Two Shades of Seduction (37 page)

Teeth clenched in frustration, he studied her in silence for a long moment. Beneath his gaze he saw the veneer of her cool composure crack slightly. No, he refused to bed a woman who was unwilling. But damn it, his body still wanted her. Suddenly, his lips curved upward.

Genuine pleasure filled him as he offered her the most charming, gentlemanly smile he possessed. Hazel eyes flashed with first surprise and then a guarded expression. He gave her a slight bow.

“Mrs. Westgard, are you planning on attending the St. Claire Fete next Friday?”

“I…yes…as an investor, it’s my obligation to make an appearance before the company’s employees.”

“Excellent. I hope you’ll save me a dance then. The party can sometimes be a bit rowdy, but I can assure you, I’ll not let you come to any harm.”

“I am quite capable of taking care of myself, Mr. St. Claire.”

“Indeed.” His smile broadened at the flush of irritation that tinged her cheeks as her lips tightened into a straight line. “Well, then. I’ll take my leave.”

“But I…”

“Yes?” He arched an eyebrow at her, fully aware that she was completely bewildered by his actions.

“I…I thought that…”

He nodded and leaned toward her, deliberately keeping his voice low. “Our wager still stands, my sweet. However, I think we should become better acquainted before payment is made.”

“Oh.”

“I look forward to our next meeting.”

Surprise and puzzlement pulled her mouth into a lovely pout. The sight stirred the beast in his trousers. Sweet Jesus, if they were alone—no, he needed to hold a calm and steady course with her. Julia was going to be the most difficult challenge he’d ever faced. But she was a prize he intended to win. With a quick nod, he turned and walked away. Time for a change in plans.

§  §  §

Morgan threw his pencil down onto the open ledger in front of him in disgust. Leaning back into the soft leather of his office chair, he closed his eyes in pain. Hellfire and damnation, this headache was one of the worst he’d suffered in months. He dragged in a ragged breath as a wave of nausea roiled in his stomach.

Bloody hell, he should have gone back to his suite at the hotel an hour ago. The head housekeeper, Mrs. Welkins, always had some of his special tea ready for brewing and he could use the stuff now. The throbbing in his right temple hammered away at him, increasing the level of his pain. The sound of his office door opening was a banshee’s wail as the pins squealed in their hinges.

“Whoever you are, get the hell out of here, or I’ll cut your heart out,” he snarled, refusing to open his eyes as the light made the pain worse.

“I believe you would.”

Julia’s cool tone caught him by surprise. His eyes flew open to meet her haughty gaze. What the devil was she doing here? Another sharp pain gripped his temple, and he closed his eyes again as he swallowed a groan. God damn it, he didn’t want her to see him this way. It made him appear weak, and the last thing he wanted was Julia Westgard thinking that he, Morgan St. Claire, was weak.

“Go home, Julia. I’m not in the mood for any questions today.”

“Well, I am. I noticed The Merry Widow’s manifest indicated it brought into port a cargo of tea, spice and silk. I was wondering if this was a normal shipment. She’s made the same run on other occasions, but in less time.”

He didn’t give a bloody farthing how fast or slow the Widow was, he just wanted her to leave him be before he lost the small meal he had eaten at the noon hour. Gripping the arms of his chair, he lurched to his feet.

“Get out, Julia.” His wounded roar filled the office and accentuated the throb in his temple. With great effort, he barely suppressed the churning in his stomach. “Get out now or I’m likely to say or do something we’ll both regret.”

His strength ebbing away, he collapsed into his chair. Eyes closed, he waited to hear the obnoxious sound of the door closing behind her. Instead, he heard the quiet rustle of taffeta rounding the corner of his desk.

“Damn it, Julia. I want you out of here.”

“Hush, it’s obvious you’re not well.” The warmth of her hand rested on his forehead for a brief moment as if checking for a fever. “Do you suffer from migraines often?”

“Yes,” he growled.

Her fingers gently stroked his throbbing head. The light touch on his skin could have been a feather, but it was enough pressure to ease his pain a small fraction. Inhaling a deep breath, he released it as her fingers slid through his hair to soothe his scalp. Beyond the door, he heard the noisy workings of his staff. He was grateful for the buffer, but he knew he’d have to traverse through the outer office to reach his carriage.

“You should be at home, resting.” The gentle whisper made him catch her hand and halt her healing caress.

“I had work to do.”

“And now?”

“Now, I’m going home for some peace and quiet.”

Forcing himself to stand, he gripped the edge of the desk to keep from swaying as the pain in his temple lashed out with the renewed strength of a hot branding iron. A quiet noise of disgust flew from her lips, but he was too focused on remaining upright to look at her. Her firm hand pressed against his arm as he willed the churning in his stomach to stop.

“Sit down, now. I’ll order your carriage and call one of the men to help you outside.”

“No,” he rasped as loudly as his head could bear. “I’ll walk out of this office under my own volition. I’m not some weak fool, unable to handle a minor headache.”

She made a sound that was quite close to a snort. It made him want to smile. If he’d not been feeling so miserable, he would have.

“You’re a stubborn man, Morgan St. Claire.”

“Yes.”

“I propose a compromise. I’ll order your carriage, and when it arrives, I’ll help you reach it safely.”

The idea of Julia Westgard escorting him to his carriage struck him as terribly funny. No, more like humiliating. But he didn’t have the strength left to argue. God knew it wouldn’t be the first time he’d let the woman have her way.

“Fine.” Sinking back down into his chair, he closed his eyes and rested his head against the warmth of the burgundy leather.

The whisper of taffeta echoed in the office as she moved toward the door. He waited for the squeal of the pins in the hinges. When it came, the sound made him flinch. The throbbing pressure in his temple reinforced its message that he remain still. He complied. If he didn’t, he’d never make it out of the shipping office without showing his staff he was nothing more than a weakling.

