Just One Kiss (12 page)

Morgan's gaze had yet to leave Elizabeth's face. "So I see." At last he glanced at Stephen. "Would you excuse us, Stephen? Elizabeth and I have several matters to attend to."

Stephen was ever the gentleman. "Why, of course." He glanced at his pocket watch. "It's time I left anyway. I need to check on several patients before I return home."

Elizabeth smiled and walked with him to the entry hall, all the while conscious of Morgan's unrelenting scrutiny.

Stephen departed. She had scarcely returned to the parlor than Morgan's imperious voice stabbed at her like the point of a knife. "I do hope you had the good sense not to go out with him."

Elizabeth bristled. "What if I did?"

His look was withering. "I do not think it wise to risk further scandal, Elizabeth. Need I remind you?"

She stiffened, as if a hand had dug into her spine. She'd done nothing to warrant such a rebuke. "Stephen is a friend," she informed him stiffly.

"And I am the man who will soon be your husband. I do not begrudge you a friend, Elizabeth. I know that you are alone in a land far distant from your own. But I'll have no one question your behavior, so let us see that that's all he remains."

"My behavior…" She glared her displeasure. "Need I remind
you
that it was
your
behavior which caused this—this sham of a wedding to begin with? Thomas Porter would never have followed me if you hadn't kissed me—"

"But I did. And now we must both pay the consequences."

Oh, but he was so cool, so always in control, and she was suddenly very irked with him. "Is that why you came here?" she demanded. "To accuse me of philandering with Stephen?"

"I've accused you of nothing. I trust Stephen, though I've yet to come to trust you."

Elizabeth was speechless with anger… but there was more.

"Our marriage will be an arrangement," he went on, "an arrangement that serves both our needs. You will open doors I thought forever closed to me. In return, I will provide you with a home and money. But I give you fair warning, I'll not be made a fool of."

"A fool?" she shot back. "Since you obviously consider me feebleminded at best, perhaps you should explain yourself."

"Certainly. I'll tolerate no other men in your life. To be blunt, I'll tolerate no
lovers
."

Elizabeth was too furious to speak. How dare he question her morals in such a manner. How dare he dictate to her as if—as if he were her master!

He reached inside his jacket and withdrew a narrow oblong box. "Now, on to other matters. Actually, I came to bring you this." With a fingertip he loosened the catch. "I thought you might wear it tomorrow."

Snuggled upon a bed of velvet lay a strand of gleaming translucent pearls. Under other circumstances she would have exclaimed with sheer delight, for they were lovely beyond compare. As it was, her temper still simmered. How dare he give her a dressing-down and then proceed to grace her with pearls!

But before she could say a word, he had turned her around and fastened the clasp around her neck. A hand at her elbow, he tugged her before an oval gilt-framed mirror on the adjacent wall.

Behind her, he tipped his head to the side. "Well?" he queried. "What do you think?"

Their eyes met in the mirror, one pair snapping, the other coolly inquiring. "Lovely," she said through her teeth.

A devilish brow rose. "Come now, Elizabeth. That's all you have to say?" As he spoke, his gaze traveled down to rest on the circlet of pearls… and still further.

Elizabeth froze. The heart-shaped neckline of her gown was hardly immodestly low, yet all at once it was as if he saw right through her. And he was so close—almost frighteningly close! The scent of his cologne swirled all around her. She could feel the wool of his jacket flush against her back, the heat of his body permeating through to hers.

"Lovely," she said again, this time more brightly. She would have stepped away with all due haste, but he stopped her. His hands closed on her elbows. To her horror she was bodily turned to face him.

"Why, I do believe your manners have forsaken you, Elizabeth. Such an extravagant gift warrants some gratitude, don't you think?"

"Oh, but of course! I didn't mean to be rude." One small hand nervously touched the pearls. "Thank you. Thank you so very much."

Hard lips curved in a smile that was purely tormenting. "I had in mind," he murmured, "a more demonstrative token." He pretended to study her. "A kiss, I think. Yes, I do believe one small kiss will suffice." He turned his head just a hair and presented her with the angled plane of one lean cheek.

