Cachet (9 page)

She closed her fingers around his hand and tugged hard, threading her way between the spinning couples. Morgan numbly followed, but Pamela wasn't going to let them escape her wrath.

"So, you decided to take your clerk to the festivities this year, Morgan. Boyd's altruism seems to be rubbing off on you."

"Not as much as you might wish," Morgan replied, stiffening. "I've been meaning to speak to your father about the back payments on his loan. If either of you thought I'd overlook his overdue debt, you're destined for disappointment."

Pamela's eyes went from hot to ice cold. Rachel had no desire to eavesdrop on this particular conversation. She mumbled an excuse and started to pull away, but Morgan wouldn't release her fingers. "I'll only be a moment, Rachel. I still want to talk to you." Now he looked at Pamela. "Is George here?"

"What, it's not enough I'm humiliated by this Colonial throwing herself at you, now you insist upon embarrassing my father at a social gathering?"

"Excuse me, Miss Prine," Rachel said. "I didn't throw myself at Mr. Tremayne. He'd already asked me to dance.
This
would be throwing myself at him." She rose on tiptoe to plant a searing kiss on Morgan's lips.

"You disgusting tramp!" Pamela shrieked. The fiddlers and all conversation stilled instantly. "I knew you were a harlot all along. Pretending you had no interest in him, that you disliked him. Poppycock and lies! You should wear a trashy red frock, you fat-chested Colonial cow!"

Rachel's voice rang out. "Thank you for the compliment, Miss Prine! If anyone wondered why you couldn't keep a beau, I think you've answered their questions this evening."

"You have—"

"Enough, Pamela," Morgan barked. "Get your wrap, Madam Cordell. I'll see you home." He glowered at the blonde. "And I'll speak to George next week. Tell him to expect me at the farm Thursday or Friday afternoon."

Rachel was fastening her cloak when Somersdale nudged her with an elbow. "Our little widow shows her true colors. I suspected Tremayne was taken with you himself when he came to see me, claiming someone had forged those missives you sent me."

"I wouldn't invite you into my bed if you were the last man alive."

"Tsk, Rachel. Another man might take offense."

"Another man would recognize a dismissal when he hears it and leave me alone."

"There are more than a few ladies who could tell you tales of Tremayne's romantic escapades. Half the women in this farmhouse tonight. He's notorious for losing interest once he's had his way...which means he hasn't yet with you. His talent for persuasion is known to charm the pantalets off the lasses. Be forewarned, Mistress Cordell. Once he gets yours pulled down, you'll find yourself with neither post nor domicile. He'll toss your bottom into the street and be on to the next fair damsel."

"Her bottom is none of your damned business, Somersdale." Morgan seized Arnold by the shoulder. "Bother her again, and I'll make sure your bottom's the one tossed into the street."

Morgan said nothing until they were back at the cottage. He lit a fire on the hearth and gave a rueful sigh as she brought him a cup of tea. "Well, Crowshaven's citizens put on a party with a distinctive flair, don't we? Public floggings and beheadings are next month, in case you're interested."

"Mine's the head they want to see roll."

"That's not true," he disagreed as he set his cup on the end table. "I noticed you dancing with some of your new friends in the village." There was an edge in his voice as he said the word 'friends,' but his eyes betrayed nothing. He wiped a lingering drop of tea from his mustache. "Speaking of friendship, we never finished our conversation concerning my signet."

Rachel moved to the fireplace. "For the last time, I don't want anything for helping you reclaim that ring of yours. I'm sorry I went with you."

"Are you?" he demanded, rising to stand beside her. "I'm not. Why did you leave the pub so abruptly? Were you upset over your late husband, or did I misunderstand something?"

She closed her eyes and turned away. "Do you still bear feelings for him?" Morgan crossed the room and caught her upper arms, forcing her to face him. She couldn't help thinking how handsome he was, wondering what he'd look like if he let his hair fall loose around those broad shoulders.

