Just One Kiss (24 page)

His intimation finally dawned on her. She gasped. "You mean… a baby?"

"That's usually the end result of birth, my dear girl." He chuckled. "Being a married woman, I sincerely hope you're already acquainted with what precedes a child's birth."

"Of course I am!" she blurted, then went scarlet as she realized what she'd just admitted to. But even though she now knew precisely what resulted in babies, she had never considered it might happen to her.

Stephen threw back his head and laughed outright. "Good. Because I'd hate to be the one to have to explain it to you."

Planting her hands on her hips, she feigned outrage. "If it were anyone but you, Stephen Marks, I'd have slapped your face for even daring to speak of such things."

He patted her shoulder. "A pity I'm not right," he said cheerfully. "But don't worry. No doubt it'll happen sooner or later—probably sooner than later."

Elizabeth blushed fiercely once more. "Stephen, you are—impossible!"

"So I'm told, Elizabeth. So I'm told." Crossing his arms over his chest, Stephen moved to prop a hip on the edge of his desk. "So tell me what brings you here, if not my skill as a physician."

Try though she might, she was unable to mask her distress. Her smile withered. She looked down, plucking at the folds in her skirts.

Stephen sighed. "Don't tell me. It has to be Morgan. What's he done now to put you in such a state?"

"I'm hardly in a 'state.' " Her attempt to smile was an abominable failure. "And it's not what he's done, so much as… what he hasn't."

Stephen probed very gently. "And what's that?"

A huge lump had lodged in her throat. It was a moment before she could speak. "I've only just learned about Amelia."

There was no need to say more. Stephen's expression had gone utterly sober. "Did Morgan tell you?"

She nodded. "But only because Nathaniel mentioned her name. Naturally, I wondered who she was… But all he would tell me was that she had been his wife, only now she is dead."

Stephen's tone was very quiet. "I see."

"Anyway, I thought, since you're Morgan's closest friend… and being a physician, I thought perhaps… was she ill?"

Stephen made no effort to hide his reluctance. "Elizabeth," he said with a shake of his head, "I'm not certain this should come from me. If I tell you, Morgan might well be angry with both of us."

"I know, Stephen. Truly, I hate putting you in such a position. But the truth is, it doesn't matter if Morgan is angry with me. He—he doesn't care a whit about me anyway," she finished, her voice very low.

"I don't for a minute believe that's true, Elizabeth."

"Believe it, Stephen." The ache in her heart had spread to her voice. "For a time, I thought perhaps he did care… We spent at week at his cottage north of here. He—he was so different! But now…" Her gaze dropped. She shook her head, the gesture speaking for her.

Stephen's gaze sharpened. "He took you to the cottage?"

"Yes." Her voice was scarcely audible.

"Then I think you underestimate him—and yourself—quite sorely, Elizabeth. That cottage is his hideaway from the world. To my knowledge, he's never taken anyone there before now. I know for a fact Amelia was never there. I remember once she pouted for days because he refused to take her.
I
have never even been there."

"So you did know Amelia?"

"Yes."

"Then tell me about her, Stephen." With her eyes she pleaded with him. "Tell me. Please."

He sighed. "Amelia was an alluring woman," he began, seating himself behind his desk. "Bright and vivid. Very alive and animated, a veritable social butterfly who thrived on attention. I used to think there was no one alive she couldn't charm."

"Was it a happy marriage?" It hurt to say it aloud, yet she had to know.

"At first. But later"—he hesitated—"Morgan never said a word, but somehow I don't think so."

"How long ago did she die?"

"About five years ago."

"What happened? Was she ill? You didn't say," she reminded him.

He was clearly torn. "Elizabeth—"

"Stephen," she implored, "please, I must know!"

He released a long, pent-up breath. "All right," he said at last. "She was… killed."

"Killed? How? An accident?"

There was a dragging silence. "She was murdered," he said at last. "Amelia was murdered."

Her eyes widened. For a mind-splitting instant she thought her ears had deceived her. "Murdered," she echoed. "But—how?"

"She was choked to death. Her body was found in her bedroom."

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "My Lord," she said numbly. "Who would do such a thing—"

"There's one other thing, Elizabeth."

