Dance of Seduction (39 page)

He slid one hand under her gown and between her thighs while he slipped the other inside her bodice to fondle the warm satin of her breast.

She tore her mouth free, eyes wide with shock. “Morgan, we shouldn’t—”

“I need you, angel.” He kissed a path along her cheek to her trembling throat. “And I need to know that you need me,
too. You say you love me, but you love those children of yours more.”

“That’s not true.” Her breath was ragged, her pulse beating madly beneath his mouth. “It’s just that they have no one, while you—”

“I have no one if I don’t have you.” He thumbed her nipple until she gasped and arched into his hand. “Show me that you love me as much as you do them, Clara. Show me you need me.”

The urge to lose himself in her warm, giving flesh became so overwhelming he thought he’d shatter if she refused. But she didn’t refuse. She caught his head in her hands and stared at him a long moment, as if looking for something in his eyes.

Then with a tortured sigh, she pulled his head closer, bringing his lips to meet hers. When her legs parted for the stroke of his fingers, he could have crowed. She
was
his, no matter what she said. She belonged to him, and he’d make sure she always did.

With a savage need bordering on madness, he kissed and caressed her, exulting at her eager response. He slid his fingers inside her drawers to tangle in her curls, seeking the center of her pleasure, needing to prove he had some power over her, that he wasn’t the only one consumed by this ever-present hunger, that she wanted him, too.

And when he found her wet and warm for him, he fondled the hot, silky flesh until she moaned and writhed beneath his hand, clutching his head close. He dragged the edge of her bodice down with his teeth and closed his mouth over her nipple, pleasuring her at both fronts until he thought he’d explode with his need for her.

Especially when she brought her hand down to stroke the length of his erection through his trousers. He moaned and pressed himself into her hand.

“Take me inside you, angel,” he rasped when he could bear no more. “I want to be inside you…”

She drew her head back. Her face was flushed, tendrils of hair clinging to her damp brow. “Here?”

“Yes, here. Make love to me,
cherie
…here…now…” He drew his hand from between her legs to unbutton her drawers, then worked them down over her hips and down to her ankles. “Stand up for a second.”

Though she blushed and glanced furtively to the entrance of their scented bower, she did as he asked. Swiftly, he unbuttoned his trousers and drawers and dragged them down past his knees. Then he drew her back to him.

“What if someone comes?” she whispered as he lifted her skirts, then urged her legs apart and pulled her down to straddle his lap.

“I hope they do. Then you’ll be compromised, and you’ll have to marry me, no matter what.” He tugged her further up his lap. “Kneel on the bench,” he ordered, and she did, grabbing onto his shoulders with both hands.

The tip of his swollen cock grazed her curls, and his mouth went dry. “Now take me inside you, angel. Before I go crazy.”

And as if she’d been born to make love to him, she impaled herself on him, sliding slowly down to surround him with her heat. Her skirts whispered about his thighs, an angel’s white wings brushing his bare skin.

“Do you like that?” she whispered so coyly that his gaze shot to her. Though her cheeks shone scarlet, a teasing smile played over her lips. She wriggled experimentally atop him, and he thought he’d erupt right there. “Do you?”

He clamped his hands on her waist. “If it gets any better than this, angel…they’ll have to lock me away…I’ll be a raving lunatic.”

With an uncanny instinct, she rose up on her knees and
came down on him, wrenching a hoarse cry from his throat. “That’s what I should do with you, Morgan. Lock you away, so you can’t ever leave me.”

“Will you share my bed every night?” he whispered against her breast, then lavished open-mouthed kisses over the sleek, taut skin, seeking out the nipple, tugging at it with his teeth as she began to rock up and down on him.

“Every night…every day…and I’ll tie you to the bed if you refuse…”

“Then lock me away,” he answered, rising to meet her. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more…than being tied to a bed with you.”

Her fingers gripped his shoulders painfully. “Except sailing off to have adventures.”

He heard the ache in her voice, felt the pain that laced all their pleasure. “I want to have them with you,” he countered.

“You want to run away.” She tossed back her head, her movements wild as she came down on him over and over, tightening on his erection until she had him gasping.

