Cachet (12 page)

"As you can see, gentlemen, my intended is positively giddy, overcome with happiness at my proposal. I'll see her home and join you anon."

Rachel finally stopped laughing. She confronted Morgan as soon as they were safely inside the cottage. "I've never been more humiliated! Making everyone in the village think we're—"

"Betrothed. I think you Americans call it promised. It means the same as affianced."

"I know what it means! I just don't know how you could play such a terrible jest on everyone. First thing when you see Boyd and the others you must tell them you were teasing me."

"I'll do nothing of the kind." He caught her hands in his. "I wasn't jesting."

"Morgan, a person doesn't simply up and decide to get married, like wallpapering the foyer."

His arms wrapped around her as he pulled her close against his chest. "Would you like to wallpaper it? Hold on..." He glanced around as though unfamiliar with his surroundings. "This cottage doesn't have a foyer. We could do the kitchen, if you like."

She nearly collapsed from relief. "Oh, thank God! You
were
joking. For a moment I actually thought—" He stiffened and Rachel saw the truth in his eyes. The wounded look that he tried to disguise. "Morgan, we can't."

"I realize you weren't expecting a marriage proposal this afternoon, but the subject has come up."

"Yes, and you shouted that you'd never hear of it."

He slowly shook his dark head. "I didn't say I'd never marry you. I asked if you expected that before I'd be allowed to bed you. We both know the answer. I've deliberately avoided you, Rachel, to give us time apart. But that time changed nothing. I still want you, and clearly you have feelings for me."

"All right, I do, but—"

"You understand me, Rachel, as no woman before has. You understand about trade. I know you'll make me a good wife."

"I haven't agreed to marry you."

"But you will, Colonial. Because you're the first woman I've ever felt this way about. The first to call me a visionary. And even the jealousy today—which I detested in Pamela and other wenches—I find I rather like coming from you. That's why I know this is right. Why I'm certain that eventually you'll agree to wed me. We belong together, Rachel."

"You can't just order me to exchange vows, as though I'm fetching something from your files."

He kissed the tip of her nose. "You're a wise young lady. I doubt I shall have to command you. The Squire's at the inn waiting for me. I'll be leaving tonight if all goes well during our meeting. I'll come here directly after the men leave and we'll talk."

"We need to talk now. You—"

"God, but you delight in being contrary! I've one thing left to say and only one thing to ask." He caught her shoulders in both hands and gave her a stern glower. "If I learn of another man visiting this cottage while I'm away, I'll call him out with my dueling pistols when I return. I'm not jesting. You're mine, Rachel."

"Morgan, we know so little about each other. In fairness, admit that's true. You can't—"

"I know you never loved Cletus. I don't believe you trembled in his arms or kissed him to the point of insanity as you do me." He took her mouth tenderly, proving the truth of his observation. "So that leaves only one important question: Don't you want to love your husband the next time?"

Chapter 10

Morgan's last question came back into Rachel's mind as she read her aunt's telegram.
Yes, I want to love my husband next time. But you can't become my husband, Morgan. I'm going back to America...and there's a real likelihood I'm also going to jail.

Violet had sent a cryptic message stating she'd received news from the States. Rachel needed to go home at once. Rachel knew Jeremiah hadn't cleared her name yet. He'd written at Christmas to advise he was still working on her case, but was unable to locate Jonas Nelson. After St. Louis his trail went cold. The Nelsons suspected he might have enlisted in the army, but hadn't heard from him in months.

So, Rachel reasoned, Violet's news couldn't be good tidings about her legal case. Intuition warned it wouldn't be good news at all. There was something dark hidden between the lines of Violet's terse message.

Rachel dashed a brief note to Boyd and locked up the holding company office. She ran to the cottage and began stuffing garments into her trunk. She had tidied the house and packed her trunk by the time Boyd appeared at her door. She let him read the message from her aunt.

He insisted upon sending a carriage in the morning to take her back to London at company expense. He offered his condolences and assured Rachel she'd be sorely missed. When he mentioned Chrissandra, Rachel's control gave way. She cried on his shoulder. Boyd said nothing about Morgan, and Rachel was grateful for that. She wasn't up to explaining their supposed betrothal had been a mistake.

During two days of dusty traveling, Rachel neither ate nor slept. When she reached the London town house, Violet was tearful, badly shaken as she held out a letter from her sister-in-law. Jeremiah had fallen ill. Small symptoms, a general malaise and feeling of fatigue at first. It hadn't perturbed him. November's elections had made Abraham Lincoln the new U.S. President, inflaming the Southern states, for he was known to oppose slavery. The talk of civil unrest had escalated to the point that men like Jeremiah with Northern factories were warned to prepare to shift production to war materials. He'd been disturbed by rumors of war and frustrated at the lack of progress in clearing Richelle's name. When he grew weaker still, his doctors told him his condition was grave. He begged Violet to send his daughter home.

"I'm stricken by this news," Violet sobbed. "But I'm also frightened for you, dear. You could be arrested as soon as you set foot on American soil."

"I don't have a choice, do I? We can't ignore this. And the lie was becoming intolerable. I—" She started to tell her aunt that a man wanted to marry her, but changed her mind. She had to forget about Morgan and Crowshaven. "You don't know how many times I was tempted to correct someone who called me by the false name."

They talked together until late that night, agreeing Violet would call on Albert Soames at the bank the next day while Rachel went to the docks. Rachel needed to reserve space on the first vessel out. When she arose the next day, the house was empty. She dressed quickly and headed down the stairs. Someone rang the front bell. Rachel fumbled with her shawl and threw the door open.

