Patricia Rice (30 page)

Toby had slicked his frizzy red hair back into a
queue and borrowed a frock coat to cover his dirty leather jerkin. He
also sported a gentleman’s neckcloth, although it was arranged in an odd
knot that showed his inexperience with such niceties.

Morgan would have laughed had not the expression in
Toby’s eyes been such that he had serious cause for concern. The lad who
had once followed him about like an adoring puppy now met his gaze with
nervousness and a defiance that did not bode well.

Morgan turned back to Miles, who had been whispering
instructions to the disreputable priest. Or vicar. Or whatever in hell
he was. Morgan had a very good suspicion of what he was from the little
book. That was no Bible. Characters like that were an everyday
occurrence in the street below, although they operated more frequently
in the vicinity of Fleet Prison.

For a coin or two, they would marry anyone, no
questions asked. He had heard it said that they didn’t always require
the compliance of both parties. All it required was a license and the
names of both parties in that little black “register.” That thought
tightened Morgan’s lips to a grim line.

“Miles, I don’t know what the hell you think you’re
perpetrating, but I’ll not be having Faith in the same room with the
likes of that one. I told you to keep her away from here. Do I need to
persuade the weapon from our gallant warden to show you what I mean?”

The guard’s face blanched a shade whiter as he
hastily stepped from the cell and slammed the door closed. That would
teach the man to let his curiosity get the better of him, but it would
not ease Morgan’s temper. Faith watched him warily.

Miles confronted his irate client. “We’ll be gone
shortly. Even my friend here requires both parties for this ceremony.
Once it’s over, we’ll be on our way, and the lady needn’t return. Just a
few words and we’ll be done. Are you ready?”

It was the look of hope in Faith’s eyes that did him
in more certainly than any word of the lawyer’s. Morgan resisted, but
he knew his weakness.

Furiously he turned back to Miles. “Out,” he
demanded. Raising his voice, he yelled to the guard just beyond the
door, “Get them out of here, you dolt, or I’ll carve my initials in your
bloody heart!”

There was a gulp and the scrape of a key on the
other side of the door. Miles waved another golden guinea. The coin
disappeared and the door closed again.

“You bloody damn fool! That’s my money you’re
wasting! You’re dismissed, Golden. I want you to turn over all my papers
to Toby here. Toby, go find another man to handle my business. Find two
men. I don’t trust any of them. If there’s anything left after this
rascal is done, perhaps you’d better find three men. Then there might be
something left for the lass when I am gone.”

“There will be nothing left for me when you are gone,”

Faith intervened, stepping forward until she nearly
touched his lace jabot. Miles had seen to that symbol of gentility.
Morgan should have been suspicious when the clothes arrived.

“Look at me, Morgan, and tell me you would deny me what you have offered and should have given long ago.”

Morgan had never turned down a challenge, but he was
seriously tempted to turn down this one. The only way he could ever
dream of keeping Faith was by giving up the means to earn back the money
Miles was spending to save his unworthy life. She deserved better.

“I take back my offer,
cailin
.
It was a cruel one. It may not seem so now, but you will be better for
my absence. If that cad Miles”—Morgan threw the disgraced solicitor an
angry glance—“leaves you enough, you can go to the colonies with Toby as
you wanted. Your family will never look for you there, and you can make
a new life. We are even now, little one. You don’t need to do this for
my sake.”

Faith met his angry expression and found the pain
behind the shadows of Morgan’s eyes. He was being deliberately cruel,
and he was very good at it. Had he railed and shouted, she could have
defied him easily. These calm, cajoling words were harder to fight, for
they almost seemed reasonable. She could almost feel the men around her
nodding in agreement. Without giving thought to what she did, she
knotted her fist and punched Morgan in the solid, flat expanse of his
abdomen.

Morgan scarcely gave an “oof” of breath at the blow, but his eyes lit with an unholy gleam. “You’ll pay for that, brat.”

“And you’ll pay for my virtue, Black Jack. Give the man your vows. I would hear them said properly.”

When Morgan raised his head with that terrible glow
in his eyes, Miles had second and third thoughts about this contest.
When the chained highwayman clasped the delicate lady by the arm and
dragged her to his side, the solicitor almost called the whole thing
off.

