Devil's Lady

by Patricia Rice

  Morgan stifled his anger as best he was able. “And you think you can provide what they need? A family that would throw out one of its own, ignore his pleas, turn its back on the needs of a child—you would have me consign my wife and child to that?”

  Edward offered a haughty look. “And just what precisely were you doing not nine months ago? You fancy yourself better than us? I’ve had you investigated, de Lacy. I know precisely what you are, and I know my niece deserves better than that. I will see you hanged should you ever set foot in England again.”

  “Then we shall remain here, shan’t we? I don’t need your bribes, Stepney. I can provide for them. I’m not entirely without means. Do yourself and your family a favor, accept Faith and our son as they are, allow them to visit, then let them go. You cannot possibly make them happy.”

  Edward grimaced and set his fists on the table. “You don’t know the half of it, yet. I am the heir not only to the Montague fortunes but also to the title. I have no objection to Faith inheriting half that fortune. She will also have her grandmother’s money in time. That will happen regardless of anyone’s decision. My concern is for the title. When I am gone, it will go to Thomas unless other arrangements are made.”

  Morgan shrugged, “I can see reason for concern. The man belongs in either Bedlam or Newgate, but I’m sure you can arrange that. You need only marry and produce the requisite heir in the meantime. I see that as of no consequence to me.”

  Edward frowned. “You’d damned well better see the consequences. I’m incapable of having children. I have mistresses strung across half the damned town. I’ve been swiving women since I was fourteen. Not one of them has ever produced a child. Not one. It is a family trait. It has happened in the past. That is why there is an act of Parliament allowing the marquessate of Mountjoy to pass through the female line. As a direct descendant of the current marquess, Faith can pass on the title to her son. Your son will be named my heir and known as the Viscount Montague as soon as the paperwork has been completed. You see, he must return with me.”

  Morgan sat in stunned disbelief. To keep Faith selfishly to himself would be to deny his son the power that came with wealth and nobility. He was a selfish man. He could easily choose to believe that he was better for Faith than any arrogant Sassenach. At the same time, he was honest enough to know that he had not brought Faith happiness, nor offered her what she deserved.

  His need for Faith howled malevolently at the thought of such a separation ever again, but the earl held all the cards. Once again, the bloody British had won. He could not deny his son the chance to take what had been wrongfully denied him in the first place.

  Morgan growled a furious protest, shoved his chair back, and stood. Without looking at the earl, he strode toward the door. “My man, Golden, will go with you. I’ll see them protected by better than you. Miles, you make the arrangements.”

  Edward slumped with a sigh of relief and didn’t look up as Morgan walked out.

  Chapter 36

  Morgan stood in the doorway and watched the tableau within as he had once before. Then he had thought of himself as an outsider, an intruder into the warm family scene of mother and child. Since then he had dared to believe they would accept him, faults and all, and he had been filled with the most miraculous joy.

  He clung to the hope for just a little while longer. Faith lifted the swaddled infant into the air and smiled lovingly at his sleepy, contented face, then cuddled him in her arms again as she crossed the room to lay him in his cradle. Morgan knew when she noticed him, the smile would grow and she would open her arms and take him in. He could lift her into his embrace, feel her curves pressed against him, touch her with his kisses. She would run her fingers through his hair, tell him of her love—God, just the thought brought tears to his eyes. He convulsively gripped the doorframe and reached for the indifferent mask he had worn for so long it had become second nature to him.

  “We must talk, Faith.” He strode into the room.

  Faith gave a crow of delight at his appearance. As Morgan had known she would, she laid the child down and held out her arms in welcome. Instead of going to her, he took a seat on the room’s one battered chair. He gazed disparagingly at the attic room, taking in the mended curtains, the narrow bed, and the uncarpeted floor.

  Faith took a trusting step in his direction, then, at his forbidding expression, settled for a seat on the bed. “Was he awful? He didn’t seem half so bad as I expected. I suppose he must love his father very much to come all this way to plead his case. Do you think we might go back for a little while?”

