Lalia walked around the bed, shifting the big book so that she could hold it against her chest with one hand. Feeling for the hidden door, she had just satisfied herself that it was fast when a scuffling sound somewhere behind her caught her attention. As she whirled around something struck the book with a loud thunk.
Someone was in the room with her!
“Joseph! Eric!” Lalia dropped the book and scrabbled frantically for the hidden catch, her voice a whisper choked with fear. The door sprang open even as the slither of unseen feet started toward her. She slipped through the opening and pulled it shut behind her. The scratch of fingernails on wood told her that the intruder was searching for the catch.
God grant that he did not know where to find it!
But Lalia did not intend to rely on God’s grace alone. She turned and flew down the stairs, stumbling and clutching for handholds in the dark. Every time she tried to run, she tripped and narrowly missed falling. Sliding along with her shoulder to the wall, she batted at the cobwebs that clung to her face, refusing to think of the small, stinging creatures that had spun them and even now might be crawling inside her clothes and into her hair.
Stopping now and then, Lalia held her breath and strained her ears. Nothing. But her assailant had been very quiet. Was he still behind her, slipping silently through the gloom toward her? She held her breath. Her heart pounded so hard in her ears, she might not hear him at all. Could he hear her? Lalia redoubled her efforts at stealth.
A few yards farther on Lalia stopped again. She knew that the passage made several turns before emerging into the cove, but on previous trips to familiarize herself with the way, she had always carried a candle. In the darkness she became completely disoriented. There was only one path. She couldn’t be lost. Could she? How far had she come? Would Morgan’s men be waiting for her at the end? Or would the pirates have taken control of the exit? She couldn’t stop to think. She could not go back through the hidden door, in any event.
And then she felt it. The rush of air could mean only one thing.
Someone had opened the door from her bedchamber.
She could hear nothing but the sound of the breakers filtering in from cove. Oh, God! He was coming.
Rounding the last turn, Lalia could see the lighter area where the guards’s lantern glowed in the exit. She ran pell-mell, slipping on damp moss, catching herself, running, running…
“Who goes there?”
Thank God! A well-known voice. Lalia burst breathless from the tunnel and flung herself at the familiar figure with a cry of relief.
“James!”
Morgan was just reaching to refill his guest’s glass when a loud commotion from above shattered the peace and Watford dashed into the room.
“My lord, my lord! Come at once. We have another intruder.”
Morgan sprang from his chair so abruptly that it went crashing backward onto the floor. Taking the stairs two at a time, he raced into Lalia’s bedchamber to find it lit only by the candles in the corridor and Joseph leaning out of the window gazing up the wall to the roof. Morgan put his own head out and perceived a rope swinging beside the window. Joseph swung a leg over the sill and seized the rope.
“No!” Morgan grasped the young man’s shoulder. “You are too exposed. Try to overtake him on the ground.” He glanced around the room as Joseph bolted for the door. “Where is Mrs. Hayne? Somebody strike a light.”
Watford, who, with the doctor, had come puffing into the room behind him, reached for the flint. As the candle flared, Eric appeared in the connecting door to Morgan’s bedchamber, pistol in hand. “She came up, my lord, but she’s not in there, either.”
Morgan flung a hand the way Joseph had gone, and Eric sprinted after him. Morgan, looking toward the priest’s hole, spied the book where it had fallen. He crossed to it and picked it up.
In it a deadly looking knife stood embedded to the hilt.
“Damnation!” A smear of blood darkened the point of the blade where it protruded through the tome. “Lalia!”
Morgan pushed the hidden panel open as Dr. Lanreath shoved a candle into his hand. He dived into the opening, taking the stairs at breakneck speed. Only when he heard the crash of the waves in the cove did he extinguish the candle and draw his pistol from his pocket. Creeping along the wall, he peered cautiously out of the tunnel.
Lalia stood surrounded by his men, James with one arm comfortingly around her shoulders. A huge sigh of relief welled up in him, only to be cut off when she turned toward him.
