Just One Kiss (29 page)

Her smile was as shaky as her legs suddenly felt. "I'm afraid I'm feeling a bit strange." She swayed. Stephen chuckled and quickly set aside the tray in her hands, then pushed a chair behind her knees.

"Sit," he ordered. "Now breathe deeply. Deep and easy. Yes, that's the way."

After several minutes, the dizziness passed. Elizabeth raised her head. "Feeling better?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Good." Stephen reached for her wrist. "Your color's coming back." His fingers were on her pulse.

"Stephen, really, I'm fine," she protested.

He frowned at her good-naturedly. "I'm the doctor here, Elizabeth."

"But I feel silly, having you look after me while poor Nathaniel…" Her voice trailed away. Her gaze cut back to Nathaniel. Her eyes darkened. "Will he be all right?"

Stephen dropped her wrist, but gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. "I think he'll be fine. The only question now is whether we should move him to a hospital."

Elizabeth bit her lip. "Is it really necessary? I just hate the thought of leaving him all alone in a hospital."

"He won't be able to do much for himself these first few days. Rest and quiet is what he needs."

Elizabeth's mind was off and running. "Can he be moved?"

"Yes. Very carefully, of course."

"Then what if he comes home with me? There's an entire household to help look after him."

"I have no problem with that. I can look in on him there just as well as the hospital." An odd expression flitted across his face. She sensed he wanted to say more.

"What, Stephen? What is it?"

He hesitated. "I was just wondering what Morgan will have to say about all this."

"Morgan is in New York for several days. We can hardly wait until he returns to make a decision about Nathaniel's care. Besides, he can hardly object to his own brother recuperating at his home. There's certainly plenty of room. As I see it, there's just one thing to be done. Nathaniel must come home with me."

She was adamant. But in truth, it was bravado, pure and simple. She didn't dare speculate on what Morgan's reaction might be. But one thing was for certain…

She would soon find out.

Come home soon.

Since the moment he'd departed Boston, Morgan was chafing to do exactly that.

There was no denying it. Elizabeth had startled him—and pleased him beyond measure—with the sweetness of their parting. Time and time again he had imagined having her, warm and trembling and eager, in his arms. He had ached with the urge to fire her desire as hotly as his own; that it had finally happened was beyond his wildest imaginings.

Throughout the next few days, she was never far from his mind. He fell asleep tasting the heady nectar of her kiss; he woke yearning for the very same in the morning. After such a farewell, Morgan couldn't help it. He dared to dream that she was finally—truly—within his reach.

She was all a man could want—all
he
wanted.

And the searing passion that ran hotly through his veins was more than just desire… much more.

But that was not the only thing on his mind.

He couldn't entirely dismiss the twinge of doubt that gnawed at him. It bothered him that Nat had kissed her—that by her own admission, she had let him.

Nat's a rogue, a bounder
, reasoned a voice in his mind.

But she didn't have to let him kiss her
, argued another.

And she didn't have to admit it either. She could have blamed Nat completely, and she didn't.

Certainly Amelia had never protested her innocence.

But Elizabeth was not Amelia, he conceded at last. And perhaps it was time he stopped hiding from the truth. Elizabeth possessed a warmth of spirit, an openness and giving, that Amelia had never had.

Elizabeth was right for him… in a way that had never happened with Amelia—a way that never
could
have happened. And with that admission came a quiet satisfaction he'd never before experienced. For the first time in all his years, Morgan realized he had a chance to be happy—happy as he'd never been.

He'd be a fool to throw it away.

So it was that there was a spring in his step, a buoyant lightness in his heart, as he arrived home. He felt like a sailor on his first visit back after months at sea.

He set down his bag on the polished floor. "Elizabeth? Simmons?" he called out. "I'm back."

His only greeting was the hollow echo of his voice in the entrance hall.

He scowled. This was hardly the welcome he'd envisioned.

Just then Simmons stepped out of the library. He hurried forward when he spotted Morgan.

"Sir! I didn't realize you were here!" Simmons reached for his bag. "Would you like me to unpack for you, sir?"

Morgan gave a preoccupied nod. "Is my wife at home, Simmons?"

