Whisper To Me of Love (41 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Whisper To Me of Love
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His open countenance revealed by the light of the lantern he carried, Harry smiled widely and said easily, “Good evening, sir! Sorry for the delay in opening the gate—didn't expect you this late at night.”
Royce made some polite reply and then asked, “Everything is well at the house? No strangers or troubles while I've been gone?”
Frowning slightly, Harry answered slowly, “It's been right quiet these past two days, but the thing is—John said you wanted to know about
any
thing that didn't seem normal—think you ought to know that one of the new housemaids, Clara is her name, if I remember rightly, came back from town this afternoon in a rig driven by a fellow of the type that don't usually take to little country misses, if you understand me?”
Royce stiffened and asked tautly, “A gentleman? Tall, handsome man with dark hair and gray eyes?”
“Can't tell you that—he let Clara down before they actually got here, just down the lane a bit, and all I could see was that he wasn't dressed like a farmer or such and that he was heavily bearded.”
“I see,” Royce said slowly. “Thank you for the information—continue to keep your eyes and ears open.”
Driving away, Royce felt his light mood vanish and he was aware of sudden, insistent urgency to see Morgana. The incident with the housemaid could be innocent, and just because the man had not appeared to be a local farmer didn't mean that his interest in Clara wasn't perfectly understandable. And yet ... and yet Bullard's simple words filled Royce with an inexplicable sense of danger, and while he would have normally pushed away any such nonsensical ideas about premonition, he could not shake the increasingly unpleasant sensation that it was paramount that he see Morgana at once, that to delay could be fatal!
Suddenly frightened and not quite knowing why, he urged his tired horses into a dead run, the need to reach the house in the shortest possible time taking precedence over everything. In spite of their obvious exhaustion, his horses obeyed instantly, racing down the dark lane with long-legged strides, and moments later, they swept around the long, curving driveway in front of the house. Royce barely jerked them to a snorting, heaving stop before he was springing down from the gig and flinging the reins to Matt. Almost running up the path that led to the house, Royce shouted over his shoulder to Matt, “Treat them well! They deserve an extra ration of grain tonight!”
Driven by his irrational fear, he leaped up the steps and flung himself inside the house, only to be brought up short by the sheer normalcy of everything. A crystal chandelier cast the soft glow of candlelight over the wide entry hall, and Chambers had been just crossing it, a tray of liquor and glasses in his hands, when Royce made his hasty entrance. Startled at his master's abrupt entrance into the house, Chambers gave an exclamation of surprise and said, a trifle embarrassed, “Good heavens, sir! What a start you gave me, charging into the house that way!” Recovering himself, he bowed briefly and said politely, “I am just on my way to take the young gentlemen some refreshment in the billiard room, but after that, if you like, I shall have Cook prepare a tray of food for you.” He coughed slightly and murmured, “Miss Fowler went up to her rooms not long ago. I saw one of the housemaids taking up her nightly drink of milk just a moment ago, so I expect that she had not yet retired for the night.”
It was obvious that nothing untoward had occurred—the house seemed quiet and normal for this time of night—and suddenly feeling ridiculous for getting the wind up over such a silly thing as the fact that a man had given one of the housemaids a ride home, Royce shrugged ruefully. A charming smile on his mouth, he murmured, “Something to eat would be splendid—it is a long drive from London, and I did not want to waste time at any of the posting houses. I shall be in Miss Fowler's rooms, so you may serve me there when the food is ready. Oh, and send along a bottle of brandy, too, please.”
Chambers nodded and was on the point of leaving when Zachary and Jacko came strolling out from the billiard room. Grinning, Zachary said, “Thought I heard your voice out here.” Then, as he noticed that Royce was alone, the grin faded and he asked quickly, “What happened with Ben? He is not with you?”
