Patricia Rice (35 page)

Toby looked resigned as he handed Faith into a
wooden chair set beside the door. “I’d be grateful, ma’am, if you could
offer a cup of tea or suchlike. She’s not been well and the journey’s
been a long one.”

Faith untied her hood and let it fall back to her
shoulders. Her cheeks were pale against the unruly russet curls, but she
managed a faint smile. “I apologize for intruding, Mrs.... Needham?”

The innkeeper looked perplexed. but bobbed a curtsy
of respect at Faith’s aristocratic accent. “Bess Needham, at your
service, my lady. Let your young man be about his business while we
share a cup of tea. You look all tuckered out. Do you have family here?”

Faith gestured to Toby. “Mr. O’Reilly has family
here. He has generously offered to see me settled. I am Alice O’Neill.
It is good to meet you, Mrs. Needham.”

By the time Toby returned from his explorations,
Faith had the landlady’s life story and list of woes without revealing a
hint of theirs. Bess Needham had been in service with a duke until she
had married and come away to the colonies. She sent Toby a shrewd look
when he reappeared in the private parlor where they were taking tea.

“Sit down and have a sip of tea, Mr. O’Reilly. I’ve
been telling Mrs. O’Neill that she may stay here while she looks about
for a place of her own. A lady in her delicate condition shouldn’t be
wandering about in this weather. I’ll take good care of her. You needn’t
worry about her anymore.”

At this effective dismissal, Toby shot Faith a worried look. She gave him a smile and touched his callused hand.

“I am trying to persuade Mrs. Needham that she needs
to keep the inn open. You will always be welcome, Toby, but I don’t
want you to feel responsible for looking after me. Your brother will be
thrilled to see you, and I will be happy to have you here. So you will
have two homes while you look for one of your own.”

The look of distress on the lad’s face softened the
landlady’s generous heart. Bess poured him a cup of tea and handed him a
large plate of molasses bread. “We won’t send you out this night. In
the morning you can make inquiries. If your brother doesn’t have need of
you, perhaps you could help us out here. If the taproom is reopened,
we’ll need a man about the place.”

Toby looked in astonishment from Faith’s serene
expression to the smiling landlady. In less than an hour, Faith had
found home and employment, and convinced a new widow to take on the
insurmountable task of running an inn and tavern without the help of a
man’s strength.

The cold March night kept his hosts from opening the
doors at the end of the ballroom, but Morgan threw a longing look in
that direction. The heat of a thousand candles and hundreds of
overdressed bodies pressed around him, and the stink of their unwashed
skin perfumed with acrid scents made his head ache. His gorge rose at
the sight of the pomaded and powdered hair of the woman dancing on his
arm. He was certain she had not washed that creation since he had seen
her the week before. It made his own scalp itch to think of it.

And as usual, such thoughts turned his memories to
Faith. She had always smelled clean and fresh. Her hair had gleamed with
health and not pomade. She had worn only the lightest of fragrances,
scents so subtle he could never be certain if they were of perfume or
her own skin. She had been an enchantment that Morgan had never
experienced before and obviously never would again. He didn’t know why
he had ever thought that she belonged in these crowded ballrooms,
breathing the same air as these polluted souls. Perhaps somewhere in
this mob there were characters as pure as Faith’s, but he wasn’t
destined to meet them. He gazed into the face of the painted beauty on
his arm and gave her the smile she expected. She simpered, and Morgan
had all he could do to keep from shoving her aside and striding out of
the room.

Tonight he would take her to her chambers and give
her what she wanted, and in the morning he would tell the general just
how to enter the rooms and where her jewels were kept. She was a whore
and another man’s wife and she deserved to be robbed of what she had
gained by selling her body, but Morgan couldn’t for the life of him
remember why he had determined this would even his score with the
Sassenachs. He must have been mad. If he continued as he was, he would
be as wretched as they.

A footman came to stand at the top of the steps to
announce still another contingent of guests to this already overcrowded
room. Morgan scarcely paid attention to their arrival, but the music
stopped as their names were called, and the sound brought him to
attention.