  Morgan tightened the steel bands encasing his heart. “I think that would be best, yes. The weather should hold good for quite some time, and George is a healthy lad. It would be best if you sailed when your uncle does. I’ll see that your cousin is held back. He’s the dangerous one.”

  Faith tilted her head and tried to probe behind the unnatural calm of Morgan’s voice. Morgan laughed or screamed or argued or ordered or teased. Morgan did not calmly discuss an impending journey of this magnitude. “I cannot see the hurry, unless you prefer to live in England. I truly think we have a much better chance of a good life here, Morgan.”

  Morgan faced her squarely. “I must return to my lands in Ireland, my dear. It will be a long time before they are habitable again, but I owe it to my friends there. You will have to return to England with your uncle. He can provide for you much better than I can.”

  Faith nervously clasped her hands. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know I can live anywhere. We’ll go to England together, then travel on to Ireland. Or we can go to Ireland first, if you wish. It does not matter to me. I do not care where or how we live, just so long as we are together. Isn’t that what you want?”

  “That isn’t how it works, Faith. If I go to England, your uncle will see me hanged. If you go to England, he will buy back my lands. This is good-bye, my love, for your own good, and for George’s.”

  Faith fought her fury, then rose with a wicked swish of her skirts and narrowed gaze. “Oh, that is grand, Morgan de Lacy. That is grand indeed. Well, you and my uncle may go hand in hand to any hell you desire. I am staying here.”

  With that she stalked out, leaving Morgan to stare disconsolately at the cradle where his son slept. He didn’t care about Ireland anymore, he discovered. He didn’t care about England either. He didn’t give a flying damn for wealth or society. What he wanted was here, in this little room, and with the woman who had just walked out the door.

  What he wanted had nothing to do with anything. That was what love did to a man, he supposed. Stupid, bloody emotion, anyway. He was better off without it. Resolutely he rose from the chair, ran his finger over his son’s soft cheek, and departed.

  He found Edward sitting in the private parlor, critically examining a plate of roast lamb and green peas. At Morgan’s entrance, the earl glanced up with irritation.

  “Well, is she coming?”

  “She has just told us both to go to hell. She is quite accustomed to my leaving her. She has made up her mind to make her home here, with or without me. Perhaps you had best explain the details to her.” Morgan attempted to hide the agony behind his words.

  Edward nodded and wiped his mouth with his napkin. “Very well. I can see you are selfishly hoping she will stay. I thought you a better man than that. Go tend your horses or whatever it is you do. I will see to her.”

  Faith looked up with impatience and a trace of fear as Lord Stepney approached with what ought to be lumbering gait. He was so large that she had reason to doubt that they came from the same family, but her father had been tall and the family features were similar, just larger.

  She didn’t like the look in his eye, but he couldn’t harm her here. Bess was in the next room, and the taproom wasn’t so noisy at this hour that they would not hear her screams. She tilted her chin defiantly.

  Edward eyed the linen she was folding with disfavor. “You are a Montague. Servants should be seeing to that. Yo
ur son cannot grow up watching his mother sully her hands like a common laborer. I mean to make him my heir, you know. He will be the Marquess of Mountjoy one day.”

  Faith held back the tears of anger and hurt. “He is my son. You cannot take him away from me.”

  “But I can, my dear.” he answered softly. “I have it in my power to do as I wish with my heir. It would be much simpler if you went along with me. I do not mean to harm you, only offer you all that you have been denied before. But you must see that a future marquess cannot grow up outside society’s bounds. He will have all that a boy deserves, and a future that none other can equal. Can you in all honesty deny him that?”

  “He will not have a father. Can you in all honesty deny him that?” Faith retorted, so angry that she could deny all the fortunes and titles of the world. Uncle he might be, but in this moment she hated him.

