Devil's Lady

by Patricia Rice

  Before they reached Covent Garden, Faith’s eyes were wide from staring up at towering limestone buildings and magnificent Gothic cathedrals. All thoughts of onions fled when the sun caught on the stained glass of St. Paul’s. The towering dome drew her gaze to the heavens, and she felt as if God were looking directly on her.

  Staring upward, she almost missed the ragged urchin darting beneath her horse’s nose. The peddler who chased after him screamed a curse as she came between him and his prey.

  The mare whinnied in protest and threw her head nervously, nearly unsettling Faith’s precarious hold. Morgan was immediately at her side, soothing the animal and sending the peddler on his way with a stream of invectives that singed Faith’s ears. She didn’t know whether to offer him gratitude for his help or scold him for his language. He was always doing this to her, leaving her bewildered and confused.

  He took a more protective position, and she threw him an anxious look. He made no attempt to disguise himself, but rode the streets with his black hair neatly queued beneath his silver- trimmed cockaded hat. Instead of his black cloak, he wore a long black frock coat with the split seam in back for riding. The hilt of his sword gleamed through another slit, but otherwise he could be a gentleman in heavy mourning. The expensive lace at his throat and wrist had been discarded for a plain cravat and just a ruffle of linen at the cuff. No one would suspect such a superior-looking gentleman of being other than what he appeared.

  Faith glanced down at her own attire and sighed. The elegant blue wool fitted neatly to her waist, but there was little enough for the lovely satin stomacher to conceal. Her long skirts spread out like a lady’s, but she had no hoops or panniers to give them grace. Her unpowdered hair was pinned as neatly as she could make it beneath her frilly cap, but she had no illusion that she appeared a lady. Restlessly she watched the other inhabitants of the city for a sight of real elegance.

  Her eyes narrowed as she watched Morgan’s gaze follow a woman in a puce robe à la française. Her powdered wig was dressed higher than fashion decreed, and her square-cut bodice went without the modesty piece that should conceal her voluptuous bosom. A gold necklace dangled between these bounteous hills to draw the eye. Faith could not tell if Morgan eyed the necklace or the beauty more covetously.

  Irritated, she urged her mount to a faster gait, distracting Morgan from his musings. She knew very little of men, but she was quite certain her father was right on this: men would take whatever was offered them, with little or no discrimination. And she had all but offered herself to Morgan last night.

  She must be ten times a fool. She was no more than cook or housekeeper to him. He called her pretty names and brought her lovely presents because he was a charmer and wished to keep her services. If she offered him more than he bargained for, she had only herself to blame.

  Morgan caught up with her and threw her a puzzled look, but the street was growing too noisy and crowded to carry on a conversation. Deciding they had gone far enough, he guided her toward a livery on a nearby street and helped her to dismount.

  “We’ll go from here by foot, lass, if you do not mind. I’ve no wish to be pulling you out from under a horses’ hooves if the mare gets nervous.” Morgan caught Faith’s waist and brought her down beside him, not immediately letting her go. He tilted her chin with his finger. “A smile, cailin, I would have a smile from you. Have I done aught that is wrong this day?”

  Faith shook her head but did not meet his gaze. “You need not lead me about like a child. I can find my way if you wish to go about your own business,” she answered diffidently, without the smile he requested.

  “What business? Did ye think I’d spend the day robbing people at gunpoint? Lass, have a little of what your name proclaims you to be. I’ll not shame you like that.”

  Astounded that he would think such a thing of her, Faith looked up to meet his fierce gaze. “I never thought such a thing. I just thought...” She stumbled over speaking her wayward thoughts, but his gaze demanded reply. “I thought... perhaps there were men things you wished to do. You cannot be interested in herbs and seeds.”

  Green eyes lit with irreverent laughter. He released her chin and ran his broad hand seductively over the curve of her waist. “’Tis men things that hold my interest, to be sure, but why would I look elsewhere than my very own faerie woman? Let us proceed to the herbs and seeds, my lady, and I’ll take care of my business while you take care of yours.”

