“I’m all ears.” Wesley reclined in the soft leather looking like a cat ready to receive a full bowl of cream.
Morgan placed two glasses on the table and popped the cap on the bottle. He poured a hefty amount in one, lifted it and downed the burning liquid in one swallow. The glass landed with a smack. He swiped his mouth with the sleeve of his arm. He poured again, filling the glass once more and then splashed whiskey into the second tumbler. This time, he handed one to Wesley before draining the contents of his.
“Although you are hospitable with your brandy, your welcoming skills are lacking. Must have been some thrashing to put that thundercloud on your face.”
If he only knew.
Morgan filled his glass a third time. He strode to the opposite chair and lowered his frame.
“Why are you here?”
“A letter came from my father. When I arrived, he was still in Parliament. So I came here looking for you.”
“At this late hour?”
“I will admit I fell asleep. I’d had a long ride. Fatigued more than I realized, I suppose.”
“Do you know why your father sent for you?”
“Perhaps another assignment. I’ve been lax these past few weeks.” Wesley swirled the liquid in his glass. “Did you find her?”
Morgan stared into the honey colored liquid. Her? He rubbed the side of his cheek. The damned wildcat? “Yes. But not the one you think.”
Wesley frowned and lowered his snifter. “Care to explain?”
“Not Juliana.”
“Then who the hell are we talking about?”
Moments ticked by while Morgan stared into luminous amber liquid. Katherine resplendent in the moonlight. Red waves shimmered under the stars. Her beauty pulled him into her spell. Green eyes dazzled with passion. Gleamed with horror when she’s struck him.
“The last time I saw that thunderous look on your face a cock-sure redhead made a cake of you. Right after you’d made a mull of abducting her.
Morgan’s gaze shot up. The tightening of his jaw made his teeth grind together. He loosened the hold on his glass before it shattered in his fingers. “I did not abduct her.”
“Oh, forgive me. I thought the girl was held hostage at your home? Surely you cannot be faulted for that.”
“Rot it, Wesley.”
“Then tell me, my good man, that you have not done something just as outlandish?”
Morgan’s face heated. He quickly upturned the tumbler and emptied its contents.
“By gum, it’s worse than I realized. Snap out of it, man. I’ve never seen you lose your head.”
“I’ve lost my bloody mind.” Morgan sprung from his chair.
“Can we back up a bit here,” Wesley asked. “I think you’d better tell me what happened.”
“Tell you what?” The damned brandy wasn’t helping. Not yet anyway. Morgan heightened his voice in frustration. “What a fool I am? Why I’ve lost all reason? Damned if I know.”
Wesley held his glass for Morgan to refill. Once done, Morgan carried the bottle and settled back in his chair—feet out, boots crossed at the ankles.
“How, after years of avoiding emotion, could I have allowed sentiment to enter my brain? I came here—came to London mind you—to find the chit, at a damned ball.” He tilted the bottle over his glass.
“Good God. You actually attended?” Wesley snickered while shaking his head.
“I wanted to see her.” Morgan grunted. “She stuck that pert little nose in the air and danced away as if she didn’t know me.”
“Bet that stung,” Wesley’s smile held no sympathy at all.
Morgan swore under his breath. Blood and the devil. His mood and the drink loosened his tongue. “When I saw her tonight, it wasn’t enough. I had to touch her.”
Wesley narrowed his eyes and gave him a leering grin.
“If you would like to keep your teeth, cover them.” Morgan growled
Wesley fisted his hand over his mouth.
“It was only a kiss.” But what a kiss. Pliant in his arms. He could still smell her heavenly scent. Still feel her soft curves. And for a moment, he’d felt . . . what—peace—comfort? An emotion of some sort? Damn. He wouldn’t allow it.
“So you’re lusting after her?”
“Of course it’s lust! What else could it be? The damned woman drives me insane.” Morgan tossed back the drink.
