His Heart's Delight (29 page)

Richard never wanted me. Never. Not even
when I begged him to make love with me.
Bitterness combined
with the hurt.
Oh, I thought he was so stalwart and noble, but
it was all a lie. He never wanted me. Not that way. Not at all.
With a deep sigh she accepted the truth.
All he really wanted
was the money.

If the pain of his death had brought insight,
then she would gladly accept wisdom from this betrayal.

Tears welled in her eyes. She was not crying
for Richard. She was done with that. These tears were for her
ruined dreams.

“J
oanna, the house
is filled to the rafters. Am I not right, Sally?”

“Yes, Miss Christy.” The maid nodded
vigorously as she combed Joanna’s hair into the upswept style her
sister preferred for the evening. “We are so crowded that some of
the servants are sleeping on the floor.”

“Oh, dear.” Joanna twisted her head to look
back at Sally but the maid turned her mistress back to the mirror
and spoke to her in its reflection.

“We are on an adventure, Miss Joanna. No one
is complaining, well, except for that old biddy who waits on Mrs.
Cartwright. Does she ever put on airs! It galls her that I outrank
her even though I have no London training.” Sally giggled. “I never
sat at the head table before.”

Christiana and Joanna shared a glance. Joanna
nodded as Sally put the last comb in place. “Sally, it will be like
that every day when you come here with me after the wedding.
Remember that now and do your best to establish an easy
relationship from the beginning.”

“Yes, Miss Joanna, I am.”

When Joanna stood up, Christiana took her
place at the dressing table, but waved Sally away. “I had best get
used to doing my own hair. You help Joanna dress.”

Christiana combed out her curls. Sally’s move
to Monksford was only one of the ways her life would change. Soon a
conversation like this would mean a day’s travel. “You will be
missed, Sally. No one to bring me treats from the kitchen, no one
to run messages to Hannah when Mama sends me to my room to read
sermons. Thank heaven I still have Mrs. Purdy for I vow I would not
be able to endure it without her shortbread!”

Joanna came over to stand behind Christiana.
She took her brush from the table and began to comb out her
sister’s afternoon coiffeur. “Sally, go to Christy’s room and find
that garnet necklace. It would look wonderful with this new
gown.”

“Yes, miss.” Sally slipped from the room.

“Joanna, I left that necklace at home.”

“Yes, I know you left it home because Mama
insisted you bring it. All to the good; it will take Sally even
longer to find it and give us privacy.”

She began to arrange Christiana’s hair, but
kept glancing at her sister’s face in the mirror. “You seem more,
uhm, cheerful, since you spoke with Papa.”

“I am for some reason. You would think that
finding out about Sir Howard’s maneuverings would have hurt more
than healed, but somehow the opposite is true.”

“It has nothing to do with Lord Morgan’s
arrival?”

“No. Not at all.” Christiana met her sister’s
gaze in the mirror so Joanna could see that she meant what she
said. No more fantasies for her.

“Christy, please, do give him a chance.”

“Give him a chance for what? He is here
because he and Monksford have become friends. He is not here to see
me. And the last thing I ever want to do again in this life is give
my heart to someone who will not value it.”

“He is here to see you. He watches you every
moment you are in the room. I know he cares for you.”

“You do not see clearly these days,
Joanna.”

“No, dearest, it is you who are looking at
this in entirely the wrong way. Please, please, at least talk with
him.”

“Of course I will be civil to him. I will
even dance with him.”

She could do that much. He was such a fine
dancer and she could ignore the implied intimacy. She had danced
with dozens this year without any of the heart-lightening thrill
she felt dancing with Morgan Braedon. “But bear in mind, Joanna,
that the sort of happiness you and Monksford have is uncommon. You
had best accept that.”

Joanna put down the comb and came around to
look at her handiwork directly. “You look lovely. If Lord Morgan no
longer holds your interest, perhaps that young cousin of John’s
would be worth getting to know.”

“Joanna, love has made you hopeless.”