Royce shook his head, only half listening to what Zachary was saying, his eyes riveted on the handsome young man standing beside Zachary. He knew the man garbed in the stylish dark blue jacket and buff breeches was Jacko, yet he was having trouble reconciling this very fashionable gentleman with Morgana's rather disreputable and grubby brother. From his attractively cropped chestnut hair and starched white cravat to his gleaming black Hessian boots, Jacko looked to be the very epitome of an English gentleman of leisure. He was a very handsome youth, his shoulders broad and square, and though only of average height, his body was lean and compact, while his very blue eyes were clear and direct, the nose nobly proportioned and his mouth surprisingly sensitive.
Reaching out his hand, Royce smiled and murmured, “And do I have the honor of addressing Mr. Jacko Fowler?”
Jacko grinned. “Aye, guvnor, you do! Bloody eyes! Who'd 'uv thought it when last we met?”
Royce laughed. “Well, I'm certainly pleased that you were able to find something suitable to wear. I must say that I am impressed with the changes!” Teasingly he added, “Dare I hope that Ben will clean up as well once we get him here?”
His grin gone, Jacko asked anxiously, “Did you see him? Will you be able to free him? Is he all right?”
Royce held up a hand placatingly, and glancing around and catching Chambers's avidly interested gaze, he turned back to Jacko and Zachary and murmured, “I want to see Morgana before she goes to sleep, but I will tell you this much—I saw Ben, and all will be well. I'll explain more in just a little while. Excuse me, if you will?”
Despite being obviously eaten alive with curiosity, both young men had to be content with what little information Royce had given them, and reluctantly they nodded and turned back to the billiard room. Royce, the special license suddenly burning against his breast, bounded up the stairs in search of Morgana.
He stopped at his own room just long enough to toss aside the caped driving coat he was wearing, and then, after a quick and, oddly enough, nervous glance at his reflection in the mirror, he quickly crossed the sitting room that separated their suites. Standing outside the entrance to Morgana's bedchamber, on the point of pushing open the door, he was conscious of the heightened beat of his heart and an inexplicable feeling that the entire course of his life was about to change. My God! he thought with a sickening lurch in the pit of his stomach. What if she refuses me? And something that should have been glaringly apparent to him before now exploded with vivid clarity through his mind.
I love her!
he admitted with astonishment. I'm not marrying her to protect her from the one-eyed man—I'm marrying her because I love her and want more than anything else in the world for her to be my wife!
It was a stunning discovery, and dazedly he shook his head, marveling at his own stupidity. No wonder he had suddenly lost interest in the widow Cresswell and young Julia Summerfield! Since the evening of the Mortimer ball, he had not given either woman a second thought—all his attention had been on the beguiling creature who had tried to pick his pocket! A soft smile curved his usually hard mouth, and he admitted wryly that at first, as Pip, with her saucy tongue and gamin grin, she had amused him; and then, as Morgana, whose soft body and sweet kisses inflamed him, she had utterly captivated him. There was no denying it—from the instant Morgana entered his life, she had fascinated him, and fool that he was, he had dismissed the powerful emotions she aroused so easily within him as mere lust! It wasn't as his mistress that he wanted her to grace his home, but as his wife!
He stood there silently for several seconds, trying to come to grips with the astounding knowledge that an emotion he had once scornfully dismissed as having no place in his life now had him firmly snared in its tenacious coil. And that it was a pocket-sized, saucy-tongued minx whose only claim to good breeding was the fact that she was the bastard daughter of a man he heartily disliked who had brought him to this pass was the most amazing part of it! Still shaking his head at his own folly, he pushed open the door and walked into Morgana's bedchamber.
She was not alone; the housemaid who had brought up her warm milk was still in the room. Royce vaguely recognized the young woman as one of the new servants they had hired from the area and then dismissed her from his mind, all his attention on Morgana.
The maid was standing in the opened doorway that led to the main hall and was obviously on the point of departure when he entered the room. Morgana, wearing a gauzy pale lavender robe over her demure white lawn nightgown, had her back to Royce, and she was busily pouring Ratter a saucer of milk from her glass.
