Authors: Adrienne Basso
Intimate Betrayal (24 page)
The most difficult encounter came on the third day, however, when Tristan, Caroline, and Priscilla made a sudden, unannounced appearance. Alyssa, the dowager duchess, and Mrs. Glyndon were enjoying an early afternoon tea when Burke announced the couple.
Caroline bounded into the room, beautifully garbed in a red velvet traveling costume that highlighted her fair coloring. “Grandmother,” she exclaimed, embracing the dowager duchess. “How wonderful to see you again.”
“Slow down, love,” Tristan drawled, following his exuberant wife into the drawing room. “It has only been a few days since Grandmother left London.” He bent down, gently kissing the dowager duchess on the cheek.
“I have missed her company very much,” Caroline retorted. She turned expectantly toward Alyssa, addressing her remarks directly to her. “We ran into Morgan last night at Lady Harrowby’s ball, and he told us the most shocking tale.”
“Did he now?” Alyssa replied sweetly, bracing herself for what was to come.
“Yes,” Caroline continued, faltering a bit under the dark warning scowl Tristan was casting in her direction. “He told us he was married. To you, Miss Carrington.” She said the last sentence in a voice of total disbelief.
“Why else would I be here at Ramsgate Castle, Caroline?” Alyssa replied.
Fresh amazement swam in Caroline’s eyes and she looked to her husband for support.
“My hearty congratulations, Alyssa,” Tristan said smoothly, breaking the heavy tension. “I always knew my brother had innate good taste. You will make a splendid duchess.” He reached down to embrace Alyssa, but stopped short when he saw her swollen belly.
Alyssa met his eyes steadily, almost daring him to make a comment. Tris smiled broadly at her, and then winked mischievously. “Well done, my dear,” he whispered in her ear.
Alyssa flushed, but returned his smile, greatly relieved at his ready acceptance.
“Aren’t you going to congratulate the new duchess, Caroline?” the dowager duchess asked in a brisk tone.
“Of course,” Caroline hastily agreed, rushing over to Alyssa. Her jaw dropped open as she beheld Alyssa’s pregnant condition, but she wisely made no comment. Briefly she hugged Alyssa and then scurried back to Tristan’s side.
Priscilla embraced Alyssa also. “I wish you great happiness,” she said, taking Alyssa’s hand and bending to kiss her cheek. It was unclear from Priscilla’s expression what she thought of Alyssa’s impending motherhood.
After everyone was seated, the dowager duchess rang for Burke to bring more tea.
Alyssa racked her brain for a subject to break the awkward silence. “Tell me, Caroline,” she inquired pleasantly, “how is your friend Mr. Brummell faring these days?”
“Not well, I am sorry to report,” Caroline answered, grateful for the opportunity to make amends for her earlier rudeness. “I am afraid Beau was involved in a perfectly dreadful incident with the regent this past July.”
“Really?”
“Yes,” Caroline said, perking up immediately. “Beau and several of his cohorts, Lord Alvanley, Sir Henry Mildmay, and Henry Pierrepoint, I believe, all won a great deal of money gambling at Waitier’s. They decided to celebrate their good fortune by giving a ball at the Argyle Rooms. The regent was no longer on speaking terms with either Beau or Mildmay, but the four dandies decided it would be bad form not to invite the regent.” Caroline paused a moment to catch her breath before continuing with her narrative.
“When the regent arrived, the four hosts were naturally standing in the front of the room, receiving their guests. The regent greeted only Alvanley and Pierrepoint, deliberately ignoring the other two.”
“Oh my,” interjected Mrs. Glyndon.
“Well, that is when Beau sprang into action,” Caroline stated dramatically. “ ‘Alvanley,’ cried Beau, in a clear, loud voice. ‘Who is your fat friend?’ ”
Mrs. Glyndon gasped in horror. “Did he actually call the regent fat?”
“He most certainly did,” Caroline confirmed. “Truthfully, there could be nothing else said that would have infuriated the regent more. His vanity is so easily wounded, and he is particularly sensitive about his bulk.”
“We have certainly heard enough about Brummell and his endless quarrels with the regent, Caroline,” Priscilla said.
The dowager duchess nodded her head in agreement. “Why didn’t Morgan come with you today, Tristan? Did he tell you when he would be returning to Ramsgate?”