  Faith studied him uncertainly, not knowing what to make of this statement. Deciding he was teasing her, she nodded and allowed herself to be led away. Morgan’s hold upon her waist was light and protective, not anything to fear. Why did she feel as if he meant a good deal more when he held her like that?

  The stableman led the horses away, struggling to hold the restive stallion in line. Morgan watched them go with a frown, but then whistling, he led Faith toward the markets. She did not yet understand her powers as a woman, and he rather preferred it that way. He had no time or patience for a woman’s ploys for attention. A woman like that lightskirt down the road would never be content with the isolation he could provide. She would soon find the inn and spread her legs for every man who offered her a trinket. But Faith, now...

  Ahhh, Faith, the innocent. Morgan bent her an amused look as she eagerly scanned the market stalls. Perhaps she appeared little more than a child, but he had bedded more voluptuous beauties with less passion than Faith possessed in her little finger. It wasn’t the wrapping that counted, but the contents, and Faith’s delicate wrapping concealed a powder keg of explosives, he was willing to gamble. Just the thought brought a stirring to his loins, and he idled the morning away imagining how and when he would finally take her.

  His thoughts were not all lustful ones, however. When Faith indicated an interest in a bunch of new onions, Morgan reached for his purse, but to his surprise, Faith stayed him. With a firm set to her jaw, she announced the greens were much too dear, and she would look elsewhere. The peddler instantly raised a protest, and the two set down to serious haggling, while Morgan listened in amazement. It was the first time that morning that he heard his shy companion’s skills, but not the last.

  By luncheon, Faith had flirted with a butcher to achieve the best cut of meat, carried on a learned discussion with the herbmonger and doubled her purchase for half the price, and wistfully rejected the purchase of a blue ribbon for her hair because the man counted on Morgan to pay the higher price and wouldn’t believe Faith could walk away. Morgan almost fell for it, except something in the determined shake of her russet curls warned he would be in dire trouble should he undermine her pride. He bought the ribbon elsewhere for less, bringing the brilliant smile he had requested earlier.

  By the time they found a respectable inn and stopped for a midday meal, they were loaded down with paper-wrapped parcels. Faith contentedly arranged them all in a straw basket Morgan purchased for the occasion, and made no complaint that all she had seen of the city was a street full of market stalls. Her smile was just as rapturous as if he had presented her with the crown jewels. More so, Morgan decided, for she wouldn’t know what to do with jewels.

  In a tavern full of flamboyant silks and satins—and that just the men—Faith’s modest appearance succeeded in causing quite a stir. Morgan noted with satisfaction the heads that turned as she walked by on his arm, and he signaled the proprietor for a private parlor. Despite her poverty, Faith had the grace of a duchess. Men would always notice her, but she didn’t seem to be aware of that.

  There wasn’t an ounce of vanity in her, Morgan observed as she followed him into the privacy of a small chamber. He ordered for both of them, then turned his attention back to his lovely companion. Her cheeks were still flushed with the morning’s triumphs. Her eyes sparkled with interest as she studied the tiny parlor with its brocade settee and blackened oils on the walls. He doubted if she had ever eaten in a private parlor.

  Her slender white throat would look well wrapped in pearls. He knew
she deserved a gentleman’s uncalloused hands, but the likelihood of her ever meeting the right sort of gentleman was small.

  He watched the color rise from her breasts to her throat and realized he was staring. With an apologetic smile, Morgan took her hand. “You’re a beautiful woman, lass. What are you doing being seen with the likes of me?”

  Faith blushed deeper. “Don’t waste your wicked tongue on me, Morgan de Lacy. It’s polished enough, and you’ll not be turning my head.”

  “Aye, and you’re a hard woman to win, me Faith, but I’ll have you yet. Where would I be without a haggler like yourself at my side? Had I only met you sooner, I’d be a rich man this day. Say you’ll never leave me, cailin.”

  Faith responded with a relieved smile. “I’ll not leave you if you promise to show me the lions. I’ve never seen lions. Are they as magnificent as I have heard?”

