Touch the Sun (20 page)

Flynn, meanwhile, observed the troubled expression on her face and wished he could read her thoughts. From any other girl, the ague explanation would have easily satisfied him, but somehow it rang false when she gave it.

As they neared Mansion House, the elegant home of Mayor Powel loomed before them where the reception for the visiting congressmen was being held. Flynn's sharp eyes had no trouble spotting Lion Hampshire leaning against a strong post at the edge of the brick footpath. Looking coolly elegant, even from a distance, he was smoking a cheroot and conversing with two men. Flynn recognized William Maclay, but the slight, plainly dressed man standing with them was unknown to him.

"Good afternoon to you, Captain Hampshire," he called cheerfully. Ordinarily, Flynn would never have been so bold as to greet publicly someone as far removed in social class from himself as Lion Hampshire, but the captain had never been one to recognize such distinctions.

Meagan stiffened with cold, chilling fear. What could she do? Lion looked down the street, the sweep of hair caught back at his neck agleam in the sunlight. Although conscious of him, the bulk of her attention was riveted on the smaller figure of James Madison.

Lion straightened as he recognized the couple standing near the gates to Mansion House. His companions were engaged in a lively debate on their future roles in the new government, so he decided to walk down and speak to Flynn and Meagan. He felt an unsettling curiosity to learn what they were doing together.

Meagan saw him speak to Madison and Maclay, then start toward them, an odd spark in his blue eyes. Then, as Madison paused in mid-sentence to look toward Flynn and Meagan, she dropped her eyes and whispered hoarsely to Flynn, "I am ill." Keeping her head turned so that her hood shielded her face, she ran past the gates and up the drive.

Flynn, utterly stupefied, stared after her.

* * *

An hour later, Meagan was beginning to relax. She had given an explanation to Flynn which seemed to satisfy him and had been kept so busy herself that the hard knot of panic in the pit of her stomach finally began to ease.

There had barely been time for her to wash and change into her black dress and white apron before being notified that her mistress had returned from the Powels'.

The women planned to rest in their rooms before dinner, and Meagan was ordered to take tea on a silver tray up to Priscilla. At first, she looked around nervously, frightened of meeting Lion—or one of the Sayers's family friends—in the hallways, but when she passed the library on her way upstairs, the sound of male voices and laughter rang out from behind a heavy oak door. With a sigh of relief, she hurried up the marble steps and down the hallway to Priscilla's darkened room. There, she helped her undress, listening anxiously to the names of their mutual friends who had been present at the reception.

"You know," Priscilla told her as she sat back against her embroidered pillows and accepted the tea cup held out to her, "most of them will be leaving after the dinner at Dr. Shippen's house tomorrow night. I know for a fact that Mr. Madison plans to be on his way then, so perhaps you can stop dashing around looking so rattled." She gave a large yawn, which made her breasts swell above her thin chemise. "Why don't you run along now? You might take a moment to do something with your hair. You have all sorts of stray curls."

Priscilla closed her eyes and Meagan left, but not before rolling her eyes in disgust.

Descending the back stairway, she suddenly felt drained and decided that after returning the serving tray to the kitchen she would try to steal a few minutes' rest. As she rounded the corner next to the great stone hearth, Meagan pulled off her mobcap, letting her raven hair fall down her back. It felt wonderful. She set the tray on the long wooden table and extended her fingers, running them through her hair with a loud sigh.

"You appear tired, my dear," a deep voice said from across the room. Meagan's back stiffened instinctively before she turned her head to seek him out. As always, the sight of him in a room made her breath catch and the strength went from her legs.

Lion sat half-veiled in shadows, with his sturdy bow-back chair tipped against the wall, gleaming boots propped negligently on a stool. He looked so much at ease that a stranger would have thought he belonged here in the kitchen.

She twisted her mobcap until it was taut. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was a hiss.

His teeth flashed white from the dimly lit corner. "Certainly you can do better than that, sweeting," he chided mockingly. "Anyone would think you were not glad to see me!"

Reminded of the public nature of the room, Meagan glanced over her shoulder hastily, then made her way across to him.

"Sit down," he offered, indicating the chair to his right.

"Thank you, no," she replied stiffly. Lion grinned again, obviously enjoying himself, and Meagan felt an unsettling current of warmth as she met his azure eyes.

"Now, Meagan, I can't believe that you would intentionally disobey your employer. Especially when he is so kind and charming."

"Goodness! When did this radical change in his personality take place?" she retorted sarcastically. Just to be on the safe side, she did drop into the chair, but not without murmuring, "I do seem to be a bit tired."

Lion caught her hand lightly, rubbing his thumb absently across the palm. "My, my, but we are cutting today."

"Are we? We didn't intend to be."

"Meagan, I get the distinct impression that you don't like me anymore! Tell me I'm mistaken."

"I'm not a very adept liar, but since you insist... sir, you are mistaken." The last words were spoken in her best wooden voice.

Lion was laughing, his head tipped back. "God, how I love these interludes! You are just delightful! That little face of yours is so animated and I love the way you put me in my place. How fed up I am with flattering females."

"I'll agree that is one thing I'm not," she agreed while attempting to disengage her fingers from his. Lion merely tightened his grip.

"I know you'd be content to sit here with me all evening, but I do have a limited amount of time, so I must get to the point." He grinned as she shot him a withering look. "Wong seems to have the idea that he might have offended you at the market today, so I have come bearing his apologies."

He was watching Meagan closely, noticing the way she swallowed twice and dropped her eyes.

"Never mind," she replied. "It's of no consequence, and besides, I should not have expected civilized behavior from a man in your employ."

