Just One Kiss (6 page)

"And I would remind you, she is in my house." Though his smile remained fixed in place, there was no mistaking the steel in his voice.

Stephen grimaced. "Oh, come now, Morgan. You know I'm not one to interfere, but it will be some time before she's fully recovered. It's my duty as a physician to make that happen as quickly as possible. She needs to concentrate on getting well—no worries, no strain."

A dark brow rose. "Well, then, Stephen, perhaps we should continue this discussion in my study, lest the lady hear us and become upset."

"Yes… yes, of course, you're right." Stephen fell into step beside his friend.

Morgan's study occupied a goodly portion of the east wing of the house. Wide windows looked out upon the garden, which in spring and summer bloomed in riotous color. Though he'd commended Amelia's tasteful decoration of the remainder of the house, this was the one room that bore none of her touches and all of his own. The furnishings were of mahogany and dark, rich leather, totally masculine and wholly unpretentious, designed for a man's comfort.

Striding to the side table, Morgan poured brandy from a crystal decanter into a glass and handed it to Stephen. Watching as Stephen raised the brew to his lips, he said casually, "Correct me if I'm wrong, Stephen, but it would appear you're quite smitten with the lady."

Stephen chuckled, his good humor restored. "Oh, come now. Appealing as the prospect may be, I think it's a bit premature on that score."

"Good," Morgan remarked. "Because I'm afraid she's already spoken for."

Stephen sighed and made a face. "Ah, well. I should have known." He sprawled into the nearest chair but suddenly sat upright. "Good God! I was going to ask who the lucky fellow was, but… she came to see Nathaniel—don't tell me it's him!"

His gaze sought Morgan's. Morgan gave a wordless nod.

Stephen blinked. "He certainly has an eye for a pretty face, doesn't he?" He frowned suddenly. "Do you think she really expects him to marry her?"

Morgan gave a short, harsh laugh. "Obviously she is hardly acquainted with my brother's changeable sense of purpose. Do you know she came here believing this house was Nat's? And the business, too, God rot his soul—he told her it was his!"

"Looks like he's up to his old tricks again." Stephen studied him. "You still haven't forgiven him, have you?"

Morgan's shoulders stiffened. Though he spoke not a word, his silence was all-encompassing… and all-telling.

Stephen shook his head. "Sometimes, Morgan," he said softly, "I wonder what's happened to you."

Morgan was hardly disposed to wonder. His thoughts were as dark as his mood. Time had aged him, he thought. Life had hardened him.

One side of his mouth curled upward in a sardonic half smile. "And I wonder that you've chosen to remain my friend, Stephen."

"Why?" Stephen said bluntly. "Because I'm one of those Boston blue bloods you hate?" His family lines went back over two hundred years. His good name was among the oldest and wealthiest in the city.

But Morgan hadn't always hated the "blue bloods" of whom Stephen spoke. Even while he considered the city's elite pompous and stuffy, a secret part of him had envied them. Many was the time he'd wished he were one of them, especially as a boy.

Once, while his mother was still alive, she'd taken him and Nathaniel to see the "grand houses on the Hill," as she'd called them. There had been one immense home under construction, nearly finished but not quite. When the workmen had gone, the three of them had strolled through the empty rooms, imagining that they lived in this magnificent house. From that day on, he'd gone to sleep dreaming that someday he, too, would live in a house that was just as grand.

And now he did.

But he could never escape his roots. It was a lesson in truth that had proved painful to learn.

His mouth still carried a trace of a smile. "In all honesty, Stephen, your loyalty astounds me, but I value it, just as I value your friendship. And of course, you are right. Elizabeth Stanton's recovery should be the foremost concern. Her care is in your hands, my friend. You have my word that I will distress the lady no more."

The next week passed quickly. Elizabeth was still weak and largely confined to bed, though she grew stronger with every hour. The majority of her time was spent sleeping or resting—the best medicine, according to Stephen, who continued to check her progress daily. He was, as she discovered, a most engaging, witty man, very easygoing and friendly. She came to like him immensely.

And it was from Stephen that she learned Morgan spoke the truth—this lovely house was undisputably his. O'Connor Shipbuilding also belonged solely to him.

