Whisper To Me of Love (27 page)

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Authors: Shirlee Busbee

BOOK: Whisper To Me of Love
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The notion of throwing herself on Royce's mercy and begging him to forgo their ugly bargain and send her to America with her brothers had crossed her mind frequently. But the painfully vivid memory of the expression on his face when he had stated that she would
earn
every penny he spent on her had Morgana grimly convinced that begging Royce Manchester for
any
thing would only bring her further humiliation, and her already battered pride quailed at being forced to grovel before him—and to no avail! Since she couldn't grovel, there was only one thing left to do—please herself as much as she dared, and that included wearing the contested ruby gown and making her presence felt within the household. It had seemed a very good idea several hours ago when it had first occurred to her, but seeing the thunderous expression on Royce's face, she wished that she had thought things a little further and had considered his probable reaction!
But she hadn't, and not about to let him intimidate her further, she summoned all her failing courage to reply sweetly, “I'm intending to eat my dinner, and as for the gown—you know very well that it was purchased from Madame Duchand!”
Throwing himself down in a chair at the other end of the long, damask-covered table, Royce contented himself with sending her a look filled with loathing. Upstart little baggage! he thought irascibly. And encroaching, too—pushing her way into his dining room this way! Who did she think she was? And yet even as he stared at her in the flickering light of the silver candelabras that graced the table, he was aware of his desire stirring.
She was undeniably ravishingly lovely as she sat so regally down the table from him, her smooth, white skin rising temptingly above the silk and lace of the gleaming ruby and black gown. His eyes dropped to the surprising fullness of her breasts, the gown cut so low that it stopped just shy of revealing her nipples. He was painfully erect in an instant, and inordinately thankful that she could not see the noticeable effect she had upon him, he took refuge in anger and said in a surly tone, “I don't remember inviting you to share my meal—but I do remember distinctly refusing to buy you that damn gown!”
Pasting an angelic smile on her mouth, she murmured, “Since I live here in this house, I don't believe that I
have
to wait for you to invite me anywhere!”
He let her comment pass, and a sardonic expression crossed his face. “And the gown?” he inquired. “Would you care to explain how it got in your wardrobe?”
Not liking the look in his eyes at all, she was cravenly grateful when Chambers entered just then with the first course of the meal. For the present, the subject was dropped.
Dinner was not pleasant. Morgana had to force down each sip of soup, each bite of meat, fighting to keep her composure in the face of Royce's ill-concealed antipathy and her own treacherous senses. Certain she hated him, convinced she was furious with him, she still could not control the sudden wild beating of her heart when she glanced up and caught his gaze locked on her bosom. To her mortification, her nipples tightened and a rush of dizzying excitement hurtled through her. Looking at his down-bent tawny head as he cut a piece of the excellent roast beef Ivy had prepared tonight, Morgana was conscious of a longing for things to be different between them, for them to share a far different relationship from the one in which they found themselves.
The presence of the other servants as they served the meal made conversation difficult, and Royce and Morgana were barely polite to each other. The last course was finally presented, and Morgana's heart sank when she heard Royce say to Chambers, “That will be all for now. I'll let you know when we are through in here.”
Risking a glance at Royce, despite her uncomfortable situation, Morgana was unbearably conscious of just what a handsome, vital man he was as he lounged there, one long-fingered hand idly twirling his wineglass, the other resting casually on the table. His face was very dark above the pristine whiteness of his cravat, and the dark blue coat, with its gilt buttons shining brightly in the candlelight, fit his broad shoulders and muscled arms to perfection. Without volition, she remembered the strength of that lean body, the warmth of his flesh against hers, and she was suddenly breathless. Desperate to get away from him before she did something even more foolish than she already had, she leaped to her feet and, tossing down her napkin, remarked, “I shall leave you to your brandy now.”
Royce sent her a heavy-lidded stare and murmured softly, “Not yet, sweetheart! You still haven't explained about the gown... .” Insultingly he let his gaze roam over her body. “Of course, now that I have seen it again, I can't remember why I objected in the first place.” His gaze blatantly stripping her, he added in a goading tone, “It displays your wares very nicely... . Reminds me of just what I am paying for!”
