Lady Fugitive (12 page)

"You came out of your rooms still
fastening your trousers. That must have been some payment you got."

His jaw dropped. "You're
jealous
,
you silly Colonial."

She smacked him on the shoulder with a
balled fist. "Don't you ever call me that again!"

"But you
are
silly,
Rachel," he chuckled. "Nothing personal took place with Pamela. I've
explained as much. No matter—"

"Not silly," Rachel sputtered.
"
Colonial
. Don't you ever say that to me again. You only do it to
tease me. I'm an
American.
"

"Aye, but I use the other term as a
form of endearment," he answered, smiling broadly. "I thought you
knew that by now." His fingers stroked and caressed her arm. "Rachel,
you do believe me, don't you? It was purely business today. There's no reason
to be distressed."

She feigned having a speck of dust in
her eye. "I don't care either way. I just want to go home. People are
staring at us. Please let go of me."

She tried to pull away. His hand slid
down to capture her fingers. He dropped to one knee facing her. "I swear
on my word of honor nothing improper took place between myself and Miss Prine
today." He raised his voice so it carried across the entire square.
"Anyone here will tell you I don't swear oaths lightly. If I give you my
word, you can take it on faith. Right, Johnson?"

"Aye, Tremayne," came the
laughing reply.

Rachel was mortified to discover
merchants and customers alike had gathered on porches and stoops to witness the
spectacle. Men prodded one another and smirked. Women strained on tiptoe to
peer at her. One let out a gasp and tugged at her companion's sleeve.

"By the saints, Hermione! Look at
that! Morgan Tremayne's proposing to that American girl who works for
him."

Morgan's voice was soft and cajoling.
"You believe me, don't you, Rachel?"

"Yes, I believe you. Now will you
kindly get up?"

"Well, as I'm down here, there is
one other point."

Her words came as a hiss between
clenched teeth as she kept a smile frozen on her lips. "For God's sake,
get up!"

"I'm leaving on business, Rachel. I
don't fancy the notion of other men calling on you while I'm away. I've
considered the matter, and regret to say the only solutions I could come up
with were limited. Either I can demand you go back into mourning—which doesn't
seem a reasonable alternative, or—"

"
Morgan
," Her eyes were
huge now. "Boyd and the men are coming! The squire and his associates.
Stand up and greet them properly."

He ignored her and finished his
statement. "Or we can cement our relationship with a betrothal."

Rachel groaned and closed her eyes even
as a wave of shocked gasps and comments rose from all sides.

"He said 'betrothal,' I'm right
positive he did," one fellow insisted.

"That's twenty quid you owe me,
Jarvis," a deep voice announced loudly. "Told you some lass would
snatch him up before another year was out. Bargainer down on one knee. 'Pon my
soul, that's good as standing before the vicar! He never breaks his word."

Rachel opened her eyes and looked down
into Morgan's silvery gaze. She tried and failed to see a glint of mischief
there. "Why are you doing this to me?" she murmured.

"I should think it's obvious. I
happen to love you." She numbly stared at him, unable to think of a single
thing to say. "Should I speak up?" he asked. "Perhaps Squire
Martin and his cronies didn't catch it."

"Don't you dare!"

His mustache curved up in a slow grin.
"I hate to be tiresome, Colonial, but men of trade are waiting on me. I've
now soiled the knee of the clean breeches I just donned for my meeting with
them. Which, by the by, is why I was fastening my clothing when you saw me in
the hallway. Now my leg is going numb, but I'll be no use in any discussions
until I get my answer from you. I beg of you, madam, will you kindly nod or say
yes, or do something so I can get up now?"

She nodded, meaning she'd do something.
Morgan rose. Boyd rushed forward. "I say, Morgan, you've certainly ended
any speculation about the two of you in a most dramatic fashion." Boyd was
as red as Rachel knew she must be. "Now if you'd—"

Morgan cut him off, rising to his feet
at last. "Boyd, why don't you take these gentlemen over to the inn and
have a round on me? Have some of Emily's fresh biscuits, too. She just put a
batch in the oven."

Rachel burst into a helpless fit of
nervous laughter, unable to shake the mental image of Emily's buttocks whacking
the oven door shut. Morgan's arm slid around Rachel's waist.

"As you can see, gentlemen, my
intended is positively giddy, overcome with happiness at my proposal. I'll see
her home and join you anon."

Rachel finally stopped laughing. She
confronted Morgan as soon as they were safely inside the cottage. "I've
never been more humiliated! Making everyone in the village think we're—"

"Betrothed. I think you Americans
call it promised. It means the same as affianced."

"I
know
what it means! I
just don't know how you could play such a terrible jest on everyone. First
thing when you see Boyd and the others you must tell them you were teasing
me."

"I'll do nothing of the kind."
He caught her hands in his. "I wasn't."

She gaped at him. "Morgan, a person
doesn't simply up and decide to get married, like wallpapering the foyer."

His arms wrapped around her as he pulled
her close against his chest. "Would you like to wallpaper it? Hold
on..." He glanced around as though unfamiliar with his surroundings.
"This cottage doesn't have a foyer. We could do the kitchen, if you
like."

She nearly collapsed from relief.
"Oh, thank God! You
were
joking. For a moment I actually
thought—"

He stiffened and Rachel saw the truth in
his eyes. The wounded look that he tried to disguise. "Morgan, we
can't."

"I realize you weren't expecting a
marriage proposal this afternoon, but the subject has come up."

"And you shouted that you'd never
hear of it."

He slowly shook his dark head. "I
didn't say I'd never marry you. I asked if you expected that before I'd be
allowed to bed you. We both know the answer. I've deliberately avoided you,
Rachel, to give us time apart. But that time changed nothing. I still want you,
and clearly you have feelings for me."

