Magic In The Storm (18 page)

It was all right, she could speak to him
later. It certainly couldn’t hurt having the maids count the linen
and ensure that everything was in good order, even though this had
all been done just three months ago during their annual spring
cleaning. Mrs. MacAllister took her orders without a word of
complaint, and immediately set about turning out all of the linen
chests.

As Adriana watched and counted along with the
maids, the white sheets reminded her forcefully of the coarse white
linen that had covered Morgan’s bed. Or perhaps it was the smell.
As the sheets were shifted back and forth, that clean smell of
sunshine and fresh air filled the room.

The same smell that had filled her senses
when she had been laying with him. It was a wonderful fresh smell
of the sheets mixed with the sweet musk of his hot, hard body as he
had pressed against her. His hands cupping her breasts and playing
with... “No!”

“I’m sorry, Miss?” The maid who was sitting
on the floor in front of her, stopped counting.

Adriana felt her face heat and knew she must
be blushing furiously. “Nothing. Nothing. I’m sorry, I was just
thinking of something else.”

She turned to Henrietta, who was overseeing
another maid’s work as she counted out another stack of linens.
“Henrietta, could you take over for me here? I... er, I need to
attend to something else.”

Adriana got up, leaving the room as quickly
as possible, ignoring the strange looks she was sure both the maids
and Henrietta were giving her. But as soon as she got to her own
room, she realized where she needed to go.

She turned and headed to the back stairs that
led up to the attic and her painting studio. Here she would find
solace. Here she would be able to rid her mind of that man, and the
afternoon that would not stop haunting her.

Closing the door behind her, she paused and
took a deep breath of the closed, acrid–smelling room. There was no
sweet smell of the outdoors here, only turpentine mixed with the
smell of her paints, and a musty smell that had accumulated due to
the windows not being opened during the weeks she had been away.
There was no dappled sunlight struggling to make its way through
the trees of the forest—the full sun blared through the window at
the far end of the narrow room making the room so bright it was
almost blinding.

Yes, this was as far from Morgan as she could
possibly get. Her thoughts would be safe from his intrusion
here.

After putting on her smock, she took out a
fresh canvas and mixed her palette of paints. Each little puddle of
color was bright against the plain wooden palette: blue, green,
white, black and beige, a touch of yellow and red rounding it
out.

Taking her paint brush in hand, she closed
her eyes for a moment, clearing her mind of all thoughts. Morgan,
Lord Vallentyn, Kat, Lady Vallentyn, and Lord Devaux dissolved
away. Her muscles relaxed.

Her mind wandered the broad seas and fields
of her imagination. She opened her eyes, dipping her brush into the
paint, and allowed her imagination free rein.

Freedom. That was what she longed for more
than anything else. Freedom from her guardian. Freedom from having
to marry. Freedom from having to play hostess to a bunch of stuffy,
foul–smelling old gentlemen. To be free to do as she pleased, paint
what and when she liked, not have to worry about running a
household that wasn’t even hers. Freedom to go where she liked, to
travel, to do whatever it was she wanted.

Adriana did not pay any attention to what she
painted. All she thought about was the day she would be free. It
was a day, she knew in her rational mind, that might never come.
But it was a day that lived in her heart, and in her dreams.

She looked down at her palette and noticed
she needed some more beige and white. A little more black wouldn’t
hurt either, she thought, mixing the paints together and putting
them onto the board she held in her hand as she painted.

She turned back to her canvas and stopped.
Those eyes. Those black, twinkling, merry eyes were staring back at
her. Morgan’s eyes.

She hadn’t even realized what she had been
painting, but now, seeing those eyes staring at her she knew—she
was painting Morgan.

And not just Morgan as she had seen him so
many times in the forest in his white shirt, buckskin breeches and
scuffed old boots. No, this was Morgan as she had seen him by the
river the day she had discovered him there playing with his dog.
This Morgan wasn’t wearing his scuffed boots, this Morgan wasn’t
wearing anything at all.

