Touch the Sun (33 page)

In the card room Lion and Priscilla sat side by side on a tapestry-covered sofa. Nearby stood a new gaming table, strewn with cards, and four chairs with shield-shaped backs. The engaged couple had just finished three games of piquet, which Priscilla had lost badly. She had employed every feminine trick she knew to make him let her win; it became the primary game and the defeat of her charm upset her greatly. What sort of man would be so ill-mannered as to purposely beat a lady at cards three times in a row, especially when that lady was his fiancée? Had he no sense of gallantry, no desire to please her? Not even a shred of pride had been spared, for he had played each hand through with an efficient skill that Priscilla found quite ruthless.

Feeling insulted and wronged, she thought to prick his conscience by refusing to speak. She was certain that when Lion realized how he had injured her feelings, he would apologize. Perhaps even a kiss might be offered. The infrequency of those was another affront to her ego; she soothed it, however, by reminding herself that he must hold her on a pedestal in his mind. Pure and untouchable.

She ventured a sideways glance in his direction and found that a copy of the
Columbian Magazine
had materialized in his hands and he was reading quite unworriedly. Momentarily she seethed, but decided that a new approach was in order. Let him resist this! she thought.

After lowering the Italian gauze handkerchief which crossed her breasts, Priscilla edged nearer to him, moving with all the sensuousness she could muster. Tentatively she let her arm brush his coat sleeve, then, more boldly, aligned their legs until the lean muscles of his thigh could be felt even through the filmy layers of her yellow gown.

Lion looked up, one eyebrow curving in a wordless question.

"I was feeling lonely so far away." Her voice oozed forlorn honey as she melted against his shoulder just in time to miss the distaste that flickered across his face. "Don't you feel even a tiny bit sorry for beating me at piquet?"

"Is it my fault you can't play?" He could not keep an edge of irritation from his tone. "Did you want me to cheat?"

"Why, what a thing to say! Didn't your mama ever teach you about chivalry?"

He laughed harshly. "Definitely not! Besides, I am not so easily indoctrinated. For God's sake, Priscilla, we're both adults, aren't we? Can't we even have a simple game of cards as equals, or must I treat you like a child every minute of every day?"

At what point had she taken a wrong turn? Never before had Priscilla encountered such astonishing obstacles in her dealings with men.

"Marcus always lets me win," she retorted on impulse, pouting anew.

"Marcus is a hypocrite... or possibly, even more dense than you are."

Not listening, she missed the frank insult. "At least Marcus pays attention to me. He even tries to kiss me!"

"Oh, he does, does he?" There was no jealousy in Lion's tone, only cold thoughtfulness. "Is this your coy way of extending an invitation?"

The meaning of "coy" escaped her. After summoning her best demeanor of maidenly shyness, Priscilla turned her face against Lion's shoulder and gazed longingly into his eyes. The expression in their frosty blue depths was strangely familiar; it took her back briefly to the time she had waited for his kiss in the entryway at West Hills. There was something frightening, almost primitive, in those eyes and the set of his mouth and jaw. Strong fingers closed around her chin, tipping it back, and then he was kissing her.

No one had ever kissed her this way before; she didn't know it was possible. His mouth twisted over her own, then his tongue was against her teeth and in her mouth. She choked under the brutality of his assault, gasping when the embrace ended, first with relief and then with shock as he burned a path over her neck and shoulders. The gauze handkerchief was yanked away and Priscilla felt her back bend across a steely arm. Fighting for breath, she realized that his hard lips were on her exposed breasts, scorching the nipples until an unexpected, intense chain of sensation built between her legs. What was happening? she wondered feverishly. How had this come about?

With an abruptness that startled her, Priscilla was released, collapsing into a whimpering heap on the tapestry-covered sofa.

Lion was up and across the room; to Priscilla's amazement he appeared cool and totally unaffected by what had just transpired. Steady, dark hands poured a brandy while she fumbled, trembling, with her bodice and chemise. Deep in her belly, a throbbing heat cried for relief and she wondered what ailment it could be.

Lion turned to stare at her as she struggled unsuccessfully for composure. His eyes were as dark as the ocean in a winter storm. Flicking out a plain gold watch from his waistcoat pocket, he observed, "I have to be going."

"Going?" she echoed shrilly, her skin red with the heat of frustrated passion. "You would abuse me this way and leave without even a simple apology? What sort of animal are you?"

He walked slowly toward her and bent to press one hand insolently to her most private place.

"I merely accepted your bold invitation, milady," Lion said coolly, straightening to his full height. "I apologize for not having time enough to ease your discomfort."

* * *

Every muscle in Lion's body was taut as he strode down Third Street. It had taken the last vestige of his control to behave calmly when he said good-bye to Anne Bingham. Earlier he had promised her that he would stay for dinner and the small evening-party she had planned; it was not easy to back out and do it casually when all he could feel was a consuming blaze of contempt for Priscilla.

Stretching his knotted muscles and inhaling the frigid March wind, Lion relaxed. A smile played over his hard mouth as he remembered Priscilla's tumble into the real world. The disgust he had felt was almost made worthwhile by the transformation of her face from the affected coquette to that of a bitch in heat.

After reaching home, he looked about automatically for Meagan even though common sense told him to avoid her. Still, prompted by curiosity, he asked her whereabouts when Wong came into the stair hall. Could Flynn have taken her off? That pup had shown far too much agitated interest over her welfare.

Wong scarcely heard a word Lion said; he jumped up and down, thoroughly rattled, repeating Meagan's assurance that his master would be dining out. Lion finally had to grasp his collar, holding him aloft for the few seconds it took his wiry legs to still.