Morgana blanched, her fingers closing into white-knuckled fists. Pain knifed through her at his words, and forgetting whatever good resolutions she may have made, she tossed her dark, curly head and snapped, “Just remember that until you have purchased my house, by your own words, you only get to
look!”
Royce lunged for her, but Morgana's courage had failed and she was already dashing for the door. Fingers frantically scrabbling against the crystal knob, she flung the door open and bolted into the hall and up the stairs. In the asylum of her room, her back resting against the door, she waited with thumping heart for the sound of his pursuit, but there was nothing. She had bearded the tiger and escaped once again ... but for how long? she wondered uneasily. For how long?
C
HAPTER
17
U
ndecided whether to charge after her or vent his fury by smashing his fist into the wall, Royce frowned darkly at the doorway through which she had disappeared. Oh, the hell with her! he thought angrily. She was nothing but a conniving little bitch anyway! Why let her upset him? Cursing under his breath, he realized that his reaction to Morgana tonight made it clear that he had to see Della,
should
have explained events to her long before this! Morgana's presence in his house was creating more than one set of problems—how did one graciously inform the first mistress of her ouster by the presence of a
second
mistress?
It was a problem that Royce had never faced before in his life and had never
expected
to face, and he had grappled with it off and on ever since the afternoon he had made love to Morgana. To his credit, he did not want to cause Della any more pain or humiliation than necessary, and he had racked his brain these past several days trying to come up with an honorable solution. Except to drive by Della's house to check on the signal, he had avoided the area. However, to soothe his guilty conscience, and it had not soothed it
very
much, Royce had made arrangements before his trip to Tunbridge Wells for his jeweler to have delivered to Della an exorbitantly expensive diamond necklace and matching earrings.
Angry with himself for letting the situation even arise in the first place, it was with a determined set to his broad shoulders that he walked up the few steps to Della's house and entered. Della, wearing an extremely lovely gown of bronze-shot silk, was waiting for him in the attractive salon where he had met with the Fowler brothers. It was evident by the reproachfulness in her brown eyes that the news of Morgana's place in his life had already reached her, and Royce felt like a complete cad.
Flashing her that particularly attractive crooked grin of his, he bent his tawny head and kissed the slim, white hand that she extended. Not wishing to prolong the unpleasantness longer than necessary, after seating himself on the sofa next to her, he asked quietly, “I assume that you have heard about Morgana?”
Della nodded. “Yes, several gentlemen were very quick to tell me that you had taken another mistress.... I think I would have preferred to hear it from you.”
Royce winced and took her hands in his. “There is nothing I can say that will excuse my actions. I can only apologize to you and hope that in time you will forgive my very bad manners.” The topaz eyes searched hers intently. “Della, if there is anything I can do to make this easier for you ...”
She smiled faintly, one of her hands coming up to lightly caress his lean cheek. “Short of having you throw your new mistress out in the streets, I can think of nothing.” Despite himself, Royce wore an expression betraying the unlikeliness of
that
occurring, and Della laughed, albeit a trifle wryly. “I didn't really expect that you would, but I thought it was worth a try.” Laying her hand in her lap, she added, “Don't feel too remorseful—you have been a very generous lover, both with your pocketbook and your body... .” She sent him a long, sensually appreciative look, her gaze lingering on his wide chest and hard thighs. “I think I shall miss you in my bed almost as much as I shall miss your generosity. But women in my profession are aware of the transient nature of our liaisons, and I knew it would come to an end one day—perhaps not as swiftly as it has!” She shot him a careful glance from beneath her lashes. “I hope that you do not want me to leave this house immediately... .” And at Royce's confirmation that she could stay for several more weeks if she wished, she smiled. “Oh, it wouldn't be that long. You see, I have not been idle either—my new protector will have me housed at a new address in Tunbridge Wells before the week is ended!”
There was a startled silence, then Royce grinned ruefully and murmured, “I suppose I deserved that!”
