Whisper To Me of Love (34 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Whisper To Me of Love
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Wordlessly they stared at each other until Zachary, entering just behind Royce, exclaimed, “Good God! Where did you find that monster?”
Wrenching her gaze away from the bold appraisal of Royce's golden-eyed stare, Morgana sent Zachary a blinding smile and said with a certain amount of defiance, “In the kitchen! Ivy says she likes a cat about the place, and I am going to have him sleep on my bed!”
Zachary snickered and murmured, “I imagine that Royce will have something to say about that!”
Ignoring Zachary, an urbane smile curving his handsome mouth, Royce walked with that lazy, predatory stride of his over to where Morgana stood. Tipping up her face, his eyes once more on her soft mouth, he asked gently, “Do you really prefer the company of a cat in your bed to mine?”
Nearly mesmerized by his powerful presence, Morgana stared up into his dark, lean features, absently noting the tawny lock of hair that persisted in falling across his forehead before her eyes dropped and lingered on the audaciously passionate curve of his bottom lip. Remembering the feel of those hard lips crushed against hers, remembering the heat of his mouth and tongue on her breast, she was aware of a languorous warmth spreading through her body and she swayed helplessly toward him. Unknowingly, desire glowed in the depths of her eyes and she asked huskily, “Do I have a choice?”
One big hand gently cradling her flushed cheek, Royce smiled and shook his head slowly. The topaz eyes warm with a frankly sensual light, he said thickly, “Not really—but then, neither have I, sweetheart, since the moment I laid eyes on you... .”
As if having said more than he'd meant to, Royce turned away, and leaving her standing there openmouthed in astonishment, he said lightly to Zachary, “Shall we see if Chambers can find another bottle of that excellent brandy for us to sample after dinner? Or would you prefer some of that devilish fine hock we had last night?”
“Oh, the brandy!” Zachary replied without hesitation. Royce was already walking away, and Zachary stepped nearer to Morgana. He winked at her and murmured, “He's right, y'know—he hasn't had a choice, you've got him tangled in knots—and if you play your cards right, you'll win this game! My money's on you, brat, so don't let me down!” He laughed aloud at her expression of utter bewilderment, and then, whistling merrily to himself, he strolled after Royce.
C
HAPTER
21
D
inner that evening was uneventful, and as she had done since their arrival, Morgana excused herself after they'd finished eating and returned upstairs to her room, leaving the men to enjoy their brandy. Normally she was alone, but tonight the black and white cat kept her company, and since Ivy had told her that he was a good ratter, she named him, rather unimaginatively, “Ratter.” He ended up as Morgana had planned, sleeping on the bed with her, and even managed to convince her to share in a saucer some of the warm milk she drank each night before retiring. More than satisfied with her new friend and cowardly refusing to even speculate about Zachary's teasing remarks, she fell asleep, with Ratter sprawled comfortably across her stomach.
Once Morgana had departed from the dining room, the conversation between the two men turned immediately to the meeting with the Earl of St. Audries that afternoon. Sipping the brandy that Chambers had unearthed from the former owner's expertly stocked wine cellar, Royce mused aloud, “I wonder how he found out that Morgana, or rather, his bastard daughter, is my new mistress. The only other people who have seen her besides ourselves have been the servants... .” He paused before saying slowly, “Of course, Stafford could have said something—I don't think any of the others paid her any heed that day, and he is the Earl's good friend.”
Zachary frowned. “What about Spurling? If he spies for the one-eyed man, why not someone else as well?”
It was Royce's turn to frown. “I wonder if Spurling really is in the one-eyed man's pocket. He seems such an unlikely tool.” Royce sighed moodily before adding, “Whatever the case, I have been having the devil's own time trying to fit together all the pieces of that particular puzzle!” Looking at Zachary over the rim of his brandy snifter, he suggested idly, “It's possible that Devlin bribed someone in the household to tell him about her, although
why
my new mistress would be of interest to him, I cannot think! His informant would be bound to have noticed the resemblance and more than likely would have mentioned it to the Earl. Devlin's not stupid, and he would have immediately realized who she must be... .” Royce grimaced. “It would explain him knowing who she is, but Devlin has never shown the least interest in my doings before, so why would he now?” Taking another swallow of the dark amber liquid in his snifter, he said thoughtfully, “No, it's far more likely that Stafford or Wetherly told him of the resemblance.” Royce's gaze narrowed. “I'd forgotten that Lady Devlin had come to call with that flighty cousin of hers, Lady Whitlock. I wonder ...”
“But they didn't actually
meet
Morgana, did they?” Zachary asked.
“Mmm, no, but they were just getting into their carriage when Morgana and I were leaving to go to the dressmaker's—they could have seen her then. It would have been only a brief glimpse, but it might have been enough.”
