DD-Michaels-END.rtf (9 page)

But Morgan, he suspected, could prove to be his torment if he let her, if he indulged himself in her luscious body, her active mind. Could he afford to find himself thinking of her as more than a titillating diversion, an added confusion to anyone who might look at him and suspect him of being anything more than he'd carefully taught them to believe?

Was nothing simple in these trying times? Not even bedding this incredible beauty he felt sure he could quickly convince to become a willing partner, no matter that she'd all
but challenged him
to believe he could tame her?

As their horses slowly walked along the cobbled street beside the park, as if even their mounts were reluctant to put an end to this fairly intimate interlude in the midst of the metropolis, Ethan said, "Perhaps we should part ways once I've safely delivered you to your brother's door."

Morgan turned startled eyes on him, shocked to think she could win so easily. Was having him go away
winning?
She didn't think so.

"Why? What did I say? I thought we were going to be friends, enjoy London together." Then her gaze dropped
,
and all she felt was disappointment to learn that Ethan wasn't the man she'd begun to believe he was. "It's because I told you that we Beckets aren't very important, isn't it? You say you don't care what anyone thinks of you, that you even go out of your way to be outrageous, but when it comes straight down to it, you're still the earl, and you still want to be accepted b
y
......by your
peers.
"

"Not accepted, Morgan. Tolerated is all I've ever aspired to over the years. I'm more surprised than I can tell you, but it's
your
reputation I'm thinking of now. And now we turn onto Upper Brook Street and your brother's residence, which may be all that will save my life, considering the way you're staring daggers at me."

She did long to slap his face.
"My
reputation? So how
had
you planned for our
association
to play out, Aylesford, before this attack of conscience, or perhaps vanity? Or, because of what I've told you, are you simply afraid Chance will see me as compromised and demand you marry me, see your title as a
real coup for his sister?"

"So many questions. Depending on my answers, I would have to be a hardened seducer, a socially conscious twit or a bloody coward. Why not all three?"

Belatedly, Morgan realized that
,
while she had been testing him, he had been testing her. And, damn his eyes, she was fairly certain she had been bested in their contest to see which of them was the worst, the most unsuitabl
e
—
o
r which of the two of them was to be in charge of their association.

Well, he might have put her down, but she was far from out, and was more than ready to begin again. "Why not, indeed. All three. Since that's what you want me to believe."

"Added to all the things you want me to believe about you," Ethan told her as he motioned for her to turn toward the flagway. He quickly dismounted, and took Berengaria's reins in one hand as he stood on the cobblestones, looking up at Morgan.

Yet again, Ethan understood, she'd seen through him, judged him correctly.

And she
knew.
She knew, just as he knew. They'd been going round and round since the first moment they'd looked at each other. And all to no effect. They could never be friends. They would have to be so much more than friends, or nothing at all.

"You've warned me away. I've warned you away. And now we're here, at your brother's door. What next, Morgan? We can't keep on fencing like this, or we'll exhaust each other. So, does it end here? Do you believe we should end here? We've both certainly given each other enough reasons to have it end here, whatever in hell it is we seem to have begun between us."

Morgan fought back the urge to run her gloved fingers through Ethan's dark blond hair. She'd known, from the first moment she'd seen him. And he'd known, as well. She wasn't congratulating herself, being pridef
ul
in thinking that. He'd also known, from that first moment.

Dangerous Ethan. Dangerous Morgan.

Like recognizes like.

She wet her lips, spoke carefully. "Together, we could be very dangerous, to society, to each other. Mostly to each other. Couldn't we, Ethan?"

He put a hand on hers as Alejandro gracefully stepped to his right, bumping up against his master, pushing him closer to Morgan.

"Damn horse," Ethan said mildly, near enough now to see the deeper gray rings around Morgan's pale gray irises. "I swear, he's worse than my mother."

She relaxed, only then realizing how frightened she'd been that this man, this so very different, so very intriguing man, had almost walked out of her life as quickly as he'd walked into it. Giving in, just this once, couldn't be called total defeat.

