Magic In The Storm (15 page)

Morgan picked up his boots and stockings and
placed his arm around her shoulders. “Let’s go build a fire and dry
off.”

She nodded, but did not look his way. With a
slight coloring of her cheeks, she picked up her ownstockings and
rolled them up to keep them from his sight.

After slipping her bare feet back into her
slippers, Adriana allowed Morgan to lead her back toward his cabin.
Oberon followed at their heels, his head lowered slightly as if he
were ashamed that he got too carried away by his game.

Morgan stacked a few dry pieces of wood in
the clearing in front of his cottage, and lit the fire with his
tinderbox—deliberately not even thinking about trying to light the
fire magically.

Sitting on a log near the fire, Adriana
reached out her hands to its growing warmth. Morgan settled himself
on the ground next to her and stretched out his legs so that his
breeches didn’t become too tight as they dried on his body. Already
he could feel the leather stiffening as it began to dry.

“Will you tell me some more about your home
in London?” he asked, hoping to relieve some of the awkwardness
that had suddenly sprung up between them.

Adriana shrugged. “What more is there to
tell?”

“You said that you run your guardian’s
household. Is there much work in this?”

“Well, part of my duties include arranging
parties for Lord Devaux so that he may meet and talk with other
members of parliament,” Adriana said, tucking a lock of her
beautiful hair back into the knot on the back of her head. Morgan
wished she would just open it so he could run his fingers through
the silky tresses.

He forced his mind to stay focused on what
she was telling him.

“Parties? That must be fun.” Morgan couldn’t
help the touch of jealousy that crept into his voice. How wonderful
it must be to live in a big city and have parties!

But oddly enough, it was a rather sad smile
that came to Adriana’s full pink lips. “I wouldn’t go quite that
far. They are not the sort of parties where one dances and talks to
friends.”

Morgan watched Adriana’s beautiful eyes as
she spoke. They kept straying down his body, and at the moment,
were lingering on his shirt. A thrill ran through him as he looked
down and noticed that it was nearly transparent and clinging to his
body, since it was still soaking wet. She was as attracted to him
as he was to her!

“These parties,” she continued after a
moment, “are for the sheer purpose of making political connections
or pressing an idea onto other members of parliament.” Her voice
slowed, and she stopped speaking altogether. Then, abruptly, she
turned her head away from him, and stared into the fire. “My
guardian gives me a list of people he wants me to invite and I make
all the proper arrangements.”

“You don’t get to invite your own friends as
well?” he asked. He knew he should be feeling chilled in his wet
clothes, but the heat inside of him was too intense.

Adriana shook her head and smiled, keeping
her eyes trained on the fire. Morgan wondered at her not even
daring to look back at him. He wished she would, just so he could
see the desire in her eyes once more.

He too turned to the fire, determined to
listen to her words and not to his heart.

“I don’t have any friends. I don’t attend
society parties, and therefore don’t know many people my own age. I
only attend Lord Devaux’s parties to act as hostess for him.”

“Oh.” Morgan was amazed. Even living in
London, surrounded by people, she was as lonely as he.

But Adriana turned toward him with deliberate
brightness. “It’s not all boring and difficult work, however. There
are a great many people whom we entertain who are quite
amusing.”

“In what way?” Morgan asked, marveling at how
she could set aside her loneliness and still see the bright side of
her life.

“Frequently, the gentlemen we invite are very
important men—or men who want to be important. And they’re often
very huffy gentlemen.” She spread out her arms to indicate a very
large man and blew out her cheeks. Her eyes now twinkling with
merriment, and speaking in a deep voice, she said, “Well, er, yes,
my dear gel, of course a pretty little mite like you could never
understand the intricacies of, er, social reform, eh? Heh, heh,
heh, why don’t you run along and, er, pour the tea or, er, work on
your little sewing project like a good gel.”

Morgan laughed. He could imagine a large
gentleman, his face mostly covered with side burns, such as he’d
seen illustrated in the papers Kat sometimes brought to him.

