Patricia Rice (21 page)

Throwing her head back, Faith met Morgan’s gaze, as
she had learned to do this past day. They were equals now. She owed him
nothing. He had taken all that she had. “I’d have employment of my own,”
she said. “I would not be put in the way of seeking the road again,
should aught happen to you.”

Relief and just a hint of hope rose to Morgan’s
eyes. Her terms weren’t easy ones, but he nodded his head. “I’d not see
that either, lass. I’ll make arrangements. Will you be patient and wait
for me until I do?”

Faith softened at the gentleness of his words. He
had all the power and strength on his side, but he did not use it
against her. She sensed there were few men who would be so lenient, and
something unexpected tugged at her heart. Denying its pull, she nodded.
“I’ll wait. You know I would not do otherwise.”

The promise that she would be here to share his bed
returned his smile. Stepping forward, his cloak flapping around them, he
lifted her chin and kissed her soundly. “Keep the bed warm, lass, I’ll
be back sooner than you know it.”

And he was gone, leaving the cottage colder for his absence.

The days were long, but the nights were longer. The
slightest sound sent Faith flying to the window in hopes of Morgan’s
return. She ought to be praying he had been captured so he could repent
and save his immortal soul—and hers—but suddenly that seemed less
important than his return.

It shouldn’t be like that. She ought to be running
away as fast as her feet could carry her, for she knew of a certainty
what he would expect of her as soon as he returned. She blushed crimson
just thinking of it, but stubbornly, she remained.

Faith tried to fathom her reasons for remaining, but
she could not. In these last months she had become another person.
Morgan had saved her body from death, but something else had died, and
she no longer missed it. Whether it was youth or innocence or
conscience, she could not say, but it was gone. She had killed a man,
taken shelter with a thief, and lost her virtue in this strange world
she had stumbled upon. But still, somehow, she felt protected.

Or perhaps it was Morgan she was not ready to
surrender. Just the thought of him returned the fiery heat to her belly.
He was a man unlike any she had ever known. Her father had been a
gentleman, but he’d had none of Morgan’s charm and vitality. The men in
the villages where they had resided were crude and uncouth compared to
Morgan, and the elegantly garbed aristocrats she had seen seemed somehow
feminine in contrast.

The glimpses he occasionally allowed her to see of
the hurt, proud man behind the dashing facade touched her even more. The
knowledge that a man like that had admired her enough to take her to
his bed, and even offered to marry her, was still a little overwhelming.

The thought that he might even now be taking his
pleasure in some other woman’s bed kept Faith from taking too much pride
in herself. She was convenient, nothing more. Morgan was a rogue and a
rascal and not to be trusted, but he had promised to find her a
position. She would have room and board and employment. That was the
reason she was staying.

She soothed her conscience by sleeping in her own
bed every night, although the demon in her longed to stay in Morgan’s
bed. She remembered too well the thrust of his hard body, and she spent
too many hours at night reliving it. She drew the ladder into the loft
with her just to preserve her sanity.

Coming in so late that the April night had left the
cottage damp and cold, Morgan swung his satchel to the floor and glanced
eagerly toward his bed. His journey had been successful, but he had
spent the entire time imagining his return. He had hoped to arrive early
enough that his little faerie would be waiting for him, but he could
not complain if she were already warming his bed. A man needed a little
softness in his life, and Faith offered that and more.

He shed his outer garments and shirt and washed in
the water she always left on the hearth. It was only lukewarm, but he
didn’t feel the chill. He hadn’t had enough of his little Methodist, and
this time he would sample her gaits more thoroughly, now that she’d had
time to heal from their first ride. Perhaps tonight he would teach her
to gallop.

He wanted to see her surprise when he came to her.
He found a candle and held it to the dying embers of the fire until it
kindled. Wearing only his breeches, Morgan approached the bed, eager to
see the spill of russet curls across his pillow and to admire the
sleeping innocence of Faith’s delicate face.

The shock at finding the bed empty was like taking a
blow to the stomach. Morgan stared at it incredulously, not believing
his eyes. She had promised! His thoughtful, obedient, and honest Faith
had promised to wait. She had to be here.