She leaned down, her face within scant inches of his, and whispered
,
"You won't leave now. Will
you? Please."

"I was only fooling myself if I thought I could. No, I'
m
not going anywhere, unless we go to hell together." Ethan's attention was now fixed on her full, slightly smiling mouth. "If I were to kiss you right now, could you promise Saul won't loose Bessie on me?"

Something inside Morgan relaxed. Lose a battle, win a war. "I can't promise that, my lord Aylesford. I suppose you'll simply have to decide if the kiss would be worth taking that chance."

Ethan's slow, knowing smile served to curl her toes inside her riding boots. He cupped his hand around the back of her neck and gently pulled her closer. "Oh, that decision was made long ago, on the road to Tanner's Roost. By both of us. Bessie, do your worst...."

Morgan allowed her eyelids to flutter closed as she waited for the touch of Ethan's mouth against hers. Not her first kiss, but she knew this one would be different. She didn't know
how
it would be different......but she was eager to learn.

"Experiencing some difficulty in dismounting, Morgan? That isn't like you."

At the sound of Chance's deadly calm voice, Morgan sat up straight on Berengaria once more, sparing a quick smile and shrug of her shoulders for Ethan before saying, "Peeking out from behind curtains now, Chance? That isn't like you. Or is that, Lord forbid, what marriage does to people?"

"Hush, Morgan," Ethan warned her quietly. "Your brother's attempting to pretend he doesn't have grounds to call me out. Be grateful, even if you can't be gracious."

"Call you out? Don't be ridiculous. We Beckets aren't that civilized. He'd just knock you down, right here in the street. Several times."

"Don't sound so delighted, imp," Ethan said, then left her still atop Berengaria
,
and mounted the
flagway, his right hand outstretched, the most recent shock in a day littered with them carefully hidden behind a genially smiling face.

How could he have known, even though Morgan had told him that her brother worked at the War Office?
 
The War Office was immense. And
yet, at this moment, the world seemed dangerously small.

Amazingly, either Chance Becket didn't recognize him, or he was as accomplished at concealing his emotions as was Ethan himself.

"Mr. Becket, please allow an explanation if you will. Your sister and I came
upon each other out on the road, and I offered my services in escorting her into London once I ascertained that she had planned to abandon her coach and insist upon riding into the city. Ah, and I am Ethan Tanner, Earl of Aylesford, and I extend my sympathies, sir, as your sister would appear to be a rare handful with a mind very much her own."

Chance Becket accepted Ethan's hand, squeezed his around it with more force than a gentleman would consider necessary, and held on, drew Ethan closer.

Ethan considered returning that pressure, but what point would it serve? He had been caught out
,
about to kiss the man's sister. Besides, if either of them physically pressed the matter, the situation could vault above the uncomfortable and into recklessness that would serve neither.

"Aylesford, is it? Your reputation precedes you, my lord," Chance said flatly, looking over at his sister. "I'm now attempting to understand what I've done to make God so anxious to punish me. It would please me if you were to tell me that you have now completed your gentlemanly duty and are eager to be shed of my troublesome sister, to whom you may not have taken an instant dislike, perhaps, but to whom I suggest you would be wise to feel a very definite indifference."

Ethan kept his expression neutral as Chance Becket released his grip, although he inwardly damned the poor reputation he'd so carefully built these last years, if only because Chance Becket obviously was aware of it. Of that
,
and probably of much more. "You're warning me away, Becket?"

"Let's be polite, Aylesford, but not that polite. I'm
ordering
you away," Chance countered. "I owe you
my thanks and a drink
,
I believe, and then you will oblige me by forgetting you ever met my sister."

He looked past Ethan again. "Morgan, get yourself down here, now. No one is present who doesn't know you're more than capable of dismounting on your own."

Ethan watched as Morgan lifted her leg over the pommel and slid gracefully to the cobblestones. She brushed off her gown, stripped off her gloves and advanced on her brother with a bright smile on her incredibly gorgeous face.