But when the lady removed her mantle and the hood
covering her hair to reveal the shimmering copper waves hanging down her
back and raised her chin in defiance of Morgan’s harsh hold, Miles held
his words and signaled the self-described clergyman to start the
service.

Somehow, he had the feeling the Irishman had finally met his match.

Faith scarcely heard or understood the clergyman’s
thick accents as he rumbled off the words to the Church of England’s
marriage ceremony. Her whole being seemed centered in that hard hand
circling her upper arm, crushing the skin until she knew she would be
sorely bruised. Morgan had never treated her with anything but
tenderness before, but she had never tested him this severely, either.
She didn’t know where she had found the courage. She wished she could
find it again.

She felt Morgan’s jerk as the clergyman uttered the
name Alice Henwood. She didn’t want to see what was in his eyes as they
burned through her while she made the response. Let him think what he
would. Miles would explain it in all due time. She just wanted that
piece of paper that would disown her family’s claim and free him from
their scrutiny.

Morgan’s voice rumbled in reply, and she realized
Miles had not given Morgan’s full name either. She would be Mrs. James
O’Neill on the marriage records. It was all a lie. There was nothing
here that made a real marriage. It was just a piece of paper. She didn’t
know whether to be sad or glad over that knowledge.

There had been so much between them that was good
and honest and right. How had it come to this? She could remember the
night of the falling stars as if it were yesterday, but looking back on
it from this viewpoint, she knew Morgan had seduced her as surely as he
had held his mare for the stallion’s use.

That he had offered to marry her afterward was even
more suspicious. He had probably known about her wealthy family then.
But she’d rather think about the times he had loved her, the times he
had held her and poured sweet words of praise into her ear. Morgan had
merely taken what she offered. For that, she had no one to blame but
herself.

As she had no one to blame but herself in this. They
had both had their choices. If the truth be told, Morgan had slightly
less choice than she. He could go to the hangman’s noose, or he could
marry her and hope Miles could work the proper magic to see him free.

The final sonorous words of the ceremony brought
Faith back to the moment. Her heart did a backhanded flip and fell flat
as Morgan’s grip loosened at the same time as the words “I now pronounce
you man and wife” quivered in the close air. Then both Morgan’s hands
were on her arms and she was drawn up against him, her flowers crushed
flat as his mouth swooped down to take the possession she had just
granted with her vows.

Morgan’s kiss was hot and fierce and knowing, and
Faith trembled as she realized they had an audience. Whether the
marriage was a mockery or not, all recognized the intimacy of their
relationship. Morgan’s arms bent her backward in his embrace, forcing
her to cling to his shoulders. She tried to deny the excitement of his
proximity, but she had denied his touch too long. Heat rushed over her,
and her struggles died as quickly as they were born. Even the rattle of
chains and the flames of hell couldn’t keep her from him.

Sensing her surrender, Morgan returned her to her
feet and dared the gazes of their witnesses. Faith saw Miles put his
fist to his mouth and cough politely. Toby looked pale and angry and the
clergyman merely scribbled in his book.

His mouth hardening into a bitter smile, Morgan glared at the intruders.

“Out, the lot of you. A man’s entitled to some time with his wife after they’re wedded.”

It was Miles’s turn to look stricken and offered in
warning, “If the marriage is consummated, there is less chance of
annulment afterward. I can plead the irregularity of the license, but—”

Morgan released Faith and caught Miles by the
shoulder, shoving him toward the door with all the force his chained
wrists would allow. “It’s too late to think of these things now, you
bastard. Go play your slimy games elsewhere. You’ve got what you wanted,
now leave me to mine.”

Miles straightened and pounded on the door, but Toby
dug in his heels and glared. “This ain’t no place for a lady, Jack. You
can have her once you get out. Let me take her home now.”

Ruthlessly Morgan pointed toward the door. “Out,
O’Reilly. You can stand outside the door and listen for her cries if you
wish, or you can come back later, whatever you prefer, but she’s mine
now, and there are matters between her and me that need no interference
from outside. Leave before I have to throw you out.”

