Whisper To Me of Love (33 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Whisper To Me of Love
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The hiring of new servants had given Royce some concern—how could he be certain that he was not employing another minion of the one-eyed man? But he had reluctantly convinced himself that it was unlikely that the one-eyed man's grasp was as strong here as it was in London, and even if there were some poor fools in the area who owed the one-eyed man their allegiance, it was unlikely that they would happen to be the very people hired to work at Lime Tree Cottage.
Eyeing with satisfaction the impenetrable yew hedge that surrounded the property as they drove away, Royce told himself again that Morgana would be perfectly safe. But telling himself she would be safe and actually believing it were two different things, and though he enjoyed the tour of Tunbridge Wells, his thoughts were constantly on Morgana. He and Zachary were on the point of leaving when Royce caught sight of a tall, well-dressed figure walking in their direction, and as he recognized the fellow, his attention became totally focused on that particular individual.
There was no mistaking the dark, handsome features of the Earl of St. Audries, and considering how the Earl usually acted in his presence, Royce was quite prepared for Stephen Devlin to make some sneering remark as they met. To his astonishment and no little suspicion, Stephen Devlin smiled warmly, and after greeting Royce and Zachary politely, he said jovially, “I see that the charms of the town have drawn you here, too.”
Keeping his features bland, Royce smiled, too, and murmured, “Yes, we have found it quite fascinating, in spite of it not being considered as fashionable as it once was.” Though he gave no sign of it, Royce couldn't help leaping to the conclusion that the Earl's unexpected appearance in Tunbridge Wells, as well as his astonishing friendliness, was in some way connected to Morgana ... or the one-eyed man. Extremely wary about the situation, but deciding to see just how far the Earl's seeming affability went, Royce asked innocently, “Have you been here long yourself?”
Stephen answered easily, “Oh, no, I just arrived a few days ago—Tuesday afternoon, to be exact. The Countess and I came down with Stafford. Martin Wetherly is here too, but he came down alone earlier that day. Wetherly owns a rather pleasant villa just beyond town, and we are all staying with him.”
The Earl was volunteering far too much information, and Royce felt a shiver of unease slide down his spine. Stephen's unusual friendliness and volubility had him distinctly worried, and the knowledge that Stafford and Wetherly were also about did not soothe his growing anxiety in the least. “How long do you intend to stay?” Royce asked bluntly.
“Oh, I expect all summer,” Stephen replied promptly. “Wetherly is having an extended house party, and several of us decided to give Brighton the go-by this year.” Some of the Earl's normal haughtiness returned as his smile faded and he said scathingly, “Since the Regent has become so enamored of the place, all manner of riffraff flock there along with the ton, and quite frankly, it is not all to my taste. I do not like rubbing shoulders with a bunch of commoners!” Apparently realizing that he was not endearing himself to the two American “commoners,” he recovered himself instantly and smiled once more. “After the crush of the London Season, the idea of summer in the country sounded vastly appealing.”
Royce and Zachary made some polite reply, Zachary adding shyly, “I am looking forward to visiting your son at St. Audries Hall next week—he said that I will find it a welcome change from the city.”
Stephen's eyes hardened for a moment. “I'm sure that you will enjoy your visit there, and I must confess that several of my friends will be better off out of the city. The evening before we left, Wetherly, Stafford, and Newell had a night of deep drinking—Newell is so under the weather that he will not arrive until next week, and Wetherly has not ventured from his room since he arrived!” The Earl laughed, inviting Royce and Zachary to join him. Shaking his dark head, he added, “No one has seen Newell since that night, so we can only guess at its effect upon
him!
What Wetherly looks like, I can only imagine—I have not even laid eyes on him since my arrival. If they are as knocked about as Stafford, I don't blame them for hiding away—poor Stafford fell down a flight of stairs on his way home and gave himself the most hideously bruised eye.”
Royce froze, and he was very conscious of Zachary's gasp of surprise. To prevent Zachary from blurting out some unwise comment, Royce said swiftly, “I'm sorry to hear that they are all indisposed. You must be finding it a bit dull on your own.”