  She didn’t believe a word he said, and rightly so, Morgan supposed. Nevertheless, she would be his, and tonight would not be soon enough for him. Still holding her hand, he leaned back in the chair. “They are poor, mangy beasts that have lived in squalor too long. I cannot imagine what it is the English feel when they bring a mighty creature to its knees, but I have no stomach for it. If that is the price of your fair body, I must pass with regrets. Perhaps you would compromise and do me the pleasure of attending the theater with me tonight? I cannot find you a box seat, but I shall do the best I can.”

  His references to her body made Faith glance up quickly, but Morgan’s change of topic to a theater performance brought sparkles to her eyes.

  “A real theater? One with lights and everything? Not just a puppet show?” she demanded eagerly.

  “Covent Garden, on my honor.” Morgan crossed himself solemnly.

  “But I am not dressed!” She threw a look down at her gown.

  Morgan pressed her hand reassuringly. “We will have to sit in the pit, not among the nobility, lass. You’ll be more beautiful than any other around us, I promise.”

  Had she known the ride this highwayman planned for the night, she would have shivered in earnest. Morgan watched her eager expression with the hunger of a cat about to pounce. He would wine her and dine her and woo her, and when it was too late for anything else, he would bring her back here and they would ride together to a world of passion. Then there would be no further questions of her ever leaving him, and he could go back to the business of robbing the Sassenachs blind.

  More than a little pleased with his plan, Morgan didn’t argue when Faith refused the ale the waiter brought. There was all of the day and night to go, and he didn’t wish her ill with drink.

  After luncheon they meandered through the market and down to the Strand, where Morgan pointed out Somerset House, the Savoy Palace, the law courts, and Temple Bar. He turned back toward the markets before they strayed too close to the devil’s hole of Fleet Street and its environs. The prisons and the motley denizens living in their shadows cut too close to home.

  They passed by innumerable coffeehouses, where gentlemen sipped their favorite beverages, read their newssheets, discussed the latest Jacobite scandal, or laid wagers on the completion date for Westminster Bridge.

  Faith drank in the sights and sounds of the bustling streets. She stopped at a bookseller’s and admired the latest edition by Goldsmith, dawdled before a display of straw hats in a milliner’s window, and watched the rainbow of silks and satins on parade around her. She refused Morgan’s offers to buy her any of these, but she accepted his offer of a candied apple from a street vendor and a nosegay of flowers from an urchin. She sniffed the flowers with delight and offered him the same smile he would have received had he given her diamonds and pearls.

  Morgan satisfied his conscience by knowing no honest man would have her after she had spent the winter with him. He was only doing the right thing, albeit in the wrong way. Had he the proper time and circumstances, he would woo her and wed her and then bed her, but there wasn’t time for those niceties.

  So, with Faith’s best interests in mind, Morgan bought a jug of wine, a hunk of cheese, and a loaf of bread, and escorted her to an evening at the theater.

  Romeo and Juliet offered the most promising performance.

  Chapter 13

  Tears poured down Faith’s cheeks as the final curtain closed, and she clung to Morgan’s arm as they stumbled with the crowd out of the theater.

  “Why didn’t you tell me it had an unhappy ending?” She hiccuped, a result of the wine she had consumed throughout the evening. Her head felt giddy, but she was perfectly sober, she knew. And angry. Plays shouldn’t end like that.

  Morgan glanced at her with surprise, and smiled at her tearstained face. “It’s Shakespeare. I thought you would be familiar with it.”

  Faith shook her head, loosening a few more curls. “My father didn’t believe in fiction. I’m glad I never read Shakespeare, if that’s what he wrote. They died! That’s a terrible way to end the play. People aren’t supposed to die in make-believe. They’re supposed to live happily ever after. People only die in real life.”

  Morgan’s smile was indulgent. “You’ve had a trifle too much wine, my faerie. The best fiction reflects real life. Shakespeare wrote humorous plays too, but his tragedies are said to be the best.”

  “Well, I don’t want to see tragedies. I can cry easily enough over the tragedies I see around me. Don’t ever take me to another, Morgan de Lacy. I’ll never forgive Shakespeare for writing such a horrible play.”

