Authors: Adrienne Basso
Intimate Betrayal (13 page)
Alyssa stroked the back of Morgan’s neck with a steady hand, enjoying the smooth feel of his dark hair. She could still feel his manhood deep inside her, and she squeezed her legs tightly around him.
“Am I too heavy for you?” Morgan asked in a sleepy voice.
“No, I am fine,” Alyssa answered, wanting to hold on to the moment a bit longer. She closed her arms tightly around his back.
“The sky looks so blue.” Alyssa sighed contentedly. “As much as I would adore spending the remainder of the day here, we had best think about returning to the manor. Mrs. Stratton has prepared luncheon for us.”
“Mmmmm,” Morgan uttered, gathering only enough energy to shift onto his back. His mind and body were far too complacent to consider moving. “I’m cold.” He shivered slightly as a strong breeze blew.
“Well, if you buttoned your breeches, sir, you would stay much warmer,” Alyssa said with a sly grin. When he made no move to do so himself, Alyssa tenaciously buttoned the pants.
She smoothed down her skirt and snuggled next to Morgan, deciding it wouldn’t hurt to stay a while longer. It would afford them an opportunity to discuss their future together.
“What sort of plans have you made concerning our wedding?” she asked conversationally. When no answer was forthcoming, Alyssa repeated the question. More silence.
“Morgan?” Alyssa called his name softly. She raised herself up on one elbow only to discover the duke was fast asleep. She made a feeble attempt to rouse him, but he looked so peaceful and content she concluded it wasn’t worth the effort to wake him.
With a resigned smile she curled closer to his warmth. “I suppose Mrs. Stratton will have even more interesting news to gossip about after today,” she muttered before closing her eyes.
Alyssa heard a distant voice calling. Her eyes opened instantly and she felt the panic rise in her throat when she noted the lateness of the hour. Morgan slept peacefully, sprawled out on the ground beside her, oblivious to the noise. She rose stiffly to her feet as the voice drew nearer.
“Morgan,” she called out, searching the ground for her discarded riding hat and hairpins. “Morgan, wake up.”
Concerned when the duke did not respond, Alyssa bent down and began shaking him.
“Morgan, you must wake up,” she insisted loudly.
At her rough touch Morgan awoke, bolting to his feet.
“What is wrong?” he cried in alarm. “Is there danger?”
“Only of being discovered in our little trysting place,” she answered with a laugh. Morgan looked so fierce, standing there ready to do battle, yet still not quite awake.
“I fear we both fell asleep, and were gone too long from the estate. I just heard someone calling. It must be Ned, sent out to find us.”
“Ned?” Morgan questioned, running his hands through his disheveled hair in confusion. He shook his head roughly in an effort to clear his sleepy mind. “I guess Tris was right about my sound sleeping.”
Quickly they readjusted their clothing and gathered the few discarded pieces. “Let me help,” Morgan offered as he saw Alyssa struggling with her hair.
Morgan twisted her long hair expertly and managed to secure both the hairpins and the hat. He does that better than I do, she thought with a twinge of dismay, not wanting to know why he was so deft with women’s accessories. Brushing the leaves and grass from Alyssa’s riding habit, Morgan declared they were presentable.
“We look none the worse for wear.”
“Not quite,” Alyssa disagreed, looking pointedly down at the duke’s breeches.
He followed the line of her lovely green eyes to the front of his breeches. Grinning, he rebuttoned his misbuttoned pants.
“I, unlike yourself, am not that well acquainted with the clothing of the opposite sex,” she told him primly as she untethered the horses.
“You’ll soon learn, my pet,” Morgan responded, helping her mount the gray gelding. Once they were mounted, Morgan led them carefully out of the woods.
As they emerged from the forest, Alyssa spotted Ned in the distance. Morgan flagged the boy down.
“The gray pulled a muscle in his leg. We were walking him back to the estate to prevent the muscle from stiffening,” Morgan told the young boy smoothly.
Ned nodded his head in acceptance of the flimsy excuse. His knowing eyes did not miss Alyssa’s breathless expression or slightly disheveled look. Still, it was not any of his business what other people did, and he was not one to gossip. Truth be told, he was happy to learn of the relationship between the duke and Lady Alyssa. Ned always thought she was a good and kind person, and he felt she deserved some happiness in her life.
“Shall I take the gray back to the stables for you, Your Grace?” Ned offered in a neutral tone.
Morgan hesitated a moment, appearing to consider the lad’s suggestion.
“I don’t believe that will be necessary, Ned,” he said. “You may ride on ahead. Lady Alyssa and I will follow at a slower pace.”