  Edward shrugged. “There are men out there who would weep at a chance to have you for wife. Or I can serve in the place of the boy’s father. I would be delighted for the opportunity. You see, I cannot have children of my own.”

  There was pain in his admission, and at any other time Faith might have felt sorrow for him, but she was suffering herself, and his problems were his own. “Go away. Leave me alone. Haven’t you ruined enough for one day?”

  Tears broke her voice. Awkwardly Edward took her in his arms and hugged her against his shoulder. “He isn’t worth your tears, my dear. Cry, if you like, but then forget him and think of your son. It will come out all right in the end.”

  It would never be right again. Faith wept, and when she was done, she listened to his persuasive arguments and silently returned upstairs to pack her meager wardrobe. What difference did it make where she lived if Morgan didn’t want her?

  Faith half-hoped, half-feared that Morgan would come to her when night fell, but he didn’t. He had said his farewells, carried out his obligation, and was probably now making his plans for his triumphant return to Ireland. He had sold her for a piece of land. She knew there were other factors involved, but that was what it boiled down to. Morgan didn’t love her enough to stand up to her bully of an uncle and tell him they didn’t want what he had to offer, that they had everything they needed right here, together. She and their son weren’t enough for him.

  She had thought the pain terrible enough when she first had to make the decision to leave. How could it be even worse this time? What kind of a fool would open herself to such punishment twice?

  A fool who wanted to be loved. Sadly Faith folded up the lovely gown Morgan had given to her all those months ago and returned it to the trunk that had once carried hope and promise. She would never wear another gown for Morgan. She had a family in England, a selfish, thoughtless family, perhaps, but one prepared to take her back. She and George would have a family of sorts. That should be enough for anyone.

  She tucked the last article into her trunk of meager belongings. Her entire life could be packed into one box. She closed the lid and rose to check on the sleeping babe. He had recently begun to sleep through the night, but she wished he would wake up to keep her company. She needed a warm body in her arms right now, some proof that she was loved, if just for a little while.

  Stroking George’s dark hair, remembering a time when she had run her hands through Morgan’s thick locks, she sighed and turned away. The lonely bed offered no comfort, but she would have to sleep if they were to leave on the morrow.

  The image of Morgan’s dark head on that pillow made her heart grind with pain. It would be the simplest solution if she never had to think again. Her uncle would be more than happy to think for her. He could take the place of her father, telling her what to do and when. She could mindlessly obey, and everything would be taken care of for her. It should be rather like living in a box of cotton. As it was, one more blow and she might shatter completely.

  By the time dawn came, Faith felt brittle enough to shatter without need of a blow. Stiffly she made her bed one last time. A boy came to the door to carry down her trunk, and she watched it go with a silent protest. She glanced around the little room that had been her home for less than a year. Her son had been born here. Morgan had made love to her here. It wasn’t the same as the cottage, but it had been a home for a while. Perhaps she wasn’t meant to have a home of her own.

  Morgan’s defection had broken something inside of her. She knew she could make a life of her own here, but it didn’t seem important anymore. If it made her family happy for her to return, let someone enjoy a little happiness. There was little enough in this world as it was.

  Faith allowed Bess to hug her and kiss the wide-awake infant, but the cotton was already wrapping around her, numbing the pain. Lord Stepney waited to take her arm, but she preferred to carry George and walk alone. It was too early for anyone to be about, but then, farewells were senseless. She had come into their lives for a few brief months and would disappear the same way she had come.

  Faith glanced up as she was helped into the wagon and found Miles Golden uncomfortably sitting a swaybacked pony. At least she would have one friend with her. He looked solemn and didn’t return her smile, but that was his way.

  Her uncle climbed up on the wagon seat, tilting the bed ominously, but the ancient oak held, and the driver gave a sigh of relief. He clucked his team into motion.

