Taken by You (24 page)

“No, Luca!” His words came out harsher than he had intended. Luca drew her hand away as if scorched.

“I did not mean to… to… offend you. I wanted to please you.”

Morgan’s heavy lids came down to shield his anguish. He couldn’t afford to let Luca know how difficult it was to protect his heart from her. Abruptly he plucked her from his lap and set her down on the seat beside him.

“We’ll pass the night at an inn,” he said coolly. “Normally the journey from Portsmouth to my estates is not overtaxing, but we left the
Avenger
late in the day, thus necessitating a stop. I don’t like being on the road at night without outriders. Highwaymen abound in the area. I’ve sent someone ahead to engage rooms tor us and arrange for a meal and baths.”

Luca regarded Morgan in consternation. What had she done or said to make him change so abruptly? He went from lover to stranger in the blink of an eye. Except for that brief interlude a few moments ago, it appeared as if Morgan was deliberately discouraging further intimacy between them. He had as much as told her he was going to leave her in the country while he pursued his interests in London and cavorted outrageously at court. Well, she admitted, he hadn’t used those exact words, but she could read between the lines.

Darkness hovered at the edge of dusk as the coach clattered into the courtyard of the Hoof and Feather Inn. The innkeeper came out to greet them, wiping his hands on his stained apron.

“Welcome, Captain,” he greeted effusively, having been already informed of Morgan’s visit. “’Tisn’t often we get so distinguished a guest at the Hoof and Feather. Sit ye down while me wife prepares a right proper meal for ye. Nothing’s too good for El Diablo and his lady wife.”

He turned to Luca, and the smile died on his face. “Yer pardon, Captain Scott, I understood ye would have yer wife with ye.”

Luca shrank back against Morgan. Obviously the man expected a peaches-and-cream English miss instead of a dark, sultry Spanish senorita. Was this just a sample of the kind of reaction to her marriage she could expect in England?

“You have the right of it, innkeeper,” Morgan said with a hint of annoyance. “This is indeed my wife.”

“But… but she’s Spanish, Captain. I thought, that is, everyone in England knows…”

“Bloody Hell!” Morgan muttered when he saw the stricken look on Luca’s face. No matter what he felt for vile Spaniards, he didn’t enjoy seeing Luca hurt by his countrymen. “It matters little what everyone in England minks of my marriage. The subject is not open for discussion. I’m starved. My wife and I would like our meal served immediately.”

“Aye, Captain,” the innkeeper said, bowing obsequiously. He knew he had gone beyond the bounds of common courtesy, but he was so stunned by the sight of El Diablo’s Spanish bride that he had allowed his mouth to run away with him.

“Pay him no attention, Luca,” Morgan said once they were seated at a private table before a roaring fire.

Luca stared into the dancing flames, feeling the warmth soak into her chilled bones. After several moments of silent contemplation she turned to Morgan. “You need not apologize for your countrymen It is all very clear to me. They feel as you do about my country. But they are wrong. King Philip would never send an armada against your queen. With Queen Mary dead there is no reason”

“That remains to be seen,” Morgan said dryly. Then the food arrived, and all conversation stopped while they concentrated on the feast placed before them.

Luca set down her fork and yawned hugely. Noting her exhaustion, Morgan snapped his fingers. The innkeeper appeared at his elbow, scraping and bowing.

“Show my wife to her room,” Morgan said. “See that a tub is prepared so she may bathe before she retires.”

The innkeeper, a short, rotund man with lively blue eyes, turned stiffly toward Luca. “If ye will follow me, yer ladyship. Me wife will see to yer bath.”

“Thank you,” Luca said softly. Before she turned to follow the innkeeper, she asked Morgan, “Are you coming up?”

“I’m going to sit before the fire a while longer and finish my brandy. But you need not worry that I will awaken you when I retire, for I have my own room.”

Luca sent him a puzzled look. “You’ve engaged separate rooms for us?”

He stared moodily into the fire. “I thought it best.”

