Shadow Play (41 page)

"Thought you might be ready to get out of those breeches."

"Don't you like me in breeches? Don't I look enough like a lady to suit you?"

"Chere,
you ain't no lady. Not anymore. But you are a woman, and those breeches make it damned inconvenient to get to you when I want you."

Her eyes narrowed. "Indeed."

"Yeah. So why don't you change now?"

"Now?"

"While I watch."

"Oh, you think so?"

"I know so."

She stood and began to remove her clothing, for the first time noticing that Morgan had changed as well. His pants and vest were new; he had bathed and shaved, and she thought she smelled bay rum, which he must have splashed on his face.

He seemed so tall, standing there in the doorway. The vest did little to cover his broad chest and his breeches were very snug, accentuating his maleness, which was growing ever more apparent as the seconds ticked by. He leaned against the wall, his hat cocked low over his left eye as he watched her through the stream of smoke rising from the cigarette. His thumbs were hooked over his waistband and his knife hugged his thigh, nearly to his knee.

"Get 'em off," he murmured.

Dropping her shirt to the floor, she said, "I really shouldn't. Not after you left me stewing in this stinking box for three hours with a bunch of randy sailors and a monkey that wouldn't stop somersaulting around the floor." Her breeches slid down her legs and she kicked them aside. Nude, she bent to retrieve the clothing, slipped the blouse over her head, then stepped into the skirt and tugged it up to her waist.

"The blouse comes off the shoulders," he pointed out.

It fell perfectly into place, baring her shoulders and the upper portion of her white breasts. The skirt hit her legs halfway between her knee and ankles. As she gave her head a shake, her hair tumbled in gold waves around her face. "What do you think?"

"You look like a whore."

"Well, that should suit you just fine."

''It damn sure does.'' He pushed away from the door and the curtain billowed behind him. He tossed the cigarette to the ground. When the marmoset made a mad dash up his leg, he grabbed it and gently tossed it toward the door and said, "Get lost."

It vanished under the curtain.

Backing to the wall, Sarah shook her head and lifted her chin. "I shouldn't let you touch me, not after the way you deserted me for three hours and—"

"Shut up."

He buried one hand in her hair and dragged her head back. His dark face lowered over hers as he said, "I'll take you when I want you,
chere.
Never forget that. And I want you now." He slammed his mouth onto hers with bruising force, making her whimper at first, then beat his chest, until she forgot about the anger and fear she had experienced during those hours he had left her alone, recalling only the maelstrom of desire he sparked within her. She kissed him back as forcefully, her hands knocking his hat aside and twisting into his black hair even as she pressed herself against him so closely she could feel the hard length of him straining within his breeches. He groaned, caught his breath as she ran her hand down the ridge of him and felt him grow even longer and thicker against her palm. And as he kissed her more deeply in response, turning his mouth first one way, then the other on hers, she adeptly flipped open the buttons of his trousers and released him into her hand.

His head fell back, spilling his black hair over his back as he groaned in his throat. She kissed his shoulders, his chest, inhaling the scent of his clean skin and bay rum, running
her tongue over his hard nipples, nipping them with her teeth while her fingers ran lightly over the smooth, satin- and-steel length of him that turned hot and throbbing in her palm.

He gripped her shoulders and pushed her down to her
knees, and as his fingers twisted into her hair he showed her a new kind of love she would never have imagined even in her most private dreams. A primitive love, and abandoned, making her wild and heady with the notion that at last she could control him with a flick and swirl of her tongue, with the pressure of her lips, making his hips writhe and his strong body tremble until he was praying softly, "Oh God, oh God, oh God."

Then he was picking her up, and with his fingers digging into the soft undersides of her thighs', he slammed her against the wall and drove himself into her, until she was mindless and clawing and throwing her head back and crying out with the force of her release.

She awoke in the morning to discover that she was alone. Rolling on to her knees, wincing with soreness, she grabbed for her clothes and dragged them on. She would not remain confined in this room for another hour, much less another day.

