Deceive Not My Heart (45 page)

Yvette shot him a nervous glance and said in her soft voice, "Leonie will not be joining us this evening. She, she—" Yvette stopped and then added helplessly, "she said she was indisposed when I stopped in to see her just before I came downstairs."

"I see," Morgan said. "Well then, as my wife will not be gracing us with her lovely presence, shall we all be seated?" And looking at his brothers he remarked dryly, "You really must tell me sometime, how it is that I find you at
my
house and table far more than I do at your own?"

Robert blushed, and cleared his throat, but Dominic merely grinned and murmured, "Morgan, don't you know? We've
missed
you! How could you think it was anything else but a natural desire for your company?"

Morgan snorted, but there was a gleam of amusement in the blue eyes.

There was no amusement in his eyes a few hours later, as he stood in front of the window in his bedroom and glared down into the darkness. What sort of game was she playing now? he wondered with helpless frustration.

He'd known she would be angry with the way he had blatantly used her affection for Justin to gain his own way, but there had been times during the day when he had thought she had enjoyed herself. And even despite the acrimonious exchange between them at Mrs. Dobson's, and Leonie's obvious dislike of being forced to accept the clothing, during their ride home together he hadn't felt that she had been unduly infuriated—subdued was more like it. Or calculating...?

He swung away from the window, unwilling to let all the ugly suspicions about her destroy the pleasure this day had given him. No, he would not begin anew the battle within himself. And yet,
why
hadn't she joined them for dinner? Why had she kept herself aloof from this evening?

A frown beginning to pucker his brow, he absently lit a thin, aromatic cheroot, the wispy cloud of blue smoke circling his dark head. Perhaps she really was indisposed.

Stubbing out the cheroot, thoughtfully he eyed the set of double doors that connected his room with hers. Doors that he had never opened. But if she were ill...

Telling himself repeatedly that his only reason for entering her rooms at this hour of the night was to assure himself of her well-being, Morgan walked over to the doors and opened them.

Almost total blackness met his gaze. The slim sliver of the new moon barely gave enough light to illuminate the dark, looming shapes of the furniture. Quietly he walked further into the room, his eyes rapidly adjusting to the darkness.

Despite the newness of the moon, a thin shaft of silver light streamed through the pair of French doors which led to the veranda and fell across the silk-swathed bed, the ruby color of the silk hardly discernible. Morgan's eyes were drawn irresistibly to the place where Leonie lay sleeping, and like a man in a trance he silently approached the bed.

Standing there at the side of her bed, he stared at the sweet picture she made, the slight illumination from the moon caressing her delicate features.

Her face was turned into the pillow, the tawny hair flowing like living gold down her back; the moonlight etched the lovely profile, the high forehead, the straight little nose, and the impudent mouth. The old cotton shift she had worn to bed left her arms bare, and in her sleep it had slipped to uncover one slim shoulder and revealed the slight swell of her small breast.

Staring at her, wanting her, Morgan was aware of some emotion akin to pain that slashed through him. Why, oh God, did she have to come into his life? And why having come into his life, did she have to be such a lovely, bewitching little liar?

He started to turn away, but Leonie, perhaps sensing a presence, tossed restlessly in her sleep and made a small sound of distress. Morgan's reaction was instinctive and lightly he touched her and said softly, "Hush, sweetheart, I won't hurt you."

The sound of his voice as well as his touch on her shoulder woke Leonie and with wide startled eyes, she gazed up at the shadowy figure bending over her. Still half-asleep she didn't recognize Morgan and for one terrifying second she was reminded of the night she had lost her virginity. With a violent movement, her balled fist struck out viciously and connected with Morgan's mouth, splitting his lip.

"Jesus Christ!" he swore under his breath, his hands automatically capturing her flailing arms before she could inflict more damage. "Calm down, tigress!" he muttered as Leonie, fought blindly to escape.

Suddenly, realizing who it was, she stilled in his hands and uncertainly inquired, "Monsieur? Is that you?"

Morgan laughed ruefully. "Yes, cat-eyes, I'm afraid it is."

"What are you doing here?" she demanded and then a note of apprehension in her voice she asked, "Justin? Is something wrong with Justin?"

Morgan shook his head in the darkness, and then realizing she couldn't see the motion he said quickly, "No, he's fine."

Aware of the warmth of his hands on her arms and the way his nearness was affecting her, Leonie hastily shrugged out of his slackened hold. "If nothing is wrong with Justin, why are you here?" she asked, wishing her heart wasn't beating with such an erratic rhythm.

Wryly Morgan admitted, "I came to see if you were ill. When you didn't join us for dinner I was... concerned."

"Were you?" Leonie asked, never once having considered that possibility.

"Mmmm," Morgan replied absently. "Do you have a lamp nearby?" he asked. "I dislike talking to you in the dark."

Momentarily forgetting the animosity between them, Leonie scrambled across the bed and reached for the tall candle beside her bed. It took only a moment to light it, and then turning back to Morgan and seeing for the first time the damage she had inflicted upon him, she cried softly, "Oh, monsieur! Your lip! It is all bloody!"

"I rather thought it would be," Morgan said resignedly, reaching up to touch it gingerly. "Remind me," he murmured, "not to awake you so suddenly in the future. It could become quite embarrassing explaining how I came by my wounds."

Feeling guilty for having hurt him when he was only being considerate, Leonie offered anxiously, "Let me cleanse it for you." And before Morgan could protest, she was out of bed to get water from the pitcher that sat on the marble-topped washstand. Grabbing the towel that lay nearby, she hurried back to him.

