Face to Face (The Deverell Series Book 2) (3 page)

She had finished her meal and was standing by the window when Morgan joined her. He came up beside her, brushing back the lace under curtains. “That’s the James River you’re staring at,” he informed her. “They say it resembles the Thames. I do not see it.”

There was something strange in his voice she couldn’t make reason of. She stared at the river. “It does resemble the Thames. You need to look with more than your eyes to see it.” Turning to face him, she asked, “Are you an American? It that how you manage this so brilliantly? Because it is no fiction at all?”

“Don’t work so hard to put the pieces together, Merry. I am what I am. I make a small fortune running in goods here. Most of the parts of any man lead back to coin. Would you like to go walk in the city? You seem quite captivated by what you see here.”

Morgan’s tone was without censure, his gaze warmly amused, and Merry cautioned herself it would serve her not at all if she continued to follow whichever way he pulled her.

She glanced at the crowd beneath the window. The right thing, on every account, would be to refuse to go with him. Why couldn’t she force the words through her lips?

Merry could feel him watching her and she glanced back up at him. It was an error to do so. He read her mind with effortless precision, took her hand, and before she could answer him they were off.

A few moments passed, angry with him in her mind, before she was outdoors and immediately pulled into another adventure she had warned herself to resist.

It was thrilling to be in America and surrounded by her people. Far away the war had raged for England, but here these robust people were at the center of it. It showed on their faces, in their carriage, their vigor, and in the determination they seemed to do each thing.

It surprised Merry how the business of living carried on robustly here. The street sounds were spiced of political rants in an array of opinions that would never have been tolerated, even in England. Patriotic demonstrations, had the sidewalks spotted with puppet shows of political satire aimed at President Madison, and criticism of the great lady across the sea. The affluent walked briskly with those less fortunate, carrying on in spite of the struggles the war had brought to their country. If England thought they had killed the American spirit, with their hardships and oppression, England had thought wrong.

Merry was lost in the pleasure of it all before she could stop herself. Grabbing Morgan’s hand without thinking, she dragged him along with her. Everything came to her new and different. She chatted gaily with shopkeepers. She tried on preposterous bonnets and laughed at herself. She asked a hundred questions, listened raptly to each answer, and was as greedy to learn as much as she could about the world here.

She was charmed by everything and charmed everyone in the process. Morgan stood back and simply watched her, sometimes making a nod to a shopkeeper when he noted the change in her eyes, which betrayed she wanted something, and made a gesture to his servant to pay. Her eyes were sparkling, her smile wide, and every man on the street watched captivated by her.

Shortly before dusk, Morgan reminded himself he’d drawn out the afternoon too long. He had business to attend in Richmond this day, and he would have to leave her, at least for a while, in the servant’s care.

He crossed the store to where Merry sat on the floor enthusiastically examining books. He lowered until he was at eye level with her. Laughing, he noted it was a picture book for children she was studying with such rapt fascination.

He said, “What have you here, Little One?” He lifted the book from her hands.

Merry’s smile was glowing. “That is the same book my brother gave me for my birthday that caused me to stow away to America at nine.” Laughing and shaking her head, she said, “I cannot believe I found a copy here.”

Morgan thumbed through the pages. “It’s a wonder you wanted to see Indians with how they depicted them in this. Brutal and savage.”

Merry’s smile only grew larger. “I wanted to see everything. I was a curious child.”

Morgan touched her cheek. “What makes you think you’ve changed, my dear?” He handed the book back to her. “I am going to have to leave you in the care of Pitt. I have an appointment I cannot delay any longer. Behave yourself, Little One. I do not think causing mischief with a Shawnee Indian will result in a pleasant fate.”

For the first time, Merry noticed the man standing obediently inside the doorway. He was dressed in strange kind of leather pant and shoe, his torso covered by a plain white shirt. He had tree-trunk size arms crossed over his chest, and was even taller than Morgan. He was dark of skin in a way that told her the hue was not of the sun but natural. He was bald and heavy of facial features and stared right at her without smile or softening of lips.

