He was so deep inside her it drove him wild. Her muscles tightened around him, signaling the culmination of her pleasure. Morgan watched her face in wonder as Alyssa reached fulfillment. Her excitement triggered his own release, and he pushed himself higher inside her warmth, spilling his seed.
Afterward, as they both tried to calm their harsh breathing, Morgan pulled her down to his chest, holding her close to his racing heart. Alyssa’s hair was a mass of tangles covering them both, and she brushed the silken tresses out of her eyes. She came to rest with her face against his neck, and, dazed with emotion, she revealed her heart.
“Oh, how I love you, Morgan.”
The words slipped out so naturally, Alyssa didn’t have time to consider what she was saying. Her body immediately tensed in anticipation of the duke’s reaction. Yet silence greeted her declaration, and as it stretched on, Alyssa let out a long sigh. He must not have heard, she concluded with an odd mix of regret and relief. Loving Morgan was an emotional risk that left her with feelings of vulnerability and uncertainty. It was a situation best handled slowly.
“Am I crushing you?” Alyssa asked, needing to break the oppressive silence. Balancing herself up on her elbows, she relieved him of her weight. Her hair fell forward onto Morgan’s face, and she reached over to gently brush it back from his damp brow. He opened his eyes and looked at her with such tenderness and softness that Alyssa felt a lump of emotion knot her throat. Quickly she rolled off him. If he continues to look at me like that I shall do something stupid, she decided. Like tell him I love him again.
Morgan did not like her moving off him so abruptly, and he immediately pulled Alyssa into his arms. Cradling her against the length of his body, he casually draped her leg over his thigh. After a few moments she began to relax, allowing the feelings of contentment to wash over her. She could see a large willow tree through the window on the far side of the room, and she watched lazily as a small bird tittered to and fro from branch to branch, calling its mate. Alyssa snuggled closer to Morgan, feeling sated and, perhaps for the first time in her life, safe. It was a glorious moment.
“It is time we thought about getting back, sweetheart.” Morgan’s voice shattered the companionable silence, bringing Alyssa sharply back to reality. “Mrs. Stratton will be wearing out the floorboards if we don’t return before dark.”
“And have another lovely bit of gossip to share with the rest of the county,” Alyssa added with a small laugh. Naked, she jumped from the bed and began searching for her discarded chemise, fervently hoping that Morgan, in his earlier enthusiasm, had not ripped any of her clothing.
Alyssa sat on the edge of the bed rolling up her stockings while Morgan picked up his breeches. “When will we move in here, Morgan?”
“As soon as you feel the house is livable, my dear. It shouldn’t take too long to make the house ready, provided you don’t require extensive structural changes. No more than a few weeks, I imagine. Sooner, I hope, if this afternoon is any indication of how we will be spending our time here together.”
A few weeks! If they were to occupy their new home in such a short time, Morgan must have already made all the wedding arrangements. Alyssa felt hurt that she had not been consulted, but honestly conceded she could have been very little help. She knew nothing of weddings, having never attended one herself.
“You have not planned an elaborate London ceremony, have you, Morgan?” she asked cautiously. “I was hoping we could have a very simple wedding ceremony, with only your family in attendance.”
“Mmmmm,” the duke muttered, his head under the bed as he retrieved his riding boots.
“Well, wouldn’t you prefer it?” she pressed on. “I know that a large London gathering might be expected, but couldn’t we beg off? After all, I am still supposed to be in mourning. I’m sure it would be acceptable.”
“What would be acceptable?” Morgan questioned absently, searching among the bedcovers for his shirt.
“A simple, family ceremony.”
“For what?”
“Our wedding.”
“What!” Morgan’s head jerked up in astonishment and he glared at Alyssa.
“All right,” she countered quickly, taken aback by the look of fury on his face. “It was only a suggestion, Morgan. There is no need to get angry. We will do whatever you think is best.” She turned her back to him and began pinning her hair, utilizing the large brass mirror that hung on the wall.
“My dear Miss Carrington, you will kindly explain to me what the devil you are talking about!” he yelled. He strode over to her, grabbed her arm, and swung her around to face him.
“Morgan, you are hurting my arm,” she cried, frightened by the anger in his face and confused by his violent reaction. “I was merely expressing my desire for a simple wedding, rather than an elaborate London affair.”
“You are speaking in riddles, my dear. I was not aware that we were getting married.” He had lowered his voice, but Alyssa could still hear his scorn. Morgan released his iron grip on her arm and stood over her, looking menacingly down into her eyes.
“Not getting married?” she questioned, her confusion echoing in her voice. “Have you changed your mind?”
“It was never decided toward marriage in the first place,” he declared in a deceptively calm voice.