"Don't frown so, Chance. I come bearing gifts." Reaching into the pocket of the riding habit, she then held out her hand to her brother. "Apple?"

The imp! Was she afraid of anything? Ethan stepped beside Chance, knowing when to take his opportunities. "My advice, friend? Don't take it. That little Eve has already landed us both in enough trouble. Our only hope now is to join forces."

Chance looked at Ethan, one eyebrow raised in question, before he sighed, nodded and gave in to the inevitable. "As long as you know..."

"Oh, I know. So does she. And now you do, as well. It's going to be a very
interesting
Season with Miss Morgan Becket as one of its debutantes."

Morgan pushed the apple, hard, into her brother's stomach. "Soon you'll be hugging, and drooling all over each other's shoe tops. Enough of the both of you. I'm going to see Julia and Alice."

Both men watched her go before Ethan said, "Now, having been duly warned and threatened, how about we all step inside in case there are other curtain-twitchers about, and discuss how I am going to procure your sister's voucher to Almacks, hm
m
? Because, no matter what you do or say, even a brother can't be so blind about that magnificent creature. Steel yourself, Becket. I am not going away."

CHAPTER SIX

After rather hasty introductions, Morgan was whisked off upstairs by her sister-in-law, Juli
a
—a polite, minor beauty who nonetheless looked more than prepared to drag Morgan out of the room by her ear if she didn't have the good sense to go willingly.

Leaving Ethan alone with Chance Becket in the tastefully appointed drawing room. "Julia's taking her up to the nursery, to see our daughter, Alice. And probably to ask a dozen questions about you. I don't think you have to worry about me, Aylesford
,
half as much as you have to worry about my very astute wife. If she decides you're a rotter, you won't get within fifty yards of Morgan again."

"Thank you for the warning."

Ethan ha
d
been given only a few moments to visually inspect the man he'd judged to be two or three years his junior, and had come up with no familial resemblance between Chance and Morgan Becket. Absolutely none.

Chance was blond, like his wife, like Ethan himself. Tanned, but obviously fair-skinned, a well set up gentleman who seemed more than capable of knocking Ethan down. At least once.

Both Chance and Morgan were tall. Other than that, they appeared to be as "related" to each other as chalk was to cheese.

But Ethan did recognize the man, remember him. Just as Chance had recognized and obviously remembered him. Now to discover if this would make things easier for Ethan, or even more complicated. He'd much rather have Chance Becket as an ally, although if the man knew precisely what Ethan planned for his sister, Ethan felt certain he would already be a
dead man, and Becket wouldn't bother about the consequences.

Strong-willed people, these Beckets of Ro
m
ney Marsh. Perhaps it was something in the air there, at the back of beyond.

"Thank you," Ethan said, accepting the wineglass Chance offered. "I'll speak honestly here, Becket."

"Is that so, Aylesford? You know how to do that?"

Ethan answered without rancor and, in fact, with some humor. "I'm making an exception here, Becket, and being quite unusually jovial and forthcoming. But don't push, and neither will
I
.
 
I
failed to make any connection between you and your sister, as we've never been formally introduced. My mistake entirely. Not that you and your father can be held blameless as, while Saul and his Bessie are both quite formidable, the young man she calls Jacob is so thoroughly enamored of, and cowed by, your sister that he's of no worth at all."

Chance gave up his slightly threatening stance, since it didn't seem to have any affect on the earl in any case. "I've been worried about that from the moment I received my father's latest letter informing me that Jacob would be accompanying her. Jacob's a good enough lad, but that's rather like putting the pigeon in charge of the fox."

"You do seem to know your sister very well. I'd like to add that, had I realized your relationship to her, I would have made other arrangements to get her back into her coach and safely to Upper Brook Street, and gone on my way. Looking back
,
I would say those 'arrangements' would have been to bind and gag her before tying the coach doors closed."

Ethan took a sip from his glass. "I repeat, I would like to say that. But that last little bit would be a lie, and we both know it. Your sister is the most extraordinary woman I've ever met. And she seems to see straight through me, which is as unique as it is unfortunate. I'll need to keep her close these next weeks."

