Touch the Sun (45 page)

Lion doubted that, but it seemed an appropriate time to call a truce with the world in general. Furthermore, Anne Bingham was not a person he cared to have as his enemy, or Meagan's.

The streets were well-lighted, as always, with watchmen at regular intervals, so there seemed no reason to be wary of anyone on this night further illuminated by fireworks and moonbeams. Emboldened by wine or ale, people who normally would have dropped their eyes when passing a man like Lion now greeted him exuberantly. He grinned in return, for it almost seemed that they must know his secret and be congratulating him on his good fortune and future.

* * *

The house on Pine Street was dark except for the usual candle burning in the entryway.

Walking the few blocks home had heightened Lion's anticipation of this meeting with Meagan. If she was upset with him for spending so many hours with Priscilla, it would mean even greater joy for her when she heard the news. It seemed like a year had passed since that morning when he had given her the ruby ring. She had wept, and he could guess the reason for her tears, but he had resolved not to tell her his intentions until the break with Priscilla had been made. The torment he had suffered was ended now, for the time had come at last to offer Meagan the position in his life they both wanted. Lion felt as if a tremendous weight had been lifted from him.

He was covered with a layer of dust, and his clothes smelled of smoke and liquor and sweat. It took only a moment to reach his chamber, where he quickly peeled off the gray and white garments. After washing with cold water, Lion pulled on sunshine-fresh biscuit breeches and a crisp, open-necked shirt. He was reaching for a pair of polished boots when his eye caught sight of the flower-filled vase on the lowboy. Every day it held blossoms to match Meagan's mood, but it was the first time he had seen this variety. The pottery lion had been placed there as well, and Lion paused, smiling, to pick it up. Then he reached for the vase in order to get a better look at these mystery flowers.

Slowly, as recognition dawned, the smile faded from his tan face and all his muscles began to tighten and grow hot, like molten steel. These flowers were not in bloom outdoors yet and wouldn't be until May or June, so Meagan had obviously gone to some trouble to acquire them.

They were blue forget-me-nots.

* * *

Closing his eyes, George Washington leaned back against the finely upholstered interior of his coach. A light rain began to fall, pattering against the windows, while the newly risen sun struggled for attention behind a veil of gray clouds.

Colonel David Humphreys, friend and secretary to the general, exchanged glances with Charles Thomson, the third passenger in the coach. The Irish-born Thomson, who was Secretary of the Congress, had been dispatched two weeks earlier to Mount Vernon. He had been given the unlucky duty of breaking the news Washington had been dreading, then seeing that he got safely back to New York town.

As if sensing the looks that passed between his two companions, the general, now president-elect, opened an eye.

"I was not asleep, but simply enjoying my own company. And the quiet."

"Yes, sir," Thomson agreed.

David Humphreys, who was counted among the President-elect's most constant companions and friends, felt more at ease. Most people were intimidated by Washington's seemingly austere manner, but Humphreys knew that the real man enjoyed laughter and witty conversation as much as anyone. At least that was true at Mount Vernon, but it seemed those times were past. Already, he was tense, pensive, withdrawn... Would the Presidency bring back the somber man Humphreys had served during the War for Independence?

"General, I must say I admire the way you disposed of the City Troop this morning! Telling them you could not have borne traveling covered while others got wet—all Philadelphia will be talking of your modest unselfishness."

Washington's deep-set gray-blue eyes met Humphreys', which were openly twinkling, and allowed himself an ironic smile.

"One begins to feel confined... pressed. All this bowing and clanking beside the carriage... At times I wonder if the world hasn't gone mad."

Thomson spoke up defensively. "Everyone holds you in such
high
regard, sir, that I fear they may overdo—"

At that moment, the coach suddenly swerved to the left and Colonel Humphreys landed nearly in Thomson's lap. Someone was yelling outside, so General Washington swiveled to look out the back.

"Why, there is someone jumping about in the road! It almost looks like a servant—buckled shoes and all—but certainly a
filthy
one."

The person was running in a wobbly fashion after them as the driver began to gain speed again.

"Tell him to stop!" Washington ordered Humphreys. "Perhaps it is a servant from a nearby farm. Someone could be in trouble."

The colonel leaned out the window and shouted to the driver, who reined in the six horses with a frown.

As the bedraggled figure ran toward the coach, the driver waited atop the box with one hand on his pistol. Washington glanced out through the window with growing apprehension. It appeared to be a boy, wet, muddy, and quite wild-eyed.

Charles Thomson cleared his throat. "Sir, I am not at all certain that we should be—"

But the general's eyes were riveted on the figure pulling at the door, and David Humphreys' expression had altered as well.

"I could swear..." the aide muttered in disbelief.

"Open the door," intoned Washington.

The order was obeyed, and suddenly the elegant, dry interior of the coach was filled with the animated presence of a dripping, grubby urchin whose eyes sparkled like huge amethysts. Off came the crumpled bicorne hat, followed by a spill of curling black hair.

"Oh, General! And Colonel!" she sobbed. "Thank God you came. No one else would have stopped for me—or believed my story!"

Washington forgot his immaculate blue and buff uniform. His arms enfolded her and one big hand patted her hair.

"Meagan Sayers, if it were anyone but you, I would name this episode a trick of my old mind!"

Chapter 38

Wong scurried along the paneled hallways, his ears tuned to any sound that might warn of his employer's approach. When a tall kitchen maid rounded a corner in front of him, Wong skidded into the nearest bedchamber without a second thought.

In all the time Wong had known Lion Hampshire, he had seen him forbiddingly angry on many occasions, but this mood was different.