Fierce gray eyes pinned hers, blazing in cold fury. His mustache was drawn down tightly over compressed lips that barely cracked apart as he spoke. "Boyd wired me where to find you."

"Morgan! Good heavens, I had no idea you were here in London." Now her face pulled into a frown. "Boyd wired you about my emergency? But—" Morgan pushed past her and glanced about the empty rooms.

"Your aunt's not here?"

"She's gone to see her banker about funds for my passage. Boyd told you I have to sail home?"

Morgan gave a derisive snort. "When the banker hears what she intends, he'll tell your aunt to save her money."

Rachel didn't know what that was supposed to mean, but she was in no shape for verbal fencing now. She'd had little sleep over the past three days and was too distraught to think. "If I'd known you were here in London...I planned to write you and explain."

"Before or after you'd sailed out of my life?" His glower hadn't softened in the least. He stood in the middle of the salon, purposely ignoring her gesture toward the sofa.

"If you came intent on punishing me, Morgan, God's well ahead of you."

"I came to bring you to your damned senses, since you've obviously taken leave of them!" he snarled. "The situation is perilous in the Colonies now. You can't sail there, Rachel. It's not sensible with widespread civil unrest brewing."

"My father's critically ill."

"With all due respect, what can you do that his medical men cannot? You'll only put yourself in danger trying to reach him. You'll be of no use to anyone in a Southern war camp."

"
War camp
? I know there's been talk, but—"

"It's no longer talk. Southern states have announced secession. Armies are being outfitted on both sides. I can't let you undertake this act of folly. I'm taking you back to the village. You'll write your family that it's impossible for you to come."

She clutched the back of a chair for support. Nothing he said made any sense. Her countrymen, good Americans, warring with one another? How could anyone have allowed the madness to go so far?

"I don't understand. Americans intent on murdering each other, Boyd telling you to stop me. He arranged the carriage that brought me here! Why didn't he tell me about this warfare in America?"

"He knows how contrary you can be. He also understands the full implications of the American unrest, and wired me as soon as you left Crowshaven. I'd have done the same if it were Chrissandra. You cannot risk setting foot on a deck now."

"My father is
dying
, Morgan! I won't simply go on as if I don't know or care! I'm his only child. My stepmother may need my help with...funeral arrangements or running Papa's business. My family needs me. Did you abandon your family when they needed you?"

She took his long silence as tacit agreement. "I'm sorry things didn't work out between us, but I have to leave England. I was on my way out to reserve a cabin on the first available passenger ship."

"Passenger ship! You think there are lines of eager passengers vying for the chance to sail to a battleground? You'll be lucky to find space on a merchantman."

Rachel gnawed at her lower lip. "You mean a trade vessel?"

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph! I'll go to the bloody docks," he growled. "Can't send a woman to deal with the rats on London's waterfront. How much are you offering to pay?"

"How much should it cost, do you think?"

His scowl deepened. "Should is irrelevant. It will cost what the market will bear. If space is even available, the price will be steep."

"Oh. My father paid my passage when I sailed last year. I've saved most of my wages. Maybe my aunt can help."

"You remember our talk about how all's connected? The situation overseas affects us here already. Cotton and tobacco shipments are already disrupted, other exports will soon be delayed. I can't believe you didn't realize this, Rachel."

She looked crestfallen, but suddenly she brightened. "You're the Bargainer! The consummate man of trade with the silver eyes and tongue! Surely you can do something."

"I couldn't get you to marry me." She blushed and stared at her feet. He waited until she met his gaze to speak again. "Few vessels will be making the crossing. Fewer yet with captains willing to risk passengers. You may have no choice but to remain here. I can't promise a miracle."

"You know people in trade and commerce. You must have some useful connections. If you care for me, help me get home. For my father's sake."

"How is it that you females will use a man's emotions against him so cruelly?" He turned his back to her. "Bearing tenderness for you, I'm expected to aid you in the very thing that will exile you from my life. What do I gain by helping you? Nothing. I'm a man of trade, Rachel. I don't enter negotiations without seeing an opportunity to better my position. In this instance, I stand to lose what's most important. You can't even offer a high fee or special favor to a ship's master. You give me naught to bargain
with
."

"I told you, I've got money back in America. I'll pay you, Morgan! Repay whatever the passage costs plus something for your efforts."

"What precisely are you offering, other than months of waiting to see if you keep your word? You claim you always repay your debts, but a wise man of trade doesn't take promises from someone he's never dealt with before."

She swallowed hard. He knew they were alone in the house. "We could go upstairs to my bedchamber." She turned beet red as he pierced her with a meaningful look. She stammered out the rest. "I can give you some money now, the rest when I get home."

His harsh laughter stung.

"Once again, predictable. A woman with nothing else to offer comes to her own flesh sooner or later. Tempting, but that would provide temporary solace at best. And should the experience be as...intense as I believe it might be, I would regret all the more my role in helping you leave England."

"Morgan, I need help! Why won't you be a gentleman about this?"

"Gentlemen are usually men of leisure who can afford inactivity and noble manners. Nonetheless, I'll arrange your passage—on one condition. You must agree to obey my decisions regarding your personal safety. You challenge me at every opportunity, Colonial. No debate this time. Agree to obey my instructions and not quarrel about the arrangements I make, or I'll leave you to solve your own dilemma."

"I think you're purposely trying to frighten me so I'll stay here."

"Liar, am I?" He strode quickly to the door. "Why not take a look at the London paper, if you don't believe me?" He retrieved it from the stoop and showed her front-page stories about the unrest in America. "You can still go to the docks yourself. But have you had my experience in dealing with merchants and traders? Will you know a trustworthy captain by his outward appearance?
It's only your life you risk
, Rachel."