"
Or I need to truss her up as you suggested, and send her
back
to Becket Hall," Chance said, sitting down
in the facing chair, resting his elbows on his knees. "But she'd only run away, find
her way back here, as Morgan always most wants to be where she shouldn't be, so I might as well
not dream of such
an
easy solution. But what
do
you mean, she
sees straight through you?
I don't know what's going on. She can't possibly know what's going on."

"And she doesn't. But while the rest of London believes me to be fairly worthless and more than a li
ttl
e base, your sister's reaction to my well-rehearsed patter was to
grin
and
call
me
a liar. She then added that like recognizes like, or some such thing. That shocked me. Is there something else I should know, other than the fact that your sister would make a far better ally than an enemy?"

"You mean, other than that I'd
hang parts of you from every lamppost in London if I thought you'd touched her, and damn the minister if he thinks you're indispensable. Or so he said when he warned me to silence about your presence in the War Office that night."

Ethan smiled. "He called me indispensable? Well, now I am flattered."

"Don't be. The
last man the minister termed indispensable was sent off on a sure suicide mission three months ago. He came back to us last week, packed in pickle juice. I may not have to worry overlong about you and my sister."

"Really. I can see you and I are going to have an interesting relationship these next weeks. And we won't mention the minister again after this conversation
,
will we?"

Chance sighed, pushed his fingers through his long hair
,
which was tied at his nape. "Then this conversation is over. I can't say what I don't know. It was late, supposedly everyone was gone, and you were stepping out of his office as I was stepping in. We weren't introduced, but still I was tol
d
—
i
n no uncertain term
s
—
t
o forget I'd seen you. That's all I know on that subject."

"And it's more than enough, I think we'll agree," Ethan said, lifting his wineglass in a small salute. "Suffice it to say the gentleman and myself are involved in a small..
.
project."

"Yes, I'd worked that out for myself, thank you. And now that I've got the name to go with the face, and know the reputation that is common knowledge throughout Mayfair, I can keep myself up nights, wondering what the devil the
gentleman
is up to this time, or I can pace the floors worrying about what you think
you
might be up to with my sister. Either way, I see little sleep in my future."

Ethan smiled, liking this honest, forthright man very much. And it was time to leave the subject of the minister, and Ethan's connection to him. "You and Morgan had different mothers? I don't mean to be overly curious, but she has a rather exotic look about her that, frankly, you lack. Spanish, I'd say."

Chance gazed at Ethan for long moments, during which neither one blinked.

"She could be. Our father adopted most of us. All of us, actually, save our sister Cassandra, who is the daughter of Ainsley Becket and his deceased wife. We can trace our lineage to our own parents, some of us, but that's as far as any of us can go. You're the twelfth earl, aren't you? Steeped in family and tradition?"

One corner of Ethan's mouth twitched in amusement "Obviously your knowledge of me, although most probably damning, is also limited, Becket. When it comes to matters of bloodlines, the only ones that interest me are those of my horseflesh. So I was right? Spanish?"

"Does it matter?

Ethan shook his head. "No. Not at all. What matters is that Morgan seems to believe she won't be welcomed too deeply into society. She could be right, you know, which begs the question as to why she's here. She told me it's to marry her off, turn her into someone else's problem."

Chance sat back in his chair, blinked. "She said that?" He began rubbing the back of his neck. "She couldn't mean it. Morgan knows we would never... And she wanted to come. I think she wanted to come. Seasons are for women. Gowns, balls, all of it. I really wasn't paying attention. Damn. Maybe I should at least offer to send her back to Becket Hall."

It suited Ethan to keep Becket talking. "You're merely thinking out loud, I'm sure, and aren't seriously considering chasing the girl home to the wilds of wherever it is you all live, to marry some stammering country lad she'd be forced to murder in a week, if only to break the boredom. And where is Becket Hall, again? Ro
m
ney Marsh, I believe she told me?"

