Whisper To Me of Love

by Shirlee Busbee

  It was an exceedingly handsome apology, and while Royce was enormously relieved to hear Zachary’s words, they also shamed him—he should never have allowed a situation that put Zachary in this position to arise. Turning to face his cousin, he smiled crookedly and said, “There is no need for you to apologize—I think it is I who owe you an apology for creating this damnable situation!”

  A weight lifted from Zachary’s shoulders, and grinning a bit shamefacedly, he admitted, “I’ve been acting very starchy, haven’t I?”

  “Very!” Royce said with a laugh.

  Harmony restored between them, they conversed for several more minutes, and at first it was rather awkward until they firmly reestablished their affectionate rapport. As the moments passed and they brought each other up-to-date with their various activities, the unpleasantness of the past several days was forgotten as if it had never occurred.

  It was only after they demolished the tray of food and had finished off one of the bottles of wine that Royce brought up the subject of the locks. His face serious, he asked, “Did Chambers tell you about the locks being tampered with last night?”

  Zachary nodded, his own face concerned. “Yes, he did first thing this morning. I looked at all of them, and it is apparent that someone made a rather amateur go at attempting to force their way into the house.”

  “Amateur?” Royce asked, one black brow raised skeptically. “The one-eyed man is no amateur, nor, if I am to believe Jacko and Ben, does he consort with amateurs.”

  Zachary shrugged his shoulders. “Perhaps I’m wrong—you’ll just have to see them yourself and see if you don’t agree with me.”

  An hour later, just having completed his own inspection of the doors and their various locks, Royce agreed that Zachary’s assessment had been correct. The attempted break-in had been an unmistakably amateur attempt, the scratches and marks on the doors clearly revealing that someone had ineptly tried to either force the locks or pry open the doors. But the attempt itself puzzled Royce, and after a great deal of thought, he came to the unsettling conclusion that last night’s occurrence could not have been the work of the one-eyed man or his minions—the attempt was too, well, amateur. Royce kept coming back to that one thought. An amateur. Someone who was not familiar with the tools of housebreaking. Someone, he was fairly confident, who was not connected with the one-eyed man... . But if not the one-eyed one ... then who? And why?

  All through the next few days, that particular line of thought kept swirling around at the back of his brain, even as he went about various tasks. The transactions involving the purchase of Lime Tree Cottage went very smoothly, and shortly, Royce found his bank account hugely depleted; but in exchange, he held the deed to the property. He and Morgana. It gave him a peculiar feeling to see her name on the deed next to his—almost as if she were his wife and they had bought the property together... .

  Infuriated with himself for even allowing such a nonsensical idea to cross his mind, he pushed the silly notion aside and concentrated determinedly on other things. Such as why he had heard nothing from Roger Steadham, his business agent, about a sailing date for the Fowler brothers. Now that Morgana had become his mistress, there was no question of her going to America without him, and he decided that he might as well see Mr. Steadham; in the course of discovering why he had heard nothing from him, he could also relay the information that the number of passages had changed from four to two.

  Consequently, at two o’clock on Monday afternoon, Royce was seated comfortably in Mr. Steadham’s office exchanging polite banter with him before they settled down to discuss business. If he thought Mr. Steadham seemed a trifle nervous, he told himself idly that it was because the man must have other pressures on his mind, and he didn’t immediately connect Steadham’s odd behavior with his business.

  At the first mention of the passages, however, Steadham’s face paled, his eyes dilated, and he stammered, “The p-p-passages you requested? Oh, I’m sorry, but it seems that there are none available until late summer. Possibly August or early September.”

  Steadham’s reaction would have alerted even someone far less astute than Royce Manchester, and Royce was instantly suspicious. His polite smile fading and the golden eyes narrowed, Royce asked quietly, “Are you telling me that there is nothing sailing from England to America until then?”

  Steadham smiled sickly. “Nothing that would be suitable for you,” he offered weakly.

