Lady Fugitive (15 page)

She drew a breath. "You've
defrauded me into marriage to you, Morgan. Consummated or not, I may seek an
annulment when we reach America. I hope you'll be decent and won't contest
it."

He released her at once. "That's
rather extreme."

"I don't think so. I'm giving both
of us an out. I'm being forced to marry in haste, exactly what I vowed I'd
never do again. I spent years in a miserable life with Cletus that was a
mistake from the start. If this doesn't work out between us—"

He scowled and shook his head. "No
annulment."

"Morgan,
think
! My country's
torn by war and my father's dying. You won't stay on in America. You're asking
me to give up my country and spend the rest of my life in England. You probably
want children, too."

"Aye, I hope to pass the signet to
a son one day," he answered slowly. She turned away and softly began to
cry.

Morgan pondered again the question that
had inwardly troubled him more than once. Rachel had been married for years,
yet she was alone, childless. He'd been loath to broach the subject, owing to
her unnatural reticence about her past. His eyes closed at the painful
conclusion he reached now. Either Rachel was barren or didn't want children.

Then he recalled her loan of the almanac
to young Nathan Tate. That had been a kind gesture. Surely she didn't dislike
children?

"Don't cry, Rachel," he
coaxed, pulling her into his arms. "I'm not after breeding stock. What I
need most from you is companionship. It has to do with the cottage. I've never
told you the true reason I don't reside there. Travel's a plausible excuse, but
I have Boyd let out the place because I can't set foot inside without a
horrible melancholy taking hold. That is, I couldn't abide the cottage until a
little widow came along. She can't light a fire or steep a decent cup of
English tea, but she brought warmth and light into a house too long filled with
despair. I need you, Rachel."

Now she pulled back and searched his
eyes. They were soft as they met hers, almost vulnerable. "Morgan, promise
you won't fight me on annulling this union. I'll go through with the ceremony
because it's the prudent choice. I don't want to live in sin, and I can't argue
the attraction I feel for you. Still, we—"

His lips descended to silence her, the
kiss butterfly soft. His lips moved to her throat as his fingers tunneled into
her loose tresses. "Rachel, I couldn't let you go. Don't make this
something detestable. I'm a man who cares for you, who struggles and fails
miserably at times. I dream of many things, knowing more than half will likely
never come to pass. All I expect is that you'll listen to me, argue with me,
make love to me, grow old with me. Are those things you cannot do?"

"I'll disappoint you, Morgan! You
don't understand—"

"Shh, Colonial," he whispered,
stroking her hair. His hand froze in midair as a memory came flooding back. The
comment she'd made about never having held a babe. 

He'd just interrupted her. Mayhap she'd been
about to tell him she couldn't bear children, but he couldn't face that just
now. He didn't want her blurting it out. He wanted to give her time to find the
right words. He owed her that much.

"Rachel, if you love me, we can
work the rest out. Conquer problems together." He glanced away, finding
the next words the grimmest he'd ever had to utter. "It's not too late to
speak to Haversham and call it off."

"You would do that?" He heard
the surprise in her voice. 

He gazed down into her dark eyes.
"I'd look a bloody fool, and maybe I
am
one for thinking your
jealousy and the way you look at me means..." He paused, sighing. "Tell
me what you want. If you truly can't abide the thought of living with me, I'll
go speak to Haversham and call off plans for the ceremony."

She read the hurt that must have been
obvious in his eyes."Don't. I'm not certain of anything just now. Maybe
I'm just...unsettled. Nervous."

His heart began to beat once more. Much
faster. At least a part of her wanted him, cared for him. "Ah, well! All
brides have wedding jitters. Grooms, too. Yours is no different. Let's have
some scotch for our nerves."

He went to his smaller trunk and pulled
out a bottle, taking a long swig before passing it to her. "Mercy, that's
awful!" Rachel sputtered after swallowing the fiery amber liquid.

