Savannah Heat (18 page)

Silver set her jaw. Her resolve growing stronger, she lightly knocked on the door. No answer. She knocked again. Still no answer. Another series of raps, these a little louder, and she called out Lydia’s name. In seconds the door swung wide, and a very perturbed and slightly flushed Lady Grayson stood in the opening.

“What is it, Silver?” There was a decided edge to her voice.

“I’m sorry to bother you. I know it’s late.…” From beneath the hand Silver brought to her brow, she tried to spot Morgan, but he was nowhere to be seen. Lydia gasped at the sight of the ugly red splotches, and Silver swayed against the doorjamb. “I’m afraid I’m not feeling too well.”

Naked to the waist, Morgan strode into the room from the small dressing area off to one side. Lydia’s eyes rolled skyward at the sight of him.

“What is it?” he asked, ignoring her displeasure at the scandal he’d just created.

“Morgan—” Silver sagged against him. “What—what are you doing here?” With that she swooned, and Morgan scooped her into his arms. Wearing only his boots and breeches, he carried her the length of the hall and placed her on the deep feather bed in her chamber.

“Get a doctor,” he commanded, and Lydia hurried to do his bidding.

Silver’s dark eyes fluttered open. “It’s—it’s probably nothing.”

Morgan felt her forehead for fever, then eased open the front of her nightshirt to look for more of the ugly red splotches that reddened her face. Several dotted the delicate skin on her neck and shoulders.

“Could you have eaten something that might have caused this?”

Silver wet her lips as if they felt dry. “Not that I know of.”

“Just lie still.” Worry etched lines at the corners of his bright green eyes, and a little of Silver’s anger slipped away.

Lydia returned a few moments later. “Euphrates has gone for the doctor. He lives close by so it shouldn’t take long.”

Lydia frowned at Morgan’s bare chest, which Silver was fighting a determined battle not to notice. Morgan followed the direction of Lydia’s gaze, noticed the grim set to her lips, and excused himself, muttering an oath beneath his breath. He returned a few moments later, dressed once more in his uniform, his hair neatly combed.

“I’d appreciate your discretion,” he said to Silver, who looked up at him with eyes full of innocence.

“But of course, Major Trask.”

By the time the doctor arrived, Lydia was also fully clothed. They left Silver alone with the doctor, who appeared in the hallway a few minutes later.

“I can’t seem to figure it out,” he said, scratching his balding head. He slipped the pince-nez spectacles he’d been wearing into the pocket of his frock coat and stuffed his stethoscope back into his black leather bag. “She isn’t running a fever. The rash hasn’t spread below her shoulders.…” He shook his head. “I can’t imagine what it could be.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened as a hint of suspicion crossed his mind. “Then you think she’s in no danger?”

“I suspect she’ll be fine by morning.”

“Thank you, Doctor.” He turned to Lydia, whose usual calm had returned. “Give me a moment alone with her.”

“Of course,” Lydia said sweetly. “Why don’t we go down to the parlor and have a cup of tea?” she suggested to the doctor.

As they walked away, Morgan pulled open the chamber door and went in to find Silver lying against the pillows, her single thick braid resting on her shoulder. Now that his worry had passed, he noticed she looked decidedly healthy—except for the small red blotches.

“How are you feeling?” Morgan pulled a chair up to the bed and sat down beside her.

“A litde weak, I’m afraid.”

“The doctor says you’ll be fine by tomorrow.”

“I’m sure he’s right,” she agreed.

“But he thinks you should have a big dose of castor oil, just to be on the safe side.”

Silver bolted upright. “Castor oil! But—but that’s for stomach ailments, not a rash like this!”

“You never know, it might have been something you ate. Lydia’s gone to get it.”

“But I—” She knew him well enough by now—he would hold her down if he had to. “Morgan, please … I hate that vile stuff. I’ll be fine in the morning, I promise you.”

Morgan’s hard eyes bored into her. “You’ll be fine,” he repeated.

“Yes.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I, ah, I’ve had something like this before. It didn’t last long, just a few hours.”

