Touch the Sun (38 page)

Lion had lately begun to seem like a myth to Priscilla, she saw him so seldom. Her curiosity pricked by Anne's comments, she went to the window and immediately located the striking figure of her betrothed.

The next moment she froze; her green eyes became fixed and unblinking. Without seeing the shadowed face of his companion, she knew who it was as surely as she knew her own name. There was no mistaking those petite legs in their once familiar garb of breeches, or the energetic walk and animated gestures of their owner. Even the distant lilt of laughter could be recognized amidst the shouts of the urchins and vendors on the street below.

Conscious of a creeping, chilling dread, Priscilla shifted her eyes back to Lion. Part of her would have preferred to turn away, for some instinct warned her what she would see in the expression on his face.

And truly, this was a man she had never so much as glimpsed or imagined could exist. The near-animal brilliance of Lion had been somehow transformed into the most warm and dazzling sort of magic. Even Priscilla could recognize that his laughter, as fire-charged as the sun overhead, could only be a product of love.

Chapter 32

Markwood Villa was finished, for the present at least, and Meagan experienced an uneasy twinge as she opened her armoire door to choose clothing for the day ahead. Every morning for over a week, she had gaily pulled on breeches, but now they were only a dark lump in the corner.

What lay ahead for them now? she wondered. Their excuse for spending every waking hour together was gone, crushed under the last piece of furniture put in place at the villa. Though Lion infrequently mentioned Priscilla, and had never spoken a word about the wedding, Meagan realized that it could not be more than a fortnight away. Surely there were parties planned, and Lion would have to start behaving like an attentive fiancé. It seemed that the best days were over for Meagan and him... The charade was truly in its last act.

Blindly, she dressed in a pretty gown of gauzy white muslin banded by a wide velvet sash the color of heather, then sat down at her dressing table and frowned into the mirror. Great violet eyes stared back, their depths obscured by iridescent mists of pain. No matter how poorly she slept, the love that flourished within lent its warmth to her body so that her cheeks and lips retained their rosy glow. Absently, Meagan pinned her long curls up over her head so that they spilled down randomly, one or two falling free to the small of her back. After encircling her neck with another band of heather velvet, she was off to the door without a backward glance.

In the hall a fresh vase of blue phlox caught her eye. The flowers were so small and tender that she reached out for them irresistibly, plucking out a handful. One by one they touched her tilted nose and were nestled amongst the gleaming raven curls; a quick pause before the mirror confirmed her suspicion that the blue blossoms made better accessories than anything Madame Millet could create.

Through the hours of early morning, Meagan remained pensive and preoccupied. Bramble and Wong sensed the problem at once when she failed to respond to their barbs. Two new housemaids arrived to be interviewed, but Meagan was so surprisingly vague with them that Wong had to step in to ask the necessary questions. While he was busy with this task, a knock sounded at the front door, and Meagan went to answer. A footman wearing the Bingham livery stood on the step.

"Good day, South! Didn't know you was here, too! I've a message for Cap'n Hampshire."

He fished in his coat to locate the letter and handed it to her with a grin. Touching a hand to his tricorne hat, he turned to leave, but Meagan called, "Wait, Pierce! Shouldn't you stay for an answer?"

"Mistress Wade says there won't be one," the footman replied and leaped to the back of the waiting carriage.

Puzzled, Meagan closed the door and regarded the envelope with the Binghams' seal on it. She glanced up at the tall-clock to be certain of the hour, then started up the stairs.

Her tentative knock drew an immediate response.

"Come in!"

Peeking around the door, Meagan caught her breath at the sight of him. Lion sat up in bed, brown against a backdrop of snowy pillows with the linen sheet drawn negligently over his legs to his hips.

The window curtains had been parted to allow the entrance of a wide sunbeam which lent a brilliant haze to his hard-muscled torso and chiseled face. A newspaper was spread across his thighs, which accounted for the long moment before Meagan was acknowledged.