Stared at her and through her, was Merry’s impression of those sharp dark eyes. Shawnee Indian? How could she have missed him? She had not noticed him once this day, but he hadn’t materialized out of thin air and he was indeed watching her in an imposing, diligent way.

Merry shifted her gaze back to Morgan. Trying to sound casual about everything, she said, “I’ve never seen a Shawnee before. Is he to be my jailor now?”

Morgan’s smile was amused. “Only until my return. And you have it backwards, Little One. He is to make sure no one steals you from me.” He tapped her on the nose playfully and left her.

Gnawing on her lower lip, she tried to recapture her enjoyments of the books. It was hard to do knowing Pitt was there. She looked at him. Her cautiousness of him was exceeded by her curiosity. She motioned for him to come to her. Nothing changed on his face, she stared at him, motioned again, and then he came to her.

She asked, “Are you really Shawnee?”

Silence. Perhaps he did not speak English. Then, he made a nod.

“And you work for the Captain?”

A short, “Yes.”

“What do you do for him?”

No answer. It was then the shopkeeper noticed Pitt deep in his store. Frantic and angry, he crossed the room as he exclaimed, “I don’t care whose Indian you are. You know the rules. No farther than the doorway.”

Merry sprang to her feet. “You will not talk to Mr. Pitt that way. I thought this was a country of equality and freedom.”

That turned the shopkeeper’s unpleasant focus on her. “British, are you? If you want to preach equality and freedom you should see your bloody ships from our waters and this blasted war of yours at an end. Now get from my store. I don’t tolerate British whores any more than I tolerate Shawnee.”

Merry’s eyes rounded with fury, and she swung her arm to slap him. He caught it rudely in midair. A moment passed, humiliating and ugly, before Merry said on a fierce voice, “Unhand me, sir. Or you will rue the day you dared to touch me.”

He gave her a hard shake. “And get from my shop or I will turn you over my knee.”

He released her arm and Merry jerked it back, having to fight not to rub the burn of her skin. Lifting her chin, she looked at Pitt. “Come, Mr. Pitt. I have no desire to stay in this shop.”

Pitt’s impassive expression did not change, not even when she placed a hand atop his arm. Behind her she heard, “Crazy British girl. You’ll see what good comes from being nice to Indians. Think he’s your friend, do you? I’m sure the men of the River Raisin Massacre could teach you otherwise, if there were one left alive to tell the tale.”

Compassion fought the keen smart of disillusionment, once safely from the shop. Merry released the arm she realized she had been clutching for support, looked up at the regal Shawnee and said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Pitt. That was my fault.”

Pitt said nothing. She started to walk again, and he retained a respectful step behind her. The glow of the day was gone, and she had no idea where to go. She was about to turn to ask Pitt if he knew where the inn was, when she heard a voice calling, “Miss. Miss, please wait.”

Merry turned to see a woman, blond and beautifully buxom, closing in on her.

“You’ll have to forgive William,” she said anxiously. “His son was killed in the massacre of River Raisin. It has made him a bitter man.”

“That does not give him license to be rude,” Merry stated cautiously.

“You’re British. You cannot understand all the hardships of this war on our people.”

“Perhaps not. But does that make me any more responsible for the actions of my government than you? What will it serve any of us to blame each other? I do not think that will further the cause of peace.”

“True words. True words,” the woman agreed, though her annoyance was only mildly concealed. “You are very passionate about your politics for one so young. I am Regina Wells and you are?”

Backed into a corner, Merry had no choice but to participate in the farce Morgan had forced upon her. “Merry Devereaux,” she informed stiffly.

“Devereaux? I was not aware the Captain had married.”

And before Merry could stop her, the blond looped an arm through hers and began guiding her down the street toward the inn. “You must tell me everything over tea, Mrs. Devereaux.”

Merry studied the woman, and knew at once the cause of Regina’s sudden interest in her. So Morgan had yet another mistress in America.

“We are going to be fabulous friends,” Regina chirped.

I wouldn’t count on it, Merry thought, forcing herself to smile.

