Touch the Sun (10 page)

"Do call me Anne! I thought we settled that last night! After all, I'm not so much older than you. In a few years, you'll have a house just like this and two little children just as beautiful as mine."

Oh,
really,
thought Meagan, rolling her eyes.

"I hope you're right—Anne!"

"Of course I am. Now you hurry and get dressed. After breakfast you and I are going shopping!"

"Oh!" The green eyes lit up, then clouded. "But Lion said he was coming to see me—"

"My dear girl, I can see you have a lot to learn about men. That is precisely why you must hurry; so we can leave before he arrives! Constant mystery is the key to keeping a man intrigued. That was the most important lesson I learned in France! You have to keep the chase interesting for him!"

At that moment, only two streets away, Lion Hampshire was standing near his bedroom window, shaving. The sun was warm on his bare back and shoulders as he shaved with clean strokes, trying to force himself into a more amiable frame of mind. First he concentrated on the weather, leaning toward the window to observe the dark clouds breaking up as they receded over the Delaware River. To the west, the sky was an incredible, vivid blue. For a moment he just stood there, absorbing the welcome sunshine. Then, as he dipped his razor in the basin of hot water and continued shaving, he made himself think of Priscilla. Determinedly, he added up her good qualities, pushing away the faults that intruded on his consciousness. His mind lingered on the memory of her lovely eyes, the magnolia scent of her white skin, the perfect curves of her figure.

By the time he had dressed in biscuit breeches and a fawn jacket, he had almost convinced himself that he was anxious to see her. The intoxicating weather prompted him to dismiss his waiting carriage and walk the two blocks to Mansion House.

The area of Philadelphia in which Lion and the Binghams lived was known as Society Hill. The houses were elegant, most of them built of red brick and trimmed in white. Row houses stretched down the block ahead of Lion, each dwelling three stories tall with one or two gabled dormer windows jutting out from a sloping roof. People were venturing out to sit on the benches before each front door for the first time in weeks, watching the sky suspiciously. Lion nodded to his neighbors, although he knew few of them by name. Young ladies opened their fans to hide blushes while their mothers curiously eyed Lion's wide shoulders and gleaming hair as he continued down the street.

The sun had already dried the long wet brick footpaths, and even the wooden gutters were emptying at last. Open carriages appeared on the broad streets holding ladies in unbuttoned pelisses and hatless men. Everyone was smiling.

Lion turned onto Third Street and caught sight of Mansion House's numerous chimneys in the distance, expelling pale gray smoke into the blue sky. As he approached, he could see the people clustered outside the fence, hoping for a glimpse of Philadelphia's unofficial queen.

Flynn, the coachman, hurried down the drive when he spotted the familiar man at the gate.

Lion grinned at the familiar face, waiting as Flynn relocked the ornate doors behind them. "How have you been?" he inquired as they walked down the circular drive. "Still impressing all the tavern wenches with your prestigious position here?"

"Laugh if you like, sir," Flynn retorted, his dark eyes twinkling, "but it's better than spending the rest o' me life as your cabin boy!"

"Is that intended as an insult?"

"Only to the sea, sir. Those long months staring at the endless water and a crew of bearded ruffians were too much punishment for a bloke like me."

"It did seem sad to deprive womankind of your presence," Lion agreed with mock gravity.

"Now you've got it, Captain!"

"Well, it's good to know that one of us is content with his new pursuits."

Flynn glanced up at the taller man quizzically, noting the distant look that came into his eyes. At sea, those eyes had been the identical color of the ocean on a cloudless, breezy day; no one who met Captain Hampshire ever forgot his eyes.

"Is Bingham at home today?" Lion inquired, breaking into Flynn's wandering thoughts.

"No, sir. I drove him to a meeting with Mr. Gilmor and Mr. Lewis better than an hour ago. He was planning to be away all day. Matter of fact, come to realize, you won't find much of anyone here now. The two ladies left not more than a quarter-hour ago, bound for the dress shops in Mrs. Bingham's new landau."

Lion came to dead halt. "What? Are you saying that Priscilla Wade has left the house?"

