Touch the Sun (12 page)

"I had my reasons," he said shortly. For a long moment he stared at Meagan, unaccountably angered by the penetrating intelligence of the gaze she returned. Suddenly he heard himself shout, "Since you persist in prying into my affairs, I suppose I may as well tell you the reason for this marriage, if only to shut you up! I want a seat in Congress by the next election and it seems that because of my scandalous past, it is necessary that I acquire a wife."

Her eyes were huge with surprise at his announcement and outrage at his groundless anger. The sheer loveliness of her expression only inflamed him further.

"Shocked, are you? I suppose that you think me a cold-blooded villain! Let me remind you that your mistress was just as cold-blooded in choosing her husband, so we should suit well, don't you think?"

"But—why—"

"My future plans do not allow time for a lovesick bride. If love and beauty were all I wanted, let me assure you that there are more ladies in my life than just Clarissa who would fit the bill. So, part of it was the fact that I didn't
want
a clinging woman at my elbow all the time—"

"And?" Meagan prompted in a tiny voice.

Lion scowled at her. "And I wanted a wife with an impeccable family background—one that would make up for my lack. Virginia is the seat of respectability these days."

"Well, I must say, you laid your plans well!"

"My dear, you are absolutely right."

"And is there no room for human emotion or error—?"

"That is what I must avoid at all costs."

"No matter whom you hurt? Even Clarissa?"

"Clarissa is by no means the angel of purity that she appears," Lion shot back with a brief, bitter laugh. "She knows she will always have a place in my bed. She'll come to me when desire has overcome her hurt pride."

Meagan hoped that her face did not reflect the shock she felt. "I think you are quite awful. What about your own human emotions? Do you intend to avoid those, too?"

"Your conversation is quite unique for a servant," he observed harshly. "I suggest that you save your clever insights into human nature for the cook or the butler."

Meagan jumped to her feet and paced back and forth in front of him, her eyes snapping angrily. "I feel rather stifled suddenly! And I feel an overpowering desire to say a lot of things that would get me into terrible trouble with my employer!" She stressed the word sarcastically. "So, if you will excuse me, Captain Hampshire, I believe I'll be on my way now."

Lion stood up and caught her wrists. Meagan stared up at him with open contempt, but his own expression was one of delighted amusement.

Meagan fought the effect that his nearness worked on her; she was furious as she felt her cheeks heat up so predictably.

"Let go of me! I want to go home!"

"Damn, what a wildcat you are!" His grin was tantalizing and Meagan's skin tingled against his strong brown hands.

"I would rather be a wildcat than the low form of life that you are, sir!"

His loud laughter brought a new rush of blood into her face and she struggled to break the grip on her wrists only to have him transfer his hands to her back. In one easy movement he encircled her with arms that were as unyielding as iron, and Meagan felt her heart leap into her throat as she inhaled the masculine scent of his starched shirtfront. She forgot to fight when he tipped her chin up, forcing her to meet his flashing eyes.

In the next moment, his mouth covered hers and the world began to spin.

Meagan had never been kissed in earnest before. There had been a few boys who had attempted clumsy embraces, but she had never had much trouble putting them in their places. Besides, her breeches and renegade personality had not served to make her the belle of Fairfax County, so she had little in her past to prepare her for this headlong plunge into womanhood.

Lion's kiss was lazy and insistent at the same time, his practiced lips driving all thoughts from Meagan's usually energetic mind. Completely intoxicated, she stood on tiptoe and responded ardently when he parted her lips to explore the sweetness beyond.

Chapter 10

Buttery yellow light outlined the figure of Sally Bache as she stood in the narrow doorway, waving. Meagan turned before Lion could help her into the carriage, looking back over her shoulder at the older woman, then up to the candlelit second-floor window. Once seated against the familiar leather upholstery, she shivered and sighed at the same time. Lion pulled the door shut, dropping down beside her, but to her relief he did not speak. The inside of the carriage was all inky blackness, broken only by the orange ember of Lion's cheroot, glowing as they clattered off down Oriana Street.

The long eventful day had left Meagan little time for reflection or consideration, and she was anxious now to sort out her feelings. A soft, wine-induced haze clouded her brain, but she attempted to dispel it.

How tangled her life had become in such a short time! All the years she had passed reading novels under the pecan tree in the meadow had not prepared her for so much living all at once. Of course, the issues were complicated by the fact that she was no longer Meagan Sayers; the entire day she had just passed had only occurred because Lion Hampshire had the power to direct her actions. A small voice taunted her: what if he had ordered you to share his bed? Meagan's conscience shouted back that she would never have acceded, that the forfeit of her position and security would be far preferable to the loss of her virginity and self-respect. Even as she reassured herself, the memory of that incredible kiss flooded her with an involuntary, liquid-like warmth that was almost frightening.

She stole a sidelong glance at the man beside her. His dark profile was sporadically illumined by an occasional street lamp, his clear-cut features seeming harder and more enigmatic than ever. His eyes were narrowed thoughtfully as he smoked, and Meagan wondered for the dozenth time why he had decided to take her to meet Benjamin Franklin.

After the infamous kiss—which he had ended with startling abruptness that left her humiliated—Lion had apparently decided to pretend it had never happened. They had lunched together and talked about safe subjects—the city, politics, China and sea trade. It was nearly dusk when Lion announced that they would pay a visit to Dr. Franklin, telling her that the appointment had already been made and assuring her that one female would do as well as another.

Actually, the evening had gone remarkably well. Dr. Franklin was confined to his bed and feeling the effects of the pain-dulling opium. Meagan charmed him instantly. They talked together for more than two hours while Lion and Mrs. Bache looked on in wondering delight at the improvement in the old statesman's mood.

