Cachet (33 page)

She moaned when he took both swollen breasts in his hands and tenderly kneaded them. He slowly peeled away her garments, staring at her body. Richelle knew her areolas had darkened and spread. Where it had been a dimple before, her navel protruded slightly now. Morgan bent to flick his tongue against it the spot, tasting her flesh there.

"That's the most erotic thing you've ever done," she admitted in a choked whisper, all at once shy and confused. "I was afraid you wouldn't like the changes to my body."

"I like the way you've changed, and knowing I'm the cause."

"I love you. So much." She stroked his length, worshipping him. "Please, Morgan. Make love to me."

He quickly stripped and pressed her back onto the quilt, entering her with a single slow, measured thrust that made her gasp in pleasure. She made soft mewling sounds that grew louder with each buck of his hips. Her fevered hands pulled him in deeper and deeper. Richelle cried out, reaching her climax just as Morgan shuddered with his own release. She was still lying quietly sated in his arms when a soft rap sounded at the bedroom door.

"I'm sorry," came Lorella's hushed voice. "Your partner's downstairs, Mr. Tremayne. Should I tell him you can't be disturbed?"

"Have him wait, Lorella," Morgan called out. "I'll be down directly." He gave Richelle a look of reproach. "You and Boyd played a nasty trick on me today. Put something on and stay here until you hear your true name. Then come down and join me." He rose and retrieved his pants from the floor.

He descended to the landing, upper body and feet still bare. His hair was loose around his shoulders. He glanced furtively toward the kitchen before frowning down at his guest. "What's so important you had to come here tonight?"

"I wanted to see how you fared this afternoon. I gather it went well," Boyd winked, grinning.

"You didn't tell me I'd meet a tempting wench in need of servicing out there! Had I know, I never would have argued about going But I can't let the maid catch sight of the lass upstairs. You were right, it seems. My wife decided to come back, after all this time. She sent her maid and the luggage ahead. Going to have to finish pleasuring the wench quicker than I'd like, then get her out of here."

Boyd visibly paled. "What in the name of God have you done? I sent you to meet with your wife! I can't believe you're dallying with some milkmaid. If Rachel comes home and finds you tumbling—"

"
Richelle
," Morgan corrected loudly. On cue, she appeared in the rose silk gown and descended to stand beside Morgan. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Most tempting wench I've ever met." He pivoted slightly and planted a passionate kiss on her lips. Richelle blushed from the roots of her hair all the way to her toes.

Boyd almost dropped his hat. "God! You nearly gave me heart failure, Morgan!"

"Forgive me, oldest and dearest friend," Morgan taunted, "but you knew what lay in store for me, yet purposely had me chafing and so distraught I didn't sleep a wink last night." He glanced at Richelle. "Not that I'll do much better tonight. I owed you for your part in this."

"I'll take that as appreciation for my efforts," Boyd responded, smiling at the woman in front of him. "But I want to be certain I heard you correctly. Your name's not Rachel?"

Morgan started to answer, but she nudged his ribs gently. "I came here originally under an assumed name, due to a legal problem. It's resolved now, thanks to your partner. My name's Richelle. Richelle Tremayne."

"It's been a good many years since there's been a woman with that surname in this village. Congratulations, Morgan. You two must come to supper at our place one night soon. Chrissandra threatened to horsewhip me if I forgot to invite you." He donned his hat but made no move toward the door. "Didn't I say I'd make a bold statement to the lady when next I saw her, Morgan?"

"Aye."

"Mistress Tremayne, I'm firmly convinced you're the ideal mate for this difficult fellow. I sensed as much from the first."

Morgan pulled her closer against his side. "I'll be damned if I let you claim an ounce of credit for this marriage, Boyd. I had to scrape my knee in front of Squire Martin and the entire village, then pursue her through hell
and
high water. You can see I take my husbandly role very seriously." He grinned and slid his free hand over Richelle's abdomen.

