Cachet (31 page)

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"Morgan! I was about to go hunt you down," Boyd announced as his partner entered the offices. "Ran into the new owner of the granary. The London investor wasted little time in transferring it." Herding Morgan toward his rear private office, Boyd went on. "We've been made an interesting proposition. Sit down."

Morgan scowled, a bitter taste rising in the back of his throat. The last thing he wanted to hear about was someone else running
his
granary. "It's late, Boyd. Chrissy's already gone home. She'll be expecting you for supper."

"This won't take long," Boyd assured him. "Seems your reputation precedes you, my friend. The new owner asked if you'd lease out storage for a commission."

"Piss on him! He bought it, let him lease it."

Boyd ignored the hostility. "At this juncture we can hardly turn our noses up at any opportunity for income, can we? We both know that exercise in the Colonies cost us dearly. This could be a chance to make at least part of that back. You can easily fill that granary."

Morgan looked incredulous. "Jesus! You've already committed me to this, haven't you?"

"I merely promised you'd ride out for a meeting tomorrow at three. Won't hurt to at least discuss the matter. The owner's anxious to meet you."

"Since when do you make promises for me? We've always made our decisions jointly. Except for when you hired that bloody Colonial clerk. I hate to remind you that the whole disaster can be laid at your feet," Morgan groused. "You've concluded I have to participate in this because I still owe you money."

"Stop being such a stubborn ass," Boyd taunted. "I'm saying you should investigate the offer before rejecting it out of hand. Perhaps you two won't get on, or the commission won't be worth your trouble. On the surface, it sounded like a reasonable offer. I'm not complaining about what you owe me, but on the other hand, pride doesn't pay operating expenses."

Morgan scowled. "Who the hell is this popinjay who thinks I'll lick his boots after he bought the place out from under me?"

"Morgan, this is the..." Boyd counted on his fingers, "third owner since you held it. Your name's recounted as the only one to have success with it! You know the farmers. We have connections to help them sell their crops in Newcastle or Sheffield. Don't be so quick to resent someone who only thinks the best of you."

"Something weird is going on, Boyd. I wondered if you'd heard anything." Morgan's expression abruptly changed. "Then again, mayhap it's foolish of me to even ask."

"Heard anything about what?"

"There's talk that chap from London also bought the note against the inn. I wondered why someone from London would come here and start nosing around. Is this a hint? Am I to be replaced as your partner? This commission—a bloody
job
, Boyd? Throwing a bone to me to assuage your guilt?"

Boyd was incredulous. "Morgan, I think it's time you pulled yourself back out of the bottle. I can't believe you're implying I'd sneak behind your back."

Gray eyes met blue in a level stare. "You're the one pushing me to meet with this new fellow."

Boyd took a deep breath. "I can't say I like this coming from my oldest and dearest friend, Morgan. You're definitely not being replaced. I met the London investor briefly while he was here in town, the same as you did. You'd remember that if you hadn't been in a drunken stupor. And if I had that sort of capital, old friend—assuming we
are
still friends—I simply would have sunk it into this partnership. The pledge to the squire never would have been necessary."

Morgan offered his right hand. "Sorry, Boyd. We're still friends, above all else. I seem to fancy evil spirits everywhere these days. Know you'd bail me out if you could. I'd do the same for you. Which means I'll have to consider this commission offer."

Boyd clasped the outstretched hand and shook it firmly. "Morgan, I know you've been under a strain. Have you tried to contact Rachel's aunt? She may have news. Rachel was probably detained with the war on. There must be
some
good reason why she hasn't arrived yet."

"I told you the reason! She's made her choice. I know you wish things—" Morgan stopped abruptly, realizing he sounded exactly like the woman in question. "Let it go, Boyd, please? We never allowed a female to come between us when we were bachelors. Certainly makes no sense now that you're a married gent."

"So are you."

Morgan's voice was heavy with sarcasm. "So I was told by the Justice of the Peace in Philadelphia. I hate to go to the granary, Boyd. Hate to face that I sold it ultimately for naught. I could have made a success of it."

"You may yet." Boyd narrowed his eyes and spoke more sharply. "Didn't I see an envelope from America on your desk one day? I'm certain I did! Wasn't that from Rachel?" Morgan said nothing. "Odd," Boyd rambled on. "She never seemed the type to be obsessed with coin."

"What are you prattling about now?"

"Only that women fascinated by one's purse usually exhibit certain symptoms. Why didn't she try to wrangle a salary increase out of you, or refuse to pay rent once she'd been in the arms of her landlord? From everything you've told me and what I recall of her, Rachel seemed more like you—proud to make her own way. She must have known, as an only child, that she was destined to inherit one day. If she was willing to work and live a simple existence, why would she change so dramatically?"

Morgan's voice was ragged with emotion. "It's difficult for me to discuss this, even with you. I can't explain, except she was like an entirely different woman over there. And I felt a thousand things at once. I was insane being around her. Now I'm more insane without her."

"How do you mean, 'insane with her'?"

"How
would
I mean that?" Morgan snapped. "All I wanted was to bed the wench, every damned minute, night and day! Didn't know whether to curse my erections or curse the loss of my virility when they subsided. Is that plain enough?"

"All the more reason why I'd fight to get her back. There'd be no question in my mind if it were Chrissandra."

"If it were Chrissandra, I'd help you go after her. But my wife's just one bizarre misadventure after another. It's so bloody complicated—"

"And you like things that way!" Boyd chuckled, noting Morgan's inadvertent slip of the tongue regarding his marital status. "You're never happier than when things are nearly impossible. The challenge, Morgan! Rachel's perfect for you." Morgan gave him a skeptical look. "Damn it, she
is
! And when I see her again—as I suspect we both shall—I'll tell her so."