Elizabeth inhaled sharply. He toyed with her—oh, and well he knew it! But she was anxious to be free of him and so she knew she would comply. Hauling in a deep, fortifying breath, she closed her eyes and levered herself up on tiptoe.

But her lips never met the raspy hardness of his cheek. Instead she found herself caught up against the unyielding breadth of his chest, strong arms taut against her back. What small sound of protest she would have made was swallowed by his lips.

Indeed, the kiss was never hers to give. His mouth captured hers, the pressure of his lips deep and demanding. A jolt tore through her, even as the fleeting thought traveled through her mind that it was just as before… Her stomach felt weightless. She felt ridiculously light-headed. Though she longed to fight it—to fight him—she possessed neither the will nor the strength. Trapped between their bodies, her hands opened, as if to push him away. But then her lips parted before the insidious persuasion of his. Her limbs melted against him as if she sought to make herself a part of him.

Abruptly he released her. The tension reached a screaming pitch as they stared into one another's eyes. Elizabeth had the oddest sensation he was as confused as she. But then his fingers closed over hers where they lay upon his vest. His grip tightened, and he stepped back… or did he thrust her away? Her senses still reeling, she watched as he strode to the door.

There he paused. "After tomorrow you'll be mine, Elizabeth. Remember, I'll not be cuckolded."

The chill of his tone washed over her like icy brine. When he'd gone, she gave a half sob of mingled fury and frustration. What was wrong with her that she allowed herself to be touched—to be held and kissed!—by this cold, hard man who had accused her of dallying with another, then kissed her as if he owned her! She didn't understand him…

Nor did she understand herself very well at that moment.

«
^
»

Morning came too soon, and with it the arrival of her wedding day.

Rising from the bed, Elizabeth walked barefoot to the window, pushing away the disheveled curtain of her hair. Sleep had been elusive last night. She was as exhausted as she had been when she climbed into bed. Peering through the lacy curtains, she saw that the sky was gray and cloudy. A rumble of thunder greeted her.

A dismal day… for a dismal bride.

There was a knock on the door. It opened and a maid peeped in at her. "Ma'am? Are you ready for your bath?" It was Mary, the cheery little maid who had attended her the past two weeks.

"Yes. Thank you, Mary." The smile she sought simply would not come.

Though the bath refreshed her tired muscles, it did nothing to revive her spirit. If not for Mary's aimless chatter while the girl helped her dress and tended her hair, the room would have been silent as a tomb.

At last she was finished. At Mary's insistence, she stood before the mirror in her room. The girl stood beside her, her eyes round and shining. "Oh, ma'am," she breathed, "you look like an angel. Truly you do."

Elizabeth stared at her image. Her hair was piled atop her head, with soft ringlets framing the oval of her face. Her color was heightened—not from excitement, as Mary surely thought, but from nerves. Two frightened eyes gazed back at her, dark with distress.

"Here, ma'am, I almost forgot. Here are your pearls." Mary fastened the clasp at Elizabeth's nape. She sighed, a dreamy sound. "Oh, ma'am, he surely must love you to buy you such a beautiful necklace."

No, Elizabeth thought. There was no love. No duty. No obligation. She stifled a bitter laugh. What would Mary think if she knew that marriage was simply Morgan's answer to blackmail—and a way to elevate his status in the eyes of Boston society?

All at once she longed to fling away the pearls in spiteful defiance.

But she didn't quite dare.

All too soon she was being ushered downstairs. Stephen was there, for he had offered to escort her to the church. Morgan had also asked him to stand as witness to the wedding. When she reached the entry hall, he took both her hands. His gaze swept the length of her, his approval obvious. "You take my breath away," he said with a smile.

Elizabeth flushed. Her mind veered straight to Morgan. Would she take his breath away as well? Oh, silly question, that! Indeed, most of the time, he looked right through her. She was stunned at the pinprick of hurt the thought provoked. Why should she even care what he thought of her appearance? She chastised herself firmly. Their marriage was solely for the sake of convenience. An
arrangement
, as he had called it.

It had seemed the only answer.

Now she wasn't at all sure it was the
right
one.

Stephen offered her his arm. "Shall we?"