“I expect Morgan to arrive by the end of the day,” Tristan replied. “He was meeting with our architect, Mr. Walsh, sometime this morning. After that, I believe, his business will be concluded. Oh, by the way, he sent this message for you, Alyssa.” Tristan reached inside his coat pocket and handed Alyssa an envelope.
“Thank you, Tristan.”
“If you ladies will excuse us, Caroline and I need to clean up after our dusty ride.” Tristan stood and stretched his long legs. “Burke will show you to your room, Priscilla, whenever you wish. We shall see you all later this evening. Come along, my dear.”
After they had gone, Mrs. Glyndon and Priscilla also left. Alyssa sat alone with the dowager duchess, rubbing her fingers along the edge of the letter Tristan had given her.
“Go ahead and open it,” the dowager duchess admonished, making no comment as Alyssa quickly scanned the note.
“Morgan writes he will return to the castle as soon as his business is concluded.”
“That is all?”
“Yes. Oh, and he did inquire as to my health,” Alyssa replied bleakly. “Why do you think he went to Lady Harrowby’s ball last night?”
“I really don’t know, but I’m sure he had a good reason.”
“Do you think Madeline Duponce was there?” Alyssa tried to sound casual, but failed miserably.
The dowager duchess sighed heavily.
“As I have stated on more than one occasion, I honestly don’t believe Madeline Duponce is Morgan’s mistress,” the dowager duchess said emphatically, answering Alyssa’s unasked question. “But you know the only way you will ever discover the truth, don’t you, Alyssa?”
“I must ask him myself,” she replied, not forgetting all that she had been taught about marital relationships from the duchess. “Did you ever face such a dilemma?” Alyssa inquired.
The dowager duchess leaned back in her chair thoughtfully. “My husband, Richard, was a very handsome, exciting man. Morgan favors him in looks, but in personality he was very much like Tris, charming and quick-witted. There were numerous women in society, some who even claimed to be my friends, who chased after Richard. He never indulged in any affairs with members of the ton, but there was an incident with an opera singer.”
“What did you do?”
The dowager duchess gave a small laugh. “I cried a lot at first. And then I got angry. Very angry. I confronted Richard, demanding that he give up his ladybird. A rather foolish and naive move on my part. It was then, as it is now, an acceptable practice for married men to keep mistresses. And certainly not a wife’s prerogative to object. Some wives, I’ve discovered, are actually grateful to have their husbands’ attention focused elsewhere.”
“What happened?”
“Richard left. He moved into our London town house and informed me I was not allowed to visit unless invited. Eventually he came back. Bringing lots of gifts and expensive jewelry. I was still hurting, and yet I felt glad he returned. That was the only time he strayed in thirty-five years of marriage.”
“You must have loved him very much,” Alyssa whispered.
“I did. I do.” The dowager duchess shrugged her shoulders and wiped the dampness from her eyes. “I still miss him, even though he has been gone almost seven years.”
Alyssa reached over and hugged her tightly. It felt good to be the one offering comfort for a change. Just then Burke opened the drawing room doors and announced in a clear voice, “The duke has asked me to inform you he shall be joining you momentarily.”
“I will only stay to greet him,” the dowager duchess insisted as she saw the look of apprehension cross Alyssa’s face.
Morgan hesitated a mere heartbeat before sauntering into the room, his masculine presence dominating his surroundings. He eyed the two women warily, unsure of his reception. “Welcome back, Morgan,” the dowager duchess said in a neutral tone. “Tristan was just explaining your business would be concluding this morning. I trust everything was completed to your satisfaction?”
“Yes, Grandmother,” he answered, not missing the censure in her tone. She is still angry with me for leaving, he decided, and then dismissed the thought from his mind. He turned his complete attention toward his wife, who sat with her eyes downcast, stubbornly avoiding his gaze.
“Burke informed me Tristan, Caroline, and Priscilla have arrived. I am sorry I was not here to greet them. I had hoped to leave London sooner, but I was delayed at the last minute,” Morgan said, his silver-gray eyes never leaving Alyssa’s tense frame.
Alyssa took a deep breath and looked up at him. Her stare was direct and unwavering, and he smiled with relief at the reinstatement of her strong will.
The dowager duchess noticed it also, and she interpreted it as her cue to leave them alone. “Now that Tris and Caroline are here, we shall have a small celebration at dinner this evening to formally welcome Alyssa into the family,” the dowager duchess announced before shutting the door firmly behind her.