When Lion glanced up, he looked irritated, but that expression softened immediately.

"I thought you were Prudence," he said ironically. "It seems to be a time-consuming task—bringing me coffee."

"No doubt," Meagan smiled, her eyes on his irresistible chest. Moving closer, she could see the engaging remnants of recent sleep in his expression and a faint pattern of pillow creases on his cheek.

"This just came for you."

Lion accepted the letter, breaking the seal and glancing over the page. His smile was enigmatic.

"Her Highness informs me that she will be otherwise occupied until further notice."

"What? What does that mean? Lion, how can you look so complacent? Why, the wedding is barely a fortnight away—"

Meagan stopped short, cheeks burning as she felt his eyes caressing her. Her breasts tingled in warning.

"I imagine Priscilla is still angry about Markwood Villa," he explained in a low voice, the barest smile curving his mouth. Meagan stood frozen, near enough for him to kiss, and Lion stared at her long and hard with a hungry gaze that seared her flesh right through the muslin gown.

God save me, she thought, lost in his naked gaze. With agonizing slowness, one of Lion's hands moved toward her, lean fingers about her waist. Gently, they slid up her side and across her narrow back so that she shivered visibly. Meagan was unable to coordinate the simple act of breathing; she thought that his veins must run with fire, certainly not ordinary blood, for when his hand grazed her bare shoulder her flesh burned and burned... He traced the line of her throat, her trembling chin, then downward to the creamy, lush curves of her breasts. Meagan gasped, dissolved, and dropped to one knee on the edge of the bed. She heard him draw a ragged breath before leaning forward to take her in his arms; the newspaper and Priscilla's letter crackled between them and Lion ripped them away along with the linen sheet. Meagan's own skirts rode up her thighs as Lion dragged her face up to his. She felt the long muscles and crisp hair on his legs against her own soft skin, then the shock of contact with his manhood, warm and rock hard.

His hands were in her hair and their mouths came together in a ravenous kiss, devastating in its intensity. Meagan's lips parted eagerly; blue phlox blossoms spattered the white pillows as she felt the hot tingling ache between her thighs become an exquisite torture. Lion cupped her breasts and they swelled against his hands. Meagan thought she would die when he bent her over into the pillows, pulling her low-cut bodice down. Slowly, his lips traced the curves and soft valley between her breasts until they reached one taut, rosy nipple. First a light kiss; then his tongue touched it with fire.

Meagan gripped Lion's shoulders, until she felt his face touching hers, kissing her tremulous lips as his fingers moved to unfasten her gown with unfailing deftness.

The rapping at the door went on for several seconds before they heard it.

"I be out here with your tray, Mister Hampshire!" Bramble called in her sharpest, most suspicious tone.

"For God's sake, not now!" Lion's voice was menacing.

During the heavy pause which followed, Meagan scrambled up and off the bed, tears welling in her eyes as she fumbled with the fastenings on her gown.

Lion's jaw was set angrily. In seconds, he had her muslin bodice back in place and hastened to retrieve the sheet as Bramble warned, "For the girl's sake, I be comin' in!"

Lion was sitting in bed, reassembling the newspaper, and Meagan had turned away to arrange the window curtains when Bramble entered. Her thin lips worked for a moment as she surveyed the bedchamber and its occupants.

"Devil's spawn!" she hissed at Lion.

"Madame, I hired you to cook my meals and for no other purpose. I find your intrusion here and your attitude incredible!" The anger in his voice cut the air like a sword.

"I be a God-fearing woman. I could not stand by and see you ruin a young maiden." She thrust out her pointed chin. "I smell the heat of you in this room. Vile! Like animals—"

"That's enough," Lion ground out.

Bramble narrowed her eyes as she noticed the blue flowers strewn on the sheets. "South, you may depend on me to keep you safe from this—man. My responsibility as a Christian is clear."