There was something in his tone… She held her breath, all at once filled with trepidation. "Yes?"

His voice was very quiet. "Morgan was arrested and charged with the murder."

«
^
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Morgan was arrested and charged with the murder.

The words dropped into the air with the weight of an anchor. Elizabeth's legs would have buckled had she been standing. A vague memory sifted through her mind. She suddenly recalled their wedding day, when a small crowd had gathered outside the church. A man separated himself, raised a fist high, and shouted, "
You'd best take care, lady, or you'll end up dead like the other one
!"

The other one…

It had made no sense then, but now comprehension descended like a thick black cloud.

The other one
…

… had been Amelia.

She was shaking from head to toe. Her expression reflected her horror. Unknowingly she flung out her hands. "Dear God, I asked Morgan if he loved her, if she loved him. He said… he said Amelia loved no one but herself." A dry, choked sound escaped. "He seemed angry."

Stephen gripped her hands and pulled her to her feet. "Listen to me, Elizabeth. He didn't do it.
Morgan did not kill Amelia
. He simply is not capable."

"But how can you be so certain?" she cried. "How can you know?"

"Believe me, Elizabeth, I do. I found him not long after he found the body. Amelia was already dead, but he was trying frantically to help her. And I was with him when he was taken into custody. I saw the fear in his eyes—the fear that he might be found guilty—but he scarcely said a word to defend himself! It was shock, I know. He planned to leave Amelia. We'd talked that very evening about how to tell her… Then to go home and find her dead, only to stand accused of the crime… ! But as God is my witness, I know he didn't kill Amelia."

Elizabeth gazed into his eyes. Stephen was so utterly convinced, and he knew Morgan better than anyone. The tension gradually seeped from her body. Gauging her reaction, Stephen squeezed her hands reassuringly, then let go.

"What happened then?" she whispered.

Stephen grimaced. "A trial was scheduled. God, what an ugly mess! But prior to that date, the prosecutor dropped the charges. He finally admitted there was no real evidence to point to Morgan." There was a small pause. "In short, Elizabeth, his only crime was in finding Amelia's body."

Elizabeth shuddered. To be subjected to such humiliation—it must have been awful for him!

"So many turned their backs on him, men that he'd dealt with for years. Thank heaven the yard workmen remained loyal. It's a miracle he didn't lose everything, but Morgan weathered the storm. There would be a lot of hungry mouths in Boston if it weren't for his shipyard. Eventually the city's businessmen realized they couldn't afford
not
to do business with him."

Elizabeth's features were somber. She recalled how, on the day Morgan had proposed to marry her, he'd said he disliked being the brunt of scandal.

Dear God, no wonder.

Once she was home, Simmons met her at the door. "Thank heaven you're back, ma'am!" He nodded toward the library. "The master's in there, fretting about your whereabouts. He's been asking after you for hours now!"

Elizabeth handed him her parasol. "Thank you, Simmons." Straightening her spine, she approached the library.

It didn't appear Morgan was fretting.
Steaming
was more like it. He jumped to his feet from behind his desk and came toward her, gray eyes glowing like liquid silver.

"Where the hell have you been?" he demanded.

"There's no need to be angry," she stated calmly. "I merely went out for a walk."

"You've been gone nearly three hours!" A muscle jumped in his cheek as he faced her.

She nearly faltered beneath his blistering glare. "I also went to see Stephen."

His eyes narrowed. Jet brows drew together over his nose as he returned to his seat behind the desk. "Why? Are you ill?"

Now came the difficult part. "No," she admitted. Shoring up all her defenses, she took a deep breath. "He told me how Amelia died."

His jaw clamped tight. Elizabeth winced inwardly, for she could almost see him struggling to hold fast to his temper. His expression tightened, storm clouds brewing over his thin-lipped countenance. He swore. "I should have known he would—"

"If you're going to be angry, be angry with me, not Stephen." Elizabeth moved to defend her friend—and his.

Morgan's fist crashed down on the desk. Lightning flashed in his eyes. "Dammit, the two of you had no right to sneak behind my back!"

