Stormswept (29 page)

“Damn it all, I’m sorry.” When he spoke again, his voice
sounded strangled. “I was wrong to run out without any explanation. It was a gut reaction. I didn’t stop to think . . . I just—”

“Didn’t trust me.”

“Let me make it up to you.” His rumbling voice made it absolutely clear how he intended to “make it up” to her. “Open the door and let me show you I’m sorry.”

She tensed. She desperately wanted to see what it would be like to have him make love to her again, fusing his naked body to hers, driving himself deep inside her. Her knees went weak.

But she knew what would happen afterward. He would distrust her again tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. He would keep shielding his heart, even while he made love to her.

And that would hurt far more than this absence of him.

“Go away, Rhys,” she whispered through a raw throat. “Go back to your radical companions and leave me in peace.”

The door shook as he pounded his fist into it. “I know you want me, wife. You can’t deny it.”

“I don’t want you to hurt me. I’m afraid of you, Rhys.”

“Nay.” His voice sounded so close to her ear, she had to remind herself of the stout oak door between them. “You’re not afraid of
me
. You’re afraid of yourself. That’s why you haven’t locked your door until tonight—because this afternoon you almost gave in. And you’re terrified that you might do it again if you unlatch the door.”

“I’m not . . . I won’t . . .”

He gave a bitter laugh. “Good night,
cariad
. I won’t
make a liar of you tonight.” He dropped his tone to a satiny caress. “But you can’t stay in there forever.”

As his footsteps echoed, she cursed. It was only a matter of time before he took complete advantage of her weakness for him. She could only hope that, by that time, his weakness for her would be just as great.

Sea on the shore no longer

Stays than this outlaw in care.

So I’m bound with pain, shackled

Straitly, and my breast is nailed.

Scarcely, beneath her goldhead,

Shall I have my wise young maid.

—DAFYDD AP GWILYM, “HIS AFFLICTION”

I
t was already midmorning when Lettice entered the bedroom to find her husband still asleep, sprawled across the mattress like a conquering hero. Ah well, it was Sunday, and he’d had a late night in town.

She still could scarcely believe he was hers. All these years of aching for him in secret when Darcy came to her . . . and now they were bound by vows that even the mighty Lord Northcliffe couldn’t break.

As she studied his familiar tanned face and the long scar that divided his bristly cheek in two, she sighed. Could they ever put those years behind them? Could he ever completely forget she’d spent that time in the bed of his enemy?

As if feeling her presence, Morgan opened his eyes and swiped back his unruly hair. “Good morning, sweetheart.” He patted the bed.

She sat down beside him. “Good morning, Mr. Candidate for Parliament.”

He laughed. “So you actually heard all that muddle I told you last night. Your ‘hm’ and ‘um’ sounded suspiciously like someone talking in her sleep.”

Playfully, she punched his arm. “Oh, I heard all right. And while you’ve been sleeping the day away, you and Rhys have become the talk of the town.”

He pulled her atop him, settling her against the length of his body. “What are they saying?”

“That you’ll be a ‘force to be reckoned with’ and other such nonsense.”

“And are they admitting what clever devils we are, to rout Northcliffe at his own game?” When her smile faltered, he added hastily, “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean to bring him up.”

She brushed her lips over his. “It’s all right. It’s not as if we can erase what happened by not talking about it.”

“I suppose you’re right. But I wish I could.” His voice turned grim. “I wish I could blot the devil completely from your mind . . . and your memory.”

“You’ve nothing to worry about. Those years were like wandering through the mist to me. These few days with you have been more real than all my years with Darcy.”

His eyes searched hers. “Still, it must bother you to hear me speak of him with venom.”

“Nay.” She rested her head on his chest. “I understand
why you want him to pay for what he did. But you can’t expect me to feel the same urge. I’ve already made him suffer by leaving him. Nothing I could do would punish him more.”

Morgan stroked her hair. “If not for what he did to us, I could almost like the man. His father was a stupid noble who let his holdings fall into disrepair, but Northcliffe turned that around and made it profitable in a short time. He’s got a good mind. ’Tis a shame he uses it only to gain power.”