"An acquired taste," he said
as he pulled on his frock coat.

"You're nervous, too?"

He nodded and reached to gather his dark
hair in one hand, thong in the other. "Would you mind leaving it
down?" she asked softly. "You look so handsome. And not the least bit
nervous."

He chuckled. "Shall I tell you
another little secret? When I look it least, you may rely on the feeling being
at its strongest. I assure you, I'm quite human." He moved to the cabin door.
"Come here, love." He waited until she crossed the cabin to join him
by the portal. Her eyes were still clouded with worry. He took her hand in his.
"Rachel, will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

"Will you promise something before
I answer?"

"I won't promise not to block an
annulment."

"Would you at least agree to
consider it? I have a valid reason for—"

"We'll not discuss it until we
reach port. Mayhap by then you'll have changed your mind."

"Or maybe you'll have changed
yours." Her voice shook slightly, and Morgan frowned. "What I meant
to ask," she clarified," is for a promise you'll be patient with me.
I've had no time to compose myself. While we'd spoken of a betrothal, it wasn't
a true plan and you know it. I need time to adjust to...well, being your
wife."

He used every ounce of control to keep
his voice soft. "I'll be patient as I can, but you know it's not my strong
suit." When she gave him a shy smile, he pressed his lips to the back of
the hand he still held in both of his. "I shall try to be kind and
understanding, try with all my heart to make you happy. Now Rachel, will you
marry me?"

Cursing her own weakness, she gave the
only answer she could. "Yes."

Rachel stared at her left hand with
something akin to awe. A dozen times since the ceremony that afternoon she'd
glanced at her ring finger for confirmation she wasn't dreaming.

But she knew better. She'd actually gone
through with the shipboard wedding, and now heard drunken sailors cavorting on
the decks outside the small cabin she shared with Morgan.

He saw her glance down at her ring.
"The gift you wouldn't accept back in London was a necklace. I returned it
and commissioned the jeweler to copy my signet. The first time I held you in my
arms and kissed you was the night we went back for my ring. Seemed appropriate
that same ring should symbolize you sharing my life and name. But if you'd
rather I buy you a traditional band or—"

Rachel bestowed a soft kiss on his lips.
"It's perfect. You couldn't have chosen anything better."

He smiled, but pressed a finger to his
lips as he moved to the bunk. He lifted the mattress and pointed to a slim
wooden case. His voice was a low whisper. "My dueling pistols. Always take
them along when I travel. You'll sleep against the inner wall. I'll take the
outside. If anyone should somehow manage to get inside this cabin, he'll have
to get past me and the pistols to reach you."

"You're making me nervous
again."

"You were already nervous, for an
altogether different reason." Rachel met his knowing gaze and nodded, all
at once uncertain what to do or say. The bunk was all she could think about,
both with trepidation and a certain measure of excitement. But a woman didn't
admit such things.

"Well, 'tis said a new bride must
be given a few moments of privacy. Close the curtains 'round the bunk and
prepare for bed. I'll check the stove and the bolt on the door."

A bundle of tissue paper lay on the one
he'd designated as her pillow. She gingerly opened the package, discovering a
nightgown of rose silk. Its simple design tied at the neck, then flowed from
shoulder to ankles in one unbroken spill. She quickly undressed and put it on,
emerging from the bunk moments later to stand quietly before her new mate.
Masculine appreciation shone in his smoky eyes.

"It's beautiful," she said
softly. "I...appreciate your thoughtfulness. I didn't know I'd need a
trousseau when I packed for this crossing. I'm afraid you wouldn't have been
pleased by my flannel nightdress."

"Surely you know I'd adore you in
anything or nothing. Especially nothing."

Her cheeks flooded with warmth. "I
hadn't anything nearly this lovely."

He was seated at the table. He leaned
forward. "See, there are some advantages to being swept into an unexpected
union. Bring me your hairbrush." She gave him a questioning look, but
complied. He accepted the brush and positioned her in front of him, then began
drawing the brush through her long tresses.