  Faith fought back images of Morgan wildly racing after them, swearing his love and refusing to let her go. For whatever reason, he had decided she was better off with her family than with him. It made no sense to her, but men had an odd view of the world.

  He wouldn’t change his mind. She could change her mind, however. She could refuse to leave. What would Morgan do then?

  She played with the thought. If she stayed, would he? Was that what he was waiting for her to do? Was it his damnable pride that let her go with her uncle? Could she really have been so wrong about his love? He had said he loved her. Would he lie about a thing like that?

  The horses traveled inexorably onward. Before long, it would be too late. She had to decide quickly, pull off the cotton batting, accept the pain if Morgan deserted her, deny the family who had denied her.

  She could stay here, work at the inn, take her chance at bringing up her son without knowing family or father.If it were only herself, she would stay. If the money were in her control, she might do some good for the Wesleyan cause, but she didn’t fool herself into believing her family would allow that. But George... What right did she have to deny her son his heritage?

  Faith glanced at her forbidding uncle. He was frowning at the horizon and seemed to visibly push the wagon forward with his own energy. He was an enigmatic man. She wanted to care for him, but it was much too soon. She wanted Morgan to say it was all right.

  Remembering another problem, Faith forced her tongue to work. “Cousin Thomas? Is he all right? Will he be returning with us?”

  Edward’s wide brow cleared and a trace of a smile turned his lips. “I have persuaded him that it would be beneficial to his health and to his pocketbook to remain outside of England for some time to come.”

  ***

  The object of Faith’s curiosity cursed and wriggled in the straw bed where he had spent the night. His hands were practically numb from the rope, but fury overrode his physical well-being. He had heard the first guard leave not long ago. He didn’t know yet if another had replaced him, but he’d be damned if he would let the ship sail without him.

  Thomas pounded his shoulder against the heavy stall door. The splintery wood gave slightly against the leather latches, but not sufficient to free him. He cursed and slammed against the wood again.

  “Eh, Bill, what you keeping in here, a wild ’un?” a voice asked with amusement not far from the stall door.

  The question sparked hope. This one didn’t know who he was. Thomas pounded the door once more for good measure, then yelled, “Help! They’ve stolen my wife! Help me, hurry!”

  The top latch slid open and the half-door swung out, revealin
g two young men in leather jerkins and homespun shirts. Thomas decided they only lacked the hayseed between their teeth, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. His own once-immaculate coat was covered in straw dust, and bits of straw clung to his wig, which sat askew over his ear. Managing a desperate look didn’t require much acting.

  “Help me out of here! They have my wife and son and they’re heading for the harbor. They’ll kill them! For the love of God, help me out of here!”

  Compelled by his panic, one of the two swung open the bottom door and cut at Thomas’ bindings. Both young men waited for orders as the rope fell to the ground.

  Fearing the return of his guard at any moment, Thomas brushed off his coat to return feeling to his hands. He glanced about for some means of transportation. Two saddled horses in the yard caught his attention.

  “Have you guns? Give me a horse and a gun. I don’t know how much of a head start they’ve got.”

  The lads took him at his word. One of them led an unsaddled horse out of a stall while the other raced to the mounts in the paddock. He pulled a long-barreled rifle from the saddle strap and threw it in Thomas’ direction, then checked the loading of a second gun in his bag. Thomas grabbed the second horse, caught the rifle, and before anyone could stop him, led his newly acquired friends on a gallop out of town.

  Chapter 37

  Arms pillowing his head on the table, Morgan groaned and closed his eyes against the light sifting in through the shuttered window. With all the beds in town taken, and denied the comfort of Faith’s, he had taken the easy way out. This morning his choice didn’t seem quite as intelligent as it had last night.

  Pain shot through his head as he raised it. What in hell had he done last night, drunk the barrel dry? Flashes of memory pierced his brain, and he shuddered. He lowered his head again to the relative security of his arms and wished himself back to sleep, but urgency gnawed at his innards.