“The Marquess of Mountjoy, Earl Stepney, Lady
Lettice Carlisle, Miss Faith Henrietta Montague, and Mr. Thomas
Montague.” The intonations rang out clearly, leaving Morgan to gape
openly at the new arrivals, his heart pounding as he searched the
arriving throng.

It took only a moment’s work to know that Faith
wasn’t among the elegant people descending the stairway, despite the
servant’s introduction. Sharp disappointment pierced him, easing only
briefly when Morgan discovered the delicate woman clinging to an older
gentleman’s arm, but it was clear even from across the room that she was
elderly. Disappointment once more wrapped him in cold embrace, but
Morgan turned his cynical gaze on the frail woman. Thin, wrinkled arms
reached from beneath a swathe of black lace covering regal shoulders and
proudly held head. This, then, was the woman he had seen so long ago
entering Montague House.

Morgan’s gaze drifted to the only other female in
the group, and he froze. His black glare should have scorched the
impostor even from this distance, but she was too caught up in her
charade to notice one man in a room of elegant gentlemen. He watched as
she smiled at the rogue at her side, whom Morgan identified immediately
as the man who had offered him ten thousand pounds to keep Faith away.
He was beginning to understand the stakes at play here, and his jaw
clenched.

The woman was no more the image of Faith Henrietta
Montague than Morgan was God. By the saints, he would have her
crucified. Were they blind? This impostor was a whore, pure and simple.
Her painted face sparkled with expensive diamond dust and wore the
patches of fashion to accent features that were crude in comparison to
Faith’s delicacy. Her bountiful bosom was held up by a tight corset that
hid the sag of more years than Faith’s nineteen. The gold crepe gown
she wore rode so low that she was in danger of falling out of it. Did
the fools think his little Methodist would ever display herself so? They
had to be mad, all of them.

Morgan turned his gaze to the last member of the
party, Edward Montague, Earl Stepney. It had been dark the night he had
robbed the man’s coach, but he wouldn’t forget his form. The earl was a
massive man, but Morgan wasn’t fooled by his size. He moved with the
agility of an athlete, not the cumbersome gait of unhealthy lard. The
man was definitely dangerous and should be avoided at all costs.

But Morgan couldn’t let this masquerade go unmarked.
What did they hope to accomplish by passing off that London molly as
Faith? Morgan’s gaze returned to the older woman and gentleman being
greeted by their host. Brushing off the irate woman trying to cling to
his arm, Morgan eased in the direction of the stairway, all thought of
the evening’s adventure lost.

The marquess had two living heirs and had written
off his younger son without a qualm. Morgan’s gaze focused on Lady
Lettice Carlisle. There was no doubting Faith’s heritage if one just
looked upon this fragile woman with her proud bearing. The grief in her
eyes could tell stories, and Morgan smelled their victim now.

He bided his time, watching the fools introduce
their “newly discovered” relative. The painted “Faith” hung on to
Thomas’ arm, marking her place in this charade. Morgan felt no sympathy
for the Montague saddled with a strumpet. But for Faith’s sake, he would
know if the Lady Carlisle might be interested in her real
granddaughter.

It was remarkably easy to reach her side. He cut the
lady off from her usual cronies by placing himself between them, and
backed her into a nook behind a statue where she couldn’t be seen from
the room. If Edward Montague noticed, there would be a price to pay, but
Morgan counted on the crowd and the element of surprise.

Lady Carlisle studied Morgan’s hard glare. She
glanced back to the stairway to show she realized she had become
separated from the others. Any decision to escape halted when Morgan
spoke.

“Are you party to that strumpet’s charade or do you really have some interest in your granddaughter?”

Lettice observed him closely. “I don’t know what
you’re talking about, sir. She is my granddaughter. She has the papers
to prove it.”

“And you always believe what you read? Did she show
you the originals?” He read the doubt in her eyes. She was no fool, but
she had pride.

“No, of course not, but after all she’s been through...” She hesitated at his sneer.

