Authors: Adrienne Basso
Intimate Betrayal (19 page)
Morgan looked at his brother expectantly. Tristan stared back, perplexed. “Morgan, you are not making the least bit of sense. Even if I can produce this information for you, which I doubt, what in the world are you going to do with it?”
Morgan thought for a moment. He could not fabricate a plausible lie, and debated telling his brother the truth. Ultimately Morgan decided it would be safer for all concerned if no one knew about his search. Even though it was possible the Falcon was somehow connected to Tristan, the duke decided it was best not to enlighten his brother. “Never mind why I need these documents. Can you produce them?”
“Morgan,” Tristan said in an exasperated voice, drumming his fingers on the desk, “what is this all about?”
“Just trust me, Tris,” Morgan interrupted, still refusing to tell his brother the reasons for his bizarre request.
“All right.” Tristan threw up his hands in vexation. “I’ll do the best I can. I should warn you I will be unable to contact Henry Walsh. He is visiting his family somewhere in Ireland and will not return to England until the end of the month. I have a few of the papers you require, but the majority of the bills and work orders are kept at Westgate Manor. The person you really need to speak with is Alyssa Carrington. She handles all the paperwork, as well as the hiring of the work crews.”
“What?”
Now it was Tristan’s turn to make his brother uncomfortable. “You know Lady Alyssa has directed the renovations. If I remember correctly, you were the one who recommended her for the job in the first place.”
Morgan merely grunted.
“It certainly was an excellent suggestion, Morgan. She has done a superb job. She has very competently managed the budget and neatly kept all the records.”
Morgan rose from his chair and paced the room. Now was not the proper time to see Alyssa. His feelings toward her were still too uncertain, his mind too confused. Besides, he had promised to stay away. “Can’t you send a messenger and request the documents?” he suggested. “Or perhaps you could go yourself?” He looked at Tristan hopefully.
Tristan smiled at his older brother, enjoying his discomfort. He was pleased to see his theory about Alyssa Carrington had merit. “No, I can’t Morgan. I’m not exactly sure what you are looking for. Now, if you care to enlighten me . . .” Tristan’s voice trailed off.
“I’ll go,” Morgan muttered, glaring at his brother. He felt restless and strangely excited.
“Fine. Is there anything else?” Tristan asked, sauntering over to the doors.
“No,” Morgan replied. “I shall leave for Westgate tomorrow morning at first light. Thank you, Tris.”
Morgan arrived at Westgate Manor just after noon the following day. As he guided his stallion down the gravel drive, he almost didn’t recognize the place. The brickwork had been carefully washed and all the loose bricks securely mortared. Fresh paint covered all the wood, and the broken windowpanes had been replaced. New shrubbery lined the drive, and the well-manicured lawn looked healthy and green. Everything looked fresh, clean, and inviting.
He dismounted and stood in front of the large oak doors with their new shining brass fixtures. “ ’Tis oddly comforting to discover some things don’t change,” Morgan muttered to himself as he waited, in vain, for someone to come for his horse. He thought about shouting for Ned or Perkins, but instead walked the horse around back to the stables.
Morgan found no one in the stables, so he unsaddled the horse, gave him some fresh water and grain, and tethered him in an unoccupied stall. Then he proceeded to the kitchen entrance, certain he would find Mrs. Stratton there, busy simmering something on the stove.
Morgan surprised Perkins. The butler was sitting alone at the table finishing the last of his luncheon. “Your Grace!” Perkins sputtered in astonishment when Morgan stepped into the cozy room.
“Good day, Perkins.” Morgan spoke casually, acting as though he had seen the butler yesterday instead of five months ago. “Isn’t anyone at home?”
The butler took a moment to consider the question before answering. “All the servants were given leave to visit with their families before Lord Tristan returns. Only Ned, Mavis, and myself are attending the house.”
“And Lady Alyssa?”
“Indisposed,” Perkins answered automatically. It was his stock answer to those few individuals who called on Alyssa. In actuality, Alyssa was in the south garden with Mavis gathering fresh vegetables for dinner. He strongly doubted she would want to see the duke, especially given her present condition.