Looking puzzled, Zachary questioned, “But would she say something?” He coughed delicately. “Bastards are not something a woman discusses with her husband—especially not
his
bastards! And why would she care anyway?”
“Why would the Earl care? He obviously abandoned Morgana without a care years ago,” Royce said exasperatedly.
They speculated several moments longer, even touching briefly on the subject of Stafford's bruised face and the curious fact that no one had seen either Wetherly or Newell since the night of the one-eyed man's attack on Royce. It seemed somewhat sinister, particularly in view of the fact that the one-eyed man could very well be anyone of the gentlemen mentioned.. . . “Hell!” Royce growled irritably. “There are any number of gentlemen that he could be—all we know for sure is that he is fairly tall and that he is dark-eyed! Without a great deal of effort, I can name a dozen or so members of the ton who fit that description! As an example—look at George's friend Atwater... . He is moderately tall and he has dark eyes. And then there is that fellow Jasper Simonds—I've never met him, but George mentioned his black eyes and height. And then there's Newell, Wetherly, Stafford, Barrows, Eden, and St. John—they all have dark eyes and are fairly tall. Hell, that description could fit nearly half of the male population from Cornwall! As far as clues are concerned, we have devilish damn little!”
As the hour grew late, though they continued to discuss and explore many different avenues of conjecture about the one-eyed man, the Earl of St. Audries, and Morgana's connection with both of those gentlemen, eventually they had to abandon the subject, having reached no especially satisfying conclusions. Stifling a huge yawn, Royce finally rose from the table and said mockingly, “It is all your fault you know.”
“What?” Zachary yelped with astonishment. “How can you blame this situation on me?”
Royce smiled sweetly. “Very easily—it was
your
idea to attend that blasted sparring match!”
Zachary was still heatedly expostulating how utterly unfair Royce's thinking was when they parted at their bedroom doors upstairs.
Since the rest of the servants from London had arrived and settled in, by Saturday a normal routine had been established in the household. Morgana, Royce, and Zachary continued to become more familiar with the house and grounds, and the day passed quite enjoyably. After dinner that evening, Morgana again politely excused herself and was on the point of leaving when Royce said abruptly, “I shall see you later—there are a few things that I wish to discuss with you.”
Morgana shot him a wary glance. Despite their disagreement, he had been most kind to her since the night of their arrival, very nearly disarming her by treating her in a teasing, friendly manner. She had wondered during the past few days precisely how long a respite he would allow her before forcing a confrontation, and the answer was suddenly there before her—not very long at all. Giving a quick nod of her black, curly head, she practically bolted from the room.
A brooding expression on his handsome face, Royce stared at the door she had shut behind her. Looking over at Zachary, he pulled a wry face and admitted, “I've got to tell her about Jacko and Ben's departure on Monday, and I'm not looking forward to it!”
“You haven't told her yet?” Zachary asked in surprise.
“No. I'd thought to wait a few days, to let her get used to the house before springing it on her, and I'd hoped ...” He stopped, deciding that he wasn't about to tell his cousin that he'd hoped to be able to tell her one night as she lay locked in his arms, their bodies relaxed and satiated from lovemaking. His mouth twisted. He was beginning to doubt that she would ever willingly let him touch her again—not only was she likely to be distressed to learn that her brothers were leaving her behind in England, trusting in his promise to bring her to America, but considering that she had attempted to extort more money from him for the pleasure of sharing her bed, she was no doubt going to be furious once he confessed that Lime Tree Cottage was only
half
hers! He took a long swallow of brandy. What a damnable coil he'd gotten himself into! And the really hellish part of it was—he wouldn't extricate himself from Morgana's little claws even if he could. His face hardened. But there were some things she had to learn, and tonight, agreeable or not, she was going to learn that promises were made to be kept. Especially, he thought harshly, promises made to
him!
It was after midnight when Royce finally found himself standing before the door that separated Morgana's sitting room from his. He and Zachary had finished another bottle of brandy before parting for the night, but the amount of liquor consumed had nothing to do with the sudden increased beat of his heart, or the fierce clenching in his loins whenever he considered the outcome of the impending confrontation with Morgana. Even as he had impatiently stripped out of his evening clothes and, after washing lightly, had shrugged into his black silk robe with its rich embroidery of gold and crimson, he had argued with himself about the wisdom of what he was doing. It was not the morality of it that bothered him—as far as he was concerned, righteousness was on his side; Morgana
owed
him!—but there was something inside him that regretted bitterly that it had come to this, that the powerful, inexplicable emotions she aroused so easily within him had been reduced to nothing more than a mere business transaction! He smiled grimly. Well, it had been her choice, and by God, she was going to live up to it!
