Authors: Devil's Lady
Toby openly gaped as Morgan removed himself from the
chair, offered it to Faith, then ambled to the cupboard to produce
their meal. His eyes widened as Jack set out the bread and cheese and
rummaged for knives and poured a cup of tea for Faith.
Faith read the letter aloud, and even Jack listened
with half an ear. She looked up excitedly as she finished the letter.
“Will you go, Toby? Did he send enough? It’s such an opportunity!”
Jack seemed to have more interest in locating the
apple tart, and Toby shrugged off Faith’s raptures. “It’s a fair amount,
but I don’t see nothin’ in my goin’. He’s gettin’ married; says so
right there. He won’t be needin’ my company. Those letters just been an
excuse to go visit the schoolmaster and court his daughter. Now that
he’s got what he wanted, I won’t hear more of it.”
Faith hid her disappointment as she continued to
read and reread the lines that had come all the way from the colonies.
“He sent money, Toby. Surely he must mean it. And here he says he’s
building a house and needs to hire help with the farm. That means he
could use you, but he doesn’t want to say it.”
“I’m doin’ all right for myself here,” Toby replied
defensively. “I’m puttin’ a little aside like Jack said, and someday
I’ll own me a little place like this.”
Morgan slapped a dish before the youngster. “More
likely, someday you’ll be hanging from a tree and the bank will have
your pennies. Don’t be a fool, lad. You’ve got family. Join them while
you can.”
Toby looked surprised, but wisely held his tongue.
Faith hid her surprise as she watched Morgan cross the room, but she
merely tasted her tart and smiled as he returned with his own dish.
Later that night, after Toby had gone and she had
prepared for bed, she waited for Morgan’s footsteps in the darkness. She
lay in his bed every night, hoping he would join her, wondering if she
ought to return to her pallet in the loft, but Morgan never said a word.
Tonight she had other thoughts on her mind.
When he entered and the room filled with the scent
of soap, Faith waited until she knew he was rolling out his pallet
before speaking. “Morgan?”
He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. “You’re supposed to be asleep, my treasure.”
Faith let the luxury of Morgan’s strong hand seep
through her. She had forgotten what it felt like. How could one man be
so exciting, yet at the same time feel so secure? Her fingers curled
inside of his as she fumbled for words.
“You told Toby to go to the colonies. Would not that advice be good for yourself too?”
Morgan sighed and stroked her palm with his finger.
“The lad does not have the experience I do. Ye need not fret over me
lass. There’s almost enough now to take you to the city, where you
belong. I’d thought to buy a piece of land in the country for my horses,
but I can stable them in town for now. When you’re well enough, I’ll go
to London for a few days and see what can be done.”
She wanted to hope. She wanted to believe he meant
to give up the road. But she was innocent no longer. Had he meant that,
he would have said so. Closing her eyes, she clung to his hand. “I don’t
need the city, Morgan.”
“You don’t know the city,
cailin.”
Kissing her cheek, Morgan rose and returned to his pallet.
For his sake, Faith stifled her sobs of despair.
“How do I look?”
Thomas watched with jaded eye as Sarah twirled
around the plainly furnished room. He had made her his mistress for her
buxom good looks, but somehow they did not quite fit in this new role.
The modest, high-necked gray stuff bodice she wore still seemed to fill
to overflowing, and the heavy skirt did not disguise the provocative
sway of full round hips. He wanted to lay her down on the carpet and
throw her skirts over her head. That wasn’t the kind of reaction one
expected a meek Methodist virgin to provoke.
“Wear a cap down around your ears and bind your chest,” he suggested coldly.
The woman gave him a heavy-lidded, pouting look that
did not diminish the issue. When he snarled, she flashed him a smile.
“Do we have a problem, darling?” she purred. “Do you wish to solve it
now? Or shall I practice being your little cousin awhile longer?”
“You’d better take this seriously,” Thomas warned.
“If we fail, I’m out a vast amount of wealth, and I shall be forced to
find a rich wife.”
She snuggled onto his lap and threw her arms around
his shoulders. “Don’t you think it would be much more believable if you
told your uncle that we were married? Then he could start looking
forward to that heir, and he wouldn’t mind at all when you look at me
like that.” She nibbled at his ear and squirmed deliberately against his
rising lust.