Back at the inn, in the custody of a strange woman, Merry found herself sitting at a table listening to a ridiculous stream of endless drivel. When Regina wasn’t probing about Merry’s fictitious marriage, the woman’s mind was focused on all the things that bored Merry. Gossip, the arts, fashion, and the latest books. None of the subjects of this woman’s table talk were ones Merry was fond of.

Wondering how to extradite herself from this annoying creature, Merry looked up to find Morgan closing in on the table. There was nothing on his face that betrayed it, but oh he was furious. Merry’s eyes dropped quickly to her cup.

Regina looked up and exclaimed, “Ah, Varian, returned from sea at last and as full of surprises as ever.”

And then Morgan smiled at both women as though not a single thing about this occurrence was troubling in any way. “I would say this surprise is no surprise at all.”

It was the kind of thing Merry had long discovered Morgan was likely to say, a slightly preposterous ambiguous gambit that was impossible for her to make reason of. Regina’s eyes began to flash. Obviously not impossible to decipher for her.

Morgan pulled back Merry’s chair. “I’m sure you’re tired from your day, Little One. Run along to our room. I’ll be there shortly.”

Merry was only too willing to run. Alone in their bedchamber, the first impulse to claim her was to break something. Instead, she went to stare out the window at the bustling city below. If ever a chance to escape Morgan had presented itself, it was now. She didn’t doubt he’d be well occupied for some time with Regina, and she could disappear into the crowds below before he ever discovered her missing.

She should run from him. She made no move toward the door.

A handful of minutes later, the door opened and Morgan entered.

“I apologize for that,” he said.

Merry whirled from the window. “It matters naught to me. I don’t need your apologies. I am only your hostage and a fiction here.”
What was wrong with her? She sounded like an angry wife.
“I am surprised you were not kept occupied below longer.”

The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Let it go
, she told herself.
You are behaving like a fool.
Why couldn’t she control these chaotic emotions inside her?

Something in how Morgan looked at her made her internal unrest whirl faster. His voice, quiet and gentle, surprised her as much as his words. “It is never my intent at any moment to distress you, Merry. I hope you know that.”

“You cannot help but to distress me. You are my captor.”

“I wish to be more than that for you.”

“I wish only my freedom.”

“Do you?” he asked.

There was a short silence while she looked at him. Slowly his hand lifted, and she realized he had touched a tear from her cheek. Why did it have to be so painful to be a woman? She looked away.

“What an unexpected creature you are, Merry. But I would not change you in a single way.”

With heavy meaning of her own, she replied, “I am what I am, Varian. And you are what you are. I doubt anything will ever change that.”

Darn, why had she said that! She had only succeeded in amusing him further.

“Then in this battle we both win. A war where everyone wins.”

Another of his preposterous remarks. Her frustration with him made Merry want to scream. She watched him move away from her to pour a glass of wine and then sink into a chair.

In a rapid shift back to equanimity, he asked, “Would you care to go to the theater tonight, Little One? The play is a farce and sure to agree with your politics.”

“I don’t care to go anywhere with you.”

His smile was beguiling. “When will you have the opportunity to experience American theater again? I can see that you want to go, Little One. Why fight me in this? It is just the right entertainment after creating insurrection in a shop of books.”

That made Merry color profusely. How did Morgan know about the hullabaloo at the book shop? Merry’s gaze narrowed on his face. Regina, no doubt.

Lifting her nose in the air, she said, “I did not create insurrection.”

His gaze fixed on her in a wandering hold. His voice was a husky whisper. “I cannot imagine what it is like to feel even a single thing as thoroughly as you feel all things. To exist inside of your brilliant extremes.”

Willing temperance to her breathing, Merry said, “And I cannot imagine what it would be like to feel nothing.”

Morgan arched a brow. “Is that how you see me?”

“How else?”

His eyes were glowing above a small smile. “A flesh and blood man, Merry. No more. No less.”

CHAPTER TWO

The theater that night was crowded and hot. It wasn’t long after being shown to their private box Merry forgot her displeasure over Morgan. Adding to her peevishness at being ordered to join him on this adventure, was the greater annoyance that he had actually selected for her the gown she wore this night.