His father threw his hands up, his disgust tangible. His utter confusion equally so. “You’d really prefer that I disown you? You’ll not get a penny from me. Milwick will be lost to you. Viola will receive everything.”
How often had Morgan heard these same threats?
“She’s welcome to all of it. But even she wants no part of your dealings in the tropics. She told me so herself.” Morgan cocked his head, trying to understand this man whose seed had created him, but whose character and values were so vastly different. “You have more money than you can spend in a lifetime. Why must you continue with the plantations?”
“Your ignorance is beyond bloody maddening.” Aversion warred with contempt in Father’s voice, his angular face contorting into one of his lofty sneers. “One can never have enough money. And why do you keep sniveling about the darkies? You can’t possibly believe they’re our equals. I cannot begin to comprehend your thinking. I truly cannot.”
“I’m not the least surprised.” Utterly inconceivable that such a deplorable had spawned Morgan. They were as unalike as black was to white. Night was to day.
He looped Shona’s bonnet’s ribbons around his fingertips.
Would her skin feel as satiny?
He’d never know.
Hell’s bells. Why, even in the midst of a heated argument, did she intrude upon his thoughts?
“So be it.” His father considered him for an extended moment, a hint of authentic regret shadowing his eyes. In a blink, the sentiment was gone, replaced by his usual wintery visage. “I’ll be for home then. I cannot stay here and remain civil to you.” He swiveled toward the door, then swung back, his expression contemplative.
“That Atterberry gel. She’s an heiress, ain’t she?” Father squinted and nodded slowly, a wily smile pulling his mouth sideways. “Ah, I’m on to your game now, son. You’re after her money. Brilliant, I must concede. What do you intend? To seduce the wench?”
Two mornings later, Shona tilted her parasol to block the sun as well as the curious glances of the other guests taking strolls about the lawn and gardens. She and Morgan—she’d taken to calling him by his given name when in private—had garnered more than a few whispers and speculative looks since her dunk in the lake.
Let them chatter. She didn’t give a fig what any of them thought.
He’d been most attentive since the ill-fated, yet fortunate incident. Not only did he claim her for a walk each morning, Morgan remained at her side during the indoor entertainment too. And as he’d promised, he practiced the waltz with her.
To avoid gossip, they’d agreed to meet prior to breakfast, before the rest of the house roused.
He hadn’t exaggerated when he said he was a fair partner. More than fair. So adept, in fact, she felt certain she could maneuver the steps at the masque ball now. It was quite thrilling to be held in such a man’s arms. Addictive even.
She left her bed early each morning, to fuss over her attire and toilette in a manner previously alien to her. Thank goodness, she hadn’t had to share her chamber after all. She’d not want to have to explain her sudden frenzied interest in her appearance.
She cut him a swift glance, admiring his chiseled profile. She’d miss him.
They’d fallen into a comfortable camaraderie—that was all it could be, of course—and his presence had made the house party the most pleasant she’d ever attended.
Much to her surprise, Lord Sterling had sought her company on several occasions, though she suspected his kindness was due more to his close association with Harcourt than any genuine fascination with her.
It wouldn’t be the first time Alexa or Katrina had imposed upon their husbands to encourage their male friends to pay Shona some small attention to lessen her obvious social failings. Shortcomings which seemed so much less noticeable or important when with Morgan.
Whether due to Morgan’s stern visage or the presence of her influential relatives, the other guests’ treatment of her had improved dramatically. Of course, her self-appointed guardian was rather a fire-breathing dragon to anyone who as much as glanced at her askance. One scorching glare usually sufficed to divert their attention or send them skulking away.
And Shona didn’t mind in the least.
For certain, she didn’t need a male’s protection, but she wouldn’t deny enjoying the privilege.
“Lady Wimpleton has planned a play for this evening.” Shona arched a sardonic eyebrow. “A Greek comedy, no less.”