At half-past two the next afternoon Morgan stood joking with the stable boys at the livery. He glanced down at his pocket watch and reluctantly mounted Phantom. If it weren't for his promise to Boyd, he wouldn't bother riding out to the granary. But he had to secretly admit he wasn't sure he would have been as understanding as Boyd had been lately if their situations had been reversed.

Morgan knew he was a broken man since his return from the Colonies. He'd set to drinking during the return voyage and hadn't let up since. He moved out of his rooms at the inn, giving Emily and Thomas more space for guests, but at the cost of his own sanity.

He dwelt alone in the cottage with his specters, and every evening thought of nothing but Richelle. Sometimes he started only needed a drink or two to blot out her image and fall asleep. Other days he began imbibing at noon, only to find she still tortured him into the wee hours that night. Then he needed a whole bottle or more to reach oblivion.

He hadn't admitted it when Boyd questioned him, but he
had
received a letter from her. Weeks ago. He just hadn't opened the bloody thing. The fact she'd written could mean but one thing: she wasn't coming back here to England.

He didn't need the pain of reading her vague excuses and explanations in black and white. He'd seen it coming. God knows, he'd seen it and been helpless against it. Yet for some inexplicable reason, he'd been unable to throw the damned envelope away. He carried it with him daily, in his inside coat pocket. Kept it next to his heart and secretly prayed the American civil war might yet change Richelle's mind.

He passed a grove of trees where the crows had found the remains of a rabbit or squirrel. Some were on the ground picking at the carcass; others were in the treetops, squawking and cawing. He remembered the ride out here with Richelle that Sunday afternoon. They'd talked about the birds...his plans...his dreams for the future and the village. The granary was gone now, and so was his Colonial. Life had a way of rubbing a man's nose in his failures, he mused.

He frowned as he glimpsed a large canine loping across the track ahead. Accursed mutt was likely responsible for whatever the crows were feasting upon. The dog lowered its head and moved toward someone at the outer edge of Morgan's vision. The figure clapped its hands once. The hound obediently approached and sat down. Apparently the man who owned the hound also now owned the granary. No one else was in sight.

Morgan glanced again at his watch. Just past three. This had to be his man. He pulled back on the reins and peered through the dust. There was no carriage or mount, but the figure moved to sit on the big flat rock. Morgan frowned again. The man was dressed oddly, in a long cloak or robe of some kind. It wasn't long past Michaelmas, and the weather had been mild. Hardly cold enough for a man to need a cloak.

Drawing closer, he realized he wasn't looking at a
man
at all. He jerked Phantom to a halt and stared in disbelief. The woman reached down to pat the dog's large head. A cascade of auburn tresses spilled with the forward movement. A bit of gold on her left hand flashed in the late afternoon sun. Morgan's heart knew what his mind had only begun to grasp.

"
Richelle
?"

Instantly the auburn head came up, and Morgan felt the sharp stab of recognition hit him in the chest.

"Morgan! I'm so glad you came. I wanted to talk to you alone before we go back to the village."

"I'm not working for you."

It wasn't at all what he'd intended to say, Morgan realized with dismay, but he'd been too stunned to think clearly.
Boyd knew! He set me up for this, the smug son of a bitch!

"I don't see why not. I worked for you."

"You don't see!" he roared, sliding out of the saddle. He tossed the reins at the branches of a low bush. "You show up without warning, months after lying to me about being ill, and you don't see?"

"You lied to me, too," she countered. "Several times. A man would meet me at the docks in London? Everyone in the village believing you're still an unattached bachelor because you've hidden the truth from them. I'd say we're even."

"Even? Christ, have you done this to punish me? You said you forgave me for the wedding at sea." He advanced toward her, but the dog raised it his hackles and began to growl.

"I wouldn't come any closer while you're so angry," Richelle cautioned. "He's very protective, and you're thinking about wringing my neck. He senses it. If you can't calm yourself enough to speak quietly, maybe you should ride back to the village. We can settle things between us later. When do you think you might control your temper enough to listen?"

He stood with his hands on his hips and inhaled deeply. "I want—no, I
deserve
an explanation." He ground out the words through clenched teeth. "I want to know why it's taken so long for you to get here."

"I do owe you an explanation. I also intend to receive one from you. We both have things to answer for. But first, as to the business you came to discuss. I purchased the granary. Fill it this coming harvest, and your commission will be ownership reinstated in your name."

"You think to bribe your way back into my life using my granary?"

"Excuse me, sir, but I think I just explained that it's
mine
. I'd sign it over here and now, but I recall you steadfastly refused to benefit from my inheritance. I can't just give it to you, so I'm offering you means to attain it. You
do
want it back, don't you?"

"Of course I bloody well want it back!" He started to step closer, then thought the better of it as the dog snarled once again.
Protective is too mild a term. Wonder where she picked up the filthy beggar?

Richelle smiled. "Then you
will
work. If not for me, for yourself. Good. That makes me very happy."

"Well, isn't that jolly," he snapped with sarcasm. "You've had weeks to rehearse what you'd say to me, Richelle. I've had no such luxury. Why have you come back now, to reopen old wounds?"

She visibly flinched. "You were emphatic about my place being here with you in Crowshaven. You said a wife's place is with her husband. You
are
still legally my husband."

"Aye, and I've been your damned legal husband for half a year, which didn't seem to matter these long months! There were three vessels you might have taken, Richelle. Three! I know because I scoured the papers and counted! Counted and waited, but you never came."

"Morgan, I'm sitting right in front of you."

"Are you deliberately trying to provoke me, madam?"

She smiled warmly, and he felt his chest loosen in spite of himself. She was possibly even more beautiful than he remembered. And her smile...He remembered only too well its effect. Time hadn't altered the predictable physical reaction. He was stiff as a flagpole just looking at her.