She managed to remove most of the tangles from her hair with the combs Morgan had purchased for her the previous afternoon. She braided it into a thick, gold rope which she coiled around her head and secured with the combs. Then she put on the sandals, wrapping the straps around her legs.

The sun felt hellish on her bare shoulders as Sarah took to the street in search of Morgan. The hour was early enough that the sailors who had frequented the saloons the evening before were still sleeping it off in whatever hospice they had found for the night. There were mostly natives about now, many with baskets of fruit or vegetables or fish balanced atop their heads. A man herded goats down the middle of the road and the bells around their necks clanked discordantly, making her head ache.

She ran into Kan at the docks and he informed her that he had spoken to Morgan much earlier, when he had dropped by the boat to visit briefly with Teobaldo and Chico. Learning that Teobaldo and the others were anxious to set out
from Coari as soon as possible, he'd made arrangements to have their portion of the cargo transferred from the hold to a storage building nearby. When that was done, the refugees had shoved off and were, by now, two hours out of Coari.

Sarah and Kan located Morgan and Wickham in a saloon at the far end of the village. The Englishman stood as she approached. Sarah noted his look of surprise as he quickly assessed her appearance. "My dear, you cannot know what a relief it is to see
you," he told her. "I had almost given up hope."

"So had I." Smiling, she took the seat he offered and sat down, glancing at Morgan, who was slouched in his chair with his hat pulled low over his eyes. The marmoset was curled up on his shoulder, asleep. "I suppose Morgan's already informed you about the seeds," she said.

"Indeed, and as I was explaining to Mr. Kane, you couldn't have arrived at a more opportune time. There hap- pens to be a boat stranded in dock without a cargo. I think it would take little to convince the captain to allow us and our freight aboard. It should be smooth sailing until we reach Betem, and customs."

"And how do you propose to get us through customs?" she asked.

"Quite simply, we hide the seeds in the stores of orchids we take aboard the
Amazonas.
We'll pass ourselves off as botanists who've collected a very rare specimen of orchid and are now returning to England."

"They are bound to search the crates."

"Possibly, but I happen to know there are a number of officials who will look the other way as long as their pockets are filled to their satisfaction. It will be a most delicate endeavor, but one I'm capable of handling, I think." He poured himself another drink. "I understand that there is a need for haste. In that case, I will get to work immediately. I think my Indians can have enough orchids collected within three days—"

"We don't have three days," Morgan told him.

"I see. Well, then, give me until tomorrow night at least. That will allow me to search out the
Amazonas's
captain and gather whatever orchids we can. Once aboard, we will have plenty of time to hide the
Hevea
among the flowers before we reach Betem.'' Wickham quaffed his drink before pulling his watch from his pocket and checking it. "I'll be off. I'll contact you both to confirm the arrangements. Until then, keep out of sight. Once I've spoken with the captain, I'll let you know and you can move out of the hotel and into a cabin on the ship." Taking Sarah's hand, he smiled. "My dear, you cannot know what a relief it is to see that you're alive. I only regret that Mr. Longfellow met his demise in such a tragic way." Tipping his head toward Morgan, he finished, "Until later, Mr. Kane."

Sarah directed Kan to assist Wickham in any way he could, and as the servant left, she sank back into her chair and briefly closed her eyes. "Tomorrow night. A lot could happen before then."

"Once you're on board there's not much King can do," Morgan replied. "Besides, it's me he's after, not you."

Something in his tone made her uneasy, and sitting for- ward, her hands on the table, she
gazed hard through the shadows, trying to see his eyes beneath the brim of his hat. "Once
we
are on board," she corrected.

His lips curled as he reached for his drink. "Didn't I say that?"

"No, you didn't, Morgan. I wouldn't like to think that you've some idiotic notion of deserting me again."

"Would I do that,
chere?"

"I don't know."

"After last night, and all that's happened between us?"

Recalling the night of passionate love making, Sarah felt her cheeks flush. "It wouldn't be the first time you've loved me and left me," she reminded him. "And don't change the subject. The fact is, there's a lot left undecided between us."

