Devil's Lady
Page 15
Trying not to think of that part of Morgan that made him male, Faith concentrated on finding her way out of this trap. First she had to get out of bed. Scanning the long length of masculine body blocking access to the room, she had to admit that was an impossibility without touching him. And she couldn’t touch him.
Despair engulfed her, despair and deep, abiding shame. Why escape when there was nowhere to go? She would be walking the streets soon enough, for that’s what happened to women who did what she had. Why hurry from Morgan’s bed to some other man’s?
She would never find honest employment now. The mark of shame would be upon her. Would he take her to those men in the tavern and sell her when he tired of her? She had heard of such things, and with Morgan, anything seemed possible.
If only she could get away... Faith squirmed a little more, trying to see if there were some opening at the bottom of the bed. If she crawled from beneath the covers and over those lumps that were his feet...
A heavy hand caught in the tangled thickness of her hair, and Faith jumped nervously. He turned on his back and gazed up at her, his eyes darkened to a jungle green that sent steamy, sensuous messages. A shiver coursed down her spine as her body reacted to that look, but her hands pulled the covers protectively to her breasts.
Morgan perused the tumble of titian hair over slim shoulders and young breasts and his body responded readily. He studied her delicate face and read the terror there. He knew terror well enough to call it friend. His victims were paralyzed by it. He wasn’t certain that it was the best effect for Faith, but if it worked, it suited his purpose. He tugged, pulling her back to the mattress and him.
“No,” she whispered, frantically pulling back, but there was only the wall behind her.
“Yes,” Morgan said firmly, applying more pressure.
Faith resisted, but the pull of his eyes held her. He must be a demon who had possessed her and now had a hold on her soul, for she couldn’t hold out long against that hungry gaze. Even as she pulled back, her legs stretched toward him, touching the heated nakedness beneath the covers where he lay.
“It’s too late to play coy, my cailin. Give me a kiss, and I’ll let you go.”
The devil lied, she knew. As soon as she touched him, she would be lost. But she could see no other escape, and vaguely she hoped he spoke the truth. Perhaps now that he’d done that to her, he didn’t need to do it again. Perhaps now that it was daylight, he would only want his breakfast.
Gingerly Faith leaned toward him, still clutching the sheet to her breast. Morgan’s beard was rougher this morning, but his lips were moist and warm and welcoming. The sheet fell from her hands as Morgan pulled her down to his chest and filled her mouth with his need just as he had filled her body the night before.
Then she was sprawled half across him, only the sheet over his hips and her thin chemise between them as Morgan’s hands reclaimed what he had taken the night before. Just the brush of his fingers and the heat of his mouth were sufficient to rekindle the fires that had destroyed her last night, and Faith moaned as he pressed her closer.
“Shhh, my cailin alainn. There will be no pain this time. Let me pleasure you, as you please me.” Morgan shifted to his side, returning Faith to the bed. “Kiss me, Faith, and let me show you.”
She had no choice, but she offered no protest either as he bent his head to hers and his big hand kneaded her breast. Her body was on fire for him already.
How could she resist? He wore not a shred of clothing, and she was over aware of the masculine hardness pressing into her.
As Morgan’s kiss deepened, Faith shuddered and raised her hands to his shoulders. The skin slid smooth and supple beneath her palms, and the rippling muscles reminded her of the foolishness of seeking escape. She was his for as long as he wanted her, and at the moment, she could think of nowhere else she wanted to be.
His lips caressed her breast, and then the chemise slid upward and disappeared over the side of the bed, and she was naked to his gaze. Faith flushed at Morgan’s unabashed stare, but his touch was reverent as he explored every bare curve. When his kisses followed where his hand led, she squirmed in protest that turned to ecstasy.
When his hands reached the soreness between her legs, Faith made one last effort to resist, but the invasion of his fingers aroused the hunger he’d taught her. At the same time embarrassment and shame swept over her, her hips rose to his touch, and her legs opened without need of his request.
“This is our secret, my sweet,” Morgan murmured. “No one will ever know how good you are but me. Don’t ever tell me no, Faith, for ’twill kill us both.”
He moved over her then, and she had no chance to see the maleness that matched her femininity before he slid into her, gently this time, rocking carefully against her so she felt no pain.
It was more wonderful than she remembered. All the heat and tension that had been building now centered at this place where they joined. With each thrust, the pleasure doubled until Faith thought she could bear no more. She struggled to meet him, needing some release from this unbearable pressure, some release only he could provide.
His last thrust hit that height she had been striving for, and the explosion rocked them both. Faith cried out as hot, convulsive waves of pleasure shot through her. It was some while later before the trembling stopped, and she realized Morgan had once more spent his seed inside her, just like the stallion and the mare.
She turned her heated cheek aside as Morgan rose on his elbows to kiss her brow. She could still feel him inside her, and the knowledge that his body was joined so intimately with hers caused no end of confusion. She knew it was wrong. She knew he had shamed her. But the pleasure still warmed her all the way to the core.
“Don’t turn away, Faith. Look me in the eye.” Morgan caught her chin between his fingers and forced her to look up at him. “You please me much, little one. Don’t ever be ashamed of that. That’s what your body is for. Did you think you would feel pleasure if it were not?”
