Patricia Rice (16 page)

Her eyes narrowed as she watched Morgan’s gaze follow a woman in a puce
robe à la française
.
Her powdered wig was dressed higher than fashion decreed, and her
square-cut bodice went without the modesty piece that should conceal her
voluptuous bosom. A gold necklace dangled between these bounteous hills
to draw the eye. Faith could not tell if Morgan eyed the necklace or
the beauty more covetously.

Irritated, she urged her mount to a faster gait,
distracting Morgan from his musings. She knew very little of men, but
she was quite certain her father was right on this: men would take
whatever was offered them, with little or no discrimination. And she had
all but offered herself to Morgan last night.

She must be ten times a fool. She was no more than
cook or housekeeper to him. He called her pretty names and brought her
lovely presents because he was a charmer and wished to keep her
services. If she offered him more than he bargained for, she had only
herself to blame.

Morgan caught up with her and threw her a puzzled
look, but the street was growing too noisy and crowded to carry on a
conversation. Deciding they had gone far enough, he guided her toward a
livery on a nearby street and helped her to dismount.

“We’ll go from here by foot, lass, if you do not
mind. I’ve no wish to be pulling you out from under a horses’ hooves if
the mare gets nervous.” Morgan caught Faith’s waist and brought her down
beside him, not immediately letting her go. He tilted her chin with his
finger. “A smile,
cailin
, I would have a smile from you. Have I done aught that is wrong this day?”

Faith shook her head but did not meet his gaze. “You
need not lead me about like a child. I can find my way if you wish to
go about your own business,” she answered diffidently, without the smile
he requested.

“What business? Did ye think I’d spend the day
robbing people at gunpoint? Lass, have a little of what your name
proclaims you to be. I’ll not shame you like that.”

Astounded that he would think such a thing of her,
Faith looked up to meet his fierce gaze. “I never thought such a thing. I
just thought...” She stumbled over speaking her wayward thoughts, but
his gaze demanded reply. “I thought... perhaps there were
men
things you wished to do. You cannot be interested in herbs and seeds.”

Green eyes lit with irreverent laughter. He released
her chin and ran his broad hand seductively over the curve of her
waist. “’Tis
men
things that hold my interest,
to be sure, but why would I look elsewhere than my very own faerie
woman? Let us proceed to the herbs and seeds, my lady, and I’ll take
care of my business while you take care of yours.”

Faith studied him uncertainly, not knowing what to
make of this statement. Deciding he was teasing her, she nodded and
allowed herself to be led away. Morgan’s hold upon her waist was light
and protective, not anything to fear. Why did she feel as if he meant a
good deal more when he held her like that?

The stableman led the horses away, struggling to
hold the restive stallion in line. Morgan watched them go with a frown,
but then whistling, he led Faith toward the markets. She did not yet
understand her powers as a woman, and he rather preferred it that way.
He had no time or patience for a woman’s ploys for attention. A woman
like that lightskirt down the road would never be content with the
isolation he could provide. She would soon find the inn and spread her
legs for every man who offered her a trinket. But Faith, now...

Ahhh, Faith, the innocent. Morgan bent her an amused
look as she eagerly scanned the market stalls. Perhaps she appeared
little more than a child, but he had bedded more voluptuous beauties
with less passion than Faith possessed in her little finger. It wasn’t
the wrapping that counted, but the contents, and Faith’s delicate
wrapping concealed a powder keg of explosives, he was willing to gamble.
Just the thought brought a stirring to his loins, and he idled the
morning away imagining how and when he would finally take her.

His thoughts were not all lustful ones, however.
When Faith indicated an interest in a bunch of new onions, Morgan
reached for his purse, but to his surprise, Faith stayed him. With a
firm set to her jaw, she announced the greens were much too dear, and
she would look elsewhere. The peddler instantly raised a protest, and
the two set down to serious haggling, while Morgan listened in
amazement. It was the first time that morning that he heard his shy
companion’s skills, but not the last.