The Earl smiled thinly. “Oh, I have been keeping myself amused—I have several friends who own property in the vicinity. I admit that it is a rather hasty and impromptu house party that Wetherly has put together—some of the others won't be arriving until late next week, but there are enough of us already here to keep things lively.” Something sly entered Stephen's gray eyes. “Wetherly convinced some old aunt of his to act as his hostess and chaperon, and the dashing widow Cresswell, along with her married sister, are part of the house party.” Something that almost resembled a smirk curved his thin lips and he continued, “I believe that Julia Summerfield and her father are joining the party also—you were very assiduous in your attentions to those young ladies, were you not?” When Royce remained silent, Stephen shrugged and murmured snidely, “I understand that they are not precisely happy with you at the moment.... The latest on-dit is that they are distressed at the cavalier way in which you have abandoned them these past weeks.” Either forgetting his amiable role or deliberately abandoning it, Stephen turned the smirk into an ugly smile as he drawled, “You don't seem to be very consistent in your affections, do you? First Cresswell, then Summerfield ... but I understand that the lovely Della threw
you
over!”
Smiling imperturbably, Royce murmured, “You certainly seem to have made yourself familiar with all the aspects of my amorous pursuits. I wonder why. Envy, perhaps?”
Zachary choked back a laugh, but the Earl found nothing amusing in Royce's remarks, and he let his hatred of Royce peek through his once amiable facade. Ignoring Royce's taunt, his words dripping with venom, Stephen said, “I had the pleasure of speaking with the fair Della only yesterday on this very street, and she seems quite pleased with her new protector. She is a beautiful woman; too bad she lost interest in you! I wouldn't repine, however; Jasper Simonds appears to be giving her a great deal of pleasure, both in bed and out of it, something that you apparently didn't!”
Royce regarded Stephen for a long, thoughtful moment, almost glad that the Earl's friendly manner had slipped. Suddenly bored by the confrontation and furious with this icy-hearted bastard who had fathered a child and cruelly deserted her, leaving her without a backward glance to grow up in one of the most dangerous slums in all of London, Royce was aware of a savage need to hit back—even if Stephen would not fully understand his remarks ... unless, of course, Morgana's identity was already known to him... . Smiling mockingly, Royce shrugged his broad shoulders and said carelessly, “It doesn't matter.... My new mistress satisfies
me!
There is something about her ... an
aristocratic
manner that I find quite enchanting.” His topaz eyes glittering with golden lights, he added silkily, “She may have come from the gutter, but I would suspect that her blood is as blue as yours.”
Royce's remarks hit deeper than he knew. Their effect on Stephen, however, was gratifying, and the Earl's reaction to his barb confirmed something that Royce had begun to suspect from the moment Stephen had approached them—the Earl
knew
the identity of his new mistress. Stephen's gray eyes darkened with naked fury and his face had gone white at Royce's mocking words. Lips curled back in a snarl of rage, his hand tightened noticeably on the fashionable ebony walking stick he carried. For one second Royce thought the Earl would actually strike him, but hatred twisting the handsome features, Stephen replied, “You could be mistaken, you know—after all, what does someone like you know about aristocrats!”
Royce merely smiled, an infuriatingly cool smile, and with a smothered curse, Stephen spun around and stalked away at a rapid pace.
“Well!” Zachary said in astonishment. “It's obvious he knows Morgana is your mistress and is not very happy about it! Your comments certainly put the wind up him!”
Royce was silent for a moment, staring grimly after Devlin's departing figure. What the devil! The Earl's reaction seemed extreme considering the situation, and Royce frowned. “I know he bears me no love,” he said slowly, “and it can't have pleased him to learn that his bastard daughter is my mistress, and I'd like to know exactly how he discovered
that
interesting fact, but damn it all—he callously abandoned her years ago, so why should he fly off in a rage like that now? And why in the hell was he so bloody friendly? And informative!”
