Touch the Sun (35 page)

No jungle cat was ever so desperate when borne to a cage. Lion's suffering was increased by the knowledge that he had set the trap himself, with such blind confidence.

Four days had passed since the scene in the card room. As much as he dreaded seeing Priscilla again, he realized that the inevitable meeting would be more unpleasant the longer he waited. Already he could well imagine the state she must be in.

In the end, the ordeal was lessened by Anne Bingham's absence. Lion was thankful he had not sent word ahead of his visit, for she would certainly have stayed home. Priscilla was, surprisingly, out in the garden for a stroll, and it was there that he found her.

Clad in a flattering, low-cut morning gown of lime muslin sashed with lemon silk, she blended prettily with the budding greenery that surrounded her. A large-brimmed straw hat, decorated with ribbons to match the gown, covered her auburn curls, and she gazed out from its protective shade to view Lion's approach.

Priscilla's first thought was that he seemed like a wild animal that lived outdoors; there was no longer any hint of his gentleman's disguise. For the first time, he wore no jacket, waistcoat, or cravat—only a muslin shirt, open to reveal his chest, fawn breeches, and riding boots. He seemed browner than ever, looking more powerful than any man she had seen in her lifetime, and his hair glinted in the sunlight. Something warned Priscilla—perhaps the aura of recklessness that surrounded him—and she held her tongue when he reached her.

They walked together for a while. Priscilla could not stop remembering the humiliating episode in the card room. She was astonished and outraged by his attitude; first by his failure to apologize immediately and now by the realization that he did not intend to apologize at all! It was incredible, unforgivable, but in spite of her anger, she found herself afraid to throw it up to him. The memory of what he had done to her and her body's explosive reaction left her filled with confused shame. What sort of man was he? What was his game, and what were the rules?

Groping for a foothold, she decided to try to regain some control by raising a subject Anne had urged.

"Lion?"

"Hmm?" He had bent to pull some weeds around a border of crocuses. Priscilla watched in irresistible fascination the play of muscles across his broad back.

"Before—before we discuss the wedding plans, there is another matter I should like to clear up."

"Oh?" Straightening, he brushed off his hands and lifted a brow.

"Yes. It's—ah—about this estate I understand you have purchased." Nervous under his keen gaze, she rearranged the folds of her gown. "I think it would have been more considerate of you to have consulted me before you made such a decision."

"Oh?" he repeated, and the brow arched higher.

"Yes. I understand that this place is quite unsuitable. In fact, horrid! Anne says there is a lovely spot available near Landsdowne where we could build a new house. I could have it just the way—"

"God, how cozy that would be!" Lion laughed caustically. "Right on top of the Binghams—or vice versa. What is your point, my dear? Could it be that you want me to cancel the plans for Markwood Villa and acquire a more fashionable summer estate for you?"

"Actually—yes!"

"No!" His eyes were blazing now. "I won't be led about on a leash by you and Anne Bingham like some trained dog—or fawn!" He gestured sharply toward the delicate, long-legged animals on the other side of the grounds. "And now, my precious bride-to-be, I have some news for you. I've been occupied of late with business matters and it looks like it will continue for some time. So, I regret to say that we shall have to postpone the wedding. Perhaps it can be arranged to be held in New York—if not, there will be plenty of time when we return after the inauguration."

* * *

Cantering west along Spruce Street, Lion let out a low, incredulous laugh. He still could scarcely believe he had done it. It was crazy! Later, he knew, he would regret the incautious act, but for now he was feeling incredibly free and looking forward to the hard ride to Markwood Villa.

Fate was certainly smiling on him, for suddenly there was Meagan, standing on the brick footpath just ahead. She was handing a coin to a ragged fruit-girl, who then transferred dozens of large strawberries from her hamper to the basket on Meagan's arm.

"You there!" he called, bringing his roan to a prancing standstill. "Black-haired wench!"

Meagan whirled around, eyes flashing indignantly.

