Patricia Rice (48 page)
Authors: Devil's Lady
Standing protectively over Faith’s chair, Morgan
gave a wicked grin. “Indeed, I would, Stepney. And I have a couple of
animals I would be delighted to see set to breeding stock. It’s a damned
good place for horses, from what I’ve seen, almost as good as the
emerald shores of home.”
Mountjoy was turning purple again as he looked from
one man to the other. “You wouldn’t. You’ll all be scalped and in your
graves before the year is out. I’ll not have it. Indeed, I will not. You
will stay here and look after what is yours already.”
Edward looked bored again, but the smile didn’t
leave Morgan’s face. “I do intend to look after what is mine.” He placed
a possessive hand on Faith’s shoulder. “I understand Wesley is not
averse to having Faith lend a hand with his writings. It will be a bit
touch and go for a while, but I’m not a man to be idle long. We’ll get
along comfortably enough, though I must agree with Faith, it will be
easier once we return to Virginia. She’ll not lack for anything, I
assure you. You may keep your coins, Mountjoy. We have no need of them.”
Faith sent him a smile. “I’ve already told Miles to give your trust fund to the Wesleyans, Morgan. Don’t be too smug.”
Morgan choked a little, and Edward coughed into his hand at this revelation.
But the love that passed between husband and wife
was impossible to overlook. They grinned at each other like demented
lovebirds.
Edward twitched uncomfortably on the hard settee. “I
think that quite settles it, then, Pater. If de Lacy prefers the
colonies, I will send them to see to my purchase. I believe he will make
an excellent partner, if I do not mistake. You can always look to
Thomas’ child for an heir, if you like. He doesn’t seem to have
inherited the Montague disability to produce a son. You have not
forgotten Thomas had a wife and child, have you?”
Cornered, Mountjoy continued to glare at his
offspring. “She’s a whore, for deuce’s sake! Who’s to say the brat is
even a Montague?”
Edward shrugged. “Who’s to say I am? Or George? It’s
a nasty world we live in, Pater. Don’t muddy it any more. Faith bears
our name, and so does Sarah. Be content that they are alive and well and
have both produced male children to carry on this accursed title. I do
not foresee my imminent demise. There will be time to decide which
should carry the name of Mountjoy. Let them be happy until the time
comes.”
Faith relaxed. Morgan caressed her cheek, and she
leaned into him. His was a rough hand, browned and hardened by years of
weather and work, but it was ever gentle where he touched her.
Remembering the nights of lovemaking they’d enjoyed on their journey
here—after a hasty shipboard wedding to guarantee the legality of their
vows—Faith blushed. She turned a heated gaze toward Morgan’s bold
silhouette. He caught her look and returned it, and the air crackled
with tension.
Mountjoy took in this scene with irritation. The
damned Irishman was a handsome devil, and women were fools for a pretty
face, but he’d produced a son. And Edward was right that there was
Sarah’s whelp to consider. The thought of two babes in the nursery made
his heart swell with pride. He dared anyone to say that Montagues didn’t
have it in them to procreate.
“Nobody’s going anywhere,” the marquess snorted,
rising with the use of his cane. “I’ll disinherit the lot of you if you
try.” At the rebellious look on the faces around him, he waved the cane.
“You can have your bloody Irish bogs and Virginia plantations, I don’t
care. You can bury your noses in books and gnash your teeth with the
Wesleyans—but if I catch you lighting candles to any damned statues,
I’ll have your heads.”
Mountjoy glared deliberately at Morgan. “But you’ll
conduct your affairs from here. I’ll not let those children out of my
sight, eh, Lettice?”
His audience looked startled at the mention of
“children,” as there was only one inhabitant of the nursery at the
moment, but the frail woman in the corner nodded understanding. She rose
to lay a gentle hand on his arm. “You are quite right, Harry. We’ve
lost enough time with our children. We’ll not have any more of these
ugly quarrels.”
The marquess nodded vigorously, glared for effect,
and stomped from the room. Uncertain as to how the argument had been
resolved, Faith turned questioningly to her uncle. He smiled
benevolently and rose from his seat.
“I’ll have the papers drawn up immediately, if I
have to keep a bevy of solicitors up all night. He’s tired of managing
the estate, has been for years, but he’s been too proud to admit it. Let
him think he’s teaching us, and he’ll come around. Well, de Lacy, do
you think you can adopt a family of Sassenachs if you can help run the
show?”
At the earl’s use of the Gaelic imprecation, Morgan
looked suspicious, but he nodded. “I’ll raise my son as I see fit. And
if I don’t like what’s happening here, I’ll take my family and go where I
wish. I’ll not be hobbled and tied for any man.”
Edward shrugged. “I’m not one for travel. I’ll leave
that up to you. Between us, we can manage. Is that land in Ireland
really a bog, or does it have potential?”
Faith watched Morgan’s eyes light with eagerness and
knew the decision made. Perhaps they would live in Ireland for a while.
And she knew they both wanted that land in Virginia. London would never
hold Morgan for long. But that suited both of them quite well. She
fully intended to follow where he went, taking her father’s teachings
with her. There was work enough for two.