A tender smile curving his mouth, Royce strolled a few steps farther into the room, admiring the enticing shape of Morgana's buttocks when she bent down to give Ratter the saucer of milk. It was only when the cat began to hungrily lap up the milk that she straightened, and turning around, she spied Royce halfway across the room from her.
A breathtakingly sweet smile lit her lovely features, and with something perilously close to a squeak, she sped over the distance that divided them and hurled her slender body into his waiting arms. “Oh, but I have missed you!” she exclaimed guilelessly, her arms wrapping tightly around his neck. “Even with Jacko and Zachary in the house, it was very lonely without you.”
His blood racing, Royce stared down into her upturned features, the sheer force of his so-newly-discovered love momentarily robbing him of rational speech. His mouth brushing hers, his arms holding her crushed against him, he muttered, “Sweet! So very sweet!”
Oblivious to the maid gawking at them in the doorway, Royce kissed Morgana, the uninhibited eagerness of her response making her kiss everything a returning lover could have wished for, and Royce thoroughly enjoyed her ardent welcome. He kissed her for a long, long time, savoring the sweetness that was Morgana's alone, his heart nearly bursting with the love he felt for her. It was only when they breathlessly parted that they became aware of the maid staring at them. Royce's eyebrow lifted at the expression of horrified outrage on her young face, but before he could say anything, Morgana gently untangled herself from his embrace and said crisply, “Thank you, Clara, that will be all.”
Clara took one last clearly disapproving look and then shut the door firmly behind her. The name made Royce frown, and pulling Morgana back into his arms, he asked, “What do you know about her? Has she given you any trouble?”
Morgana glanced at him in surprise. “Clara? No, she is actually very pleasant to me. I have no complaints about her at all. Why do you ask?”
“Mmm, no particular reason,” he replied slowly, deciding that there was no reason to unduly alarm her—especially since there was probably nothing to be alarmed about! “Now, I believe that you were telling me, and very nicely too, how very much you missed me... .”
Morgana blushed, suddenly embarrassed at her shameless greeting to him, but Royce only laughed and kissed her again. Sitting down in a large, overstuffed chair, he pulled her onto his lap, and settling her comfortably in his arms, he nuzzled her ear and murmured, “I think if you give me a kiss or two, I might be able to remember why it was that I had to go to London.”
Morgana's innocent joy in his return vanished, and feeling like the greatest beast in nature that she had forgotten even for a moment her brother's plight, she questioned fearfully, “Ben? You were not able to free him?”
Holding her closer to him, he dropped a kiss on her head and said cheerfully, “Not as soon as I would have liked, but don't worry, sweetheart; I've seen a magistrate, and he has assured me that he can arrange Ben's release—provided Ben goes directly from Newgate to a ship sailing for America! In the meantime, I've made arrangements to make his stay in prison as pleasant as possible.”
They spoke for quite some time about Royce's trip to London and his visit to Ben, Royce telling her all he had done, but deliberately making no mention of the special license and his plan for all of them to sail to America. Curled confidingly against him, Morgana watched his face with huge, anxious eyes, listening intently to every detail. When he finished speaking, her usually vivid little face sad, she said dolefully, “I know sending Jacko and Ben to America is the wisest course, but oh, I shall miss them so very much—even if you have promised to take me to them when you leave England.”
Royce took a deep breath and said carefully, “Well, that's something that I'd like to talk to you about, my dear... .”
Morgana was only half listening to him, her thoughts on the dreaded departure of her brothers, and listlessly she got up from his lap and wandered over to where her glass of milk reposed on a small rosewood table. Picking up the glass, she was on the point of drinking it when there was a harsh exclamation from Royce, and the next thing she knew, he was flying across the room and, in one frighteningly violent motion, knocked the glass from her hand. Astonished, she stared at his white, grim features and demanded half-angrily, half-worriedly, “What is it? Why did you act so?”

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