Just One Kiss (34 page)

The Englishman ripped something out from his breast pocket.

A fading ray of sunlight glinted on shiny metal. He held the dagger poised in his hand for a never-ending moment. Then everything blurred together.

"No!" Morgan launched himself through the air.

Lightning-quick, the dagger sliced forward.

Elizabeth gave a piercing scream.

Nathaniel slumped to the ground.

But it was far from over.

The Englishman toppled over beneath Morgan's diving weight. Together they rolled and skidded forward. The dagger clattered across the cobblestones, coming to rest an arm's length away from the pair. Sheer terror clogged Elizabeth's veins. Two arms lunged outward, grappling for possession. But only one came up with that coveted weapon…

The man with the derby.

Morgan lay on his back, his gaze trained upward. The man with the derby rose to his knees, a feral smile on his lips. Once again the dagger gleamed bright and deadly.

There was a shattering explosion. Smoke filled the air, acrid and thick. Through the murky haze, Elizabeth saw the man with the derby pitch forward and land on the cobblestones, sprawled facedown.

Nathaniel lay on his side. A small pistol dangled from his fingers. A muffled exclamation broke from Elizabeth's lips. He was alive. Nathaniel was alive! She staggered upright and ran to him.

Morgan was there as well, kneeling beside him. But the frantic look on his face struck a shaft of fear into her heart once more.

"Dear God," he breathed jerkily. "We need a doctor. We need a doctor!"

Throughout the house the air was heavy and thick with an oppressive silence. Thank heaven Willis had already had the foresight to go after Stephen. Nathaniel hadn't been down for more than a few minutes when Stephen came running up. Mercifully he was unconscious when they bore him to the carriage, but Elizabeth had seen the dark red stain that soaked the front of his shirt and jacket.

A feeling of dread clutched at her insides.

They'd taken him home straightaway, to the bedroom he'd so recently occupied. Stephen had been closeted inside with Nathaniel ever since, while Morgan and Elizabeth stood vigil in the hall outside. The wait was agonizing. The minutes dragged by like hours.

They both looked up with a start when the door finally opened. Stephen stepped into the hall.

It was Morgan who spoke first. "How is he?"

Stephen shook his head. His expression was bleak. "I've done all I can," he said quietly. He dropped a hand on Morgan's shoulder. "He's asking for you." His eyes slid to Elizabeth. "You, too, Elizabeth."

Morgan was already through the door. Elizabeth trailed behind him. She nearly cried out at her first sight of Nathaniel. He lay back upon the pillows, his skin nearly as white as the sheets. His eyes were closed, and for a mind-splitting instant she was convinced he was dead.

But then he opened his eyes and gazed on her form as she came through the door. Though rimmed with pain, his eyes shone with a glimmer of light that beckoned her forward.

Elizabeth stepped close to the bedside. Summoning a strength she hadn't known she possessed, she blinked back a burning rush of tears. "Hello, Nathaniel."

"Elizabeth," he said weakly. "You see, I was right. I told you I was a scoundrel."

The smile she forced to her lips was the hardest thing she'd ever done. "Never," she vowed.

"Always," he countered.

His gaze slid to Morgan. In silent understanding, she bent and kissed his cheek, then quietly retreated.

Morgan stepped close. "Maybe you should try to rest," he said quietly.

Nathaniel's head twisted slightly on the pillow. "You never quit, do you?" he murmured teasingly. "Still trying to tell me what to do after all these years." He shivered, as if with cold.

Morgan drew the quilt up over his chest. His hand came out to close around Nathaniel's where it rested on the sheet. His chest was so tight, he could hardly speak. "And you're still as feisty as ever."

"I did put you through hell, didn't I?"

"You sure did." Morgan's voice was husky. "And you enjoyed every minute, didn't you?"

"I always wanted to be like you, you know." Nathaniel's throat worked. "God, but I'm sorry! I owed you so damn much—"

"No," Morgan said firmly. "You saved my life. That took courage, Nathaniel. I owe you, more than I can ever repay."

It was a moment before Nathaniel could draw in enough air to breathe. "I did, didn't I?" he murmured.

"Yes. You did." Morgan's grip on Nathaniel's hand tightened. For a moment the two were linked together, brother to brother, spirit to spirit.