The front of her gown glowed red with blood.
Morgan had thought his own heart would stop at the sight of Lalia’s bleeding breast, but Dr. Lanreath assured him that the cut was not serious. Still, he had paced the floor of the corridor like an expectant father while the doctor, with Sarah’s able assistance, placed a few careful stitches and bandaged the wound. When he was at last admitted to the room, Lalia was ensconced in her bed, looking pale and drawn from the pain.
“I’ve given her some laudanum, so she will probably sleep more soundly than you will.” The old physician clapped Morgan’s shoulder. “I know you’ll watch her carefully. Not hard to see which way the wind is blowing here. I’ll return tomorrow.” The moment the door closed behind the doctor, Morgan came and sat on the edge of the bed, clasping both of Lalia’s hands in his.
“Ah, sweet torment! You frightened me into premature old age this time.” He leaned forward, careful not to brush against the injury, and kissed her gently.
She gave him a wan smile. “Had I realized that it was a knife that had hit me, I am certain that I should be completely white haired at this moment. I never felt it until James and his lads began to exclaim.”
Morgan crossed to the window and tested the shutters. Both they and the casement were firmly locked. Satisfied, he gave her a strained smile. “We may smother, but at least I think you are safe for now. I’ll stay with you, of course.”
Lalia gripped her hands together tightly and bit her lip to hold back exhausted tears. Still, her voice came out as a wail. “Oh, Morgan. I’m not safe anywhere.”
“Lalia…” He settled on the bed again and covered her hands with his big ones.
“It’s true!” The hysteria she had been fighting threatened to end the battle in its own favor. Lalia drew a deep breath and squeezed her eyes tightly shut. “You set guards—in Jeremy’s room, in the hall, in the cove… We can’t move without an escort. And still they come. Now the windows must be shut. I know that knife was not supernatural, but it might as well have been.”
“Lalia, I understand. I have never been so frustrated in my life. As your half brother pointed out, it is very difficult to secure a house this large and rambling. But I shall do so. I promise you.”
“You c-can’t.” The sobs were winning. With great care Morgan folded her in his arms. She hid her face in his shoulder and wept—not great, heaving sobs, but the quiet weeping of weakness and hopelessness. “I might as well just give up.”
After she had cried for a while longer, the tears abated, and Morgan lifted her chin and dried her face with his handkerchief. “You won’t. You have never given up, and I very much doubt that you will now. Your strength has been sapped by being hurt and by the laudanum.”
She leaned back into the pillows, sniffling. Commandeering his handkerchief, she determinedly blew her nose. “I’m sorry to be such a watering pot. I’m sure you are right. Tomorrow will look brighter. But what are we to do, Morgan? Perhaps I should go away…”
“No! I…”
Lalia lifted a restraining finger to his lips. “Wait, Morgan. If I went to London, perhaps…perhaps I should be safer.”
He paused, consideringly stroking his chin. “I don’t want you alone anywhere, certainly not in London. The city is danger enough of itself. If Roger is the author of this atrocity, your removing to London will not help matters at all—will probably worsen them. But perhaps there is somewhere…”
“I might move into the cot
tage.”
“You and your grandmother alone in a cottage? Hardly!”
A real smile broke through Lalia’s somber mood. “Alone? Alone, my lord? I very much doubt that you will ever allow me to live anywhere without hordes of your minions in attendance.”
“True.” Morgan grinned, then sobered. “It might be easier, at that, to guard the smaller dwelling. I could better concentrate my forces, and that cottage is old and very stout. It was designed to be defended. I plan also to hire some men from Bow Street. Yes… That might answer. But…I could not stay with you. Not without destroying your reputation completely.”
Lalia grimaced ruefully. “I fear my reputation is in shreds, in any case, what with one consideration or another. But no…it would not do for you to stay.”
“At least that will allow me to turn my attention to disposing of the pirates. I strongly believe that must be done to alleviate this threat for once and for all. But…I… I will miss you.” He brushed a gentle hand across her hair.
