Just One Kiss (31 page)

If anything, the strain had made her long to recapture the tender closeness she and Morgan had shared at the cottage. They might never agree about Nathaniel—indeed they probably would
not
. In the hope that it would make the days a little easier for both of them, Elizabeth had resolved to put their differences about Nathaniel aside and start each day anew, with no anger, no strain, between them.

As she reminded herself of this, she summoned a bright smile and slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow. "Would you have breakfast with me?"

"I can't. I was due at the shipyards an hour ago."

Elizabeth struggled not to pull her hand back. He'd glanced at it as if her touch offended him. "Oh," she murmured. "Perhaps dinner then?"

"Actually I've asked Wilson Reed, Justin Powell, and James Brubaker over for dinner. We have just a few loose ends to discuss regarding our agreement. You may find yourself bored, but perhaps it's just as well if you attend."

Elizabeth bit her lip—his banker and attorney, and James Brubaker. She winced, recalling the last time these three had come for dinner. Morgan had been so jealous—and she had been shrewish. He'd questioned her morals, and she had been provoked into confronting him about the woman who had been his mistress.

Still, this was business. And she reminded herself that she and Morgan hadn't dined together since Nathaniel's stabbing; with the wound in his shoulder Nathaniel had a bit of difficulty with meals, so she had tried to be present at mealtime. But now Stephen's observation echoed in her mind.
Perhaps Morgan feels neglected
. If she refused, would Morgan believe she favored Nathaniel over him?

That was the last thing she wanted.

She met his eyes. "You don't mind?"

He shrugged. "It makes no difference to me."

It was hardly a gracious invitation. She tried hard not to feel stung. "I'll be ready then," she murmured.

As the day wore on, she faced the evening with burgeoning hope. Perhaps dinner together would break some of the
ice
between them. When the guests were gone, they might linger downstairs for a while. And once they were alone, a measure of harmony might be restored. She could ask him to escort her to her room. If the evening proceeded as she hoped, she might wordlessly tug him inside her room and let the night lead where it would.

She wanted that, she realized wistfully. She wanted that quite badly. Oh, it wasn't just the pleasure to be had in his lovemaking. She missed the silent intimacy that followed. She missed being held tight against his body. She missed waking up in the haven of his arms.

He hadn't touched her—even the most casual brush of the hands!—since their terrible row over Nathaniel. Had he truly locked her out of his heart and mind? No.
No
! She couldn't give in to despair. That would change, she vowed determinedly. That would change
tonight
.

She dressed very carefully that evening. The deep rose chiffon gown she wore brought out the creamy ivory of her arms and shoulders. Annie knotted her hair atop her crown, leaving bare the fragile sweep of her nape.

She had just finished dabbing perfume at the base of her neck when a knock sounded on the connecting door. "Come in," she called, hoping she didn't sound overly eager.

Morgan strode in, as devastatingly handsome as ever. The scent of soap and bay rum filled the air; his hair shone damp and gleaming.

Elizabeth rose from her seat at the dressing table. Her heart bounded when his gaze traveled the length of her and back to her face.

"You look breathtaking, as usual."

Elizabeth flushed with pleasure.

"But something's missing." He frowned. "You should be wearing your pearls with that gown."

Her smile froze.

"I'll wait if you like."

Elizabeth's hand rested self-consciously on her bare throat. She was at a complete loss for words, for indeed, what could she say?
I'm sorry, Morgan, but Nathaniel stole the pearls you gave me to wear on our wedding day
.

She cringed inside. Morgan would never understand. He would never
forgive
such a transgression.

Her face grew uncomfortably warm. Little did she realize her expressive features were a mirror to her soul.

He nodded at the tall lacquered jewelry case atop her bureau. "I'll put them on if you'll get them." Mild as his tone was, all at once it was less than pleasant.

She stared at him, her eyes huge and stricken.

"Elizabeth!"

Her name was like thunder in the night. She nearly jumped out of her skin.

She swallowed. "I c-can't," she stammered.

His scrutiny sharpened. "Why not? Aren't they in your jewelry case?"