“Then why do I have the feeling there’s more to this. The darker side of you has been at rest. You were breathing fire when you entered that door.”
Morgan showed his teeth. “Rest? The sinister devil always lingers just beneath the exterior.”
Wesley’s eyes pierced him. “Then tell me what has made him surface tonight?”
His temper had certainly flared this evening. “Over a bloody female,” Morgan groaned.
Morgan scowled at his friend for a long intense moment. He took a deep breath, and another. He stared at the bottle in his hand.
Wesley persisted. “You still haven’t mentioned an incident. Something happened. What was it?”
“You harp like a damned woman.” When Wesley continued to stare, Morgan knew his comrade would force the issue. Damn his pride stung. “She slapped me.”
“What!” Wesley’s eyes bulged. “You jest.” His eyes held laughter. He quickly thought better and choked when Morgan shot him a glare. He coughed instead. “No, I see you do not. Good God, man. Did you strike her back?”
“Hell, no. What do you take me for?” Morgan pushed out of his chair and stomped across the carpet to the side table and slammed the bottle on the surface. Palms down, breathing heavily, he gripped the wood until his knuckles whitened. For years, he’d allowed the devil to govern his movements. Steady breaths and sheer force of will kept his inner demons confined. He’d been at the gates of hell. He cared not to go there again.
Morgan shoved his hands in his pockets and strode to the window. He looked out into the dark night. “It’s time I remember why I returned home.”
“You were tired of your other life.”
Morgan’s spoke over his shoulder. “And to marry and produce the required heir.”
“Emotions shouldn’t enter into it.” By the clink of the glass, Wesley poured another drink.
Morgan frowned. “Katherine would make a fine wife, if she weren’t so bloody headstrong. I don’t need that particular quality in a wife.”
“That’s twice you mentioned her name and wife in the same sentence.”
Morgan whirled around. “What are you saying?”
“Are you considering marrying her?”
“Blood and the devil. I need an obedient wife. Katherine would defy me to my dying day.”
Chapter 13
Time moved at a snail’s pace. Watching her aunt, Kat wished she’d invented an excuse—maybe a headache—for she’d surely have one at the end of this soiree’. She glanced from one woman to the next. Lady Marsden prided herself as the queen of gossip. Most of her guests—the scandalmongers—attended with purpose. No doubt the tales would be repeated as soon as the blabbermouths cleared Lady Marsden’s door—with embellishments, of course.
Steam rose from the china teapot on the table in the center of the room. High-back sofas and several cushioned chairs completed a circle. Gold filigree plates with dainty slices of sweet-cakes made Kat’s mouth water. After all, she’d forgone breakfast this morning. She glanced up and wondered if anyone would notice if she grabbed the plate and stuffed her mouth with one of the sugary confections. With her aunt sitting beside her, the idea was unmanageable.
On the other side of her aunt, Paige Tillingdale saw everything and listened closely to every word—no doubt for her gossip paper. Anything they discussed would be in her column the next day.
/> Kat could clearly see the caption. Guess what guest at Lady Marsden’s soirée’ stuffed her face with sweets like a starving dog?
“Lord Whetherford is looking for a wife.”
Kat’s ears tingled. Her hearing affixed on his name like a bee drawn to the pollen in a flower.
“He looked rather splendid at Farsdown’s ball last night. Wonderful event.” Lady Delgrave gave a self-absorbed nod to Lady Farsdown.
“That poor boy. Losing his family all at once.”
“Yes. Horrible.” Mrs. Cockrell gave a shiver. “Lord and Lady Whetherford were such an admirable couple.”
“The entire ton felt their loss,” Lady Marsden added.
“I believe he was at Eton at the time?” Lady Delgrave glanced to each patron seeking confirmation.
“Yes,” Lady Farsdown corroborated. “Then he disappeared.”
“Just vanished. No one knew where he’d gone.”
“Or if he would ever return. The Whetherford estate remained empty with no Earl.”