She took Morgan’s hand, and diverted his attention.
“Remember you left Mordred and Dolly with Toby. He’d be a fine one to
ask to look around for a plantation. He already knows the best property
around Williamsburg, and was talking of going farther west, where
they’re opening up new lands.”
She was relaxed and confident, a woman capable of
standing on her own and taking on the world’s troubles—a far cry from
the battered, half-starved child who had fallen at Morgan’s doorstep.
He lifted a hand to her curls, crushing them between his fingers. “I’ll not forget the lad and what he’s done for us,
cailin.
But it’s you we must think of now. It will take me time to make a place
for us. Will you be happy here? Or shall I have Miles look for a wee
place for us?”
Faith touched the linen at Morgan’s throat. He
looked so handsome in his midnight-blue silk, just like the earl he
purported to be. “Shall I be Lady de Lacy, then? And what do we call
George?”
She slid her hands higher, encircling his neck, and he caught her waist with both his hands and smiled that heavenly smile.
“We could have a wee cottage in Ireland if that is
where you go next,” she said. “Or a cabin in Virginia. Or the dower
house in Essex. Or we can take the fourth floor and climb out the
windows when you wish to prowl about London. It makes no difference to
me. Just take me with you, and I’ll be happy.”
“Bean sidhe,” Morgan muttered against her hair.
Then, remembering their company, he turned to Faith’s uncle, only to
find the room mysteriously empty. Grinning at the earl’s discretion, he
turned back to the faerie-woman in his arms and lifted her clear of the
floor. “We’ll ride together, my
cailin,
have no fear of that.”
Faith laughed as he swung her high in his arms and
strode toward the door. She would rather be kidnapped by a black
highwayman any day then be rescued by a white knight. Flinging her arms
about his neck, she buried her lips against his throat and proceeded to
show him just how much she feared his forward ways.
The 1700’s were a fascinating transition from the
richly embroidered tapestry of Renaissance life to the rigid Victorian
era of black and white. People who were just beginning to learn to eat
with forks instead of knives lived side by side with generations who
developed elaborate place settings requiring twenty-eight pieces of
silverware at each plate. At the same time, people who were accustomed
to giving full rein to their lusts in the most public of places (since
privacy in Elizabethan households was at a minimum) were hindered by a
new morality that confined their desires to hidden chambers.
A lusty era that produced such masterpieces of sexual fantasy as
Tom Jones
and
Fanny Hill,
also produced highly moral tomes and simpering platitudes like
Pamela
or Hannah More’s morality essays. In England, perhaps the turning point
can be documented with the Marriage Act of 1753 (which actually didn’t
come into effect until 1754), when an Act of Parliament finally forced
marriage into a legal state. No longer could a drunken sailor get off a
ship and wake up married to the prostitute he had bedded the night
before. Marriage became not only a sacrament in the eyes of the church
but also a legally documented requirement in the eyes of the law.
One postscript for those already familiar with the
thief-taker general: the character in this story is only a pale
imitation of the original who operated a decade or two earlier. All
real-life characters have their imitations somewhere, and no doubt there
were many who attempted to follow in the general’s footsteps in the
years after his ill-fated demise.
With several million books in print and
New York Times
and
USA Today's
bestseller lists under her belt, former CPA Patricia Rice is one of
romance's hottest authors. Her emotionally-charged contemporary and
historical romances have won numerous awards, including the
RT Book Reviews
Reviewers
Choice and Career Achievement Awards. Her books have been honored as
Romance Writers of America RITA® finalists in the historical, regency
and contemporary categories.
A firm believer in happily-ever-after, Patricia Rice
is married to her high school sweetheart and has two children. A native
of Kentucky and New York, a past resident of North Carolina, she
currently resides in St. Louis, Missouri, and now does accounting only
for herself. She is a member of Romance Writers of America, the Authors
Guild, and Novelists, Inc.
For further information, visit Patricia’s network:
http://www.facebook.com/OfficialPatriciaRice
https://twitter.com/Patricia_Rice
http://patriciarice.blogspot.com/
For more e-books:
Backlist eBooks
Devil’s Lady
Patricia Rice
Book View Café Edition
February 26, 2013
ISBN: 978-1-61138-243-3
Copyright © 1992 Patricia Rice
First published by New American Library, 1992
Cover design by Kim Killion
This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real
people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters,
places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and
any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead,
is entirely coincidental.
v20130126vnm
www.bookviewcafe.comAbout Book View Café
Book View Café
is a professional authors’ cooperative offering DRM-free
ebooks in multiple formats to readers around the world. With
authors in a variety of genres including mystery, romance, fantasy, and
science fiction, Book View Café has something for everyone.
Book View Café
is good for readers because you can enjoy high-quality
DRM-free ebooks from your favorite authors at a reasonable price.
Book View Café
is good for writers because 95% of the profit goes directly to the book’s author.
Book View Café
authors include Nebula, Hugo, and Philip K. Dick Award winners, Nebula, Hugo, World Fantasy, and Rita Award nominees, and
New York Times
bestsellers and notable book authors.
www.bookviewcafe.com