Wherever You Are (21 page)

“Is that what you think, Juliana? That I can’t give you more?”

He looked hurt and she had to swallow her apology. There was nothing to apologize for. “You’re giving me everything you can and I’m grateful. Please don’t think otherwise.”

“What is it you want from me, Juliana?”

When she wouldn’t look at him, he stepped closer and lifted her chin with his hand. “Tell me what you want.”

Once again she was going to cry. Damn it, she never used to cry like this, but lately it seemed her emotions were oozing out of her faster than she could plug the holes.

“Tell me, Juliana. What do you want from me?”

Her breathing came fast. His touch was warm but the look in his eyes hard. “I want your love,” she whispered.

For a moment they stood frozen and slowly the hardness in his eyes gave way to something softer. “Don’t you know you’ve had that all along? Through all the centuries between us I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Chapter Twenty-One

“He’s like a damn ghost, slipping in and out of the city. No one sees him unless he wants to be seen. His ship mysteriously appears and disappears.” Morgan tilted his head back and blew cigar smoke into the air, watching as it formed a circle, danced away, then vanished.

Barun was like the bloody smoke ring. Vanishing as soon as you got near him. Morgan’s frustration reached new levels and his concern for Juliana grew by the hour. Tomorrow she would become his wife, his sole responsibility. How the hell was he going to protect her from a specter like Barun? He ground the cigar out, smashing it until there was almost nothing left. They’d received one piece of good news. Barun sent his brother back to India so that was one less person to worry about.

Reed was sprawled in a comfortable leather chair across from him, a glass of brandy dangling from his hand. They were in the Parkers’ study and the women were off somewhere planning the wedding ceremony. “What are you going to do?” he asked.

Morgan shrugged. “I don’t know what to do. I hate the idea of waiting for him to make the next move.”

“Any ideas where he could be?”

“None. The trip to Dover was a waste of time. It’s almost as if he wants to send me on these wild-goose chases.” Barun was playing with him, just as he had when Morgan was his slave. The man loved his mind games and this was the biggest game of all. With the highest stakes. “I’ll have to flush him out,” Morgan said, staring at the fire in the grate.

“How are you going to do that?” Reed took the last swallow of his brandy and set the glass on the floor by his feet.

“Leave London. Set sail with a crew, wait for Barun to follow, then ambush him.”

“Juliana’s not going to like that.”

No. She wasn’t. But he was out of ideas and he refused to spend the rest of their lives together looking over his shoulder. He surged off the chair and began to pace. “This needs to end. If I leave London, Barun will follow.”

“You have a spy among your men. How will you keep this plan quiet?”

“Pick only my best, most trusted men.” And pray to God it worked.

“Why not give him the lance like he wants?”

“I would if that were all he wanted.” But Barun made it clear he wanted more. He wanted Morgan back as a slave and he wanted Juliana. The only way to stop him was to lure him away from Juliana and kill him.

“When are you planning on doing this?” Reed watched Morgan pace with half-closed lids, hands crossed over his stomach.

“As soon as possible. I’ll wait a day or two after the wedding.”

Reed shook his head. “Juliana really isn’t going to like this. Have you told her?”

“Hell no, I haven’t told her.” He’d barely seen her in the week since she’d accepted his proposal. Isabelle’s Aunt Sylvia had taken over the planning of the wedding and it included commandeering Juliana for fittings and whatever the hell women did before getting married.

Morgan had given Isabelle’s aunt strict instructions that this was to be a small affair. Close friends only. After the way Barun infiltrated the last ball, Morgan didn’t want the man to get wind of the wedding.

“When are you planning on telling her?” Reed asked. “I want to make sure I’m out of the house that day.”

Morgan smiled. At Isabelle’s insistence, Juliana was still living with the Parkers. Isabelle claimed they were going to do this right and since Juliana had no family, Isabelle and Reed would be her family.

“Please tell me you’re planning on telling her,” Reed said.

“The thought crossed my mind to just slip away,” Morgan said in half-jest. It was a conversation he dreaded, but he couldn’t leave her like that.

“Do me a favor,” Reed said, more serious now. “Leave Isabelle out of this. Don’t inform her of your plans.”

