DD-Michaels-END.rtf (27 page)

"No! No, I'm telling you. Mrs. Chance Becket is all right because she's Mrs. Chance. She'd never hurt him. It's a female's nature. You'd do the same with the earl, no matter what, never seeing any danger. It's a female's nature."

"Ah, marvelous. Jacob Whiting, the drunken philosopher." Morgan turned her back
on him. She'd go to the bed, pick up her dressing gown, but that would tell him she was concerned
fo
r her appearance in front of him, and she wanted him to believe she saw him as her childhood frien
d
—
s
afe, and no threat to her.

"I don't know what that mean
s
—
p
hilosopher. Tell me what that means."

"I don't have time for that right now, Jacob, and you're going to have a horrible headache tomorrow morning. I'll simply agree with you. I worried about the earl earlier, I've admitted that. But
both
Chance and I are now convinced that we have nothing to fear, nothing to worry about as far as the earl is concerned. Becket Hall is in no danger. I apologize yet again for worrying you, but I won't continue to apologiz
e
—
o
r argue with you. I know you understand that.
Good night,
Jacob."

She was in the act of reaching for her dressing gown when Jacob grabbed her upper arm, spun her around to face him. She felt his fingers digging hard into her flesh, but refused to wince. Inches away from him, she s
m
elled the sourness of his breath, felt repulsed by this lad who'd never before been more than her faithful friend..
.
her faithful puppy dog.

"Why him, Morgie? Why him? Why not me? You're too good for the likes of Jacob Whiting now, with all your fancy London clothes and parties? I've done everything you
ever wanted, Morgie. I know why you kiss my cheek, why you tease me. You want what you want. You shouldn't be doing that, Morgie. I'm a man grown, and I want what I want." His fingers squeezed even tighter, and he shook her.
"Look at me."

Morgan stared up into Jacob's eyes. Jacob's once kind, trusting, simple eyes. "We...
w
e were children. And I was wrong. Mean, selfish. I'm sorry, Jacob. I'm more sorry than you can ever know, and I've realized my mistake. I hurt you, and I know that now. But, please, this has to stop. You have to leave."

He shook his head. He was touching her. He wanted to go on touching her. Just once. Just this once, it would be Jacob Whiting holding her. Just this once. "No. Not yet. I'm owed, Morgie. I'm
owed,
and I'll take what you give him."

Morgan's eyes went wide as Jacob slammed his mouth against hers in a rough, clumsy, even pathetic kiss that tasted of ale and desperation.

His hands were on her breasts, squeezing her painfully through the thin fabric of her chemise, even as he pushed himself against her thighs.

Morgan closed her eyes, but not before a single tear escaped, to run down her cheek. She didn't move, didn't struggle, but accepted the assault as a punishment long overdue.

One last time, her mother's child.

Jacob's work-ca
llu
sed fingers struggled for a few seconds with the ribbon that held her chemise closed, then he grabbed the neckline in his fist and ripped the thin fabric to her waist in one violent movement.

He stepped back slightly, breathing heavily, his mind at last coming back from the dark place that had captured it, and looked at what he had done.

Realized what he had done.

Morgan stood before him, her arms at her sides, her hands drawn into fists. Her breasts were completely exposed to him, and he could see angry red marks where he had touched her.

He'd hurt her. God, he'd hurt her! His Morgie. How could he have...? How could he...?

"Aw, Morgie..."

Morgan saw
his confusion, the almost comical bafflement in
his eyes. And then she saw the pain. Pain
she never wanted to see
in anyone else's eyes, ever again. Pain she'd put in Jacob's eyes. Without a word, she turned, picked up her dressing gown and held it in front of her breasts.

Jacob spread his arms wide, staggering where he stood. "What have I done? Look...
l
ook what I've done! Morgie..."

"It's all right, Jacob," she said quietly. "I'm all right. This wasn't your fault. It was mine, and I know that. Just as I knew you'd never really hurt me."

Jacob lifted his hands to his cheeks, roughly pushed his fingers through his hair as he bent his head, laced them hard against the back of his neck. He should be struck blind. He should be struck dead. Odette should put a curse on him. Maybe she had....

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"So am I, Jacob," Morgan said, her playmate gone, her friend gone. Her childhood, gone.

Jacob's chest heaved with each tortured breath as he finally dared to look at her. "I love you, Morgie. I've always loved you."

Morgan squeezed her eyes closed, her fingers pressed hard
to
her mouth to keep the sobs from escaping. "I love you, too, Jacob," she told him in a whisper, watching as he turned and walked from her bedchamber,
h
is steps slow, like those of a very old man.

Only after the door closed behind him did she sink to her knees on the crumpled gown she had worn with such happiness, wrapping her arms about herself as she slowly rocked back and forth, back and forth. "I'm so, so sorry...."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Ethan pulled his watch from the pocket of his waistcoat and glared at it as he stood on the
fl
agway outside the Becket home in Upper Brook Street. Half-past nine.

He'd been inside, earlier, to find that not only was Morgan not ready to leave, but the cylinder had yet to arrive. He and Chance had spoken for some minutes, and then Ethan had come back outside, to tell his coachman to walk the team around the block to keep them from becoming chilled in the early morning air, leaving Alejandro tied to the hitching post.

He was on his way back inside when he heard his name called, and turned to see Lady Judith Quinnen and her maid stepping out from the next house down the street.

Returning to the flagway, Ethan tipped his hat, bowed to the young woman whose beauty had done nothing to blind the gentlemen of the ton to her acidic tongue and starchy ways these three seasons past. "A good morning to you, my lady," he said, wishing her on the other side of the globe. "You're out and about early."

