Intimate Betrayal (14 page)
Authors: Adrienne Basso
“We would not be so foolish as to trust the ranting of a madman, Your Grace,” Henri said sharply. “We are staunch royalists, and would never consider lending our good name to the reign of the Corsican.”
“You really must try the roasted venison, Morgan,” Lady Ogden chimed in, attempting to change the volatile subject. “No one can compare with the culinary skills of Lady Holland’s latest chef.”
Morgan accepted her lead for the moment and allowed the conversation to drift onto the ordinary topics of food, the crush of people in attendance, and Gilbert’s newest horses. He casually watched Henri Duponce throughout dinner, and came to the conclusion that there was more to the Frenchman than met the eye. Although appearing to participate in the dinner conversation, Morgan noted Henri kept a watchful eye on the guests around him. He was subtly on guard. Against who or what, Morgan could not be certain.
After dinner, the gentlemen excused themselves and entered the gaming rooms to indulge in a bit of whist and faro. Morgan was unable to seat himself at a table with Henri Duponce, and he quickly grew bored. Deciding he might have better luck with Madeline now that her brother was otherwise occupied, he went to seek out the French girl, but she was nowhere to be found.
“This is odd,” he muttered to himself, circling the ballroom for a second time. He then spotted Gilbert’s distinctive red hair near the open doorway. The younger man had a tight grip on Madeline’s arm, and the two of them disappeared conspiratorially onto the balcony and out of sight.
Deciding he had probably tweaked Gilbert’s nose enough for one evening, Morgan concluded it would be in very poor taste to follow the couple. After saying his farewells to first his brother and then his hostess, the duke left the party in far better spirits than when he had arrived.
He settled back in his carriage for the short ride back to his London residence, realizing how tired he felt. It had been a long week, but perhaps he had finally uncovered a clue. First thing in the morning, he would to go to the War Ministry and discover all he could about the Duponces. Afterward he could spend the remainder of the day visiting Westgate Manor. His secretary, Jason Cameron, recently completed all the arrangements for Alyssa’s latest gift, and Morgan was anxious to present it to her. That rather pleasant thought brought a genuine smile to Morgan’s lips.
The duke slammed the file down on the oak desk in frustration, cursing under his breath. He had spent the entire morning wading through endless files in the War Ministry and had been unable to come up with any pertinent information about the Duponces.
Their file was exceptionally brief. Henri and Madeline Duponce, two orphaned emigres who arrived in England 15 years ago with an uncle, Phillipe Lobeur, their mother’s brother. Phillipe, deceased two years, apparently sent a vast amount of the family’s fortune out of the country before he fled with his young niece and nephew. Subsequently, Henri and Madeline had led a comfortable life. They currently resided in London at a fashionable address on St. James Street, not far from where Morgan’s own house was located. The Duponces also kept a small country home in Kent.
Having discovered nothing of interest in the Duponce file, Morgan began reading other files of French emigres, in hopes of perhaps making a connection to the Duponces that had been missed. His tireless search yielded nothing. In fact, there was nothing negative at all written about Henri or Madeline, whereas most of the other files listed something: a financial problem, some indiscretion of either a personal or business nature. The very absence of anything negative only enforced Morgan’s belief that perhaps the Duponces were not as they appeared.
A discreet knock at the door pulled Morgan’s attention away from the files for a moment.
“Enter,” he commanded, not sure who it could be, since he had encountered no one, except the customary guards when entering the building early that morning.
“Good morning, Your Grace,” Lord Castlereagh greeted Morgan. “I see you have been busy today.”
“A wasted effort, I am afraid, Your Lordship.” Morgan glared at the scattered files in disgust. “I have not been able to come up with one conclusive fact after sifting through all this material.”
“Take heart,” Lord Castlereagh sympathized. “We certainly don’t expect the Falcon just to fall into our hands. I assume you have some sort of lead or you wouldn’t be here.”
“Well,” Morgan hedged, not wanting to look like a fool, “I thought there might be some information about the Duponces, Henri and Madeline. Are you acquainted with them?”
“Duponce . . . Duponce.” The foreign secretary absently rubbed his chin. “A brunette, isn’t she, rather petite? And her brother, a tall, thin man who is very protective of her.”
Given the foreign secretary’s keen eye for a pretty woman, Morgan was not surprised Lord Castlereagh knew Madeline.
