DD-Michaels-END.rtf (26 page)

Mrs. Tirrel stood there for a few moments, blinking, sputtering, and the
n
—
t
o Chance's complete and utter amazemen
t
—
s
aid, "Why, of course I shall tell Fenton your happy news, Nephew. My felicitations on your upcoming marriage. I...
I
knew if I but nudged you enough, you'd tell me what seemed so
obvious
to me the moment I saw that lovely young lady enter on your arm. Why, I—"

"Aunt," Ethan said quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. "Go away. Now."

"But
—
"

"The allowance will continue. But only if neither you nor Fenton enters my line of vision for the next, oh, five years should do it. Understood?"

Chance watched the woman scurry off as if someone had lit a fire beneath her feet. "I think it's safe to say she understands. So, my friend, how much do
you think it might cost the two of us to convince the fiddlers to saw out a waltz, h
m
m?"

Ethan, who had been watching Morgan again, his aunt's appearance already forgotten, turned to smile at Chance Becket. "Morgan and I may be deserting society, but you'll still be here, still at the War Office. Would your wife approve? We'll be asked to leave the premises, you know, and then shunned for quite some time. Rightfully so, I would point out to you, although Maud
e
—
L
ady Beresfor
d
—
w
on't really mind."

"My wife is pregnant. I don't think we'll be tempted to move in society for quite some time. And Morgan has earned this treat, don't you think?"

"We have been rather manipulating her, haven't we, using her to cover my trip to the coast?"

"Nobody uses Morgan, Ethan. Not for long, and never twice. Ten pounds?"

"Fifty, I think
,
as there are five of them
up on the dais. I'm feeling generous this evening. Go prepare your wife."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Morgan hadn't let Louise fold away the gown, but had just shooed out the maid, then held the garment up in front of her as she began to glide around the bedchamber in her bare feet, humming the tune she'd never forget.

They'd watched the other dancers, then gone down to supper, to share a plate Ethan had piled high with slices of fruit and meat. He'd introduced Morgan to several people and she'd promptly forgotten all of their names and titles, because she saw no reason to commit them to memory.

Three matrons had asked her for the direction of her modiste, and another had gushed most embarrassingly over Morgan's "simply remarkable" hairstyle, and that had been nice.

But nothing had been better than what happened once they'd returned to the ballroom.

Ethan had given her no hint that he'd actually arranged for the playing of the lovely Viennese melody, but when it had begun, and the dancers all seemed to freeze in place, looking confused, he had taken her by the hand and led her past them, to the very center of the floor, holding her at arm's length, walking the two of them in a slow circle directly beneath the largest chandelier in the ballroom.

Nobody had spoken. She doubted that many of the people watching them had even breathed. There was nothing but the music and the man in front of her. The circle he'd drawn with their bodies had carved out their own small world in the midst of a multitude.

He'd released her hand then, and bowed most elegantly, and she'd curtsied to him deeply before slipping two fingers through the silken loop hal
fw
ay down her gown's flared skirt. She'd then stepped into his outstretched arms, to
be quickly, breathlessly whirled into the magic
.

She'd held her chin high, and he'd leaned slightly away from
her, still keeping her safely within the circle of his arms as their gazes met, locked.

This was nothing like the dance as she'd learned it under Monsieur Aubert's reluctant tutorage.

Morgan's gloved hands had seemed to burn pleasurab
l
y, one on Ethan's forearm, the other held high in his grasp as he gently maneuvered her backward, then forward, before stepping into yet another turn. And another. And another.

She'd thrown back her head and laughed in utter freedom, utter enjoyment, feeling as if she and Ethan were creating their own breeze as he deftly danced her around the room, everyone stepping back, moving out of their way.

"I'm flying," she'd told Ethan breathlessly.

And he'd replied, "You're beautiful."

The floor was theirs. The music was theirs. The magic was theirs.

And then, much to her surprise, Morgan saw that Chance and Julia had joined them on the dance floor.

"In for a penny," Julia had told her as she and Chance whirled by them, and Morgan realized that Julia was a most beautiful woman...
s
omething Chance obviously knew, as he was looking at her like a besotted bridegroom.

"Uh-oh," Ethan had warned, much too soon. "I do believe Lady Beresford is attempting to engage my attention, thankfully not by tossing a chair in our general direction."

"Ignore her," Morgan had told him, and he had done just that, so that the music, that lovely music, hadn't stopped until Lady Beresford redirected her anger toward the musicians.

Morgan came to a halt now, in front of the long mirror in her bedchamber, holding out the skirt of her gown, swaying from side to side as she grinned, remembering what had happened next, when they'd reached the small antechamber just outside the ballroom (only after Ethan had bowed to their "audience," and Morgan had curtsied once more).

Lady Beresford had come up to them, breathless, just as Ethan was settling Morgan's spangled, transparent shawl over her shoulders. "Get out! Get out, get out, you
horrid
man. And take thi
s
..
.
this creature with you, whoever she
is!"

"Why, Maude," Ethan had said affably, "you know who this is. You were introduced earlier. Miss Morgan Becket
,
of the Ro
m
ney Marsh Beckets, of course. This fine gentleman," he'd added, indicating Chance with a slight inclination of his head, "is Mr. Chance Becket, and—"

"I don't care who they are, Ethan! To make such spectacles of yourselves with that horrid dance! You're horrid people!"

"Oh, come on, Maude, admit it." Ethan had pressed on as Morgan pushed the side of her fist against her mouth to stifle her giggles. "You'd love to dance the waltz. Besides, your ball will be the talk of Mayfair this Season, and that can't possibly be a bad thing, hmm?"