  Royce sent him a long, thoughtful look. There could be all manner of reasons to explain Steadham’s behavior, and under different circumstances, Royce might have accepted Steadham’s actions and words at face value. But that was before he had learned of the mysterious one-eyed one, and Royce could be forgiven for wondering sourly if Steadham wasn’t just another poor devil caught in the toils of the one-eyed man. Or was Steadham telling the truth? It would be no problem to double-check the accuracy of the information Steadham had given him, but with a sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach, Royce was certain he would discover that Steadham was lying to him and that the one-eyed man was behind his odd behavior. That particular conclusion was inescapable and ... chilling. But was it coincidence or design that the one-eyed man had learned of his visit to Steadham? Or had he been warned by someone of what had been planned?

  Royce didn’t like the direction of his thoughts. Even if he could dismiss it as pure accident that his business agent was someone who, for whatever reasons, owed the one-eyed man alliance, and further convince himself that it was sheer coincidence that the one-eyed man had learned of his desire to purchase the four passages to America, the fact that the one-eyed man had obviously ordered Steadham to lie about the availability of those passages was definitely ominous. But was the one-eyed man simply being inordinately cautious or had he known that those passages to America were for the Fowlers?

  Aware that he would learn nothing further from Steadham and not wishing to betray the tenor of his thoughts, Royce finally said easily, “Very well. If there is nothing before that time, I shall simply have to settle for what you can find for me.” Sending Steadham a charming smile, he added, “Perhaps it is just as well—my plans have changed slightly since I last spoke with you, and I now just require two passages.” Only polite inquiry on his face, he asked guilelessly, “Do you think that would make any difference on securing an earlier departure date?”

  Steadham moved restlessly in his chair, and not meeting Royce’s gaze, he muttered, “I’ll look into it, but I believe that I will have to stick to my previous estimate.”

  Steadham’s reply didn’t surprise Royce, especially if the one-eyed man didn’t want those passages secured in the near future, and rising lightly to his feet, Royce took his leave as speedily as possible. His thoughts were very busy and very dark as he walked away from Steadham’s office, and he wasted little time in checking out the truth of Steadham’s story, stopping at the first shipping office he came to and inquiring into possible dates for sailing to America. What he learned confirmed his suspicion that Steadham had been lying to him—there were two ships sailing within the week, and both still had passages available....

  So. Steadham had lied. Royce supposed that if he wanted to waste time in idle speculation, he could come up with several possible reasons for the business agent to act as he had, but there was only one reason as far as Royce was concerned—that bloody damned one-eyed man!

  Returning to Hanover Square, he was scowling blackly as he entered the house, knowing that it was imperative that he meet with the Fowler brothers, and knowing that in order to do so, he was going to have to go to Della’s... . Retreating to his study, he paced back and forth, cursing the day he had ever laid eyes on Morgana Fowler!

  Unfortunately, his mood was not any better some time later when Chambers knocked timidly on the door (the master’s moods these days was extremely volatile!) and informed Royce that dinner was being served. He was expecting to dine alone—Zachary was dining with friends and there were no invited guests. His fe
atures moody, he stalked to the dining room only to be brought up short by the sight of Morgana confidently sitting at the head of the table and wearing the ruby gown!

  Suddenly Royce had a very good idea of what it felt like to be apoplectic with rage. “What the hell are you doing here? And where in the bloody hell did you get that blasted gown?”

  Despite the quaking in her limbs, Morgana’s chin lifted. It had been quite brave of her to coolly inform Chambers that she would be dining downstairs tonight, and, she realized nervously, unaccountably foolish to wear the ruby gown. Since the afternoon at Madame Duchand’s, she had been immured in the elegant suite of rooms upstairs; except for Hazel, who had been hastily assigned as her maid, and Chambers, who served her meals, she had seen no one, and quite frankly, while being both remorseful and angry, she was tired of being treated like a leper. She bitterly regretted her hasty bargain, and the long, penitent, solitary hours she had spent these past days had left her with a great deal of time to reflect upon just how very, very repulsive her position was ... and how much more so it was going to be once Royce had procured the house she had so rashly demanded. The arrival of each new purchase—luxurious, brightly colored muslin, silk, and satin gowns, delicate chemises, lovely petticoats, shoes, hats, as well as several bottles of exotically scented perfumes, soaps, and powders—was a silent reproach, and she viewed each new item with horrified revulsion.

