DD-Michaels-END.rtf (17 page)

"Besides," he said, smiling at her, "I'm willing to wager everything I own that
,
although anyone who sees you might want you, they're more afraid of you."

"Why? That's silly. Why would anyone be afraid of
me?"

"You honestly don't know, do you?" he asked, tracing a finger down her cheek. "They're afraid of you, imp, because they know, deep inside themselves, that if they aren'
t
strong, you'll devour them."

Morgan's temper flared. "Devour, is it? I'm hungry
now,
Ethan. Doesn't that worry you?"

His grin maddened her. "No, not at all. Like recognizes like, Morgan, isn't that what you say?"

She lowered her eyes for a moment, then looked at him. "We're warning each other off, aren't we? Pulling each other closer, and pushing away at the same time. Why are we doing that?"

"I don't know," he told her honestly. "I do, however, at last understand the moth's often fatal fascination with the flame."

Morgan nodded in agreement, not trusting herself to speak.

Ethan took her hand and, silently, they made their way up the staircase to his private box, where Chance was pacing back and forth in front of the door.

Too late to bar the gate,
Ethan thought ruefully, remembering the minister's words of earlier that day.
This particular horse has already bolted fro
m
the stables, Chance Bec
k
et...
a
nd we both know it.

Becket's demanded tame evening could be lived through now, knowing that the morning would bring the ride to Richmond Park.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The ride to Richmond Park was both uneventful and quite slow, thanks to the fact that Saul and Jacob followed behind the horses in the Becket traveling coach, a large wicker picnic basket shoved between the seats inside the vehicle.

It had to
be a ludicrous sight, if anyone was watching: the Earl of Aylesford on his magnificent Andalusian, a beautiful young woman riding beside him..
.
and
the
most mismatched
,
unlikely pair of duennas bringing up the rear.

Obviously, Chance Becket believed he could feel his sister safe as long as the servants trailed after them like puppies. Ethan supposed a man must believe what he needs to believe. This public courtship might or might not be necessary to explain Ethan's upcoming departure for Becket Hall, but as long as the minister said it was, and Chance Becket believed the minister, who was Ethan to complain?

He was quiet as he and Morgan rode out of London, for two reasons. One, he'd discovered he really didn't much care for seeing dawn from this side of i
t
...
and he could feel the heat emanating off Morgan, and wished to be clear of the city before giving her any reason to vent her obvious anger.

There was a third reason: a short, ugly crossbow by the name of Bessie. But he wouldn't let his mind linger overmuch on that head.

But that didn't mean he wasn't holding in some anger of his own, because he was fairly certain Chance Becket had said somethin
g
—
w
hat, he didn't kno
w
— that had Morgan considering various ways to murder the man riding beside her.

How could Becket have slipped up? What had he said?

During their conversation yesterday in a coffeehouse at the bottom of Bond Street, Becket had told him he'd already sent off a note to his father, asking that the man find some reason to summon Morgan home to Becket Hall.

"To get her shed of me, of course. Did you think I wouldn't follow her?" Ethan had asked as they shared a bottle of wine.

Becket hadn't thought that, no. He'd felt sure Ethan would follow after her. "But ruining my sister's reputatio
n
—
g
ranted, with her hel
p
—
w
ouldn't be quite so public at Becket Hall. Or quite so easy, surrounded by her brothers and father."

Ethan had conceded the man his point with a tip of his glass, followed by several long swallows of wine.

By the time they'd gotten to their second shared bottle, Ethan had learned that Becket believed his sister's interest to be fleeting, and that "there's no reason for permanent damage from a temporary aberration."

He'd thanked Becket for his concern, then declared for at least the fourth time that he planned to marry Morga
n
—
i
ndeed, had already decided to propose to her before they ever left London. If his heart was to be broken, so be it, but he would ask for Morgan's hand.