"Lion!" she exclaimed in some relief. "Your sense of humor needs refinement." The sun reflecting off his light hair seemed blinding to her.

"Really? Would you care to lend a hand? I crave your advice, as always."

She wrinkled her nose at him and started to turn away, but Lion reached down to capture one of her glossy curls.

"I have an assignment for you, esteemed housekeeper."

"What?" She eyed him suspiciously.

"Come up here. You have some duties to attend to at Markwood Villa."

Before she could react, he braced his knees against the horse and leaned over to whisk her up in front of him, basket and all. With one gentle prod of Lion's boot, the roan broke into an easy trot and Meagan's afternoon was decided.

Secretly she was fired with joy, enchanted by his unpredictable behavior. Each time in his arms was as amazingly stirring for her as that first day they collided at West Hills when his nearness had stopped her breath. Now, leaning into his chest and encircled by his arms, Meagan was euphoric.

As they reached the edge of town and the chestnut roan stretched into a gallop, she showed Lion a face alight with the most guileless of smiles.

"You are a devil."

"Yes... Wonderful, isn't it?"

"I must say you're looking very pleased with yourself. Is it just because you have abducted a poor defenseless maiden?"

One side of his mouth went up. "Maiden?"

"Until you did your worst!"

"Please—that hurt. I was under the impression I had done rather well!" He flinched, grinning, as she raised a threatening hand. "Actually, like all good villains, I am returning to the scene of my crime."

"Until you get it right?" Her violet eyes were dancing with mischief.

"I'd advise you to guard your tongue, vixen, or you will push me to the point of forgetting my promised role as a gentleman."

"I must say, you are off to a grand beginning, carrying off poor little serving-girls."

"When did I do that? What poor little serving-girl?"

His lips twitched as Meagan averted her face, trying to think of a proper rejoinder. A sudden bump nearly jolted her off the horse and their bantering was forgotten as she scrambled for a steadier position. Lion brought an arm tightly around her waist, and they rode the rest of the way in companionable silence.

It proved to be a delightful afternoon. Together, they wandered through the rooms of Markwood Villa again, but this time they discussed furniture, color schemes, and carpets. Meagan was brimming with ideas, all of which won Lion's favor; they talked until every last corner was explored.

Finally, they headed toward the garden for air and were astonished to find the sky dusk-stained.

"How can it have gotten so late?" she wondered.

Smiling contentedly, he stretched and put out a hand to ruffle her windblown curls. "I don't know about you, but I am suddenly ravenous."

"Supper! Prudence will be furious! I was away all morning at Madame Millet's, having my last fitting for those gowns. When I stopped for the strawberries, I intended to go straight home. Prudence can never make a decision alone; if someone doesn't tell her whether or not to cook with the idea of you eating at home, she'll simply throw up her hands and not fix a thing!"

Lion's thoughts were elsewhere. "The strawberries!" he announced dramatically.

All at once they were rushing for the door, but Meagan had no chance in a race with him. By the time she rounded the corner of the entry hall, Lion was brandishing the basket triumphantly.

"Well, they are probably spoiled anyhow," she said airily.

"They look fine to me!" A wicked expression swept across his face.

Beaten, Meagan made a grab for the basket but was held off with one long arm.

"You are insufferable! Selfish, greedy—"

Lion silenced her by slipping the fattest of the berries between her lips. Laughing at her expression, he slid down the wall to the floor. Heedless of her gown, Meagan promptly joined him. They sat there, side by side, eating until the basket was empty and juice reddened Meagan's mouth.

"I think I may be ill," she moaned.

Lion gave her tummy a solicitous caress that was immediately slapped away, then rose to his feet and extended a hand to her.

"I fear we shall have to chance it. I just remembered that I am due at a meeting of the Library Company in less than two hours."