Lalia captured the hand and brought it to her lips, tears again trembling on her lashes. “I will be so lonely without you.”
“Never fear. You will have your garden, and you will see a great deal of me, I assure you.” He grinned. “You will very quickly be wishing me elsewhere. But now your eyelids are beginning to droop. You must sleep. We will make plans for your going tomorrow.”
She shook her head, but he firmly pulled all but one of the pillows from behind her and tucked the covers under her chin. “It seems that I must learn a new skill.”
“Oh?” Lalia opened one drowsy eye. “And what is that?”
“I must learn how to go courting.”
Actually, Morgan knew quite a bit about courting. He had just never before been in serious danger of matrimony. The merry widows and neglected wives who had heretofore provided his amorous adventures were as happy as he to form temporary alliances, moving on when the novelty palled. But he had long since realized that the situation with Lalia had taken an alarming turn for a confirmed bachelor. Not that it bothered him any longer.
Now the alarm he felt came from the fear that his courting might not prove successful. That he might yet lose her.
The experience of having his lady in his house was a new one for Morgan. Lalia had gradually resumed the direction of domestic matters, creating a welcoming home in a way that a housekeeper could never do. He had come to look forward to her gentle presence when he returned to the house, to quiet conversations with her over breakfast. To feasting on the tantalizing sight of her at dinner, to slaking his building thirst for her in her loving, generous body.
Like it or not, he was developing a need for her, and this was beginning to sound suspiciously like love. Was that the way of it? That he needed her because he loved her? Was it that simple?
Yes. It was that simple.
All the impossible intentions of making Jeremy his heir—leaving the boy an estate he might never want, all his unnecessary plans for his mother—plans she didn’t want—none of that applied. He loved Lalia. He wanted her. Therefore, he needed her. The question became, would she continue to love him now that she no longer needed his support?
That nasty question froze into a lump of ice in his gut.
But Morgan was not accustomed to losing. Not at all. He wanted her, and he would win her.
It was that simple.
Chapter Twenty
Lalia was directing some work on the greenhouse when Morgan came cantering up her lane. Her heart leapt at the sight of his square shoulders and the rakish tilt of his hat. And something a bit farther down also stirred to life. She had left Merdinn with her meager belongings nearly a week ago, as soon as her injury had begun to heal safely, and although Morgan had sent half his army of remodeling workers, Joseph and Eric, three Bow Street runners, Sarah and James and the black mare to her, he had not come himself. She had begun to wonder if…
But no, that couldn’t be. And besides, here he was. With an outward serenity she was far from feeling, she strolled out to the lane to welcome him as a grinning James came from the stable to take charge of Demon.
“Good afternoon, my lord. A lovely day for a ride.” Lalia winced. What an inane thing to say. Especially when she wanted to throw herself into his arms.
Morgan doffed his hat and bowed. “Yes, I thought so.” He favored her with a knowing grin. “With a lovely lady at the end of it.”
Lalia felt the blood rising into her face. How foolish to be blushing just because those green eyes claimed a possessive knowledge of her that… Never mind. He was teasing her. She held out her hand, and he kissed it and tucked it into the crook of his arm.
“Do come in and see my new home, my lord.” She led him into the entry and gestured about her with pride. “Do you like it?”
“I like it very much.” He wasn’t looking at the house. He was looking at her.
Her face got hot again. He moved toward her, but at that moment Eric appeared to take his hat and riding crop. Morgan withdrew to a discreet distance, handing his gear to the footman. Why did she feel so awkward? No doubt it was the awareness that their relationship had changed, and changed to what only time would tell. She indicated a doorway on their left. “Won’t you come into the parlor? I’ll send for tea.”
“Thank you, perhaps later. I believe I would like to see your garden first.” Sending a furtive glance around the room, he leaned in close to her ear. “Since I can’t see your bedchamber.”
“Morgan!” Lalia could feel her face fairly flaming. “Someone will hear you.”