“With you,” he vowed. “Only with you.”

“Curse you, Morgan…you want my soul.”

“Yes!” He clutched her fiercely against him. “I want your soul.” With the thrust of his hips, he urged her to quicken her motions, and she did. “I want your body.” He laid his head on her chest, reveling in the beat of her heart that matched the frantic beat of his own. “I want your heart.” He buried himself inside her giving warmth over and over until he thought she would devour him. “I want it all.”

“But what do I get in return?”

“Everything. Whatever it takes to keep you.”

Then he felt the explosion coming, pulsing up through him. He strained against her with a cry as he spilled his seed into her sweet satin heat. Clasping him tight to her, she convulsed around him, wringing the last bit of his release from
him as he chanted her name over and over, the mantra to his salvation.

Time stood briefly still, fragrant with honeysuckle and the tangy scents of their joining. But it could not last. Slowly she sank onto his lap, limp and drained, her cheeks wet with tears as she laid her head against his shoulder.

The sight of them sparked his alarm. “What’s wrong?” He bent his head to kiss her brow and brush the tears from her cheeks with his thumb.

“Oh, Morgan, I want to marry you,” she said through her sniffles. “Truly I do. And if I thought that the only way we could be together is if I sailed with you, then I would do it. I love you that much.” She lifted her face to his. “But until you face and accept who you are, I’ll never be enough for you. I’ll always be just one more panacea.”

“What do you mean?” he said hoarsely, hardly able to believe that she was saying this after yielding to him so sweetly.

She caressed his cheek. “You throw yourself into danger to keep from thinking about the past. But that won’t work forever. Until you accept the bad parts of yourself with the good, you’ll always be fighting what you are. And the more you fight, the more you’ll resent anybody who reminds you of what you once were. Like me, with my children.”

She dragged in a harsh breath. “That’s the real reason you won’t marry me and stay here, isn’t it? Because every time you see my boys, you remember what you were, and it angers you. But what you were made you who you are, and I love all of it.”

“Just not enough to give up your Home for me,” he growled.

“Enough to know that giving it up won’t satisfy you. Nothing will satisfy you until you’re at peace with who you are.” Her eyes looked lost, regretful. “So no, I won’t abandon my children just because you’re too afraid to face the bad as
well as the good in you. And I won’t run away with you and watch you grow to hate me because I see you for what you are, what you want to hide from yourself.”

Anger exploded in him. The fact that she might be right only heightened his fury. Lifting her off his lap, he set her on the bench, then stood to jerk up his drawers and trousers. “That’s just your excuse for attempting to make me do what you want, to make me stay here in a city that I loathe—”

“It’s not the city that you loathe,” she whispered as she pulled up her own drawers and fastened them. “It’s what the city reminds you about yourself.”

He whirled on her, clinging to the anger that kept the awful pain at bay. “Believe what you like. But the fact remains that you don’t want me unless I meet your terms. Well, I have terms of my own. Unless you can meet them, you can find some other fellow to dance to your tune, because I don’t intend to imprison myself in this confounded city, no matter what you say.”

Turning his back on her, he strode willfully toward the opening to the arbor.

“Morgan?”

He paused to snap, “What?”

“Even a ship can become a prison if all you see around you are bars.”

He didn’t give her a response, just shoved his way through the hanging honeysuckle and out into the air.

But her words clamored to be acknowledged as he made his way back to the others through the overgrown woods. Because although he might deny it to her, he’d known for a long time that the bars were closing in around him. And if he didn’t do something about it soon, he might never break free.

Chapter 22

From hence we may learn
That, by one thoughtless Trip
Strange accidents happen
’Twixt the Cup and the Lip.
A Little pretty pocket-book,
John Newbery

M
uch later that day, long after night had fallen and he’d left a subdued Clara behind with his family at the Templemore town house, Morgan paced his shop with a growing sense of unease. Bad enough that he couldn’t keep his mind on what he was supposed to be doing. Now
this
had to happen.

“Something’s wrong,” he told Jack Seward as he glanced at his watch. It was nearly nine o’clock, and the Specter had promised to send word to the shop at eight about where they should meet. No one had come. And he and Jack had been waiting here in the front room for over an hour.