Meagan had watched the two men together as well and had recognized the same animation in Lion's face that she had seen when he was at Mount Vernon, conversing with Washington and Madison. The interest that had sparkled in his eyes when Franklin discussed the upcoming inauguration and proposed Bill of Rights gave Meagan an insight into the motive behind the impending marriage. Perhaps, she mused, he isn't as unfeeling as he pretends, even though it is the new government and not Priscilla that he cares about.

Next to her, Lion sat brooding in the shadows, wondering why he had not been able to find the opportunity, or the heart, to tell either of the Franklins that Meagan was not his new fiancée. He was angry at himself for being fool enough to take her, a servant, to that house, but also at both Meagan and Priscilla. People were getting in the way of everything, and no one was cooperating with his plans.

Abruptly, his eyes sought her out, discovering her own scrutiny of him.

"What are you looking at?" he demanded harshly.

Stung, Meagan managed to lift her chin. "As a matter of fact, I was admiring that handsome watchman we just passed."

The barest gleam of humor flashed in Lion's eyes and Meagan caught a glimpse of white teeth in the darkness.

"Tired of me so soon, my dear?" he inquired, his tone amused yet laced with an undercurrent of bitter sarcasm. One strong hand found her waist, closing the space between them, and Meagan's nostrils were filled with the aromas of brandy and tobacco. His breath was warm on her forehead when he spoke. "How fickle is woman! I was under the distinct impression this afternoon that you rather liked me!"

Meagan summoned all her resources. "You are a scoundrel!" she gasped. "Take your hands off me! I'll not be used again, you unfeeling brute!"

"Ah," he laughed softly, pulling her slender, wriggling body nearer, "so you were actually repelled by our earlier encounter! Strange that I should have misinterpreted your response so completely. Perhaps I'd better repeat the test—just so there will be no question..."

A barely audible sob escaped from Meagan, for she knew that all her strength was about to dissolve into jelly. A struggle would be pointless and too brief to be noticed. Lion caught her delicate chin with his free hand, bringing his mouth down over hers almost savagely. There was no slow expertise in this kiss, which drove the breath from Meagan's lungs even as it flooded her with an intense tide of sensation even stronger than the whirlpool that had sucked her under in the parlor earlier that day. Her hands went up to touch his hard cheekbones and the rich texture of his hair; she longed to lose herself in him, she could not get close enough. Lion broke the kiss then, leaving her gasping, but it was not the end. Meagan melted against the muscles of his arm as he bent her head back and buried his face in her soft hair. The pulse in her neck beat wildly under his hard, burning mouth, and Meagan could sense that he was venting some sort of impersonal rage on her; yet she was powerless to stop him.

He had unfastened her pelisse without a wasted motion, his lips and hands finding the warm, sweet breasts beneath. She was conscious of nothing except his touch and the fire that grew in her loins, spreading its warmth through every nerve in her body.

Suddenly, Lion's voice shattered the spell and brought her crashing down to earth. "We're here."

Meagan blinked in confusion, her breasts heaving as she finally recognized the blazing windows of Mansion House. Even as a footman approached to open the carriage door, Lion tilted her chin back and kissed her until she felt close to tears. Then he pulled her hood up to cover her disorderly curls and straightened his own cravat with steady, cool hands. Silently, impersonally, he handed her down, and together they walked toward the huge double doors.

Wickham's expression was politely quizzical as he greeted them in the entry hall, and Meagan felt sick with humiliation. Her eyes stung at the sound of the querulous voices approaching from the parlor. Turning, she looked into Priscilla's frantic, confused eyes, sensing at the same time Lion's satisfaction.

She heard him saying smoothly, "My dear, I'm sure you were far too busy today to notice Meagan's absence since you were plainly too preoccupied to remember our engagement. There were a few services that she was able to perform for me."

Even in her horror, Meagan was quick-witted enough to realize that she must not blush or they would be certain he had taken her to his bed.

By sheer force of will she managed to remain expressionless while murmuring in a courteous voice, "I was pleased to lend a hand during your maid's illness."

One of Lion's eyebrows went up as he glanced at her in surprise. Anne and William Bingham looked foolishly relieved while Priscilla continued to stare at her fiancé and her maid. Meagan was on the verge of taking her leave of them when she caught sight of an unfamiliar figure moving forward from the shadowy parlor.

Although he was as tall as Lion and nearly as broad through the shoulders, any resemblance between the two men ended there, for Marcus Reems had hair as black as the starless night, shrewd amber eyes, and a prominent hawk-like nose. His wide mouth was twisted into the oddest smile Meagan had ever seen.

"Hello, Lion. Welcome home. I've been keeping the lovely Miss Wade entertained in your absence. I trust that you have no objections?"

When Lion spoke, his surface cordiality had a dangerously sharp edge to it. Watching the two men, Meagan felt a cold chill go down her spine.

"Well, Marcus, I did not expect to meet you here tonight," he was saying with a smile. "It has been many months since—where was it? Whampoa?"

"Your memory is faultless, my friend."

Priscilla's wits returned to her at this point as she beamed and stepped between the tall men, apparently oblivious to the darker undercurrent in their polite conversation.

"I declare, I do believe I am in the company of the handsomest men in Philadelphia! Lion, why didn't you tell me about Mr. Reems?"

"I can't imagine how it could have slipped my mind, Priscilla dear," he replied with an ironic smile.

Meanwhile, Anne Bingham was shooting disapproving looks at Meagan, who finally saw her chance to take the hint.

"Do excuse me," she whispered, dropping a quick curtsy. As she hurried away toward the servants' quarters, her face was hot with shame, for Lion Hampshire had not even troubled to nod in her direction.