Della could be forgiven for the satisfied smile that curved her mouth. “Yes, you did, you handsome bastard!” she said without heat. “You've used me most dreadfully.”
“My conduct has been deplorable,” Royce agreed readily, noting with relief the faint glimmer of laughter that lurked in her wide, brown eyes.
“Abominable!” she said.
“Reprehensible!” he conceded.
Della laughed. “Shall we cry quits? Or shall we continue?”
Royce smiled wryly. “I think we should cry quits and admit that my conduct was indeed dreadful, deplorable, abominable, and reprehensible!”
Della's fingers reached out again to touch his face. A warm expression in her eyes, she murmured, “I shall miss you, Royce Manchester.”
Royce captured her hand, and pressing a kiss into the palm, he muttered, “Thank you, Della. You have treated me most handsomely in spite of my shabby behavior.”
“Ah, but it will cost you, Royce,” Della said with a twinkle in her eyes. “I think you owe me that pair of chestnuts you drive ... and a high-perch phaeton to go with them.”
“Done!” he answered without hesitation. “I will have the horses delivered first thing tomorrow morning and shall put in an order for the phaeton at Tattersall's immediately.” There was a slight pause, then he asked almost sheepishly, “Would you mind telling me the name of the gentleman who replaced me so speedily in your affections?”
For a moment, he thought she was going to refuse, and he would not have blamed her, but with a shrug of her slender shoulders, she answered calmly, “Of course not. He is one of several gentlemen who had been paying court to me before you arrived on the London scene. I had just about made up my mind to accept his offer when you appeared.” She added bluntly, “And quite frankly, I now wish I had not let your handsome face turn my head and had become his mistress in the first place.”
Royce looked suitably chastened, although there was a mocking glint in the depths of those amber gold eyes. “Yes, I know,” he admitted meekly, “that there were several friends of mine in the running to gain your favors—Newell and Atwater make no bones about it that I stole you right out from under their noses.”
“As well as those of Devlin, Wetherly, and Stafford!” Della couldn't help bragging.
Telling himself it was no longer any of his business, but disliking on principle the idea that it might be Devlin who was now keeping Della, he inquired bluntly, “And is it the Earl?”
“No,” Della replied, “it is a very wealthy gentleman named Jasper Simonds.”
Royce frowned. “Jasper Simonds? I don't believe that I have heard his name before.”
“Probably not,” Della replied. “He is somewhat reticent and he does not talk a great deal about his background. I
do
know that he is
very
wealthy and that while he does not mix with the highest in the land, he is very friendly with several members of the aristocracy, Including the Earl of St. Audries and his friends Stafford and Wetherly.”
Greatly relieved that his break with Della was being accomplished so easily, Royce spent the next several moments chatting quite amiably with his former mistress. Prior to his taking his leave of her, he elicited the information that she would be staying the night with Simonds, since her new protector objected to bedding her in a house being paid for by her former lover.
Curious about the man who had so opportunely replaced him in Della's life, Royce immediately went in search of his cousin, George. He found him at White's, surrounded by his usual coterie of friends, Atwater and Newell among them, and it was some time before Royce was able to have a private word with him. Eventually he cut his gregarious cousin out from the pack, and finding a quiet corner in the club, he was finally able to ask George about Jasper Simonds.
“Jasper Simonds, hmm?” George said thoughtfully. “Tall, black-eyed, slender fellow? Keeps to himself? Might have the smell of the shop about him, but full of brass?”
Royce looked impatient. “George, if I don't know the fellow, how the devil would I know if he was short or tall, fat or skinny? Do you know him, and what do you know about him?”
George shrugged. “Think you do know 'im. Met him already. Know I introduced you to him when you first arrived.”
“George!” Royce began in exasperation. “You introduced me to half of London when I first arrived! How am I to remember everyone? Now, quit teasing me and tell me what you know about him.”
“Not much to tell,” George offered with sleepy amiability. “He don't run in our crowd very often—sticks more with the Devlin bunch. Very wealthy, but no one knows where his blunt came from. Haven't heard anything about his family. Might be shopkeepers and he don't want it known. Why d'you want to know?”