“I see,” she said with subtle rancor. “Good night, Morgan.” She refused to show her crushing disappointment as she followed the innkeeper up the narrow stairway, her head held high despite her flagging spirits. Once on English soil Morgan had changed. She hardly knew this distant stranger. She didn’t relish spending her days buried in the country while the man she loved sought his pleasures elsewhere. That thought darkened her eyes in splendid fury.

Morgan sat staring into the fire long past the time when he should have retired. He hated his weakness where Luca was concerned and renewed his vow to maintain strict control over his dealings with his wife. He was strong; he fully expected to win his fierce struggle to contain his hunger for Luca no matter what the cost to his heart. Once he lost his need for the Spanish vixen he would be free to live the kind of life he had been accustomed to before being forced into this marriage.

The innkeeper breathed an audible sigh of relief when Morgan finally sought his bed. Morgan’s eyes were blurry and his gait wobbly when he passsed Luca’s door. He did not linger but continued on to his own room, pleased with his ability to ignore the pounding of his heart

The next morning Morgan was waiting for Luca when she arrived downstairs. He was somewhat pale, and his hands shook as he quaffed a cup of ale. Luca tried to overlook his sour disposition. If he was suffering from overindulgence it served him right after deliberately ignoring her the night before.

She ate her breakfast of cold mutton, cheese, bread, and fresh milk in silence, all too aware of the disturbing way in which Morgan studied her through bloodshot eyes. Why was he looking at her like that? she wondered, trying to maintain her dignity despite his heated gaze. She shifted uncomfortably several times before Morgan realized he was staring.

God, she’s beautiful,
he thought dully. Her dark, sultry beauty was exotic and innocently seductive. She wore her Spanish heritage with pride, he thought. With that sobering thought he hoisted himself to his feet. “Are you ready, Luca?”

“Si,
Morgan.” She rose in one graceful motion He escorted her into the waiting coach, and they rattled off down the road.

Morgan slept until they reached the village of Haslemere. Then he came abruptly awake, as if sleep had merely been a pretense to avoid communicating with her. Luca wondered how he could run hot one minute and cold the next.

“We’re nearly at Scott Hall” he said with an eagerness that surprised her. “You’ll like it. It’s a lovely estate with orchards, a small forest, and a river flowing through the acreage. My parents loved the place, and I can understand their feelings every time I return”

“If you like it so well how can you stand to be away months at a time?”

He was silent for so long that Luca thought he hadn’t heard. When he finally spoke his voice was distant, as if his thoughts were focused elsewhere.

“London society and political intrigue amuse me, and my estate requires a good deal of my time, but after a short visit on land the sea always beckons to me. I’ve made a home on Andros; an environment far removed from London and its dissolute society.”

Luca fell silent No wonder Morgan had no need for a wife. He was married to the sea. Her being Spanish by birth complicated the situation between them. Her brothers had done her no favor by insisting she and Morgan marry. Then again, they had no idea Morgan would live to lay claim to his wife. Her mistake had been falling in love with the pirate.

Luca gazed appreciatively at the mellow brick mansion rising tall and imposing on a grassy knoll surrounded by a vast expanse of manicured lawns and formal gardens. An orchard stretched from the west edge of the gardens to the river, which wound placidly through the forest beyond. Luca thought that whoever had charge of Morgan’s estate in This absence did a magnificent job of maintaining it. It had retained a patina of elegance despite Morgan’s long absences.

“It’s lovely,” Luca said. Morgan was strangely pleased by her sincerity.

“If’s rather small,” Morgan said as the coach stopped before the tall, slim columns standing guard at the front entrance. “Only thirty rooms, but I think you’ll find it comfortable. You may redecorate in any way you wish. Very little has been changed since my parents lived here.”

The coach door opened, and Morgan stepped down. With an economy of motion he swept Luca from inside and set her down beside him. His hands dropped away from her waist abruptly when the front door opened and a tall, gaunt man somberly dressed in unrelieved black livery stepped out to greet them.

“Captain,” he said, bowing stiffly. “On behalf of myself and the staff, I would like to welcome you home.” His piercing gaze settled on Luca, and he sniffed disdainfully. “We were told you were bringing home a wife.”