Grinning, the dowager duchess strolled leisurely down the hall, her destination the kitchens at back of the house. She wanted to confer with Cook as soon as possible, so a truly spectacular meal could be prepared for tonight. She had just passed the wide circular staircase in the main entrance hall when a loud commotion halted her steps.
The dowager duchess pivoted around and saw Alyssa racing down the hallway, her skirts billowing out behind her. Morgan appeared almost immediately, shouting angrily at his wife to stop. The dowager duchess reacted quickly, placing herself directly in Morgan’s path, giving Alyssa the extra time she needed to make good her escape.
“Now what has gone wrong?” the dowager duchess exclaimed in exasperation, her accusing tone letting the duke know instantly where she placed the blame.
Morgan gritted his teeth in frustration, biting back the scathing retort that sprang to his lips. “How the hell should I know?” he shouted. “We were having a perfectly normal conversation when I foolishly decided to give my new wife a bridal gift. She took one look at it, threw it in my face, and ran from the room in tears.”
“What exactly was this gift, Morgan?” the dowager duchess inquired suspiciously.
“An emerald-and-diamond necklace,” he explained, the anger still in his voice. “Why?”
“Come back to the drawing room, Morgan,” the dowager duchess said coaxingly. “I think it is time we had a little chat.”
Chapter Eighteen
Alyssa reached the sanctuary of her bedchamber and slammed the door shut. She paused a moment to calm her breathing, furiously wiping the tears from her face with the back of her hand. Her reaction had been dramatic and overstated, but the minute Morgan pulled the slender velvet box from his breast coat pocket, she felt her control slipping. Her thoughts were consumed by the notion that Morgan’s grandfather had brought gifts of jewelry for his wife to make amends for marital infidelity. One brief glance at the sparkling emerald-and-diamond necklace and Alyssa had felt enraged. Without giving any thought to the consequences, she had flung the necklace at Morgan and bolted from the room.
Alyssa knew she had overreacted, but regrets would solve nothing. Rubbing her temples vigorously, she rang for her maid and requested a bath. She needed time to gather her thoughts before confronting the duke again. If only she could soak some sense into her head.
Enjoying her privacy, Alyssa sank into the hot suds. Relaxing in the comforting warmth, she tried to formulate a plausible excuse for her earlier behavior and compose a sincere apology for her bewildered husband. Gliding the soap aimlessly across the water she sighed with dismay.
Will it always be like this between us?
The tension, the distrust, the bitterness. Being a controlled and reasonable woman had always been a point of pride to Alyssa, but as of late, it seemed any contact she had with Morgan sent her emotions into chaos.
Will it always be like this between us?
The tension, the distrust, the bitterness. Being a controlled and reasonable woman had always been a point of pride to Alyssa, but as of late, it seemed any contact she had with Morgan sent her emotions into chaos.
Alyssa let out a shaky breath and shifted her position. She attempted to step out from the slippery tub, but quickly realized she could not balance herself without assistance.
Alyssa called out loudly for Janet, unsure if the maid could hear her cries for help. Alyssa folded her arms over her chest to ward off the chill and waited as the water grew colder. She yelled again, tossing her head back in frustration when her cries went unanswered.
The duke walked slowly to his bedchamber after a very frank and enlightening conversation with his grandmother and heard Alyssa’s cry for help. He entered her rooms and discovered his wife reclining in her bathwater.
“Oh, Janet, thank goodness you’ve come,” Alyssa exclaimed as she heard the door open. She gave a small laugh. “I need your assistance. I’m afraid my considerable size makes it impossible to get out of this tub. I am convinced I shall turn into a wrinkled prune if I don’t leave this water soon.”
Morgan smiled at her predicament and strode over to the tub. Kneeling behind it, out of Alyssa’s field of vision, he reached over her shoulder and grabbed the sponge floating lazily in the lavender-scented water.
Alyssa reacted sharply when she saw Morgan’s masculine arm dip into the water, and tried to twist around to view him, but the tub was too narrow. “I’ve already finished with my bath,” she whispered brokenly as Morgan brought the sponge up and began to gently wash her.
He ignored her protest and continued with his explorations. The sponge became an erotic, torturous tool as it softly caressed her shoulders and breasts and then disappeared into the murky water to her touch her calves and the insides of her thighs. Alyssa shivered in response, the cooling water and his tender hands awakening her dormant longings.