"Why, yes sir! Can't think why I didn't mention it to you right off." He paused, recognizing the look on Lion's face all too well. "Are you mad, sir?"

"Damn right I'm mad! The wench knew I was going to be here!"

"Perhaps she forgot?" Flynn suggested, only to be rewarded with Lion's most withering stare.

Meanwhile, upstairs in Mansion House, Meagan was busy unpacking Priscilla's trunks. The sound of a familiar voice being raised outside brought her to a standstill, then she carelessly tossed aside the velvet gown she had been holding and hurried to the window. Her palms went damp, her fingers clumsy, as she pushed open the heavy casement. Lion was standing far below on the drive, engaged in what appeared to be a one-sided argument with the young coachman. How handsome he looked! His clothes fit to perfection, setting off his broad shoulders, narrow hips, and long well-muscled legs, while the sunlight seemed to strike sparks against the hair tied back at his neck. Meagan read the curse on his lips and guessed the reason for his anger. Deciding that it would be wise to stay out of the way, she turned from the window just as Lion glanced up and caught sight of her glossy black curls.

"Meagan!" he shouted. "Is that you? Come down here!"

She hesitated only a moment before she ran across the bedchamber and out into the hall, relishing the sudden taste of excitement.

Lion was waiting in the entry hall when she came rushing down the wide stairway and he smiled suddenly at the sight of her, skirts raised incautiously to reveal slender ankles and lacy petticoats. He was shocked by the sudden stab of enchantment he felt, accompanied by a hot wave of desire to lift her dress and explore the delights hinted at by those charming ankles. It took his entire reserve of discipline to remember that his wild, reckless days must now be ended. She is a mere lady's maid, he thought fiercely, and I am betrothed to the lady she serves!

Meagan was halfway down the stairs when her mind finally caught up to her feet, causing her to slow her pace and lower her skirts. Her cheeks were hot as she met his eyes from the bottom step, and Lion could feel his resolve melting under her blush.

"I seem to forget myself, sir," she murmured.

"Invariably," he agreed, his voice full of laughter. "Predictably. Delightfully."

Her blush deepened so that she put her hands up to her face, hoping to cool her burning cheeks. Lion reached out for one of them, his own hand dry and strong.

"You are so easily embarrassed that I cannot resist the temptation to bait you. Only do not hide that charming blush; it is most becoming."

Flynn was standing in the background, watching the scene with high interest.

The news of Captain Hampshire's betrothal had come as a stunning surprise to Flynn; one which was compounded by his first glimpse of Priscilla Wade stepping out of her carriage the night before. Physically, she was beautiful, but there was an artificial quality about her. Flynn had always believed that if the captain ever married, the girl would have to be the embodiment of every feminine virtue, but this Wade female seemed common enough in a city filled with shallow beauties, all of whom went limp at the mere mention of Lion Hampshire's name.

Flynn had seen the girl now standing with Lion when he had first glimpsed Priscilla Wade. Even from a distance in the misty darkness she had appeared piquantly lovely. Then, this morning, as he drove Mr. Bingham to the office of Mordecai Lewis, his employer had warned him against making brash advances to the new maid. Flynn had been perplexed, wondering if Mr. Bingham had designs on the girl himself, but now he was totally baffled.

He had a feeling that these mysteries were all pieces of an intricate puzzle which he now attempted to assemble mentally: Hampshire's unexpected engagement; the warning from Bingham, who generally couldn't tell the serving-girls apart; and finally the scene unfolding before him now, the mysterious maid blushing prettily before the bantering captain. Flynn shook his head, thoroughly confused. So, in his usual brash way, he decided to join in the drama. Peering around the taller man's shoulder, he grinned at Meagan and cleared his throat.

Lion glanced down, exasperation and affection mingling in his expression. "Are you trying to tell me something, Flynn?"

"Pardon me, sir! I just remembered that I ain't had the pleasure yet of meetin' Miss—"

Meagan smiled back, feeling very friendly. "South. But do call me Meagan, Mr.—"

"Flynn!" Lion snapped. "This questionable character was my cabin boy during the last two years; so that accounts for his excessive nerve in my presence. He's the coachman here now; so you'd better watch out for him. His reputation with women is decidedly unsavory."