Morgan’s eyes narrowed at the butler’s statement. It seemed as though Tristan was not exaggerating when he commented that Alyssa was avoiding him.
“No matter,” Morgan replied briskly. “I will see her after I have finished my other business. You may tell her that, if you wish.”
Without further comment Morgan left the bewildered butler, heading for the library to locate the desk where he had hidden the documents. As he opened the door, Morgan paused a moment to verify he had entered the correct room. Nothing was the same, from the new red velvet drapes to the intricately patterned oriental rugs. He scanned the room quickly, admiring the new decor, then looked again. There was no desk.
He was about to bellow for Perkins when the butler appeared at his side.
“Can I be of assistance, Your Grace?”
“Yes, Perkins,” Morgan replied. “Where is the library desk that sat under that window?” Morgan pointed to a bay window in the center of the room, then glanced around a third time, trying to get his bearings. “This is the library, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Grace. It is the library. The new furnishings were put in place last month.”
“Of course,” Morgan interrupted, suddenly remembering. “And the old furnishings were to be stored in the attic. Can you show me where?”
Silently Perkins led Morgan to the top-floor storage room. Morgan spent the next twenty minutes walking through the maze of neatly stacked furniture while Perkins looked on expressionlessly. Several times, the duke banged his head on the low eaves, cursing loudly each time. After an additional ten minutes of fruitless searching, Morgan’s patience was wearing thin. He was getting a headache and getting angry.
“It is not here, Perkins,” Morgan finally concluded. “Is this the only place the old furniture is stored?”
“I believe so, Your Grace.”
“Perhaps the desk was moved to another room?”
“I couldn’t say for sure, Your Grace,” Perkins answered, knowing very well what had happened to the desk.
Morgan’s lips compressed in a thin line. Perkins returned his hard stare with a blank look, but Morgan could tell the butler was lying.
“I feel certain Lady Alyssa will know what has become of the desk. Tell her I shall await her in the front salon.”
Morgan saw the flash of panic in the butler’s eyes before he replied, “I have told you, Your Grace. Lady Alyssa is indisposed and not receiving visitors.”
“Oh, but she will see me, Perkins,” Morgan said in a low, hard voice. “Even if I have to drag her out of her bedchamber.”
The butler could not mistake Morgan’s determination. Morgan turned and left the attic room, Perkins at his heels. The duke paused briefly in the middle of the second floor hallway, contemplating the closed bedroom doors.
“Which one is hers, Perkins?”
“She is not in her bedchamber, Your Grace.”
The muscle in the side of Morgan’s jaw flexed as he fought to keep his temper under control.
“Where is she, Perkins?” Morgan ground out.
Perkins debated his options for a few moments. His loyalty to Alyssa was unbending, even though he no longer worked for her. The old butler was deeply moved when she had confided her embarrassing condition to him, and he vowed to aid her in any way possible. Yet as he looked at the stubborn determination on the duke’s face, he knew nothing on earth would keep this man from seeing Alyssa.
“She is in the south garden with Mavis, Your Grace,” Perkins whispered. “Go out through the drawing room doors and follow the hill down past the rose garden; then turn to your right.”
As Morgan strode outside in the mild fall air, his anger decreased with each step. There was no reason why this had to be an unpleasant meeting, he decided. He would make it as brief as possible. He would simply state his business, obtain the information he needed, including the whereabouts of that goddamn desk, and be on his way.
He followed Perkins’s directions, descending the hill and quickly passing the rose garden. He knew he was getting close when he heard Alyssa’s voice, although he could not understand her words. Then suddenly he saw her at the bottom of the hill, standing on the edge of the vegetable patch.
Her back was toward him, and the first thing he noticed was her unbound hair. It hung freely down to her waist, waves of luscious copper delight. She continued chatting with Mavis as she reached down to pick some greens. She casually placed the basket she carried down next to her and, after filling it, turned sideways to lift her small harvest.
As she turned her profile to him, a small gust of wind blew, molding her loose-fitting dress against her body. Morgan stumbled, almost falling flat on his face when he saw her swollen body and the truth that it revealed.
