Touch the Sun (23 page)

"What has become of your loving Clarissa?" she inquired, gladly producing a diversion. "I gather that you must have managed to subdue her."

Lion leaned over to retrieve his brandy, taking a slow drink before replying, "I let her go. She was crying—quite humiliated and beaten—and I felt that it was safe to send her home. I gave her some quick but well-chosen warnings, and I think she is ready to accept defeat."

"Just like that? You ever play the trusting fool, sir!"

"I could not see that I had much choice. Am I to broadcast the story of this night to the entire town? The scandal would wreak havoc on a score of lives... including yours and mine."

She knew that he was right, but the injustice of the situation galled her.

"And Marcus Reems? I noticed that you mentioned him as her accomplice and my would-be abductor. Did she admit as much to you?"

"She did not speak his name, neither did she deny it when I put it to her. But, you see, Clarissa's word on this means little to me, for I never doubted his complicity." He turned his profile to her, staring pensively into the fire. "Marcus has long been a thorn in my side and I must deal with him in my own way. I don't anticipate any further trouble from Clarissa, but Marcus will never surrender."

"Would he try to... harm you?"

Lion heard the emotion in her voice and turned his head quickly, scanning her face before she could mask her expression. "Your tone betrays you, lover," he said with a small smile. His eyes were like the leaping blue flames that punctuated the orange and yellow fire, melting Meagan's resolve as they burned through to her soul. "Worry not," he told her softly. "There are bonds between Marcus and me that prevent him from resorting to murder. His methods are more subtle... Thus far, I have been able to outmaneuver him."

Meagan wondered briefly at those cryptic words before she gave herself to his kiss. Longing for his touch overcame all else and soon she was caught under heady waves of euphoria, conscious of nothing but Lion and their need for one another.

Renewed pain from her injured arm finally pulled Meagan back down to earth, bringing with it a terrible misery of the spirit. Suddenly, she could see the two of them in her mind's eye as though from a distance—tawny hair against spilling ebony, hard bronzed limbs entwined with her own of cream and rose, and her mouth: soft, eager, moaning beneath his...

It took all her strength to cut through the powerful attraction she felt for him, but somehow Meagan managed to turn her face away and force a tiny hand between them. She tried with all her might to push his chest from her naked breasts, but she could not budge him.

"What's amiss?" he inquired gently, growing used to her quicksilver moods. "Are you in pain?"

"Yes!" Her voice broke on a sob. "Get off, you
brute!"

Lightly he drew back, surveying her with casual bemusement. "Could it be that your pain is not confined to your arm?" He reached out a hand to aid her in her struggle to sit up, for she was frantically pulling at her displaced bodice with her left hand.

"Yes! Can't you see that you have hurt me mightily—repeatedly? You use me and you tamper with my feelings, which happen to be important to me."

"And to me."

"Oh?" Her voice rose testily. "Then why do you treat me so? Your Clarissa was right to label me harlot and whore, for I am no better. Each time I see you, each time I let you touch me and I yield to you, my wounds deepen along with my shame. Only more hurt can come from this—this—relationship, can't you see that? If my feelings matter even a jot to you, you would stop—stop—" Bright tears filled her eyes and spilled down her cheeks.

"Stop what? Caring? It is not that easy, Meagan. Do you think I sought this any more than you did? If I thought either of us could find happiness apart, I would heed your wishes." He drew her into the curve of his arm so that her head rested against his hard chest, her tears blotted by his white linen shirt. "I have been thinking, more and more these past few days, of a solution to our dilemma. I believe I have found it."

Meagan's heart beat so loudly that she felt it would burst. Hope swelled in her even as she fought against it.

"I want to take care of you. I want to take you away from the kind of life you have now and give you the love and happiness you deserve. A fine home, beautiful clothes, horses," he smiled, "and me, of course."

Meagan raised her eyes to his, hesitantly. Her throat was so constricted that she could scarcely breathe, let alone speak. "Lion... what are you saying? Do you want to marry me?"

He held her more tightly even as he felt her stiffen. "Meagan, if it were possible... I would give anything if that could be. But, don't you see—"

She was on fire. Frantically she pushed his arms from her and bolted from the settee, backing away. Her hair, her eyes, her gestures were wild. "Don't come near me! I hate you! I don't want to hear another word, you despicable scoundrel! You are worse than a dog! You are—"

At that moment, the library door opened and Kevin Flynn stood there, framed against the candlelit hallway. Wong appeared in the background, peering anxiously around the other man's shoulder.

"Missa Lion, I try to stop him—" he called, but Flynn cut him off.

"Meagan, what the devil! I've been lookin' all over for you! What's happened?"

He crossed the room, his eyes taking in her half-dressed figure, finally resting on the bandaged arm, now bright with blood. Lion was on his feet, wrapping Meagan in the satin quilt and positioning himself between her and Flynn.

"Since when have Miss South's activities been your concern?" he inquired coolly, staring down at the smaller man with hard-cut sapphire eyes.

"Since she promised to spend the evenin' with me! I left the room to get us a bit o' wine and when I came back she were gone! I waited for a long spell, then started to look for her, but she was not in all the house! Scared the wits out o' me, it did! Finally, after these long hours passed, I decided to go and search her out. Captain Hampshire, I went to Dr. Shippen's house to ask your help since I knew you felt friendly toward Meagan—and Cyrus tells me you left there with a little chit who sounded for all the world like Meagan herself!" He craned his neck to peer around Lion's shoulders in an effort to confront her. "Ain't somebody goin' to explain? And where's your clothes? What happened to your arm?"