“No, darling, it has made me ever
hope-
full!
” Joanna walked over and began to shake the
wrinkles out of the pink and gauze confection that Christiana was
wearing to dinner. “I am hopeful, confident even, that you will
find laughter again, that you will find love again, that you will
find someone to make your life complete.”

“Find laughter again? I laugh.” Christiana
got up from the dressing table, annoyed that she did not feel at
all like laughing at the moment. She clamped her newly mastered
control over her downcast feelings and held very still while Joanna
lifted the dress over her head. “I do laugh, Joanna.”

“Yes, you do, but not like you used to. Part
of you is still in hiding.”

Sally tapped at the door and came into the
room, holding the necklace. “Your mama had it. She said she brought
it along because she was certain you would forget it.”

~ ~ ~

The group standing by the fireplace broke
into laughter. Morgan sipped the port and wondered how long it
would be before they rejoined the ladies. You would think the newly
engaged Monksford would be anxious to return to his fiancée. The
clock chimed and he realized that it had been less than thirty
minutes since they had finished dinner.

The whole evening seemed interminable.

He had watched Christiana during dinner,
flirting with Monksford’s cousin, who was seated next to her. He
was sure she was not the slightest bit interested in the
jackanapes. His clothes were outlandish, his laugh bore a close
resemblance to a braying donkey, and he talked as though each of
his words were a pearl of wisdom. Of course, Christiana appeared to
be hanging on each of those pearls, so perhaps the idiot was
entitled to the feeling.

She was so quiet. Not that she did not
partake in conversation, but even her demeanor was quieter now, as
though her grief had drained her enthusiasm. He missed that the
most. It was one of her most endearing traits. Had she really
changed that much? He hoped not, for he so missed the Christiana
Lambert he had come to love.

Monksford’s suggestion that they rejoin the
ladies was met with some teasing and Morgan held himself still so
as not to be the first to leave the room.

“Gentlemen,” Monksford hailed them as they
began to move to the door, “there are some whist tables set up, if
you would care to play. And billiards.”

Good,
Morgan thought,
if all else
fails I can look for someone eager to lose a few guineas.

Most of the conversation in the blue salon
came to a halt when they walked in. Morgan scanned the room, but
could not see Christiana. Had she gone to bed? Not long ago, she
would have been the last to leave a party.

He circled the room, chatting with each of
the ladies, spending a little more time with the crippled daughter
of Monksford’s sister. She would be old enough for a Season next
year and this was her first social outing, by way of rehearsal for
her visit to Town. Her shyness was understandable, but within ten
minutes he had found her passion: horses. She was as familiar with
the stables as any man he knew, explaining that, “It hardly matters
if one of my legs is shorter when I am on a horse.”

Too bad there were not more opportunities for
riding in Town. Perhaps her best hope for an alliance would be at
house parties like this.

He moved on to talk with Mrs. Lambert, in
hopes of finding out where Christiana was. It was an endless ten
minutes but his reward was her insistence that he go out to the
garden and “tell Christiana to come indoors.” With a prayer of
thanks to the god of protective mothers, he stepped out onto the
stone walkway that led to the garden. He could see her sitting on a
bench at the foot of the steps, where it led into the formal
garden.

She turned at the sound of the open door and
shrugged when she saw who it was. Hardly welcoming.

He came down and sat beside her. “Your mama
wants you to come inside. She instructed me to tell you that she is
too busy to nurse you if you take sick.”

“Very well.”

To his utter surprise, she stood up and
started toward the house. When had she ever obeyed her mother?
“Please do not leave because of me.”

She looked at him and then at the garden,
aglow in the light of a full moon, as haunting and lovely as his
memories of her.

“It is beautiful out here. Quiet and
peaceful.”

“Romantic?” Now why had he said that?

“With the right person, it would be
irresistible,” she agreed.

He closed his eyes a minute and tried to
convince himself that was not rejection. Standing up, he moved
closer to her.

