Just One Kiss (23 page)

She lurched upward, her only thought to escape before she embarrassed herself further. But her husband's long arm snagged her by the waist and pulled her down beside him once more.

"Elizabeth, no! Don't! I-I love it, I swear!"

She battled a stinging rush of hurt. "You don't," she said with certainty. "But it's all right—"

"No, it's not! I love it, I swear on the grave of my mother. It's just that…" He ducked his head and gave an odd little laugh. "God, I'm making such a mess of this!"

She peered at him. He sounded so strange, so unlike himself. "No, you're not. Please, Morgan," she urged. "Just tell me."

She watched the muscles in his throat work as he swallowed. And there was a strange glaze over his eyes… She balked. No. No, it simply couldn't be…

"I-I don't know what to say, Elizabeth." He still didn't look at her as he spoke; the words were hoarse. "It's just that… I've never had anyone think to give me a gift before now…"

It dawned in an instant. Elizabeth's heart wrenched as she realized what he was saying. Her own childhood had been so full of love and wonderful memories, but Morgan's had been filled with emptiness. As she gazed at him, she saw the poor little boy who'd spent his childhood in a wretched dockside tavern. But she also saw the man he had become—the man who had risen above all that, a man who had made his way in life and acquired a considerable fortune.

Laying her palm alongside his jaw, she turned his cheek to hers.

"Well, now you have," she said softly. "And I'm very glad I was the one who thought of it."

Their eyes met. Something passed between them. Something they couldn't hold in their hands, yet was more precious than gold.

Setting aside the painting, Morgan drew her into his arms. He rested his forehead against hers. "So am I," he said huskily. His smile widened a fraction. "I only hope you didn't send me to the poorhouse."

Elizabeth turned her nose up. "For your information, it didn't cost me a penny. The artist said if I sat for him for a few minutes while he sketched me, I could have the painting as my fee." She laughed, a tinkling sound carried away by the breeze. "Though I can't imagine why he wanted to sketch
me
."

Morgan could. Granted, he found her lovely beyond words. But hers was a beauty that was more than a mere pretty face. It was a sweetness and warmth of spirit that came from deep inside her and, in so doing, spread its glow to others.

In all honesty, he'd had precious little experience with such sentiment. So many people he'd known were heedless of all others; they thought of themselves above all else. But his mother had been much like Elizabeth, unselfish and giving. And what about him? Shame bit deep, for in the last few years, whatever warmth he'd once possessed had vanished, as if it had never been…

He'd forgotten how to laugh.

But Elizabeth had taught him how.

He'd forgotten how to
live
.

She alone had returned the vitality of life.

His throat tightened oddly. This past week had been the most carefree—above all, the happiest—time of his life.

All because of Elizabeth.

But what if he should lose her? An awful fear wrapped itself around his chest. No.
No
! That couldn't happen. It
wouldn't
happen.

They departed for Boston several mornings later, both of them wholly reluctant to leave.

They had no idea what awaited them.

Once they were home, the foyer echoed with gay laughter as Elizabeth and Morgan swept inside. Lifting her clear from her feet, he whirled her around and around until her senses were spinning and she was breathless and dizzy. One by one the servants came to gather around, gaping at their master and his bride in sheer disbelief.

"Enough!" Elizabeth gasped. "Morgan, please, I'll never be able to walk!"

Morgan's eyes lit up as he whirled to a halt. "Then I'll just have to carry you, won't I?" he teased. He startled her by bending and swinging her high in his arms.

Elizabeth's protests were but fleeting. Her tiny little smile was glowing. She dropped her head against his shoulder and sighed her satisfaction.

One by one the servants dispersed. As they turned away, every one wore a smug little grin.

But they were not alone.

"Quite an exhibition," boomed a low male voice. "Quite an exhibition indeed."

One booted foot on the bottom step, Morgan halted. He turned around, his precious burden still tight in his arms.

Nathaniel stood in the doorway of the library. He saluted them with a glass of amber liquid in hand. "I never did have the chance to toast the newlyweds."

All at once Morgan's arms were like steel. Elizabeth felt herself lowered slowly to the floor.