“You’re getting cold,” Morgan breathed into her ear. He stood up and lifted her out of the tub, water cascading down her glistening skin. Carefully he wrapped her in a warm towel.
Alyssa stared at him mutely, stubbornly resisting the impulse to throw her arms around his neck. Tenderly Morgan reached out to her and began to dry her damp body. When he reached her swelled belly, she turned suddenly away from him, but not before he caught the look of alarm that crossed her face.
“Alyssa, are you all right? Are you in any pain?”
“No, no, I’m fine. It’s just that I . . . I understand all too well the aversion you have for my bulky shape,” she whispered, shielding herself from his view.
“My God,” Morgan swore. “Is that what you think?” He turned Alyssa around toward him and, cupping her face between his large hands, drew her face close to his. Their lips met tenderly in a kiss filled with loneliness and longing. “I think you are a very beautiful woman. So warm, so passionate, so giving. I have avoided intimate contact because I did not trust myself to contain my desire.”
“You’ve done an excellent job of remaining celibate so far,” she whispered. “We haven’t even consummated our marriage.”
“Forgive me,” he said. He leaned over and brushed back the hair from her neck with his fingers, languorously kissing her neck and throat. “I never meant to neglect you, love. I didn’t know until Grandmother informed me it would be safe for you and the babe if I bedded you.”
“Why didn’t you ask me?” she demanded as his lips moved lower down her throat.
“I didn’t think you would know the answer.” Morgan sighed. “It is all right, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yes,” she encouraged him. Morgan raised his head, and their eyes locked. He touched her cheek with his fingertips, his eyes brilliant with desire and tenderness. Morgan lifted Alyssa into his arms and swiftly carried her to the bed.
The air bristled with the excitement sparking between them as their hunger for each other, so long denied, took control. Morgan loomed over her as she stretched back on the bed, his mouth covering hers searingly, his tongue probing her sweetness. Alyssa felt the familiar ache building as his hands stroked her breasts, and his fingers lightly teased her nipples. Her breasts felt full and eager, and she arched her back against his warm touch.
Her towel fell open, and she lay before him, naked. She looked flushed and alluring. Morgan’s strong hands delicately stroked her hips, and she shuddered as she felt his rigid member pressing against her. Her hands moved across the wide expanse of his chest, dropping lower down his taut body, and she quickly undid the buttons of his breeches. Boldly she reached inside his pants, her fingers enfolding his manhood, which was already swollen and hard.
Her touch was like fire. Morgan groaned loudly as Alyssa continued to stroke him, her fingers feather light as she traced along his length. His member grew even larger under her loving attention, and Morgan thrust hypnotically.
Overwhelming desire consumed him, and Morgan almost choked himself in his haste to untie the knot of his cravat.
“Here, let me help you,” Alyssa said with a small laugh. She knelt up on the bed and removed his coat and shirt, pausing a moment to run her fingers through the warm pelt of dark hair on his chest. Sensuously she rubbed herself against his massive chest, her swollen breasts and rigid nipples aching with desire.
“Morgan?”
“Yes, love.” His voice cracked slightly.
“How the hell are we going to get your damn boots off?” she whispered playfully in his ear. Laughing, Morgan wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her tightly against his hard body, capturing her mouth in a fierce kiss. Leaving her breathless, he sat on the edge of the bed, quickly removing his boots, breeches, and underthings.
Naked, he joined her on the bed, his handsome features clearly betraying his ravenous hunger. Morgan kissed her lightly along the cheek, throat, and shoulders, progressing down to the luscious swell of her full breasts. Her breathing was ragged, and Alyssa could hear the sound of her own heart beating wildly in her ears as his head dipped lower, his warm breath grazing the softness of her inner thighs.
Gently his fingers parted her thighs, and his tongue curled across the sensitive bud of her desire. She quivered at his touch, her hips moving restlessly as the ecstasy built, consuming her with excitement.
“Oh, Morgan,” she whispered, reveling in the powerful surge of desire his wondrous touch ignited.
She rolled her hips forward, the torrent of sensations breaking within her as his tongue laved her moist, aching flesh.
He rose up on his elbows, wrapping his arms around her, his thighs insistently pushing her legs apart. He eased himself inside her warmth and moistness. Her eyes widened and she gasped. “Morgan,” she said in a strained voice.
“Am I hurting you?” Morgan asked with concern.
“No . . . no. You’re just so large.”