“Richard? Is that who you were thinking of
out here?”

“Richard?” She laughed with genuine surprise.
“No, my lord, Richard was more interested in money than he ever was
in marriage to me.”

“He was engaged to someone else?”

“Oh no, but I found out from my father that
he was being paid to marry me.”

“Oh, Sprite, that’s absurd.” He leaned
against the back of the bench and folded his arms across his chest.
“Who would need money to be convinced to marry you?”

She gave him a real smile. It was small and
self-conscious, but as real as he had seen in the twelve hours he
had been here. “Lord Morgan, I do believe that is one of the nicest
things you have ever said to me.”

“The truth.” He bowed to her.

“For some perhaps, but why would my father
make it up? Sir Howard was going to pay Richard to marry me and
bring that old land dispute to an end.”

“Ahh, I see.” It did make sense and it would
be devastating to her.

“Yes, well, it is over now. I would be
foolish to mourn for something that was nothing more than an
illusion.

“You seem so calm, too calm.” It was almost a
question. Indeed he did wonder how deep it went.

“I think I have matured. Life is not one long
endless entertainment.”

He stepped closer and took her hand. “It
could be vastly more entertaining than it has been.”

She pulled her hand from his. He saw a flash
of anger, but it was soon gone. “Whatever you may think, my lord, I
am not given to dallying in gardens.”

“To my knowledge, you have only done it once
before. It is one of my most treasured memories.”

She looked at him in some confusion as though
she was not sure she could trust him. “Is that meant as flattery,
my lord? I want you to know that I am not as susceptible as I used
to be.”

“You wound me, Sprite.” He tried for a light
tone, but she had almost convinced him.

“I trust I only wound your ego, my lord.”

“What about our friendship?” In the old days
he could have easily teased her into a show of temper with this
interchange.

“A social friendship perhaps, but not a
personal one. No, our London months were a game which both of us
played very well.” Her answer was cool and slightly amused.

“Neither one of us was playing.” He spoke
sharply. That was going too far. He smiled gently and spoke more
quietly, as he reached for her hand again. “You are as dear a
friend to me as any I have ever known.”

“Speak for yourself, Lord Morgan.” But her
hand curled around his. It was the one sign he needed. Dare he call
her bluff? “You can prove our friendship is meaningless.”

She was silent for a long moment “How?”

“A kiss.” It was a gamble, and he hoped the
long odds favored him, favored them.

“Kiss you! Absolutely not.”

There was the anger. Oh, how he missed it.
“You are a coward.”

“I am not a coward.” She stamped her
foot.

“Prove it,” he taunted.

With an angry start she moved to him and
raised her mouth to his, her eyes open, defiant.

He watched her until her eyes drifted shut
and then she touched his lips with hers. They were cool at first,
as cool as her false front. But they softened and warmed and he had
his answer. She might mistrust her feelings, might be afraid they
were not shared, but they were there underneath a most fragile
poise.

He would have ended the kiss and begun to
build a future, but she would not let him. Suddenly her facade
cracked and exposed a desperate torrent of emotion.

Her mouth ravaged his as though passion could
erase the pain of reborn feeling. She clutched at his shirtfront.
The rest of her body was tense, her mouth was moving over his, her
lips open to his. She did not use her tongue, but would have
welcomed any move on his part.

He could feel her desperation. He understood
the loneliness that made sex seem an easy answer. He never thought
for a moment that she wanted anything but escape from weeks of
confusion that had held her silent for too long.

She had no interest in the love he had come
so earnestly to offer. She would reject the commitment he’d been
willing to make. It was humbling. It was maddening.

As he tasted the soft perfection of her lips,
he thought of settling for what he could have. He considered for
just a moment what it would feel like to kiss her back fully
instead of controlling his response as he was, to use his hands to
ease the tension in her body, to bring her to a sweet, liquid
warmth that would welcome him and bring them both pleasure. He
wanted to, with every tiny moan that slipped between her lips, he
wanted to. He was a fool not to.