"You're incorrigible," Lady Beresford had said then, but Morgan could tell she was weakening. No wonder Ethan was able to be so naught
y
—
w
omen adored him. "I will expect a rather enormous bouquet of my favorite yellow roses delivered tomorrow morning, accompanied by your effusive apology. A poem, in fact, wouldn't come amiss."

Ethan had bowed to her, assuring her ladyship she would not be disappointed.

"Oh, you never disappoint, Aylesford. Why do you think I keep inviting you? The waltz will be accepted in London at some poin
t
—
t
he younger ones will demand it. But not tonight! Now, if you'll kindly pretend for my guests that I have just succeeded in tearing a large verbal strip off your shameless hide, and promise you'll come to Beresford in the fall to dance the waltz with me, I shall forgive you."

"Done and done, dearest Maude. Shall I drop to my knees, kiss the hem of your gown, weep copiously?"

"No, that would be suspect. Just don't grin at my back as I walk away, you jackanapes."

And then Lady Beresford had drawn up her pudgy self, huffed a time or two, and turned back to the ballroom, leaving all four "horrid people" to hold
each other up as they laughed like loons all the way to the flagway, and Ethan's waiting coach.

Why, they'd laughed all the way bac
k
to Upper Brook Street
,
just like four very good friends. And that, Morgan was amazed to realize, had turned out to have been the best part of all.

She backed away from the mirror, moving into the dance again, once more humming the tune, her eyes closed as she held on to the gown and her memories, whirling round and round the bedchamber. It was late, but she couldn't sleep. How could anyone sleep after a night like this?

Round and round..
.
dipping, turning..
.
nearly able to feel Ethan's arms around her. Round and round an
d
—

"Jacob!" Morgan exclaimed, the gown slipping out of her hands as she grabbed on to his shoulders after colliding with him, nearly losing her balance. "What in blazes are you doing here? Is something wrong?"

Jacob's mouth had dropped open, his eyes fairly bugging out of his head, and Morgan belatedly realized that she stood before him in her thin lawn chemise, which barely covered her breasts.

She dropped her hands and lifted her chin, glared at him. "You will of cours
e
inform me when you've had
yo
ur fillof looking, Jacob. And
then
you will
tell me why you are in my bedchamber, and why you reek of ale."

Her childhood friend narrowed his eyes, not looking away. "You said to watch him. Like a hawk, you said. Why, Morgie? So I can see him touching you, kissing you?"

"You were hiding somewhere?" Morgan asked, remembering the short interlude Chance and Julia had allowed her and Ethan in the drawing room once they had arrived home from the ball. "Where, Jacob? Where did you hide? You should tell young Alice. She'd love to find a better hiding place
.
"

He ignored her sharp answer, even as he couldn't ignore the stirring in his loins. She hadn't moved to cover herself. Why? Because she wanted to embarrass him? Or was she nothing more than a strumpet who would tease anyone, let anyone touch her?

Anyone save him.

But he could only repeat what he'd already stated: "You said we were to watch him. You said it."

Morgan sighed, nodded her head. "I did, didn't I, Jacob? I'm sorry. I was angry when I said that, and confused. But I was mistaken, and the earl is harmless. Really."

"Why, Morgie?" Jacob shoved his fingers through his hair. His ears buzzed. His blood was becoming hot. "Because he kisses you? Because he touches you? Because he's an earl?"

For the first time since her initial shock at seeing him in her bedchamber, Morgan felt nervous, and somewhat ashamed. She rushed into speech. "No, Jacob, it's nothing like that. Chance approves of him."

"But you sai
d
—"

Morgan rolled her eyes. Jacob was clearly drunk. "Yes, I said, but now I'm
u
n
-saying what I said. He's traveling to Becket Hall with us tomorrow. Now go away, Jacob. Or do you think I can't smell the drink on you? Shame on you."

Jacob moved his jaw back and forth, breathing deeply through his nose. Looking about as dangerous as a puppy, poor thing, and Morgan almost said as much. Except she'd promised herself she was done with teasing, with flirting with innocents like Jacob just to get her own way.

She bent down and picked up her gown, holding it against her breasts.

"You said..
.
you said..." Jacob continued, pointing a finger at her, wishing his head was clearer. "Outsiders aren't welcome at Becket Hall. You said that. Everyone says that. They're dangerous."

Morgan still hoped to reason with him. "Julia was an outsider, Jacob. But she's one of us now."

"That's different," Jacob declared, his voice growing louder. "She's a woman."

"Oh really," Morgan said, trying not to laugh, for that had to be the most ridiculous statement she'd ever heard. "How is it different for women, Jacob?"

She was so beautiful. Jacob ached for her. "I don't know. It just is. They just are.
Stop asking me questions
.
"

Morgan was feeling more and more uneasy the longer Jacob remained in her bedchamber. He was so different tonight, so vehement.
Unmanageable.

"All right, Jacob. I'll accept that. But you have to accept that the Earl of A
yl
esford presents no danger to anyone at Becket Hall."

Jacob narrowed his eyes, remembering his anger. "You're only saying that because you're sweet on him."

"Ah, Jacob..." Morgan put her hand on his shoulder. "Yes. Yes, I am. I'm..
.
sweet on him."

Jacob reached up, grabbed her hand from his shoulder, flung her away from him with some force. "You see? Women!"

Morgan squared her shoulders, narrowed her gaze. "I think you would be smart to leave, Jacob, and we won't speak of any of this again."