Lion interrupted him. "Flynn, your noisy ranting begins to wear on my patience. I'm afraid that your curiosity will have to go unsatisfied. All I can tell you is that Meagan got tricked into an ill-fated errand, but all is well now. There was a small accident—"

"Kevin," Meagan called in a tired voice, "I want to go home. Someone find my pelisse... It will at least cover me."

Encouraged, Flynn immediately fled to search out Wong. As soon as he had left the room, Lion turned questioning eyes on her. "Your arm—"

"Devil take my arm! I don't want your concern." Her eyes were purple in her small, pale face. "Remember this, Captain Hampshire, when you toy with the thought of bothering me in the future. I will never
settle
for your terms. I cannot be bought, like a country estate, for your pleasure. If you have even a shred of decency left, you will
leave me alone."

Flynn rushed back in then, carrying the torn pelisse, and wrapped it around her protectively. Meagan took his arm, suddenly weary, and left the room without a backward glance.

Even as Flynn and Meagan walked out the front door of Lion's house, a black and green phaeton came around the corner just in time to spot them.

"Well, at least you can take comfort in the fact that the chit's been rescued by the coachman and isn't occupying your place in Lion's bed," one of the occupants commented sardonically.

"Don't patronize me, Marcus!" shrieked his companion. "I've been made a fool of tonight and it's all your fault!"

"I don't think it is fair to lay
all
the blame at my feet, but, gentleman that I am, I shall accept it." His gold eyes glittered with irony and something else that sent chills down Clarissa's spine. "Don't fret, my
dear. I have no intention of giving up so easily."

Chapter 18

All the servants at Mansion House had been up since dawn, preparing for the Binghams' first spring party. Meanwhile, Anne and Priscilla slept until nearly noon in anticipation of the long night ahead. Bramble grumbled about the indolence of the rich as she prepared a breakfast tray for her mistress, but Meagan was so preoccupied with her own thoughts that she scarcely heard the cook. The silver tray handed her was heavy with a double load of hot chocolate and pastries, for Priscilla was breakfasting with Anne in the state bedroom.

Nearly a week had passed since the Shippens' dinner and Lion's proposition. The days had moved by in a blur of soothing sameness; Meagan managed to avoid Lion completely and was kept distractedly busy as complex preparations were made for the party. Now, as she carried the tray up the long stairway, her nearly healed arm began to throb, reminding her of the night she so desperately yearned to forget. At first, she had been so filled with outrage and raw pain that there was no room for any other emotion. The last few nights, though, she had lain in bed and let herself remember the joy of his touch, his kiss, of merely listening to his voice and watching his face. It was self-indulgent, she knew, and only led to more pain in the long run, but the simple, sweet bliss of her memories made even the ache that followed them seem worthwhile.

Meagan passed several pedestals topped with busts and bronze figures, counting them off silently. Anne Bingham's door was next to the seventh statue, and once there, Meagan hesitated slightly. She had managed to hide the flesh wound on her arm from everyone except Flynn and Smith until last night. She had been changing the dressing herself with Smith's help, but apparently Lion did not trust her, for he sent Dr. Rush over to check on her recovery. When the prominent doctor had appeared at the front door, a curious Anne Bingham had personally led him back to the serving hall in search of Meagan.

Dr. Rush was diplomatic and tactful, managing to deflect all of Anne's cleverly probing questions. Once he left, however, she was not so discreet. Meagan possessed none of the feelings of inferiority that marked her fellow servants and was not the least bit intimidated by Anne Bingham's manner. She had met her gaze boldly, refusing to reveal the story behind her wound and unwilling to lie just to satisfy the mistress's curiosity. Priscilla had called Meagan away at the crucial moment and since then, there had been no chance for further conversation.

Now, as she paused outside the door with the breakfast tray, Meagan hoped without much conviction that Anne would have forgotten the matter amidst her preparations for the party.

When she knocked, the conversation inside ceased and a voice called, "Do come in. We are simply famished!"

Meagan was stunned at her first sight of Anne Bingham's state bedroom though she thought afterward that she should have realized it would be even grander than the rest of the house. As her personal chamber, it would have to stand out, even surrounded by rooms filled with sumptuous beauty, just as Anne herself stood out in a crowd of magnificent women.

Decorated in white satin and varying shades of blue, the main chamber was enormous, dominated by a fantastic seven-foot bed hung with rich sapphire-hued curtains. An open door led to a spacious boudoir where Mrs. Bingham's abigail was sorting through an ocean of stylish gowns.

Anne herself looked slender and delicate in the huge bed. She wore a beige satin wrapper edged with frothy lace and was reclining against plump pillows which were also fashioned of satin and lace, but tinted a soft pastel blue. It was the first time Meagan had ever seen Anne Bingham with her hair both unpowdered and undressed. Long, light brown curls lay against her shoulders, softening the elegant line of her neck and making her beautiful face seem younger and more vulnerable.

Near the tall windows, one of the familiar Japanned dove cages had been hung. In it, three pure white birds were perched, gazing longingly at the sunny blue sky outside. Between the windows and the bed, Priscilla struck a languid pose on a blue-and-silver brocade daybed, but Meagan managed to more or less ignore her.

A pie-crust tea table had been set up beside the bed and Meagan gratefully set the tray down there. She was anxious to escape, worried that Anne Bingham would pursue the matter of her cut arm and the reason why the town's most celebrated physician happened to be attending a common lady's maid. Anne's keen eyes were on her as she poured the chocolate; in fact, she seemed to be intent on memorizing every detail of her face and figure. The conversation consisted of only the most usual, murmured amenities, however, and Meagan soon dropped the two women a curtsy and fled with a sigh of relief.

"These pastries are not as fresh as usual," Priscilla commented through a mouthful of cream.

Her breakfast companion made no response; her large eyes were fixed on the door that had just closed behind Meagan's retreating figure.