Always, one could feel safe in the knowledge that the core of the man was good and there was no room for cruelty in his nature. But this person, born during last night, seemed terrifyingly alien. All the power that Lion usually kept under tight control had been released; his steely body emanated currents of danger that Wong felt as tangibly as his own alarmed heartbeat.

Lion's menacing, black mood was rooted in unbearable pain. Even Bramble was ready to admit that he must have truly loved Meagan to be so devastated by this loss. He was like a great wild animal, now mortally wounded and capable of striking out at anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path.

The unnerving sound of Lion pacing in his bedchamber could be heard at frequent intervals all night long. Neither Wong nor Bramble had slept either. Lion had kept them up until nearly three o'clock with a barrage of questions, repeating himself as if his mental powers had been crippled. Then, the other servants had been roused, even the ones who had left before Lion to go to Gray's Garden.

Bramble, immune to fear, admitted from the start that Meagan had told them good-bye, that Wong and she had watched the girl's breeches-clad figure disappear into the stables. Meagan had not revealed either her destination or mode of transportation.

Lion released a stormy tide of verbal abuse, yelling at them again and again for allowing her to go. Bramble stared back stoically, but Wong began to quake in his chair. Grasping for a straw that might save him, he had remembered the visit of Kevin Flynn that morning. Perhaps, he squeaked, there was a clue?

And so, by dawn, Flynn had been delivered to the house on Pine Street. Wong paused now outside the library door, listening fearfully to be certain not only that the two men were still conferring, but that Flynn was safe.

Inside, Lion strode around the room, unable to sit down. Kevin occupied a leather wing chair, but sprang up and down throughout their conversation.

His own elfin face was lined with real concern and something akin to surprise. It had never occurred to him that his former captain, the consummate rake, could have actually fallen in love with Meagan.

"I can't believe that she put so little value on herself!" Lion was shouting. "You say that she reached the conclusion the country needed me most?" He paused, raking a lean hand through his hair for what seemed like the hundredth time, then turned back to Flynn, ready for the story's finish. "Tell me then—you left her to go after a chaise and a boy to drive it—"

"It seems she panicked, or never intended to wait at all. By the time I returned, she'd taken her horse and gone on her way. I went to the house to ask what had happened, but everyone was off to Gray's Garden except for some paper-brained chit stirring the stew."

Lion crossed the room to grip Flynn's arm. "Do you mean that she's alone on Heaven? She's been out there all night?" His head turned to the window where a light rain drummed the panes. Backing up against his desk, he let his knees go as he sat on the edge. Fiercely, he tried to clear his mind and think, but it was as if a fire had been lit behind his eyes. A scalding tear escaped to trace the chiseled lines of his cheekbone and jaw. "Dear God, what have I done?"

* * *

"Clarissa, this had better be important! I do not have time for any more scheming conversations with you." Marcus stalked into his study, where Clarissa waited, perched on the edge of a fashionable Hepplewhite easy chair. "I told you night before last that you would have to engineer the rest of your plans without my assistance. Priscilla has me rushing toward the altar at full tilt."

"I hope you are enjoying yourself, Marcus dear, after working so hard for this!" She smiled archly. "Let me assure you that I have everything under control. Your information was more than enough help!"

In the act of pouring himself a brandy, Marcus looked back at Clarissa curiously. "What have you done with the girl?"

"She is out in the Delaware River—without a boat, of course!"

His black eyebrows went up. "Rather drastic measures, eh?"

"I wanted to leave no room for error this time. That wench was far too crafty. At any rate, the deed is done, so further discussion is a waste of time." Her perfect pink and white face was pinched, the sky-blue eyes flinty. "The swine I hired to do her in have returned for the remainder of their payment, and more. That is why I am here. They have a ring that they claim she wore; the chit said it was originally a possession of Lion's mother and begged them to leave it to her. It
does
have his surname inscribed in the band, and it is set with several small rubies. They want me to buy it from them, at a horrible price, to ensure it won't 'fall into the wrong hands.'."

"Are you asking for a loan?" Marcus inquired coldly.

"Yes."

"Done. Now, I am due at Mansion House. Is there anything else?"

"Only my dilemma of how to leak the news of the girl's death—without casting Lion's suspicions on you or me. They said the river had a strong current and she was taken off at once, so there is no chance of anyone discovering the body, as I had hoped..."

Marcus was counting money at his desk, obviously in a hurry. "You are not as clever as you insist, my dear. Send the men to the servants' entrance of Mansion House where they may beg a meal and tell their tale to Smith. Let them take the girl's horse to show and say they saw her thrown from its back into the river last night. Swept away by the current. The ever-good Smith will undoubtedly take over from there." He leaned across the desk to hand her a small leather pouch bulging with guineas. "You may wait until you become Mistress Hampshire to repay me. In the meantime, it would behoove both of us to avoid one another, don't you agree? Especially with the death of the girl—suspicion is one thing we can do without."

* * *

Marcus's improvised strategy worked with such smooth efficiency that even Clarissa was astounded at how well things were going. Except for the ruby ring, there had not been a single tangle in her design.

Seated at her graceful dressing table, she replaced the top on her orange flower water while regarding her flawless reflection in the mirror. Every blond curl was in place. She practiced the smile that had always entranced Lion and adjusted her décolletage so that just enough white flesh was revealed.

It was April twenty-third. Clarissa had suffered through two torturous days since Lion had been told of Meagan's death, waiting until the perfect moment to approach him. Now she could not take the chance of letting another hour pass in case he should suddenly leave for New York to seek solace in the celebrations there.