Deceive Not My Heart (28 page)

Morgan walked swiftly to the house, whistling as he went. He passed several servants busy about the house and greeted them cheerfully as he made his way towards his room. Behind him, looks of surprise and perplexity were exchanged—perhaps Master Morgan was happy his wife had come?

Entering his room, Morgan began to strip off his shirt, calling for the very correct and very English valet he'd acquired during a trip to England years ago. "Litchfield, have someone prepare a bath for me, will you? I've been riding and can't go to the breakfast room smelling of the stables."

Litchfield appeared from the dressing room, and his long, sallow face expressing disapproval, he said haughtily, "I assumed as much, sir, and took the liberty of ordering one some minutes ago. It should be ready any moment."

"Is one permitted to know what led to that assumption?"

Litchfield gave a condescending nod. "Of course, sir. I am, as you know, well acquainted with your wardrobe, so upon ascertaining what was missing and upon a further inquiry to the stables if one of the horses was missing, and having that confirmed, it was simple enough to come to the conclusion that you had gone riding."

"I see. And have you also, er, ascertained what I am to wear this morning?"

A scandalized look crossed Litchfield's face. "Naturally, sir! I have laid out the appropriate clothes on your bed."

The hot water for the bath arrived just then, and a few minutes later Morgan was pleasurably immersed in warm, soapy water in the large brass tub which had been set up in his dressing room. A thin, black cigarillo was clenched between his teeth as he scrubbed, and glancing over at Litchfield's impassive face as the other man moved unobtrusively about unnecessarily straightening things, Morgan asked, "Have you heard the news?"

Litchfield stopped his incessant fiddling and looked at Morgan. The two men had been together for over ten years, and except for those times when Morgan went haring off after adventures or simply did not want his services, Litchfield saw him daily. They shared a good relationship—Morgan delighting in finding ways to shake Litchfield from his stolid, almost pompous attitudes, and Litchfield equally delighting in rising above Master Morgan's unbecoming and ungentlemanly antics, determined not to betray by so much as a flicker of an eyelash anything but polite disdain.

The valet was some fifty years old, and as he frequently relished informing Master Morgan, he had trained in the Duke of Leighford's household. He did his job well, and despite assuming a look of insulted reproachfulness, he had upon occasion acted as Morgan's butler—necessary to discourage a certain clinging mistress who could not believe that Mr. Slade had grown tired of the association—and he had even deigned to cook for the master when they had been stranded in an abandoned cottage on the Cornish coast during a raging storm when Morgan had been unable to make contact with the smuggler who would take him to France. And it had frequently been Litchfield whom Morgan relied upon to relay his messages from France to the Duke of Roxbury concerning the movements of Napoleon's troops. Morgan was unwilling to trust anyone but Litchfield, who always acted as if he were grievously offended at being asked to do something other than the normal duties of a gentleman's gentleman—even if he was hugely enjoying himself.

Litchfield was not an imposing figure, being only an inch or two above average height, and was inclined towards stoutness. His hair was dark but had begun to thin, and his large, round eyes were a pleasant, unremarkable shade of brown. A long nose and a small, prim mouth completed the picture—all in all, a most forgettable face if it had not been for the expressive quality of those features, as Dominic had once remarked, Litchfield could sour an apple with a glance.

At the moment, Litchfield's face expressed rigid distaste as he looked at Morgan. "My dear sir, I could hardly avoid it. The entire household is fluttering with it."

Morgan removed the cigarillo from his mouth and to Litchfield's intense annoyance idly flicked the ash on the floor. "Believe it?" Morgan asked.

One thin eyebrow soaring, Litchfield sniffed and said simply, "No."

Morgan made a face. "Well, you my friend, are about the only one!"

"Indeed, sir?"