"No," she whispered. She couldn't tear her gaze from his face. His expression was terrible to behold. He knew, she thought sickly. Somehow he knew…

His mouth was ominously thin. "You wore them just last week. Where are they now?"

"I don't know!" That, at least, was the truth.

"Are you telling me that you lost them?"

"Yes. Yes!" She seized on the lie desperately. Now all she had to do was convince him…

"You're lying," he stated baldly. "I know a lie when I hear one. God knows I've had plenty of experience."

Elizabeth was nearly in tears. "All right," she cried. "Remember the night Nathaniel came to me for money? I-I didn't know what else to do, so I—I gave him my pearls."

Two white, angry lines had appeared beside his mouth. "You said you gave him the cash in the household account."

"I-I did."

His voice was dangerously low. "You gave him money
and
your pearls?"

Her gaze clung to his. She nodded.

"You should have come to me, Elizabeth. If he needed money,
you should have come to me
."

"When the two of you are constantly at each other's throats? I was trying to avert a calamity, not start one!"

Never had she seen him so angry. "So you always say," he said tautly. "So you always say. But at least now I know exactly where I stand with you." He glanced at the clock atop her dresser. "We'd better hurry," he said coldly. "We have guests waiting."

She knew then it was an evening destined for disaster.

How she made it through dinner, she never knew. Her smile was forced; she felt as if her face might crack into a thousand pieces at any time. Justin's wife had been ill with a summer cold; Elizabeth inquired politely as to her health. She chatted with Wilson Reed between courses.

And all the while, Morgan looked right through her, as if she weren't there.

Elizabeth felt like weeping. He sat at the end of the table, nodding and listening as James Brubaker talked, his attention confined solely to James—and business matters. Her gaze was unwillingly drawn to him again and again. There was a painful tightness in her chest. It had been like this since the night Nathaniel had been stabbed. There was never a smile for her. Never a look or a touch.

"We're going to have brandy in the library, Elizabeth." With a start she heard her name. "I'm sure you'd much rather retire for the night."

At last he looked at her. He awaited her response, dark brows lifted in cool expectation. He might have been addressing a wooden stick, for all the interest he showed. Elizabeth bit back foolish tears. This was the first he had even acknowledged her presence at the table, and he wanted her to leave!

She dropped her napkin on her plate. "Yes, of course. I-I'll leave you gentlemen to your brandy then." Her voice sounded nothing at all like her own. She was only half-aware of Morgan glancing at her sharply.

Hot tears burned just beneath the surface. Her heart began to bleed. It was all she could do not to burst out sobbing. She rose hurriedly, her only thought being that she had to escape before she embarrassed them both. Quickly she turned and headed toward the door.

But something was wrong. Her heart was pounding heavily. A gray haze swirled all around. She stopped short, for the ground seemed to be sliding away from beneath her feet. The world around her was reeling, a twisting kaleidoscope of sound and color. Dimly she heard someone shout her name. It was Morgan, she decided fuzzily, and he was angry again. Was there nothing she did that pleased him… ?

The next thing she knew there were a number of faces peering down at her. She blinked, struggling to focus. She tried to move, but her limbs were trapped against her body… No. No, it was only Morgan, cradling her against his chest. His arms were so strong, so comforting. She reached toward his face, wanting to trace the sculpted beauty of his profile.

But he was staring down at her with stern features, and it was suddenly too much. Her hand fell limply to her breast. She gave a dry, heartbreaking sob and turned her face aside. Dimly she felt herself being borne upward in a surge of power.

"Send someone for Stephen!" a voice shouted.

She must have lost consciousness again. When she next awoke, she was in her bedroom, the softness of the mattress at her back. A lamp glowed dimly in the corner. Morgan sat beside her on the bed. One of her hands lay snugly swallowed between both of his.

His eyes scoured her face. "How do you feel?"

She put a hand to her brow and considered. "Fine," she murmured. She started to rise.

"No." A firm hand on her shoulder restrained her. "You're not going anywhere until Stephen's had a look at you. He's on his way now."

"Morgan, truly," she protested, "I just felt rather odd for a moment. There's no need for all this fuss."