“There is no one about. I promise I won’t compromise you. But don’t be surprised if you find me climbing in your chamber window in the dark of the night. I shall bribe the guards.” He brushed a lock of hair back from her face, sobering. “I have missed you, Lalia.”
She gazed into his hungry eyes. “And I have missed you.”
He started once again to bend toward her mouth.
“Will there be anything else, ma’am?” Eric appeared at the door. Morgan jerked back.
“Oh, uh. Thank you, Eric, no. Not at the moment.” Lalia stifled a giggle. The footman withdrew.
“I must have a talk with that young man. He does his job too damned well,” Morgan muttered.
The giggle burst forth into a full-fledged laugh. “You wanted me well protected, my lord.”
“Not from me. But tell me…” They strolled toward the garden door. “How are you? Is your injury healing well?”
“Oh, yes. It is still tender, but the stitches are out.”
“And there have been no more alarms?”
“No. Sarah sleeps on a truckle bed in my dressing room, and there is always one of the men in the hall as well as outside. I feel quite secure.”
Morgan patted her hand. “I am relieved to hear that.”
They toured the front garden, then made their way behind the cottage across the lawn to the creek. A clump of willows bordered the water at one side of the grass and Morgan steered their steps in that direction. The weeping branches of the largest tree hung to the ground, forming a hidden space. He parted the boughs and looked between them.
“Aha. Some former gardener has taken pity on us poor suitors. There is a bench.” He led her through the opening and dusted the rustic bench with his handkerchief.
Lalia regarded him, her head a little to one side. “And is that what you are, my lord? My suitor?”
He sat and pulled her down beside him. “Of course. I told you I would come courting.”
“I’ve never had a suitor before.” She smiled. “I rather like it.”
“As long as you like the suitor, I am satisfied.” He gazed at her for a moment and then declared, “No. No I am not satisfied.” He pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard. When they were required to breath, he broke off the kiss. “And I am still not satisfied. I want so much more of you, Lalia.”
He slid off the bench and knelt before her, cupping her face in both hands. “I want you to
be mine. Mine forever and for always. And be warned. I will have you. Enjoy your cottage and your independence for as long as you like. That will make no difference to me. But know this—one day when this trouble is behind us, you will be my wife.”
His wife. He wanted her to be his wife. Lalia sat for a moment, letting the fact soak in. She longed to shout, yes, yes, but she held back. She would not give up her new life, her respite, her new self just yet. She could not reconcile herself to taking another husband so soon.
But he wanted her.
Smiling, she touched his face. “Is that a proposal or a threat, my lord?”
“Consider it a declaration of my intentions.” His hands clasped her waist, pulling her to him. “I am prepared to wait as long as necessary.” He nibbled at her throat. “But I will not wait very patiently.” His kisses trailed down to her neckline. “And I shall appear and glare ferociously when other suitors come to call.”
Lalia laughed. “I do not expect any other suitors, my lord.”
“I do.” He tugged at her bodice. “I expect a veritable swarm of them. And I do not promise to fight fairly.” His mouth brushed the healing wound gently, then closed over her liberated nipple.
She gasped. Then moaned. “Unfair tactics, indeed.”
He did not answer, but teased her breasts with tongue and fingers until she was limp with desire. She leaned backed against the tree and melted. When she thought she could not stand it another minute, he pulled back.
“Unfortunately, that is as unfair as I can safely be with gardeners lurking about. But perhaps it will keep me on your mind. It will certainly keep my mind on you.” He stood and adjusted the fit of his britches, then sat beside her and enclosed her in his arms.
“I love you, Lalia.”
He loved her. He had said it. Aloud. To her. Suddenly loving him seemed infinitely safer than it had been. She would marry him one day. There was no sense in pretending otherwise. How could she not? But Morgan had promised that he would wait, wait for her to be ready. Lalia would have time to savor her new status, to prepare herself to be a wife again—a real wife this time.
A Dangerous Seduction Page 23