Taking a puff of the cigarillo, Morgan blew a cloud of blue smoke in the air. "Indeed, yes, Litchfield," he said cheerfully. "And you are about to be shown the error of your ways." Looking across at his valet, he said, "For the time being, I think you and I are going to find ourselves saddled with a household that comprises not only my wife... but apparently my child!"

"Indeed, sir?" Litchfield repeated dryly, his face impassive.

Morgan shot him a grin. "Yes, indeed! And you had better start packing my clothes—I'm going to have us all cozily settled in Le Petit by tonight."

Litchfield merely nodded in acknowledgment and murmured, "Naturally, sir. I shall see that everything is taken care of."

Having set the plan in motion, Morgan wasted little more time with his bath. Not fifteen minutes later, suitably attired in a superb fitting, olive green jacket and nankeen breeches, he walked purposefully towards Dominic's room. Not bothering to knock, he pushed open the door and finding Dominic still soundly sleeping, crossed the room and flung back the heavy drapes to let the bright sunlight cascade into the room.

The light fell right across Dominic's face, and with a muttered curse, he turned on his stomach and pulled one of the pillows over his head; but Morgan would not let him off so easily. He pulled Dominic back over, shaking him ungently as he did so, and drawled, "Wake up, little brother. I have need of you."

Groggily, Dominic regarded him. "Morgan, do you realize what time it is?" he growled.

"Mmm. Shortly after eight, I believe," Morgan replied.

Dominic groaned and attempted to hide from the sun again, but Morgan would have none of it. A hint of laughter in his voice, he said, "Dom, wake up! I need to ask you a few questions about last night. And I haven't much time."

Knowing further sleep was going to be impossible if Morgan was determined to talk to him, Dominic capitulated. Muttering under his breath, he turned over and sat up in bed, pushing a huge, white pillow behind him. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and then running a hand through his rumpled black hair, he asked resignedly, "All right, what is it? What do you need to know?"

Morgan sat down on the edge of the bed and said simply, "Tell me your impression of my... er... wife."

Suspiciously, Dominic studied him. "Why? What are you up to? What are you going to do?"

A glitter in the blue eyes that made Dominic decidedly uneasy, Morgan replied innocently, "Do? Why nothing, my dear brother, except acknowledge my wife. What else would I do?"

Dominic's black brows lowered in a scowl. "I thought you said you'd never seen her before." At the expression on Morgan's face, he added hastily,
"If
you married her, you should know more about her than I do!"

"If,
Dom? You have doubts?"

Uncomfortably, Dominic said, "She tells a convincing tale, Morgan. On the other hand, I find it difficult to believe you would do as she claims. I don't really know which one of you to trust, and so for the moment, I'm giving you both the benefit of doubt."

"Generous, Dom." Morgan said dryly.

"Well, damn me! What else can I do? She had the bloody papers, Morgan!" Dominic snapped. "And it's your damned signature on the bottom of them. She's not just some little tart, either. She's a lady bred and born—anyone can see that!" Almost sulkily he finished, "And father thinks the child is your very image at the same age!"

Morgan shrugged. "Father would! Especially if he's made up his mind that she
is
my wife!"

"I'll grant you, you're probably right about that, but it still doesn't explain the marriage papers or the agreement to pay her back the dowry."

"No, it doesn't, does it?" Morgan agreed amiably. "Which is why I need your help, little brother. What else did you learn of her—besides the fact that she is... a lady bred and born?"

Aware that Morgan wasn't going to be deterred Dominic said grudgingly, "Not too much. She seemed reluctant to talk much about herself, but apparently, as she told us all at Marshall Hall, her grandfather arranged the marriage when he learned he hadn't long to live. She says she met you at Gayoso's and decided you were the proper man to entrust her future to. I understand she wasn't given much choice in the matter and that she didn't precisely want to marry you, but her grandfather, more or less, forced her into it." Dominic stopped abruptly and glared at Morgan. "Why in the hell am I telling you this? You were there—you heard what she said!"