Then regretted those thoughts. They could only lead to heartache. She had no future with him. No future here. "Somersdale may be right about your conquests," she said softly. "I don't want to make a mistake I'll later regret."

Now he folded his arms across his chest. "I was hoping I wouldn't have to tell you this, Rachel, but I bed all my tenants and then toss them out." The sarcasm left his voice and it softened once more. "Don't tell me you actually believe that rot? You're afraid I'd do something so heinous?"

She gave a tiny shake of her head. "I'm afraid of forgetting who I am...Of becoming caught up in the moment and getting confused."

"Because you care for me."

"You and Mr. Atkinson have given me everything. You protected me when Pamela tried to have me dismissed. You're a shrewd businessman and everyone in town likes you. I can learn a great deal from you."

"Just as I could learn to make coffee from you, but that's not what I mean. Why did you kiss me tonight?"

Rachel knew why he was asking, and sidestepped his trap. "I thought it was obvious." She gave a wicked laugh. "To make Pamela crazy."

He turned and headed for the door. He'd already lifted the latch when her soft words stopped him. "But I wasn't supposed to say that's the reason, was I? Even though it's partly true. There was another reason. You want me to say I kissed you because—"

"You're in love with me?"

"Morgan, I can't say that," she whispered. "I can't think such insane things. I don't want to love anyone just now. I don't want anyone in love with me. Please don't be angry. You didn't finish your tea."

Morgan knew he should just leave, but when he glanced back at her and saw her eyes huge in the firelight, pleading with him, he was lost. She was so beautiful in that gown of crimson. He wanted so much...but he couldn't caress her as he wanted. Not just yet. Having her beside him in his own parlor while he drank his tea was a good start. He couldn't be greedy. He had to slow down, force himself to wait.

He returned to the settee and took up his teacup. As he suspected, she eased beside him and sat watching as he took another sip. She stared at his right hand a moment, then her fingertip traced around the oval of gold on his finger. "I'm so glad you got this signet back. It's beautiful." Her eyes moved to his face. "I know how much it means. It's all you have left of your family."

"That...my inn, and this house." Rachel heard a hollow sadness in his voice. For a second, it touched his eyes. Then it was gone.

Rachel found a lump forming, tightening her throat. She knew only too well how it felt to be homesick. "Don't you miss this house, Morgan? I couldn't put strangers in my family home and spend nights in a hotel. I'd hate that. I don't know how you stand it."

"Are you suggesting I spend my nights here?"

"You know I didn't mean that. I won't become your mistress, Morgan. You're an influential man in this district and you might be very generous, but—"

"I
would
be," he corrected.

She shook her head. "I'd rather clerk for a decade and buy this house from you than allow you keep me in it."

He set the empty cup on the table and stretched his arm across the back of the sofa. "You've every reason to take pride in earning your own wages. You understand figures and trade as well as most men. Are you also perchance a horsewoman, Colonial?"

"Why, are you giving the cottage as top prize in an equestrian competition?"

His laughter echoed off the walls. "I was thinking of a ride Sunday afternoon. See the countryside, our warehouse, the granary. Might prove educational for you."

"I can ride, yes."

"Good." His arm dropped to her shoulder and he pulled her close. "You do look lovely tonight, Rachel."

"And you look…" Her voice trailed off as she studied his face. "I've often wondered how you manage to stay so tanned in a country where no one ever sees the sun. Boyd and the other men look so pale."

"My mother was European. I got her coloring. Where did you get all the gorgeous dark hair?" He pulled the snood and pins from her tresses, destroying in two minutes what it had taken her hours to design. Her hair tumbled around his hand as it stroked the nape of her neck.

"The women on my mother's side all have chestnut or auburn hair. It's nothing special."

"You're wrong," he murmured, using his hand to guide her face closer to his. "Your hair was one of the first things I noticed about you." Her eyes closed as he kissed her. "That and your natural insolence." Her eyes flew open. She saw the amusement on his face. "How anyone can address me politely as 'sir' and sound so mocking as she does it is beyond my ken."