Alyssa turned to Morgan after Ned obediently departed.
“Do you think he suspected anything?”
“Probably,” Morgan grunted. “The boy is no fool, and you do look rather. . . um . . . satisfied.”
Alyssa groaned. “I just hope he keeps his tongue. I don’t fancy being the topic of conversation in every household in the county this evening.”
“I don’t think he will say anything. He seems like a sensitive lad.”
Morgan insisted they ride at a sedate pace, intent on giving credence to the story Ned had been told.
“You spoke rather convincingly to Ned,” Alyssa commented. “I’m not sure I liked how easily you lied.”
Morgan regarded her intently for a few moments. “You would have preferred I told him the truth?”
“No, of course not. It is just that. . . well. . . you won’t ever lie to me, will you, Morgan?” Alyssa asked in a serious tone.
“Never intentionally.” He turned away from the somber look in her eyes and took in the passing landscape. “The land is well maintained through here,” Morgan observed. “You have done a credible job of caring for the estate, Alyssa. Tristan will have a formidable task keeping up the high standards you have set.”
Alyssa inclined her head, flattered by the compliment. “I hope Tristan won’t resent all the hard work involved in running the estate. Of course, a competent bailiff can handle the more mundane tasks, but Tristan will be expected to listen to the concerns of the tenants and the problems of the laborers.”
“Don’t worry. Even though he is a younger son, Tristan was brought up knowing the responsibilities of a landowner.”
“That doesn’t sound like much fun. What was your childhood like?” she asked.
“Happy and carefree.” Morgan sat back in his saddle, relaxed and comfortable. “My parents have been dead over ten years, yet I still miss them. They were very indulgent of their two sons. If not for the occasional discipline enforced by my grandfather, Tristan and I would have been insufferable brats.
“As the older brother, I was usually the leader of our escapades, but Tristan had his share of brilliant ideas. I remember one summer we decided to sail the ocean in search of pirate treasure. Since we needed a large sum of money to purchase a ship and hire a crew for our adventure, Tristan suggested we become highwaymen.”
Alyssa grinned, eyeing Morgan with new interest. “Were you successful in your criminal endeavors?”
“No. All the inbred tenacity of two young boys is no match for a disgruntled coachman. After tooling hard for an entire day, we were unable to waylay a single coach.”
Alyssa laughed. “Make-believe is such a marvelous childhood escape.”
“If only real life were so simple,” he mused.
Alyssa was surprised by the remark. Morgan had always struck her as a man who did what he wanted, not what was expected, and damn the consequences. She glanced over at him and he gave her a warm, friendly smile. Her heart thudded instantly and she felt a surging of hope. She could easily come to love this man. The thought of living with him and sharing a life together brought her a feeling of restless yearning.
Slightly embarrassed at the direction of her thoughts, Alyssa remained silent, and they soon arrived at the stableyard.
“Mrs. Stratton set up a late luncheon in the morning room, Lady Alyssa, since the workmen are repairing the dining room,” Ned informed Morgan and Alyssa when they arrived.
“I will join you after I freshen up, Your Grace,” Alyssa said brightly. “It will only take a few minutes.”
Morgan shook his head reluctantly. “I deeply regret, Miss Carrington, I am unable to stay. I am expected in London this evening at Lady Chester’s ball, and must leave immediately.”
“Oh, I see,” Alyssa replied in a small voice. “Will you be returning soon?”
“As soon as I can,” he promised. Morgan bent his head and whispered into her ear, “I enjoyed our little outing this afternoon more than I can say. Shall you miss me when I am gone, love?”
“Not a bit,” she lied, smiling up at him. “Have a safe journey.”
Alyssa turned swiftly and walked back toward the house, for some perverse reason not wanting to stay and watch the duke leave. Once alone in her room, she removed her grass-soiled riding habit and gently laid it over the chair so it could be cleaned. She shivered slightly from the chill in the air as she stood in the middle of the room clad only in her chemise.
Seeking the warmth and comfort of her bed, she snuggled under the blankets and rested her head on the pillow. Her mind was filled with images of Morgan. She imagined him dressed for the ball tonight, ruggedly handsome in his black silk evening attire. She worried briefly why he had not suggested she accompany him to London; after all, they were engaged to be married. But Alyssa’s common sense prevailed, reminding her that she was still in mourning for her father. It would hardly be a proper time to be introduced into society.
She suspected Morgan would inform her of their future plans once things were settled. He was far better versed in the matters of polite society than she. Still, Alyssa had every intention of discussing their wedding at length the next time they were together.
Hugging her pillow tightly against her chest, Alyssa closed her eyes.
