Patricia Rice (29 page)

Morgan ran his hand up and down Faith’s her arm and
shook his head as if to clear it. He couldn’t have known anyone would
deliberately set a trap for him. That was carelessness enough, and he
was prepared to pay for his mistake. But they weren’t going to let him.
He stared at his company in bewilderment, then glanced down to Faith’s
trusting gaze, and gave in.

“I wanted to take care of you, lass,” he whispered, as if in explanation.

“I know, but can I not take care of you just a
little too? I don’t like being helpless, Morgan. Being helpless is the
worst feeling in the world. Let me help, please.” Tears stung her eyes
as she watched him, praying there would be something, anything, that she
could do.

“Lass, if I knew what to tell you, I would, but I
see no way of escape. I know no one in this city who will help, and your
family would only gladly see me hang. I suppose your John Wesley would
be happy to pray for my immortal soul, but I’d rather not have religious
palavering until I am gone, thank you. Speak for me in your prayers,
and go with Miles, Faith. There’s naught else I can tell you.”

Faith turned an inquiring look to the young
solicitor, who nodded silently. He had a plan, then. Since he said
nothing, she assumed it was one that would not gain Morgan’s approval.
Biting her lip, she looked uncertainly to the immovable man at her side.
He was watching her, not the lawyer. She offered a weak smile and stood
on her toes to press a kiss to his rough cheek. “You will let me visit
you again?”

Morgan’s expression was bleak. “’Tis no place for
you here, my treasure. If you must plot and plan, let Miles be your
messenger. I’m trusting him with your life, and that means more to me
than my own.”

“Then think what you would do were our places
exchanged.” With this tart reply, Faith stepped from his hold. She
wanted his kiss, needed his reassurance, but she would not beg. She
faced him as the equal she had declared herself to be.

“You would do better to keep me leashed, lass, but
’tis your choice if you wish me otherwise. I’m not a man to gratefully
take his hat and walk away.”

“I didn’t think you were.” Feeling slightly
breathless at the force she sensed behind his words, Faith returned to
Miles and Toby and signaled her readiness to leave. She felt as if
Morgan had fully unclothed her right before their eyes, and even if they
didn’t understand the meaning of his words, she knew his intent. Should
she ever gain Morgan’s freedom, she would be in his bed again, and
subject to his pleasure or displeasure at whatever she did to free him.

“You’ve done what?” Thomas asked in horror.

The wretched heir sipped his wine and regarded
Thomas with amusement. Edward set the glass aside and flipped over
another card on the game of patience before him. “I’ve caught the
highwayman. It should be only a matter of time before his doxy shows up.
We’ll discover once and for all if we have our missing heiress.”

Thomas turned abruptly toward the window and away
from the sight of his cousin. It infuriated him every time he looked at
that fat dumb animal and thought “but for the grace of God go I.” To
hell with God. Had his uncle not been born the elder of his father by a
mere few minutes, it would be he sitting there in that rich velvet
chair, unhurriedly awaiting the inheritance of title and vast amounts of
wealth. As it was, he had no expectations at all, or none that he did
not make for himself.

Thinking of the actress waiting in rooms not more
than a few streets from here, Thomas glanced at his reflection in the
window. Why in hell had Edward agreed with his plan to set up an actress
as their lost relation if he meant to keep on searching for the real
one? Stupid pig, he probably hadn’t thought at all. Edward just liked
playing childish games, and this was another to him.

“And what will you do with her once you find her?” Thomas asked.

“One can only wonder. Shall I marry her, do you
think?” Edward didn’t even glance up as he made this improper suggestion
threatening the borders of consanguinity.

Thomas winced as his own idea was spoken aloud. He
gave the window another glare before turning a bored expression back to
the room. “And bring a highwayman’s bastard up as the next marquess? How
droll you are, Cuz.”

Edward shrugged. “Well, then, perhaps you shall
marry her. But you must share the wealth with which you will undoubtedly
be rewarded, for it is I who found her, after all.”

Over his dead body, Thomas muttered inwardly, reaching for the decanter. Or better yet, over Edward’s dead body.