Morgan chuckled, the sound robust with humor and disbelief. “I might find myself otherwise engaged. As might most of the remaining gentlemen she hasn’t pressed into assisting her.”
“I wish I might join you. But Katrina promised Olivia Wimpleton she’d take part, and so I pledged to attend the performance and support her.”
Shona had politely, but firmly, declined to participate. She wasn’t about to toddle around wearing a scanty linen garment and a grapevine wreath atop her head. Plus, she hadn’t wanted to commit the time to the silly theatrical performance when she’d much prefer to spend it with Morgan.
Mere days ago, the week had seemed interminable, but now it passed much too swiftly for her liking. She found herself regretting that they’d part company in a few short days and she’d be off to her new life as Wedderford’s mistress.
Except for Alexa and Katrina splurging and presenting her with a new gown for the masque ball, her birthday yesterday had passed with minimal fanfare, thank goodness. Last night, Shona and Morgan had escaped the charades and card games and spent a wonderful hour sitting beside the lake chatting.
That had been the best part of her one-and-twentieth birthday.
He’d presented her with a handpicked bouquet—she’d lay odds a few of Lady Wimpleton’s hothouse blooms were amongst the blossoms—and a beautiful bird he’d whittled.
Never had a gift meant more, and she’d fought sentimental tears as she brushed her fingertips across the nubby wood. That humble carving made with his two hands became her most cherished possession in an instant, worth far more than the considerable jewels included in Wedderford’s entailment.
Accepting the token breached social boundaries, but a team of Craiglocky Keep’s renowned draft horses couldn’t have pried the trinket from her fingers.
The more time she spent with Morgan, the more he captivated her. While others turned their attention aside or avoided him because of his scarred face, she found herself drawn to him more and more.
In truth, she hardly noticed the marks anymore.
“Ho, there.” A trio of brown-and-white spaniel pups loped across the lawn, chased by two flustered stable lads.
“The little beasts have escaped again.” Morgan whistled, and the pups changed directions, charging straight toward him and Shona.
She squatted, bracing herself for the onslaught of happy dogs. After their frenzied greeting, including much whining, tail-wagging, and a few slobbery doggy kisses, she stood once more and brushed at her jonquil skirt.
Grass and dirt smudges peppered the area where the pups had tried to clamber into her lap.
“I really do think I may ask the Wimpletons if I might have the smallest one.” Grinning, she pointed to a sweet-faced female trying to chew the servant’s lapel. “She has a slight limp, and I’ve always wanted a dog.”
“I’m sorry m’lady, sir.” One of the young men bobbed his head in apology. “These be quick ones, and smart too. They’ve learned how to nose their enclosure open.”
“It’s quite all right. I adore dogs,” Shona said.
A pup might be just the thing to help alleviate the loneliness no doubt awaiting her at Wedderford Abbey. As the young men struggled with the wriggling armfuls, Shona giggled.
Yes, when she left Davenswood Court, she’d have a canine companion with her. She wished she might have more…
She turned to Morgan, and her breath stalled at the rapt expression on his face as he regarded her. Almost as if he were as entranced with her as she feared s
he was fast becoming with him.
Could it be true?
She’d truly earned the admiration of a man such as he?
A pleasant warmth blossomed through her, starting at her toes and ending with twin pools of heat settling in her cheeks.
Logical miss that she was, she knew better than to make more of the situation than it was. Nevertheless, for the present, she’d cherish this unexpected wonderfulness, and if it meant winning her rash bet against Miss Rossington in the process, so much the better.
Morgan curled his mouth into a smile, partly sensual and partly appreciative, before looping her arm through his elbow, then brazenly laying his hand atop hers. Every now and again, he skimmed his fingers across the back of her hand and electric sparks shot up her arm.
They strolled along in companionable silence.