I’ll rest for a moment before I go eat.
Within minutes, she was fast asleep.
I’ll rest for a moment before I go eat.
Within minutes, she was fast asleep.
Morgan’s thoughts were consumed with Alyssa as he tooled his matched chestnuts on the dusty road back to London. He truly regretted having to leave her, but it was necessary he attend a ball tonight given by Lady Chester in honor of Tristan and Caroline’s engagement.
Besides the fact that he was the brother of the groom, it was also important to his mission for the government that he attend as many social functions as possible in hopes of flushing the Falcon out of his hiding place. So far, there had been no success in interesting the Falcon in the papers hidden at Ramsgate Castle or the duke’s London home.
Morgan hoped for a lead in the case soon. Despite the assurances of Lord Castlereagh that the dowager duchess was not in any danger living at Ramsgate Castle, Morgan was worried about her safety. He would have a devil of a time convincing his grandmother to stay on in London after the party tonight. He doubted he would be able to keep her under his watchful eye much longer.
His relationship with Alyssa was a further, albeit far more pleasant, complication. He fully realized today there was no privacy to be had at Westgate Manor while the renovations were under way. He decided the best solution was to set Alyssa up in a place of her own as quickly as possible.
A house in London was out of the question. Alyssa was very proud of the work she was doing at Westgate Manor and Morgan knew she would not want to leave without being consulted. He laughed out loud, not believing he was willing to make so many concessions for a new mistress. But Alyssa was unlike any of his previous women, and she was entitled to special considerations.
Morgan’s body tightened with excitement as he recalled their afternoon dalliance. Alyssa had clung to him with unbridled passion, fully matching his own ardor. She was an irresistible combination of innocence and sensuality, and he longed for the opportunity to explore this fascinating aspect of her character.
Yet beneath her self-reliance Morgan glimpsed a soft, vulnerable woman, who touched a small corner of his heart. He was starting to care for her beyond the need to satisfy his lust. What they needed was time together alone. That pleasant thought put a smile on his handsome face. Alyssa certainly would not bore him, with either her body or her mind.
Morgan flicked the reins and urged his team to a faster pace, anxious to reach London and conclude his business so he would be free to return. Return to Alyssa.
Chapter Eight
Morgan glided Caroline effortlessly around the crowded ballroom, his feet automatically following the rhythmic patterns of the dance. Lady Holland’s ball was an unmitigated success, and everyone was having a marvelous time.
Except Morgan. It had been a long, tiring week for the duke, who had attended an inordinately large number of society functions in hopes of stirring the interest of the elusive Falcon. Thus far he had met with no success, and he knew if he did not learn anything soon, his usefulness to the War Ministry would end.
It was rare for the duke to attend so many parties of the season, and there was a great deal of speculation as to the reason for his sudden descent on the ton. Morgan again heard the rumors he was searching for a suitable bride, and the very thought made him shudder in distaste. The failure of his marriage had haunted him for years, and his mind had remained tortured until he made the firm decision never again to marry. He honestly couldn’t say which he feared more, the French or a new wife.
As he and Caroline made the circuit around the vast ballroom, his eyes scanned the various faces, mentally recording those he saw, hoping he could somehow make some small connection that would lead him to the Falcon.
“Tristan and I have finally set a wedding date, Morgan,” Caroline announced pleasantly.
“Mmmmm,” the duke replied, too absorbed in his task of observing the other guests to pay much attention.
“Mother wanted to wait until the fall, but Tristan insisted he would wait only until early summer.”
“How nice.”
Caroline turned her head sharply to look up at Morgan and realized at once he was not paying the least bit of attention to her.
“I have decided that Tristan should wear a pink satin evening assemble,” Caroline said in a droll tone. “Wouldn’t he just look divine?”
“I’m sure,” came the vague response.
“And I thought you might wear lavender satin, or perhaps even canary yellow and lavender stripes. I know that is a bit more extreme than your usual style of dress, but after all it is my wedding and I want everything to be just perfect.”
“Yes, perfect.”
“Wonderful,” Caroline cried in a teasing tone. “I shall direct your tailor at Charing Cross to begin work on the suit immediately. Is that all right?”
“What? You want my tailor to make you a suit, Caroline? Whatever for?”
“Not for me, Morgan.” Caroline laughed wickedly. “I want a suit made for you. To wear to my wedding.”
Morgan turned his face down to hers and saw the twinkle in her eyes.
“Come now, Morgan,” she pouted. “You have already agreed. You are not going to renege on your promise, are you?”
“No,” he said slowly. “Of course you may have a suit made for me if you feel it is necessary.”
