Whisper To Me of Love (24 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Whisper To Me of Love
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Little else could be learned from their excited informant, but from the furious ringing of the cathedral bells throughout London and the laughing and crying mobs they passed as they rode back to Hanover Square, it was apparent the news had been correct. Napoleon had been defeated! The Corsican monster had been finally beaten, this time for good! Briefly the joyful news of Napoleon's loss at Waterloo lightened the tension between Morgana and Royce, but by the time they had reached the house, there was again a decided air of tension between them.
Chambers met them at the door, his face beaming with pleasure. “Have you heard the news, sir! Bonaparte has been thoroughly trounced. Oh, but this is a great day for England!”
Briefly a smile flitted across Royce's face, and seemingly indifferent to Morgana standing mutely at his side, he conversed with the butler for a few moments longer. Then, as if suddenly remembering her presence, he inquired of Chambers, “Have you prepared the rooms as I asked?”
Darting an unhappy look at Morgana, Chambers nodded his head. “Yes, sir! They are ready, just as you requested.”
Royce's grip on Morgana's arm was painful, almost as if he expected her to bolt as he hurried her up the stairs. Once they entered the suite, he slammed the door forcefully behind them and instantly snatched his hand away from her as if contact with her were distasteful.
She had not known what to expect once they had reached the house, and uneasily her gaze slid around the spacious, richly furnished room, her breath catching audibly in her throat when, through a wide archway framed by a pair of carved double doors, she caught sight of the huge, silken-hung bed. Her face paled, and from the wide-eyed stare she flashed his way, it was obvious that she was fearful he was about to throw her on the bed and seal their infamous bargain. Royce smiled nastily. “You needn't fear that I intend to avail myself of your ...
services
tonight! You have made your demands quite,
quite
clear!” Raking her with a blatantly insulting look, he added tautly, “Until I can meet your price, I don't plan on enjoying that perfect little body of yours. In the meantime, you may amuse yourself here, counting your gains as they arrive and dwelling upon how much pleasure you will give me once I have found a suitable residence for you!”
He stalked furiously from the room, anger and distaste evident in the rigid set of his broad shoulders and the violent bang of the door as he wrathfully slammed it shut behind him. For a long, painful moment, Morgana stared at the shut door, a cold, miserable numbness growing within her. Oh, my God! What have I done!
Royce was thinking much the same thing as he barged into his study and headed immediately for the tray of liquors that were kept in a walnut cabinet near his desk. God! He must be mad to have let some little thieving pickpocket get under his skin this way! Pouring himself a generous amount of fine French brandy, fine
smuggled
French brandy, he immediately tossed it down and poured himself another. Flinging himself down in a nearby chair, he stared moodily around the room, avoiding looking at the sofa where he had made love to Morgana just hours ago.
The brandy was beginning to warm him, and he was beginning to feel that perhaps events were not quite as bad as he envisioned, when the door to the study suddenly burst open and Zachary, an expression of utter outrage on his face, loomed in the doorway. “Is it true?” he demanded, his fists clenched dangerously at his sides.
Having a fair idea what Zachary was talking about and wishing to avoid the confrontation that his young cousin obviously hoped for, Royce tried to divert him. His features perfectly bland, he remarked imperturbably, “Yes, it's true—Napoleon has been defeated at Waterloo.”
Zachary's eyes narrowed, and slamming the door shut behind him, he came over to stand aggressively in front of Royce. “That's
not
what I was referring to,” he ground out. “And you damn well know it! Have you seduced Pip?”
Royce winced at the ugly words, but unwilling to excuse his actions, he replied levelly, “Yes, I have—only, she goes by the name of Morgana now.” His mouth twisted. “Pip is no more—only Morgana, my mistress, resides here now.”
The expression of shocked disillusionment and contempt that crossed Zachary's face hurt Royce deeply. Zachary had always followed his lead and had from early childhood viewed him as an infallible, heroic being. It was painfully clear that with this one rash act, he had destroyed his young cousin's good opinion of him.
Zachary took an agitated step about the study, his fists clenching and unclenching spasmodically. “I could not believe it when I asked Chambers where you had gone with Pip and why he was preparing that suite of rooms for occupancy.” Zachary laughed bitterly. “He is loyal to you, do you know that? It took every ounce of charm I possess and a downright threat of force to get the truth out of him.” He threw Royce a look of utter loathing. “I thought better of you! She was here under your protection! You were supposed to protect her from the one-eyed man, and instead, you bloody well seduced her yourself!” Almost despairingly he demanded, “How could you do such a thing?”
There was no easy explanation, nor was Royce used to explaining himself. Staring broodingly at the amber liquor in his glass, he muttered, “It happened! Let it go at that!”
Zachary swore softly under his breath and, without another look at Royce, flung himself out of the room.
Pouring himself another snifter of brandy, Royce glanced at the nearly empty decanter and grimaced. A caustic smile curved his mouth. He wondered grimly if he was drinking to obliterate the harsh reality of Morgana's words or to keep himself from mounting the stairs and taking what was rightfully his—after all, he was
paying
for her, wasn't he? Royce couldn't tell.
 
 
The next morning he went to see George Ponteby, and upon George's recommendation, Royce hired a respectable estate agent to procure a tidy little house for him. A house, he admitted cynically, that he intended to turn over to the delectable little slut upstairs who occupied a damnably inordinate portion of his thoughts, and
that
situation did not change as the days passed.