She hadn’t a notion what his thoughts might be and didn’t dare indulge in hoping hers might ever come true. But for these few days, she’d enjoy the company of this splendid man and be thankful she’d met him. He’d given her a taste of something she’d never thought to experience.
No one had come right out and said it, but though her family was grateful he’d saved her life and was perfectly lovely to him, more than one had dropped hints that any notion of something more developing between her and Morgan was pure fancy. Almost as if they knew something she didn’t, but weren’t about to share the unpleasant knowledge with her.
Och. Enough darkling musings. Why waste time with what-ifs and unknowns?
“What are your plans after this week, Morgan?”
Are ye aff yer heid, Shona?
One dark brow shot skyward.
He mightn’t have said it, but the implication was clear.
None of your business.
She’d no right to pry, so instead, to disguise her discomfiture, she blurted the first thing that popped to mind. “I’m returning to my familial home in Scotland. I’ve been away too long as it is, and now that I’m of age, I cannot delay the inevitable.”
A distant look shadowed his eyes, and she didn’t miss the fact he’d not answered her question.
“You have much on your young shoulders, Shona.”
“Not everyone gets to choose their lot in life, and despite the trials I’ve had, I’ve been blessed.” No one need tell her that her smile held a hint of fragility. “Perhaps, Morgan, you might visit me at Wedderford someday?”
Subtle as a pig in a poke bonnet, that.
It seemed the cheeky boldness that had been dormant for so long had escaped its fetters, much like the rambunctious pups, and she was hard put to control the high-spirited thing.
Morgan pulled her a jot closer to his side, yet sadness tempered his tender smile. “I should very much like to, but I regret I cannot make any such promise, Shona.”
Soundly rejected.
“I understand.” Humiliation burned her face, and she couldn’t flee to her chamber swiftly enough. “Please excuse me—”
“I don’t think you do understand.” Morgan clasped her hand, gently but firmly, preventing her escape. “I don’t make promises I’m not positive I can fulfill. But I do vow every minute I’ve enjoyed with you these past days has been a privilege. I would be honored if you’d continue to spend time with me.”
How could she say no and deny herself a few more precious memories?
How could she say yes and risk losing her heart completely?
Too late.
He raised her hand and brushed his lips across the knuckles. “Please, Shona, say you will.”
“Aye.” She’d embrace what Fate offered. When she left Davenswood Court, it would be without her heart.
Shona smoothed her hands down the front of her gown—a champagne gauze trimmed in lavender, made for Katrina’s wedding and not worn since. Eager to look her finest tonight, Shona had asked Alexa’s abigail to dress her hair. Toward that end, she’d even donned new stays containing a flattering busk, and at Katrina’s encouragement, permitted the slightest application of cosmetics.
They’d fussed over Shona, helping her choose the perfect jewels to complement her attire. And when her toilette was complete, they’d clapped in delight, their faces wreathed in smiles.
She felt quite the loveliest she ever had.
However, she hadn’t been able to summon the nerve to ask them how she might go about enticing a gentleman to kiss her, and she hadn’t many days left to win her wager.
Surely such things came naturally if the couple were mutually attracted to each other.
For the fourth time, Shona checked to make sure the amethyst earrings still dangled from her ears and the necklace resting just above her breasts remained centered. She patted the elegant Grecian knot at her nape before brushing her fingers over the parure’s matching combs, which swept her hair up on the sides, except for a fringe of soft curls framing her face.
Those new additions were the result of the abigail’s considerable skill with scissors and a hot iron.
Fingering one of the playful curls, Shona conceded that the new hair arrangement quite became her. She was womanly enough to admit she wanted to impress Morgan, else why bother with all the falderal?
Whilst getting dressed this evening, she’d made a meaningful decision.
These were the last days before she stepped into her new roles and assumed the responsibilities that went with them. No man had ever stirred her the way Morgan did. She mightn’t—probably wouldn’t ever have an occasion to—enjoy the attention of such a man again.
