Dance of Seduction (34 page)

“My God, Clara, I…” He rubbed his hands wearily over his face. “You don’t understand. I don’t know how to be a real husband. I can’t…give you what you want.”

As she looked into his face, she realized he was telling the truth. Or what he thought was the truth. For whatever reason, he didn’t believe he could be a real husband to her or that he was capable of a real marriage.

Perversely, that calmed all her anger. Because she believed he could. And a tiny, foolish part of her hoped that with time she could make him believe it, too. But not if she agreed to let him have this lesser version of a marriage now.

“If you can’t give me what I want,” she said softly, “then you can’t give me anything.”

His jaw tightened. “I can give you my name and protect you from a scandal.”

“There won’t be any scandal. With any luck, I can sneak back into the Home unnoticed, and no one will ever know what happened between us.”

“And if you’re carrying my child?”

The thought struck the breath from her. Morgan’s child.
Their
child. A little boy with mischievous black eyes who dipped pigtails in inkwells. Or a chubby-cheeked girl laughing at danger as she fell into her father’s open arms from a tree limb she’d climbed.

“That would change everything, of course,” she said. “I have no desire to lay the stain of bastardy on any child of mine.”

“Thank God you have
some
sense.”

“Though that does raise an interesting question. If we were to marry for the sake of a child, I assume you would still not be around to raise him.” She eyed him closely. “You were raised without a father. Tell me, is that what you want for your child? That he should grow up hardly knowing his father at all?”

Judging from his stricken expression, that was something he hadn’t considered.

She left him to think on that while she went to the bed and drew on her stockings, tied her garters, and tugged on her boots. When she lifted her gaze again, he was watching her with unmistakable hunger…and a look she’d never seen in his face before, as if he were watching the ship to heaven pull away from the dock without him. His look told her instantly that he wasn’t revealing
all
his reasons for his reluctance to stay in London with her. But until he did, there wasn’t much she could do about it.

When she stood and swept her skirts down, he stiffened. “Clara, we’re both tired, and it’s late. We shouldn’t make any major decisions just now. Promise me you’ll take some time to think about this.”

“I won’t change my mind, Morgan.” Not unless he changed his mind about the sort of marriage he wanted.

Without warning, he stepped close to grip her arms, then
held her still for a fervent kiss so fierce that she couldn’t deny it to him. He kissed her long and deep, with a fiery passion meant to reduce her to ash. Which it did so effortlessly she could have cried.

When at last he drew back, his eyes shone overly bright, and his fingers dug into her shoulders as if to imprison her. “I could make it so you had no choice,
cherie
. I could keep you here in my bed until Johnny and Samuel arrive in the morning. Then you’d have to marry me at once to avoid the scandal.”

She met his gaze with her own steady one. “Yes, you could do that. But what would the Specter think if you married the woman you’re merely using? And you don’t want to rouse his suspicions, do you?”

He stared at her a long moment, indecision flickering in his face. Then with a low curse, he released her.

Taking up her cloak, she settled it about her shoulders, then turned toward the door. She found no pleasure in her successful parry. She wished he would indeed keep her here, for that would show he cared more than he let on.

But he didn’t. And she couldn’t stay.

She’d nearly reached the closed door to the front of the shop when he said, “We’re not finished, you and I. Not as far as I’m concerned.”

A small smile touched her lips. At least he wasn’t giving up too easily. Perhaps there was hope for them yet. “I won’t be your mistress, Morgan, and I won’t be your sometime wife. But if you decide you want more than that, you know where to find me.”

Then she left.

Chapter 19

In Works of Labour or of Skill
I would be busy too.
For Satan finds some mischief still
For idle Hands to do.
“
Against Idleness and Mischief,” Isaac Watts
,
Divine Songs attempted in Easy Language
for the Use of Children

M
organ watched her go with a sickening lurch in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t believe she was simply walking away like this—unprotected, ruined, teetering on the brink of possible scandal. Damned fool woman!

Slipping out the door after her, he padded barefooted up to the street to watch as his angel of the alley walked the short distance to the Home.