“Ha!” Caroline exclaimed triumphantly. “You have just agreed to appear at my wedding attired in a yellow-and-lavender striped suit, Morgan.”
“What?” he thundered, nearly colliding with another couple. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” she teased. “Honestly, Morgan, you should pay more attention to a woman when you make her a promise.” She tapped her fan sharply on his shoulder. “I should hold you to that promise, to teach you a lesson.”
Morgan laughed. “I guess you should. It is the very least I deserve for my rudeness. I haven’t been a very attentive partner, Caroline.” The duke executed an elegant bow. “Pray forgive me.”
Caroline smiled charmingly. “Naturally I forgive you, Morgan.”
The duke escorted Caroline off the dance floor, and they stood near the open French doors, catching a refreshing breeze.
“I wish I knew what holds your interest so intently,” Caroline commented a few minutes later. Following Morgan’s line of vision to a group of people on the far side of the room, she purred in a knowing tone, “It appears the lovely Mlle Madeline Duponce has caught your eye.”
“Lovely?” Morgan responded, his eyes resting on the petite brunette. “I suppose there are some who might consider her attractive.”
“There is no need to be coy with me, Morgan.” Caroline grinned. “Madeline Duponce is one of the most sought-after women of the season. My poor brother Gilbert shall be crushed when he learns of your interest. I do believe he fancies himself in love with the darling French emigre. And how could he, the mere heir of a baron, compete with you, a wealthy and sophisticated duke?”
“You have an extremely vivid imagination, Caroline.”
“Don’t worry, Morgan. Your secret is safe with me.”
The duke was about to correct her and tell her the field was clear for young Gilbert, but thought better of it. Perhaps it would be an intelligent notion to focus some attention on Mlle Duponce, Morgan decided. There were a number of French emigres whose loyalties were questioned by the War Ministry.
“Secret?” Tristan commented as he joined them. “Did I hear you say Morgan has a secret?”
“Morgan is smitten with Mlle Duponce,” Caroline eagerly informed Tristan.
“So much for keeping secrets, Caroline,” Morgan replied with a wry smile.
“ ’Tis only Tristan,” Caroline defended her actions. “If you can’t trust your own brother, who can you trust?”
Morgan did not answer, his gaze still following Madeline Duponce.
“Oh dear,” Caroline spoke suddenly. “Here comes my great-aunt Eudora. I haven’t had a chance to speak with her all evening, and she wants to hear about the wedding. I know we were supposed to dance this set, but would you mind if I spend the time with her instead, Tristan?”
“Go on, love,” Tristan replied affably. “I will stand here and look deflated.”
Giving him a saucy look, she turned to intercept her great-aunt. As soon as they were alone, Tristan spoke to his older brother.
“It sounds as though Caroline has been matchmaking again. I sincerely hope she did not offend you, Morgan. I know too well how you detest being paired with various women.”
Morgan waved his hand. “Don’t worry about it, Tris. Caroline was merely being observant. I was indeed staring at Mlle Duponce.”
Tristan whistled in astonishment. “Well, if you have any intentions of paying court to Mlle Duponce, you will have a true challenge getting past her watchdog brother, Henri.”
“Do you know Henri Duponce?” Morgan asked, suddenly alert to the coincidence.
“I’ve met him a few times. At Caroline’s home, as I recall. I remember once teasing her about Henri having indecent designs on Priscilla. The truth is, it is Caroline’s younger brother who pursues the lovely Mlle Duponce.”
“And does she return his regard?”
“It is impossible to say. She certainly leads him on a merry chase, but I am told the French have a natural talent in that area. Caroline’s father had apoplexy when he learned of Gilbert’s interest. He has rather strong feelings about the French.”
Morgan grinned, recalling Baron Grantham’s rather spirited discussions of the war. “Yes, I remember. Have the Duponces ever been to Ramsgate Castle, Tris?”
Tristan considered the question for a few moments. “They attended our annual Christmas ball at the castle last year. It was such a crush, I imagine you never even saw them. They might have also been down to a house party or two last season, but I cannot recall for certain. You aren’t really serious about this girl, are you, Morgan?” Tristan asked with a puzzled frown.
“I might be,” Morgan replied mysteriously. “But not in the way you think, little brother. Excuse me, I am going to find out if Mlle Duponce has a partner for supper.”
Morgan negotiated the crowded ballroom expertly, coming to rest at an ornate marble pillar near the group of young men surrounding Mlle Duponce. After observing her for several minutes, he could not help but admire what an accomplished flirt she was, bantering coy remarks with the suitors surrounding her, never favoring one in particular, yet encouraging them all.