Morgan stopped pacing and stared at Reed. Something else was going on here. He’d felt it a few times in the last weeks but had been too preoccupied with his own problems to give it much thought. “Why?”

“Because she doesn’t need to be involved.”

“It’s more than that.” Isabelle was the best there was with a cutlass and by far the best captain he’d come across. She would be an asset on this mission. Not that he intended on asking her. Reed wasn’t exactly on board when it came to Isabelle’s shadier activities.

Reed sighed and straightened in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees and staring into the fire. “It’s the company,” he said. “We’re having difficulties with some of our clients. They don’t want to do business with a company that has a woman in charge.”

Morgan was beginning to understand. In fact, he had this conversation with Juliana. Women didn’t work unless they were lower class and men didn’t do business with women unless the women were prostitutes. Isabelle was a woman born before her time. She wanted to be in the thick of things, making the big decisions, sailing the ships. And the hell of it was, she was excellent at both.

“You’re afraid if she hears what I’m about to do, she’ll want to help.”

Reed looked Morgan in the eye. “I can’t lose her.”

Morgan knew Reed meant more than Isabelle getting harmed and possibly killed. He was afraid if she tasted battle again, she wouldn’t come back.

“I won’t tell her.” How the hell he was going to keep something this big from his best friend he didn’t know.

A knock on the door had both men turning toward it. Isabelle poked her head in and smiled. “May I join you?”

She walked to Reed and tucked herself beneath his arm. Reed kissed the top of her head and Morgan read the worry in the man’s eyes. Reed would always fear the allure of the ocean that constantly called to Isabelle.

She pointed a finger at Morgan. “I came to speak to you.”

Morgan glanced at Reed, wondering if somehow Isabelle had already heard of his plans. Reed tightened his hold on his wife.

“Aunt Sylvia would like to throw a ball in your and Juliana's honor.”

Morgan took an involuntary step back. “Oh, no. Hell, no.” He hated balls.

“It’s not that bad, I promise. It will be small.”

“Small according to Aunt Sylvia?”

Isabelle’s lips twitched. “I’ll keep it under control.”

“This is not a good idea.” Morgan turned to Reed. “Tell her this isn’t a good idea.” Mostly because of Barun, but partly because he got the hives just thinking of walking into a ballroom with the upper crust of society staring at him. He wasn’t cut out for that life and had no intention of ever being cut out for that life.

“Isabelle,” Reed said. “This isn’t a good idea. Remember the last ball? Barun somehow made it in.”

“I thought of that as well.” Isabelle disengaged herself from Reed. “But Sylvia mentioned the ball to Juliana before I could stop it.” She turned to Morgan. “You should have seen the look on Juliana’s face, Morgan. I don’t think anyone has given her a ball in her honor before.”

Damn. Isabelle was probably right. Parties hadn’t been part of Juliana’s life when she was growing up.

“She practically glowed,” Isabelle said.

“Isabelle—” Morgan warned.

“She was so excited, Morgan. And we could make the place secure. With your men and some of mine, no one could get in here.”

“I don’t think—”

Isabelle took his hand. “I don’t think you know what this means to her.”

Shit. He closed his eyes for a brief moment in resignation. “If it’s small,” he said. “And there has to be enough men to cover all entrances and patrol the grounds. I want Penworth brought up to date. He needs to know what Barun looks like. We’ll put one of my men at the door with him.”

Isabelle smiled, went up on tiptoe and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Morgan. Juliana will be happy.”

“When is this ball being held?”

“Three days from now. It was the earliest Sylvia could plan it. I’ll go tell Juliana now.” She left and Morgan and Reed exchanged worried glances.

“Looks like your plans will be delayed,” Reed said.

“Looks like.” That gave Barun two extra days to live. Two extra days of haunting London. Two extra days to get at them.

The day of the wedding dawned dark and dreary, like every other day Juliana had been in London. Not for the first time she wished she were on Morgan’s ship with the wind in her hair and the sun on her face, listening to his crew sing sea shanties as they went about their duties.

With shaking hands, she smoothed the fine silk of her wedding gown. It wasn’t anything special by eighteenth-century standards. She learned from the modiste from hell that white was reserved for debutantes so she chose a deep peach that brought color to her cheeks.