"I am always out and about early, Lord Aylesford, which you might know, if you'd ever moved yourself to rise before noon, which I sincerely doubted until this morning. I much enjoy the park without its usual crush of cits and hopeful social climbers clogging the paths, ogling their betters."

She lifted her parasol higher on her shoulder, looking at him with her pale blue, unblinking eyes. "Such as that unfortunately flamboyant creature you teased into helping you make a spectacle of yourself last evening."

"You'd be referring to Miss Morgan Becket
,
sister of your neighbor, as circumstance would have it." Ethan pulled a thin cheroot from an inside pocket, just to watch some sort of emotion crowd into those too-placid eyes, even if it was horror at the thought he might actually
light
it in her presence.

Lady Judith shrugged a single shoulder, ignoring the cheroot. "Whoever she is. I'm sure I'm not in the least interested in such an obvious heathen."

Ethan smiled around the cheroot he now held in his teeth. "Ah,
but
my dear lady, haven't you heard? Heathens are all the crack these days. So sad you're so deadly dull, isn't it? But don't despair, it's only your third Season. Perhaps next year will be your year. Although you are getting a little long in the tooth, aren't you?"

"I never liked you, Aylesford," she said coldly.

Ethan tipped his curly brimmed beaver in acknowledgment of her insult. "See me as figuratively at your feet in gratitude, madam. And now, good day to you. I know you'll want to rush off, to beat the cits."

He struck a stick match against the rough side of one of the marble steps, smiling as he lit the cheroot while watching Lady Judith flounce off toward the park, her elderly maid all but skipping to keep up with her. Oh, yes, he was a bad man. A bad, bad man...

"U
m
m, that smells good. Papa smokes one every night after dinner, out on the terrace, and I adore the smell. Although I did become deathly sick when I stole one and tried it for myself. Who was that you've just insulted in my defense?"

Ethan turned to look up the steps, and saw Morgan standing in the doorway, a hatbox in her hand. "Does it matter?" he asked, tossing the cheroot in the direction of the gutter. "And I'd adore seeing you try another cheroot someday."

He held out his hand to her and she extended her own as she walked down the steps to him. "I'll remember that. And I'm sorry I'm so late. I
......
I'm afraid I didn't get to sleep until it was nearly dawn."

'Thinking about last night?" he asked, bending over her hand, longing to pull her fully into his arms. She was beautiful this morning, but perhaps a little pale, and her smile wasn't as bright. "Did you have second thoughts about our little..
.
exhibition?"

She shook her head, realizing that their waltz seemed long ag
o
—
a
lifetime ago. "No, not at all. I see Alejandro, but where is your coach? My baggage is already packed in my own traveling coach, save for this," she said, holding up the bandbox, "but I doubt there's room for either of us. Oh, and Louise, of course. My maid."

Ethan took the object from her, raising his eyebrows as he felt the weight of it. "She'd be in here?" he asked, hefting the box.

Morgan smiled for the first time since the previous evening. "Oh, yes, certainly. Cut into several pieces, naturally, so she'd fit. In truth, that's why I'm so tardy. She had very long legs."

"I love these occasional glimpses into the way your mind works, imp, even if they sometimes frighten me. Ah, and here's my coach, back again."

Morgan looked up at the still open doorway. "And here's Louis
e
—
w
alking quite well, all things considered."

The maid stopped when she reached the flagway, her head bowed as she dipped both knees in a quick, bobbing curtsy.

Ethan pointed to the woman as she climbed into the coach. "She really travels in with us?"

Ah, Morgan's second smile of the morning. Ethan was so good for her. Soon she'd be her old self again, even if, so far, her cheerfulness was taking enormous effort to achieve. "I distinctly remember someone telling me, only a few days ago, that a proper female should not travel without her chaperone."

Ethan discreetly scratched at his temple as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "You pick the damnedest times to be proper, imp. I was looking forward to our privacy inside the coach."

"I know," Morgan told him, also whispering. "Which is why Saul will be meeting us just as we reach the turnpike, so that he can take Louise up with him and turn
B
erengaria over to me. But one must make concessions to one's pregnant sister-in-law. She's delicate, you understand."

Ethan lightly flicked a finger against the side of Morgan's nose. "In that case, I applaud your use of troops, General," he said, grinning. "How does Jacob feel about this arrangement?"

"Jacob?" Morgan's stomach gave a small, sickly flip. "Why would you ask about Jacob?"

"I don't know," Ethan told her, confused by her question, and by the tone she'd used to ask it. "I think of him rather as a loyal hound, I suppose. One who bites if he feels his mistress is in any danger."

"Jacob will be fine," Morgan said, thankful to hear Chance's voice behind her, calling to Ethan.

"Excuse me, my dear," he said, and left her on the flagway, where she was grateful to be alone so that she could force her raw nerves back under control.

He returned in a moment, carrying a small leather satchel he quickly handed up to his coachman.

"Morgan? If you're ready, I think your brother would like to say goodbye to you once more."

She pointed toward the coach. "What wa
s
—
n
o, never mind." She lifted the divided skirt of her deep burgundy riding habit as she climbed the few short steps to the doorway, then flung herself into her brother's arms, holding him tightly as she pressed her cheek against his chest.

"Here, here," Chance said, surprised as well as pleased. "You're not passing out of our lives forever, you know. Julia swears she can't feel so sickly every morning forever, and we'll be traveling down to Becket Hall before you know it."

"I'm so sorry, Chance," Morgan said against his chest.

"Sorry?" He carefully wrapped his arms around his sister, who had, in his memory at least, never hugged anyone. He was certain she'd most definitely never apologized to anyone, for anything. "Julia and I knew what we were doing last night, and we enjoyed ourselves. There's no reason to apologize."