“I spent the better part of the morning reading their file. There is nothing here that even hints of scandal. It causes me to question why information about the Duponce family was collected.”
Lord Castlereagh picked up the papers Morgan indicated and quickly read them.
“You have a point,” Lord Castlereagh agreed. “On paper, they are exemplary. However, they must have garnered suspicion at one time or another.”
“I agree,” Morgan replied, glad to know that his suspicions might have some foundation. “I also discovered they have been to Ramsgate Castle in the past few months, perhaps more than once. I think these two warrant scrutiny.”
“I’ll assign two of my best men straightaway. Of course, it may prove nothing, but at this point it is the only lead we have.”
“Is there any news about the information I planted in my home yet?” Morgan inquired.
“No,” Lord Castlereagh admitted with disappointment. “Still, it has only been a few weeks. I have some additional information you can hide elsewhere, or perhaps even change the papers already hidden. I shall leave it to your discretion.”
“Fine,” Morgan answered. Taking the documents from Lord Castlereagh, he placed them in his breast coat pocket. “I expect to hear from you the moment anything of interest is uncovered about Henri and Madeline Duponce.”
“I shall keep you informed,” Lord Castlereagh promised with a smile. “I must make my excuses, Your Grace. The regent is expecting me for luncheon and I have a great deal of work to finish.”
Morgan nodded his head in farewell and sat down at the desk. Knowing there was nothing left to do here, the duke decided it was the perfect time to set out for Westgate Manor. After all, it was nearly eleven o’clock.
Chapter Nine
“I have a surprise for you,” Morgan said to Alyssa as he accepted the delicate porcelain teacup from her outstretched hand. There were no difficulties encountered on his journey from London. He had arrived at Westgate Manor in record time, interrupting Alyssa during her solitary tea.
“Not another gift,” she exclaimed, still a bit thrown off balance by his sudden, unexpected arrival. “Truly, Your Grace, you must not continue buying gifts for me all the time.”
“But I enjoy it.”
“It makes me uncomfortable. I do believe I have received more gifts in the last few weeks than I have in my entire life. If you keep up at this pace, you will soon go bankrupt,” she finished lamely, not wanting to appear ungrateful. She knew it appeared perfectly ridiculous to be objecting to beautiful and expensive gifts, yet she would have preferred the duke spend more time with her rather than give her trinkets. Or at the very least to be informed before he made an appearance at the manor.
“I daresay you will get used to my presents soon enough, my dear,” he replied dryly. Pushing that less than appealing notion from his mind, Morgan instead concentrated on enjoying this rare moment alone with Alyssa.
She domestically arranged a plate of sandwiches for him and Morgan noted with a rakish eye that the scoop neckline of her new yellow muslin gown displayed her ample bosom to perfection. Her beautiful copper hair was pulled back in a loose upsweep, leaving her creamy neck open to his admiring gaze. He had an almost uncontrollable urge to lean forward and nuzzle her neck. He squirmed uncomfortably on the red brocade settee as the ache in his loins increased. The longer he looked at her, the more difficulty he had sitting still.
Alyssa realized he was staring at her, and she gave him a wary look. He was magnificently handsome in his fawn-colored buckskin riding pants that clung tightly to his powerful thighs. The brown jacket contrasted nicely with his white silk shirt, and as her gaze drifted to his ruggedly handsome face, Alyssa wondered how long it would be before he kissed her. And his kisses led to his touching her, pleasuring her, driving her wild. Distressed by where her undisciplined thoughts were leading her imagination, Alyssa unconsciously let out a small gasp.
“The tea was hot,” she explained weakly at Morgan’s questioning expression. For an instant Alyssa panicked, imagining Morgan moving closer, and knowing his touch would set her completely aflame, she moved skittishly to the back of her chair.
“The weather certainly has turned unseasonably warm, has it not?” she stated loudly, privately thinking she sounded like a complete idiot.
“Is anything wrong?” Morgan asked with a grin, suddenly realizing his nearness was making her uncomfortable.
“Of course not,” she lied primly. “More tea, Your Grace?”
He shook his head no and grinned broadly at her again. Then he stood up.
“Come along, Alyssa. I have instructed Ned to hitch up the chestnuts. We are going for a drive.”
Alyssa quickly rose to her feet to comply. For once she felt no spark of anger at Morgan’s demanding tone. Anything was better than sitting here alone with him having these unladylike, sensual thoughts.