For Elizabeth there was little peace of mind. The seed of doubt had been planted and refused to be banished. Nathaniel—her gallant, chivalrous charmer—had lied. Yet another disturbing thought reared high in her mind.
I love you
, he'd proclaimed. So sweetly. So sincerely.

Was that a lie as well?

She took a deep, fortifying breath. No, she told herself forcefully. She would have known. Surely she would have known.

Or would she?

Now, as Stephen escorted her to the parlor to sit for a while, a dozen questions flooded through her.

"I-I don't understand it," she said, settling herself on the seat he offered. "I don't understand why he should do such a thing! Do you think perhaps he thought I might think less of him were he to tell me the truth? And he said Boston was his home."

Stephen hesitated. "And so it is," he said slowly.

"Then where is he, I ask… where?" Elizabeth's troubled gaze sought Stephen's. Distraught as she was, she had yet to glean his reluctance.

"Elizabeth, I must confess, I'm uncomfortable talking to you about Nathaniel. Somehow I feel as if—as if I'm a naughty schoolboy telling tales."

"Nonsense," Elizabeth said firmly. Her tone turned pleading when he remained silent. "Tell me, Stephen. Please tell me. You are the only friend I have here."

Stephen sighed. "Elizabeth, you place me in an awkward position. Please, go to Morgan with your questions."

Morgan's image flashed behind her eyelids. Elizabeth couldn't help it; just thinking of that piercing gray stare made her shiver.

She bit her lip. "Oh, Stephen, I-I would, but I cannot help but feel Morgan has no liking at all for his brother! And though I was not blessed with brothers or sisters myself, I find that very strange."

"That's true," Stephen admitted. "They are no longer close. But it wasn't always so." On seeing Elizabeth's eyes widen, he shook his head, anticipating her query. "I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I can say no more, except that the answers to your questions should come from one of them." He hesitated, then laid his hand atop hers where it rested in her lap. "It may not be wise to expect too much of Nathaniel."

Such a cryptic warning. In the end, she had no choice but to do as he suggested—go to Morgan.

She'd seen little of him, which suited her quite well indeed, since she found Nathaniel's brother a most odious man! He left early in the morning, and often was gone well into the evening. He'd made no effort to see her, other than to inquire as to her health when she'd chanced to see him one afternoon as he emerged from the library. Oh, he was polite enough, but beneath the smooth exterior he presented her was a faint mockery that riled her usually placid temper.

Later that afternoon, she learned from Simmons that he was in his study. As she stopped before the set of massive oak-paneled doors, she couldn't help but feel as if she were about to enter the lion's den. Why she should react so strangely, she didn't know. She knew only that with but a single encounter he had unnerved her as no one had before.

But that was nonsense. He was just a man—a most disagreeable one, at that!—but he was still Nathaniel's brother. Chiding herself for such foolishness, she squared her shoulders and knocked firmly on the door.

"Come in," called his deep male voice.

With a courage that was pure bravado, she opened the door and walked forward.

He was seated behind a huge desk that was strategically placed near the windows. He was once again garbed in black. An unguarded surprise flickered in those startlingly light gray eyes as he acknowledged her.

With one lithe movement he was on his feet, and then it was her turn to be surprised when he rounded the corner and approached her. "Why, Elizabeth, this is quite unexpected," he said, reaching for her hand.

For the space of a heartbeat Elizabeth could neither speak nor move. She caught the scent of bay rum—odd, but it seemed almost familiar! But his very closeness was overpowering; despite the stylish elegance of his clothing, there was an unmistakable aura of primitive male vitality that was somehow almost frightening. And her skin seemed to burn where his hand locked firmly around hers.

Something faintly akin to panic raced along her spine. She tugged almost frantically, vastly relieved when he released her hand. Unable to think of an appropriate reply, she said nervously, "I do hope I'm not intruding."

His gaze, coolly assessing, swept the length of her. The merest of smiles curved the harshness of his mouth. "Not at all. I'm glad to see you looking so well."

Elizabeth drew herself up sharply. Did he mock her? Drat the man, she couldn't be sure!