Meagan turned to face her, ready to protest, to admit the truth, but Bramble would not be interrupted.

"I have feared for you, for I know the bestial nature of this man. I have heard of the attack Mistress Wade suffered at his hands. The poor girl was nearly taken against her will, right in the card room in the full light of day!"

* * *

Heaven stretched out her elegant legs, seeming to fly as Meagan urged her on toward Markwood Villa. It was almost an adequate release for her angry pain: the muscular force of Heaven's movements against her legs, the sting of a cold wind that pierced her muslin gown and pricked the softness of her throat and face. As they topped a hill, Meagan automatically pressed her heels into the horse's flanks, anticipating a familiar length of straight road.

However, the sight that met her eyes on the far-off horizon was a shock. What had seemed to be an innocent April shower brewing now gave signs of a different nature. Enormous black clouds rose above the distant tree-lined hills like thick smoke from some terrible fire. They sent a stunningly powerful wind northward to announce their approach, while darkness seeped over the sky like ink poured on pale blue muslin.

Sheer fright prickled Meagan's skin. Heaven modified her pace without being told, nearly coming to a standstill as her mistress wondered wildly what to do. Was there time to return to the house on Pine Street? If so, did she want to flee from the storm like some helpless child? Somehow, the fury of the elements seemed to offer a challenge to the bitter passion that coursed through her veins, a passion that smothered her better judgment.

Heaven seemed to give Meagan a wondering glance when she nudged her sides almost fiercely, calling above the rising wind, "We must not stop until we reach Markwood Villa!"

The storm swept out chilling dark arms to welcome them as they advanced, and the wind grew so powerful that Meagan was forced to press her body along the length of Heaven's flanks to keep her seat. The spirited filly bowed her head and fought the cold blasts, winning steady, if slow, progress. Meagan felt the pins loosen in her hair, then escape, as her raven curls flew out behind her.

They had almost reached the winding approach to the villa when the clouds seemed to split open, sending down wild, drenching torrents of rain. Heaven never wavered, picking her way down the path in spite of whipping branches, sheets of rain backed by a fierce wind, and the wet ground at her feet. Meagan simply held on as cold rivulets of water ran down her face, neck, and breasts, while her clothing and unbound hair grew icily saturated, pasting themselves to her shivering body. Several times it seemed that they would never make it. Heaven began to stumble and the force of the storm seemed unconquerable.

But each time she slipped on the mud and was driven to her knees by the punishing wind, Meagan would cry out to her to keep fighting. Heaven's graceful head would rise, her heart-shaped blaze turned toward the hidden sun, and somehow she would clamber up and struggle on.

At last, the circular drive came into view. Her heart pounded with sheer relief as she slid from Heaven's back. Together they ran down the hill, defeating the storm with the aid of basic gravity.

Meagan did not hesitate. Opening the white front door, she took the reins and pulled her horse over the threshold. Heaven seemed startled and reluctant, but one glance in the other direction convinced her to accept her mistress's hospitality. When Meagan threw trembling arms around the filly's neck, a soft nose nuzzled her in return.

"Oh, Heaven, you are the bravest creature on this earth!" Meagan said huskily, half-sobbing. "We two frail beings are living proof that determination is more powerful than simple strength."

She drew back to give Heaven a rather weak, if determined, grin. The elation Meagan felt at their safe arrival began to fade as she became conscious of her physical state. The gauzy muslin of her gown looked like soaked tissue; her pretty heather velvet sash was wilted, ruined. Her skin was blue-tinged and numb from the wet and cold, while drops of water fell from her hair, collecting on the patterned brick floor.

"We are both chilled to the bone. You poor thing. Let me get some blankets."

Pulling off wet silk slippers, Meagan wriggled her toes and hurried up the stairway. She knew exactly where the bedding was stored since she had personally picked out the blanket chest for Priscilla's room and stocked it with plush quilts and sheets.