So, she intended to seize this chance, come what may. And by Jove, she still planned to seek an opportunity to kiss him. As much to prove Penelope Rossington wrong as to prove to herself that she could.
Though short of tackling the captain and holding him down for a peck on the mouth—fine, something considerably more than a prim peck—she hadn’t a clue how she’d accomplish the task.
Nae, not a task.
That sounded far too chore-like, and she didn’t believe for a second that kissing Morgan would be anything akin to mucking stalls, polishing the silver, or scouring chamber pots.
Indeed, she imagined the experience would be something much more ethereal and magical. And deliciously carnal too.
Lord, listen to her wanton thoughts. A flush sluiced through her, a wave of chagrined pleasure originating somewhere in her middle and billowing upward to her artfully arranged hair.
Who’d have believed she’d be so easily influenced into risqué behavior?
Certainly not she.
Not before she’d met Captain Morgan-oh-so-wonderfully-fascinating-Le Draco.
What happened to the modest, reserved woman who’d absconded to the hothouse her first day here? If Shona hadn’t known better, she’d have believed she’d knocked her noggin when she plunged into the lake, so altered was she.
As she approached the drawing room where she’d agreed to meet the others before dinner, laughter and chatter carried into the corridor. The floral salon farther down the passageway also rang with amusement and animated conversation. Her stomach constricted in apprehension.
You can do this. Remember what you decided. To make these remaining days the most pleasant, the most memorable of your life.
Well, at least the most pleasurably unforgettable so far. Some of her darker memories she’d never be able to completely dispel.
Dredging up a cordial smile, she entered the drawing room, and standing at the threshold, searched for anyone she might know.
Alexa and Katrina hadn’t come down yet. Likely because they’d assisted Shona.
Clutching her fan to still her frolicking nerves, she searched the room again.
Where was Morgan?
Maybe he’d gone to the salon instead.
Harcourt and Pendergast were present, though. Each with a glass in hand, they chatted with several gentlemen, including Mr. Olson. He kept veering her reproachful glances, his chin elevated and expression offended.
What a perfectly horrid misal
liance that would’ve been.
Rather than regard her dip in the lake as calamitous, she thought it rather fortunate now. It spared her further pursuit by that presumptuous, feckless toad. Besides, her rescuer had turned out to be a most fascinating man.
Unfurling her fan, she sought other familiar faces.
Lord Sterling angled his auburn head in greeting, a smile playing round the edges of his mouth as he listened to something elderly Miss Sweeting said.
Shona returned his smile.
Though taciturn and aloof, when she’d encountered him in London, he’d always been unfailingly kind to her, treating her much the way a person would a stray, frightened mongrel.
She continued her search of the crowded room.
Engaged in lively conversation, neither Mr. nor Mrs. Needham had noticed her arrival.
Nodding at something an imposing dame said, Lady Wimpleton offered a welcoming smile from across the room.
What to do?
Stay here or prowl the salon in search of Morgan?
It couldn’t hurt to take a peek there.
Waving her fan, more for something to do rather than loiter self-consciously in the entrance, she’d swiveled to leave when a movement caught her attention.
A tall form separated from the shadows in the room’s far corner.
Her lungs emptied on a happy sigh.
Morgan.
He drained his tumbler, then set it on a nearby table. Mouth sweeping into a closed-lipped smile, he gave her a devilish wink, seemingly as delighted to see her as she was to see him.
Goodness. She pressed a hand to her cavorting stomach.
What that man did to her with one roguish blink of his eye. Her heart, the ridiculous, flighty thing, flopped about like a brown trout on a river bank.
And her breathing?
Why, it became all breathy and gaspy, too.
Was gaspy a word?
It certainly was a feeling.
Did his heart and lungs do weird things when he saw her as well?
What a lovely, farfetched notion.
Given his declaration this morning, mayhap not as farfetched as she’d once believed.
Super Summer Set of Historical Shorts Page 7