"Yes, indeed, sir. She's tending Master Nathaniel."

One foot already poised on the stairs, Morgan stopped abruptly. His gaze swiveled back to the old man. "I beg your pardon?"

Simmons gestured toward the ceiling, unaware of his master's glower. "Upstairs in the north guest room, sir. We've had quite a bit of excitement while you were gone, with your brother being injured and all. But thank heaven he's doing much better now."

Nathaniel had been injured? The plane of his jaw clamped shut. If this was another one of his tricks, by God, he'd have his hide!

He took the stairs two at a time.

Sure enough, Elizabeth was in the guest room. In one sweeping glance he took in the scene. Elizabeth sat on the edge of the bed, partially eclipsing his view of a bare-chested Nathaniel. But Morgan could see quite clearly the tender press of slender fingers resting on his brother's brow.

"What the
hell
is going on here?"

Elizabeth was up and on her feet in a flash, striding toward him. Her small mouth pursed tight in disapproval, she tried to push him into the hall.

Morgan stood rooted to the spot. "Well?" he demanded.

"Keep your voice down! He's finally sleeping, and I don't want you to wake him!" She spoke in a whisper, yet her admonishment was utterly fierce.

Morgan's gaze slipped back to Nathaniel. For the first time he noticed the bandages crossing his shoulder. "What happened?" he asked tersely.

"He was knifed. In the shoulder and side. We don't know who attacked him, or why. The police have been notified, but they say unless Nathaniel saw the attacker, he'll likely never be found."

"When was this?"

"The day you left for New York."

Morgan's eyes narrowed. "Where did it happen?"

She shook her head. "I don't know for certain. But he was at home when I found him."

"
You
found him?"

Her gaze flitted away. Too late she'd realized her mistake, he noted furiously. "Yes," she admitted.

Morgan's voice was almost deadly quiet. "What were you doing there, Elizabeth?"

She linked her fingers together before her, bowed her head low, and said nothing.

The lid ripped off of his temper. "A spate of conscience, Elizabeth? I can certainly see why you'd be ashamed."

That brought her head up. Defiance blazed in her eyes. "I'm not ashamed!" she shot back. "I've done nothing wrong. Not that you seem to care, but I probably saved your brother's life!"

His lip curled. "How commendable. In the course of being unfaithful to your husband, you save your lover's life."

"Oh, for heaven's sake! Nathaniel isn't my lover! And I wasn't being unfaithful!"

"Then what
were
you doing there?"

A little of the fire went out of her. "I can't tell you. Not yet anyway. If you'll just be patient—"

"It seems to me I've been more than patient. And you don't fool me, Elizabeth. It's not that you can't tell me. It's that you
won't
."

"That's right," she stated coldly. "I
won't
. Because your accusations are utterly ridiculous. So if you'll excuse me, I need to get back to Nathaniel." Pointedly she turned her back on him.

Morgan's tone was blistering. "Tell me, Elizabeth," he called out. "If it were me instead of Nathaniel lying there, where would you be? Out digging my grave?"

In his study Morgan grabbed a bottle of brandy. He knew he shouldn't; yet once again he couldn't stop himself from downing the first glass. Or the next.

His emotions were a seething tangle. He was furious that she'd had Nathaniel brought here, under his very roof. But of course, she would want him near…

Deep in his heart, he was appalled at his anger. A part of him recognized that she'd had no choice. Yet he couldn't seem to conquer the blind, irrational fury that churned inside him like a raging, boiling sea.

He'd known from the start that she cared nothing for him. She'd married him because she had no other choice. Yet still his outrage boiled inside him. Why must he forever put his own feelings aside? Why must Nat forever come before him?

A stark, wrenching pain seemed to clamp around his heart and squeeze. Always his mother had thought of Nat first. Always…

And now it was Elizabeth's turn.

A brooding mask descended over his features. Christ, he was in love with her—and he'd actually begun to think that she loved him!

His mouth twisted.
Love
, he thought scathingly. The thrust of a blade. The turn of a knife. That was woman's love…

He'd not be imprisoned so again.