A ghost of a smile drifted across Nathaniel's lips. "Who would have ever thought, Morgan? This time I got to rescue you. This time I was the hero." His voice thinned to a wisp of sound. "Remember that, will you, Morgan? Remember that when you think of me…"

His eyes drifted shut. The crushing pain in his chest lifted. Peace settled over his features.

Little by little the strength seeped from his fingers.

Morgan bent close. "Nat," he cried hoarsely. "
Nat
!"

«
^
»

He was buried the next day. The cemetery was within walking distance, small and peaceful, atop a grassy hill that looked out across the Charles River. The gravesite was beneath the shady canopy of a stately oak tree, dotted here and there with wildflowers.

Morgan stood apart from the others during the service, a stoic figure garbed in black. When it was over, he spoke to no one, not the minister, not Stephen, not even Elizabeth. He went home and locked himself in his study. It was left to Elizabeth to field condolences from those who stopped by or sent notes of sympathy.

For the next four days, only Simmons was allowed entrance to his study. Elizabeth was a trifle hurt at being shut out so completely, yet she could understand Morgan's need to be alone to deal with the tragedy of Nathaniel's death.

Stephen thought it best simply to leave him be. "Just give him a few days more," he suggested. "I know Morgan. He'll come out of it."

At first Elizabeth was convinced he was right. Whatever Morgan was going through right now would pass. But she watched with ever-increasing concern—and yes, disapproval—as bottle after bottle of brandy was delivered to the study. As she confided to Stephen, "He hasn't eaten a thing since he's been in there. Simmons has tried, but he refuses. Nor does it appear he's slept in all that time. I swear he's determined to drink himself into the grave after his brother."

"You may be right. It isn't like him at all," Stephen admitted. "Would you like me to try to talk with him?"

Stephen did try on several occasions.

He failed on all.

By the fifth day Elizabeth determined to take matters into her own hands. Morgan might forever hate her, but he could not go on like this.

Outside the study she intercepted Simmons, who was about to deliver the evening bottle. She took the tray from his hands, saying, "You and the staff may have the rest of the night off, Simmons."

Simmons looked uncertain. "Ma'am, he's been in a devil of a temper—"

"Please do as I ask, Simmons. Oh, and please knock on the door and tell Mr. O'Connor you're here with his brandy."

Simmons inclined his head. "Of course, ma'am." He knocked three times and did what was requested of him. Elizabeth motioned him away. When the door swung open she neatly stepped inside and shut it with her heel.

The study was steeped in shadows, the air thick with the scent of stale brandy. The drapes had been drawn tight against the outside world. Elizabeth peered across the room, trying to find him.

"What the
hell
do you think you're doing?" His voice sliced at her from a point just to her left, startling her so that she jumped.

Mercifully, she recovered quickly. She raised her chin high and said with quiet dignity, "I came to ask you that very question."

Her eyes had adjusted to the dimness; they ran over him as she spoke. Dear Lord, he looked terrible! His face was haggard and drawn, his jaw dark and unshaven, half-obscured by five days worth of growth. His clothing was rumpled and untidy. His eyes were red rimmed and bloodshot.

"Leave me alone, Elizabeth." The anger had gone out of his voice. He merely sounded incredibly tired.

Her heart constricted as she watched him walk across to his desk. He moved like a man thrice his age.

Swallowing, she steeled herself against all emotion. "Why? Because you feel sorry for yourself?"

Morgan spoke from between his teeth. "No! So I can forget!"

She finally moved, setting the tray with its bottle of brandy on the corner of the desk. "You're not trying to forget, Morgan. You're trying to torture yourself."

"So get the hell out and let me do it alone!" An ugly snarl twisted his face. He reached for the bottle.

But Elizabeth was quicker. Stung by a sudden fury, she knocked it aside. It fell with a crash to the floor. She paid no heed to the amber liquid that streamed onto the carpet.

"Don't you care?" she asked fiercely. "Don't you care about me? Don't you care what this is doing to me?"

Morgan was on his feet. "If you have any sense, you'll leave before I ruin your life, too."

"That's nonsense, Morgan, and you know it!"

His features were a frozen mask. "No, Elizabeth. You don't know what happened. You don't know—"

"I do know! I know everything. I know Nathaniel was Amelia's lover. I know he killed her."

