Savannah Heat (24 page)

Morgan tensed just moments later. Silver clung to him as he spent his passion and he held on to her. It was a sweet moment, lying there beside him, closer in that moment than she had ever been to another human being. As they spiraled back to earth, Morgan tenderly kissed her, their flesh still firmly joined, the taste of him still heady. Then he settled himself at her side and cradled her in the curve of his arm.

She might have dozed, she couldn’t be sure. Sometime later she stirred.

Morgan’s hand lifted strands of her tangled blond hair. “All right?”

“You were wonderful.” She traced a pattern with her finger in the curly hair on Morgan’s chest. “Thank you.”

He laughed softly. “Now there’s a first. A young woman loses her virginity and thanks the rogue who’s accomplished the deed.”

“I mean it. If it hadn’t been for you …”

Morgan turned her face to his. “That’s all behind you, Silver. What’s happened is past.”

Silver smiled softly. “Delia told me it could be this way, but I didn’t believe her.”

“You care a great deal about them, don’t you?”

“They’re wonderful people. I’ve known Quako since I was a child. He taught me a man could be gentle, even a strong man like he is … or a tough man like you.”

Morgan’s eyes, such a vivid shade of green, caressed her face. “He loves his wife very much.”

“Delia isn’t his wife. Quako wants to marry her, but my father doesn’t believe in marriage among the slaves. He thinks they’re little more than animals.”

Morgan arched a brow. “I never took William for a man of such prejudice.”

“Maybe living in England he had no reason to be. Here things are different.”

Morgan tucked strands of her tumbled hair behind an ear. “Speaking of your father, I don’t suppose you ever told him about the man who attacked you.”

This was her chance. Her stomach turned over. What would he think of her if he knew? Lying there naked in his arms, warm with the glow of their love-making, she felt so close to him. She couldn’t bear the thought of destroying that closeness so soon.

“I didn’t think he would understand.”

“Silver—”

She pressed her fingers to his lips, stilling his next words. “Not tonight,” she whispered softly. “Tonight belongs to you and me.”

Morgan smiled. “I’d be a fool to argue with that.” Rolling on top of her, he kissed her, slowly, determinedly. His arousal, hot and rigid, pressed once more against her thigh.

They made love slowly this time, getting to know
each other’s bodies, taking delight in what they found. Later in the night Morgan awoke, hard with desire. Silver was already awake, enjoying the chance to watch him.

“Not sleepy?” Bold green eyes swept over the curves of her body beneath the thin white sheet.

She shook her head. “No.”

“Good.” He pressed her into the mattress. “I’ve got just the sleeping draught you need.”

Silver laughed softly. Wrapping her fingers around his thick shaft, she guided him inside her. Their coupling was fiery and joyous, but in the morning when she awoke, Morgan was gone.

Silver dressed quickly, a bit concerned about the day ahead. She felt different this morning, womanly. She prayed to God Colonel Buckland wouldn’t be able to see it. Or Jacques, or Riley—or even Morgan, for that matter. She wondered what he would say to her but couldn’t for the life of her guess.

He was still her father’s friend. He would be worried about William’s finding out. And Morgan was a man of conscience. If Silver hadn’t practically initiated their lovemaking, she had a feeling it would never have happened.

Reflecting on it, Silver smiled. Morgan had given her a most precious gift: the knowledge of a man and a woman. No matter what happened, she would cherish it always. But how did she feel about Morgan? The answer was easy—she was in love with him.

“So what do I do about it?” she asked herself aloud. Morgan wasn’t in love with her; at least she didn’t think he was. And she certainly didn’t want a man who didn’t want her.

Maybe
want
wasn’t quite the word. Silver didn’t
doubt Morgan’s interest in that area. In truth the pleasure they’d shared was exactly what Silver wanted from Morgan and exactly what he wanted from her. She refused to think of the future, of a time when they might part. She would worry about that day when it came.