"The far end of the earth. Another few hundred feet, and we'd be floating in the Channel," Chance said, still with his mind on other things. "No. she has to stay here. There's no future for her at Becket Hall, no future there for any of the girls. We all agreed."

"You
all
agreed? This is so utterly fascinating," Ethan said, and meant it. "Tell me, just how large is a clutch of Beckets?"

"H
m
m? Oh, I'm sorry. Woolgathering. How many of us are there? Eight, actually, and our father, Ainsley. Four girl
s
—
E
leanor, Morgan, Fanny and Cassandra. Four boy
s
—
C
ourtland, Rian, Spencer and myself."

"So you have three more sisters to marry off? I don't envy you that, Becket."

"Two. Eleanor...
s
he doesn't want a Season." Chance drank down the rest of his wine. "And why am I telling you any of this?"

"I have no idea, other than the lure of my trusting face," Ethan said, smiling, "although I'm finding it
all extremely interesting. A man who would take on seven children not his own. A rare individual, I'd say. I should like to meet him one day. Does he often come to London?"

Chance Becket's expression closed, became noncommittal, and Ethan knew he had somehow gone too far. Ah, but a simple answer to a simple question, even if a lie, would have worked much better for the man, because now Ethan found himself becoming even more intrigued with Becket Hall and, most especially, one Ainsley Becket.

Being who he was, Ethan smiled politely and asked, "Have I said something wrong?"

"Not at all," Chance answered, deciding he would like very much to go upstairs and throttle his sister for introducing this dangerous man into their midst. "I'll see what's keeping the ladies. Morgan
w
ill want to thank you again, as do Julia and myself. And we don't want to keep you."

"You don't want anything to do with me at all," Ethan said, getting to his feet as Chance stood up. "Let's take the gloves off here, all right? I've had the pleasure of your sister's acquaintanceship for less than a half day, and I already can say with some certainty that, left to her own devices, and beautiful as she is, she's certain to make a shambles of her come-out."

"You can't know that."

"But I do, Becket. She's too intelligent, for one, and has a wild, independent streak in her that society may admire from a distance, but will publicly condemn. Oh, and she's much too exotically beautiful not to gain the intense animosity of every petite, blue-eyed, watery blond nincompoop currently believed to be all the fashion. You're a good man, Becket, and I'm sure your wife is a good woman. But you and your wife, forgive my immodesty, cannot take your sister where I and my title can, present her where I can, and, yes, protect her along the way. As I can. Do we understand each other?"

"You're saying that the Earl of Aylesford wishes to assist in sponsoring Miss Morgan Becket for the Season. Yes, I understand the language. And I'm not a fool, my lord. What you're saying without saying it is that you want her for yoursel
f
—
a
nd by that, my lord, you had better mean marriage, or the minister will be mourning the loss of yet another indispensable agent."

"I believe you, Becket. Marriage it is, although I don't think Morgan needs to hear that as yet."

"God, no. She'd either leap at the idea or run a hundred miles, and at the moment, I don't know which would be worse. You know, I should be delighted to think my sister has met and conquered an earl, no less, in a matter of a few hours. Not surprised, because nothing she has ever done could possibly surprise me, but delighted. That is, if the earl had been anyone save you. But fair warning, Aylesford, on two heads. Hurt her and you're a dead man. That, and don't count on her affection next week. She's only today gotten her first small bite out of London society. Her tastes may run elsewhere once she gets a few more bites."

"I believe you can safely leave those worries t
o
me, thank you."

"Sure of yourself, aren't you?"

Ethan smiled, remembering the way Morgan had looked at him when he'd been about to kiss her. "Hopeful, Becket. I'm very hopeful."

"In any case, I'll be watching you, Aylesford."

"And, as I intend a rather hot pursuit of your sister's hand, that will be easy to do."

Chance shook his head, giving up the battle of words. "As long as we're speaking with gloves off, what in hell did Morgan do in the short time you two were together?"

Ethan shrugged, then told the truth, as sometimes the truth was the most confounding of all. "She has no airs about her, or false modesty, for that matter. She knows who she is and what she wants. She's honest."