He groaned at her candid remark and felt his arousal grow. “You do it then, love,” he whispered in her ear.
She looked up into his face, intoxicated by his silver-gray eyes and the barely contained desire within them. Tentatively her legs rose up and clasped around his waist. Slowly she thrust herself up upon his swollen manhood.
“You are remarkable,” Morgan managed to get out.
Gradually she built up the rhythm with long, lazy strokes that left them both breathless at the sweet torment. With each penetration, Morgan felt himself slipping further and further out of control as he drove himself deep inside her.
His hand slid down between them, delving into the warm, moist curls until he found her, and he skillfully brought her to a second climax as he reached his own release.
Morgan loomed above her, his breath choppy, wanting to hold her close, but not wanting to burden her with his weight. His manhood was still swollen, nestled inside her body.
He gazed affectionately down at Alyssa. Her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted, her breathing soft. She looked so peaceful, so contented. He shifted his weight off her and rolled onto his back pulling her up against his side.
She curled up around him, swinging her arm across his chest and wrapping one leg over his thigh. Morgan reached over and pulled up the satin coverlet to keep them warm. He heard her deep sigh and felt terribly arrogant at her obvious satisfaction.
And then her calm, clear voice broke the silence. “Is Madeline Duponce your mistress, Morgan?”
Alyssa immediately felt the change in his body as he stiffened in shock. His hand squeezed her arm tightly as though he were fighting to remain calm.
“Grandmother explained about my grandfather’s opera singer,” he answered, ignoring her question entirely. “And your violent distaste for expensive jewelry.”
She cleared her throat nervously. “Yes, well, I am sorry about the necklace,” she said. “I do realize I overreacted. But I still want to know about Madeline Duponce.”
“No,” he stated in a flat tone.
She pulled out of his arms, sitting upright so she could view his expression. “No.” she repeated, her voice rising. “No, you will not tell me, or no, she is not your mistress?”
“The latter,” Morgan drawled.
“Oh,” Alyssa responded, lowering her voice considerably. She waited a moment and then once again leaned back in her husband’s arms. He welcomed her eagerly.
“Was she ever? Your mistress, I mean,” Alyssa pressed on.
He looked up at the rose-colored silk bed trimmings.
“Madeline Duponce is not at present, nor has she ever been, my mistress. I have never bedded the woman; in fact, I have never even kissed her. Truth be told, I don’t even like her very much. I have not kept a mistress for quite a long time. The last woman I approached with the notion gave me a rather severe dressing down and told me she never wanted to see me again.”
Alyssa winced at the memory of that encounter.
“She sounds like a very intelligent woman,” Alyssa ventured lightly.
“In the past I always greatly admired her intellect. As of late, I am not as certain of her capacity for rational thought and behavior,” Morgan replied.
“Why did you buy me that necklace?”
“Fool that I am, I thought my bride would appreciate a wedding gift,” he said in a sour tone.
“It was lovely,” Alyssa whispered, genuinely sorry for her earlier actions.
“How could you tell?” he commented wryly. “You hurled it at me so quickly, I doubt you had time to see it.”
“But it flashed so brilliantly in the sunlight,” she quipped. “It must be magnificent. And knowing you, it is probably very expensive.”
“It was,” Morgan said with an exaggerated sigh. “Now I don’t know what I shall do with it.”
Alyssa punched him on the chest playfully. “You shall give that lovely necklace to your wife, sir.”
Morgan grabbed her arms and lifted her up to his face, their noses touching. She saw the flash of humor in his eyes, and then the mocking scowl. “Pray tell, my love, just what exactly has my wife done to deserve such a rich prize?”
Alyssa forced herself to look contrite. “I suppose, my husband, I shall have to earn my reward,” she remarked, placing a hungry, demanding kiss on his lips. Morgan laughed, savoring the feel of her lips and tongue, his passions beginning to stir again.
“If you continue kissing me, my dear,” he teased, “I will have to purchase more than a mere necklace for you.”
Alyssa smiled provocatively at him, rubbing her breasts tantalizingly against his chest.
“Sweetheart, wait,” he requested, as his manhood stiffened. “I don’t want to start something we cannot properly finish. Are you sure this is all right?”
“It is very all right, Morgan,” she whispered.
“We shall be late for dinner,” he protested half-heartedly. “Grandmother is planning a special dinner to properly welcome you into the family.”
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