Nathaniel's smile was goading. He lifted his glass high. "Morgan, may you have better luck with this marriage." His gaze slid to Elizabeth. "Elizabeth. Dear Elizabeth, what can I say? May my brother make you happier than he made Amelia."

Elizabeth's mind reeled. She felt weak as the blood drained from her face. Huge eyes fixed on her husband's tight-lipped features.

"Amelia?" she echoed faintly. "Who on earth is Amelia?"

«
^
»

The room was steeped in silence.

"It's not who
is
, but who
was
." Nathaniel shifted his arrogant smile to his brother. "Morgan, I do believe this should come from you. Although frankly, I'm amazed you haven't told her by now."

Oh, but he was clever. Morgan regarded his brother through a blistering mist of fury. Nathaniel, the stinking cur,
knew
he would say nothing. He knew!

Bitter frustration clawed inside him. More than anything, he longed to tell Elizabeth the truth. But he could hear his mother's voice, calling out to him in some deep valley of his subconscious.

Your brother is so young… He will need someone, Morgan, someone like you. Guide him. Protect him.

A furious resentment seized hold of him. Most everything he'd ever done had been for Nat.
For Nat
, he had told himself many a time when he'd been tempted to give up.
Always for Nat
.

Blackness seeped into his soul. Maybe he was being selfish. Hell, he probably was. Oh, his mother had cared. But she'd left him alone, alone to take care of his brother, with a father who cared about neither of them. And since that day, no one had ever thought about
him
. His feelings. His well-being. His future.

No one… but Elizabeth.

Only now he could almost see her slipping like sand through his fingers. It wasn't fair, he raged inwardly. It just wasn't fair.

His hands closed into fists at his sides. He leveled a burning gaze on his brother. "You bastard." His voice rang with contempt. "Get out."

Elizabeth was stunned that two words could sound so deadly.

Nathaniel smirked. "Oh, come now, Morgan. There's no need for such testiness—"

Morgan took a single step forward. "Get out," he said from between clenched teeth, "or by God, I'll throw you out myself."

Unknowingly Elizabeth put herself between the two men. "Morgan! For God's sake—"

"I'll give you an answer to your question, Elizabeth, when we don't have an audience." He directed a drilling stare at Nathaniel, who assumed a role of affronted outrage.

"If that's how you feel, fine," he said, straightening the cuffs at his wrists. "I'll return when I can be more certain of my welcome."

Morgan gritted his teeth. "Don't return until you're
invited
," he stressed coldly.

If Nathaniel was distressed, there was no sign of it. He was whistling a merry tune as he walked out the door.

A pall descended once they were alone. Two pairs of eyes collided, one deeply green with hurt and confusion, the other as gray as storm clouds.

Wordlessly he gestured to the library. Elizabeth stiffened when he cupped her elbow and led the way forward. But once they were alone inside the library, she quickly stepped away.

Morgan's mouth thinned to a grim line, but he said nothing as she furthered the distance between them.

Elizabeth's calm was deceptive. The tempo of emotions jumping inside her was wildly erratic. She was furious with Nathaniel for provoking Morgan—he hadn't fooled either of them. But she was far more angry with Morgan.

Her mind was all ajumble. What was it Nathaniel had said to Morgan?
May you have better luck with this marriage
.

Realization dawned, a realization that nearly made her cry out. But she wanted to hear it from his lips.

She hid her hands in her skirts so he wouldn't see them shaking. "Who was she, Morgan?" The question came out clearly. "Who was Amelia?"

Something flickered across his features, something that might have been regret. Yet he made no response.

Something snapped inside Elizabeth. "Tell me, damn you! Who was she? Your wife?"

He inclined his head. "Yes."

Elizabeth battled a pain that nearly brought her to her knees. No doubt he hadn't married her because he'd been
forced
to. No doubt he'd married her because he loved her…

The pain was blessedly short. She welcomed the anger that returned in its stead. "And where is she now?"

"She's dead." His tone was flat, as if he were completely indifferent. Suddenly her emotions were shooting in every direction. God! she thought jaggedly. What kind of man was he to say it with such lack of feeling?