  The notion of throwing herself on Royce’s mercy and begging him to forgo their ugly bargain and send her to America with her brothers had crossed her mind frequently. But the painfully vivid memory of the expression on his face when he had stated that she would earn every penny he spent on her had Morgana grimly convinced that begging Royce Manchester for anything would only bring her further humiliation, and her already battered pride quailed at being forced to grovel before him—and to no avail! Since she couldn’t grovel, there was only one thing left to do—please herself as much as she dared, and that included wearing the contested ruby gown and making her presence felt within the household. It had seemed a very good idea several hours ago when it had first occurred to her, but seeing the thunderous expression on Royce’s face, she wished that she had thought things a little further and had considered his probable reaction!

  But she hadn’t, and not about to let him intimidate her further, she summoned all her failing courage to reply sweetly, “I’m intending to eat my dinner, and as for the gown—you know very well that it was purchased from Madame Duchand!”

  Throwing himself down in a chair at the other end of the long, damask-covered table, Royce contented himself with sending her a look filled with loathing. Upstart little baggage! he thought irascibly. And encroaching, too—pushing her way into his dining room this way! Who did she think she was? And yet even as he stared at her in the flickering light of the silver candelabras that graced the table, he was aware of his desire stirring.

  She was undeniably ravishingly lovely as she sat so regally down the table from him, her smooth, white skin rising temptingly above the silk and lace of the gleaming ruby and black gown. His eyes dropped to the surprising fullness of her breasts, the gown cut so low that it stopped just shy of revealing her nipples. He was painfully erect in an instant, and inordinately thankful that she could not see the noticeable effect she had upon him, he took refuge in anger and said in a surly tone, “I don’t remember inviting you to share my meal—but I do remember distinctly refusing to buy you that damn gown!”

  Pasting an angelic smile on her mouth, she murmured, “Since I live here in this house, I don’t believe that I have to wait for you to invite me anywhere!”

  He let her comment pass, and a sardonic expression crossed his face. “And the gown?” he inquired. “Would you care to explain how it got in your wardrobe?”

  Not liking the look in his eyes at all, she was cravenly grateful when Chambers entered just then with the first course of the meal. For the present, the subject was dropped.

  Dinner was not pleasant. Morgana had to force down each sip of soup, each bite of meat, fighting to keep her composure in the face of Royce’s ill-concealed antipathy and her own treacherous senses. Certain she hated him, convinced she was furious with him, she still could not control the sudden wild beating of her heart when she glanced up and caught his gaze locked on her bosom. To her mortification, her nipples tightened and a rush of dizzying excitement hurtled through her. Looking at his down-bent tawny head as he cut a piece of the excellent roast beef Ivy had prepared tonight, Morgana was conscious of a longing for things to be different between them, for them to share a far different relationship from the one in which they found themselves.

  The presence of the other servants as they served the meal made conversation difficult, and Royce and Morgana were barely polite to each other. The last course was finally presented, and Morgana’s heart sank when she heard Royce say to Chambers, “That will be all for now. I’ll let you know when we are through in here.”

  Risking a glance at Royce, despite her uncomfortable situation, Morgana was unbearably conscious of just what a handsome, vital man he was as he lounged there, one long-fingered hand idly twirling his wineglass, the other resting casually on the table. His face was very dark above the pristine whiteness of his cravat, and the dark blue coat, with its gilt buttons shining brightly in the candlelight, fit his broad shoulders and muscled arms to perfection. Without volition, she remembered the strength of that lean body, the warmth of his flesh against hers, and she was suddenly breathless. Desperate to get away from him before she did something even more foolish than she already had, she leaped to her feet and, tossing down her napkin, remarked, “I shall leave you to your brandy now.”