Bending over the bureau, Silver checked her image in the broken chunk of mirror and straightened the bodice of her soft peach muslin day dress, noting with satisfaction the delicate embroidered flounce around the hem. Since the windows above Morgan’s berth had been repaired in Barbados, Silver crossed the cabin to look outside.

“Damn,” she whispered, seeing the sun had risen high in the sky. Why hadn’t Morgan awakened her? As if in answer, a light rap sounded at the door, and Morgan walked in, carrying a tray laden with food: fluffy scrambled eggs—a concession from the chickens—salt pork, biscuits, and strong black coffee.

He set the tray on his desk, strode over, and kissed her cheek. “None the worse for wear, I see. You look beautiful.”

Silver smiled. “Thank you.” She walked over to survey the tray. “This looks delicious—I’m starved—but what did you tell the others?”

“That you were still in your cabin when I left—probably a little tired from your late-night stroll with Connie.”

Silver laughed, the sound softly tinkling. “I’m sure he puffed up like a peacock.”

Morgan laughed, too. “Doesn’t he always?”

She sat down at Morgan’s desk and took a bite of the eggs, steam rising up from the food on the plate.

Morgan stayed with her until she finished, making idle conversation about the weather, the slight possibility
of storm. He seemed a little nervous, she noticed as she continued to sip her coffee.

“There’s something we need to discuss, Silver.” Morgan came to his feet to stand in front of her. She had to tilt her head back to look at him. “I’ve done this only once before, so you’ll pardon me if I’m not very good at it.”

Silver just looked at him, wondering what he was getting at.

“I’m asking you to marry me.”

Silver smiled indulgently. She should have expected something like this. “That’s very gallant of you, Major, but you told me yourself you weren’t a marriage-minded man. This really isn’t necessary.”

“What do you mean it isn’t necessary?” His brows shot up, his expression changing from uncertainty to one of disbelief.

“I mean you don’t want to get married and neither do I. I thought we both understood that.”

“That was before things … changed … between us. Now things are different.”

“Are you in love with me?” she asked.

“Well, I—I certainly feel something for you.”

That was a start, she supposed, but certainly not enough on which to base a marriage—if she was interested, which she wasn’t sure she was. “Well, I care a great deal about you, too. But neither of us is ready to take that kind of step.”

Morgan’s green eyes seemed to glow. “You were a virgin, for God’s sake. You can’t just sleep with a man and then act as though nothing has happened.”

“Why not? That’s what you intended to do with Lydia.”

Morgan’s hands balled at his sides, his expression grim. “Are you turning me down?”

“It isn’t anything personal. I’m just not ready for
marriage.”
Especially to someone who’s proposing out of duty
. “I’m not sure I ever will be.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, but I am. I’ve seen the kind of life marriage brings. I’m not convinced that’s the way I want to live.”

“But surely your mother and father were happy.”

“Not as I recall. But that isn’t the point. I’m not ready for marriage, and neither are you. I appreciate the gesture, but let’s just leave it at that.”

Morgan’s jaw clamped so hard a muscle bunched in his cheek.
Bloody hell!
Half the women in Savannah would jump at the chance to be his wife. He had wealth, power, social position, a beautiful mansion on Abercorn Street. “If it’s money you’re worried about or your father’s approval, I assure you there’s no problem.”

Silver actually laughed. “Don’t be silly. I know you’re a man of means. Even if you weren’t, it wouldn’t matter to me one way or another. The fact is I don’t want to get married. Since you don’t either, I don’t see that we have a problem.”

Morgan ground his teeth. She was right, of course. He was proposing because it seemed the honorable thing to do. He wasn’t ready for a wife, wasn’t ready to be that tied down. So why the hell did it make him so bloody angry that she wouldn’t have him?

“Suit yourself,” he said. “You’re not exactly what I had in mind anyway.”

That stung. “I’m sure I’m not. You’d rather have some sugarcoated woman who simpers at your feet. Someone like Lydia, all sweetness and charm and a mouthful of mush. You couldn’t handle a wife with a mind of her own.”

