliable eddies. The currents forced him inexorably toward the rocks. Morgan cursed again.
He could not bring the Sea Witch to the aid of the Lark without catching himself in the same predicament. Somehow he must help her from a distance. A glance at the fleeing lugger told him that he could not do so and have any hope of catching the predator. Morgan didn’t hesitate.
“Ready a harpoon. We’ll shoot her a line.” He kept his eye fixed to his glass until he heard the report of the harpoon gun. The range was long, but he dared not bring the Sea Witch into the clutches of the adverse currents. A shout went up from both vessels as the harpoon buried itself in the wood of the Lark. Eager hands grasped for the attached line. Morgan shouted another order and the Sea Witch turned several points, heading out to open water.
The Lark’s master adjusted his rigging for the new heading, calling on the wind for every ounce of assistance. A hard jerk told Morgan that the line, now tied fast, had come taut. The Sea Witch slowed, but the wind was almost directly astern now. With a little luck, he might succeed in bringing the Lark out. She gained headway a few lengths at a time. If he could only get her out of the lea of the precipice…
A flurry of shots from the top of the headland caused Morgan to spin around and look upward. Against the backdrop of the deceptive fire he could see figures running. As he watched, the fire began to break apart. Someone was putting it out. Now who…?
Suddenly the Sea Witch sprang forward, the Lark following in her wake. The wind was solidly behind them now. Another cheer went up.
“She’s free, my lord.”
Morgan heaved a sigh of relief at his captain’s words. The crew of the Lark cast off the line and the men of the Sea Witch turned the windlass to bring it in. Morgan glanced up again. The headland was now dark, the fire extinguished. He searched for the lugger with his glass. She had long since disappeared, her lights doused.
“Bloody hell!”
Lalia had been dozing fitfully, too anxious to really sleep. The first pale light of day had barely made its way over the horizon and into her window when a soft sound from Morgan’s bedchamber roused her. She slid out of bed and opened the connecting door a crack. Morgan turned quickly at the sound, a smile breaking over his face when he saw her. She entered the room tentatively, and he opened his arms. Lalia flung herself into them.
“Oh, Morgan.” She clasped him tightly around the waist. “I was so worried.”
He held her close, stroking her hair with his free hand, his smoky masculine scent enveloping her. “Very flattering, but as you see, I have come to no harm.”
“Thank God.” She looked up at him, tears of relief burning behind her eyelids. “What did you find?”
“I found that your alarm came just in the nick of time.” He bent briefly to kiss the tears away. “Without it I would have wasted my time searching in the wrong place. The pirates had trapped another of my ships at Sad Day Cove. We drove them off with a shot, but I was obliged to aid my ship back into open water. The damned blackguards got away in the dark.” One big hand slid down her back to her hips, pressing her closer. “Had I not come upon them when I did, I’d have lost the Lark and probably all her people.”
Lalia found herself torn between disappointment and relief. At least Morgan had not been involved in a sea battle. “Could you identify their ship?”
“I couldn’t, but we escorted the Lark into the harbor, and I spoke with my captain. He said the name on the bow was Harpy.”
“An apt name.” Lalia shuddered. “But why would anyone wish to name their ship after such a hideous being?”
“Why does anyone wish to become a pirate in the first place?” Morgan had backed them across the room as they spoke and now sank into a chair, pulling Lalia into his lap.
She snuggled into the secure warmth of his shoulder. “They must have hideous souls.”
“Indeed they must.” He tipped her chin up, and Lalia luxuriated in the long, soft kiss.
When he lifted his head, she sighed and rested her head against him again while he gazed off into the middle distance. At last she asked, “A penny for your thoughts.”
He smiled down at her. “I was giving some thought to the subject of coincidence. Tell me, Lalia, how many ships do you think pass along this coast each day?”
“Good heavens. I couldn’t begin to guess, but there must be a great many.” She gave him an inquiring glance. “Why?”
“With so much possible prey, what are the odds that our marauders should choose two of my ships in such rapid succession?”
Lalia sat up in his lap, her eyebrows drawn together. “I couldn’t say precisely, but they must be very much against such an occurrence.”
“Just so.”
“You have an enemy.” Lalia’s heart sank. Another danger.
“I probably have several in the pirate trade. As I told you, I have dealt with them before.”
“Revenge, then?”
“Very likely.” Morgan lifted her braid and began to undo it. “But whoever it may be, I disposed of them before, and I shall do so again. Now I know where to start hunting. I must concentrate on my own ships.” He combed his fingers through the liberated tresses and lifted a lock to his lips. “Your hair smells so good. Let us forget, for the moment, about these outlaws.” He brushed his mouth against Lalia’s throat and she sighed at the rasp of his unshaved chin, closing her eyes and dropping her head back.
By the time he had worked his way down to her breasts, she was gasping for breath. An unwelcome thought intruded. “But, my lord, your valet will…”
He stood with her in his arms and started toward the bed. “Dagenham will not disturb me before noon.”
“But Sarah…”
“Will believe that you are in the tower.” He laid her on the neatly turned-back sheet. “And all our doors are safely locked.”
It took only the feeling of his lips around her nipple to effect Lalia’s complete surrender.
Lalia looked up with surprise as Morgan declined his after-dinner port later that evening and rose from his chair. “You are going out again tonight? It feels to me that a storm is building.”
“Yes, I am aware of that, too, but as the blackguards missed their prey last night, I feel it likely that they will make another attempt. It is also likely that we will be driven back in. I can but try.”
Lalia nodded and walked him to the door, her heart sinking. It was bad enough that he must deal with vicious men. Now she must also worry about the storm. But like all dutiful women of seafaring men
, she would not tell him that. Not while he was leaving. “Do take care, Morgan.”
“I will. Don’t worry.” He kissed her quickly and trotted across the lawn toward the cove.
Lalia sighed and made her way to the staircase. After carefully locking her bedchamber doors, both to the corridor and to Morgan’s bedroom, she tried the panel that concealed the hidden stair. It was firmly fastened. She checked her pistol for priming and laid it on the bed table.
Then she went to the window and studied the sea. Yes, the weather was definitely brewing something. The sails of the Sea Witch were no longer in sight. The offshore winds had carried Morgan away in the brief time that it had taken her to climb the stairs and secure her room.
As she stood there in the dark, the wind suddenly died. An eerie calm descended over the castle, heavy, oppressive. Even the roar of the breakers seemed quiet, subdued by the hush. The room grew very warm.
Lalia shivered.
She loved storms, but this sense of brooding disturbed her. A film of perspiration coated her face, and the beating of her heart grew loud in her ears. It was as if some unseen but powerful menace lay in wait for an unsuspecting world. Perhaps it did. Her fears for Morgan surged up in her breast. He and the Sea Witch—wherever they were—would lie becalmed, drifting out with the tide, until the wind picked up. Until the storm broke. Then he would be at its mercy.
And she could do nothing.
Like the dutiful women of all seafaring men.
Nothing at all.
Lalia sighed and turned away from the window. Well, at least if Morgan could not move, neither could the pirates. She undressed in the dark, unwilling to add even the small flame of a candle to the damp heat of the room. A gibbous moon, veiled by thin clouds, allowed enough light for her to sponge her face and breasts. Even the water in the basin was warm.
She turned back the covers of the bed and lay down on the sheet. Heavens, she was tired. The disturbances of the past weeks were taking their toll on her. Not to mention many nights with a great deal of lovemaking but very little sleep. Lalia yawned. But she would probably not sleep much tonight, either.
A Dangerous Seduction Page 19