By the time most of the third bottle had been downed, they were calling each other Chance and Ethan, Chance had given his reluctant blessing, if not much in the way of encouragement, and the plan had been set.

Chance would write to his father again, informing him that Morgan would be arriving at Becket Hall within a few days, along with her hopeful suitor, the Earl of Aylesford. With him, Ethan would bring a second letter from Chance, explaining the plan for the rendezvous with the
Marianna.

And the subject of Morgan and Ethan was then carefully dropped.

So what had Becket done? What had he said between last night and this morning? Why was Morgan so angry?

Ethan hazarded a look in her direction, one she returned for half a heartbeat before deliberately looking away from him. Perhaps he was reading too much into the thing. Perhaps Morgan, too, didn't much care for rising at dawn.

What Ethan couldn't know was that Morgan had been up hours before dawn, pacing her bedchamber, stopping only occasionally, to think about her brother's letter to their father, then begin pacing once more.

She'd found that damning communication entirely by accident. She couldn't sleep, so she'd written a letter to E
ll
y, telling her sister what she would want to hea
r
— that Morgan had been to the park for the Promenade, where her fine ensemble was admired by many; that Morgan had visited the theater, had worn the light green gown they'd planned for that event, and watched Kean himself deliver the Prologue; that Julia and Alice were well and happy. Morgan had then taken it downstairs to slip into the mail pouch on the table in the entryway.

She'd located the pouch with no problem, even though no footman remained in the foyer, but then noticed a folded and sealed letter that was not in the pouch. When she picked it up, she saw that there was no address on the outside, which meant to her that it would be hand-delivered in the morning, by one of Chance's staff.

She was still holding the letter, thinking her own thoughts, when Jacob had come into the foyer. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her.

"Morgi
e
—
M
iss Morgan," he said, staring at the letter in her hands. "What are you..
.
that is..
.
fancy you up so early, just as if you wasn't a fine London lady now."

"Jacob?" Morgan had seen his intent gaze on the lette
r
—
a
nd
not
on the fetching, rather low neckline of her dressing gow
n
—
a
nd suddenly realized she held something important. "Where are you off to so early, h
m
m? All the way to
Becket Hall to deliver this letter, perhaps? You'd bring me to London, and then desert me?"

"Oh, no, Miss Morgan," Jacob had said, his gaze finally finding her neckline, so that his face was rapidly turning beet-red. "I'm just fetching that letter there, to take to Billy."

Billy was one of the men who had come to England with them from the island. One of Ainsley Becket's most trusted companions, although he had come to London with Chance all those years ago. To protect him. To watch over him. To report to Ainsley. The Beckets had long ago learned to be very careful.

"Billy is traveling to Becket Hall?" she had prodded, beginning to fan herself with the letter, the slight breeze ruffling the lace at her bodice as she advanced toward Jacob..
.
advanced
on
Jacob. "Why would he move his old bones to play messenger?"

"Oh, no, Morgie," Jacob had said, backing up with each step she took,
h
is chest heaving in his agitation. "Billy stays here. There's someone else going. I'm just to fetch that..
.
that what you're holding. Morgie, please, give it over."

"Certainly," she'd told him, drawing one edge of the folded sheets lightly along her cheek, down over her bare skin, to the neckline of her dressing gown. "Just as soon as I read and reseal it."

Jacob had protested, just as she knew he would, and she had gotten her way, just as he knew she would. Once the letter was resealed at Chance's desk, Jacob took it to Billy, who had probably told Jacob he was a fool who couldn't find his arse with both hands because he'd taken so long, and then sent the letter on its way and gone back to his bed. That was Billy's proble
m
—
t
he bandy-legged sailor was getting too old and soft to see what he once would have seen in an instant.

Leaving Morgan to her Pyrrhic victory as she slowly walked back upstairs to her bedchamber, sat down on the edge of her bed, removed her slippers and, one after the other, hurled them against the wall.