Telling her brothers that she would not be joining them when they left for America had not been pleasant. Royce had not spared himself anything and had quite bluntly explained the circumstances to them. He was surprised and yet not surprised when Jacko and Ben seemed to be not unduly concerned with what had happened, and the repulsive suspicion that he had been deliberately set up by the three Fowlers had taken firm root in his brain. Oh, perhaps they had not hit upon their despicable scheme at that very first meeting when he had caught her picking his pocket, but he was not entirely convinced that they had not immediately seized the opportunity to leave temptation in his path. Perhaps, Royce considered blackly, the one-eyed man didn't even exist. It was possible all the incidents blamed on the one-eyed man—Stafford's actions and Lady Whitlock's offer—were genuine. Even the beating given the Fowlers could have been administered by someone else. Perhaps the one-eyed man was simply a fantasy they had concocted for his benefit. A compelling reason to keep their sister in his house. He had believed in the one-eyed man implicitly in the beginning, but now ... now that Pi—no,
Morgana,
had shown her true colors, he wondered bitterly if he hadn't been spun a Canterbury story.
If telling the Fowlers that he had seduced their sister and intended, with her approval, to set her up as his mistress had been unpleasant, having to face his own servants with what he had done, even if he didn't offer any excuses or explanation for his actions to them, had been even more distasteful. Though they were extremely well trained, Royce was sourly aware of a strong feeling of disapproval emanating from several of them these past days, and he was resentfully conscious that they viewed Morgana with a great deal of sympathy, laying all the blame for the current situation squarely at his feet. They would not dare voice their disapproval, and while they still gave him excellent service, some of the obvious admiration and affectionate esteem with which they had previously regarded him was missing. He didn't really blame them in the least for feeling as they did—he
had
committed a black sin indeed, and no one was more gallingly aware of it than he!
Finishing off another brandy some ten days later, Royce was prowling restlessly around his study, cursing the day Morgana had entered his life, cursing his own folly for not instantly having turned her over to the Watch for incarceration in Newgate, and cursing himself for being such an immoral, lascivious bastard that he could not keep his hands off her! He was also paying a bitter price for his folly—these past ten days, he and Zachary had barely spoken to each other, and Zachary had taken to staying away from the house on Hanover Square as much as possible, his displeasure with the situation clear.
Moodily finishing off the last of the brandy, Royce wandered about the room, studiously keeping his gaze from the sofa where he and Morgana had made love. One thing was positive, he thought dismally—mounting Morgana as his mistress was certainly causing him far more pain and frustration than pleasure! He laughed harshly to himself. He was indeed frustrated, and Zachary's defection as well as his servants' ill-disguised disapproval had brought him pain, but—and this was most bitter of all—he knew in his heart that he would not undo what he had done. He wanted Morgana, and he wanted her at any price, even if it meant losing the esteem of everybody around him. She was
his,
and in his darkest moments he suspected that he would do just about anything, short of murder—and he wasn't even certain about
that
—to keep her in his possession.
It was a painful admission. Until her advent into his life, Royce had always considered himself an honorable, fair-minded, level-headed man. He was not given to fits and starts; he lived his life in a sedate manner and could be counted on to be the clear-thinking one in a crisis. In the past he had laughed at the follies committed by other men while under the spell of an innocent miss or in the throes of a mad infatuation with some clever harlot, and had always considered himself aloof from such antics. Such was not the case any longer. He
was
infatuated with Morgana, he admitted sourly; nothing else could explain his uncharacteristic actions over these past several days.
Tossing ceaselessly in his bed at night, remembering vividly Morgana's soft form thrashing beneath him, he was burningly aware that he had merely to walk through the adjoining sitting rooms that separated their bedchambers to find the source of all his discomforts. Find the source of discomfort and sweet oblivion, too. Night after night, his body tight and aching for release, he had fantasized about taking that short walk, about entering her bedchamber and climbing into that big bed of hers and seeking the sheer carnal pleasure he knew he would find in her soft, corrupt flesh. Only pride and a stubborn determination not to let her know how completely she had enslaved him kept him from doing just that. But oh, how he was tempted ...
It wouldn't be long now, he reminded himself tautly, not long at all, until he could bury himself once more in the scalding warmth of her slender body. Not long until he could take his fill of her, slake this uncontrollable passion she had aroused within him. Thomas Grimsly, the estate agent he had hired, had called on him that very afternoon and had discussed a few of the houses that might meet Morgana's demands. Royce was certain that in a
very
short time, perhaps only mere days, he would have fulfilled the last of her damned requirements. Soon she would have her bloody house, and if Grimsly thought him extravagant for
buying
his mistress a house of her own, so what? It was his money, and if he wanted to squander it on a greedy little strumpet, that was his business!
A mirthless smile curved his mobile mouth. He had already spent a fortune on the scheming baggage. Buying things for her gave him a curious pleasure—pain: He wanted her to have everything a woman could desire, even if she
was
a conniving little slut willing to sell herself to him, and he could not seem to stop himself from purchasing for her whatever caught his eye. But while the thought of her wearing and using all the items he had purchased for her delighted him, his delight was also mixed with a strong feeling of regret. Precisely what he regretted, he couldn't say, but he could not dispel the odd feeling of pain that knotted in his chest whenever he thought of the cold, hard fact that Morgana was
selling
herself to him—that all of the objects he had purchased for her were simply part of the price he was paying to enjoy that supple little body of hers.
The arrangement with Morgana shouldn't have bothered him at all—he had been keeping a mistress off and on since he was seventeen years old, and it had never before given him a moment's qualm that he was
paying
for the woman's time and the use of her body. Granted the women had not been virgins, nor had he ever expended the excessive amount on them that he would on Morgana by the time he bought her the house she wanted, but ...
Scowling furiously, he tossed off the last of his brandy, determined to waste no more time thinking about the wretched, grasping little hussy, no doubt sleeping soundly upstairs, happily dreaming of the fortune he was spending on her. Consoling himself with the knowledge that soon enough, her nights would not be given to
sleep,
he left the room.

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