“He won’t be doing that much longer. With Rhys’s money and influence behind you we’ll soon be putting M.P. after your name, and that will sound the end to Darcy’s power, I suspect.” She kissed his scruffy chin. “I’m only hoping you don’t grow a big head once you’re an M.P. I won’t countenance that.”

He thrust his hips suggestively up against her. “I’m already growing a big . . . something, my love. Do you think you can ‘countenance’ that?” He reached down to drag her skirts up her thighs.

“Stop that! Edgar might come in and see us! ”

He clamped his hands on her backside and squeezed. “Then he’ll learn a thing or two from his old Da, won’t he?”

“Why, Morgan Pennant, you . . . you . . .” His fingers slid between her legs, and she said his name again, this time more of a sigh than a protest. “Let me at least close the door.”

A sound from the doorway made her look around, and there stood Edgar, round-eyed and bewildered. In a thrice,
she jerked down her skirts and scrambled from the bed, hearing Morgan groan behind her.

“What are you doing with Father?” Edgar asked, shoving his thumb into his mouth.

It had taken only a day for Edgar to accept that Morgan was his father. Apparently, he thought fathers appeared magically from the sea every day.

Lettice hurried over and wiped a smidgen of food from his cheek. “Mother and Father are . . . playing a game, dear. Why don’t you finish eating, and then play with the toy ship Father bought you yesterday?”

She glanced back at Morgan, who regarded her with frank male appreciation. “Mother and Father will be . . . finished in just a bit, and then we’ll do something fun. Does that sound good?”

With a nod, he walked off. She shut the door, but before she could even flip the latch, she heard a timid knock.

“What is it, son?” Morgan called.

“Can Mr. St. Albans have some flummery, too?”

“Oh Lord,” Lettice muttered as she swung the door open. “Mr. St. Albans?”

“He’s in the kitchen. He’s come to see you and Father. He asked me to fetch you, but I can tell him you’re playing a game.”

“It’s all right. I’ll come talk to Overton.” She quickly straightened her skirts and smoothed her hair.

Morgan was already out of bed, pulling on his drawers and hunting for a shirt.

When the three of them entered the kitchen, Overton was sitting at the table, staring into Edgar’s bowl as if hoping
to find a secret in the hot mixture of oatmeal flour and milk.

“Do you want some flummery?” Edgar chirped.

Overton’s head shot up, then he looked warily at Morgan. “I’m not hungry,” he said to Edgar. “Listen, my boy, I need to talk to your . . . parents. Could you go play in the garden for a bit?”

“I suppose. Will you let me feed your horse?”

“Certainly.” Overton watched as Edgar skipped out to the garden. “He’s fond of horses, isn’t he?”

“My son is fond of many things,” Morgan gritted out. “Of course, I’m only now learning what those things are.”

When Overton colored, Lettice laid her hand on Morgan’s arm. “It’s all right. Overton has always been a friend to me and Edgar.”

Overton rose. “Not always. Darcy didn’t send Mr. Pennant and Mr. Vaughan to the press gangs by himself—I had a part in that. I should have told you the truth about it from the beginning, but Darcy . . .”

Lettice knew perfectly well that if Darcy asked his brother to go to sea in a leaky coracle, Overton would set sail.

“All that matters is that I know the truth now,” she said. “Darcy has already admitted to what you and he did.”

“Well . . . as long as you know. But that’s not why I’ve come. I need your help.” His voice tightened. “I’m worried about Juliana, out there alone with that bloody crazy Vaughan.”

“He’s not crazy,” Morgan bit out.

“Isn’t he? I heard what he did at the council meeting, showing up with those radicals to . . . to . . .”

“Put me forth as his candidate?” Morgan said.

“I don’t give a damn about who’s M.P., as long as it’s not me.” He jutted out his chin. “But I heard that Vaughan is going to put all his money into your campaign. He’ll lose everything, trying to fight my brother.”