Faith couldn’t answer the question in Toby’s eyes as
the door opened and Miles grabbed his arm to drag him away. The
clergyman ambled out, and the guard stared at her in lascivious
fascination. Toby caught the guard’s coat and jerked him into the
corridor. With a considering look, Miles turned one more time to face
his furious client, then he too left them alone.

The door clanged shut, and Faith turned to face her
furious husband. Morgan’s sharply angular features revealed no trace of
his anger, but there was no hint of humor in his eyes or in the twist of
his lips. She was not to see the laughing gentleman on this, their
wedding day, but she very much suspected she was seeing the ruthless
highwayman. Her heart quivered, but she held her ground.

Faith knew the instant her fate was decided. The
shadows of the past filled Morgan’s eyes, and she could almost imagine
all those lost generations of de Lacys crowding his soul as he reached
for her. There would be no going back now. She would be his wife in all
senses of the word.

“Mrs. O’Neill,” Morgan murmured mockingly as he
pulled her forward, brushing his lips against her hair. “Isn’t that
grand, now? Come here, Mrs. O’Neill, and comfort your husband.”

The coldness of their surroundings had seeped into
her bones, but Morgan’s touch had the heat of a fire. It was too late to
flee now. Uncertainly Faith stepped into his arms, seeking the shelter
of his warmth, fearing the ice in his eyes. His arms closed around her,
drawing her closer, but the hold was as much a prison as an embrace. She
leaned her head against his shoulder and felt his kisses fall upon her
hair, but they weren’t the same. She stiffened as his chains fell
against her back, but his arms didn’t loose their hold.

When she struggled against him, Morgan held her
tighter. “Oh, no, Mrs. O’Neill.” He lifted her from the floor until
Faith could only grab his neck and hold on. “This is what you requested,
and I’ll not deny you. Should I hang at Tyburn next execution day, I’ll
have some hope that another de Lacy will take my place. I’ll have you
bear my son, Mrs. O’Neill. Is that too much for a husband to ask his
wife?”

There was something terrible in his voice that made
Faith quake, but at the same time, Morgan’s words unlodged the hunger
inside her. Her eyes held his, even as she felt him lift her to the hard
bench that would serve as their marriage bed. His child. Morgan’s
child. The cold began to dissipate, and shyly she pressed a kiss to his
hard cheek.

She felt the muscle beneath Morgan’s skin tighten
and his fingers dig into her side. Then he was laying her down against
the bench and kneeling over her, his face a frozen mask as he stared
down at her, his chains forming a barrier on either side of her head.

“Don’t,” he warned. “Don’t let me ruin your life as I have all the others. Run from me just as fast as you can, Mrs. O’Neill.”

He frightened her, just as he meant to do, but Faith
refused to let him see it. As the cold, hard wood pressed against her
back, she reached to caress his stern jaw, and a smile flickered across
her lips. “When I’m good and ready, Mr. O’Neill,” she murmured as
mockingly as he had earlier. “Give me your son, then, and I’ll think
about it.”

“You are strong now, my treasure. You will need to be for any child we might create.”

His hand came between them, unfastening the hooks of
the bodice he had bought for her. Faith gasped and arched against his
hand when at last he touched her. It had been so long.... She cried out
softly as Morgan’s fingers caressed her, teasing her breasts to aching
peaks, stirring long-neglected needs and desires. His mouth followed his
fingers, giving her no time for thought, wasting no time on tenderness.
His rapacious hunger aroused her more swiftly than lingering kisses,
and though she regretted his haste as he raised her skirts, she met his
needs with a speed that startled both of them.

Thinking only that this might be the last chance he
had to have her, that at any minute someone would arrive to deprive him
of what he might be denied into eternity, Morgan made haste to claim
what he had never expected to be given.

His entry was swift and searing, and only his mouth
stopped Faith’s cry. He filled her, possessed her, carried her along on
some mad journey whose destination only he knew. She rose to meet his
needs, taking him in and giving him full rein until she thought she
would burst from the need of him. His lunges sundered her in two, and
she was no more herself but part of him, part of the man gasping and
crying and flooding her with new life.