Slowing his breathing, he must have drifted off, for it seemed like only seconds had elapsed before Julia was touching his hand.

“Morgan, the carriage is here.”

He answered her with a grunt and rose to his feet once more. Using the desk to hold himself steady, he made his way around the furniture at a slow pace.

“Walking stick.”

His rough command was hardly a whisper, but an instant later, she offered his cane to him in silence. One arm around his waist, she allowed him to lean on her as he moved toward the door. It was a pleasant sensation. He’d never had a woman he was attracted to aid him in such a manner. Reaching the door, he took a deep breath and gently pushed her away from his side.

“I prefer to walk without help, Julia.”

“And you have the audacity to think me obstinate and foolhardy.”

Ignoring the irritation in her quiet voice, he braced himself for the noise about to assault his senses. He straightened his shoulders as he opened the office door. “We can discuss my audacity at another time. Right now, I’m waiting on you to lead me out to my carriage.

She sent him a glare as she swept past him and toward the main door of the St. Claire Shipping offices. As he followed her, his head clerk hurried toward him.

“Mr. St. Claire, I need your signature on some documents.”

“Not now, Jeremy.”

“But sir—”

“I
said
not now.” Each terse word resounded in his head with the force of a gunshot. Bile rose in his throat as he brushed past the man and walked toward the front door of the office as steadily as he could. Julia waited for him in the open doorway. The light behind her was blinding. It exacerbated his pain, and he fought desperately to control his nausea.

Beyond Julia’s voluptuous curves, he could see the open doorway of his carriage. Determined to maintain his composure until he was in private, he continued forward. It seemed like an eternity until he reached the coach door. With what little reserved strength he possessed, he pulled himself up into the vehicle and onto the padded seat.

Surprise broke through the throbbing in his body as Julia climbed in behind him and closed the door. He had no time to speak as the carriage suddenly rocked into motion. A second later, the swaying of the vehicle made him lurch forward and retch violently. When he’d finished, he sank back against the leather seat thoroughly exhausted. A softly scented piece of linen dabbed at his mouth. It smelled of lavender.

“You’ll be home shortly. It will please you to know that the men simply thought you in a bad mood. They didn’t suspect you were unwell.”

He barely nodded his head before turning away from her. It had been a long time since he’d been this miserable. Of course, he had no one to blame but himself. All the signs of an impending migraine had been there, he’d simply ignored them.

The most puzzling thing was Julia’s behavior. It had only been a few days since she’d lost their wager, and every time he’d said even a word to her, she’d presented a stony façade that he’d been unable to shatter. It made this gentle, caring demeanor of hers all the more confusing. And the last thing he liked, aside from migraines, was being confused.

Women never confused him. He confused them. It had become an art form with him. His head reverberated with a jolt of pain. He failed to suppress the groan that poured out of him. Damn it to hell, would this infernal carriage not stop? As if hearing the unspoken curse, the coach rolled to a halt, and he steeled himself for another performance just to get to his rooms. The silk of her glove touched his bare hand.

“I instructed the driver to take us to the back of the hotel. I didn’t want you to feel it necessary to repeat the heroics you displayed at your offices.”

There was no censure in her voice, but there was the distinct thread of humor. If he hadn’t been so exhausted, he would have taken the time to make an appropriate retort. Instead, he grimaced. Moving his head was too painful. The carriage door opened and Julia exited to turn and wait for him to climb out of the vehicle.

The fresh air gave him a renewed sense of energy, and he steadied himself against the black lacquered panels of his carriage. A warm body slid up alongside him as she wrapped an arm around his waist to guide him. Grateful for her help, he put one foot forward after the other until they reached the hotel’s back door. As a bustle of activity exploded around him, he pitched forward into a black hole.

M
organ’s room was every bit as decadent as she remembered, and a shudder went through her as she watched two footmen lift his tall, sturdy frame onto the bed. She’d lost her bet to him almost a week ago, and the blasted man had yet to send her a note or pay her a call to arrange for the collection of his winnings. In fact, he’d been nothing but pleasant since the Society’s auction.

Silently, she cursed her stupidity at having entered into a wager with him. St. Claire’s silence in the matter was nerve wracking. Even in spite of his solicitous manner, she found herself waiting for the man to claim his one night with her when she least expected it. Such a tactic had been one of her late husband’s finer skills—surprise was how Oscar had controlled her. That, along with fear and criticism.

Distancing herself from the painful memory of her repressive marriage, she looked toward the bed where Morgan lay. He stirred something in her she’d thought long dead. She bit her lip at the thought. It alarmed her to know she was attracted to the man. He was a threat to everything she’d fought so hard to achieve since Oscar’s death.

With a man like Morgan St. Claire, her independence would be at stake. The man was used to getting his way with everything and everyone in his world. He didn’t like to be thwarted. At the same time she’d found him a thoughtful and considerate employer. Morgan seemed to truly care about the people working for him. Especially disconcerting was how he’d taken extra time with her over the past few days explaining how the shipping industry worked. He’d answered all her questions patiently and without condescension. That fact alone had attracted her to the man all the more.

The footmen, having closed the drapes and lit candles, passed the hotel’s head housekeeper on their way out of the room. Tall and thin, Mrs. Welkins entered with a tray of rags and bowl of water. As she set her burden on the nightstand beside Morgan’s bed, the woman turned to face her.

“Thank you for agreeing to tend to Mr. St. Claire for a short time, ma’am. I have several other things to attend to before I can return, and he’ll be wanting his tea when he wakes up so I must set that out to brew. I promise not be too long.”