Touch the Sun (28 page)

Lion had enough sense to give her a room downstairs. In fact, he took great care not to insult or offend her, for he knew that her pride was vulnerable. Now, as she folded some chemises into a drawer of the polished maple armoire, Meagan smiled. It was not something she would have let Lion see, but she was not above admitting to herself that he held a powerful, tantalizing attraction for her.

A voice broke her reverie then. "Well, I see that you are feathering your nest."

Meagan spun around to find Lion lounging in the doorway. He had shed his coat and vest and now wore only ecru-colored breeches, topped by his snowy linen shirt. It was open partway to reveal the familiar hard chest. Bits of lace fell across the backs of his dark hands.

Meagan stamped a tiny foot in exasperation. "You could knock! Am I to have no measure of privacy?"

Lion seemed to be enjoying himself. "I offer my humble apologies, milady." Straightening, he backed away and closed the door. A second later, there was a knock. "May I have your permission to enter?"

"Oh, you are truly a witty knave!" Meagan retorted sarcastically, her cheeks flushed from his mockery.

Lion opened the door a fraction and peeked inside. "Have I won your favor?"

"Kindly cease your foolishness and come inside."

He grinned wickedly. "With pleasure."

Meagan had no way of knowing how lovely she appeared to him. As usual, her curls were untidy, the gleaming jet-colored tendrils framing her delicate face. Her violet eyes were large and sparkling with life, her cheeks were stained with color, and her mobile pink mouth showed her displeasure. Lion glanced warmly at her petite, temptingly molded form, noticing the way her breasts strained against the black silk of her dress as anger quickened her breath.

When she saw the way his eyes lingered there, Meagan turned away to finish unpacking the few belongings she had brought from Mansion House.

Lion sat back on his heels before the fireplace and arranged the wood inside, then brought a lit taper and touched it to the slender logs.

"It is nearly dark," he commented, settling into a nearby wing chair. Meagan did not reply, so he smiled at her back and surveyed the rest of the room.

He had forgotten how lovely it was; so perfect for this exquisite little gamine. There was a stunning field bed, its high curved canopy draped generously with light, unbleached muslin while the feather tick was covered by a glazed wool spread exactly the same shade of pale yellow as the stitching in the yellow and ivory brocade wing chairs which flanked the fireplace. There was a Queen Anne dressing table, a blanket chest, and, finally, the handsome armoire where Meagan stood.

"Do you like the room?" Lion inquired. "Is there anything you require?"

"That is supposed to be
my
question," Meagan said tartly, but she softened at the sight of him. "Actually, the room is charming. Far too lovely for me, as you well know."

Lion tried to sound gruff. "You shall earn it, Meagan. Believe it or not, I truly need you here. This house is far from being a home and I expect you to change that."

"What do you mean? What shall my position be?"

"I suppose it would be called housekeeper. I want you to oversee the cooking, meal plans, the furniture. Any additions or rearranging will be up to you. See that things run smoothly, but add a touch of—warmth. I would like to see flowers about, that sort of thing."

"What about Wong? Won't he be offended if I interfere?"

"Wong should have enough to do as butler and now he can look after my personal needs more efficiently. I will let you two divide the labor as you wish, but I don't want any quarrels; I refuse to act as mediator between you."

Meagan made a face. "Tell that to Wong! I cannot believe that he will appreciate my arrival."

"Wong works for me. He must learn to adjust. I have warned him that my staff would need to be expanded, and besides, he chronically complains of overwork."

"Have you considered Pris—Miss Wade? You know perfectly well that she will want to choose her own servants. I suspect that she would not cast me in this role, and to be honest, I doubt that we would deal well together at all."

"Come over here."

Meagan eyed him suspiciously, but Lion tapped a muscular thigh.

"I promise to behave. Please, let me hold you near for just a moment."

Her heart turned over and she went to him, perching on his lap stiffly at first, then softening as his arm encircled her waist. With a loud sigh, she leaned her cheek against his hair while every nerve in her body tingled pleasurably.

"Why can't you relax this way more often? Must you fight me continually as though we were at war?"

"I should," she whispered huskily. "And you know why. I have told you often enough, and if you truly cared for me at all you would not test me this way. I do not have the energy to fight endlessly."

"How fortunate for me." He was rubbing her small, tense back, his lean hands moving over it until delicious chills ran up and down her spine.

"You are as lecherous as Major Gardner."

"Out of the frying pan and into the fire?"

"How aptly you put it! By the way, you have avoided my question about my position here after Miss Wade becomes... Mrs. Hampshire. I can see, even if you cannot, that it is impossible for me to remain here."

"Why?"

"Must I spell it out?" she cried brokenly. "Would you have me admit my weakness?"

"For me?" He pretended astonishment. "I am honored, sweetheart."

She heard only too well the tender note in his voice and tried to resist its effect on her, while Lion traced the baby hair along her hairline with a lean finger.

"You may not believe it of this self-centered villain, but I have taken your feelings into account. I would not ask you to remain in the same house with Priscilla after our marriage."

"Oh, Lion, what a relief to hear you say so! I have been thinking more and more lately—especially today during my exile in the dungeon—that the best solution would be for me to leave Philadelphia. I had hoped to save the money myself, but now I fear there will not be time. Since you feel as you do, could you possibly make me a loan? I swear that I would pay you back, every penny—"

"Meagan," he interrupted, "slow down and retreat. I have no intention of letting you vanish from my life so easily! If that is your choice, however, I will help you in any way I can—after you have made a compromise with me."