“And the ladies, their wives,” Adriana
continued to the fire, “many of them are quite in awe of their
husbands. They twitter and giggle, and say things like,” she
switched to a high, tittery voice, “’Oh, my, how marvelous it is
that my lord is doing such wonderful things for the little people.’
And then they go on to discuss the latest fashions and how they
have spent hundreds of pounds on their newest gowns—not even
realizing that the work their husbands are doing will not help the
‘little people’ at all, but are solely for their own
benefit so they can buy their expensive clothes.”

Morgan shook his head, smiling.

Adriana shifted away from the heat of the
fire, accidentally brushing her leg against his. Instantly, desire
uncoiled itself inside him once again. She turned and looked at
him, the smile slipping from her lips. As their eyes met, he was
surprised at the open flame of yearning reflected in her deep green
eyes.

He reached out and gently caressed her cheek,
running his thumb along her cheekbone and down to her parted lips.
Her eyes widened, and her chest began to rise and fall with her
quickened breaths.

The fire in front of them let out a sizzle as
a drop of rain fell into it. A large plop landed next to Morgan’s
foot, and then another on his shoulder, but neither of them paid it
any heed.

“Part of my duties as hostess is being able
to discuss everything that is currently under consideration in
Parliament,” she said, a little breathlessly.

“That is fascinating,” Morgan said, pulling
her head closer to his own. He could feel the heat emanating from
her body and smell her distinctive scent of wildflowers.

His lips were nearly upon hers when she
pulled back and added, “All of the ladies are not quite so silly.
There are actually a few who are interested in what their husbands
are doing and are not afraid to speak their minds.”

“That’s good,” Morgan said, moving in closer
again. Then, with hardly any warning at all, as Morgan was making
another attempt at a kiss, a gust of wind blew into his face, and
with it, rain began pelting down in earnest.

Morgan froze for a moment. He hadn’t even
seen the clouds moving in—he was so intent on Adriana and kissing
her. But they couldn’t sit here in the rain. Already they were both
soaking wet. He jumped up, reaching for Adriana’s hand. Just as he
pulled her to her feet, a low rumble of thunder shook the ground.
He ran with her to his cottage, as a flash of lightning briefly
illuminated the ever darkening sky.

Morgan immediately moved to build a fire in
the hearth, turning back to Adriana as soon as he had a blaze
going. She was standing looking around, her arms wrapped around her
slender body.

He, too, looked around his home and wondered
how it looked to her. Of course, she was used to the grandeur of
the abbey and probably had one of the nicer carpeted bedrooms
there.

Morgan had no carpet, but rather a plain wood
floor. This was matched by the rough–hewn table and lone chair that
sat by it, both of which he had made himself. His bedstead stood
off against the far wall, a small simple washstand next to it. The
cottage was tidy, but then again there wasn’t much to clutter it
up.

Adriana hugged her shivering body and moved
closer to the fire.

Morgan stood up, and on instinct, wrapped his
arms around her.

Adriana started, but Morgan hushed her
saying, “My heat will warm you.”

She laughed. “Perhaps, but your clothes are
cold and wet.”

He quickly pulled away from her. “I’m sorry.
I forgot.” Quickly he pulled off his shirt and then pulled the
blanket off his bed. “You would be warmer if you took off your wet
clothes too.”

Adriana took a step back toward the door, her
eyes wide and her face turning pink.

“It is all right,” he said, moving closer and
looking deeply into her eyes. Gently placing his hand on her cheek,
he gave her a little smile and said, “There is nothing to
fear.”

T
atiana could feel
her son Jonathan’s presence just outside her bed chamber door long
before he knocked. What was it he had to say to her that would keep
him standing outside for so long before he gathered up his courage
to knock? She had only been back from her trip to Bath for less
than a day, so he must have something important to report to
her.

She waited patiently for him to knock. “Come
in, Vallentyn,” she called, as soon as he had done so.

He shuffled into the room, his head bowed. He
would not look her in the eye. This was another bad sign.

“Good afternoon, Mother,” he said, and turned
to look out the window, as if he were checking to make sure that it
was still light enough to call it afternoon.