Contemplating that pleasantry, Thomas smiled again.
He could marry or dispose of the missing heiress, it made no matter. One
way or another, he would have his hands on her wealth. Then he would
have all the time in the world to accomplish the rest of his goals.

Giving the fat earl’s bent head an almost benevolent
look, Thomas sipped his wine. Being a marquess should be a very
pleasant thing indeed.

***

“The man who nabbed Morgan is a runner, but he is also in the employ of your uncle, Lord Stepney.”

Faith gripped her fingers and stared at her plate as
Miles explained what little he had been able to find out about Morgan’s
arrest. The family she had hoped to find only a little less than a year
ago now made her stomach roil and churn, and she could barely stand to
hear another word.

Miles couldn’t explain why they would hunt and
badger Morgan while making little or no attempt to find herself. He
couldn’t even swear that Morgan had been the target of their trap, but
Miles wasn’t a believer in coincidence. Although Faith believed the Lord
moved in mysterious ways, this wasn’t the Lord’s work. Her uncle had
counted on being robbed, and planned for Morgan to be followed.

“Perhaps, if I were to go to him and plead Morgan’s
case, he would drop the charges,” Faith suggested, terrified of the idea
but willing to try anything.

Miles reached across the table to pick up her
neglected fork and hand it to her. “Haven’t you heard a word I said?
Your uncle is a dangerously clever man. Your cousin is merely dangerous.
I know little or nothing of the marquess other than he has a heart of
stone. Are these the kind of people you wish to plead with? Don’t you
think they might possibly be hoping you will do just that? I cannot
imagine how they might have made the connection between you and Morgan,
but it seems very reasonable to believe they have.”

Miles hadn’t mentioned the bank account to Faith,
but it was only one more piece of the puzzle. Those papers at the bank
verified her existence. He had been very careful to keep Morgan’s name
away from that account, but the connection was there somehow.

When Faith halfheartedly lifted a forkful of food,
Miles tried to explain his intentions. “Morgan wishes to keep you
protected. Your family has not yet acted in your behalf, and it seems
reasonable to assume that they will not. It also seems reasonable to
assume that they believe there is some association between you and
Morgan. I believe if we can convince them that you are not who they
believe you are, we can divert them from your trail. With any luck, they
will lose interest in Morgan after that. It will be much easier to pry
him out of prison if there are no wealthy Montagues breathing down the
judge’s back.”

“I do not understand how my family’s intentions can
make a difference to a judge. Morgan is in all probability guilty. Even I
cannot deny that. Shouldn’t we just be planning some way to help him
escape?”

Toby’s eyes lit at this suggestion, but Miles
frowned. “He would have to live in hiding for the rest of his life if he
escaped, and that’s not what Morgan wants. Leave the British system of
justice to me. It might be costly, but I can arrange things, if only the
Montagues are out of the picture.”

“I’ll admit, I do not understand, but if you can arrange things, what do I need to do to help?”

Miles wondered how to broach the subject that would
save Morgan and shackle this innocent to a notorious reprobate for life.
Or if he should. Shaking his head at the thought of denying his client
for a woman he scarcely knew, Miles launched into his argument. “There
is a way you can help, but it is asking a great deal of you. Morgan has
never explained his relationship with you, and I hesitate to ask without
knowing your place in his life.”

Faith looked up and caught his eye at that. “I
daresay whatever you are imagining is close enough to the truth. I
cannot speak for Morgan, but he saved my life and I would do anything
for him. Does that answer your question?”

“Would you have any objection to marrying Morgan?”
Miles watched the shock appear and disappear in her eyes. The question
was an old one, then, and only shocking in his presenting it. Good.

Faith fought the battle within herself only briefly.
Morgan was a thief and she had told him she would never marry a thief.
It didn’t matter. She could not allow him to hang. Slowly she nodded her
head.

“I would hear that said more firmly, Miss Montague.
Once the ceremony is performed, you will be legally bound. Think hard on
what that means.”

