Love in Disguise (19 page)

The touch of his fingers on her neck seemed to increase her anger. “You knew what they would think,” she cried. “You knew.”

“I warned you before,” said Morgane cheerfully, reaching for her wrist and unclasping the bracelet. “I always get what I want.”

Fancy’s fingers flew to her ears. “You will never get me,” she panted as she removed the earrings and thrust them at him. “I cannot be bought.”

Morgane received the earrings and returned them to the velvet-covered box. “I was not attempting to buy you,” he observed calmly. “I am no fool. I was merely seeking to prevent anyone else from doing so. And I rather expect I have established myself reasonably well.”

Fancy drew the cloak around her. “You may have succeeded in keeping the others away from me,” she said. “And, since I should find their attentions troublesome anyway, I suppose I should thank you for it. At the moment, however, I find it a little difficult to generate any gratitude.”

“I should think,” said the Earl with that cynical smile and lazy drawl that she so detested, “that an actress such as yourself might at least try. A sweet kiss, for instance, might be appropriate.”

Fancy glared at him in annoyance. “That is doing it up too brown,” she declared hotly. “Why should I do such a thing?”

“Because you enjoyed the evening. You did, you know, until your brain began ticking away like some fanatic blue-stocking. Come, be pleasant. It will not hurt.”

Even as she shrank away from his arms, Fancy felt herself longing for them. But when he grabbed her and pulled her close, saying, “A little kiss cannot hurt your reputation now,” she fought with all the strength she had.

Of course, all her strength was not enough and he crushed her to him, his mouth seeking hers. It was a different kiss, this one, not like the savage, punishing kiss he had stolen that day in his hall. This kiss began sweetly and gently, his lips teasing hers until, despite all her efforts to remain cold and lifeless, she felt her lips warm and open under his. For one endless moment that kiss suspended her in time. And then he was thrusting her from him savagely. “You are no innocent,” he declared angrily. “Not at all. You might as well let me keep you,” he continued, his eyes gleaming wickedly in the darkness. “You already have the name. No one will ever believe in your innocence now.”

“Because of you!” Fancy cried. “All because of you. I hate you!”

The Earl grabbed her by the shoulders and stared down into her eyes. “Love me, hate me,” he said harshly. “It’s all one to me. For I - I desire you. And I
will
have you.”

For another long moment his eyes held hers captive. Fancy felt her limbs go weak. Part of her yearned to throw herself into his arms, to know to its fullest the passion that his kisses had roused in her.

And perhaps, had he approached her in some other fashion - but he had not, she told herself. He had not. And she could not be bought. Not even by a set of emeralds worth £50,000.

The rest of the journey was made in silence, Fancy staring into the darkness ahead of her and the Earl ignoring her presence. Finally they drew up to her house. Without a word Morgane helped her descend and escorted her to the door. He gave the knocker a quick rap.

“I shall return the dog immediately. And” - his mouth curled into the cynical grin - “I think you should know that I have not given up.”

Fancy did not deign to reply to such nonsense, but with a defiant toss of her curls swept into the house.

‘The Earl will be returning Hercules,” she told Henry as he shut the door. “Lock that dog up. And - do - not - let - him get out again!”

“Yes, Miss Fancy,” replied the faithful Henry, watching her ascend the great stairs and smiling to himself in a strangely enigmatic way.

Chapter Thirteen

And so November wore into December. Fancy wrapped the fur pelisse ever more tightly as she hurried to her carriage during that first week in December. The rioters seemed indefatigable and she was sure that the Earl’s prediction would prove correct. The managers would have to bow to the demands of the crowd - and soon, she hoped. For the strain was beginning to tell on her, since she refused to avoid the theater. She had come to London to learn everything she could about the stage. And so, even though the second run of
The School of Reform
was over and she had no part in
Young Rapid,
she went to watch Jones act it.

And there in his box, as handsome and as uppish as ever, sat the Earl of Morgane. He did not come to the greenroom when the evening was over. Fancy, while she fought her disappointment, told herself that she was well rid of the highhanded Earl. But always his words rang in her ears, “I expect you to come willingly to my arms.” And then Fancy would shiver.