He entered without knocking, and swiftly crossing the darkened sitting room, he stopped in the doorway of her bedchamber, admiring the pretty picture revealed by the glowing light of the silver candelabra near the bed.
The heavy satin cream-colored bed curtains were tied back at the four corners of the huge bed with bands of rose-hued velvet, giving Royce an unobstructed view of the two occupants. Morgana was half sitting, half lying in the middle of the bed, several silk pillows in shades of rose, cream, and lavender piled behind her, and curled comfortably by her side was Ratter. The tall candelabra was on a marble-topped mahogany stand that had been placed next to the bed, and its flickering golden light seemed to caress Morgana's intent features and slender form as she lay reading, one slim hand absently stroking Ratter's black and white fur.
She looked incredibly lovely, Royce thought, his gaze traveling from the top of her bent curly head, down to the soft alabaster shoulders bared by the daring cut of her silken nightgown. He remembered selecting this particular gown, thinking at the time that its pale amethyst color would enhance the clarity of her skin, and he was pleased to see that he had been right, his eyes lingering at the top of the gown, where just a hint of her entrancing bosom could be seen. A possessive light entered the golden eyes as he continued to stare at her slender shape, the filmy gown hiding very little from his hungry stare.
He must have made a sound, for suddenly she glanced up, and across the width of the big room, their eyes met. Morgana felt her heart slam painfully in her chest as she spied him lounging there in the doorway, darkness yawning behind him.
With an effort, she tore her gaze from his mesmerizing stare and shyly her eyes wandered over him, unconsciously noticing the way the black silk of his robe clung lovingly to his broad shoulders, trying very hard not to let her eyes linger on the strands of tawny hair that curled at the open throat of the robe. She knew what he looked like and felt like beneath that robe, the memory of his hard-muscled chest brushing against her breasts as he had made love to her that first time exploding through her mind. A sensual warmth unexpectedly suffused her entire body and she was humiliatingly aware of warm, treacherous languor creeping into her limbs the longer she stared at his tall, powerful form.
She was suddenly, wildly, burning to have him touch her, to have him take her into his arms and, for those mindless moments that she was in his embrace, banish all the confusion and uncertainty that lay in her heart. She
loved
him! Loved him and wanted him with every fiber and sinew of her being! Helpless to stop herself, she lifted her eyes to his face, and her breath caught in her chest at the frankly carnal expression on his handsome features.
Unaware of his impact on her, Royce pushed lazily away from the doorjamb where he had been lounging, and walking over to her, he murmured, “I'm glad that you have not yet gone to sleep.”
Trying to ignore the pounding of her heart, trying to pretend that she wasn't unbearably conscious of him and the blatantly erotic appraisal of his golden eyes, she put her book aside, and as Ratter jumped from the bed and stalked majestically out of the room, she said primly, “I have been waiting up for you—you said you wanted to talk to me.”
He smiled faintly and, without invitation, sat down on the bed beside her. Lifting up one of her limp hands, he pressed a warm kiss to the soft flesh and asked, “And is that the
only
reason you allow me in your bedchamber this hour of the night?”
She unsuccessfully attempted to retrieve her hand. “Of course! Why else would you be here?”
Royce gave a husky laugh and tugged her easily into his arms. His mouth drifting warmly across hers, he breathed, “Oh, sweetheart, I can think of dozens of reasons ... but there is only one that matters to me at this moment!”
In the split second before his lips settled with undisguised enjoyment on hers, Morgana thought of resisting him, of trying to fight free from his embrace, but then his mouth caught hers, and with a soft sigh, she forgot everything but the expert seduction of his kiss. She let him pull her closer to him, her own slender arms clutching at his broad back as he lazily deepened the kiss, his tongue unhurriedly exploring the shape and texture of her lips before sliding effortlessly into the warm intimacy of her mouth. His tongue teased and plainly wooed as leisurely, thoroughly, he explored the sweet confines of her mouth, his pleasure evident in the low groan he gave when Morgana's tongue slid warmly against his, meeting each gentle thrust with one of her own.
Breathless and slightly wary at her welcome response, he slowly lifted his tawny head to look intently into her flushed features. She was lovely beyond words, the black, curly hair seeming to heighten the alabaster clarity of her skin, the amethyst glow of her gown giving her cat-slanted gray eyes a purple hue, his kiss having deepened the rosy color of her temptingly full mouth. Staring at her with growing perplexity, Royce was uncomfortably aware of something tightening deep within him, something that had less to do with the heavy throb of his undeniably swollen manhood than with the pure delight he took in simply having her in his arms. That he wanted her, that he wanted to slake the fierce desire she aroused so easily within him, he understood, but his sheer
need
of her, his need to be with her, to have the right to take care of her, utterly bewildered him.

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