"Since you're at last smiling, my formerly downcast chum," Boyd huffed, "I should think my part today counts a great deal. I might remind you that just yesterday you were only too anxious to lay blame for a disaster at my feet. However, I believe the lady can settle this dispute." He glanced back to Richelle. "Do you recall when we first discussed my business partner and your new landlord?"

"Yes."

With a total air of confidence, Boyd asked his next question. "When did he first make a suggestive comment or advance toward you?"

"The afternoon he met me at the inn and insisted on walking me home."

"What does that prove?" Morgan carped. "She wouldn't even give me a bloody cup of tea that day! She practically threw me out of here."

"So you'd already been rebuffed when you complained about her the next morning at the office. She didn't jump at the chance for a flirtation. That's the first I've ever heard of that reaction from a woman where you're concerned. What a
challenge
that must have presented, Morgan!"

Morgan's features went slack. Then he released a hearty laugh. "Get out of here, Atkinson."

"Gladly," Boyd grinned. "Got a new bride and soft mattress waiting at home myself."

Minutes later Richelle and Morgan were once again nude and wrapped in one another's arms. "It pleases me more than words can express to have you here with me, madam," he announced as his fingertip traced around her pliant nipple. "At my side, in this canopy bed, where I dreamt of loving you for so long."

"It pleases me to hear you laugh again," she answered.

"Afraid your child would have a sullen, disagreeable father, were you?"

She shook her head, pressing her overripe breast into his hand until he cupped its full heft. "He'll have the most handsome, wonderful, understanding father in the world."

"What if he is a
she
?"

"I won't have a she," Richelle replied tartly. "I'm not sharing you with another female. Even one who only weighs eight pounds." Her arms wrapped around his waist and she kissed him, starting the loving all over again. Morgan forgot the baby, the loneliness, the separation. There was nothing but Richelle wanting him and loving him.

Later, when the parlor clock struck midnight, Morgan's baritone rumbled softly in the darkness. "You know I can't repay you for the granary and the inn, Richelle. I don't know that I'll ever be able to."

"I don't expect repayment."

"But I told you I didn't want any part of your inheritance. You've not only disobeyed me, you've left me deeply indebted."

"Would you rather I'd left you bankrupt? You sound almost bitter. If you feel you must repay me somehow, do it by keeping your promise to be with me when the baby comes. And don't speak of my inheritance again. It only causes friction of the wrong kind between us."

"Have you had enough of the right kind for one night?" Morgan asked, stroking her bottom. She nodded against his shoulder. "Good, because your rake of a husband is getting sleepy. I'll keep my word about the birth, never doubt that. Haven't I already insisted you be seen by two different doctors? I'll be at your side when the babe comes, Richelle."

"Can you forgive me for hiding the pregnancy?"

He sighed. It was wisest to just capitulate. "I'll think about it, if you'll banish the ghosts from this cottage." He felt a sudden movement against his flank. Richelle murmured something, snuggling closer. He realized with a shock what she'd said. "That was our son?"

She nodded, yawning. The movement came again, stronger this time. Richelle was completely relaxed. She hadn't made the abrupt movements.

Your child lives and moves inside her!

Only yesterday, hell, even that selfsame morning, he'd had nothing. Just unending misery and a bleak future filled by more of the same. Tonight he held his wife close to his heart. She'd spent her inheritance restoring his assets. He couldn't tell her how profoundly that affected him. Tonight had Richelle's warmth and comfort, the promise of a family.

"Richelle, thank you," he whispered. "For the child and for coming back." He realized she'd fallen asleep. He pulled the quilt over her shoulder and kissed her forehead tenderly. "Good night, Madam Tremayne."

It had been long months since he'd whispered those words to her in the darkness. So many nights he'd fought the bitterness in his soul, the tortured worry in his mind that he'd never say them again. Tonight he truly meant their secret signal of peace and safety. His arms around Richelle, he closed his eyes, and for the first time since leaving America, drifted off to sleep without a single drop of liquor.