By luncheon, Faith had flirted with a butcher to
achieve the best cut of meat, carried on a learned discussion with the
herbmonger and doubled her purchase for half the price, and wistfully
rejected the purchase of a blue ribbon for her hair because the man
counted on Morgan to pay the higher price and wouldn’t believe Faith
could walk away. Morgan almost fell for it, except something in the
determined shake of her russet curls warned he would be in dire trouble
should he undermine her pride. He bought the ribbon elsewhere for less,
bringing the brilliant smile he had requested earlier.

By the time they found a respectable inn and stopped
for a midday meal, they were loaded down with paper-wrapped parcels.
Faith contentedly arranged them all in a straw basket Morgan purchased
for the occasion, and made no complaint that all she had seen of the
city was a street full of market stalls. Her smile was just as rapturous
as if he had presented her with the crown jewels. More so, Morgan
decided, for she wouldn’t know what to do with jewels.

In a tavern full of flamboyant silks and satins—and
that just the men—Faith’s modest appearance succeeded in causing quite a
stir. Morgan noted with satisfaction the heads that turned as she
walked by on his arm, and he signaled the proprietor for a private
parlor. Despite her poverty, Faith had the grace of a duchess. Men would
always notice her, but she didn’t seem to be aware of that.

There wasn’t an ounce of vanity in her, Morgan
observed as she followed him into the privacy of a small chamber. He
ordered for both of them, then turned his attention back to his lovely
companion. Her cheeks were still flushed with the morning’s triumphs.
Her eyes sparkled with interest as she studied the tiny parlor with its
brocade settee and blackened oils on the walls. He doubted if she had
ever eaten in a private parlor.

Her slender white throat would look well wrapped in
pearls. He knew she deserved a gentleman’s uncalloused hands, but the
likelihood of her ever meeting the right sort of gentleman was small.

He watched the color rise from her breasts to her
throat and realized he was staring. With an apologetic smile, Morgan
took her hand. “You’re a beautiful woman, lass. What are you doing being
seen with the likes of me?”

Faith blushed deeper. “Don’t waste your wicked
tongue on me, Morgan de Lacy. It’s polished enough, and you’ll not be
turning my head.”

“Aye, and you’re a hard woman to win, me Faith, but
I’ll have you yet. Where would I be without a haggler like yourself at
my side? Had I only met you sooner, I’d be a rich man this day. Say
you’ll never leave me,
cailin
.”

Faith responded with a relieved smile. “I’ll not
leave you if you promise to show me the lions. I’ve never seen lions.
Are they as magnificent as I have heard?”

She didn’t believe a word he said, and rightly so,
Morgan supposed. Nevertheless, she would be his, and tonight would not
be soon enough for him. Still holding her hand, he leaned back in the
chair. “They are poor, mangy beasts that have lived in squalor too long.
I cannot imagine what it is the English feel when they bring a mighty
creature to its knees, but I have no stomach for it. If that is the
price of your fair body, I must pass with regrets. Perhaps you would
compromise and do me the pleasure of attending the theater with me
tonight? I cannot find you a box seat, but I shall do the best I can.”

His references to her body made Faith glance up
quickly, but Morgan’s change of topic to a theater performance brought
sparkles to her eyes.

“A real theater? One with lights and everything? Not just a puppet show?” she demanded eagerly.

“Covent Garden, on my honor.” Morgan crossed himself solemnly.

“But I am not dressed!” She threw a look down at her gown.

Morgan pressed her hand reassuringly. “We will have
to sit in the pit, not among the nobility, lass. You’ll be more
beautiful than any other around us, I promise.”

Had she known the ride this highwayman planned for
the night, she would have shivered in earnest. Morgan watched her eager
expression with the hunger of a cat about to pounce. He would wine her
and dine her and woo her, and when it was too late for anything else, he
would bring her back here and they would ride together to a world of
passion. Then there would be no further questions of her ever leaving
him, and he could go back to the business of robbing the Sassenachs
blind.

More than a little pleased with his plan, Morgan
didn’t argue when Faith refused the ale the waiter brought. There was
all of the day and night to go, and he didn’t wish her ill with drink.

