Lady Fugitive (9 page)

Though she didn't recognize many of the
faces at the large gathering, Rachel found she knew several of the villagers
well enough to receive a smiling greeting or polite nod. The villagers might
not fully accept her after having her amongst them for several months, but she
no longer felt hostile or curious stares. The stares now came from several of
the unattached men, who seemed to have quickly noted the lack of widow's weeds.

"May I have the next number?" 

Dismayed, Rachel discovered Somersdale
at her side. "Oh! I'm sorry," she gulped, coughing now for effect,
"Mr. Somersdale, but...I—"

"She's promised the remainder of
her dances to me, Arnold," Morgan stiffly informed him. "I told you
to leave this particular lady alone." 

Rachel watched Arnold depart.
"Would you like to go outside for some air?" Morgan inquired. Her
eyes swept the crowded room, gauging the whereabouts of the nearest exit. She
spied Pamela, who was glaring hotly at her and Morgan.

"No, I'm fine. What I'd like is for
you to dance with me." She caught his forearm and dragged him into the
center of the room. "Please, sir."

He swept her into his arms and they
began to waltz. His fingers tightened on hers as he flashed her a knowing grin.
"I assume your sudden passion is for her benefit." He inclined his
head toward the furious blonde at the edge of the dance floor.

Rachel tilted her chin up. "I owe
her a debt I haven't repaid." 

"Do you always repay your
debts?"

Yes, mine and those thrust upon me
, her mind answered.
Even when it costs me
everything
. "Definitely. Don't you?"

"Apart from one. A certain young
lady did me a service not long ago, but has stubbornly refused to let me
compensate her for it. I'm still indebted and wondering how to resolve the
matter."

"The lady performed that service as
a personal favor to you. She'd like to be considered your friend, as well as
your employee. You're not indebted, sir."

Morgan abruptly froze, his eyes wide.
"Christ, but I'm an idiot!"

"For once I agree with you,
sir," she replied, a false smile on her face. "Perhaps we might dance
again later." She nudged him with her knee. It seemed he'd forgotten they
were standing in the midst of whirling dancers. He stared down into her face
and made no attempt to move. It was everything she'd longed for, all that
terrified her—a moment when time stopped, when no one existed but Morgan
Tremayne and
Richelle
. She had to do something to break the spell.

She closed her fingers around his hand
and tugged hard, threading her way between the spinning couples. Morgan numbly
followed, but Pamela wasn't going to let them escape her wrath.

"So, you decided to take your clerk
to the festivities this year, Morgan. Boyd's altruism seems to be rubbing off
on you."

"Not as much as you might
wish," Morgan replied, stiffening. "I've been meaning to speak to
your father about the back payments on his loan. If either of you thought I'd disregard
his overdue debt, you're destined for disappointment."

Pamela's eyes went from hot to ice cold.
Rachel had no desire to eavesdrop on this particular conversation. She mumbled
an excuse and started to pull away, but Morgan wouldn't release her fingers.
"I'll only be a moment, Rachel. I still want to talk to you."

He turned back to Pamela. "Is
George here?"

"What, it's not enough I'm
humiliated by this Colonial throwing herself at you, now you insist upon
embarrassing my father at a social gathering?"

"Excuse me, Miss Prine,"
Rachel said. "I didn't throw myself at Mr. Tremayne. He'd already asked me
to dance.
This
would be throwing myself at him." She rose on tiptoe
to plant a searing kiss on Morgan's lips.

"You disgusting tramp!" Pamela
shrieked. The fiddlers and all conversation stilled instantly. "I knew you
were a harlot all along. Pretending you disliked him. Poppycock and lies! You
should wear a trashy red frock, you fat-chested Colonial cow!"

Rachel's voice rang out. "Thank you
for the compliment, Miss Prine. If anyone in town wondered why you couldn't
keep a beau, I think you've answered their question this evening."