  Royce sent her a heavy-lidded stare and murmured softly, “Not yet, sweetheart! You still haven’t explained about the gown... .” Insultingly he let his gaze roam over her body. “Of course, now that I have seen it again, I can’t remember why I objected in the first place.” His gaze blatantly stripping her, he added in a goading tone, “It displays your wares very nicely... . Reminds me of just what I am paying for!”

  Morgana blanched, her fingers closing into white-knuckled fists. Pain knifed through her at his words, and forgetting whatever good resolutions she may have made, she tossed her dark, curly head and snapped, “Just remember that until you have purchased my house, by your own words, you only get to look!”

  Royce lunged for her, but Morgana’s courage had failed and she was already dashing for the door. Fingers frantically scrabbling against the crystal knob, she flung the door open and bolted into the hall and up the stairs. In the asylum of her room, her back resting against the door, she waited with thumping heart for the sound of his pursuit, but there was nothing. She had bearded the tiger and escaped once again ... but for how long? she wondered uneasily. For how long?

  CHAPTER 17

  Undecided whether to charge after her or vent his fury by smashing his fist into the wall, Royce frowned darkly at the doorway through which she had disappeared. Oh, the hell with her! he thought angrily. She was nothing but a conniving little bitch anyway! Why let her upset him? Cursing under his breath, he realized that his reaction to Morgana tonight made it clear that he had to see Della, should have explained events to her long before this! Morgana’s presence in his house was creating more than one set of problems—how did one graciously inform the first mistress of her ouster by the presence of a second mistress?

  It was a problem that Royce had never faced before in his life and had never expected to face, and he had grappled with it off and on ever since the afternoon he had made love to Morgana. To his credit, he did not want to cause Della any more pain or humiliation than necessary, and he had racked his brain these past several days trying to come up with an honorable solution. Except to drive by Della’s house to check on the signal, he had avoided the area. However, to soothe his guilty conscience, and it had not soothed it very much, Royce had made arrangements before his trip to Tunbridge Wells for his jeweler to h
ave delivered to Della an exorbitantly expensive diamond necklace and matching earrings.

  Angry with himself for letting the situation even arise in the first place, it was with a determined set to his broad shoulders that he walked up the few steps to Della’s house and entered. Della, wearing an extremely lovely gown of bronze-shot silk, was waiting for him in the attractive salon where he had met with the Fowler brothers. It was evident by the reproachfulness in her brown eyes that the news of Morgana’s place in his life had already reached her, and Royce felt like a complete cad.

  Flashing her that particularly attractive crooked grin of his, he bent his tawny head and kissed the slim, white hand that she extended. Not wishing to prolong the unpleasantness longer than necessary, after seating himself on the sofa next to her, he asked quietly, “I assume that you have heard about Morgana?”

  Della nodded. “Yes, several gentlemen were very quick to tell me that you had taken another mistress.... I think I would have preferred to hear it from you.”

  Royce winced and took her hands in his. “There is nothing I can say that will excuse my actions. I can only apologize to you and hope that in time you will forgive my very bad manners.” The topaz eyes searched hers intently. “Della, if there is anything I can do to make this easier for you ...”

  She smiled faintly, one of her hands coming up to lightly caress his lean cheek. “Short of having you throw your new mistress out in the streets, I can think of nothing.” Despite himself, Royce wore an expression betraying the unlikeliness of that occurring, and Della laughed, albeit a trifle wryly. “I didn’t really expect that you would, but I thought it was worth a try.” Laying her hand in her lap, she added, “Don’t feel too remorseful—you have been a very generous lover, both with your pocketbook and your body... .” She sent him a long, sensually appreciative look, her gaze lingering on his wide chest and hard thighs. “I think I shall miss you in my bed almost as much as I shall miss your generosity. But women in my profession are aware of the transient nature of our liaisons, and I knew it would come to an end one day—perhaps not as swiftly as it has!” She shot him a careful glance from beneath her lashes. “I hope that you do not want me to leave this house immediately... .” And at Royce’s confirmation that she could stay for several more weeks if she wished, she smiled. “Oh, it wouldn’t be that long. You see, I have not been idle either—my new protector will have me housed at a new address in Tunbridge Wells before the week is ended!”