After luncheon they meandered through the market and
down to the Strand, where Morgan pointed out Somerset House, the Savoy
Palace, the law courts, and Temple Bar. He turned back toward the
markets before they strayed too close to the devil’s hole of Fleet
Street and its environs. The prisons and the motley denizens living in
their shadows cut too close to home.

They passed by innumerable coffeehouses, where
gentlemen sipped their favorite beverages, read their newssheets,
discussed the latest Jacobite scandal, or laid wagers on the completion
date for Westminster Bridge.

Faith drank in the sights and sounds of the bustling
streets. She stopped at a bookseller’s and admired the latest edition
by Goldsmith, dawdled before a display of straw hats in a milliner’s
window, and watched the rainbow of silks and satins on parade around
her. She refused Morgan’s offers to buy her any of these, but she
accepted his offer of a candied apple from a street vendor and a nosegay
of flowers from an urchin. She sniffed the flowers with delight and
offered him the same smile he would have received had he given her
diamonds and pearls.

Morgan satisfied his conscience by knowing no honest
man would have her after she had spent the winter with him. He was only
doing the right thing, albeit in the wrong way. Had he the proper time
and circumstances, he would woo her and wed her and then bed her, but
there wasn’t time for those niceties.

So, with Faith’s best interests in mind, Morgan
bought a jug of wine, a hunk of cheese, and a loaf of bread, and
escorted her to an evening at the theater.

Romeo and Juliet offered the most promising performance.

Tears poured down Faith’s cheeks as the final
curtain closed, and she clung to Morgan’s arm as they stumbled with the
crowd out of the theater.

“Why didn’t you tell me it had an unhappy ending?”
She hiccuped, a result of the wine she had consumed throughout the
evening. Her head felt giddy, but she was perfectly sober, she knew. And
angry. Plays shouldn’t end like that.

Morgan glanced at her with surprise, and smiled at
her tearstained face. “It’s Shakespeare. I thought you would be familiar
with it.”

Faith shook her head, loosening a few more curls.
“My father didn’t believe in fiction. I’m glad I never read Shakespeare,
if that’s what he wrote. They died! That’s a terrible way to end the
play. People aren’t supposed to die in make-believe. They’re supposed to
live happily ever after. People only die in real life.”

Morgan’s smile was indulgent. “You’ve had a trifle
too much wine, my faerie. The best fiction reflects real life.
Shakespeare wrote humorous plays too, but his tragedies are said to be
the best.”

“Well, I don’t want to see tragedies. I can cry
easily enough over the tragedies I see around me. Don’t ever take me to
another, Morgan de Lacy. I’ll never forgive Shakespeare for writing such
a horrible play.”

He chuckled at the petulant pout of her lower lip.
The wine had loosened her rigid inhibitions very successfully. Here was
the real Faith Montague, not the starched-up doll she tried to portray.
He was glad he’d never met the strait-laced father who had transformed
the magical child into a pasteboard caricature of himself. There were
emotions buried deep, indeed, behind the gray walls of her eyes. Tonight
he would start plumbing for them.

With that thought in mind, Morgan caught Faith’s
waist and swung her into the darkness of a narrow alley. She gasped with
surprise, but did not pull away when he leaned over her, one hand
braced against the wall behind her. “I apologize and I shall never take
you to another tragedy again. Will you ever forgive me?”

“There is nothing to forgive, Morgan,” she said
politely. “I thank you very much for the evening. I have never seen
anything like it, and I would not have you think me ungrateful.”

“Then let us seal the evening with a kiss, my love. All good evenings should end with a kiss.”

He made no move to take what he wanted, but waited
for her acceptance. Faith’s heart pounded against her chest. To kiss
this man was as dangerous as to ride into his path on a moonless night,
but she could not say no. The wine spun through her head with a mystical
magic, accelerating the fire he stirred in her blood with just his
masculine proximity.

“Just one kiss?” Faith inhaled sharply as Morgan bent toward her.

“Just one kiss.” His wine-flavored breath caressed her cheek.

His arm tightened about her waist, lifting her.
Breathlessly, she rested her hands against the breadth of his hard
chest. The first touch of his lips spun her senses, and then she was
lost to the sweetness of his passion, the fierceness of the need
overtaking her.