Faith met his gaze uncertainly. She had trusted him, and he had stolen her virtue. She shouldn’t have expected more from a thief, but there was that in Morgan’s voice that made her glad she had pleased him. She could read his contentment in the easing of the lines on his face and the way the little dent appeared at the corner of his mouth. He looked so much younger that way, almost her own age, and she managed a tentative smile at the thought of the highwayman as a boy.
“Aren’t all pleasures sinful?” she inquired, not daring to put more of her thoughts to words than this.
Morgan wanted her again. Faith’s tender innocence made him feel whole, like the man he should have been. He wanted to luxuriate in it until the past was no more and the future was bright and welcoming. He grew hard within her at just the thought. Reluctantly, he withdrew before he damaged what she so trustingly gave him.
At her look of bewilderment, he pressed a kiss to her brow. “Perhaps in your religion, pleasures are sin, but not in mine. We are only doing what God has told us to do. There is just a little matter of obtaining His blessing, but that can be arranged soon enough. Now we had best get up before I am tempted to ravish you again.”
At her slowness to follow, Morgan turned to see her staring in awe at his arousal. Her look brought perspiration to his brow as he gallantly resisted the temptation to ride her one more time.
“Up, cailin, or you will regret it, I assure you. You are not quite ready for a gallop yet, and I would not break you before we’re started.”
Grabbing the sheet, Faith scrambled from the bed, trying to hold the linen modestly around her. She threw an anxious look to the wash basin.
Pulling on his breeches, Morgan solved her dilemma. “I’ll see to the horses, little one. Take your time.” He kissed her confused brow and fled.
Faith was washed and dressed and preparing breakfast by the time he returned. At his entrance, she flushed, then returned to what she was doing. The ease with which the color rose to her cheeks in
trigued him, but it was his turn to feel uncertain now. He had never asked a woman to marry him, and she had not commented on his earlier attempt.
If he could, he would just carry her off to the priest and order the vows said, but he suspected there was the small matter of her acquiescence to be achieved first.
“I like the blue on you, lass. It makes your eyes look like the Irish skies.” Words had never been a problem for him, but Faith’s silences were a barrier he had yet to demolish. Morgan took the heavy pot from her hands and swung it to the table. His compliment didn’t make her blush, he noticed. She just watched him a little more warily.
“Will you not speak to me, then?” he inquired briskly. Goals were never achieved by hanging back.
Faith poured his mug of coffee, studying him features without flinching. “You’re a liar and a thief, Morgan de Lacy. Will you have me speak more?”
He grinned, relieved to be on a footing that he understood. “Indeed, I would. I’d have you spew it all out rather than wondering at your thoughts. I’m a rascal and a rogue and all the other names you can think of, and some you don’t know. That doesn’t change what we did together, nor the fact that you wanted it as much as I.”
“I did not!” Faith slammed the frying pan onto the trivet. “I didn’t even know what it was you were doing to me. You took advantage of me, de Lacy, and you know it.”
“I’ll not deny it.” Morgan slid onto his barrel seat and helped himself to the eggs. The hens were laying more these days, and there was even a flock of chickens cluttering one of the stalls, although he had thought the rooster well beyond his salad days. Faith had brought new life to this place, and he meant to enjoy every minute of it.
His admission of guilt apparently infuriated Faith more. Hands on hips, she glared at him. “How can you sit there and look me in the face after saying that?”
He glanced up from his plate. “I don’t remember looking you in the face when I said it, but I’d be happy to oblige. You have a very pretty face, cailin, even when it goes all red with temper.”
The pewter sugar bowl went flying over his head. Morgan ducked, laughing, then rose to go after her.
She made no attempt to avoid him. Her stiff little figure stood proudly beneath his gaze, her eyes smoking with a fire that should have scorched. Morgan grinned and lifted her off her feet. The passion wouldn’t be reserved entirely for their bed, then. That suited him well, better than silence, in any case. When she kicked out at him, he only crushed her closer.
“You’ll be grieved at me often enough in the times to come, little one. I’m accustomed to having things my way, and I’m not used to listening to another. But I remember an old saying that makes sense to me, and I hope you’ll remember it too. If we never carry our differences to bed, my treasure, we’ll never part. Now, give us a kiss and let’s eat before we starve.”
Faith wanted to tear his damned arrogant green eyes out, but when his lips swept hers, all the anger seeped out of her and she clung to his neck. He was a demon straight from hell, but he was all she had, and she could not get enough of him.
Beaming as he set Faith gasping to the floor, Morgan brushed a strand of hair from her face and cupped her cheek. “I’ll go to see the priest this day, and we’ll make an honest woman of ye. Will that take away the wrong I’ve done?”
Stunned by this pronouncement, Faith could only stare at him. Marry? Is that what he asked her to do? Marry him? The idea was so far beyond her ability to imagine that she could only gape.
A wry quirk lifted Morgan’s lips at her astonished expression. “That’s not precisely the reaction a man wants to see when he asks a maid to be his wife.”