“Your granddaughter has been through hell, my lady,
but she still has her parents’ marriage papers and her own birth
records. She is very much like you, you know.” Morgan surprised himself
with these words. He had only meant to stir doubt, to force her to
question more closely, but the urge to talk to this slender woman was
strong. She reminded him so much of Faith....

The lady’s eyes lit with eagerness. “You know her?
You have seen her? Where? Please, you have to tell me. Is she well? She
is still alive, isn’t she? Please, whoever you are, tell me the truth.”

Now he was in over his head. This woman couldn’t
look after herself and certainly couldn’t protect Faith, but Morgan
couldn’t ignore her pleas either. He, too, wished he knew where Faith
was. All he could offer the lady was old news, and he did that
hesitantly.

“The last I saw of your granddaughter, my lady, she
was alive and well. I cannot tell you more than that. I know of a man
who might know more, but for Faith’s protection, I would not give away
his name. I suspect there are those who would see her harmed.” Morgan
threw a glance in the direction of Thomas and his brazen mistress.

Lady Carlisle followed his glance. “Yes, I see. It is difficult, but not impossible. I must find her, sir. Can you not help me?”

Morgan bowed. “I will mention your request to the
man I spoke about. I can do nothing more. Good evening, my lady.” He
turned and strode away as quickly as he could, losing himself in the
crowd.

He had been mad to confront her. With any luck,
Faith had successfully escaped this decadent society. What on earth had
possessed him to reveal what he had refrained from telling anyone for so
long? Why didn’t he just tell the woman he was Faith’s husband while he
was putting a gun to his head?

He shouldn’t have thought about that. The pain
behind his eyes increased, and he aimed for the doors to the outside,
completely forgetting his assignment for the evening.

Her husband. He was her husband, and he had allowed
her to get away. There were good reasons for that, but Morgan had long
since forgotten them. The hole where she had been in his life hurt worse
than an amputated limb. He had spent months not thinking about what he
had done. Why had he chosen to do so tonight?

The fresh March air hit him like a cold bath. Morgan
sent for his mount and waited, drinking in the breeze like a starving
man. The stench of a thousand chimneys ruined the effect, and when he
had his horse under him, he turned it toward the open roads of the
country. He had need of real air, of the wind in his face and the stars
in the sky. To hell with the city. Tonight he would ride the roads
again.

The crawling scum of the streets cursed as Morgan
raced by. As he neared the heath on the outskirts of the city, two
thieves on the hookpole-lay tried to bring him from his horse, but the
stallion was too quick and Morgan’s sword caught one by the arm and sent
him groaning into the ditch.

As the countryside flew up around him, Morgan eased
the stallion’s pace. He had been thinking about going back to raising
horses. He would never earn his fortune that way, but the dissolute life
he led now left little for savings. There was scant satisfaction in
bleeding the Sassenachs dry vicariously.

He mingled with the society he had hoped to gain at
Faith’s side, but it hadn’t made him rich or happy. He must be mad to
fall into the thief-taker’s web. It was time he got out.

The horses were his first love. He still had the
earnings from the sale of the mares. He could start a new line. Perhaps
he would go back and look at the cottage again. He might make something
of it for a while. It was not the kind of place gentlemen would go to
purchase expensive mounts, but he needed to find and breed the mares
first. That would take a little time. He would think about selling them
later.

The thought of the cottage eased Morgan’s mind a
little. It had only been a roof over his head until Faith came, but his
memory of it now was strong and good. He needed some of that goodness
tonight. Perhaps a little bit of Faith would rub off on him and lead him
in the right direction. He knew what Faith would say, knew what she
would want him to do.

But the Sassenachs had taken his bloody damn life, for Christ’s sake. How could he let them get away with it without a fight?

A man had to fight for what was his. But as Morgan
reached the cottage and swung down from his horse, he was assailed by
doubts as to what was
his
. The cottage was his. He had earned this piece of land with his years in the armies of others.

But did he have any right to anything else? The
lands in Ireland had been his father’s. Maeve had been his, but he had
avenged her theft more than once. They’d taken his family, but how could
he bring back the dead? He could have taken one of theirs,
had
taken one of theirs, but he would still never see his family again. Fighting wouldn’t return them.