Thomas shoved her from him and stood up to pace the
room. “If it’s marriage you want, then you’d better behave. You must
play the part of mewling Methodist, not wanton hussy. Now, give me the
story you’ll tell the old man.”
Giving a sigh of exasperation, she stood and put her
hands behind her back, her downcast eyes studying the floor. “I went to
stay with my old nanny. I was scared, and she took me in for the
winter. I don’t know London and didn’t know how to find my parents’
families. Then Nanny got sick, and I stayed with her until you found me.
When Nanny died, you helped me bury her, then brought me back here. But
I don’t know any of you. How do I know you are who you say you are? I
want to see Mr. Wesley.”
Thomas gave a grim smile at this last innovation.
“Very good. Challenge the old bastard before he can challenge you. I
like that. You’ll have him eating out of your hand. That might almost do
the trick.”
She threw her head back up and braced her hands on
her hips, completely undoing the image of a moment ago. “Shall we try
it, then? I’m tired of these dreary quarters. I’d like to see the life
of the rotten rich for a change.”
Thomas reached for the linen covering her voluptuous
bosom. “When the time’s right, my little dove, when the time’s right. I
have to pry those papers loose from the bank first. That bastard may
cost me a fortune, but those papers will do the trick. He sold out
cheaply compared to what we’ll soon have in our hands.”
The cloth fell from her shoulders as Thomas dipped
his hand beneath the gown’s neckline to pinch her nipple while his other
hand brought her hips to rub the place where he needed her most.
“Spread your legs awhile longer, Sarah, it will be a long, cold night
once we reach Montague House.”
The boy scrubbing the mud off his boots on the
landing gave a snort of disgust. Stealing a fortune was one thing, but
having to put up with a female’s wiles to do it was quite another. Just
imagining the wet, nasty kiss, he wiped his dirty sleeve across his
mouth and jumped up from his post.
The gentleman would pay well for this piece of
information. That thought returned a smile, and he ran down the stairs,
whistling contentedly.
Watson took the report from his informant at the
Raging Bull to the judge. Henry Fielding operated his court out of his
own home on Bow Street, and the thief-taker found the gentleman sitting
before a summer fire, wrapped in a muffler, and nursing a hot mug of
grog. Watson held back a groan at the stifling heat and waited patiently
for the judge to acknowledge him.
Fielding looked up from the report. “This is out of
my jurisdiction, Watson, and you know it. If this highwayman is
committing crimes here in London, I might have some influence, but as
far as you are aware, he’s never strayed closer than the forest. Have
you any proof that he’s kidnapped this girl?”
“He has to have. He’s the last person she’s been
seen with. They can’t have both disappeared into thin air. The
inhabitants of the Raging Bull are thieves and rogues and covering for
one of their own. A man answering to Black Jack’s description stopped
Lord Anson’s carriage just last June. I know damned good and well—excuse
me, sir—I know he’s alive. And I’m willing to wager the poor girl’s
still with him. Just imagine a poor wench come from good family having
to live like that, sir. It fair bleeds the heart. And Black Jack’s had
more crimes to his name than any can count. There’s something
havey-cavey going on here, and I’d like to find it.”
Fielding scratched beneath his wig and waggled his quill pen thoughtfully. “Nothing came of your bank endeavor?”
Watson grimaced. “He’s clever. I’ll give him that.
The bank has acknowledged his documents, but he got away before we could
find him. There’s no doubt that the papers belong to the girl, but
they’re only copies. The bank wants to hold them and the fund. I reckon
the earl has some influence over that. But there’s been legal papers
filed to have the fund moved and the papers returned to their owner. I
don’t know nothin’ about that part of it. I guess I could go down to
Temple Bar and try to trace them papers.”
His obvious reluctance to go near the legal system
raised an amused look from the judge. “I’ll look into that for you. If
this Montague chit is being held for ransom, I want to know it. And
you’re telling me this Black Jack is the most likely perpetrator. If he
hasn’t committed a crime since June, but hasn’t collected the ransom
either, he must be getting a trifle hungry. Do you think he can be
tempted out of hiding?”