Elizabeth paled, but she didn't retreat. Before he could say a word, she confronted him boldly. "We weren't sneaking around behind your back. Frankly, I don't see why
you
couldn't have told me how she died. But you refused to discuss it. And it wasn't that you
couldn't
tell me," she challenged. "You simply wouldn't!"

"It makes no difference. You shouldn't have gone to Stephen."

"I shouldn't have
had
to," she flared.

"Exactly what did he tell you?" he asked suddenly.

She took a deep, ragged breath. "Everything," she said, meeting his regard with a valiance she was far from feeling. "He told me about the charges, the dismissal. And he told me over and over that you didn't kill Amelia."

His tone turned scathing. "What! Don't tell me you weren't ready to believe the very worst of me!"

"Of course I wasn't!" Her retort was indignant.

"And what about now? Do you still believe I didn't kill her?" All at once he was there before her, his eyes glittering, the planes of his face thrown into stark relief by the afternoon sunlight. With only the ruthless hold of his eyes, he pinned her, as if her feet were rooted to the floor.

His hands, strong and lean, came down to frame the delicate span of her shoulders. He drew her close—so very close to him!—a sheer masculine presence so potent and powerful that her mouth grew dry as dust. For one heart-stopping moment, it spun through her mind that he had only to close his fingers about her throat and squeeze…

"Well, Elizabeth." His whisper, dark and hot, caressed the shell of her ear. "Do you still believe me innocent?"

With the pads of his thumbs, he traced the fragile line of her collarbone, a touch so achingly gentle, she went weak inside. She couldn't help but recall the night at the cottage when he had made her truly a woman…

Truly his wife.

These hands, so strong yet tempered with such tenderness, were simply not capable of such violence, no matter the provocation. She knew it with a certainty that surpassed all else.

No, she thought with a painful catch deep in her breast. The threat he posed was not to her person…

But to her heart.

She loved him. God help her, but she loved him.

Her hands threaded through the midnight darkness of the hair that grew low on his nape. She brought his head down to hers, lifting her own so that their lips met and clung. "Yes," she breathed against his mouth, and then inside it: "
Yes
."

His arms nearly crushed her. His mouth opened on hers, hot and fiercely devouring. She could taste the desperation in his kiss, but her need for reassurance was no less intense than his. Passion flared, wild and recklessly consuming, spinning them both into a pool of molten desire.

She could feel the iron prod of his manhood, there against her secret bud of pleasure. Wanton joy surged through her. She circled her hips against his thickened spear, an erotic dance that drove them both half-mad. He tore at her clothing; she fumbled with his, clumsy in her haste to rid him of his clothes.

Soon she was naked. Morgan shrugged off his shirt. His trousers were the last to go, her nails scraping the ridge of his hips until his shaft, stiff and swollen, sprang eagerly free.

She had no recollection of sinking to the carpet, an intimate tangle of arms and legs. He kissed a fiery trail down the fullness of her breasts, straying down across the hollow of her belly, clear to the golden thatch clustered between her thighs. With the wedge of his shoulders, he spread her legs wide.

Elizabeth's heart beat high in her throat. It was unthinkable. Sweet Lord. Surely he would not…

There was a rush of hot breath, the damp heat of his tongue. Dipping and swirling. Sliding and tasting. Lapping and curling, there at the very pearl of sensation hidden deep within her secret cleft. Her fingers grasped at the rug. Burning raged through her like fire. Mindless pleasure streaked through her veins, building to a blinding crescendo.

The pleasure was so intense, she arched her back and cried out, a wanton cry of ecstasy. Morgan shifted suddenly, rolling to his back and pulling her astride him. Hands on her waist, he wordlessly guided her, holding her upright. She shivered once more at the feel of his fingers caressing the backs of her thighs. Her senses whirled. One smooth, fluid twist and he was buried to the hilt inside her, stretching her, filling her until they were both gasping.

The sensation was indescribable. The softness of her belly grazed the hardness of his. Never in her life had Elizabeth imagined a woman might ride a man so—never had she imagined she might want to! But she was an avid pupil as he dragged her hands to his chest. Her fingers weaved through the dark, curly pelt that grew there. With his thumbs he teased her nipples to quivering points of erectness. Elizabeth moaned, instinctively plunging down at the very instant his shaft filled her to bursting.