"A compromise?" she echoed, wide-eyed. Lion thought her lashes looked as long and soft as sooty feathers.

"Of course. You see how civilized and reasonable I can be? Now it is your wish to leave Philadelphia and you would like me to finance the journey—"

"As a loan!"

"Shh." He laid a brown finger over her lips. "Hear me out, for I have another side to present—mine. As you know, it is my heartfelt desire that you should stay with me, let me take care—" She started to bolt from his lap, and he pulled her back down. "I'm sure you know what I was going to say! At any rate, this is my compromise. I propose that you remain here as my housekeeper, on a strictly platonic basis, if that is your wish, until my marriage to Priscilla. I am speaking in terms of a period of three or four weeks. At that time, you may decide whether or not you wish to leave me. If you do, I will finance your relocation completely, as a gift. Or, you may remain in Philadelphia—as my lover. Despite what you believe, I know that I could make you happy. Do we have a bargain?"

Meagan's eyes narrowed as she regarded him.

"You are a cad," she muttered at last. Lion laughed out at that and she finally pinched him hard to make him stop. When he composed himself enough to speak, his smile was inscrutable.

"That is what I love most about you, sweeting. You are so quick with compliments; I feel like a new man when we are together."

"Let us hope he is an improvement over the old one!"

Suddenly Meagan could see that Lion was tired of their constant badinage. The laughter went out of his brilliant azure eyes as he pulled her down into the curve of one arm, bringing the other firmly around her back. A thrill ran through her body and she had no heart for a struggle; warmly she accepted his kiss, lost in its magic.

When at last he drew away slightly to let her catch her breath, Meagan managed to gulp, "I will never say yes. I shall meet your bargain since I have little choice, but Lion, you'll never see me settle for anyone's leftover love. Not even yours!"

Chapter 23

Lion played his cards very carefully. He made himself scarce for three days until Meagan found herself positively yearning for the sight of his smile turned upon her or the sound of one of his clever quips.

She had been correct in her suspicion that Wong would not appreciate her presence, or more exactly, her interference. Lion spoke plainly to him at the outset, but it was difficult for Wong to relinquish any of his responsibilities to a newcomer. To Meagan, it seemed that he was constantly hovering in her wake, waiting for her to make a mistake.

None were made. Without Lion's distracting presence, she threw herself into her new role with gusto, infusing the house with her own taste and personality. Meagan turned to Wong for advice whenever possible, but limited her dependence only to asking where she might find what she desired. With his help, she acquired, among other things, greenery-grown flowers of every variety and hue which she coordinated with the color schemes in each room of the house. Lion realized that he had truly been taken at his word when he discovered a small vase of purple hyacinths in his dressing room.

Meagan quizzed Wong about Lion's taste in food and drew up imaginative menus for those few meals he took at home. However, the cook was not nearly as skilled as she would have wished and it was concerning this issue that she first approached Lion for a conversation. He had been taking care to greet her very perfunctorily, and Meagan was only too well aware that he intended to hold out until she made the first move. Although she passed each day nervously listening—hoping—for his arrival, she convinced herself now that it was merely business which brought her to approach him.

She looked for an opportunity for two days, but Lion was out of the house most of the time. When he was at home, he worked or read in the library, frequently taking his meals there at the commodious knee-hole desk. On those occasions when he did eat, hurriedly, in the dining room, Meagan stubbornly stayed away from him in the hope that he might invite her to join him. On the third night, however, she decided that her business could not wait, and she sought Lion out in his bedchamber as he dressed for a night at the theater.

He had requested that a tray be sent up with a few slices of roast chicken, a buttered muffin, and a small decanter of wine. Meagan decided to deliver it, waiting until Wong reported that Lion was long out of his bath. Her pulse raced and her palms grew moist as she stood outside the paneled mahogany door. Finally, she lifted her hand, rapping so softly that she could barely hear it herself.

"For God's sake," Lion barked, "bring me that food! I am famished!"

Meagan balanced the tray against one hip and turned the knob. Afraid that he might be only partially dressed, she peeked around the door hesitantly.

His scowl vanished at the sight of her enormous eyes and riotous curls.

"Meagan! Come in!"

She could not repress a smile, so euphoric did she feel under his warm gaze.

"I brought your tray."

"So I see. Did Wong break a leg?" His eyes glinted like the ocean under an April sun.

Meagan blushed. "No—sir. I wished to discuss a matter of business with you, and since you are so seldom home, it seemed prudent to take this opportunity."

"Oh, yes,—Miss South," he mocked, grinning at her knowingly. He stood in the doorway of the dressing room, clad in stockinged feet, spotless white breeches, and a fine linen shirt which was unbuttoned to reveal the chest that Meagan ached to touch. His hair was freshly washed, swept and tied in back with casual neatness. "I have meant to inquire about how you've been getting along. I am sorry that you were driven to—"

"Beard the lion in his den?" she supplied with a winning smile.

Lion laughed at the pun and came out to take the tray. He set it on a bow-front chest of drawers, immediately removing the decanter's stopper and pouring wine into a glass.

"Do you always drink before you go out?" Meagan asked bluntly as she watched him drain the glass and refill it.

"If you want me to admit that I can only tolerate Priscilla with my senses dulled, then I suppose I must."

She clicked her tongue. "Will she have a drunkard for a husband?"

"Perhaps not if that husband has someone else to supply what his wife lacks."

Meagan turned away from his keen gaze and paced across the room, stopping short before the handsome testered bed. Hurriedly, she retraced her steps, but kept her distance from him.

"I had better come to the point before it is time for you to leave. This matter is quite important to me."