Morgan came out of his chair and bent over her, his look cold as ice. “Why didn’t you say so?”

“Well, I, ah, I forgot all about it. It was a long time ago, you see, and I—”

Morgan grasped her wrists and jerked her up from the pillow. “You little fraud. There isn’t a damned thing wrong with you, is there?”

“How can you say that? Look at these horrible splotches.”

“No fever, no nausea. There’s nothing wrong, yet you stirred up the entire household, embarrassed Lady Grayson, dragged the poor doctor out in the middle of the night—Why did you do it, Silver? Why were you so hell-bent on keeping me out of Lydia’s bed?”

“I wasn’t. I was sick and I—I needed her help.”

“What you need is another good thrashing.”

Silver stiffened in his grip, silently daring him to try it.

“Why, Silver?” Morgan pressed. “Why did you go to all this trouble?”

The game was over. “I don’t know,” she whispered with utter desolation.

Morgan eyed her a moment more. “Well, I do.” He hauled her to her feet, and his mouth came down hard over hers. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; neither was it brutal. It was a man’s kiss, hot and demanding, a kiss that seared right to her bones. Silver felt the pressure of his lips, opened to the thrust of his tongue, then trembled at the feel of it stroking the walls of her mouth. His breath tasted hot and masculine; she caught the hint of his spicy cologne. When he released her wrists, her fingers clutched the lapels of his coat, then slid around his neck to pull him closer.

Silver swayed against him, and Morgan deepened the kiss, his hands moving down her body until one wide palm cupped her bottom to settle her more firmly against him. Rock-hard thighs pressed into her, and the solid thickness of his shaft.

Oh, God
, she silently whispered as white-hot fire swept through her body. When one of Morgan’s hands moved upward to fondle her breast, Silver thought her heart might stop. What in God’s name was happening? She should be disgusted, repulsed. Instead she arched against him, wanting more. As if in answer, his fingers brushed her nipple through the thin cotton nightgown. It throbbed where he caressed, puckered, and lightened. He hefted the weight of it, measuring it, caressing it.…

Morgan groaned. Silver trembled harder.
Dear
God in heaven
. She felt breathless and achy, warm and melting all over. Morgan eased up her nightgown; then the warmth of his palm returned its fiery contact as it moved up her thigh and settled once more on the curve of her bottom. When Morgan began to knead the soft round flesh, Silver felt a rush of fire so hot she thought her blood might turn to flame.
Morgan
, her mind screamed.
Morgan, Morgan, Morgan
.

She molded her lips to his, ran her fingers through his hair, and softly called his name. It wasn’t she but he who pulled away.

“This … is … not … the place,” he said, his voice more ragged than husky.

Silver touched her lips and stared at him in disbelief at what had happened. Her breast still tingled, and there was a burning dampness in the place between her legs.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered without the foggiest notion why. “I didn’t know this would happen.”

Morgan set her away from him. “Neither did I.” Taking a calming breath, he raked a hand through his hair. “We’ll talk about this later.”

Silver sank down on the bed, still more bewildered than embarrassed. “Couldn’t we just pretend it didn’t happen?”

For the first time Morgan smiled. God, she looked so damned appealing with those crazy red marks on her cheeks and that high-necked prim and proper nightgown. He never would have believed he’d be thinking such things about a woman like Silver Jones. But he never would have guessed she could affect him so profoundly.

“I for one will be hard pressed to forget it, but you may try if you like. It’s certainly the wiser course of action.”

“You won’t tell Lydia.” Her big brown eyes looked beseeching.

“Hardly.” He adjusted the front of his breeches, cursed the situation he found himself in, then glanced back at Silver. This time she looked embarrassed and for once a little uncertain.

Morgan felt a sudden shot of guilt for the liberties he had taken. Bloody hell! He’d be damned if he’d apologize! She had started this game; he had merely finished it. She was just lucky that Lydia and the doctor weren’t that far away. “Get some rest, Silver.”

“You won’t be … staying … will you?”