"We'll let Stephen be the judge of that."

"But shouldn't you be with your guests—"

"Simmons is seeing them off."

She leaned back against the pillows, feeling pleasurably warm inside. She liked knowing he'd chosen to remain with her instead. Indeed, she was highly disappointed that Stephen chose to appear as soon as he did.

He strode inside, a small black bag in hand. He halted and arched a brow. "My, my," he said crisply. "This is becoming a habit, isn't it?"

"A habit!" Morgan's gaze lingered pointedly on his wife.

"She had a dizzy spell last week," Stephen explained. "But I think you're right. This warrants a closer look."

With Morgan's assistance, Elizabeth sat up slowly. Stephen came around and sat beside her. He listened to her heart and gently probed her scalp for any hidden bumps. Morgan looked on from the foot of the bed, his gaze piercingly intent.

Stephen cleared his throat and glanced at his friend. "I'd like to examine her a little further, Morgan. But I think it might prove easier for Elizabeth if we had a bit more privacy."

Morgan grimaced. "I'll wait in the hall," he said.

Once they were alone, Stephen proceeded with the examination, occasionally asking questions. Elizabeth's face was scarlet by the time he'd finished. She clamped her skirts to the bed as soon as he leaned back. He gave her a hand and she quickly swung her legs to the floor.

"It's just as you said, isn't it? Just a dizzy spell?"

"Yes. But there's a reason for those spells, Elizabeth."

Her eyes went wide with horror.

He chuckled. "You needn't worry. You haven't been stricken with a dreary, deadly disease."

She let out an audible breath. "What then?"

He paused. "You're going to have a baby," he said softly. "I'd say in—oh, a little more than seven months or so."

A baby
. So it was true.
A baby
, she thought again, with an awestruck mixture of wonder and fear.

Stephen smiled and snapped his bag shut. "I'll leave it to you to break the news to Morgan."

Morgan. Elizabeth's pulse raced frantically. Her mind leaped forward. Her nails dug into her palms, but she didn't feel the discomfort. What would his reaction be? Would he be surprised? Of course he would! Ah, but would he be pleased? Having a child was something they'd never discussed. She was almost afraid to wonder, to hope! Of course he would be pleased. Every man wanted a child, didn't he? A son to carry on his name. A daughter to bring him joy.

Morgan strode in, clearly vexed. He resumed his seat on the edge of the bed and reached for her hand. "Are you all right? Stephen wouldn't tell me a damn thing!" he said irritably. "All he would tell me was that it would be better if it came from you."

She curled her fingers through the lean hardness of his. Moistening her lips, she lifted her face. Hope shone brightly in her heart and the vivid green of her eyes. "Morgan," she said breathlessly, "I…
we
… we're going to have a baby, Morgan."

Everything changed between one heartbeat and the next. There was a suffocating silence. One moment he was the tender, considerate man she knew he could be, the next he was a harsh, cold stranger.

His gaze slid down to the flatness of her belly. It lingered there as if in horror—as if in accusation. He dropped her hand—as if she were a leper!

In that moment, something shriveled up and died inside her.

Without a word he spun around and walked through the connecting door into his room. A bag was hauled out from his closet and pitched onto the bed.

Elizabeth followed behind him, numb with hurt. She stood on the threshold, wavering and vulnerable. Her eyes skipped between the bag and his face. She was afraid to speak. "Where are you going?"

His features were a rigid mask. "To the cottage."

His flat statement was like a blow. She recalled vividly what Stephen had told her not so long ago.
That cottage is his hideaway from the world
. Raw pain throbbed in her breast, for now it would be his haven from
her
.

Her eyes stung painfully. She tried to arm herself against his coldness and failed miserably. "What's wrong? We're going to have a baby, Morgan! I-I hoped you would be happy, as happy as I am!"

His silence was like a slap in the face.

Her lips trembled. "May I go with you?" she whispered.

"No!" His denial was like the lash of a whip.

Every breath burned like fire with the effort it took not to cry. "Morgan," she pleaded. "You sound as if you blame me… What have I done that's so wrong? I-I don't know what's happening—what you're thinking!"