It took every ounce of willpower she possessed to force herself to take his arm—even more to walk out the door.

She was silent in the carriage, her mood as bleak as the weather. Stephen glanced over at her. "I have the feeling Morgan wasn't particularly pleased to find you with me yesterday afternoon. I felt it best to leave." Stephen paused. "I hope he didn't prove difficult."

Elizabeth's mind sped straight to his kiss. "He made no secret of the fact he trusts you," she said before she thought better of it. "But he actually had the audacity to suggest that I might be…" She stopped, suddenly realizing what she was about to divulge.

Stephen tipped his head to the side. "Unfaithful?" he supplied.

Elizabeth colored. "Frankly, yes."

He chuckled, but his amusement was rather short-lived. His smile withered. "Morgan can be a bit disagreeable at times," Stephen said slowly. "But he is not a man to shirk his responsibilities. He is not like—" He stopped short.

Now it was her turn to finish. "Like Nathaniel?" she guessed.

"Now I'm the one who is trying not to prove difficult," Stephen said gently. "I do not mean to hurt you, Elizabeth. But if I were a drowning man about to be rescued, and both Morgan and Nathaniel extended their hands to me, there's no question I would take Morgan's." His expression was earnest. "You'll find no better man, Elizabeth."

He seemed to hesitate then. She had the oddest sensation he wanted to say more, but just then the carriage stopped.

They had arrived at the church.

Her legs felt wooden as she alighted from the carriage. Indeed, were it not for Stephen behind her, no doubt she'd have bolted the opposite way as fast as she was able.

The ceremony began all too soon. At a signal from Stephen, she began to move forward.

The walk seemed endless. Distantly she noted that while the church was not crowded, there were quite a few people. And then she caught sight of
him
…

Morgan.

He awaited near the altar, tall and darkly handsome. Elizabeth couldn't take her eyes from him; his presence was such that it blotted out all else.

As usual, he was unsmiling, his face an iron mask. No hint of emotion—neither approval nor disapproval—crossed his features as she breached the last step between them.

Her knees began to shake. Panic surfaced in her mind. She couldn't do this. Just as her legs would have buckled, he reached for her. A hard arm slid tight about her waist and drew her close—so very close!—against his side. One lean, dark hand reached for hers. Hers was like ice, his like a blast of heat. All that kept her upright was the pressure of his fingers locked tight around hers.

When it was time for the vows that would unite them forever, he spoke his with unfaltering determination.

She whispered hers.

Then it was over. The clergyman pronounced them husband and wife. "You may kiss the bride," he announced.

Tears glazed her eyes, tears she couldn't withhold. This was her wedding day, the day she had dreamt of many a night, yet never had she been so—so miserable! She had married, not out of love, but out of necessity.

A painful wedge of emotion trapped in her throat, she raised her chin and sought to blink away her tears, praying Morgan wouldn't see. But she knew from his scowl that he did.

Nor was his kiss the chaste, perfunctory brush of their lips she expected. His kiss was deep and hard and so long, the clergyman finally cleared his throat.

Morgan raised his head. Elizabeth was stunned at the strange glitter reflected in his eyes… triumph? His hand atop hers, he turned and led her from the church. Elizabeth felt numb, as if this were happening to someone else and not to her.

A small group of people clustered at the foot of the stone steps. Elizabeth barely saw them. Morgan paused, raising their joined hands high.

One man broke apart from the others. "You'd best take care, lady," he shouted, "or you'll end up dead like the other one!"

Beside her, Morgan's entire body went rigid. He dropped her hand. What might have happened then, she would never know. Suddenly Stephen was there. He thrust out a hand toward Morgan, as if to block him. "Let me handle this," he said, already turning for the stairs.

Elizabeth blinked. "What on earth—"

Morgan had already recovered. "Don't worry," he said curtly. "It's nothing to be concerned about." As he spoke, he was already steering her toward his carriage.

They were soon back at his home, which was alive with activity. The next hours passed in a haze. Servants were everywhere. To her dismay, Morgan kept her close, introducing her to the guests. Soon the names and faces began to blur. There was his banker, Wilson Reed. His attorney, Justin Powell. A dozen more.