Morgan shook his head. “No.” Why did her damnable interference please him so much? In truth he was glad he was leaving, though he couldn’t quite say why. He’d be facing another night of torment, his body strung tighter than an anchor line. But the fact was he didn’t want Lydia, hadn’t since the moment he had stepped through her front door.

Maybe he should take his ease on one of the dusky-skinned women who worked the quay. Morgan sighed. Maybe he should face the truth and stop kidding himself. Silver was the woman he wanted.

At least he knew one thing for sure: When he’d kissed Silver Jones in his cabin, she hadn’t been pretending after all.

Silver didn’t sleep well. She spent the night tossing and turning, wondering about what had happened between her and Morgan Trask, and alternating between appall at what she had done and elation at the way he had made her feel.

Delia had told her it could be this way—with the right man. Silver hadn’t really believed it could happen to her, but she had been wrong. Drastically, inconceivably wrong. There were no words to describe the way Morgan had made her feel. And even though she shouldn’t have acted the way she did, she wasn’t sorry.

Determined to get some rest, she punched her pillow and tried again to get comfortable. In the wee hours before dawn she finally fell asleep. It wasn’t until late the following morning she awakened to a pounding on her door.

“It’s me, Missy Jones,” came the thin, high voice through the door. “It’s Marnie.”

“Come in, Marnie.” Silver stretched and yawned, feeling far more refreshed than she should have.

“Dat boy Jordy—he downstairs, missy. He say da cap’n ask him to show you aroun’.”

Morgan had done that? “Thank you, Marnie. Tell him to wait for me in the parlor. I’ll be right there.”

A short time later, wearing a delicate ice blue dimity day dress with tiny clusters of flowers appliquéd near the hem, Silver descended the stairs to find Jordan Little sitting stiffly on the brocade settee in the parlor, floppy-brimmed hat in hand. He smiled when she walked in, jumped up, and slicked back his hair.

“Cap’n says you ain’t—haven’t—ever been to Barbados. He thought you might like to take a ride around.”

“That would be lovely, Jordy. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

“I’d love to take you, Miss Jones.” Dressed in clean canvas breeches and a fresh white linen shirt, his auburn hair neatly combed, Jordy looked as though he meant it, and Silver smiled.

“We’ll start by you calling me Silver.” She reached for his arm, linked hers through it, and led him toward the door.

“Oh, no, ma’am, I couldn’t do that, you bein’ an aristo—aristo—”

“Aristocrat?” she put in.

“Yeah.”

The butler opened the door, and they stepped outside into the warm tropic air.

“But I want you to. I never had a brother. If you call me Silver, it will almost seem like we’re related.”

Jordy looked at her in amazement; then his gaze swung away. What was it she had seen in his eyes?

“I’ve never had a family,” he said, “ ’cepting the cap’n, Cookie, and Jacques.”

“Well, now you have me, too.”

Jordy smiled, spreading the freckles across his slim straight nose. For a moment he just looked at her. Then his smile dissolved, and his expression turned serious. “I wish I was old enough to look after you, Mis—I mean Silver.”

“Well, you’re going to—at least for today.”

Jordy seemed pleased. He pointed her toward a rented carriage and driver that Morgan had provided and helped her climb in. They took in the Bridgetown sights, then rode out toward the sugarcane fields in the distance.

She and Jordy stopped in an inland village called Bannatyne and luncheoned on the veranda of a tiny Bajan restaurant. The place served sea urchin, flying fish—which Silver pointedly did not order—and langouste, Barbadian lobster, which she did. With it came yams and eddoes, and papaya for dessert. Jordy tasted pineapple for the very first time and proclaimed it the best fruit he had ever eaten.

“Just like George Washington,” Silver said with a laugh.

“What do you mean?”

“I read once that’s exactly what Washington said when he first came here and tasted the fruit.”

“Must mean we’re a lot alike,” Jordy said teasingly.

“Decidedly—though you’re far more handsome.” The meal and the day they shared brought a closeness between them Silver treasured. She had meant what she’d said about thinking of him as her brother.