“The boy was just too young.” Lady Delgrave gave a disheartened sigh.
“That boy went wild,” Mrs. Tillingdale said with vigor.
“Oh, Millie. You invented that for your paper.”
“I invented nothing.”
“Well, you must forgive him. He’d been given a shock. He had to mourn.” Dignified and Demure—and with starch in her corset—Lady Farsdown settled the matter.
“He’s been gone for years. So many, we wondered if he would ever come home?” Lady Delgrave showed compassion for him.
The women buzzed like a bee hive. Each giving her opinion of his absence.
“Lord Whetherford has turned into quite a man.” Lady Palfrey rolled her eyes with gleaming interest.
Kat agreed with her.
“It would appear the new earl has returned to carry out his duty,” Lady Farsdown said.
“And what duty would that be?” Mrs. Cockrell asked.
“Why, to sire an heir, of course. And he put in his first appearance at my ball.” Lady Farsdown gave a boastful arch of her spine any peacock would be proud of.
Lady Delgrave’s daughter, Felicity, gave a shudder. “I think he’s rather frightening.” The girl was so silly, Kat mentally called her Flighty Felicity.
“When he stormed out, he looked like thunder,” another lady said before she shoved a piece of cake in her mouth.
“Lord Whetherford seemed pleasant enough when he arrived,” Lady Farsdown spoke up. He complimented my home and gave praise, saying it was a fine affair.”
Several women bobbed their heads in agreement, making their latest fashionable hats come dangerously close to losing some of their adornments.
“Well, something set him off,” Mrs. Tillingdale said. “And I missed what. That would have been a fine bit of natter for my column this morning.”
Oh Good Lord.
Mrs. Cockrell, not to be outdone, said, “My husband said Whetherford looked ready to kill someone.”
Heat crept up Kat’s neck and her cheeks grew hot. As the ladies spoke, one after another, she sat in complete silence, hoping no one knew she was the one responsible for Lord Whetherford’s murderous expression. Indeed, she’d feared for her own life.
“Of course, you’ve heard of his dark past?” Lady Marsden continued.
Kat paused with her cup at her lip. Holding her breath, she strained to hear with urgent interest.
“What dark past?” Mrs. Cockrell asked.
“They say . . .” Lady Marsden paused, Kat was sure, for dramatic effect.
“What do they say?” Lady Delgrave asked.
Lady Marsden met each lady’s eye, making sure she had everyone’s attention. “When the young Lord Whetherford disappeared . . .” She placed her china cup on the table and waved her linen napkin about her breast. “I shan’t say for it will simply give me vapors.”
“Everything gives you vapors,” Mrs. Tillingdale said sourly.
“He must be remarkably brave. Do you think he could have been a pirate?” Kat glanced at Mrs. Cockrell’s daughter. Silly goose. The girl dreamed of the day when a pirate would steal her away and she would live happily ever after. What a romantic notion.
“He seems fierce enough if the threatening look on his face was anything to go by,” Lady Delgrave added.
“He’s not a pirate.” Lady Farsdown spouted with all the conviction she knew of what she spoke.
Kat’s head spun. Voices came from every direction. She wished they would all be quiet and Lady Marsden would finish what she’d been about to say.
“It is suspected he worked for the government . . .” Lady Marsden captured their attention again. She leaned forward and spoke in a conniving whisper, “as a spy.”
“Oh, Clara. How on earth would you know?” Kat almost gasped at her aunt’s retort.
Lady Marsden pointed her nose in the air. “I’m not at liberty to say.”
“I know how,” said Mrs. Tillingdale. “You keep your ear to your husband’s library door.”
Lady Delgrave came as close to snickering as one could at her lofty station, and said, “Snooping.”
Mrs. Tillingdale chuckled.
Lady Marsden puffed up like a primed peacock opening its feathers. “Is that not like the pot and the kettle? Just how do you get your bits of drivel for your editorial?”