Morgan swung toward the loft. Holding the candle high, he realized what he should have seen earlier—the ladder was missing.

Rather than feel pain, Morgan allowed anger to boil
up. She was his. They both knew it. It was childish and spiteful to deny
it this way. Grabbing his sword from the nail where he had hung it, he
banged the metal against the frame opening to the loft and roared,
“Faith Henrietta Montague, remove yourself down here now!”

The noises he had been making had jarred Faith from
sleep, but she had been terrified to betray her wakefulness. She had
prayed he would go to bed and think no more about her. Morgan’s outraged
roar now quaked her small reserves of courage.

“Let’s see the ladder, lass, or I’m coming up there after you!”

He was quite capable of doing that. His six-foot
height put him near enough to the ceiling. It was just a matter of
pulling up a chair or an athletic tug to bring him up here. Knowing
defiance would never work against his rage, Faith leaned over the
opening to look down to Morgan’s irate features, her braid tumbling
through the opening and practically into his hands with the motion.

“Is there aught wrong?” she asked sleepily.

In the candlelight, she was beautiful. She was more
than beautiful. Soft shadows played along the hollows of her delicate
cheekbones, and her dark lashes made wide ribbons of color against her
creamy skin. He ought to be ashamed of his rage and for waking her, but
he was not.

“Get down here, lass. I didn’t ride all this way
tonight to sleep in an empty bed. You’ve had your rest. Now I need your
services.”

The sleep disappeared from her eyes and angry color
accented her cheeks. “Morgan de Lacy, that’s disgusting! What do you
think I am, some whore to come at your beck and call?”

“I think you’re my woman and you belong in my bed! Or is your bloody Sassenach breeding too blue for the likes o’ me?”

“I’m not your woman, I’m your housekeeper, and I
don’t belong in your bed unless I want to go there. And I don’t know
what a Sassenach is, but a bloody
pig
would be too good for the likes of you!”

The combination of the fury and the curse coming
from the prim lips of his little Methodist jolted Morgan back to humor.
He stared up at her with a growing grin and watched the blush creep
across her fair skin.

“A pig is it, now? Then if you’ll be my sow, I’ll be
your boar, and we can rut together. Now, come down from there before I
come up to get you.” Setting candle and sword aside, Morgan held up his
hands to catch her.

“I’ll not.” Stubbornly Faith started to retreat.

Catching her braid, Morgan tugged. “You will, if only to warm my sheets.”

That would be the best compromise he would offer,
she knew. Faith didn’t trust him to keep his word, but if he had to come
up here after her, there wouldn’t even be that much conciliation on his
part. He didn’t need to rape her, and he knew it. That’s why he was so
damned smilingly confident down there now. All it took was his touch.

Resignedly she gave in. “Let me fetch the ladder.”

“Leave the damned ladder up there. I’ll not come home to find you there again. Just swing your legs down and I’ll catch you.”

Swing her legs down! My dear Lord, but the man was a
reprobate of the worst kind. He would be able to see all the way up her
chemise. Blessedly, it was too dark to see much.

Morgan saw quite enough as long slender limbs
appeared in the entrance. His fingers wrapped around one enticing ankle,
and his lips quirked at the muffled shriek from above. He had stayed
away too long, and she had forgotten everything he’d taught her. He’d
rectify that situation soon enough.

Faith eased herself down, and he caught her hips,
and then she was in his arms again, where she belonged. Morgan crushed
her slender body next to his and welcomed her arms sliding over his
shoulders. Now he was home.

His bare chest pressed against Faith’s breasts until
she felt the crisp hairs through her thin chemise. That sensation alone
was enough to light fires, but the exploration of Morgan’s mouth and
tongue wiped away any remaining resistance. Faith gave herself up to his
demands and scarcely knew it when he laid her down upon the bed.

There was a brief instance of coldness while Morgan
stopped to remove his breeches, but then he was beside her, stripping
off her last shred of clothing, and she was naked in his arms and
without shame.

“This is where you belong, lass. You’ll get used to
the idea with time. A man and a woman belong together, and you’re the
woman I want.”