The man, servant or not, was intimidating, and Luca took a step backward, bumping into Morgan. He placed his hands on her shoulders to steady her.

“Forsythe, you old reprobate.” Morgan laughed, slapping the man on the back. “’Tis good to see you. You never change. I still remember the day you swatted my behind when I teased my sister unmercifully.”

Forsythe’s face twisted into what could have passed for a smile. “And well you deserved it, Captain.” Once again his gaze found Luca, as if having judged her and found her lacking.

“’Tis fitting that you should be the first to meet my wife,” Morgan continued. “Luca, this rather dour-faced individual is Forsythe. He runs the household with an iron fist and has done so since my parents engaged him as a young man He’s kept the household running smoothly since I was a young lad. I couldn’t do without him.”

Forsythe’s gaunt frame swelled with pride. And love. Luca could see that the majordomo felt more than passing affection for the daunting El Diablo.

“Thank you, Captain.” He gave Luca a stiff-legged bow. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lady Scott.” Forsythe’s voice was coolly polite yet distinctly disapproving, nothing like Luca would expect it to be if he were welcoming an English wife to Morgan’s home. She felt the rejection keenly.

Luca murmured an adequate reply while Morgan looked on, frowning.

“Please summon the rest of the servants to the foyer. I want them to meet their new mistress,” Morgan instructed Forsythe with a hint of censure.

“Right away, Captain,” Forsythe said, his attitude unbending as he turned to carry out Morgan’s instructions.

Morgan started to follow him inside, but Luca touched him lightly on the arm. He paused and looked askance at her.

“He doesn’t like me,” Luca said, trembling. “All your servants will find reason to hate me. All your friends will despise me because they distrust anyone who is Spanish. Even you hate me!” she cried in growing panic.

“Luca, stop imagining things. It’s not Forsythe’s place to like or dislike his mistress. He will follow your orders because he is loyal to me and mine.”

Morgan could temporize all he wanted, but he was astute enough to realize that Luca would have difficulty fitting into his traditional English household. But there was no help for it. Everyone knew of his consuming hatred for Spaniards. Bloody Hell! How could he explain bringing home a Spanish bride?

Luca stepped into the foyer, intimidated by the large group of servants gathered to greet her. To her chagrin, she could not find one friendly face among them. What she did see was curiosity, hostility, and cool disdain.

Forsythe introduced the cook first; a large woman wrapped in an immaculate white apron who looked down her long nose at Luca and sniffed. Next came the cook’s helpers and pot scrubbers. The maids, all young and pretty, curtsied with much the same condescension as the cook. There were twelve servants in all, and every one of them made known in one way or another their lack of respect for their master’s Spanish bride.

For Morgan they displayed love and respect and awe-inspiring loyalty. The pretty maids giggled and ogled him shamelessly, their eyes rolling in blatant invitation. If Morgan noticed their brash perusal he chose to ignore it. One in particular, a saucy wench named Daisy, looked at Morgan in a brazen, suggestive manner that thoroughly disgusted Luca.

After everyone had been introduced except the steward, gardeners, stablemen, and coachmen, whom she would meet in due time, Morgan surprised Luca by choosing Daisy for her personal maid. Of all the servants, Daisy was the one Luca was least likely to have chosen for herself. Once dismissed they drifted away, gossiping among themselves as servants were inclined to do. Luca felt as if she could reach out and touch their animosity.

Morgan spoke privately to Forsythe for a few moments, then joined Luca at the foot of the stairs. “Tomorrow will be time enough to acquaint you with the house. I suggest you rest for an hour or two. Later this afternoon a dressmaker from the village will arrive to measure you for new clothing. I can’t have my wife running about in rags. We eat promptly at eight o’clock. I’ll wait for you at the bottom of the stairs.” He offered her his arm. “I’ll show you to your room. Daisy will help you disrobe. Tell her if there is anything you wish. If you’re hungry she’ll bring you something light to eat to hold you till dinner”.