"A bride should know her spouse
finds her beautiful and desirable." He paused and took a deep breath.
"I've longed to brush your hair like this." He stroked her mane until
it shone in the lamplight. He closed his eyes against his mounting sexual
arousal. He wanted to bury his face in her hair, his stiffening manhood in her
warmth. Join with her in the most primal way.

"Morgan." Her voice was a soft
whisper. He opened his eyes to find hers locked on his face. "You've been
kind, even though I wasn't earlier today. I'm sorry I reacted so badly at
first. I must stop thinking of you as my employer and landlord." She gave
a small shrug. "It took months to become comfortable with Morgan instead
of 'sir.' Now you're more than a friend or mentor, you're my husband."

The word proved his undoing. He rose and
pulled her into his arms. "Rachel, I can't be patient any longer. I want
you too much."

She didn't resist when he blew out the
lamp and propelled her to the bunk. She climbed under the quilt and waited for
him. He stripped away his garments. She went easily into his arms and pressed
herself against him, running her hands over his bare chest. "Morgan, you
were right. I've wanted you, too. Wanted this."

The silk gown was buttery soft and
slippery. The erotic feel of it against her skin thrilled her as he wrapped his
thighs around hers. "Not half so much as I've craved you in my arms,
sweetheart." His mouth slanted over hers. Her tongue met his boldly,
stroke for teasing stroke. Rachel knew she didn't have to hold back. Her body
could tell him what her lips still couldn't say—how much she gloried in him.

He tugged at the ribbon at the gown's
neck. The silk parted to her waist. His hands brushed the fabric over her
shoulders and down around her upper arms. Rachel drew in a sharp breath as he
pushed the bedclothes down. Cold air met her bare flesh, only to be replaced by
his warm palms capturing her breasts. 

She moaned, reveling in his strong hands
laying claim to her. "The day we went riding," Rachel panted, "I
thought about this. I wanted to retreat upstairs, lie back on the canopy bed,
and let you do this. Do everything."

"I'm glad you didn't," he
replied in a rough voice. "It's better this way. Now I can touch and kiss
every inch of you, Rachel.
Wife
."

His hands moved over her stomach and
lower belly. Her back arched and she lifted her hips. Her hands caught fistfuls
of silk as she slid the gown beyond her pelvis. Morgan took over and pulled it
down her legs, then thrust it aside at the foot of the bunk.

Fully nude now beneath him, Rachel
wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed him with abandonment. She caressed
his long torso, drew him down into her softness. He was hard and angular; she
all yielding, pliant flesh and tender sighs beneath his hands. Wherever his
fingers brushed, there was heat.

"Christ, you don't know how hard
it's been," Morgan mumbled. "Even in those damnable widow's weeds, I
craved to have you like this, nude and willing. I've longed to taste your
skin."

His mouth moved to a taut nipple. His
tongue flicked and swirled over it. Rachel whimpered and ran her palms over his
bare shoulders. "Easy, woman," he groaned. "Don't make those
wanton sounds, or I'll forfeit the last shred of control."

But she couldn't seem to stop the low
keening, deny the urge to arch her back and offer him more of her twin aching
breasts. Morgan feasted with his hands and mouth, kneading her firm flesh. He
sent a trail of moisture from the underside of one breast to her navel. His
tongue dipped there and probed. The fingers of one hand slid down to coax her
thighs apart.

"Please say you're ready, love,"
Morgan rasped, "I can't wait. If I don't get inside you now, I'll go out
of my mind."

He rose to his knees, releasing a low
feral sound of triumph as Rachel spread her thighs and reached to twine her
arms around his neck in welcome. He entered her with a measured thrust. Face
hovering inches above hers, he gritted his teeth. "I know you haven't been
with a man for a long time. Am I hurting you?"

"No, it's…good," she breathed,
wrapping her legs around his hips.