Morgan’s lips closed over hers before Faith could
reply, but his words had already sent a thrill of pride through her. A
woman! He thought her a woman, and one worth keeping. Compliments had
been few and far between in her life, and she found it hard to believe
Morgan’s pretty phrases, but these words had the ring of truth.

He didn’t linger with soft praises and gentle
touches this time. Their need was too great. Morgan’s lips plundered,
his fingers invaded, and before long Faith rose frantically against him,
nearly begging for the act she had sworn not to repeat. She welcomed
the heavy weight covering her, and with Morgan’s guidance she lifted her
knees and cried out her shock and pleasure at the male hardness
penetrating and filling her emptiness.

Their bodies fought briefly for the rhythm Faith was
just beginning to learn before the explosion caught and overwhelmed
them and carried them over the precipice. She’d never had a chance with
this man. Circling Morgan’s shoulders with her arms, Faith pressed a
kiss to his unshaven cheek. She would struggle with her conscience on
the morrow.

They slept then, and woke long after the dawn to
make love again. Faith’s shyness disappeared with her need to please,
and Morgan’s praises and loving touches aroused and inflamed until she
could think of nothing else but giving him all he wanted. When he’d
taken his fill, she curled up within the protection of his embrace and
slept again.

Morgan caressed the slender curve of her back and
wondered what would become of this arrangement he had initiated, but he
was a man who had learned to live from day to day. He had not abandoned
his plans to marry her and flaunt her before London society, but delayed
them a little. She did not yet realize that a child could come of their
coupling, but it would occur to her in time. He would be prepared when
it did.

Until then, he needed to ensure that she would stay,
and to that end he applied his nimble mind. There were few
opportunities in these misbegotten wilds for the likes of his
faerie-woman. He would need to see that all he possessed would become
hers in the very likely event that anything happened to him. But she
wasn’t ready to accept that as a feasible solution. She wanted to make
her own way, and not on her back. That was a little harder.

Morgan cupped her breast and stroked the crest with
his thumb. The little nub grew to an aroused point that beckoned his
lips. Even in her inexperience, Faith was more woman than he’d ever had
the pleasure of knowing. Obviously he had been fishing in the wrong
waters. Would all of London’s society ladies be so responsive? He
thought not.

Before Faith was fully awake, Morgan eased into her
again, gaining pleasure just from knowing he had an English lady beneath
him, spreading her legs for him. He had stolen a prize far more
valuable than gold, and he meant to enjoy her for a long time to come.

Tousled and spent, Faith felt no inclination to rise
from the bed when Morgan did. She watched languorously as he strode
naked to stoke the fire and set his coffee on to brew. She had become
someone she did not recognize. Perhaps a life of sin had its advantages.

She watched in disappointment as he dressed to see
to his horses. The place between her legs ached with Morgan’s ardent
attentions, and she should be satisfied, but somehow, it wasn’t quite
enough. Not wishing to contemplate the source of this dissatisfaction,
Faith rose to start the day’s chores.

Morgan rode to the Raging Bull that afternoon and cornered the proprietor in his private parlor, much to Whitehead’s dismay.

“I’ve not touched the girl again, Jack! Honest, I ain’t even seen her.”

Morgan propped his booted foot on a chair and
considered this unanticipated reaction. Had he terrorized the man that
much? “I didn’t say you had, Nate. Is there some reason I should?”

Whitehead stopped backing against the wall to answer nervously. “There’s them that’s been askin’ after her, that’s all.”

“Who’s after asking for her? And how do you know it’s her they’re looking for?” Morgan asked in shock.

Nate shrugged. “She calls herself Faith and she’s
got the ways of gentry. You know any other come through here that fits
the description? The fellow’s a runner, I’ll be bound, Jack. You’d best
watch your step.”

A runner. That wasn’t a good sign. Surely the London
courts weren’t interested in the disappearance of a common thief like
Tucker, nor could they put Faith’s name to the disappearance. Someone
must be looking for the missing Montague, and if the example of her
noble family he had met was any indication, they didn’t mean to shower
her with wealth.