The cold glow of light on the horizon showed that dawn threatened to break any moment, yet she’d wisely chosen her time to escape. The street was entirely deserted. Not even a
nightman stirred in the pre-dawn. When she disappeared inside the Home without apparently being noticed by anyone, he didn’t know whether to be relieved or frustrated. He didn’t want to have her at the cost of her reputation, but he didn’t want to watch her walk away either.

Cursing under his breath, he reentered his shop. This hadn’t turned out at all as he’d planned. She should have agreed to marry him. Then he could rest easy that he’d done right by her.

But Clara would never let him off easily. That would be too simple for her. It wasn’t enough that he offered her his name. She demanded everything—hearth and home, children, his entire life at her disposal.

If only she knew what she asked. But how could she? She foolishly thought he was choosing between her and the sea. That would be no choice at all—he’d take her over the sea any day.

What he couldn’t take was this place…and the fear that the longer he stayed here, the more likely that she’d see the real him one day and recoil in disgust.

As it was, he’d told her far more about himself tonight than he’d meant to. And the fact that she’d been sweet and understanding about it only made it worse. It increased his urge to confess everything, all his dark, nasty secrets. To show her the parts of him she would surely loathe.

It was this place, this despairing hole of London, that kept his past so near the surface. Perhaps away from here, he could be easy with her, and they could have a chance. Yes, perhaps if he took her to sea with him…

Bon Dieu
, what was he thinking? She’d never leave her charges. Not for him or anyone.

But that didn’t mean he would give her up. No, indeed. One way or the other, she
would
marry him. He’d wear her down somehow. It was for her own good.

Or so he told himself.

Exhausted in every muscle, he headed for his bed, then stopped short as he caught sight of the room. The place was a mess—the bloodstained sheet still on the bed, the other sheet tangled on the floor, the brandy bottle listing to one side on the floor with the contents spewing out. The whole place smelled of brandy and Clara’s jasmine scent. Johnny and Samuel would be here soon, and they’d guess something had happened the minute they walked in if he left it this way, especially since Johnny had to come through here on his way upstairs.

He groaned. No rest for the wicked.

So he threw on his clothes and boots and set about putting the room to rights. He had to refill his pitcher at the tree in the street—the communal water pump—three times to wash the blood out of the sheet and scrub away the brandy. By the time he’d straightened the room, hung the damp bottom sheet from a rafter near the stove to dry, and remade the bed using only the top sheet, the sun had risen. He scarcely had time to stuff Clara’s forgotten petticoat under the bed before the knock at the door signaled Johnny and Samuel’s return.

When he answered the door, Samuel held up a pistol. “What the bloody hell happened last night? Found this in the alley, and Johnny claims it belongs to his sister. Their father left it when he was sent away. Johnny says she uses it for protection.”

“That isn’t all she uses it for,” Morgan grumbled under his breath as he stood aside to let the two of them in. So Clara had been right again—Lucy had been the impostor.

Samuel and Johnny headed into the back room without paying him much notice. When he came up beside them, Samuel was scowling. “What’s going on here? Lucy’s gun lying out in the alley and now this?”

“What do you mean?” Morgan asked, worried he’d missed something.

Samuel glared at him. “You’ve had a woman in your bed. I can smell it. The whole room reeks of it.”

It took him a second to realize what Samuel was implying. “You think that Lucy and I—” He let out a short laugh. “First she shoots me, and then you accuse me of lying with her. And I haven’t even met the woman.”

“Lucy shot you?” Samuel asked, his anger turning to bewilderment.

“You’re bamming us!” Johnny lifted wide, shocked eyes to Morgan. “Aren’t you?”

“Unfortunately, I’m serious.” He smoothed his trouser leg over his thigh enough to show the bulge of the bandage beneath. “She came here last night all dressed up like the Specter, trying to scare me into kicking you out and sending you back to live with her.”

Johnny’s face lit up. “She did?” And then, as if aware he was being callous about Morgan’s injury, he sobered. “She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t shoot you for that.”