"For God's sake, Wong, you're as excitable as an old woman! It's not Meagan's fault, though how she learned my plans is a mystery to me. I
was
going to dine at the Binghams', but I changed my mind. Don't worry. I'll be happy with a bowl of soup and a piece of cold meat. Now, where
is
Meagan?"

"She went to clean libelly long time ago."

Lion felt himself pulled off toward that room in spite of his better judgment. Quietly he opened the door and found that a fire had been lit, but there was no sign of her. Then he spotted some patterned silk peeping above the back of the settee. Crossing the room to get a better look, he discovered her, curled up like a child and fast asleep. It was the same spot she had occupied the night of Clarissa's knife attack, and her face in repose held that same exquisite innocence it had then.

Meagan still wore the gray gown of that morning, but she had added a large muslin handkerchief which crossed her bodice and was fastened at the small of her back. One of those familiar white aprons covered the skirt of her dress and she had tied a scarf of figured silk over her curls so that only the most impudent tendrils remained free. A feather duster lay discarded near Lion's desk. Beside the settee, books were stacked precariously, and two lay open in Meagan's lap, her finger curving near an underlined passage. Grinning, Lion bent to check the bindings.
Tom Jones
and
Common Sense;
choices as paradoxical as their chooser!

He sat back on his heels, level with her face, and sighed. How silken her skin, how wonderful she smelled, how enchanting was the expression she wore... Her nearness cleansed him like some sweet nectar and he threaded his fingers through her slender, limp ones, bending to touch his face against the back of her hand. Inches away and blurred by its proximity was the page Meagan had been reading. He recognized the underlined words because of their very familiarity: "The sun never shined on a cause of greater worth."

Meagan opened her eyes slowly, struggling against the heavy fatigue which had engulfed her so suddenly. Lion's hand held hers and his face rested there; she could feel the firm warmth of his mouth on her knuckles. Propped against the corner of the settee, she was high enough to observe his face. The lines of cynicism, so apparent during the early days of their association, had returned, and his muscles were tightly coiled.

Compassion and concern chipped at Meagan's heart until a fissure opened and love streamed out. Her free hand moved to touch tawny hair. After the slightest of flinches, Lion's head shifted and their eyes met. She watched as the splinters of blue ice melted until it seemed that she would drown in the vivid sea that replaced them. Wordlessly, he undid her fichu and tenderly kissed her breasts and throat. Azure eyes spoke to violet before Lion found her lips. The books fell unnoticed to the floor. Meagan's arms rounded his shoulders and neck, and she molded her slight body to his lean, hard one. She wanted to tell him how dreary her day had been without him, how his touch had banished all traces of her fatigue and gloom. She wanted to say, I need you!

Lion was having many of the same thoughts in his own abstract fashion. As he held her and kissed her, it seemed that all the broken, dead places inside him were made whole by the warmth that flowed from her body. He longed to remove the clothing that separated their flesh, not for the sake of passion but out of a need to be as close as possible to Meagan. Minutes passed as they lay fused together, eyes closed and faces touching, kissing occasionally in tender communication.

Finally, completely at ease, they drifted off to sleep. Meagan woke first, with a start, as she realized that anyone could walk in on them at this hour. Gently she rubbed the back of Lion's neck where her hand lay, until he too came awake, grimacing.

"God, I am exhausted!" he moaned, flexing one stiff arm.

As they disengaged and sat up, she replied lightly, "Perhaps you lost sleep last night."

"Ah, yes, it all comes back to me now! Well, I suppose it was worth it."

Blushing, she cuffed his arm. "Rogue."

"Nay. Merely an innocent lad led astray by a raven-haired enchantress."

"Your imagination is only exceeded by your depravity, sir."

"Smile when you say that."

She did, watching happily as he stretched booted legs and crossed them at the ankles. One arm reached out to draw her against his chest where she rested her cheek.

"So, you have been reading!"

"I thought to, but I fell asleep."

"I noticed. In any case, such ambition is to be admired." Meagan felt him grin above her. "Did you plan to spend the next week in here?"

With a glance at the wobbly piles of books, she smiled ruefully. "I might have gotten a bit carried away. I wasn't going to read every
word,
of course. I thought to look them over and choose the most promising ones for the long, lonely nights ahead."

"Ah, I see!" He gave her arm a gentle pinch. "By the way, where did you learn to read?"

Meagan's heart lurched as she realized she had never encountered a literate servant. "A friend taught me the rudiments and I practiced on my own until the deed was done."

"In between rides on your horse? Curiouser and curiouser!"

"Speaking of curious happenings—why are you home? I thought you were supposed to dine with your charming fiancée."

The muscles in his chest tightened. "Who told you that?"

"Smith. She paid me a visit today."

"Hmm. Well, to be honest, I did intend to remain at the Binghams', but Priscilla drove me so near to murder that I was forced to remove myself for her own protection."

Meagan refrained from gloating. "You did look rather bitter earlier."

"I was in the foulest of moods."

"And now?"

Lion tilted her chin up and gave her a long, devastating look.

"Silly minx, you know the answer." He kissed her in a way that stopped her breath. Then, "Meagan, do you suppose that we might find a way to enjoy these next weeks without constantly locking horns over the future? Could you relax and spend some time with me... if I promise to behave as a—uhm—gentleman?"

Meagan smiled at the way he had choked on that last word. "Yes, Lion. I would like that."

He shifted her onto his lap, holding her close with both arms. Meagan's face was glowing, cheeks dimpled.

"Thank you," he whispered almost inaudibly against her temple.

Part 3

And steal one day out of thy life to live...

—Abraham Cowley

"Ode Upon Liberty" (1663)