"You were a widower?"

Again that aloofness. "Yes."

Elizabeth remained very still. Everything within her wound into a tight, hard knot. She felt betrayed. Rejected, though deep in her heart she knew it was silly to feel this way when the poor woman was dead yet!

Morgan's mouth twisted. "Don't tell me. You'd much rather have Nathaniel, wouldn't you? You wish you'd married him!"

"Right now I wish I'd never laid eyes on either of you!" she cried.

His jaw tensed. "Don't you see what he's done? This is what he wanted. He wanted to put us at each other's throats!"

Elizabeth's eyes blazed. "Don't lay this on Nathaniel. This isn't his fault. I just want to know one thing, Morgan. Were you ever going to tell me? Were you?"

Guilt flashed in his eyes. "I don't know," he said tiredly. "I really hadn't thought about it." He paused, then reached for her. "Elizabeth, please, you have to understand—"

She batted his hand away, ignoring his quiet entreaty. "Don't! Don't tell me that it was for my sake. Don't tell me that you thought I was better off not knowing the truth. I remember when I first came, you said there were some who would call Nathaniel a liar, a cheat. But you're no better!"

She didn't wait for his response. She whirled and started for the double doors. She flung them wide, then turned.

"Did you love her?"

She should have expected his silence.

"Tell me," she practically screamed.

"Yes."

"And did she love you?"

His smile was a travesty. "I thought she did. But Amelia loved no one but herself."

The pain Elizabeth felt was like fire in her lungs. Tears misted her vision. Seeing them, Morgan gave a muffled exclamation and started toward her.

Elizabeth shook her head wildly. "No. Don't touch me. Please"—her voice broke—"just leave me alone." With a half sob she picked up her skirts and ran headlong from the library.

The house was quiet as a tomb that night.

The peace and closeness they had shared at the cottage had been shattered.

Somewhere along the way, the pain and anger lessened. Yet still Elizabeth's heart remained torn. She wasn't proud of her outburst, yet Morgan should have told her long, long ago that he'd been married.

It hurt to think of Morgan with another woman.
Loving
another woman, though she reminded herself over and over that he had certainly never professed to love
her
. But in the end, she realized it was selfish and small of her to feel this way. Morgan had spent his youth in misery and drudgery. What did it matter that he had been married—or that he had loved his wife? The woman was dead. She could hardly begrudge him whatever happiness he had found with her.

Yet still a hundred questions buzzed in her mind. How had she died? Had she been ill? An accident perhaps?

She posed that very question to him the next morning at breakfast. He immediately dropped his napkin and rose from the table. "I don't have time to discuss this," he said curtly. "I have a meeting this morning." With that he walked out on her, leaving her bewildered and frustrated.

Later she checked the calendar in his study. He had no such meeting listed.

The morning passed slowly. By afternoon she'd had enough of being closeted inside. Hoping to rid herself of her restlessness, she went out walking. Soon she found herself before Stephen's house. Before she knew it, she'd climbed the steps and rung the bell.

A short, stout housekeeper with iron-gray hair opened the door. "Hello. Can I help you?"

Elizabeth smiled. "I hope so. Is Dr. Marks here?"

"He's in his office at the back of the house. Do you have an appointment?"

"I'm afraid not."

"Well, no matter," the woman said briskly. She beckoned Elizabeth inside. "I don't believe he has any other patients at the moment. I'm sure he'll see you."

As the woman led her toward Stephen's office, she couldn't help but feel she was going behind Morgan's back. Still, he'd left her no choice. She
had
to know about Amelia.

Stephen broke into a broad smile when he saw her. "Well, well," he said, moving to shut the door behind her. "I can think of only one reason you'd come here, Elizabeth. Feeling a little queasy in the morning, are we?"

"Not in the least," she answered. A puzzled frown furrowed her brow. "Why should I be?"

"Well," he said rather sheepishly, "I thought perhaps there might soon be an addition to the family."

Still she looked at him blankly.

His smile deepened. "A woman who's going to give birth is usually in need of a physician." His gaze lowered to the flatness of her belly.