Smiling ruefully, Royce returned, “He's Della's new protector.”
“Oh!” George replied, a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “Feel like he set a pair of horns on your head, hey?”
“Not precisely, and Lord knows I deserve them after the trick I played on Della with Morgana, but I was just curious about him. I feel, well, sort of a sense of responsibility toward her, considering the way our relationship ended.”
“Shouldn't worry,” George murmured. “Women like Della—like cats—always end on their feet ... or backs, as the case may be!”
They spoke for a few moments more, then just as they were about to end their conversation, Royce asked slowly, “George, have you ever heard anything about a ... a one-eyed man?”
The effect on his unflappable, convivial cousin was startling. George stiffened as if shot, and his normally ruddy complexion became pasty. “And what do you know about
him?
” George demanded in a hoarse voice.
“I think I asked the question first,” Royce returned quietly, George's reaction filling him with an odd anxiety. Good Lord! His cousin couldn't possibly have had dealings with such a creature. Not
George!
And almost as if he could read his mind, George said hastily, “Don't know 'im myself.” He shuddered and glanced nervously around the room before adding, “He's a bad 'un—had a good friend, a dear friend who got caught in his toils. Killed himself. Messy affair.” Dread evident in his blue eyes, George clutched Royce's arm and demanded apprehensively, “You ain't met him yourself? You're not, er, having him
do
things for you, are you? Not wise, Royce. If you need help, come to me—I'll sport the blunt. Don't go to that one-eyed devil. Be the end of you! Like my friend!”
Soothing his cousin's fears that he had not employed the dubious services of the one-eyed man took some time, but eventually Royce was able to deftly segue the conversation around to the more pleasant topic of his impending removal to Tunbridge Wells. George immediately brightened, and in the course of their conversation, somehow—and he was never certain how it happened, which was the way it always was with George—Royce found himself inviting his cousin to come and stay at Lime Tree Cottage. Shaking his head at his own folly, he strolled back to the house on Hanover Square, rather than riding on such a fine day, enjoying the late afternoon sunshine.
Royce had not spoken to Morgana about either the purchase of the house or their imminent removal to Tunbridge Wells—he had not even mentioned it to the servants. Deciding that it was past time to do so, upon his arrival home, he called Chambers into his office and explained everything to him.
Chambers did not so much as blink an eye at the stunning news that in less than six days they would all be leaving London and taking up residence in Tunbridge Wells. His voice colorless, Chambers replied, “Of course, sir. I shall see to everything.”
Smiling faintly, Royce said apologetically, “I should have said something to you sooner, but I have had other things on my mind. Will it be terribly inconvenient for all of you?”
Chambers thawed just a bit. “Oh, no, sir. Since you leased this house furnished, there will only be our personal effects to pack and transport.” A question in his eyes, he asked carefully, “And is, the, er, cottage furnished?”
“Yes—very tastefully,” Royce answered with a gleam of mockery in his topaz eyes. “I may be using it for iniquitous purposes, but the previous owner had exquisite taste and he sold the cottage to me with all its contents.”
Chambers did not take the bait, and bowing low, he left the room. Royce wandered about his office for several more seconds before deciding that he could not put off telling Morgana about Lime Tree Cottage any longer. Precisely why he was reluctant to tell her, he couldn't have explained himself, but he suspected it had a great deal to do with his violent distaste for the whole idea of
buying
his way into her bed. Which was most peculiar considering that he had not thought twice about the expense of keeping Della or the cost of the prized chestnuts and phaeton that were his parting gift to her! Something inside him rebelled at placing Morgana in the same category as Della, and perhaps
that
more than any one thing infuriated him.
His handsome face set and grim, he stalked from his office and swiftly mounted the stairs in search of the most baffling, beguiling little witch whom it had ever been his misfortune to meet! Entering the luxurious ivory and blue sitting room that separated his suite from hers, Royce found the object of his thoughts seated demurely on a long, low sofa covered in ivory brocade.

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