Remembering Morgan’s hungry eyes on her and the
threat that lingered between them, Faith knew what Miles was asking. A
wife became her husband’s property. She understood that much. Morgan had
no wish to give up his occupation for her, nor share her bed if it
meant keeping him bound to the cottage. That was not a basis on which to
build an everlasting marriage.

Yet in her heart there was no other choice. Raising her head, Faith met Miles’s eyes. “I will marry him. How will that help?”

Miles took another sip of his drink before giving
her the rest of his suggestion. “By giving you a new identity. I mean
for you to marry him under the name you are known by outside of here. I
want it on record that you are one Alice Henwood of Epping Forest. With
Morgan married to such an obscure personage, your family will no longer
have to worry that he conspires with a Faith Henrietta Montague.”

Before Faith could reply, Toby shoved back his
chair. “Now, wait a minute!” He glared from Faith to the lawyer.
“Jack... Morgan ought to marry her right enough, but all legal-like.
Faith’s a lady; she deserves that much.”

Faith covered Toby’s hand reassuringly, but it was
Miles who replied. “The legality of what I have in mind has never been
tested in court. On the face of it, they will be legally wed. If they
wish, they can have another ceremony later with their real names. My
main concern is that it be done immediately and made known.”

Faith frowned. “But there is not time for banns, and
how can we be wedded if Morgan is in prison? I thought there were all
sorts of complications in getting married. How can what you suggest be
legal?”

Miles smiled. “The law is a fascinating field, Miss
Montague, one that criminals and rascals delight in twisting to their
own use whenever profitable. Parliament has been trying to shove legal,
proper marriages down the throats of the English citizenry for these
last fifty years, but they have not yet succeeded. All they have
succeeded in requiring is a license and that the ceremony be registered.
The church demands banns and so forth, but the church has no
jurisdiction over everyone. That’s where the loophole begins. I will
find someone who will not only marry you but also do it without asking
for your documents or caring what name you use, and, for a sum, will
date the certificate to any time I request. As I said, the legality of
such a marriage has never been tested, but they are performed by the
hundreds every day.”

Faith could tell by Miles’s expression that this
would not be the kind of marriage she had in mind. It would be a piece
of paper that could be produced in court, and no more. But if that was
what was required to free Morgan, she had little choice.

“If that is what it takes to save Morgan, I will
agree.” She said the words firmly, although her insides quaked. Whatever
the legality of the ceremony, she was committing herself for life. Her
beliefs would allow no other choice.

“Are you certain? I will hold you under no
misapprehension, Miss Montague. The ceremony could very well be valid
and lasting. Even should you decide to return to your powerful family,
they may not be able to break it. You might wish to consider this awhile
longer.”

 “I am trusting you will make it as
valid as can be, Mr. Golden. And I was under the impression that haste
was of importance. How soon can it be done?”

Miles set his chair back down on all four feet and
stood up. “Be ready first thing in the morning, Miss Montague. I have
yet to talk to Morgan of this, but sometimes it is easier to confront
him with the inevitable, wouldn’t you agree?”

Faith bent her lips in a weak imitation of a smile.
“I agree.” Morgan would be furious. They both knew it. He would be
climbing the walls and bending bars and forcing his escape more
certainly than Jack Shepard ever did should he learn of their plans.
Jack Shepard ended up on the gallows.

***

Morgan stared in astonishment when the little
conclave poured into his narrow cell the next day. He rose from his
bench, shoving his shirt into his breeches and brushing his hair back
from his face as he studied their faces, acutely aware of the
humiliating chains on his wrists. The man wearing a priest’s robe and
carrying a little black book was like no priest he had ever seen. His
double-chinned jaw still sported yesterday’s beard and his filthy
full-bottomed wig hadn’t seen soap in many a day. The man’s black smock
and white collar bore the stains of half the food that had gone to fill
his stout stomach.

Morgan scarcely spared Miles a second glance, but
turned directly to Faith. She looked pale and nervous, but someone had
given her a small bouquet of Michaelmas daisies. She had exchanged her
dowdy linen for a lace scarf that revealed enough of her glorious curves
to make a blind man drool. A hood hid her hair but framed her enormous
eyes and tiny chin.