"Have you decided as yet?" Ethan asked her now as the roadway opened up before them, untraveled except by a few farm wagons heading toward London.

Morgan blinked twice and then turned to him.
"
Excuse me? I'm afraid I was..
.
admiring the countryside."

"As you once said to me so sweetl
y
—
l
iar.
If you'd changed your mind, Morgan, and didn't wish toride out this mornin
g
—"

She felt herself melting as she looked at him, saw what could only be concern in his eyes. "Oh, Ethan, I'm sorry. It's just that Chance took it upon himself to come to my bedchamber this morning and warn me to behave myself toda
y
—
a
s if I was some
child
he
had to lecture. I'm afraid we had a terrible row, and now we aren't speaking to each other. But I shouldn't let that ruin our morning, should I?"

Ethan was tempted to say
liar
again, but he restrained himself, allowed her to think he believed her. "In that case, now
th
at we've all twenty-five hundred acres of Richmond Park before us, I think a good, head-clearing gallop is in order, don't you?"

"Jacob and Saul won't be happy, but yes, that is why we came out here, isn't it?"

"I didn't think so," Ethan told her with a small smile. "But, then, I hadn't counted on our chaperones. Let me go back to speak with Jacob for a moment."

Morgan nodded, trying to control herself, get the memory of the letter out of her mind, and watching Ethan on Alejandro did a lot to assist her in that effort.
 
He had to have some plan to separate them from Jacob and Saul, some way for them to be alone. Twenty-five hundred acres, he'd said. Surely, in all of that land, there was a place where they could be private.

"Ready?" he asked as he rode back toward her, Alejandro clearly remaining at a walk only reluctantly. She realized that Ethan had removed his curly brimmed beaver, so that now the sunlight danced on his severely combed back blond hair.

Morgan looked toward the coach, to see Jacob sitting quite rigidly on the seat, his young face white with anger save for two spots of red on his cheeks. He was holding Ethan's hat, poor fellow, and hating every moment of it. She felt sorry for him, but not sorry enough to put a halt to their plans.

"Where?" That's all Morgan could say, because now Berengaria was turning in a full circle, as if dancing with the stallion.

Ethan pointed out over the lush green landscape, beyond several wide dips and swells, toward a stand of ancient oak trees topping the last visible hill. "To those trees. There are riding paths, but nothing wide enough for the coach to get up there. I told Jacob we'd have to meet him at the Star and Garter."

"Are we going to be late in joining them?" Morgan asked, patting the mare's neck, trying to keep her calm.

"Oh, very late, but a well-planned, unavoidable tardiness," Ethan said
,
winking at her. "Shall I give you a head start, madam?"

"You may go to the devil for that insult to my horse, sir—
b
ut we'll take it!"

Berengaria was slightly difficult to control at a gallop at first, thanks to what Morgan considered to be the
blasted sidesaddle,
but she quickly reminded the mare who was in charge, and the ride became an absolute joy.

There was nothing in this world quite like the sound of hooves hitting the turf, harness jingling, the soft, fast puffs of the animal's breathin
g
—
a
ll in a world gone infinitely small and immeasurably large at
one
and
th
e
same time.

Small, just the rider and her horse as one, moving together, their hearts beating in tandem, their breaths blending together.

And infinite, with all the world spread out in front of them, to be seen, to be traveled, even to be conquered.

Morgan loved to feel Berengaria's energy below her, only wishing for her own saddle, so that she could straddle the mare, feel all of Berengaria's strength against her thighs. She knew no other feeling that made her so aware, so joyous, so cognizant of being alive, than that rush of power and barely held control she felt when she was ridin
g
—
f
ree, unhampered, racing over ground barely touched by Berengaria's dainty feet, as near to flight as anyone could possibly wish.

And then Ethan was beside her, the Andalusian moving stride for stride with the mare, their heads pumping forward with each step, slicing the sweet-smelling air as the pounding of their hooves beat out a heartbeat of their own.