Several long minutes elapsed as he stood there, paralyzed by the sight of her heavily burdened with child. His child. He was shocked. He could feel the tenseness claim his body as a myriad of questions raced through his mind.
All these months and she had never contacted him. A wave of possessiveness washed over him as his eyes remained riveted to her belly. His child grew there. He stood perfectly still, awed by the hope and promise of the life that grew within her body. A life that he helped create that would have forever been denied to him if fate had not intervened and brought him here today.
What a fool he had been! She had promised to write to him if there was to be a child, and he had trusted her to do so. And now he discovered she had betrayed that trust. His mind reeled with disgust as he walked toward her.
Alyssa heard someone approaching and she turned, fully expecting to see Ned or Perkins. She saw Morgan and froze, then blinked several times, not believing her eyes. There had been so many countless nights she had dreamed of seeing him again, she wasn’t quite sure he was real. Then he moved closer to her and spoke.
“Good afternoon, Miss Carrington,” he said in a harsh, cold voice.
Chapter Thirteen
Alyssa stood unmoving as Morgan advanced. The blood slowly receded from her face, and she continued staring at him in disbelief.
After all these long months of waiting and hoping that he would come, it was nearly impossible to accept his sudden appearance. The duke spoke to her, but she did not comprehend his words. Her brain slowly accepted what her eyes confirmed, and she feasted on the sight of him.
Alyssa could see the tension in his wide shoulders, feel the anger radiating from his smoldering gray eyes. He was as proud and arrogant and startingly handsome as she remembered. The endless, sleepless nights she had endured insisting to herself that she no longer cared for him were washed away in a single moment. Looking into his silver-gray eyes, the eyes that had haunted her dreams from the first time she beheld them, Alyssa knew deep within her heart she had never ceased loving Morgan.
He stopped directly in front of her. He did not look at her face, but held his gaze downcast, seemingly against his will, to her bulging belly. Her own eyes followed his and came to rest also on her large stomach.
They continued to stare at her belly, each waiting for the other to speak. The mounting tension frazzled her nerves and Alyssa backed away. She moved her basket up slightly, shielding herself and her unborn child from the duke’s intense gaze. The gesture infuriated him.
“Is it mine?” he asked curtly, through his teeth. He knew of course it was his child, but the pain and anger ripping through his gut compelled his ruthless tongue. His brain filled with accusations, his heart cold with mistrust, Morgan struck out at her, needing to hurt her as she had wounded him by her selfish act of keeping the existence of his child a secret.
Alyssa’s face whitened, and her eyes blazed with emotion. “How dare you?” she choked furiously. Her eyes filled with tears, the pain of his words crushing her fragile heart. Humiliation and anger collided inside Alyssa, and she drew back her hand, slapping him across the cheek with all her strength. Then she broke into anguished sobs.
Morgan rubbed his abused face absently, caught off guard by her response, yet not completely surprised by Alyssa’s violent reaction. He had deliberately provoked her anger. Morgan’s fury lessened as her anguished cries penetrated his haze. He listened to the raw emotion in her sobs and felt her pain. Instinctively he reached out to offer comfort.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed, her breath coming in sobbing pants. She resisted the embrace, twisting and turning to escape his arms, but he would not be deterred.
“Let me,” he whispered hoarsely, pulling her against his broad chest gently but firmly.
Too weary to fight, she ceased her struggles, but held herself rigid beneath his embrace. He softly caressed her hair and back, soothing the stiffness from her body, trying to ease the ache he had created in her heart. Gradually she relaxed, grudgingly accepting the comfort he offered.
Eventually Alyssa’s sobbing ceased. Morgan reached inside his pocket and handed her a snowy white linen handkerchief. She accepted the cloth and stepped away from him, blowing her nose loudly in a most unladylike manner. Her actions brought a brief smile to Morgan’s lips. She did not return the handkerchief, placing it inside the pocket of her gown.
He stood close to Alyssa, so close he could smell her fresh scent. She wore a plain pink muslin gown with a high ruffled neck, elbow-length sleeves, and no waist. Her height and natural thinness emphasized the size of the burden she carried. His hand hovered over her belly uncertainly, longing to caress the living roundness, but not sure if she would allow him to touch her again.