His back was turned to her, and he was
looking at her over his shoulder. Adriana’s brush filled in some
more details as if it had a mind of its own. The harsh red scars
that crossed his muscled back. The dimples just above his buttocks.
The curve of his raised eyebrow and the slight smile on his lips as
he looked at her with a mixture of happiness and curiosity.

But what caused Adriana’s heart to beat
faster was that he looked like he was about to turn around. One of
his broad shoulders dipped slightly as if he was about to move,
about to turn and take a step toward her—to show himself to her in
all of his naked glory.

Adriana shifted her weight from one foot to
the other. She felt hot and unable to keep still—just as she had
when he’d touched her that afternoon. She had squirmed and rubbed
herself against him. It had felt so good, and yet it wasn’t enough.
She had wanted more. She had wanted him to touch her even more
intimately as she touched him. So desperate was she in wanting to
feel the velvety softness of his skin and the hard pulsing blood
underneath that she could feel heat pooling in her most intimate
parts.

“Oh my!”

Adriana jumped, pulling her paint brush away
from the canvas just in time to save it from smearing a line across
Morgan’s body.

Henrietta was standing behind her with her
hand covering mouth. Her face was bright pink. “Who... who is that?
That isn’t Lord Vallentyn, is it?”

Adriana couldn’t help but laugh, all the
tension in her body pouring out as a picture of the slightly
paunchy, nearly middle–aged man filled her mind’s eye. “No! Lord
Vallentyn is much older, and not nearly so fit.”

Henrietta advanced slowly into the room and
toward Adriana and her painting. “So, who is that?” she asked once
again, pointing at the canvas with a slightly shaking finger.

Adriana bit her lip. Would she be able to
tell Henrietta about Morgan? The two times she had attempted to
speak with Kat about him she’d been unable to do so. She didn’t
even want to attempt that again.

But, oh, how she wished she could tell her
dearest friend all about him!

Instead, Adriana shook her head, gave an
embarrassed laugh and moved the painting to the far end of the room
to dry near the window.

When she returned, Henrietta was looking very
hurt. On impulse, Adriana gave her companion a hug.

“Believe me, Henrietta, if I could tell you,
I would,” she said quickly. What else could she do?

Henrietta gave her a sad smile, clearly
trying hard to be patient.

Adriana sent quick prayer of thanks that
Henrietta didn’t press her on the issue as a knock sounded on the
door interrupting a potentially awkward moment.

“I’m terribly sorry, Miss,” Sally, one of the
downstairs maids said, as she came into the room at Adriana’s
bidding. “Lord Devaux gave me this note to give to you this morning
and it completely slipped my mind, until now.” She gave Adriana a
slight curtsey, a very apologetic look, and then the note.

“It’s all right, Sally, I understand. We’ve
all been very busy this morning.”

The girl gave her a grateful smile, and then
left the room.

“Judging by the look on your face, it’s not
good news,” Henrietta said, as Adriana’s eyes scanned the note.

“No. He says that Lady Vallentyn wants me to
start attending society parties. I am to begin with Lady
Collingwood’s soiree next Thursday. And he gives me permission to
visit the modiste in order to buy one or two appropriate dresses.”
She frowned at Henrietta. “Lady Vallentyn wishes me to be dressed
fashionably.”

“Well, it could be worse,” Henrietta said,
carefully. “And you really could use a few new dresses. I don’t
believe you’ve had a new evening gown for over a year.”

“I don’t need a new evening gown...” Adriana
started. She let out a sigh, and sat down heavily on to the sofa.
“At least, I don’t
want
to need one.”

Her companion lowered herself next to her,
patting her knee consolingly.

“Lord Devaux has never forced me into
society, aside from his own dinner parties. I suppose I’ve been
very lucky that way.”

“I believe luck has little to do with it. He
wants you available at a moment’s notice,” Henrietta said honestly.
“But it is why you’ve never met any eligible young men, and now you
have to marry this gentleman of Lord Devaux’s choosing, instead of
one your own.”