Kneeling on the bed, the bowl of water nestled precariously on her pillow, oblivious at first to anything but Morgan's cut lip, she concentrated on gently wiping away the smear of blood.

Morgan was very aware of other things besides his cut lip. Her body was only inches from his, and he was conscious of the curves which the worn cotton shift did nothing to hide. A faint intoxicating scent of rosewater teased his nostrils and, staring at the way she pursed her mouth as she went about her task, he could feel his body stirring with desire.

It was only as Leonie sat back on her haunches and surveyed her work that she became conscious of the intimacy of the situation. The candlelight shed a warm glow over the bed, and Morgan was overpoweringly attractive as he stood in front of her, the dark blue of the brocaded robe deepening the color of his eyes. Her gaze was drawn irresistibly to the naked flesh that showed above where the robe was belted making her tinglingly aware of the fact that underneath the robe Morgan was naked, and her own state of undress suddenly dawned on her.

Hastily she dropped her eyes, and with a jerky movement, she put the bowl and towel on the table near the bed. Trying to ignore the hungry heat that was clawing up through her stomach, she said brightly, "Well, I think that takes care of everything. Good night, monsieur."

Morgan stared at her, aware of his blood rising hot and thick in his loins. His voice suddenly husky, he muttered, "I want to make love to you."

Leonie swallowed nervously, her entire body responding wildly to his words. She tried to rouse the anger she was certain she should feel, and she tried to recall all the reasons why she should hurl his words back into his face and order him from her room. But the words would not come, and she could only stare at him dumbly, wanting with painful fierceness to have him take her into his arms.

They stared at one another a long time, neither moving until Leonie, dredging up a grim determination she hadn't known she possessed, shook her head and said in a low tone, "No, monsieur. I do not want you to make love to me."

Morgan didn't move, although his eyes narrowed. In a soft unhurried voice that sent a thrill of anticipation and anger through her, he finally said, "I'm afraid, my dear wife, you misunderstood me. I didn't ask your permission to make love to you... I told you what I wanted to do. What I am
going
to do."

Chapter 22

An electrifying silence met Morgan's words. With a sparkle of temper in the sea-green eyes, Leonie stiffened and spat,
"Non!
I will not have it!"

"Won't you, cat-eyes?" Morgan inquired with a caressing note in his voice as he reached for her.

Conscious of a conflicting mixture of fury and pleasure, Leonie felt his hands capture her slim shoulders despite her wild struggles to escape him. Effortlessly she was dragged up next to his hard body and with a feeling of half-anger, half-despair, she was aware of a flood of desire as his mouth caught hers in a hungry kiss.

Determined to resist his advances, forcing herself to remember that just this afternoon she had vowed not to let this sort of thing happen again, she made a valiant attempt to withstand his unfair, almost overpowering attack on her senses. Desperately she tried to ignore the treacherous leap of her pulse at his touch, but Morgan's hands were too knowledgeable and his lips too persuasive. Gently, inexorably, he drew a response from her traitorous body. He had awakened her to passion, shown her the joy his caressing touch could give, and she was defenseless against the hungry dictates of her own flesh. As his kiss deepened, his arms crushing her next to him, shamefully Leonie admitted that she wanted him, wanted him to make love to her again, wanted once more to know the rapture of his intoxicating lovemaking.

Morgan was hazily aware of her resistance, but he was already too aroused, his body too full of hungry need to stop his mouth from searching hers, or his hands from urgently exploring her soft, warm body. Perhaps, if Leonie had continued to resist, he might have been able to control the demands of desire that clawed through him, but the same emotions that ate at him were also devouring Leonie and as he continued to kiss her, long, drugging, demanding kisses, she lost the fight with herself.

His lips were warm and compelling as they moved across hers; the touch of his hand on her breast was nearly unbearable and with a soft moan of helpless pleasure she stopped fighting the yearnings of her ardent young body and melted against him. Urgently her arms fastened around his neck and uncontrollably her body arched up next to his, wanting... Oh, God, wanting him so very much. It didn't matter anymore that she should distrust him, it didn't even matter that he was a master of duplicity, all that mattered was this moment, this moment, when his lips were fervently exploring hers and his tall, hard body was crushed against hers.

Leonie's sweet response destroyed any coherent thought Morgan had, and almost savagely he searched her lips, his tongue erotically penetrating the inner sweetness of her mouth. With a brutal tenderness, his hands roamed over her slender body, kneading her shoulders, caressing her back and cupping her buttocks to pull her even closer to him. He wanted her with a desperate intensity that only increased as they strained together, their bodies locked together in a fiercely passionate embrace.

Desire ruling her body, Leonie's hesitating touches grew bolder. Compelled by an ageless need, she pushed aside his robe and stroked his naked chest, his skin feeling warm and rough under her hands. Slowly, savoringly, she explored his upper torso, her fingers traveling over him, lingering on his muscled chest. To her delight she felt his nipples harden and throb beneath her touch and eager to explore further, her fingers undid the sash of his robe and slipped lower to tangle in the thick mat of black curly hair of his groin.

Morgan sucked in his breath painfully, her caresses nearly driving him mad. Needing desperately to touch her as she was touching him, his hand fastened on the cotton shift and with one swift motion he pulled it off her. A second later, he had thrown aside his confining robe and with a low growl of satisfaction he jerked her slim body next to his.