“But . . . but that first time we were together,” Alyssa stammered in a hoarse whisper. “Afterward, you . . . you said you wanted to take care of me. You . . . you offered me the protection of your name.”
“Yes, I did. And you accepted,” he answered slowly, a feeling of dread beginning to overtake him.
“I agreed to become your wife.”
“You agreed to be my mistress,” Morgan said softly, not understanding how there could have been such a colossal misinterpretation of his intentions.
“What!”
“My mistress,” he repeated.
“Oh my God,” she whispered in shock, so astonished she could barely speak. She sank down on a small chaise longue and tried to sort it all out. She could not.
Morgan stood by her and uncomfortably cleared his throat. Knowing he was only partly to blame did not entirely ease the guilt he felt. The duke reached out his hand to comfort Alyssa and she instantly came alive, jerking back as if he had struck her.
“Do not touch me,” she hissed. “How dare you insult me by asking me to become your mistress?” Now that she had awakened from her trance, she was fighting mad. Morgan thought he preferred her quiet brooding.
Alyssa rose from her seat and paced the room like a caged animal. “How could you be so cruel as to humiliate me in such a manner?” she railed at him.
Her righteous indignation struck a responsive chord in Morgan, and he fought back.
“Don’t you dare act the outraged virgin with me, miss. As I recall, you came willingly to my bed,” Morgan retorted, vainly trying to hold his temper.
Her eyes shot daggers at him and her face heated with humiliation as she remembered her wanton behavior. “That was different, and you know it.”
“How so?”
She refused to answer him. What was the point in trying to explain it? It didn’t matter. They were not going to be married. She was a fool to have ever thought they were. Alyssa shivered as a heavy coldness centered in her chest. Her only thought was escape.
“I’m leaving,” she stated in a flat tone. Only partially dressed, carrying her shoes, cloak, and bonnet in her arms, she fled from the room.
“Damnation,” Morgan swore loudly. He sat on the edge of the bed and struggled with his boots, listening for the carriage. He was certain she would drive away without him.
He was therefore surprised to step out into the fading afternoon sunlight and find Alyssa sitting stiffly in the corner of the carriage. There was utter silence as he entered the open coach and took up the reins. The duke stared piercingly at Alyssa’s lovely profile, willing her to face him, but she stared stonily ahead.
Perhaps it would be best if they waited before discussing this gross misunderstanding, he decided. Morgan allowed the silence to lengthen between them, rapidly going over in his mind the arguments he would present in his favor. He was not about to let Alyssa go without a fight. It had been far too long since any woman had seriously engaged his interest.
He was prepared to offer her any material inducements she desired. Hell, he would even put the terms in writing. But marriage! Egad, the mere mention of the word made him break out in a cold sweat.
Compressing his lips in a tight line, Morgan flicked the reins and sent the chestnuts prancing down the drive.
Chapter Ten
Neither spoke a word.
Morgan finally broke the silence. “I am surprised you waited.”
Alyssa merely huffed and tossed her head. She would have left in a heartbeat, had she the slightest notion of how to return to Westgate Manor.
“I can see that you are still upset by this entire misunderstanding,” the duke tried again.
She favored him with a glare that could light a bonfire.
Misunderstanding! she inwardly fumed. He has made me the biggest fool in all of England, and he calls it a misunderstanding! I have given him my heart, as well as my body, and he has trampled it.
By the time they reached the drive to Westgate Manor very little of Alyssa’s composure remained. All she wanted was to escape from Morgan and grieve in the privacy of her bedroom. Once alone, she could finally succumb to the tears that were threatening to choke the very breath from her.
Alyssa bolted from the carriage before it came to a complete halt, nearly breaking her neck as she jumped, startling both Morgan and young Ned, who stood waiting to take the curricle. As she raced for the door, she heard Morgan utter an explicit remark.
“Alyssa, wait,” he commanded, and when she did not comply, he took off after her.
“Damn,” she muttered under her breath. She could hear his heavy footsteps pursuing her and she ran faster. Alyssa managed to reach the entrance hall and she sprinted for the main staircase. Suddenly nothing seemed more important than reaching the safe sanctuary of her bedroom. She increased her speed desperately, taking the steps two at a time in an attempt to outdistance Morgan before he began the climb.
She shouldn’t have bothered. Morgan caught up to her as she gained the landing and grabbed her forcefully by the arm, more roughly than he intended.
“That was a very stupid thing to do,” he shouted, his frayed temper nearly done in. “We must talk about this, Alyssa.”
“There is nothing to discuss, Your Grace,” she spat at him. “Now let go of me this instant. I refuse to be manhandled by you any longer.”