"You have—"

"Enough, Pamela," Morgan
barked. "Get your wrap, Madam Cordell. I'll see you home." He
glowered at the blonde. "And I'll speak to George next week. Tell him to
expect me at the farm Thursday or Friday afternoon."

Rachel was fastening her cloak when
Somersdale nudged her with an elbow. "Our little widow shows her true
colors. I suspected Tremayne was taken with you himself when he came to see me,
claiming someone had forged those missives you sent me."

"I wouldn't invite you into my bed
if you were the last man alive." 

"Tsk, Rachel. Another man might
take offense."

"Another man would recognize a
dismissal when he hears it and leave me alone."

"There are more than a few ladies
who could tell you tales of Tremayne's romantic escapades. Half the women in
this farmhouse tonight. He's notorious for losing interest once he's had his fill...His
talent for persuasion is known to charm the pantalets off the lasses. Be
forewarned, Mistress Cordell. Once he gets yours pulled down, you'll find
yourself with neither post nor domicile. He'll toss your bottom into the street
and be on to the next fair damsel."

"Her bottom is none of your damned business,
Somersdale." Morgan seized Arnold by the shoulder. "Bother her again,
and I'll make sure
you
get tossed into the street."

Morgan said nothing until they were back
at the cottage. He lit a fire on the hearth and gave a rueful sigh as she
brought him a cup of tea. "Well, Crowshaven's citizens put on a party with
a distinctive flair, don't we? Public floggings and beheadings are next month,
in case you're interested."

"Mine's the head they want to see
roll."

"That's not true," he
disagreed as he set his cup on the end table. "I noticed you dancing with
some of your new friends in the village." There was an edge to his voice
as he said 'friends,' but his eyes betrayed nothing. He wiped a lingering drop
of tea from his mustache. "Speaking of friendship, we never finished our
conversation concerning my signet."

Rachel moved to the fireplace. "For
the last time, I don't want anything for helping you reclaim that ring of
yours. I'm sorry I went with you."

"Are you?" he demanded.
"I'm not. Why did you leave the pub so abruptly? Were you upset over your
late husband, or did I misunderstand something?"

She closed her eyes and turned away.
"Do you still bear feelings for him?" Morgan crossed the room and
caught her upper arms, forcing her to face him. She couldn't help thinking how
handsome he was, wondering what he'd look like if he let his hair fall loose
around those broad shoulders.

Then regretted those thoughts. They
could only lead to heartache. She had no future with him. No future here.
"Somersdale may be right about your conquests," she said softly.
"I don't want to make a mistake I'll later regret."

Now he folded his arms across his chest.
"I was hoping I wouldn't have to tell you this, Rachel, but I bed all my
tenants and then toss them out." The sarcasm left his voice and it
softened once more. "Don't tell me you actually believe that rot? You're
afraid I'd do something so heinous?"

She gave a tiny shake of her head.
"I'm afraid of forgetting who I am...Of becoming caught up in the moment
and getting confused."

"Because you care for me."

"You and Mr. Atkinson have given me
everything. You protected me when Pamela tried to have me dismissed. You're a
shrewd businessman and everyone in town likes you. I can learn a great deal
from you."

"Just as I could learn to make
coffee from you, but that's not what I mean. Why did you kiss me tonight?"

Rachel knew why he was asking, and
sidestepped his trap. "I thought it was obvious." She gave a wicked
laugh. "To make Pamela crazy."

He turned and headed for the door. He'd
already lifted the latch when her soft words stopped him. "But I wasn't
supposed to say that's the reason, was I? Even though it's partly true. There
was another reason. You want me to say I kissed you because—"

"You're in love with me?"

"I can't say that," she
whispered. "I can't think such insane things. I don't want to love anyone
just now. I don't want anyone in love with me. Please don't be angry. You
didn't finish your tea."