It was her turn to laugh. "Emily calls you that. So do quite a few of the men."

He embraced her tightly. "I don't have dreams about them in my arms," he replied in a husky voice. He gave her another long kiss. "And now I'd best say farewell, before I forget that dreams are all I'm allowed. At least for the time being."

Chapter 8

The big charcoal stallion affectionately nuzzled Morgan's shoulder. "He's beautiful, Morgan," Rachel announced, wrinkling her nose. The livery stable had a familiar smell she'd almost forgotten. Once she'd become immune to the pervasive odor of horse manure. An ocean away and a lifetime ago.

Morgan tightened the stallion's leather cinch. "His name is Phantom. His sire was the first asset I ever purchased with my own wages." He ran a hand along Phantom's neck. "I haven't always been independent, Rachel. I do recall what it's like to work for someone else."

"Which is the horse I'm to ride?"

"Phantom's back is big enough for two."

Rachel frowned at him. "If I was going to ride with you, why did you ask if I was a horsewoman? I don't need to be, if you'll have the reins."

"True, but I wanted to be sure you wouldn't faint at the thought of getting on an animal. I've known ladies who won't set a horse." He reached for her waist. "Ready?"

"I'm not one of those ladies, and I don't ride sidesaddle." Morgan's eyebrows rose in mild surprise, but he lifted her up and over so she faced straight ahead, then waited while she adjusted her full skirts. He swung up behind her and wrapped an arm around her waist.

They started out of town at a easy trot. Rachel leaned forward, too aware that his broad chest was just behind her shoulders. "I told you before, I don't bite, Clerk," he reminded, pulling her back against him. His arm tightened on her waist and she admitted to a certain pleasant sense of security at the gesture. A dangerous kind of security. Idle conversation would be wiser than focusing on the feel of Morgan so near.

"Crowshaven seems a peculiar name for a village of farmers."

"There's a local legend. Flocks of crows seem drawn to the area, particularly along the creek that springs from a mouth of the Tyne. Old superstition says the birds are harbingers of good fortune. Some old fishwife claimed whenever the crows appeared, something auspicious would follow. Wanting only the best, our village became a haven for the birds."

Rachel had to giggle. "Most farmers I know would predict only a ruined harvest would come from welcoming crows. Our farmers would put a scarecrow smack in the middle there." She pointed to a broad expanse of neat furrows.

"Aye, but those are
Colonial
crows."

"Oh for heaven's sake. Now I suppose you're going to claim our crows are inferior to those hatched here on your moors! Do you never tire of teasing me for being American?"

"I'm not. They're two entirely different species. I've read where your American farmers have problems with crows, but European crows eat primarily other birds and carrion. Only occasionally our crops."

"Is there any topic you
haven't
read about?"

He bristled at the question. "Reading is a worthy pastime. I only wish everyone in the district could learn how. Children here receive their lessons at their parents' knees. I think that's insufficient, and hope one day for a proper schoolhouse with books and a schoolmistress. Someday a town hall for council meetings. I'm a member of the village council, but haven't yet convinced the elders to dig into their pockets for such expenditures."

"A councilman? And quite young for an innkeeper. You mentioned the inn had been in your family. How did it come about that you ended up owning it?" He didn't answer. She nudged his ribs lightly with her elbow. "I asked you a question, Mr. Tremayne."

"It's a tedious story."

"We have all afternoon. You said this trip would enlighten me. I've been visiting the inn for months, but I still don't understand how you came to own it and live there."

"You're really giving me all afternoon?" His lips brushed her ear. "I like the sound of that."

"First tell me the story, Morgan."

His voice was husky as he slowed Phantom to a walk. "I like the sound of that, too. My name, I mean." She half turned in the saddle to shoot him a look of exasperation.