“Good afternoon. To what do I owe this
pleasure?” she asked, as sweetly as she could, hoping to encourage
him to drop his defensive stance.

“I, er...” he glanced quickly in her
direction where she was sitting on the settee by the fire, but then
just as quickly, turned his eyes away. “I wished to speak with
you.”

“So I assumed when you knocked at my
door.”

“Er, yes.”

“What do you wish to speak to me about,
Jonathan?” Tatiana asked, beginning to feel her patience ebb
away.

“I, er, well,” Jonathan took a deep breath
and then said very quickly, “I do not wish to marry Miss Hayden. I
am the viscount, I am the one in charge here and I say that I will
not marry her. I will remain a bachelor.” He released what was left
of his breath.

He then turned and, much to Tatiana’s
surprise, began to leave without waiting for her to say, or do,
anything—as if that were the end of the conversation.

If this were funny, Tatiana would have
laughed. Unfortunately for her son, she did not find it amusing in
the least.

As Jonathan began to open the door, it pulled
from his hand, slamming itself shut. Jonathan jumped back,
startled, but unharmed.

Tatiana could feel her anger rise. She did
not want to hurt her first born, her only true son, but it seemed
as if he was not going to give her much of a choice in the
matter.

“You are the viscount? The lord of the manor?
The one in charge?” Tatiana repeated very slowly to her son’s
back.

Silence.

“I thought that you had learned, Jonathan.
You have never crossed me before. What has caused this extreme lack
of judgment?” The air in the room began to get hot as Tatiana’s
anger grew.

“Is it Miss Hayden?” she continued, ignoring
the fire in the hearth that had begun to burn larger and brighter.
“Surely she could not have put you up to this. You know better than
to listen to a girl who does not know me or what I am capable of
doing.” The last she was careful to say slowly and
deliberately.

Sweat began to drip down Jonathan’s face. He
ran a finger underneath his neck cloth, pulling it away from his
burning skin even as his face went from pink to red. “I... I did
not mean...”

“What did you not mean?” Tatiana said
quietly. “Did you not mean to tell me that you are the one who
makes the rules in this house, in this family? Did you not mean to
put me in my place?”

“No! No, I...” Jonathan had begun to breath
more heavily as if he couldn’t get enough oxygen through the dense
heat that now coated the room. The overstuffed furniture—the bed,
the chair, even the tables that crowded the room, they all seemed
to bleed warmth into the air.

“You what, Jonathan?” Tatiana lowered her
voice to a mere whisper.

“I will marry her, but...”

“But?” Tatiana focused her eyes on her son’s
bright red face. Still, he refused to meet her eyes.

“But I don’t want to join parliament. I have
no interest in politics.” The words seemed forced out of him, as if
he wished he could hold them back, but he could do nothing to stop
them.

Jonathan stepped to the door and leaned his
head against it, panting as if he had just run a mile. “I am sorry,
Mother,” he whimpered.

At the sight of her weak, worthless child,
everything within her went ice cold. Tatiana’s rage could no longer
be contained. Jonathan would learn for once and for all not to
cross his mother.

<><><>

The sound of the rain pounded in Adriana’s
ears, the noise from the roof reverberating throughout Morgan’s
little cottage.

She was chilled to the bone—first from the
splashing about in the river, and now by the rainstorm that had
taken them by surprise. She knew Morgan was right. The only way
she’d get warm was if she took off her dress. It certainly wasn’t
drying on her.

She gave a little nod, and then moved closer
to the fire and turned her back. He did the gentlemanly thing and
moved away to his bed while she struggled with a dress that was not
designed to be put on or taken off without the help of a maid. She
had gotten it half way over her head when strong hands appeared to
help her pull the clinging material off. Her face burned as she
prayed that she was still covered decently enough, but still could
not resist covering herself with her hands as well.

Morgan was not paying attention. He was
carefully laying out her dress over the chair in front of the fire
so that it could dry. Adriana could not help but notice how his
bare chest glowed golden in the firelight. Her breath caught in her
throat, but she just could not tear her eyes away from his
well–toned body.