A brief lull in the conversation afforded Morgan the opportunity to join the circle of admirers around Mlle Duponce. A quelling look from him sent several of the younger men scurrying quickly off, but a few of the stouthearted remained, including Caroline’s brother Gilbert. It was young Gilbert whom Morgan addressed.
“Would you be so kind as to do the honors, Grantham,” the duke said in a deep voice. “I have not yet been properly introduced to mademoiselle.”
Gilbert’s sullen expression revealed he would like nothing less, but he had little choice. Reluctantly the younger man complied with the duke’s instructions.
“Mlle Duponce, may I present Morgan Ashton, the Duke of Gillingham,” Gilbert said tonelessly.
“Mademoiselle,” the duke responded in a silky voice. Lifting her hand for a kiss he added, “I am delighted to finally make your acquaintance.”
Madeline Duponce flushed slightly at the duke’s obvious interest in her, but remained regal and composed. Morgan’s commanding presence made the other men beside her seem like mere boys.
“Your Grace,” Madeline replied in a musical voice. “I am so pleased to meet you. Caroline has often spoken of Tristan’s charming brother.”
The duke favored her with a dazzling smile. “You flatter me, mademoiselle.”
She returned his smile with one of her own, and Morgan was forced to admit she was a pretty girl. She was a small woman, barely reaching his shoulder. The low-cut neckline of her icy-blue satin gown accented her full-bosomed figure and set off her dark brown hair and eyes. As Morgan boldly appraised her, a sudden image of Alyssa’s sweet smile flashed into his mind, but he ignored it as he continued to charm the young French girl. There was, however, no chance for further conversation, because Henri Duponce suddenly materialized at his sister’s side.
“Are you ready for supper, Madeline?” Henri spoke to his sibling. “Lady Ogden has been kind enough to offer us a place at her table.”
“How delightful,” the duke piped in. “That is where I plan on sitting. May I?” He offered his arm to Madeline before either Gilbert or Henri could react. Confused, she looked from one man to the next, then shrugged her shoulders philosophically and accepted the duke’s outstretched arm. Henri and Gilbert quickly took up their positions behind the pair and followed Madeline and the duke doggedly into the buffet hall.
Lady Ogden was immediately spotted by Gilbert at a large table in the corner of the dining hall.
“You will be joining us, Morgan?” Lady Ogden asked in a slightly puzzled tone as the small group settled in around the table.
“If you have no objection, Priscilla?” the duke replied.
“Of course not,” she responded immediately. “I see you have made the acquaintance of Mlle Duponce. Have you also met her brother, Comte Henri Duponce?”
“I’m sure we have met at the gaming room at White’s, have we not, sir?” Morgan lied in a challenging voice.
“Perhaps,” Henri replied vaguely. He appeared to be even more annoyed with the attention Morgan was showering on his sister once he learned the duke’s identity.
Madeline expertly covered the awkward silence with idle chatter, until everyone’s attention shifted to the sumptuous meal Lady Holland had ordered for her guests. Instead of a long, elaborate formal meal, Lady Holland had planned a more informal late-night buffet. The buffet table fairly groaned under the profusion of food with a seemingly endless array of pheasant, roast, fowl, and fish entrees, numerous side dishes, vegetables, puddings, jellies, mousses, and finally the desserts of pastries, fruits and nuts, bonbons, and sweetmeats.
Elegantly garbed footmen in powdered white wigs moved swiftly from the buffet to the various tables strategically placed throughout the dining room, bringing food and wine to the guests. The room sparkled with the light from hundreds of small candles, as the fragrance of the elegant food blended with the sweet scent of the many fresh flower arrangements that decorated the tables.
Once everyone was comfortably seated at the table, Morgan directed the conversation toward Madeline.
“Tell me, Mlle Duponce, do you miss your native France a great deal?” Morgan asked in his most charming manner.
Madeline was briefly startled by his question, but answered readily enough.
“I regret to say, Your Grace, there is very little I remember about France. I was a young girl when my uncle managed to smuggle my brother Henri and myself out of Paris. We have never returned.”
“And your parents, mademoiselle?”
“The guillotine, Your Grace,” Henri answered for his sister in a curt tone. “They were not as fortunate as we were.” Henri shot Morgan a quelling look.
“I am so very sorry,” Morgan replied somberly, suspicious of Henri’s tale. “I did not know.”
“Ours is not an especially original story, Your Grace,” Madeline spoke softly, trying to cover her brother’s obvious hostility.
“But surely you hope someday to reclaim your lands and birthright,” Morgan pressed on. “It is said that Napoleon is willing to assist in the restoration of the titles and property of many of those who fled during the revolution.”
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