“Oh, I could handle her all right.” Morgan clamped his hands on his hips and bent over her.
“I’d keep her barefoot and pregnant and take a hand to her backside every now and then just for sport.”

“Bastard!” Silver surged to her feet, so furious she accidentally knocked the tray over. The heavy china plates went crashing to the floor, landing with a thud and smashing into bits. The last of her eggs lay in a greasy yellow heap, and drops of coffee splattered across the hem of her peach-hued skirt.

“Same sweet Silver,” Morgan goaded. “When you aren’t throwing things, you’re dropping them.”

“Damn you!” Picking up the now-empty coffee mug, Silver hurled it at Morgan’s head as he strode to the door. He ducked and it crashed against the wall.

“Have a nice day,” he mocked, slamming the door behind him.

Silver sank down on the bed, looking at the destruction at her feet and wondering what had gone wrong. Morgan didn’t want to marry her, so why was he so upset? His pride, she thought, his damnable masculine pride.

Maybe she could have handled things better, she conceded, but she hadn’t expected him to get so riled up. After all, she’d been doing him a favor. He didn’t love her; she wasn’t even the kind of wife he wanted. She glanced at the bed, neatly made once more, but the gray woolen blanket on the surface couldn’t blot memories of what had happened beneath the sheets.

In three short minutes Silver had destroyed everything she had worked so hard to build. Short of marrying him to ease his pride—which neither of them wanted—there was little she could do. Silver slammed her fist against the mattress. What was it about her that seemed to keep things constantly stirred up? One thing was certain—what she had
shared with Morgan the night before was hardly finished.

Even Morgan would have to admit that.

And when he did, things would work out.

Silver knelt on the floor and began picking up the broken dishes and greasy bits of food, careful not to cut her fingers. She had just reached toward the last piece of glass when the ship hit a quartering swell, the sudden lurch reminding her of the voyage that still lay ahead—and the island she had left behind.

Whatever happened between Silver and Morgan, her father’s dark presence still loomed like a bitter cloud above them. What would William do when he discovered she had sailed with Morgan? He wouldn’t give her up, she knew, not now, not ever.

Maybe she
should
marry Morgan. At least she’d be safe.

Or would she?

William would know where to find her. That her husband was wealthy and powerful would not stop him. There was little the earl would not dare.

Silver sighed. There was no easy answer. No miracle that would end her worries. For the present she was free of William and for that she felt grateful. Until a solution arose, Silver’s best course of action was to bide her time, try to mend things with Morgan—and politely try to fend off Connie Buckland.

“Bring in the darkie.” William Hardwick-Jones stood before the black marble mantel in his study. Dressed immaculately in a dark brown frock coat and trousers, cream brocade waistcoat, white shirt and stock, he cut an impressive figure.

“He’s waiting in the foyer.” Sheridan Knowles opened the heavy wooden door and motioned for the big black slave called Quako to come in. Standing so tall he had to duck his head to step through the opening, once his massive body was inside, Quako seemed to shrink the size of the mahogany-paneled book-lined room.

William arched a disapproving brow at the dirt that stained the big slave’s clothes but refrained from making comment. “I hear congratulations are in order,” he said with a slightly mocking smile. William was a tall man, taller than Sheridan, thick-chested with large hands and feet. He had a full head of graying black hair, obsidian eyes, olive skin, and a thin-lipped, cruel-looking mouth.

“Yes, suh.” Quako twisted the stained felt floppy-brimmed hat he held in his huge pink-palmed hands.
He wore baggy gray linen trousers and a faded homespun shirt that barely buttoned across his massive chest.

“Children are such a delight.” William lifted the lid of the humidor that sat on his carved rosewood desk and pulled out a long, fat cigar. Striking a lucifer, he brought it to the tip and puffed until the end began to glow. “I’ve been told you conversed with Salena on her return … you and your lovely lady, Delia. Did Salena mention where she and the major were going?”