Morgan rapidly got commitments enough to nearly fill the granary, and Richelle signed it over as promised, relieved to have it off her conscience. She filled in for Chrissy at the holding company office now and again, but Morgan insisted she spend most of her time resting at the cottage. She couldn't argue the point. His concern for her welfare and that of their unborn child touched her too deeply.

Still, she needed to get out for fresh air and exercise occasionally. She enjoyed accompanying Lorella on market days, although doing so also meant receiving all sorts of unwanted advice from Crowshaven's matrons and merchants. One woman was adamant that any cats in the household must be disposed of before the babe's arrival, lest the feline smother the poor babe in its cradle by sucking the breath out of its chest. Another woman had the only proven colic remedy known to four generations in her family. Richelle was offered cures for hiccups, poor eye focus, teething, ear tugging and bedwetting.

"Sometimes I think they'll be telling me how to find him a wife next," she groaned to her companion. But Lorella wasn't listening. She appeared to be getting lessons in how to select a pumpkin from a young man with a very cocky grin.

"You want a good, firm stem," he told her as his fingers guided hers to check the solidity of the squash in question. He encouraged her to wrap her fingers around the green stump, and Richelle heard more than a few snickers around them.

But the astonishing fact was that Lorella actually bowed her head and flushed a very becoming shade of pink.

These villagers had no way of knowing that Lorella was anything but a timid young American housemaid. Her blush brought a wave of sympathetic teasing from the local farmers, who enjoined the young rascal to stop tormenting the poor lass.

Richelle choked down her own laughter. If the rascal only knew! Lorella had caressed far more than pumpkin stems and could give him lessons about "solid meat" that would straighten all his rumpled curly hair. Lorella paid for the squash and kept her face averted as they crossed the square toward the cottage.

"He was a nice looking hooligan," Richelle remarked with feigned casualness in her tone. "Strapping young fellow. I think I've seen him before. Out at the Atkinson farm. Maybe he's one of the masons or laborers. His face looked familiar. Must live in the general vicinity."

"Mmm," was all Lorella said.

"Your cheeks are red as twin roses, Lorella," Richelle said, unleashing her suppressed laughter. "I can't believe you were actually embarrassed!"

"I was, but not the way you're thinking," Lorella replied with new starch to the set of her shoulders. "I knew he was taunting me, hoping he could offend my sensibilities. Men like to shock a girl. But my face was red because I was wondering why it had to happen with a pumpkin. Where was that fine young stallion when I was at the butcher's picking out a sausage? That's what I'd like to know!"

* * *

Morgan was home before nightfall most evenings, but there inevitably came a trip that called him away for several days. He returned just as dusk fell. He opened the front door and was immediately attacked by the mongrel—christened Patrick by unanimous vote, in fond remembrance of Sheila's burly doorman. The price of admission into his own parlor was Morgan scratching behind the big dog's ears.

"Ah, supper! I can't tell you how wonderful it feels to find hot food waiting after my ride home on this chilly evening," Morgan announced. "I'd even take a cup of coffee to warm my bones, unless you brewed a pot of tea.. Don't know how you knew I'd be arriving just now, Lorella," he taunted their cook and maid, "unless Richelle and Patrick both kept watch at the parlor window."

Richelle poked her tongue out at him. "I won't drool over you, sir."

"Care to wager on that? Mayhap supper will have to be delayed an hour or so." He scooped a laughing Richelle into his arms and took her upstairs. They took that night's supper, then breakfast the next morning, and supper again the next evening on trays in their room.

Richelle knew part of his ardent expression was due to the doctor's orders that they abandon lovemaking soon. Morgan was tender and gentle, still, she was almost grateful when a pair of farmers came to the cottage seeking Morgan to discuss transporting their winter sheaves to the granary. She finally got the chance to resume wearing clothes.