Morgan knew he should just leave, but
when he glanced back at her and saw her eyes huge in the firelight, pleading
with him, he was lost. She was so beautiful in that gown of crimson. He wanted
so much...but he couldn't caress her as he wanted. Not just yet. Having her
beside him in his own parlor while he drank his tea was a good start. He
couldn't be greedy. He had to slow down, force himself to wait.

He returned to the settee and took up
his teacup. As he suspected, she eased beside him and sat watching as he took
another sip. She stared at his right hand a moment, then her fingertip traced
around the oval of gold on his finger. "I'm so glad you got this signet
back. It's very dramatic and personal." Her eyes moved to his face.
"I know how much it means. It's all you have left of your family."

"That...my inn, and this
house." Rachel heard a hollow sadness in his voice. For a second, it
touched his eyes. Then it was gone.

Rachel found a lump forming, tightening
her throat. She knew only too well how it felt to be homesick. "Don't you
miss this house, Morgan? I couldn't put strangers in my family home and spend
nights in a hotel. I'd hate that. I don't know how you stand it."

"Are you suggesting I spend my
nights here?"

"You know I didn't mean it that way.
I won't become your mistress. You're an influential man in this district and
you might be very generous, but—"

"I
would
be," he
corrected.

She shook her head. "I'd rather
clerk for a decade and buy this house from you than allow you keep me in
it."

He set the empty cup on the table and
stretched his arm across the back of the sofa. "You've every reason to
take pride in earning your own wages. You understand figures and trade as well
as most men. Are you also perchance a horsewoman, Colonial?"

"Why, are you giving the cottage as
top prize in an equestrian competition?"

His laughter echoed off the walls.
"I was thinking of a ride Sunday afternoon. See the countryside, our
warehouse, the granary. Might prove educational for you."

"I can ride, yes."

"Good." His arm dropped to her
shoulder and he pulled her close. "You do look lovely tonight,
Rachel."

"And you look…" Her voice
trailed off as she studied his face. "I've often wondered how you manage
to stay so tanned in a country where no one ever sees the sun. Boyd and the
other men look so pale."

"My mother was European. I got her
coloring. Where did you get all the gorgeous dark hair?" He pulled the
snood and pins from her tresses, destroying in two minutes what it had taken
her hours to design. Her hair tumbled around his hand as it stroked the nape of
her neck.

"The women on my mother's side all
have chestnut or auburn hair. It's nothing special."

"You're wrong," he murmured,
using his hand to guide her face closer to his. "Your hair was one of the
first things I noticed about you." Her eyes closed as he kissed her.
"That and your natural insolence." Her eyes flew back open. She saw pure
amusement on his face. "How anyone can address me politely as 'sir' and
sound so mocking as she does it is beyond my ken."

It was her turn to laugh. "Emily
calls you that. So do quite a few of the men."

He embraced her tightly. "I don't
have dreams about them in my arms," he replied in a husky voice. He gave
her another long kiss. "And now I'd best say farewell, before I forget
that dreams are all I'm allowed. At least for the time being."

The big charcoal stallion affectionately
nuzzled Morgan's shoulder. "He's beautiful, Morgan," Rachel
announced, wrinkling her nose. The livery stable had a familiar smell she'd
almost forgotten. Once she'd become immune to the pervasive odor of horse
manure. An ocean away and a lifetime ago.

Morgan tightened the stallion's leather
cinch. "His name is Phantom. His sire was the first asset I ever purchased
with my own wages." He ran a hand along Phantom's neck. "I haven't always
been independent, Rachel. I very well recall what it's like to work for someone
else."

"Which is the horse I'm to
ride?" 

"Phantom's back is big enough for
two." 

Rachel frowned at him. "If I was
going to ride with you, why did you ask if I was a horsewoman? I don't need to
be, if you'll have the reins."

"True, but I wanted to be sure you
wouldn't faint at the thought of getting on an animal. I've known ladies who
won't set a horse." He reached for her waist. "Ready?"