How long he sat there, he didn't know. His hand dangled over the arm of the chair. In it was an empty crystal glass. He was only half-aware of the front door opening and closing. There was the distant murmur of voices, followed by firm footsteps.

He didn't turn when the door behind him creaked some time later.

His voice rang out harshly. "I don't want to be disturbed, Simmons. I thought that was understood."

"Simmons may have understood," said a dry male voice. "But I certainly don't."

It was Stephen. Morgan swung around to face his friend, who bore a look of stern disapproval. Nor did the other man waste any time venting his thoughts.

"I must say, you've outdone yourself this time, Morgan."

Morgan's lips thinned. "Stay out of this, Stephen."

"Not this time. I stopped by to see Nathaniel. Elizabeth was crying when I came in. It takes no great power of deduction to figure out why."

Morgan regarded him in stony silence.

Stephen was calmly determined. "If you don't want to talk about Elizabeth, fine. Let's talk about you. You arrived back from New York this afternoon?"

"Yes."

"What was your reaction when you learned what happened?"

Morgan glared. "You're the great intellect here.
You
figure it out."

Stephen studied him a moment. "You were angry. That much is clear. My God, man, he's your brother. You should be glad she found him when she did."

Morgan practically hurtled himself from his chair. He prowled restlessly around the room, like a caged animal.

"My point exactly," he said tightly. "She found him, Stephen. My wife found him. The instant I was gone, my wife hurried over to see my brother. Did you even bother to ask yourself why?"

"And did it ever occur to you the reason might be totally innocuous?"

Morgan stopped short. He whirled to face his friend. "How could it be innocuous?" he demanded. "You forget, she came here intending to marry him!"

"But she didn't, did she? Morgan, she merely has a soft heart—"

"And eyes for my brother! My God, Stephen, don't you see how I feel? It's happening all over again!"

"I don't think so, Morgan. I think she sees him as the man he really is. She doesn't condemn him, or judge him."

Morgan didn't argue, though his stormy features were a good sign he wanted to. His mind turned to his brother. "He'll be all right, won't he?"

His gruffness didn't mask his underlying concern. Stephen hesitated. "It's odd," he ventured slowly. "But I have the feeling whoever stabbed Nathaniel didn't intend to kill him. This may sound crazy, but maybe it was meant as some kind of warning."

"It doesn't sound crazy at all, knowing Nathaniel." It could have been anything, Morgan reasoned. Gambling. Cheating at cards. Dallying with another man's woman.

His eyes darkened. Broodingly he said aloud, "She's a fool if she thinks he'll ever change."

Stephen smiled faintly. He clapped his hand on Morgan's shoulder. There was a fool in this house, all right. But it definitely wasn't Elizabeth…

«
^
»

Nathaniel's recovery was coming along quite nicely. No one was more relieved than Elizabeth. But she was greatly saddened by the state of affairs between the two brothers. She'd secretly hoped this incident might lead to a reconciliation of sorts. But Morgan remained as stubborn and unyielding as ever. As far as she knew, not once did he set foot in Nathaniel's room to see how he fared.

It was Stephen who told her that Morgan inquired daily as to his brother's condition, a fact that Elizabeth pondered long and hard.

While she had once been so very certain Morgan hated Nathaniel, she was no longer convinced. If Morgan didn't give a fig about his brother, why would he ask after him?

He still cared about Nathaniel. The bond between brothers had perhaps been blunted, but not broken. More and more she came to believe that. Yet why couldn't Morgan show it? What had happened that so cleanly divided the two? What could possibly be so terrible that they were forever at each other's throats?

Nathaniel was weak, not wicked. He wasn't as strong as Morgan. So why couldn't Morgan be more accepting of him, more tolerant?

Several days passed before Nathaniel was up to talking at length. Elizabeth had a number of questions for her brother-in-law.

She was determined to get answers.

He'd just finished his lunch one afternoon when she entered his room. A mound of pillows behind him, Nathaniel was sitting up in bed. A chestnut brow cocked high when Elizabeth pulled a chair up to his bedside.

"My, my," he said, a faint teasing light in his eyes, "this looks serious."