Mrs. Tillingdale glared back at her.
Mrs. Cockrell spoke. “I heard if you want the job done, Lord Whetherford—before he accepted the title, of course—was the one to do it.”
“What job?” someone asked.
Lady Palfrey leaned toward the circle of women and spoke in a hushed whisper. “You know. The job.”
“You don’t know either,” Mrs. Tillingdale harrumphed. “But, I suspect something illegal.”
“My husband would not have accepted Lord Whetherford into our home if he was not an honorable man.” Several pairs of eyes turned to stare in her aunt’s direction.
A hush fell over the room. It was as if the world had suddenly stopped. Tea cups suspended in mid-motion. Mouths hung agape. Gazes sped to Kat, Aunt Liz, and Kat again.
She silently counted to ten.
“Your home?” Lady Marsden was the first one to speak. Her tone made Kat want to crawl under the Persian woven rug.
Flighty Felicity squeaked, “You had a pirate in your home?”
“He’s not a pirate,” Lady Palfrey rebuked.
Ignoring them both, Mrs. Tillingdale asked, “When?”
Oh Good Lord. How could Aunt Liz make such a blunder? Now every woman in this room would want to know why Lord Whetherford had been in their home. Kat’s absence would surely come to light.
Aunt Liz looked down her nose and said, “He and my husband had a matter to discuss.” Then she squared her shoulders and very smartly dismissed the onlookers as she sipped her tea.
Apprehension slowly ebbed from Kat’s shoulders. Thank you, Aunt Liz, for keeping me out of it.
“Besides.” Aunt Liz placed her cup on the delicate saucer, her spine rigid. “You shouldn’t listen to gossip. Those tales are apt to be false.”
Too late. For Kat’s suspicions had already been roused.
Every day, Lord Whetherford created disorder in her mind. Her thoughts of fancy had been just senseless moments of lost reason. But now she looked at the man in a whole different manner.
Dark past. Secrets. Mysterious. Spy.
If any of this was true . . . Could it be possible? Lord Whetherford may well be the very person to help her find Stephen.
Chapter 14
Morgan looked at the mahogany surface covered with papers still needing his attention. Commanding his eyes to focus, he forced his concentration
on getting some work done. He was in a hell of a fix. In the quiet of his study, there was no hope of concentrating. A number of things needed his consideration and a certain redhead was keeping him from it.
Katherine.
Even her name was lovely. She would be here soon. At Whetherford.
A lump caught in his throat.
Kissing her had been intoxicating. Headier than any other woman he’d shared an entire night of invigorating kisses. She may have slapped him, but she’d been as involved as he in that kiss. Her sweet mouth had begged for more. The thought of teaching her other pleasures made his chest tighten.
He attempted to go over the ledgers again. Within minutes he shoved them aside and picked up a letter from his comrade in Parliament. After reading the same paragraph four times, he still hadn’t absorbed the words. He tossed the quill across his desk and pushed out of his chair. Balancing his weight, he braced one arm on the wall to the right of the window. The same spot he’d been standing when he first laid eyes on her.
A knock sounded on his study door.
“Enter,” he said.
Frederick opened the door. “My Lord. Lady Thornton and Miss Radbourn have arrived.”
She’s here.
Morgan’s muscles tightened. Remembering their last encounter, his hand lifted to rub his cheek.
“Thank you, Frederick. Ask Mrs. Beasley to bring tea.”
“She’s seeing to it now, my lord.”
Morgan flexed his hands and forced his dry throat to swallow. He should send her away. Deny her. Rebuff her the way she’d turned her nose up at him in London.
He couldn’t wait to see her.
He imagined kissing the wildcat again. The next time he would see her eyes darken with desire. The next time he would give her what she craved. For he had no doubt, if he kissed her again, the passionate creature he knew lurked underneath, would come to life.
The Right One (One and Only Series) Page 11