A frown still on his face, Royce suggested that they leave for Lime Tree Cottage immediately, and as Zachary agreed, moments later they departed from Tunbridge Wells. The meeting with the Earl disturbed him, and even though he and Zachary continued to discuss the strange meeting and the Earl's even stranger behavior during the short ride home, Royce was very conscious of a strong urge to see for himself that Morgana was safe—with Wetherly and Stafford in the same area,
anything
could happen!
For Morgana, though she was conscious of the day suddenly going flat when Royce drove away, the time had passed most pleasantly while the two men had been gone. She had wandered around the house doing some quiet exploring on her own, and while she was exceedingly enchanted by the house and its furnishings, she still could not comprehend that Royce had actually bought this magnificent place with her in mind. It was inconceivable, and the stubborn determination to make him understand that she did not want it hardened in her mind. Not that she was not utterly beguiled by the house and its grounds. It was the most wondrous place she had ever seen in her life, but ... Her lovely little face twisted. If I allow him to give it to me, it would make my love for him a tawdry thing, something ugly and sordid.
Quelling the miserable thoughts that threatened to disrupt her hard-won tranquillity, she went in search of companionship, and scant moments later, she was seated happily in the big, sunny kitchen, laughing and talking with Ivy and Alice. It was
not
the normally accepted place for a woman in her position, but then, it had not been so very many days ago that Morgana had been a servant herself, and not such a long time before
that
that she had been roaming the streets of London like a hungry little cat, sometimes finding dinner in scrap heaps!
Ivy had poured her a glass of still warm milk from the evening's milking of the estate's cow and had pushed a plate of freshly baked shortbread in front of her, and like the street urchin she had been such a short time ago, Morgana ate with open relish as they talked. There had been a bit of stiffness between them, and Ivy had tried to shoo her out of the kitchen, but Morgana's sweet smile and confiding ways had put Ivy's feelings of impropriety to rest, and as the minutes passed, the three of them were all talking quite easily.
Spying the huge black and white cat that sat serenely in the middle of the open-beamed room, Morgana excitedly left her seat at the scrubbed oak table and, expensive muslin skirts billowing about her, sank slowly to the floor. Picking up the purring animal, she reverently stroked its fur and said in a low voice, “Oh, what a beauty! Does it live here?”
Ivy snorted. “It's a he, and he wasn't such a beauty when we arrived here and I found him squalling at the back door, I can tell you! Filthy thing, but I like a cat about, and so we bathed him and fed him and he hasn't left yet.”
Alice giggled. “Chambers found him wandering upstairs and he's been in a fine fit worrying that the master will be angry at the animal's presence in the house.”
Deciding that as she hadn't yet been allowed to renounce all interest in the house, she could therefore have some say on what transpired within its walls, Morgana stood up, holding the cat and rubbing her cheek against the soft fur, and said coolly, “Well, I don't mind if he's in the house—in fact, I shall take him upstairs with me and he can sleep on the foot of my bed!” And
the master,
she thought darkly, can make what he wants of that!
Cradling the purring cat in her arms, she left the kitchen and was on the point of going upstairs when there was the sound of a vehicle driving up to the front entrance. Her cheeks suddenly flushed, a breathless excitement unexpectedly flooding through her slender body, she spun around to stare as Royce entered the house a moment later.
To his intense annoyance, Royce's heartbeat quickened, the blood suddenly leaping in his veins, and he was irritatingly conscious of an inexplicable lifting of his spirits at the sight of Morgana standing at the base of the curving staircase, a huge black and white cat clasped in her arms. She was wearing a beguiling gown of periwinkle blue, the short puff sleeves and modest neckline trimmed in a blond lace, and the silky black curls, worn a trifle longer than when she had first come under his care, framed her charming features. A wide blue satin ribbon had been artfully threaded through her black hair, and her soft, rosy lips were half-parted as her gaze remained locked with his. The almond-shaped gray eyes were almost blue, the color of the gown reflecting in them, and Royce knew a nearly irresistible impulse to cross the brief distance that separated them and taste for himself the sweetness of that full, tempting mouth.

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