Adriana heartily wished she could refute
Henrietta’s words, but she simply could not. She was absolutely
right, and it made Adriana sick to her stomach. But there was
nothing she could do about it. She really disliked going into
society.

“You were fortunate to have been spared
this,” Adriana said. “All that bowing and curtseying and inane
conversation.” Turning a pleading look to Henrietta, she asked,
“Must I do this?”

Her companion gave her a sad little smile. “I
was not given the opportunity to join society because of my
family’s circumstances. Most girls your age would be devastated not
to have such an chance. You are very lucky to be going.”

Adriana let out a choked laugh. “I wish I
felt that way. And since when have I been like most girls my age?”
She stood, pacing to the window and back while Henrietta stayed
silent. She had never been like other girls, and there was no
denying it.

“I suppose I’ll have to go no matter what,”
Adriana said crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Lord Devaux
said I must, so I will. But I will not play the proper miss.
I’ll... I’ll stand in the corner and not speak to anyone.”

“Adriana,” Henrietta said, as if she were
speaking to a recalcitrant child.

Adriana dropped her arms, knowing that she
deserved that full well. “But there must be something that I can do
in protest. I cannot simply lie down and let Lady Vallentyn
determine what I do for the rest of my life. It has been bad enough
that I’ve had to dance to Lord Devaux’s tune since I was six years
old.”

Henrietta stood up and took her hand, giving
it a little pat. “My poor dear, you will learn that it is the
female’s lot in life. There really is nothing you can do about it
until you get children of your own whom you can command about in
the same way.” She paused for a moment as a mischievous smile grew
on her lips. “However, I am certain you will think of some way of
showing Lord Devaux your dissatisfaction with this latest
development.”

M
organ’s eyes grew
wide, and he just could not contain the smile on his face as the
fire sprung to life in front of him. It was amazing! How could this
have happened? Why were his powers suddenly working? It was a
mystery he hoped to solve, but first he had to get to Adriana.

That thought wiped the grin right off of his
face. He had been thinking about it all day as he had traveled
toward London, and he still could not figure out why she had left
him so suddenly. Nor why she had left Vallentyn without even saying
goodbye.

He had gone over that night again and again
in his mind—and it had made riding on his horse, Apollo, extremely
uncomfortable. How could he not react when he thought about how she
had pressed her nearly naked body against his? How she had felt,
like a burning, writhing fire of soft velvet underneath his hands.
He could still feel her feather–light touch skipping over his skin
and it nearly made him want to groan with pleasure all over
again.

“Good evening, friend!” a voice called out,
interrupting Morgan’s more than pleasant thoughts.

Morgan nearly jumped. He hadn’t anticipated
encountering anyone here in this little clearing off the side of
the road. Although he was bone–weary from traveling all day, Morgan
stood up as he knew was the polite thing to do.

“Good evening.”

Three men approached him, coming out of the
woods. They carried nothing with them, nor did they have any
mounts—at least, not that Morgan could see. For a moment Morgan
worried that he was trespassing on their land, and they were going
to send him on his way. The thought just made his limbs feel all
the more leaden with exhaustion. He was too tired to go another
step, and he was certain Apollo felt the same way.

“Are you a traveler on this road?” the second
man asked through a thick black beard.

“Yes,” Morgan answered. “But I will be gone
by morning. Please, I don’t mean to trespass, I just need a place
to rest for the night.”

The men looked at each other, and then
laughed. “Oh, no. We do not own this land,” the first said, his
voice thick with an accent Morgan couldn’t identify.

“We are traveling too,” the second put
in.

“Oh.” That was odd, they didn’t have a thing
with them. No bags, no blankets, nothing.

“Would you mind if we shared your fire? The
night is getting cold.”

“No. Not at all. Please, come.” Morgan
gestured toward the warmth of the fire and seated himself on the
far side, closest to the road.

The third man stopped to stroke Apollo’s
velvet nose as the horse stood underneath a large oak nibbling at
the sweet grass. “’Tis a fine horse,” the man commented, his deep
voice very soft.

“Apollo has been with me for many years. He
is a good friend and a fine animal,” Morgan said.