Annie’s young admirer was jerked home by his leading-strings and the girl became even more waspish than before, throwing out sly gibes at Fancy on any occasion she could manage. Fancy took this silently. There was little use in replying to such infantile behavior. There were other, graver things, much on her mind. And foremost among them was discovering the extent of her partiality for the Earl of Morgane.

And then it was Sunday again and Fancy faced another lonesome day at home. She rose early, in spite of leaving the theater late the previous night and before the sun was very high she had worked herself into as good a state of frustration as any ever evidenced by a tragic heroine.

Hercules, who had greeted her on her emergence from the bedroom, followed her down the great stairs and moved with her as she paced back and forth in the hall.

Once Fancy stopped to stare unseeing at one of the decorated panels. She had no recollection of how long she had been standing so, when she suddenly felt a cold nose thrust into her hand. Fancy smiled faintly. “Hercules, I can at least be sure of your love.” but as she bent to scratch behind the shaggy ears, she remembered the Earl’s voice saying, “Do not be too surprised that he prefers the company of quality.”

With an oath that would have astonished even Henry, she turned away and resumed her pacing. The Earl of Morgane was imperious, puffed-up, overbearing, and rude. And she wanted terribly to see his face close to her own, to have his strong arms enfold her again. “Fancy Harper,” she said sternly. “You are becoming freakish. All about in your head, in fact. The Earl of Morgane is a hardened rake-shame, a libertine of the first water. He is wholly beneath the touch of one who wishes to keep her independence. Think no more about him.”

It was this advice, considerably easier to give than to act upon, that she was still giving herself some hours later when the knocker sounded briskly.

Fancy, feeling her heart rise up in her throat and then fall again quite swiftly when the hearty tones of York informed her that the caller was not the one her heart yearned for, moved to the door of the drawing room to greet His Royal Highness.

“Miss Harper, my dear. You are looking quite lovely today.”

“Thank you, sir,” replied Fancy, shutting the door behind him. “I am feeling rather in the mopes. It is lonesome when I do not go to the theater.”

The Duke shook his head. “I could never fathom how women fill up their days. Needlework. Ugh.”

Fancy laughed at the expression on the Duke’s open face. “Since I am an actress, I have little time for needlework. I under-stand that ladies also enjoy cards and the races.”

York brightened. “Quite true. And my duchess has her animals. Oatlands has become a menagerie. Not that I have anything against animals, mind you. But sometimes I think she’s doing it up a little too brown. I mean, she must have close to a hundred dogs now.”

“A hundred!” exclaimed Fancy.

“Yes.” The Duke sighed. “And also there are monkeys, parrots, kangaroos, and ostriches.”

Fancy suppressed a giggle. “That must make a large household for Your Highness to maintain.”

The Duke waved a large hand airily. “I never have enough of the ready. There is no sense in thinking about that. But,” he added with a plaintive sigh, “a man does wish on occasion to be able to sit in his own house without having to shoo away a dog.”

Fancy managed to keep from smiling at this and waited expectantly.

York had not yet seated himself and now he came toward her and took her hands in his. “I hear that you attended the opera with Morgane. I suppose the emeralds are safely locked up. They must be worth a good deal.”

“The emeralds are not mine,” replied Fancy, withdrawing her hands from his grasp. “I only wore them as a favor to the Earl, who had them on approval.”

“And you did not approve?” York shook his head. “They were just the thing for you. More than I can afford, I’m sure.”

Fancy bridled. “Your Royal Highness, pray listen carefully. The Earl of Morgane has the emeralds. I should never accept such a gift from him.”

York’s face brightened. “Then if you’ve rejected him, there is still a chance for me.” And he took two strides towards her and clasped her in his arms. Fancy did not struggle. She did not fear His Royal Highness would go beyond a kiss. And a part of her was rather curious concerning how his kiss might compare to that of Morgane.

It was an adequate kiss, she decided moments later, but it had little effect on her. She was about to tell York something to that effect, though in a kindly way, when a deep voice sounded from the doorway. “My dear, I see that you have told His Royal Highness our good news and he is congratulating you.”

York put Fancy from him with clumsy haste. “Your good news?”