“Please allow me a moment to get my cloak and bonnet, Your Grace. I shall join you shortly.”
Once comfortably settled in the open curricle, Alyssa tried unsuccessfully to relax and enjoy the ride. Sitting this close to Morgan made her taut with excitement. Alyssa was not paying much attention to her surroundings, being more interested in the duke than the passing countryside.
She was therefore surprised to discover they had reached their destination when Morgan turned the horses down a long gravel drive guarded by majestic cedar trees. At the end of the drive stood a dwelling resembling a small castle. It had two large drum-towers, with a tall narrow watchtower in the center, and was flanked on each corner with four square towers. The medieval formality of the gray stone structure was softened by the profusion of climbing ivy surrounding the entranceway.
“What a charming place,” Alyssa exclaimed as they circled in front of the large oak double doors. The duke tossed the reins to the waiting footman and leaped out of the open curricle. Reaching up, he lifted Alyssa from the carriage. His arms tightened instinctively around her waist and he grasped her against his hard body, holding her close. Her heart skipped a beat as she gazed into his mischievous gray eyes.
“Are we expected?” she questioned, curious about whom they were going to meet. Alyssa nervously smoothed her dress, hoping she looked presentable. How like Morgan to not even warn her they were going visiting.
The young footman opened the front door and escorted them into the great hall. It was strangely quiet and Alyssa stole a look around as they waited.
Though not overly large, the great hall had vast, ornate plaster ceilings, giving the room an open and inviting look. The marble floor was a warm rose color, and the walls were painted a similar shade. Alyssa decided she liked the effect.
“Shall I show you about?” the duke inquired mysteriously.
“I don’t understand, Your Grace,” Alyssa said questioningly. “Does no one live here?”
“Not at present, but we shall soon remedy that. The key, Miss Carrington.” The duke reached inside his breast coat pocket and produced a large brass key that he handed to Alyssa. “Most of the rooms are furnished, but I suspect you will want to make some changes. Do you like it?”
It took a few moments for Alyssa to grasp his meaning. “For me?” she squeaked in astonishment. “You have bought this house for me?”
“For us,” he corrected softly. “I know how you value your self-reliance, so I am giving you ownership of the house. However, I plan to spend as much time here with you as possible. I wish I could return Westgate Manor to you, but Tristan and Caroline have fallen in love with the place. I had hoped this dwelling would prove an adequate substitute. You are not disappointed?”
“Disappointed?” she cried, still feeling stunned. “I am overwhelmed.”
Alyssa knew the duke had numerous residences, and yet he had chosen a special place, remote and beautiful, just for them. The house represented more to Alyssa than an act of generosity. She felt that Morgan not only understood her need for identity and independence, but was obviously willing to indulge it. Her eyes filled with tears, and she quickly turned her head before the duke noticed.
“Thank you,” she said simply, not sure what else she could say. “I shall always treasure this place, not because it is beautiful, which it is, but because you have chosen it for us.”
“Come, let’s explore the house,” Morgan said, pleased she was happy and relieved that she did not resent the fact he had chosen a place for her in the country.
Previously, his mistresses were housed in London, where he paid their rent and living expenses while the liaison lasted. He had every expectation of this relationship enduring for a long time, but he was enough of a realist to know it would eventually end. Hopefully at a mutually agreed-upon time. In the meantime, they would have all the advantages of an intimate, loving relationship without the inconveniences and obligations of marriage.
Morgan knew it was extravagant to actually buy Alyssa this large house, but he felt it was important that she have some security. Along with the house, he would provide her with a substantial income.
They toured the house together after greeting the small staff. Alyssa’s excitement and gratitude grew as they entered each room, and she exclaimed enthusiastically over the various objects in the house. She adored the Chinese curio with the lovely jade carvings, but thought the majority of the paintings were dreadful and must go. Each room held new delights, and it gave Morgan great pleasure to see her so happy.
“I think we should hang gold draperies in here, Your Grace,” she decided as they examined the master suite. “With a matching satin coverlet, and a green Persian rug with brown and golden leaves. Do you like that idea?”
“My dear Miss Carrington, you certainly should know by this time I like anything you do in a bedchamber.” He grinned wickedly at her and shut the door firmly behind him. Alyssa felt her heart skip a beat as he began moving toward her.