Watson looked relieved at Fielding’s quickness.
“Yes, sir, I do believe so, sir. A word or two in the right place, and
he’s bound to hear it. There’s no promise that another rogue or two
might not make the same attempt, but I reckon Black Jack can be told
from all the others. They say he has a gentleman’s ways, though he looks
like something straight from hell.”
The judge nodded. “It’s still out of my jurisdiction. Find his fence and catch him there, and he’s ours.”
That was no easy task, but Watson had a few ideas
along that route too. After exchanging a few final words, he bowed out
with his hopes buoyed. No highwayman could resist a fortune in jewels,
and jewels were so easy to trace.
***
Morgan carried in the last bucket of water to place
over the fire and glanced to Faith’s blanket-clad figure standing beside
the bed. His body tightened in a protest of denial. Her heavy hair fell
in a wicked waterfall of russet curls over her bare shoulders and down
breasts concealed by the rough wool. Small bare feet and a well-turned
ankle peeped out from beneath the concealing blanket. It had been well
over six weeks since he had enjoyed the pleasures she kept hidden, and
he didn’t think he could last much longer.
Thinking of another time when she had come from
bathing straight into his arms, Morgan felt the sweat break out on his
brow. He didn’t know if she was well enough now to take him, but his vow
to keep her safe restrained his lust. He would have her installed
somewhere with servants before he put her through that hell again.
“If you have all you need, lass, I’ll be going down the road a ways for a while. Will you be all right here alone?”
Faith looked at him in surprise. She had wondered at
his staying home this long. Now he asked her permission just to go down
the road? Did this mean he had truly turned over a new leaf and meant
to become a law-abiding citizen? If so, he had said naught to her about
it.
She offered a tentative smile. “I’ll not be needing
you to wash my back, if that’s what you ask. Do you think you could ask
Mr. Whitehead if I might go back to my duties soon?”
“You’ll not be going back there. I have other plans,
but you’ll have to wait. There’s plenty for you to do here, and we
don’t need the few coins the bastard pays you.”
The small bundle of coins she kept wrapped in a
handkerchief had become a bone of contention these last days. She had
wanted to pay Morgan for some new shoes and a bit of cloth to replace
the chemise that had been ruined. His refusal had been so adamant that
it had left her shaken, but not shaken enough to accept his offer to buy
the articles for her. Every time they turned around, they seemed to be
stumbling over some new obstacle in their odd relationship. It had been
easier when she had been his mistress.
Faith held back her anger. Morgan had done too much
for her to snap at him for his hardheadedness, and he had been the soul
of gentleness in her care these last weeks. She owed him much, and she
raised a daring hand to his shirt sleeve. “Don’t let’s start on that,
Morgan. Go have your ale and say hello to Toby for me. Tell him again
he’s a fool for staying.”
Moving away from her hand, he nodded curtly. “I’ll leave you in peace, then. I’ll bring home a meat pie so you needn’t cook.”
Faith watched him go with aching heart. He no longer
wanted her, that much was obvious. What were his plans, then? Perhaps
he had found her a better position in a private house, but he was
reluctant to let her go. That would explain much.
Giving up on second-guessing Morgan, Faith dropped
the blanket and dipped her hair in the warm water in the basin. If ever
she were rich, the first thing she would buy was a tub like she had
heard of for bathing the whole body. A maid to wet her hair and rinse it
would be lovely too. But Morgan’s dreams weren’t hers. She would never
be rich.
***
Morgan rode to the Bull and took some solace in the
all-male company. The new tavern maid wasn’t as saucy as Molly, although
he’d heard her favors could be bought just as easily. He eyed her
lissome figure from afar but kept his attention on the conversation
around him. Faith would hear of it if he strayed, and he wasn’t
seriously tempted. The maid didn’t look overly clean, and he had grown
discriminating in his old age.
Toby’s vivid description of some jewels to be had
for the taking flew by his ear, but the lad’s mention of the Montague
name swung Morgan’s head around. He frowned fiercely and grabbed the lad
by the collar. “Repeat that, but without the glory, boy. What jewels
and what Montague?”