“May we sit down?” Alyssa requested, finally breaking the silence. She was physically and emotionally drained. “I find I tire easily these days.”
The duke was instantly solicitous of her, his gaze drawn again to her womb where his child lay. As they walked the short distance to the large bench nestled beneath the oak trees, Alyssa noticed Mavis was no longer in the garden, and she felt glad. She fervently prayed her old nurse had left before witnessing the disgraceful behavior of both herself and the duke.
“When?” he asked simply when they both were seated.
She understood. “The baby will be born sometime in December, before Christmas, I think.”
“Does anyone else know?”
“Only Mavis, Perkins, and Ned. And now you, of course.
“Why in the hell didn’t you tell me? I cannot believe you would keep something this important from me.”
Alyssa heard the fury he tried to suppress—but could not—in his voice. She did not understand. How did he not know about the baby? She had written to him exactly as he instructed.
“Why should my baby be of any concern to you?” she asked bleakly. “You have just rather blatantly questioned the paternity of my child.”
Morgan glared at her. “It is my child,” he stated firmly. “Why have you not told me?”
“I wrote to you,” she said softly. “Twice.” His possessive declaration proclaiming the child as his own sent a warm rush of emotions to her bruised heart.
“Where did you send the letters?”
“One to your house at Grovesner Square in London, the other to Ramsgate Castle.”
“I never received them,” he stated flatly, not sure he believed her, but unable to come up with a single legitimate reason why she would be lying.
“Oh,” she replied, uncertain if he was being truthful. Yet judging from Morgan’s shocked reaction, Alyssa knew he had not known she was pregnant.
“What are you planning to do? Where will you go?” he asked plainly.
“Mavis and I will travel to Cornwall. Her sister, Louise, has kindly agreed to take us in for my lying-in. After the baby is born we hope to settle there, if I can find work.”
“How will you support yourself?”
“When I am strong enough, I will get a job. Mavis’s pension will pay the rent, and I hope to earn enough for us to eat.”
He closed his eyes, trying to blot out the picture of her struggling to survive on her own with a bastard child to care for. It would never happen. Not while he had a breath left in him.
Morgan gave a deep sigh. He looked at Alyssa closely and saw the deep strain around her eyes, the paleness of her face. She could not endure any more of this emotional upheaval. They would discuss her situation later. No, not discuss, he corrected himself. He had already decided the course of action he would take, and nothing would deter him from it. They would be married, of course. Immediately.
Morgan was not entirely convinced Alyssa had not deliberately hidden her condition. He was concerned she might refuse to marry him. After all, she already rejected his proposal once. Her future plans, obviously given a great deal of thought, did not include him. Morgan knew he must take total charge of the situation or he ran the risk of losing both her and his child.
Alyssa searched his handsome features boldly, trying to discover his true emotions. He had listened without comment to her plans for their child, leaving her no clue to his true feelings. Was he happy about the baby? Did he want to be a part of the child’s life? All Alyssa knew with certainty was that Morgan was a man who took his responsibilities seriously. Any moment now he would probably offer his financial assistance. Alyssa did hot think she could bear the humiliation. She tried to distract his thoughts.
“If you did not travel to the manor to discuss my child, why are you here?”
It was the perfect opening to change the subject and give Morgan the time he needed to plot his next move. He quickly seized it. “I have come on business that requires your assistance. Will you accompany me to the house?”
She agreed, and they walked in strained silence back to the manor and entered the newly decorated library. Alyssa deliberately avoided the large overstuffed chairs she had difficulty getting up from, perching herself instead on a dainty gold chair with elegantly carved legs. She looked decidedly uncomfortable.
Morgan chose not to sit, but stood by the windows, facing her, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t sure where to begin. The. important mission that brought him to Westgate Manor seemed insignificant compared to the personal drama his life had now become.
“You told me you needed my assistance?” Alyssa prodded, hoping this discussion would not take too long.
“Yes,” Morgan said slowly, trying to gather his thoughts. “I need to see your work papers on the renovations. I must have a list of all the men who have made repairs on the house, as well as those men who delivered the supplies.”