"Such as?"

"Such as, I agreed to many you and you haven't given me your answer. Are you playing coy? Is that it?"

He flashed her a smile. "Coy? Me?
Chere,
in case you haven't noticed, I'm about as coy as a buck in rutting season."

"I have noticed. And you still haven't answered me."

"Have you forgotten that you already have a fiance?”

Frowning, she looked away. "I've given that some thought..."

"And?"

"I'll figure something out before we reach London."

"What then? Do you set me up in your house, as your husband, and try to pass me off as a gentleman to your friends? I have as much in common with those people as Kan does with the Queen. Sorry, sweetheart, it won't work. If we many, you make the choice between me and them. That means me and wherever I go."

Glaring at him, she said, "What you're saying is that if I want to marry you, I'll have to give up everything and go off to God knows where to do God knows what—"

"Exactly." Morgan slammed the glass onto the table, causing the monkey to jump up as if
shot and leap to the floor. Standing and adjusting the hat over his eyes, he said, "That's that, then."

He left the saloon and stood in the blazing sun while lighting a cigarette and watching the people meander down the street. Hesitating in the doorway, Sarah watched him, taking in the way he stood, legs slightly spread, shoulders set at a reckless angle, as if he were challenging the world. He would never be happy in her rigid world. She under- stood, too, that he was battling his own emotional injuries— the loss of Henry, the fact that he had broken down several times in her arms; a man like Morgan would not easily recover from what he believed to be mental and physical weaknesses. He would erect that hard-as-steel wall around himself to prove that he was still a man. As if she could doubt it for a moment.

He tossed his match to the dirt and sauntered down the street, never looking back, although she knew that he knew that she stood there wanting him to. The marmoset, tail flicking, followed at his heels, rolling and tumbling and squeaking as it tried to get his attention. Sighing, Sarah fell in step behind them.

She couldn't forget Morgan's words, or shake free of the feeling that he had sidestepped the issue of a commitment between them. The words
"It's me he's after, not you"
kept coming back to haunt her as all day she faced Morgan's disturbing silences and restless pacing up and down the hallway of the hotel. She refused to let him out of her sight, even when he ordered her to remain in their room while he walked to the nearest saloon to purchase a bottle of whiskey. She secretly followed him, dodging around corners and ducking behind water barrels. Then he disappeared into the saloon; at least she thought he did. She jumped when he walked up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder.

"What are you doing?" he asked. "I told you to stay at the hotel."

"I needed some air."

"Does that include spying on me?"

"I wasn't spying."

⁴
'You were spying. Now get your pretty little butt back to the hotel before I do something that will make your face turn red."

"Like what?" she demanded.

"Like throw you up against this wall and..."

The explicit explanation made her jaw drop. Without looking back, she hurried to the hotel and waited another fretful hour until he returned. Then she threw herself in his arms and held him tightly. "Please don't go away and leave me again."

Taking her head in his hands, he tipped up her face and searched her eyes. "What's wrong, love?"

"I'm frightened, Morgan. I'm afraid King will find you before we can leave this place. Before we can get out of Brazil."

"What makes you think he'll stop looking once we've escaped Brazil?"

"Then we'll keep running, forever if we must."

His lips turned up in a lazy smile. "What the hell kind of life would that be,
Chere?
When would we find time to settle down and have all those babies you want?''

"Then we'll never have babies. It doesn't matter, Morgan. I love you!"

"Do you?"

"How can you doubt it?"

"I don't." He closed his arms around her and kissed her so tenderly tears sprang to her eyes. Then he hugged her and whispered in her ear, "I love you too."

The storms moved in around midnight. The thunder vibrated the ground on which Sarah tried to sleep, rousing her from her troubled dreams so that she tossed on the mattress.

"Sarah. Love, wake up."

Startled, she opened her eyes when Morgan touched her face. His fingers were wet, and as she struggled to sit up she brushed his drenched clothes and realized he had been out in the storm.