The vehemence in her voice enraged him. “I have had enough of this childish behavior. You will come downstairs to the library with me right now and discuss this in a calm and rational manner,” he demanded.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then I will carry you downstairs, Alyssa, and lock you inside that room with me until we sort this mess out,” he threatened.
Her eyes narrowed. His commanding attitude fueled her own anger. “I always knew you weren’t a true gentleman.”
Morgan smiled at her comment, amused by her insult. At least she was speaking to him.
Perkins met them outside the library doors. “Please see that we are not disturbed, Perkins,” the duke said sternly, shutting the door in the astounded butler’s face.
Alyssa walked slowly into the room. She heard the doors close and then the click of the lock. Morgan had locked them both inside the room. Summoning up the last of her pride, she began the attack.
“I won’t be your whore.”
“Good God, woman, is that what you think?” Morgan said, astonished at both her words and the infuriated way she spoke them.
“Am I wrong?” She stood with her legs braced apart and her hands on her hips, challenging him to disagree.
“I never thought of you as a whore, love.” The sincerity and gentleness in his tone rattled her. “What we have shared is something rare and special. You affect me as no woman ever has. I don’t want to lose you.”
“Then we will be married,” she whispered in a shaky voice.
Morgan frowned and shook his head. “Why do you insist on marriage?”
“Why do you refuse to consider it?” she countered.
“Marriage is too confining, too permanent a connection, Alyssa. I have been married and it was an abysmal failure, a rather unsavory and occasionally painful experience. I have wisely vowed to never marry again. Frankly, I do not believe I am suited to matrimony. We can have a far more satisfying relationship without marriage, and when by mutual agreement we decide to part, we can do so civilly, with no legal encumbrances. I will provide financially for you after we separate so you need never worry about money again. In many ways it is a far more advantageous arrangement.”
Alyssa shook her head. He made it sound so simple. “What about society, Morgan? Will the members of the beau monde treat me with the same deference they would accord your wife? Would you dare walk into a crowded ballroom with your mistress on your arm? I’ll own I know little of society, but even I know it would cause a great scandal.”
Morgan grimaced. “I try to avoid most social gatherings, but I can take you to London and I will escort you to certain events. We can travel to the continent, Alyssa. Italy, Spain, Greece, France. This war won’t last forever. I think we can be happy.”
Alyssa closed her eyes for a few moments to gather her resolution. She was tempted, sorely tempted, but knew in her heart she must not yield. He spoke of ending their relations civilly, but she knew the humiliation would be unbearable when he grew tired of her and cast her aside. She would spare herself that pain at least.
“I cannot be your mistress, Morgan.” There was sadness in her statement. She marched past him to the doors and began fumbling with the lock.
The pain in her voice tore at him. She was ending their relationship, he realized with astonishment and rising panic. Walking out of his life. Forever.
“So much for love,” he threw out bitterly.
Alyssa froze, her back rigid. Slowly she turned around to face him. Her bruised heart twisted in her breast.
“How dare you speak to me of love?” she whispered, her face white with fury. “You first tell me what we shared is so rare, so special you cannot give it up. Yet you do not think it is worthy of marriage. Or is it me? Am I not worthy of the noble Duke of Gillingham?”
“Don’t turn this back on me,” Morgan snapped.“I’ve already explained about marriage. Tell me about love.”
“All right, you insufferable cad! I love you. Yet I refuse to be your mistress. I refuse to become an outcast from society no matter what my heart says,” she shouted, furious with him for making her admit her feelings, furious with herself for having them.
“Since when have you cared so much about society?” he questioned, strangely hurt to know that loving him was at the root of her great misery.
“Since you have decided to keep me apart from it,” she replied. She looked at him, and her eyes filled with tears.
“All my life I have been excluded,” she whispered, so low he had to move closer to hear her. Alyssa stared down at the carpet, her hands clasped tightly together. “My father could barely tolerate my presence. The local nobility never knew what to make of me, so they ignored me. My own people considered me one of the gentry, so they too kept their distance. I have never fit in anywhere, belonged anywhere.” She shrugged her shoulders, then looked deeply into his silver-gray eyes.
“Loving you has been the most wondrous thing in my life, but I will not accept the path you choose for me, Morgan. You are right: I do not care about titles, or wealth, or position, or even society. Yet all of that is a part of your world and if I share your life, even for a brief time, I will not allow myself to be excluded from any part of it. I will not be cast on the outside again. Not even for you.” Her tears, held in check for so long, fell freely now.
Morgan felt her pain deep within his soul, and knowing he was the cause of it made him angry. Angry with himself for not being able to give her what she wanted, what she so desperately needed.
“It was never my intention to hurt or insult you, Alyssa,” Morgan said softly. “If you believe nothing else, you must believe that.”
“I know,” she replied honestly, blinking back her tears.