“P’raps he’s just late.” Jack threaded his fingers through
his pepper-and-salt hair. “Might have been harder for him to set up his place than he expected.”

“I doubt that. This is a man who plans every detail of his encounters. He’s not late. Something spooked him.”

“I’m afraid you’re right,” Ravenswood commented from the door.

Morgan whirled around. “Damn it, Ravenswood, if he’s not spooked, you’ll certainly do the trick.” Though Ravenswood had dressed appropriately to keep his vigil with his men in hidden positions along the street, he could still be recognized.

The man seemed unconcerned about that, however. “We have a bit of a problem.”

Morgan exchanged glances with Jack. “What do you mean?”

“Remember the fellow I told you about at Merrington’s ball? Hornbuckle’s officer, Mr. Fitch?”

“What of him?”

Ravenswood tugged nervously at his cravat. “If you’ll recall, you
did
instruct me to tell Hornbuckle it was all right to have the man investigate you. And I
did
warn you that he was diligent.”

“Oh, no, you don’t mean—” Morgan began.

“Unfortunately, yes. Shortly after my men and I took our positions, he showed up to keep an eye on the shop. When I realized he was settled in for a while, I asked him to leave, but I suspect it was too late by then. The Specter probably saw him hanging about and didn’t want to risk being seen by a police officer. I dare say our quarry is long gone.”

“
Sacrebleu!
” Morgan exploded. All this for nothing!

He’d wanted to be done with this tonight. He was tired of playing this game, tired of lurking about at the shop. He was tired of being half a block from Clara when he couldn’t have her. And now that he knew for certain she wouldn’t marry
him, he was even more eager to put some distance between them.

“What do you want to do?” Ravenswood asked.

“We don’t have much choice. We’ll have to try again later.” Morgan shot Seward a glance. “I’m sorry, Jack, but you’ll have to stay in town a few more days, until I can set everything up again. Fortunately, having a police officer sniffing at my heels will at least convince the Specter that I am what I say I am. But I’ll have to wait for the villain to approach me before I can set up another meeting—”

“It’s all right,” Seward responded. “I don’t mind staying in London, not as long as your friend here is paying for it.” He grinned. “There’s a good deal more tarts here than there is in Hastings, I can tell you that.”

Morgan took out a guinea and flipped one to Seward. “Then go find yourself one. Somebody might as well get something out of this night.”

“Thanks, mate!” With a wink and a nod, Seward shoved the guinea in his pocket and left.

After he was gone, Ravenswood leaned back against the counter. “Do you want me to tell Hornbuckle to call Fitch off?”

“I don’t know. Let me see if he becomes a nuisance.”

“Has he been hanging around here much since the ball?”

“Not that I’ve noticed. But if he’s any good, I wouldn’t have noticed, would I?”

Ravenswood shoved away from the counter. “I’ll be off then. Unless you think that your sister-in-law’s invitation to the Templemore house for supper still stands.”

Juliet, apparently unwilling to end their lovely day, had invited both Ravenswood and Clara to stay to supper. Clara had accepted even though Morgan and Ravenswood had cried off with some flimsy excuse about another engagement. Clara was probably there even now.

“I’m sure it does,” Morgan grumbled. “For some reason
unfathomable to me, Juliet likes you. Either that or she’s hoping to use you to convince me to stay in London.”

Ravenswood smiled thinly. “Perhaps you should explain how little influence I have over you.”

“You explained it quite well this afternoon.” When Ravenswood’s words had sent Clara running. And provoked her into the decision that still cut Morgan to the heart.

“If you don’t mind my asking,” Ravenswood said, “what happened between you and Lady Clara this afternoon? You both disappeared for nearly an hour, and when you reappeared, the two of you were obviously no longer on speaking terms.”

“You’re the one who told her I’m not ‘civilized,’” he snapped, “so I’m sure you’ve already decided what happened. After all, nothing makes a lady angrier than an uncivilized man daring to approach her.”

Ravenswood eyed him calmly. “I didn’t mean that in the way you clearly think I did. I only meant to caution her not to lose her heart, because I know you have no interest in a lasting relationship with a woman.”