“Is there a problem?” she asked, bewildered by his strange request. “I thought Tristan was pleased with the way I have handled the work thus far.”
“There is no problem, I assure you,” the duke replied. “My request has nothing to do with your work.”
“I keep my files in the estate room. I shall get them straightaway.” Before he had a chance to comment, Alyssa had risen from the chair and was out the door.
She returned several minutes later and handed Morgan three large folders. “This is the payroll file, which lists each workman by name and occupation. This second file holds all the furniture deliveries; you will notice that not everything has been received yet. The third file names all the companies that provided raw materials: lumber, plaster, brick, and so forth. Is that everything?”
“Yes, this is precisely the information I require,” he said, admiring the neatly written lists in her crisp, bold script. “There is one other matter, Alyssa. Do you know what happened to the old oak desk that was in here?”
“Desk?” she replied innocently, her heart racing. Why would he ask her about the desk? Alyssa could scarcely believe he had noticed it was missing. “All the old furniture was moved to an attic storage room.”
“I have already checked the attic,” Morgan responded. “The desk is not there.”
“The desk is not there?” she parroted.
“No.”
“How odd.” Alyssa furrowed her brow, making a great show of trying to remember. “I am afraid I don’t know where else to look for the desk,” she finally replied, lowering her gaze.
She was a terrible liar. For a mere instant Morgan wondered if a connection could possibly exist between Alyssa and the Falcon. He quickly discarded the notion as ridiculous. Yet Alyssa looked so worried.
“Is there something you are not telling me, Alyssa?” Morgan asked softly.
Alyssa heard the slight edge to his voice, and unconsciously began wringing her hands.
“Why is the desk so important?” she inquired, still not quite able to look him in the eye when she spoke.
Morgan frowned. “You know where the desk is, Alyssa.” It was a statement, not a question.
“It is . . . it is not here,” she confessed, her cheeks flushing with humiliation.
“Where is it?”
“I sold it.”
“You sold it,” he repeated, perplexed. “Why would you do that?”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I needed the money.”
She waited expectantly for him to chastise her. Alyssa had a sudden flash of memory back to Miss Ryan, a former governess, who was always catching her at some wrongdoing.
Think carefully before you act, Alyssa,
Miss Ryan would say in her nasal voice,
because your past misdeeds will always come back to haunt you.
Alyssa glanced ruefully down at her large belly, then up at Morgan’s scowling face, and conceded Miss Ryan had been a very smart woman indeed.
Think carefully before you act, Alyssa,
Miss Ryan would say in her nasal voice,
because your past misdeeds will always come back to haunt you.
Alyssa glanced ruefully down at her large belly, then up at Morgan’s scowling face, and conceded Miss Ryan had been a very smart woman indeed.
“Who bought the desk?”
“Mr. Hopkins,” she replied in a voice filled with remorse. “He owns a small shop in the village. He often helped me sell items from the manor to raise money to pay Lord Carrington’s gambling debts.”
“Of course that was when you owned the manor,” Morgan commented dryly. “Does Mr. Hopkins still have the desk?”
“I presume so, unless he has found a buyer.”
This did create a problem. The desk had left the manor house, which meant anyone could have discovered the documents hidden there and sold them. Even Alyssa. She had just admitted she was desperate enough for money to sell old furniture that didn’t even belong to her. Morgan’s lips compressed as he pondered this latest twist.
When the Falcon struck, the documents the spy wanted always remained hidden in their original location; presumably so the owner wouldn’t know the security had been breached. Morgan theorized the Falcon either copied the documents on the spot, or if there wasn’t sufficient time, stole them, but always returned them later.
If the Falcon or one of his underlings had discovered these papers, they should be hidden in the false bottom drawer of the old desk. If they were not there, Morgan must assume someone else had taken the papers and, realizing the potential profit, sold them. If that were the case, it was merely a strange coincidence Lord Castlereagh’s agents had uncovered the information. No connection between the Falcon and Westgate Manor would exist. It was imperative Morgan locate the desk as quickly as possible. Alyssa must bring him to Mr. Hopkins’s shop at once.
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