His face infuriatingly bland, Morgan said with suspect diffidence, "Oh, I merely wondered if my recollection of last night tallied with yours. And I was hoping that perhaps once I was no longer present, that my dear, er, wife might have mentioned a few other things that she neglected to speak of in front of me."

"Like what?"

Morgan shrugged carelessly. "Like why she waited until now to reveal herself. Why now, after all these years, does she want to take her place as my wife? Why didn't she find me after the child was born?"

Dominic sent him a long thoughtful stare. "She doesn't want to take her place as your wife now. Even I gathered that from last night. What she wants is for you to repay the dowry you received from her grandfather, and that, according to her, is the only reason why she has come to Natchez."

Looking as innocent as he dared, Morgan murmured pensively, "Money, eh? You think if I repaid her, she'd go out of my life just as quickly as she entered it? Doesn't that smack of blackmail to you?"

"Morgan, she has a child to support and her home is being taken away from her. For God's sake have a little pity. She's responsible for several other people besides herself, and the only way she could think of was to ask for her dowry back. That doesn't leave
me
thinking blackmail." Dominic looked away and said flatly, "If anything, it leaves me wondering about you."

Morgan's hard-won tranquility fled and his face froze. "I only needed
that!"
he ground out between clenched teeth. "Thank you very much, brother! I'm surprised you even conceded to speak with me!"

Miserably, Dominic reached out and touched Morgan's rigid shoulder. "Morgan, I'm sorry. It's just that everything is in such a tangle... and I don't know what to think...
. No one
does!" Searching his brother's implacable features, he said earnestly, "None of us wants to believe that you did as she said, and yet she has irrefutable proof."

"Signatures can be forged," Morgan replied stonily.

"Yes, that's true, but Leonie herself is not hard to believe. And when you add the two together, plus the fact that you were in New Orleans at the time she said the marriage took place...."

"Very well, then," Morgan said stiffly. "I see that there is nothing else for me to do but to claim my wife. Good morning, Dominic."

"What do you mean to do?" Dominic asked with a note of apprehension in his voice.

"Do?" Morgan snarled. "Why, I am going to confess everything! If you wish to view the condemned felon's admission of guilt, I suggest you dress yourself and join the family in the breakfast room."

"Wait!" Dominic yelped, but Morgan had already stormed out of the room.

All of his earlier rage had come back to the surface, and knowing it would gain him nothing, Morgan fought to bring his temper under control.
My God,
he thought furiously,
if you're going to leap on the high ropes the first time someone speaks ill of your supposed action, you're going to scuttle your own plans!

But that unfortunate loss of control held a vital lesson, and Morgan knew it—under no circumstances was he to forget the role he had chosen to play. If he could run a rig for Napoleon's agents, he could damn sure act his way through this little farce!

Still, he needed a few minutes to recover himself before bearding the others, and instinctively he headed out of the house. He didn't go far, just to the edge of the forest that encroached near one side of the house. Taking in a few deep breaths and staring blankly into the cool, green growth, he let the peacefulness seep into his bones and grimly forced the angry tide of injustice that swelled within him to subside.

He was not a man who often lost control of himself or a situation, and his present predicament was at once infuriating and unnerving. Nor was he a man used to having people think ill of him, and while he had always considered himself impervious to the opinions of other people, he discovered that the pain of his family's defection went deep.
And for
that,
little wife, you're going to pay dearly,
he promised.

With an effort he wrenched his mind away from thoughts of retribution against his lovely tormentor, and instead, concentrated on regaining some of the tranquility and light hearted confidence that had been his before his interview with Dominic. If this unpleasant facade was going to succeed, he was going to need all his wits and every bit of self-control that he possessed.
No more tantrums for you, my friend.

Smiling with wry amusement, some of his earlier pleasurable anticipation that had been his came flooding back.
Think of it as a game,
he told himself.
Enjoy it and, for God's sake, stay unruffled! Let Leonie have the tantrums!