"All right, I do, but—"

"You understand me, Rachel, as no
woman before has. You understand about trade. I know you'll make me a good
wife."

"I haven't agreed to marry
you."

"But you will, Colonial. Because
you're the first woman I've ever felt this way about. The first to call me a
visionary. And even the jealousy today—which I detested in Pamela and other
wenches—I find I rather like coming from you. That's why I know this is right.
Why I'm certain that eventually you'll agree to wed me. We belong together,
Rachel."

"You can't just order me to
exchange vows, as though I'm fetching something from your files."

He kissed the tip of her nose.
"You're a wise young lady. I doubt I shall have to command you. The squire's
at the inn waiting for me. I'll be leaving tonight if all goes well during our
meeting. I'll come here directly after the men leave and we'll talk."

"We need to talk now. You—"

"God, but you delight in being
contrary! I've one thing left to say and only one thing to ask." He caught
her shoulders in both hands and gave her a stern glower. "If I learn of
another man visiting this cottage while I'm away, I'll call him out with my
dueling pistols when I return. I'm not jesting. You're mine, Rachel."

"Morgan, we know so little about
each other. In fairness, admit that's true. You can't—"

"I know you never loved Cletus. I
don't believe you trembled in his arms or kissed him to the point of insanity
as you do me." He took her mouth tenderly, proving the truth of his
observation. "So that leaves only one important question: Don't you want
to love your husband the next time?"

Morgan's last question came back into
Rachel's mind as she read her aunt's telegram.
Yes, I want to love my
husband next time. But you can't become my husband, Morgan. I'm going back to
America...and there's a chance that I'm also going to jail.

Violet had sent a cryptic message
stating she'd received news from the States. Rachel needed to return home at
once. Rachel knew Jeremiah hadn't cleared her name yet. He'd written at
Christmas to advise he was still working on her case, but was unable to locate
Jonas Nelson. After St. Louis his trail went cold. The Nelsons suspected he
might have enlisted in the army, but hadn't heard from him in months.

So, Rachel reasoned, Violet's news
couldn't be good tidings about her legal case. Intuition warned it wouldn't be
good news at all. There was something dark hidden between the lines of Violet's
terse message. Something that had Rachel's stomach in knots.

Rachel dashed a brief note to Boyd and
locked up the holding company office. She ran to the cottage and began stuffing
garments into her trunk. She had tidied the house and packed her trunk by the
time Boyd appeared at her door. She let him read the message from her aunt.

He insisted upon sending a carriage in
the morning to take her back to London at company expense. He offered his
condolences at whatever the cause for the family emergency and assured Rachel
she'd be sorely missed. When he mentioned Chrissandra, Rachel's control gave
way. She cried on his shoulder. Boyd said nothing about Morgan, and Rachel was
grateful for that. She wasn't up to explaining their supposed betrothal had
been a mistake.

During two days of dusty traveling,
Rachel neither ate nor slept. When she reached the London town house, Violet
was tearful, badly shaken as she held out a letter from her sister-in-law.
Jeremiah had fallen ill. Small symptoms, a general malaise and feeling of
fatigue at first. It hadn't perturbed him. November's elections had made
Abraham Lincoln the new U.S. President, inflaming the Southern states, for he
was known to oppose slavery. The talk of civil unrest had escalated to the
point that men like Jeremiah with Northern factories were warned to prepare to
shift production to war materials. He'd been disturbed by rumors of conflict
and frustrated at the lack of progress in clearing Richelle's name. When he
grew weaker still, his doctors told him his condition was grave. He begged
Violet to send his daughter home.

"I'm stricken by this news,"
Violet sobbed. "But I'm also frightened for you, dear. You could be
arrested as soon as you set foot on American soil."

"I don't have a choice, do I? We
can't ignore this. And the lie was becoming intolerable. I…" She started
to tell her aunt that a man wanted to marry her, but changed her mind. She had
to forget about Morgan and Crowshaven village. "You don't know how many
times I was tempted to correct someone who called me by the false name."

They talked until late into the night,
agreeing Violet would call on Albert Soames at the bank the next day while
Rachel went to the docks. She needed to reserve space on the first vessel out.
When she arose the next day, the house was empty. She dressed quickly and
headed down the stairs. Someone rang the front bell. Rachel fumbled with her
shawl and threw the door open. 

Fierce gray eyes pinned hers, blazing in
cold fury. His mustache was drawn down tightly over compressed lips that barely
cracked apart as he spoke. "Boyd wired me where to find you."

"Morgan! Good heavens, I had no
idea you were here in London." Now her own face pulled into a frown.
"Boyd wired you about my emergency? But—" Morgan pushed past her and
glanced about the empty rooms.

"Your aunt's not here?"

"She's gone to see her banker about
funds for my passage. Boyd told you I have to sail home?"

Morgan gave a derisive snort. "When
the banker hears what she intends, he'll tell your aunt to save her
money."

Rachel didn't know what that was
supposed to mean, but she was in no shape for verbal fencing. She'd had little
sleep over the past three days and was too distraught to think. "If I'd
known you were here in London..." She flushed. "I planned to write
you and explain."

"Before or after you'd sailed out
of my life?" His glower hadn't softened in the least. He stood in the
middle of the salon, purposely ignoring her gesture toward the sofa.

"If you came intent on punishing
me, Morgan, God's well ahead of you."

"I came to bring you to your damned
senses, since you've obviously taken leave of them!" he snarled. "The
situation is perilous in the Colonies. You can't sail there, Rachel. It's not
sensible, with widespread civil unrest brewing."

"My father's critically ill."

"With all due respect, what can you
do that his medical men cannot? You'll only put yourself in danger trying to
reach him. You'll be of no use to anyone in a Southern war camp."