His face had gone pale. "How? How do you know?"

"Nathaniel. He told me everything, Morgan.
Everything
."

His reaction was exactly what she feared. He turned his back on her, as distant from her as ever.

Something snapped inside her. Three steps put her directly behind him. She punched at his shoulders with her fists.

"Damn you, you're going to listen to me, Morgan O'Connor."

His powerful shoulders went taut, but he didn't move.

"You know what else he told me? He said when you were a boy your father used to whip you with a cane when you took the blame for things he'd done. But you would never cry—never. Well, go ahead and cry, Morgan. Scream because it hurts that he's gone. Rage because God took him away too soon. But then be done with it. Don't hide what's inside. Let it go, Morgan. Let
him
go."

Tears streamed down her face, tears she wasn't aware of. But Morgan gave no sign that he'd even heard.

Something broke inside her then. Her spine wilted. With a jagged sob she sagged to the floor and hugged her knees to her breast, rocking back and forth.

"I need you," she wept. "I need you, too, Morgan. Please come back to me.
Please
…"

He squeezed his eyes shut. The sound of her sobs was like a knife in his heart. He turned and dropped to the floor. His arms stole around her shaking form. His fingers brushed aside her hair.

"Oh, damn. Damn. Elizabeth, don't do this to me!" he groaned. "I-I can't deal with any more pain."

She wrapped her arms around him and clung. "You took care of Nathaniel alone, Morgan. You suffered through Amelia's betrayal alone. But you don't have to be alone anymore. Just—just let me hold you," she pleaded. "Let me help you, Morgan. Let me… let me love you!"

He closed his eyes again. The ache of remembrance battered him. "When my mother died, she asked me to—to take care of Nathaniel. I remember she said… Guide him. Protect him. But I-I did everything wrong. Did I give him too much? Or too little. Christ, I-I just don't know!"

His breath came raggedly. "It's my fault this happened. It's my fault Nathaniel's dead. If I had done things differently… I would have helped him, Elizabeth, if only he'd been able to come to me. But I kept him away." His voice turned raw. "That whole sordid mess with Amelia… I pushed him away. I-I couldn't forgive him and he knew it. Don't you see? He knew it!"

Her hand touched the crispness of the hair that grew low on his nape. "You didn't fail him, Morgan. You were loyal—to the very end, so don't burden yourself like this. Nathaniel's life was his own. You did what you could. Why, he told me himself that he made his own decisions—often the wrong ones, he knew! He was ashamed, Morgan, ashamed of the hell he put you through. But he didn't blame you. You have to stop blaming yourself!"

Morgan buried his face in the fragrant cloud of her hair. "You should hate me," he muttered hoarsely. "I've said so many awful things… accused you of things I knew weren't true… I-I don't know what came over me. God, I haven't even asked you how you feel!" Drawing back, he lightly grazed his fingers over the swell of her belly.

Elizabeth smiled mistily. The relief that poured through her was immense. "I'm fine," she said softly. Her smile widened ever so slightly. "
We're
fine."

His throat worked. "Do you… really love me?"

Her eyes brimmed and overflowed. She nodded.

Even as the sight tore him in two, the swell of emotion that rose in his chest was too much to contain.

"Would you say it?" he whispered.

She ducked her head low, all at once afraid. What if she had bared her soul for nothing? What if he didn't love her in return? "No," she said tremulously, the word more breath than sound.

But then his fingers captured her chin, guiding her eyes upward. "Yes," he whispered, and then again against her lips… into her mouth. "
Yes
."

She trembled with the force of her emotions. "I-I love you, Morgan.
I love you
…" The confession was torn from her, but his lips were there to smother it.

And then she heard the words she'd never thought to hear… She saw in his eyes the very thing that she'd never thought to see, a tenderness and love so pure and shining, she could only stare in wonder.

"I love you, Elizabeth." His arms engulfed her. "I love you. My lady. My heart."

Elizabeth wept all over again.

Night found them wrapped in each other's arms, limbs entwined, the beat of their hearts as one.

Daybreak found Elizabeth stirring lazily in the depths of her husband's bed. Her mind slowly registered the absence of warmth, and she lifted her head.