  He chuckled at the petulant pout of her lower lip. The wine had loosened her rigid inhibitions very successfully. Here was the real Faith Montague, not the starched-up doll she tried to portray. He was glad he’d never met the strait-laced father who had transformed the magical child into a pasteboard caricature of himself. There were emotions buried deep, indeed, behind the gray walls of her eyes. Tonight he would start plumbing for them.

  With that thought in mind, Morgan caught Faith’s waist and swung her into the darkness of a narrow alley. She gasped with surprise, but did not pull away when he leaned over her, one hand braced against the wall behind her. “I apologize and I shall never take you to another tragedy again. Will you ever forgive me?”

  “There is nothing to forgive, Morgan,” she said politely. “I thank you very much for the evening. I have never seen anything like it, and I would not have you think me ungrateful.”

  “Then let us seal the evening with a kiss, my love. All good evenings should end with a kiss.”

  He made no move to take what he wanted, but waited for her acceptance. Faith’s heart pounded against her chest. To kiss this man was as dangerous as to ride into his path on a moonless night, but she could not say no. The wine spun through her head with a mystical magic, accelerating the fire he stirred in her blood with just his masculine proximity.

  “Just one kiss?” Faith inhaled sharply as Morgan bent toward her.

  “Just one kiss.” His wine-flavored breath caressed her cheek.

  His arm tightened about her waist, lifting her. Breathlessly, she rested her hands against the breadth of his hard chest. The first touch of his lips spun her senses, and then she was lost to the sweetness of his passion, the fierceness of the need overtaking her.

  One kiss. It was a lifetime of kisses, yet it was the briefest of pleasures. Their lips met and clung, then parted greedily for more. Morgan cupped Faith’s face and held her still while his mouth plundered. The length and breadth of his hand covered half her face, strong enough to tear her head from her shoulders, but gentle enough to tear her heart from her breast. Tears formed in Faith’s eyes at the tenderness of Morgan’s passion and the need his touch opened.

  Drunken laughter at the alley’s mouth brought a curse to the lips that had caressed her so sweetly. Faith shrank back against the wall as Morgan returned her to her feet, but his arm wrapped about her securely as he turned to face the intruders.

  “Here’s one, Thornton. She’s a mite occupied, but perhaps she can be persuaded
away. How much did you pay for her, man? I’ll double your price. My friend’s in the direst need, and that skirt looks suitable for what ails him.”

  One black brow raised haughtily, Morgan gave the dandy in his blue satin coat and lace frills a quelling glare. “You’re well in your cups or I’d demand satisfaction for your insult to my wife. Stand aside, and do not try my patience further.” Hand on the hilt of his sword, he stepped forward, until the light provided by the lamp boy threw his profile in full relief.

  The dandy glanced at the gleaming hilt of the sword loosened from its scabbard, gulped, and stepped backward.

  “Begging your pardon, sir. We did not realize... It is a trifle irregular, you know.”

  Morgan pushed past him and his equally drunken companion, keeping Faith securely on his far side. “Not for newlyweds, I think. Come, my dear, we’d best be home before I needs must fend off your admirers.”

  Morgan cursed the interruption that had cost him an evening’s work. How would he ever return Faith to the mood of moments earlier? Her innocent passion still burned on his lips, and he had yet to so much as breach the barriers of her clothing. Could he have but a few more minutes...

  His breath caught at the possibilities she offered. A woman of his own, a lady. Not a trollop, but a true innocent. Morgan’s fevered imagination played the scenes well in his head. She would know nothing of men; he alone would teach her. And she would cry gratefully for his release each time he came to her. The thought excited him more than the challenge of a well-rewarded theft.

  He would win her. He wanted her willing eagerness. He wanted to know she had chosen him, an Irish highwayman, over all others. He would not have her say he forced her. He would have her willingly given, or their marriage would be a mockery.

  Excitement carried Morgan through the dark streets and back to the inn. There was time yet. Faith followed him trustingly, her fingers clinging to his coat sleeve. The taste of her passionate kiss still lingered in his mouth.