Reluctantly she met his gaze. Her heart constricted with anguish as she read the remorse on the duke’s handsome face. If only his mind was not so firmly set against marriage. Alyssa quickly squashed the bud of hope blossoming within her heart. Fresh hope would only bring fresh pain.
“I would like to retire to my room, please.” Alyssa bit her lip hard, fighting back the tears.
Morgan slowly unlocked the door, and Alyssa slipped out quietly, silent sobs shaking her shoulders as she ran from the room. Although he could no longer hear her cries, the sound of her pain echoed in his mind throughout the long, sleepless night.
The steady clanging of hammers grew louder in his ears. Slowly Morgan drifted to consciousness. He opened his eyes cautiously, only to shut them quickly against the brightness of the morning sun. The pounding in his head increased as the pain invaded his temples. Morgan gingerly shifted into a sitting position, but his vision blurred when he again opened his eyes. Resting his elbows upon his knees, he leaned forward, cupping his aching head in the palm of his hands. And still the pounding persisted.
The library was in a shambles, the floor littered with empty wine bottles, a testament to last night’s indulgence. Morgan let out a loud groan of disgust. What a perfectly idiotic way to spend the night, he thought, drinking myself into oblivion. It certainly hasn’t changed a damn thing. All I have to show for my excess is a cramped body from spending the night on a very uncomfortable settee and a monumental hangover.
A hesitant knock on the library doors brought his head out of his hands. “Yes?” Morgan bellowed, furiously rubbing his temples.
“It is Mr. Henry Walsh, Your Grace. May I come in? The plasterers are here to work on the ceiling in the library.”
Morgan was in the process of telling Mr. Walsh exactly what he could do with the plasterers when Perkins interrupted.
“Coffee, Your Grace,” the dignified butler shouted to be heard over the tirade.
The shouting stopped. “Perkins? Is that you? Enter.”
Perkins entered the room as bidden, neatly sidestepping an empty goblet thrown on the floor as he crossed the carpet. He made no mention of the deplorable condition he found both the room and Morgan in. He poured a large cup of coffee, handed it to the duke, and said, “I shall instruct Mr. Walsh to set the plasterers working somewhere else this morning, Your Grace. Then I shall bring you your breakfast.”
“The hammering?” Morgan pleaded.
“I shall also tell Mr. Walsh to send the carpenters to the other side of the house.”
After his third cup of coffee, Morgan began to feel a bit more human, although his mood remained foul. Perkins entered the room a second time, carrying a silver tray piled high with hot food. Morgan’s stomach revolted at the smell, and he grimaced.
“Mrs. Stratton thought you might be hungry this morning, Your Grace,” the butler said in a mild tone when he noted the look on Morgan’s face. “After all, you did miss dinner last evening.”
Determined that the butler not best him, Morgan took a tentative bite of toast. When he realized it was going to cooperate and stay in his stomach, he proceeded to cautiously finish it, and then progressed to the coddled eggs and sirloin.
As the duke ate his breakfast, Perkins silently began to straighten the room. It seemed a very mundane household task for the elderly butler, but he performed it efficiently.
“I shall have Lucy clean these right away,” Perkins said, holding up Morgan’s rumpled jacket and neckcloth. “The rest of your clothing will be laundered while you are in your bath.”
When Perkins held up the jacket, Morgan noticed a white envelope protruding from the inside breast pocket. The documents from Lord Castlereagh! He had completely forgotten about them.
“Just a minute, Perkins.” Morgan removed the envelope from the jacket pocket. Now what do I do with it, he wondered, glancing down at his pocketless breeches. His eyes scanned the room quickly and came to rest on a large old-fashioned oak desk. It looked similar to one in his London town house. He recalled that desks of that style usually had a false bottom drawer.
“Whose desk is that?” Morgan asked the butler.
“No one’s, Your Grace. I believe Mr. Walsh has decided to move it into the attic. It is not to be included among the new furnishings for this room.”
“Perfect,” the duke replied. As soon as he was alone he examined the desk and found the false bottom drawer on the lower left side. He slipped the documents inside. Granted, not a very original hiding place, he conceded, but it should be safe to store the documents. Morgan doubted he would be using them.
He pulled the bell cord to request more hot coffee, but when the butler did not appear, Morgan realized that the bell must be disconnected. Growing impatient, the duke slipped his boots on, hastily tucked his shirt in his breeches, and ventured out into the hall to bellow for a servant.
He spotted Alyssa before she was aware of him. She stood at the far end of the hallway talking quietly to Ned. She was dressed in the same drab brown gown she had worn the very first time he had seen her. Even from that distance, he could see the deep circles under her eyes, the telltale signs of a sleepless night. She looked tired and vulnerable and beautiful.