Marry. Faith shook free of his entrapping fingers and took her seat at the table. Marriage was for life. She had never envisioned spending her life here. She had thought it just a temporary haven for the winter. Then she remained to wait for her father’s papers. Always she had thought of leaving.
She glanced up as Morgan took his seat across from her. He looked so sure of himself, so full of male pride. All the choices were his. He had decided she could stay. He had decided to take her to his bed. He could decide whether or not to ride out again, endanger his neck and leave her abandoned. She had no voice in any of this. She was tired of always doing what other people told her to do. It had been a mistake last time, and it would be a mistake this time. He said they must marry, but this time she had a choice.
Keeping her smile of triumph to herself, Faith lifted her eyes to challenge his. “I’ll not marry you.”
Chapter 16
Faith’s refusal still rankled as Morgan saddled up his stallion. The moonless night beckoned. He had wasted weeks wooing the stubborn wench. He wasn’t one to stand and argue when the fight was done. He had a life to live and goals to seek, and there was no reason she had to be a part of them.
But when he remembered the despair shadowing her eyes as he had announced his intention after supper, Morgan’s shoulders slumped. He had taken on a responsibility, and despite Faith’s lack of cooperation, he had to live up to it. There had been others he had neglected too long, until it was too late, and he remembered only too well another time when he had ridden out, only to come back to a cold hearth. He didn’t want that worry on his mind while he was gone.
Tying the saddled horse to a post, Morgan strode back to the house, his boots moving soundlessly in the thick grass. Beads of moisture had already formed on his cloak from the damp air as he flung open the door. The hope flaring in Faith’s eyes as he entered made him feel a cad, but he had no intention of giving up his quest for a pair of long-lashed eyes.
“I may not be back by morn, but I’ll not have you go to bed with anger in your heart. If it’s not marriage you want, what would you have of me?”
He was the highwayman tonight, from the blinding white of his lace to the gleaming polish of his high boots. Only the eyes belonged to the Morgan she knew, the sad green that could be both warm and tender, heated and fierce. She longed to fling her arms around his neck and plead with him not to go, but she had her pride and he had his.
Faith considered his question. What would she have of him? She would have him give up his profession, but that wasn’t what he asked, she knew. She could ask for dresses and jewels, and he would gladly shower her with them, but she didn’t want the position of his paid whore. He had offered marriage, but that was scarcely the honor it should be from a man who might be hanging from a gallows tree by their wedding night. He had nothing to lose by marrying her, and she had little to gain beyond the name of a hunted man. What would she have? Her independence.
Throwing her head back, Faith met Morgan’s gaze, as she had learned to do this past day. They were equals now. She owed him nothing. He had taken all that she had. “I’d have employment of my own,” she said. “I would not be put in the way of seeking the road again, should aught happen to you.”
Relief and just a hint of hope rose to Morgan’s eyes. Her terms weren’t easy ones, but he nodded his head. “I’d not see that either, lass. I’ll make arrangements. Will you be patient and wait for me until I do?”
Faith softened at the gentleness of his words. He had all the power and strength on his side, but he did not use it against her. She sensed there were few men who would be so lenient, and something unexpected tugged at her heart. Denying its pull, she nodded. “I’ll wait. You know I would not do otherwise.”
The promise that she would be here to share his bed returned his smile. Stepping forward, his cloak flapping around them, he lifted her chin and kissed her soundly. “Keep the bed warm, lass, I’ll be back sooner than you know it.”
And he was gone, leaving the cottage colder for his absence.
The days were long, but the nights were longer. The slightest sound sent Faith flying to the window in hopes of Morgan’s return. She ought to be praying he had been captured so he could repent and save his immortal soul—and hers—but suddenly that seemed less important than his return.
Faith tried to fathom her reasons for remaining, but she could not. In these last months she had become another person. Morgan had saved her body from death, but something else had died, and she no longer missed it. Whether it was youth or innocence or conscience, she could not say, but it was gone. She had killed a man, taken shelter with a thief, and lost her virtue in this strange world she had stumbled upon. But still, somehow, she felt protected.
Or perhaps it was Morgan she was not ready to surrender. Just the thought of him returned the fiery heat to her belly. He was a man unlike any she had ever known. Her father had been a gentleman, but he’d had none of Morgan’s charm and vitality. The men in the villages where they had resided were crude and uncouth compared to Morgan, and the elegantly garbed aristocrats she had seen seemed somehow feminine in contrast.
The glimpses he occasionally allowed her to see of the hurt, proud man behind the dashing facade touched her even more. The knowledge that a man like that had admired her enough to take her to his bed, and even offered to marry her, was still a little overwhelming.
The thought that he might even now be taking his pleasure in some other woman’s bed kept Faith from taking too much pride in herself. She was convenient, nothing more. Morgan was a rogue and a rascal and not to be trusted, but he had promised to find her a position. She would have room and board and employment. That was the reason she was staying.
She soothed her conscience by sleeping in her own bed every night, although the demon in her longed to stay in Morgan’s bed. She remembered too well the thrust of his hard body, and she spent too many hours at night reliving it. She drew the ladder into the loft with her just to preserve her sanity.