“The shooting was an accident, but I think we should make sure it doesn’t happen again.” He wanted Johnny out of here anyway, now that matters with the Specter had grown more serious. “You need to go live at your sister’s, Johnny.” He glanced beyond Johnny to Samuel. “Do you think you could see to it?”

Samuel nodded grimly. “And I’ll see to it that she don’t bother you no more, too.”

“Now see here,” Johnny protested, “I don’t want to live with her!”

Morgan laid his hands on the boy’s shoulders and stared down into the uncertain, frightened face. “You can come here during the day to work, and I’ll pay you your wages. But I don’t want you here at night.”

When Johnny still looked crestfallen, Morgan changed tactics. “Your sister needs you, or she wouldn’t have taken
such extreme measures to get you back. You don’t want your sister living all alone at the tavern, do you? Where men can get rough with her?”

It was clear the boy hadn’t thought of that. “She can take care of herself,” he replied, but he sounded doubtful.

“Perhaps she can. But it never hurts to have family around. So it’s time for you to grow up and be a man, Johnny. It’s time for you to take responsibility for your family. Which means living with your sister and looking out for her.”

Johnny straightened his shoulders. “All right. I suppose I could do that.”

“But no stealing,” Morgan added.

Johnny shook his head. “No stealing.”

At least he’d succeeded that much with the boy in the short time Johnny had been here.

“Come on then, Johnny,” Samuel said, clapping one hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Let’s go upstairs and gather your things.” He cast Morgan an apologetic look. “Sorry about what I said. About having a woman in here.”

“It’s all right,” Morgan said, knowing that Samuel would change his tune if he ever learned Clara had been here. “Now go on, both of you. Before Lucy comes after me with a sword.”

He felt oddly regretful as he watched Johnny head upstairs with Samuel. He’d grown attached to the boy. For that matter, he’d grown attached to Samuel. And God knows he was falling under Clara’s spell so quickly he hardly knew how to break free.

When he left London, he’d not only be leaving her behind, but he’d be leaving them, too. The thought hadn’t occurred to him before.

But he shook it off almost as soon as it came. He knew what he wanted, and it wasn’t this place or these people. He
couldn’t live here, no matter how much Clara pleaded. He’d just have to make her understand that.

Clara was awakened midmorning by whispering outside the door of the small bedchamber she slept in when she was at the Home. Rubbing her bleary eyes, she sat up straight and cried, “Who is it?”

The door opened a crack, and Peg stuck her head in. “Begging your pardon, m’lady, but Miss Lucy’s here to see you. And she won’t leave.”

“Let me talk to her,” came Lucy’s voice from beyond the door.

With a sigh, Clara slid from the bed and threw on her heavy wool wrapper. “I’m coming, Peg.” Swiftly she crammed her tired feet into slippers and headed for the door, trying to clear the fog from her brain. Five hours was just not enough sleep for any sane person. And why was she so sore between her legs, for heaven’s sake?

Lucy burst into the room before Clara could even reach the door. “I got to talk to you,” she said, then shot Peg a glare. “Alone, if you please.”

Clara nodded and Peg left, grumbling about girls who didn’t know their place.

As soon as Peg left, Lucy burst into tears. “Oh, m’lady, I done an awful thing!”

Clara blinked, feeling an overwhelming need for coffee and a bath. And then it hit her. Why she’d spent the night at the Home. Why she was sore. And why Lucy might be standing here in a panic this morning.

She groaned. She wasn’t up to this right now. “Lucy, this is not the time—”

“It was me last night. I admit it. It was me that stopped you in the alley.”

Wonderful. Whoever said confession was good for the soul hadn’t been forced to take one after half a night’s sleep. “I figured as much,” Clara mumbled as she headed for the basin to splash some cold water on her face.

“What?” Lucy said.

“Nothing. But why tell me this now?”

“Because they’ll be coming for me soon. They’ll find the pistol and know it’s mine and…” She broke off with a wail. “And you got to tell them I didn’t mean to kill Cap’n Pryce! You was there, and you got to tell them I didn’t mean to do it!”

With a bewildered look, Clara faced her. “Kill him? What are you talking about?”

“You can’t let them hang me for it! It was an accident, and I know—”