“He’s willing to risk that,” Morgan said. “I’m not sure what concern it is of yours.”

“My brother hates Ebbrell and all his lot. He couldn’t wait to have them come to the council meeting with cudgels in hand, so he could have them arrested. And now that you’ve thwarted him—”

“Wait a minute. How did your brother know that the Sons of Wales had planned to riot?”

“Because . . . well . . .” Overton cast Lettice an uncertain glance.

She smiled. “Go on. He may be gruff, but he won’t hurt you.”

“Don’t be so sure of that,” Morgan muttered, but she pinched his arm and he added, “Just tell me the truth. I’m a reasonable man.”

“Darcy has a spy among the Sons of Wales.”

Morgan clenched his fists, and Lettice stepped between the two men. “Hear him out, Morgan, before you lose your temper.”

“I want to know who the wretch is,” Morgan ground out.

“I thought you might.” Without hesitation, Overton offered a name Lettice recognized. “ ’Twas he who revealed
that you and Vaughan printed those pamphlets years ago. That’s how Darcy justified handing you over to the press gang.”

Morgan stared at Overton. “So it had nothing to do with Lettice and Juliana?”

Overton shook his head. “He first learned of it when he overheard you and Lettice in the forest. Then he paid one of the radicals to get more information, so he could convince the press to take you without letting you ransom yourselves, as is sometimes done.”

A muscle worked in Morgan’s throat. “Good God.”

“That also means my lady was faithful to Rhys,” Lettice said. “She didn’t betray him, did she?”

“Nay. She knew naught about it until after the men were at sea.”

“Then how did you find her and Rhys at the inn?” Morgan asked.

“The innkeeper recognized her and sent for us at once.”

Lettice’s eyes narrowed. “
Which
innkeeper?”

“The owner of the White Oak.”

She sank into a chair. “That
bastard
! ”

“Who is he?” Morgan asked.

“A former suitor of mine who used to come to Northcliffe Hall. He knew Juliana from there, although I think she only saw him once. He was always angry that I spurned him. And apparently he found a way to get even.”

Morgan loomed above Overton. “The innkeeper helped you that night, and he’s been lying about it ever since.”

“Aye. Darcy paid him well.”

“We’ve got to tell Rhys,” Morgan said. “He thinks she betrayed him.”

“I know.” Overton paled. “That’s why I’m here. I want to ride out to Llynwydd and tell him everything, but I don’t dare go alone. He might refuse to see me. But he’ll see you, and perhaps me with you.”

“Why didn’t you tell the truth before?” Lettice asked. “Why has Darcy continued to insist that Lady Juliana wanted to escape from the marriage? She’s his sister, for heaven’s sake! And yours, too.”

Overton wrung his hands. “ ’Tis a bloody mess. Darcy wanted a better husband for Juliana than a Welsh squire, and I just went along because I thought he might be right.”

“Yes, but why did he keep lying even after the marquess spurned her?” Morgan demanded.

“Because he was afraid Vaughan would turn his wrath—and newfound influence—on him. Besides, Darcy thinks Vaughan is bewitched enough by Juliana that he won’t hurt her.”

“And what do
you
think?” Lettice asked.

“I’m afraid Vaughan will turn his wrath on all of us anyway. Last night, he proved that not knowing the truth won’t keep him from destroying Darcy. I don’t want him to destroy poor, innocent Juliana, too.”

Lettice said, “I truly don’t think Rhys would—”

“There’s no telling what a man like Rhys might do when he’s angry,” Morgan said with a warning glance.

Then she realized what Morgan was up to. If Overton were reassured about his sister, he might not be so eager
to tell the truth. And Rhys needed to know. He wouldn’t trust Lady Juliana until he was sure of her.

“So.” Overton leveled his gaze on Morgan. “Will you go with me to Llynwydd?”

“Of course we’ll go,” Lettice said.

Morgan shook his head at her. “You’re not going, love. Rhys isn’t kindly disposed toward you, either, for he still believes you had a part in the whole thing. ’Twill be better if I go alone.”