His eyebrows went up. "I see I must beg your forgiveness. Please don't be angry! He meant no harm. I realize that
both
of us can be quite unchivalrous, but our intentions are the best."

She looked up to find him regarding her tenderly, his eyes warm and penetrating. "Oh, Lion," she whispered and let out a long, gusty sigh.

He gave her a heart-melting smile. "That's much better." Bringing her hand up, he pressed his warm, firm lips against her palm, then against the pulse that fluttered at her wrist. "Just to be sure I've softened you up completely, I brought you a peace offering. From both Wong and me... to show you how sorry we are if we've hurt you." His expression was serious now and Meagan felt her face grow warm under his gaze.

With his free hand, Lion reached over on the far side of his chair to produce a neatly wrapped bundle.

Meagan was totally undone by this time, incapable of coherent thought or speech. "But..." she faltered.

"Open it!" he smiled, putting the package on her lap. When he freed her hand, Meagan felt some of her composure return.

Before she could untie the string, the door at the far end of the room swung open and Bramble strode in. When she spotted them, her eyes narrowed and her lips tightened. "Excuse
me."

Meagan's face was burning, but Lion merely nodded politely at the cook.

"I don't suppose that whatever it was you had to do could wait?" he inquired. "South and I were just discussing Mistress Wade's impending birthday."

"Supper will not wait, sir," she told him imperiously and Lion met her disapproving stare with a grin.

"Well, perhaps there is somewhere else we could converse. Meagan?"

She could not look at Bramble as they got up and went into the hall. "How embarrassing!" she whispered heatedly.

Lion chuckled, "Don't let that old hawk intimidate you, little one. She's not your mother—or mine!"

He found a small storeroom and Meagan reluctantly allowed him to lead her inside. An assortment of odd chairs was crowded against the far wall; Lion pulled two of them around, dusting off the seat of one for her.

"Now then," he began cheerfully, "where were we?"

"You were trying to win back my friendship, and I was resisting all your efforts," she said firmly.

Lion arched an eyebrow appreciatively. "I don't remember it that way at all! As a matter of fact, I thought I had worn you down quite effectively!"

Meagan studied a wrinkle in her apron. "Obviously, you were mistaken."

"Well, we'll see. In any event,
all
my 'efforts' have not been put to the test yet."

Meagan looked up automatically, blushing, to meet his dancing eyes.

"My dear, your thoughts do me a grave injustice! I was referring to this package."

Back it went onto Meagan's lap, and this time she was able to undo the wrapping without being interrupted. The paper fell away to reveal yards and yards of beautiful white silk material sprigged with tiny embroidered green-stemmed violets.

"Oh!" Meagan gasped.

"Do you like it?"

"Like it? Why, Lion, it is exquisite! But—"

He relaxed against the back of his chair. "Good. I'll admit that it may not make the most practical gown, but you deserve something really beautiful. I would have had it made for you, but it was impossible without you along to be measured." He smiled. "I didn't imagine you'd consent to that!"

"Oh, Lion..." she had found the delicate Belgian lace and pearl buttons that had been concealed within the folds of the material.

"I hope you'll let me see the finished product."

"But, I don't see how I can accept this. Don't you understand? It wouldn't be at all proper."

"Proper?" He laughed derisively. "You'd be a good deal happier, Meagan, if you'd forget propriety. Besides... if you won't take it, I'll be forced to offer your gift to Priscilla."

He spoke with studied nonchalance, watching her out of the corner of one keen blue eye.

Meagan automatically held the violet-sprigged silk against her breasts, her forehead puckering at his words. After a moment, she capitulated. "Blackmailer," she accused him, but a smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"True." He reached for one of her hands, tracing the outline of her fingers with one of his own. "Tell me, what were you and Flynn doing on the street today?"

"He was kind enough to show me Peale's Museum," she replied cheerfully, failing to notice the edge of steel in his voice. Instead, she was thinking of Clarissa and Marcus Reems and was feeling mellow enough toward Lion to speak to him about her uneasiness.

"Now that you mention my outing," she began, "something happened while we were walking back that gave me cause for worry."

"Damn that Flynn! What did he do?"

"Flynn? Why, nothing. Lion, don't be silly." She laughed a little at the stormy expression on his face. "I'm talking about something I
saw.
It was your friend Clarissa. She was riding with Marcus Reems in his phaeton. Are they well-acquainted?"

"Not as far as I know, but I couldn't say for sure. They are both capable of most anything. What are you worried about?"

"I'm not certain... It's really more a feeling that I have." She couldn't bring herself to tell him about the figure outside the schoolroom at Markwood Villa. "I'm just afraid that Clarissa may be plotting something."

"Little one, I appreciate your concern, but I'm confident of my ability to handle Clarissa. At any rate, it's probably your imagination. You should confine your worrying to Kevin Flynn."

Stung, Meagan lifted her chin. "Oh, really? Do you think he might take advantage of me? Besmirch my reputation—such as it is?"

Caught off guard, Lion felt a stab of raw guilt "Meagan—"

She stood up. "Captain Hampshire, I've said this before, but you seem to be rather slow to catch on. Stay out of my life!" Eyes flashing, she thrust the mass of silk and lace at him and ran out of the room.

Chapter 16

Hard brown fingers made quick work of the starched white cravat while, higher up, Lion Hampshire appraised his own handiwork in the mirror. It would have been impossible to find fault with his appearance. Clad in cream breeches, a blue-and-gray brocade vest, and a smoky-gray velvet coat, he was looking impeccably splendid.

Wong appeared in the doorway and grinned appreciatively. "You looking very fine, Missa Lion."

"Spencer did an excellent job with this coat. It's the first one in months that hasn't been too small through the shoulders. I only hope the rest of them fit as well."