"Would you care to sit, Elizabeth?" He indicated a nearby chair. Elizabeth nodded, and allowed him to assist her. Smoothing her skirts, she watched as he strode toward the window. He stood for a moment, hands linked behind his back, then turned to face her. It appeared the beast had been caged, Elizabeth decided cautiously, at least for the moment.

Clearing her throat, she folded her hands in her lap. "I fear I owe you an apology, Mr. O'Connor. It was quite rude of me to shout at you the way I did at our last meeting."

One broad shoulder lifted. "My dear girl, I'm hardly offended. To be honest, I'd not given it another thought. And I certainly gave you cause to react that way."

His reminder made her grow hot all over again. What was it he'd asked?
When is the child due
? Lord, that he could even think she would do such a thing! She could count on the fingers of one hand the few times Nathaniel had kissed her. Besides, such frankness between man and woman was unheard of. She was shocked that he could speak of it so casually.

It also seemed she judged too soon.

His eyes had lowered to her lap. "
Ah
," he murmured. "I see you've removed your wedding ring."

Elizabeth flushed. She didn't appreciate his reminder of her dishonesty. Her chin rose a notch and her eyes flashed mutinously.

"I came here to thank you for your hospitality, sir, but you make it exceedingly difficult."

He inclined his head. "I accept your gratitude, Elizabeth. But I have the feeling there's more."

Elizabeth sat very still. Lord, was there nothing this man did not overlook? It was as if he could see right through to the marrow of her bones.

And it was a feeling she heartily disliked… as indeed, she heartily disliked
him
.

Her tone was clipped. "I shall come directly to the point then, sir. My illness was most unfortunate, for it waylaid my purpose in coming here." She paused. "You said the day I arrived that Nathaniel was not here. But you are his brother, and the only one to whom I might turn. And so I would ask you again… where can I find him?"

"And I shall come directly to the point. I do not know, for I am hardly his keeper."

Elizabeth was undaunted. "But surely you must know something… You must have some idea when he will return."

His expression had turned as hard as stone. She held her breath, for she feared he would refuse to answer. But then he spoke.

"No, I do not."

"But this is his home—"

"Yes, Boston is his home. And I suppose you are right. No doubt he will return. He always does, sooner or later."

"And will he return here? To this house?"

Again that damnable silence. "No," he said at last.

Still she persisted. "The two of you don't share this house?"

"I thought I made that quite clear."

"You are both unmarried. Why not?"

"That is none of your business."

Elizabeth caught her breath. His tone was quite rude. By some miracle she maintained a pleasant countenance. "I beg to differ, sir, for I believe it is my business. Nathaniel will be my husband. You will be my brother-in-law. And if you are privy to his whereabouts, so should I be."

"My dear Elizabeth," he drawled. "My attorneys see to it that my brother receives a more than generous allowance, yet for Nathaniel it is not always enough—I see him only when he is in need of excess funds. He lives for the moment, through the generosity of others. Or did he neglect to tell you this too?" A jet brow rose high. "Why, should the two of you actually marry, I wouldn't be surprised if you found it necessary to pawn the very ring you wore on your journey here. So tell me, Elizabeth. Does that change your perception of my dear brother?"

His manner was sheer arrogance. Elizabeth's temper began to simmer. "It changes nothing," she retorted. "And you, sir, are unforgivably rude."

His lips twisted. "No, lady. I am unfailingly honest, unlike my brother." Their eyes tangled fiercely. To her dismay, Elizabeth was the first to look away.

He said nothing for a moment, merely stood with his arms braced across his chest. "What do you intend to do?"

She squared her shoulders. "Wait."

"For Nathaniel?" The sound he made was one of sheer disgust. "Good God! You're determined to see this through, aren't you?"

"He asked me to marry him," she said levelly. "He may not be here, but that doesn't change the fact that he proposed to me."

"And what if he is not the man you thought?"

"Ah, yes—the rogue again." They were on dangerous ground, she reflected. She hated the doubt that pricked like a thorn beneath her skin, and willfully brushed it aside. "Whatever Nathaniel may have been in the past," she said with soft deliberation, "he has changed."

To her surprise, the look he gave her was long and searching. "A word of advice, Elizabeth. Leave here and never look back. Forget you ever met my brother. Believe me, if you don't, he'll make you regret it." He paused. "If you like, I can arrange passage—"