* * *

Meagan had always enjoyed solitude, so the frequent, painful bouts of loneliness she had suffered of late were difficult to come to terms with. After Lion departed for his meeting, her buoyant mood seemed to deflate. She sat in the kitchen and stared at Wong until she could not bear the sight of his face another moment, then remembered the undone household accounts. Grateful for any diversion, she set off for the library.

The evening had turned chilly and a cheerful fire blazed in the room. Meagan lit some candles, then crossed to Lion's desk to assemble her materials. The accounts she sought were in a spot already known to her but there was no quill or ink in sight. Pulling open the top drawer, she reached for them as her eye fell on a worn-looking Bible tucked toward the back.

Some instinct compelled her to take it out and open it, for Lion had never struck her as a religious man. Certainly not a Bible reader.

Inside, on the fly leaf, was a faded, delicately written name: "Sarah Hampshire." His mother! Meagan thought, suddenly consumed with curiosity as she realized he had never mentioned his family or background. Since the subject was not one she cared to pursue in their conversations, she had never broached it.

Knowing that she should not, Meagan turned the pages until she came to the record of family marriages, births, and deaths. There were only two entries, the first made in that same fragile hand:

"Born: Thomas Lion, on April the Nineteenth, 1756, at six o'clock in the afternoon."

On the second line was handwriting Meagan recognized, though it lacked its present boldness. Lion had made this terse entry:

"Died: Sarah Elizabeth Hampshire, September 2, 1770."

Slowly Meagan replaced the Bible, gathered her papers, quill, and ink, and moved to the escritoire near the fireplace. The figures swam before her eyes; all she could think of was that enigmatic Bible. No marriage entered, no maiden name inserted for Sarah Hampshire, no other children mentioned... and Lion left motherless at the age of fourteen. Was there no father? If not, what had become of Lion at that age?

When Meagan finally began on the household accounts, concentration eluded her and the work progressed slowly. With a start, she heard the tall-clock in the entryway strike twelve, followed within minutes by the sounds of Lion's arrival. Almost immediately, he appeared in the doorway.

"Meagan! Why are you still awake? I wondered what the reason was for the roaring fire in here..."

She turned in her chair, smiling sleepily at the sight of him, resplendent in a sage green coat and amber breeches.

"I was trying to bring the household accounts up to date."

"Egad! Now she's a mathematician!" He crossed the room to look over her shoulder. "You didn't have to do this. You have too much work as it is."

"Oh, I don't mind. Besides, I know how busy you have been."

Lion lifted a nearby candle to light his cheroot, then stretched out in a wing chair. Firelight flickered over his hard body and dark face as he smoked in silence for a long minute; Meagan gathered up the papers and waited.

"Something happened this morning that I meant to tell you about," he said at length, turning to meet her eyes. In the warm fireglow, she looked so sweet to him, drowsy and soft and indescribably lovely. He had intended to tell her about his announcement to Priscilla, to laugh about the nerve of it and hear her scold, teasingly, in response. But now he wondered if it was wise, just yet, even as he had second thoughts about his rash postponement of the wedding. Was he only prolonging his agony, and did he want to prolong Meagan's as well?

"Lion, do have your say!" she prodded softly. "Another minute and I shall be asleep!"

"Well, the news is that I saw Smith this morning. The French chef is due to arrive in two days and Bramble has already been told. She rather resembled a chicken that had been plucked and boiled alive—she'll be here in time to cook breakfast."

Chapter 30

Lion spent the better part of two days searching out the perfect horse for Meagan. On the first morning of April, a filly was delivered to the small stable behind the Pine Street house.

Meagan was in her room, trying on the new clothes which Madame Millet had left an hour before. Most of the wardrobe was completed and Meagan felt like a child at Christmas. When Lion knocked at her door, she had just finished fastening a gown of damask rose silk, one of the most elaborate of the group. Its square neckline enhanced the curves of her breasts while ivory lace had been sewn lavishly over every finished hem. Meagan tied a band of matching lace around her neck before answering the door.