“Your Grace,” she protested when he took her in his arms. “Morgan, please, the servants!”
“The servants have the good sense to close their eyes to events that are of no consequence to them,” he declared knowingly. His handsome face curved into a seductive smile, and he lowered his head to her lips. After her initial protest, Alyssa succumbed willingly to his kiss. Their intimacy was warm and consuming, and Alyssa shuddered with passion as Morgan whispered his erotic longings into her ear.
His hands could not stop touching her, stroking her, hugging her against him. He lifted her chin so she could look into his eyes and see his passion, his desire. Cupping her face gently between his two large hands, he placed a kiss on her forehead, and then on each cheek, moving down her lovely face until he reached her soft lips.
When their tongues met the hunger between them ignited, and the gentleness turned to urgency as their mutual passion flamed. Morgan pulled her closer to him, his tongue invading her willing mouth, demanding, probing, tasting her sweetness.
Every part of Alyssa’s body was responding to his touch. Her soft moans as she arched her body against the hard proof of his arousal told him how wild he was making her feel.
He expertly guided her over to the large four-poster bed, trailing soft, wet kisses down the side of her neck. Morgan’s hands reached out hungrily for her breasts. As he brushed his knuckles through the thin material of her bodice Alyssa sighed with pleasure and snuggled closer to his hard, throbbing manhood.
She kissed his throat, inhaling his intoxicating male scent, rejoicing in her nearness to him. It felt so good, so right to be held in his arms again; she savored every moment. She lifted her face to him and returned his kisses with a passion that sent his senses reeling.
“I’ve been away from you far too long, my love,” he said breathlessly, his voice harsh with need. He was thrilled by her boldness, her obvious need for him.
Morgan fumbled with the tiny buttons at the back of her gown. Finally losing patience, he instead pushed the top of her gown down, exposing her breasts. His hands fondled the creamy white mounds while his tongue caressed first one nipple, then the other.
Alyssa moved her hips restlessly, rubbing against his swelled sex, trying to bring their bodies closer together. Her fingers went to the buttons of his shirt, and then she felt the crisp hairs of his bare chest and the hot moistness of his skin. Wantonly, she rubbed her hardened nipples against his naked chest.
“Oh, God,” Morgan swore loudly, his breathing harsh and ragged. “I’m going to rip this gown right off you if you don’t slow down, love.”
Alyssa smiled shyly at his words, secretly thrilled she possessed the power to arouse his passions so intensely. She took a small step back and started undressing him.
Morgan stood still, allowing her to complete her task, enjoying this new facet of their lovemaking.
When he was completely naked, his manhood jutting out and throbbing, he whisked Alyssa around, making short work of the small buttons on her gown. Within moments she was undressed. Naked, they fell together on the bed in wild abandon.
Alyssa rolled onto her back and felt Morgan’s finger slide inside her warmth as his tongue penetrated her mouth.
“God, you are so soft, so wet, so ready for me, love,” he whispered, his fingers becoming more urgent as they stroked and parted her.
“I want you inside me,” she moaned, frantically gripping his back.
He laughed joyously at her enthusiasm. “Then have your way with me, wench,” he said, sprawling out on his back.
Alyssa looked perplexed for a moment. “I don’t understand, Morgan.”
He turned, grabbed Alyssa’s hips with both hands, and swung her up in the air over him. Her bottom rested on his thighs, her legs on either side of his outstretched body.
“Oh my,” she whispered, both shocked and thrilled. “Are you sure about this, Morgan?”
“Very sure, love,” he drawled, his lips curling provocatively.
Following his instructions, she lifted herself up and, straddling him, slowly lowered herself until he was completely inside her. Morgan groaned, the hunger surging rampantly through his loins. He brought his hands up and stroked her breasts, thrusting against her.
She inhaled her breath sharply, and he immediately went still.
“Am I hurting you?”
“No,” she replied in a raspy voice. “It feels wonderful.”
That admission spurred him on, and his hand traveled down to her belly through the silky triangle of curls to find her moistness.
“You are so beautiful,” he whispered in awe. Her copper hair was in wild disarray, her exquisite breasts rising and falling with breathless passion, her lovely face transfixed by the intensity of her emotions. He increased the pressure of his fingers between their bodies, and Alyssa began to move, rocking back against him in a primitive, sensual rhythm.
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