The Earl nodded. “Yes, just last night Miss Harper consented to become the Countess of Morgane.”

This piece of information was equally stunning to York and to Fancy. The Duke gathered his wits and made a quick bow. “I do indeed offer you my congratulations. This is - great news. I - I must go now. My brother expects me at Carlton House.” With the air of a man who has been stunned by an unexpected blow he made his exit.

He was hardly through the door when Fancy, her eyes spitting fire at the Earl, moved to recall him. But Morgane was too quick for her. Before the words could leave her mouth, he had taken her in his arms and covered her lips with his own.

When finally he released her, the Duke’s carriage was already making its way down the street. Fancy drew a deep breath. “You beast!” she cried. “How dare you!”

The Earl merely smiled, his eyes, under their drooping lids, regarding her with amusement. “I saw that the Duke was troubling you and so I thought to spare you his attentions.”

“Was it necessary to tell him such a danker?” demanded Fancy, still trying to regain her breath after that devastating kiss.

Morgane flicked an invisible speck of dust from his coat sleeve. “Perhaps not. But I was forced to think in a hurry. And that was the first thing that came to mind.”

Fancy fought the urge to stamp her foot. “You have no right. What are you doing here anyway?”

The Earl looked around him, selected a chair, and settled himself in it comfortably. Only then did he speak. “My dear Miss Harper, I shall be glad to answer any question you care to put to me. But pray, do sit down and cease glaring at me like some irate fishwife.”

With great effort Fancy restrained herself from letting loose a cloud of invective that would have aptly flowed from the lips of just such a person. She forced herself to take several deep breaths. She would not give vent to her temper as the Earl expected her to. Carefully she selected a chair and settled into it, folding her hands gracefully in her lap.

Then she turned her eyes upon the Earl and inquired in the politest tones she could manage, “I should like to know why you have taken it upon yourself to march into my drawing room and tell the Duke of York the biggest Banbury tale ever.”

“As I have more than once remarked,” said the Earl, “I have an intense interest in your affairs. And, having observed York’s carriage before your door, I came to your rescue.”

“Rescue! Who says I needed rescue?”

A hint of steel appeared in the Earl’s eyes. “You did not appear to be doing at all well in extricating yourself from the royal embrace and, since your chaperone seemed nowhere in evidence, I took it upon myself to come to your rescue. A dashed heroic thing to do, if I may so observe.”

“Dashed stupid,” reiterated the infuriated Fancy. “Telling York such a whopper. And who gave you the right to spy on me?”

Morgane sighed as though afflicted by a recalcitrant child. “Your choice of language betrays your lack
of ton.
”

“I do not pretend to be a lady,” cried Fancy. “But neither do I sneak around spying on people.”

The scar on Morgane’s cheek changed color, but his voice remained even. “May I remind you that living next door as we do, your visitors’ carriages are plainly visible to me as I enter and leave my establishment? This being the case, as I exited to make a call on an old friend, I could hardly help observing York’s carriage, arms and all, which incidentally was also fully observed by the rest of the neighborhood. Fearing for the safety of that virtue which you prize so highly, I sent my barouche back to the stable and sped to the rescue.”

“I did not
need
rescuing.”

“That, my dear, was impossible to judge from my position. True, you seemed to offer no resistance. On the other hand, however, you might have swooned and be lying lifeless in the villain’s arms.”

“Poppycock!” averred Fancy, putting down an urge to giggle at the picture Morgane’s words presented to her. “I never swoon.”

The Earl raised a nonchalant shoulder. “How was I to know that?” His eyes sparkled at her dangerously. “I collect that the business of rescuing maidens in distress may bring one few rewards. How fortunate that I live in an age where dragons no longer envelop such rescuers in their scaly coils, else I might have made my discovery too late to be of value to me.”

Fancy fought hard, but the laughter could not be contained. It came bubbling out.

Morgane laughed, too, that open hearty laugh so unlike his usual sardonic chuckle.

“You are impossible!” cried Fancy when she could speak again.

The Earl continued to smile. “Perhaps, but I venture that since my advent into your life you have not suffered from
ennui
.”