Meagan regarded the small, wiry young man who stepped out from behind Lion to reveal the Bingham livery. He wore a curled white wig, but slashing black brows and merry dark eyes betrayed his coloring.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Flynn, and I promise not to judge you on the basis of anything Captain Hampshire has said!"

Before Flynn could reply, Lion turned to him and said, "Why don't you go dust the carriage wheels so I can find out what's going on around here?"

One brow was arched in a way that Flynn had come to recognize and respect. Quickly he flashed his brightest smile at Meagan, bade her good morning, and scurried back outside.

"Isn't he delightful!" she laughed when the door swung shut.

"Not particularly," Lion replied dryly. "Let us go into one of the parlors. I want to talk to you."

"I couldn't! Mrs. Bingham would faint if she saw me in one of her Gobelin chairs!"

Lion realized that this was probably true, so he drew her over to sit down on the stairway.

"Now, tell me where Priscilla has gone and why she went out when she knew I would be arriving before noon."

Meagan avoided his sharp blue gaze. "I know that she and Mrs. Bingham went shopping for her new wardrobe, but as to the other..."

"Meagan, look at me and don't play the idiot. You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

Her heart thumped against her breastbone and in her memory she heard his voice laughing, "We
are
friends, aren't we!" She had been furious and disgusted with Priscilla earlier, and now she thought, at least
he
hasn't ignored me now that we're in Philadelphia and my status as a servant is so clear. He treats me more fairly than my supposed friend who even knows the truth about my breeding!

She looked up to meet his eyes and exclaimed, "No, I wouldn't lie, and certainly not for such a dishonest cause! She went out
purposely,
at Anne—that is, Mrs. Bingham's urging. They feel that this is some sort of clever game to increase your interest."

Lion let out a low whistle. "Leave it to Anne to play on all of Priscilla's weaknesses. So, they expect me to run this obstacle course with a smile on my face?"

"Apparently. I tried to make Priscilla see how horridly she was behaving, but I don't seem to have much influence with her these days."

"A pity. I was counting on a large quantity of that from you."

"I'm afraid that Priscilla is only listening to Mrs. Bingham right now. She's quite impressed."

"She would be. The ideal wife—a carbon copy of Anne Bingham," he muttered sarcastically.

They were silent for a long minute, then Meagan began, "Captain Hampshire, I really should go back to work. I have to finish unpacking the trunks—"

"The hell you do." He reached out to catch her wrist, pulling her back down beside him. "Neither of us is going to be used today. You'll take your mistress's place and come out with me."

"I couldn't! No! I have so much work—"

"Let her do it herself. Have you forgotten who pays your wages? I am your employer and I am ordering you to go and change your dress. The sun is out and we're going to enjoy it!"

Chapter 9

There was a dreamlike quality about the entire day for Meagan; in her heart she was Meagan Sayers again, the winsome, fun-loving daughter of a wealthy Virginia planter. All her life she had dreamed of the excitement she felt at this moment, walking along Third Street and listening to Lion Hampshire laugh. During the entire two weeks of her masquerade as Meagan South, lady's maid, she had never had more difficulty remembering her new name and station. Just a few hours, she thought recklessly, wondering if Lion were part of her dream. Could he forget, too? Would he allow her to?

Meagan would have been surprised to know Lion's own thoughts, for they were remarkably similar to hers. He could not recall the last time he had felt so relaxed. He had been startled by Meagan's appearance. She looked absolutely exquisite and had managed to achieve this transformation in barely fifteen minutes. She chose her least drab gown—the same lilac muslin she had worn the night they had dined together in Spurrier Tavern. The color made her skin look creamy and brought out the darker violet of her black-lashed eyes. Lion studied her delicate, animated features in the bright sunlight and found himself charmed. There was a contagious excitement that showed not only in her rosy cheeks and sparkling eyes, but in her voice and the energetic way she walked.