The service would be short, with only a few in attendance. Juliana chose Isabelle and Sophia to stand up for her and Morgan chose Reed and Patrick.

“Are you ready?” Isabelle stood in the doorway, her mass of black hair pinned up yet looking like it would tumble down at the slightest breeze. Somehow the effect was alluring. She wore a dress for the occasion. A beautiful gold-colored dress that shimmered when she walked. “You look as nervous as Morgan,” she teased, and Juliana smiled, too nervous for words.

Making her way down the grand staircase, she wondered at the fate that brought her two-hundred-some years to the past, to a place that held everything she was searching for and more.

She stopped and took a deep breath, suddenly scared. Suddenly understanding there was no more job at the Chicago Sun, no car and no air-conditioning. Her hard-won independence, her career, the home, her comfy clothes and time-saving appliances were all gone. She was living in the eighteenth century about to marry the man of her dreams who also happened to be the man of her past. Her heart did a little double skip of apprehension. Could she do this? Did she have a choice?

Isabelle stopped beside her and arched a brow in silent question. Juliana knew if she told her friend she was having second thoughts, Isabelle would sweep her away, no matter her friendship to Morgan. But Juliana wasn’t having second thoughts. She took the quiet moment to reflect on what was and what was to be.

Her vision of life with Zach was much, much different than this. But this new vision, this new life seemed right and at this moment, the moment before she opened those doors and stepped into her future, she couldn’t think of another place or another time she’d rather be than right here among ex-pirates and ladies and lords.

She smiled and nodded at Isabelle, who opened the doors to the library. Morgan stood by the fireplace. His hair was combed into a queue, his shirt was a brilliant white, his breeches dark gray, his coat a light gray. Yet a gold earring still winked at her by the light of the many candles and the look in his eye was all pirate.

Somehow her feet carried her to him. There was no music, no pomp and circumstance. It was just she and Morgan, their friends and a somewhat frightened-looking minister who clutched his Bible and whose gaze darted around the room.

She felt Morgan’s hand in hers, the warmth of his arm as it brushed hers. She listened to his deep breaths and the shuffle of feet behind her. The minister’s words were a drone in the distance. And then the words took on substance and meaning.

The minister turned to Morgan and said, “Do you, Zachary Morgan Langtree, take thee, Juliana MacKenzie as your wife? Do you vow to honor her through all the days of your life, through sorrow and pain, happiness and health?”

Juliana’s gaze flew to Morgan’s. He was looking down at her, a soft smile on his lips. She’d been trying hard not to cry but the use of his real name, the name he’d forsaken because he thought he wasn’t worthy of it, brought on the tears. Morgan disengaged his hand from hers and wiped the tears with his thumb.

“I do,” he said to the minister. He kissed her on the nose. “You deserve a last name at the least.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Juliana had been in Morgan’s home before but it’d been the night they dragged him from The Scabbard, pissed as the British liked to say. Which she learned meant drunk and not angry. Naturally she hadn’t had a chance to look at where he lived but she did now.

With a touch of apology in his voice he explained his home wasn’t as elegant as Isabelle and Reed’s estate but other than the size of the homes, Juliana couldn’t see much difference. Yes, the Parkers’ home was bigger but in all honesty she much preferred Morgan’s smaller home.

Morgan exited the coach and reached in to help her down. She learned early on to take what help she could get with the voluminous skirts that were always ready to trip her up, but she was getting better at maneuvering around in them.

Dusk was quickly approaching and shadows partially hid his home. The windows glowed with candles lit from within. The place was neat and tidy on the outside, sitting right on the quiet, cobblestoned street.

“I don’t have servants,” Morgan said, again almost apologetically. “As soon as we’re settled you can hire as many as you like.”

She snorted, still looking up at the stone edifice of what was now her new home. “Right,” she said. “Like I know the first thing about hiring servants.”

Morgan chuckled and took her hand to lead her up the four steps to the door. He opened it himself and they stepped in. Someone had been here earlier and lit the candles, casting the entryway in a warm glow. It was so much like Isabelle and Reed’s except on a much smaller scale that she wondered if Isabelle picked it out for Morgan. Juliana couldn’t picture Morgan choosing furniture.