DD-Michaels-END.rtf (24 page)

But Morgan hadn't fully realized to what extent she would look so unlike the other supposed debutantes in attendance this evening. Julia, as one of the matrons, was clad in a lovely clear blue, and there were other ladies in attendance wearing a full rainbow of colors.

But the debutantes were all in white or ivory. Rather like pale, hopeful brides, Morgan thought, smiling to herself, because she knew she might look like many things, but bridelike most probably wasn't one of them. Neither was
virginal,
even if that was still technically the truth. Her brother Spencer, always happy to say whatever was on his mind, had once told her she couldn't look innocent in a nun's wimple.

"I see that smile, Morgan," Julia said, leading her toward the side of the ballroom, then sitting down beside her on one of the uncomfortable chairs lining the wall. "You've taken stock, and
now you think you are the
most attractive, interesting young lady in
the room, don't you?"

"The blonde over there, beside the woman in black, is quite beautiful," Morgan said, doing her very best not to let her smile grow any wider. "There's the small redhead we passed on our way over here. She made me feel like a large, ungainly giant. But yes, Julia, I think I can safely say I am one of the mor
e
attractive debutantes here tonight. Certainly my gown is one of the most spectacular. It makes no sense to pretend otherwise, because that would just be false modesty."

Julia sighed. "And
Lord only knows no one has ever been able to accuse you of that particular sin. You've got at least three dozen hopeful mamas sending dagger glances at both of us, by the way. I imagine his lordship is being hounded for your name, and your poor brother is fully occupied trying not to punch anyone."

Morgan shrugged. "I can't help who I am, Julia. And
,
since I can't help it, why should I deny myself some enjoyment? I
like
being looked at, admired. I.. .
I
like the power it gives me."

"Power? I never..
.
h
mm
. I never considered that, but I suppose power is a perk of the sort of beauty you present. But why would you want power?"

"Because men have it," Morgan said simply, turning to smile at her. "Power, freedom. I'm not you, Julia, earnest and steadfast, and I'm certainly not E
ll
y, although she does quietly rule, doesn't she, in her frailty, in her subdued way? I think my blood runs hotter somehow. I need more. I need to
feel
more. I need to be in charge of my own destiny."

Julia opened her mouth to inform Morgan that her sister Eleanor was far from frail of spirit
,
then thought better of it. "Oh, Morgan. Is life really such a struggle for you?"

Morgan smiled. "A struggle? Of course not. As long as I'm in charge."

"Is that why you won't consider marriage to his lordship? Because then you might lose control, have to give some of yourself over to him?"

"No
,
" Morgan answered quickly, perhaps too quickly.
"
That is..
.
I
don't think so."

Julia covered Morgan's hands with
her own. "Sweetheart, loving a man who loves you is not ceding control of anything. It's giving, and taking, and sharing. Love, marriag
e
—
n
either is a contest of wills, and there aren't any winners, any losers. When you can look at a man, let him see you for all that is good in you, all that may not be quite so wonderful, let him really
see
you, the
real
you, let him
know
you, and he does the same with you? I..
.
well, I guess what I'm saying, Morgan, is that, in love, surrender is the real victory."

Morgan realized she was blinking back sudden tears, which certainly hadn't been a part of her plan for this evening.

"I wish I could be you, Julia. Chance is so lucky. I'm afraid any man I married would be wishing me gone within a week."

"Even his lordship?" Julia asked, indicating with a slight tip of her head that Ethan and Chance were approaching, each of them carrying two glasses. "I somehow don't think he would feel that way. You two are so alike, it's frightening."

Morgan looked at Ethan, splendid in his evening clothes, and slowly smiled. "He gives me a good fight, I'll say that for him," she said, feeling the now familiar curl of desire deep in her stomach.

Julia sighed, shaking her head. "Oh, Morgan, Morgan. A good fight? Is that what you call it, how you think about it? You look so grown-up, but you still have so much to learn about men, about life. You have no idea how involved your heart is with this man, do you?"

"No, Julia," she said, suddenly more serious than she'd ever been in her eighteen years, "I don't. I really, truly do not know. He scares me. I scare myself. I've never felt like this, Julia, and I don't know what I'm feeling. And as Jacko would say, that's a bleedin' pity, isn't it?"

Morgan watched as Ethan was stopped by a pair of young gentlemen, both of whom were asking him questions at the same time. He smiled at them indulgently, then said something that had them both looking as if they might begin weeping buckets, right in the middle of the dance floor. Then Chance added something of his own to the conversation and the pair of young sprigs slammed their evening-slippered feet together, bowed and retreated.

Clearly the young gentlemen had been warned off and, just as clearly, word would travel quickly throughout the ballroom that Miss Morgan Becket was "spoken for."

"
They had no right to do that," Morgan said, trying to raise some anger inside her, but failing miserably. "Ah, well, nobody wants Chance to have an apoplexy, do we, now that he's about to become a
papa again. But I truly pity Alice, if he's going to be such a protective bear about her when the time comes for her to have a Season."

Julia allowed the redirection of what had been an unexpectedly serious conversation. "Fortunately, we still have a few years before he has to begin pacing the floor with that problem. Finally! I'm so thirsty," she added as Chance and Ethan reached them.

"It's lemonade, dearest," Chance told her, "and none too cold, either. Same for you, Morgan."

"While you two swallow down what is probably well-chilled wine," Morgan said as she accepted the glass Ethan held out to her. Then she turned to Julia. "Power. Being in charge, making decisions for us, merely because they wear breeches and fight wars. See what
I mean?"

Julia took a sip of warm, watery lemonade and grimaced. "Yes, I begin to understand your point, Morgan." She patted the empty seat beside her. "Husband? I think we need to talk."

Morgan laughed and got to her feet, handing her glass back to Ethan. "Here, dispose of this, and we'll take a turn around the room. I don't think we want any part of what these two will be saying to each other for the next few minutes."

Ethan inclined his head slightly, looked at the offending glass of lemonade, then handed both it and his own wineglass to a young man who had been standing not three feet away, openly goggling at Morgan (or her d
é
colletage). "Miss Becket has just informed me that she would be eternally in your debt if you were to see to the refilling of these glasses, Bickford."

Morgan covered a smile with her gloved hand as the towheaded youth all but ran off. "That wasn't nice. Especially since we won't even be here when he gets back."

"True," Ethan said, offering her his arm. "But better to learn young that there are bound to be disappointments in this life."

Ah, here was her opening, rather earlier in the evening than she'd planned, but still she rushed to take it. "Along with discovering that there also are those who will shamelessly and without compunction utter whacking great fibs, even to those they declare they admire."

"Ouch. I think that one might have actually drawn blood, imp." Ethan hadn't needed more than that single statement to know that he'd been correct to believe he hadn't successfully denied his mother's innocent
sharing
of information. "What do you say to a stroll in the gardens? I hear Lady Beresford paid a small fortune to steal Viscount Wallingford's head gardener."

"Then this should be an edifying and even informative interlude, shouldn't it? Seeing the flowers by moonlight, that is."

Ethan guided her across the dance floor just as couples were streaming onto it for the first set of the evening, and within moments the two of them were outside, standing on the long stone balcony that ran the length of the ballroom.

The tension between them, which had risen so quickly and unexpectedly, was nearly visibl
e
—
a
lmost sparkling in the moonlight, as was her glorious gown.

He thought, quickly and fervently, of pulling Morgan into the shadows and thoroughly kissing her full, currently pouting lips. But he had a healthy sense of self-preservation, and fought down the urge.

What truly amazed him was that he was ready, even eager, to explain his actions, something he had never chosen to do before, with anyone, even his own mother.

"This is about Dymchurch, isn't it?" he asked, looking at Morgan's straight spine as she stood at the stone railing, peering out over the flambeaux-lit gardens.

"Haven't been in one in years, dim or otherwise," Morgan said, turning to look at him. "I know you didn't have much warning, very little time to perfect your fib, but that was truly pathetic, Ethan."

He guided her toward a short flight of steps that led down into the gardens, not speaking again until they had passed two other couples strolling the paths, and reached an area where the flambeaux cast more shadows than light.

"Now, about my pathetic lie..." he began, standing close to her, lightly rubbing his palms on her bare upper arms.

"Miserable and pathetic. But I don't care that you lied," Morgan told him, reaching out to finger the lapels in his neck cloth. She couldn't be near him without touching him. "I just need the truth now. Why are we going to Becket Hall tomorrow?"

Ethan raised one eyebrow. "Straight to the heart of the matter, I see. You don't want me to grovel for a bit? Shower you with excuses? Admit that I lie even when the truth, as far as I knew at the time, would have been perfectly harmless? That I'm a bad, bad man, that deception comes to me quite naturally?"

Morgan smiled up at him, knowing she no longer had to say the words
like recognizes like
for him to hear them. "Oh, I know all of that, although the groveling might have been interesting, for a few moments. You lied because whatever you do when you travel to Dy
mc
hurc
h
—
t
wo or three times in the past year, your mother said, as I recal
l
—
i
s a deep, dark secret. So, with the lie behind us, all that's left is the secret."

"I adore the way your mind works, imp," Ethan told her, bending to place a kiss behind her ear. Then whispered, "But I can't tell you."

Morgan had expected some resistance, had even planned for it. "Very well. Chance wasn't much more forthcoming earlier today, although he did hint that lives depend on what happens when we get to Becket Hall."

Ethan was genuinely surprised, but then realized that even a brother would recognize a losing battle when Morgan brought one to him. "He said that?"

She rolled her eyes in exasperation.
"
I,
Ethan Tanner, don't lie. I may choose not to lay my entire life bare to you, or anyone, but I don't he.
Yes,
Ethan, that's exactly what he said, and I believe him. I have to, because it's the only thing that makes sense, makes me understand why Chance seemed so eager to have us both out of London. You're on some sort of mission from the War Office, I imagine, just as Chance
-
—
w
ell, never mind about that."

"My mission, as you call it, is not the
o
nly reason he wants us gone. In fact, my needs simply happened to dovetail nicely with plans he'd already mad
e
—
y
es, without your knowledge. He thinks we're on the verge of making spectacles of ourselves in public and, in that, he very well could be right."

Ethan lightly ran the tip of one finger over her full bottom lip, his voice lowered to a rather hoarse whisper. "Or don't you want me as much as I want you? Right now. Right here."

Morgan's smile began slowly, then grew wide. "See? Isn't the truth wonderful? Even freeing?" She pressed her palms against his chest, leaned in closer.

"I'm still not going to tell you, Morgan," he said, pretending a humor he didn't feel. What he felt was his blood pumping, his body stirring while he watched the smooth rise and fall of her breasts and her sweet breath teased his senses. "It's enough that I tell you I will confide everything to your father, and that Becket Hall will not be in any danger from anything I might do while I'm there."

"I'm
no longer worried about that. Chance wouldn't allow you within ten miles of Becket Hall if he thought otherwise. Is it a
spy who will tell you about Napoleon? Are you meeting a spy? Is that it? Are you taking something to him, or receiving something from him?"