Authors: Connie Mason
Morgan closed his eyes, suffering the blast of her accusations with stony calm. God, how could she be so wise? When he opened his eyes, Luca was gone.
Luca’s words hit a raw nerve inside Morgan. Damn her! Was she deliberately making him feel like a fool? His gaze found the brandy and glasses Forsythe had thoughtfully left on his desk, and he poured himself a generous measure. It went down so smoothly he poured another. By the time he finished his third he was wallowing in self-pity. Bloody Hell! His life had taken a surprising turn. He’d never asked for a wife, and now that he had one he didn’t know what to do with her.
He knew it would be courting disaster to arrive at court with a Spanish wife at his side. He’d be foolish to imagine the queen would welcome Luca without reservation. It was going to take some doing to explain Luca to Elizabeth. By now the queen had already been informed of the marriage and was anxiously awaiting his explanation. During his last visit to London the queen had hinted that she was seeking a suitable heiress for him to wed. Morgan sighed. Right now his head hurt too badly to think about Elizabeth’s reaction to his sudden marriage.
Staggering to his feet, Morgan sought his bed.
Luca stripped to her chemise and climbed into bed. She tried to sleep, but her heart was heavy, her mind too beset by her insurmountable problems, and, despite the fire in the grate, she was shivering from cold. Life in the convent had been so simple and uncomplicated, she sighed, recalling those happier days. Why hadn’t God seen fit to leave her there to live in peace? Why had He thrust her into a world of strife and turmoil and given her an annoying man like Morgan Scott to love? If God wanted her to love Morgan Scott, why didn’t He make Morgan love her in return? It was all so confusing.
Flipping to her back, Luca stared at the mingling of shadow and light upon the ceiling. Somewhere in the distance she heard a scraping sound but paid it little heed. In a house this size mere was always activity of some kind, even in the dead of night. Luca couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment she knew she wasn’t alone. Raising herself on her elbow, she squinted at the door. Nothing. Swiveling her neck, she glanced toward the dressing room.
The door was ajar. Morgan stood in the opening, limned in a flood of light from a lamp behind him. Vaguely Luca realized that Morgan’s room was connected to hers through the dressing room. She could see past him into his room beyond.
His name left her lips on a trembling sigh. She couldn’t see his face, for the light behind him obscured all but the muscular outline of his body. He was balanced on the balls of his feet, his muscles flexed, his hands fisted at his sides.
“You are right, Luca, I am a fool” he rasped, slurring the words. Luca’s heart soared, but his next sentence laid her high hopes to rest. “A lackwit for allowing you to affect me in ways I’m not strong enough to resist.” He walked more fully into the room, and Luca sucked in a ragged breath. He was nude. Totally, gloriously nude, his aroused manhood fully distended.
Luca’s mouth went dry, and she licked moisture onto her lips. “That’s not what I meant, Morgan. I called you a fool for denying something that’s inevitable. Something we both want Can’t you see what’s beneath your nose? Don’t you realize that I lo…” Her sentence fell off. What good would it do to tell him she loved him? He still couldn’t see anything past his hatred for her Spanish blood. “I had nothing to do with the deaths in your family.”
Twice Morgan tried to turn back to his room, and twice he failed. He was drawn toward the bed and Luca like a bear attracted to the scent of honey, aching for the sweet delicacy despite the risk. The promised reward made the effort well worth it.
When Morgan staggered slightly, Luca was quick to realize he wasn’t sober. “You’re drunk!”
Morgan grinned. “Not too drunk.”
The bed shifted beneath his weight. He gave her a wobbly grin and ripped away her shift The worn material gave way easily, and he tossed it aside. He pulled her into his arms, letting her feel the hard ridge of his desire. “At least this is always good between us,” he vowed. “Losing myself in your sweet flesh makes me forget who you are and what I am.” He groaned as he ground his arousal against her stomach and buried his face between her breasts. God, she smelled good!
“I am a woman and you’re a man,” Luca contended. Her body needed little encouragement to respond to Morgan’s touch. “And we are husband and wife. If only you’d allow yourself to…”
He stopped her words with a searing kiss. He didn’t want to hear them. He refused to heed what his heart told him. If he listened to Luca and his heart he’d no longer be El Diablo, and he wasn’t ready yet for that. Maybe he’d never be. For his own peace of mind he needed to remember that he was a man driven by hatred for his Spanish enemies. He intended to remain that man for a very long time.
Morgan’s thinking process broke down completely as his rampant desire for his Spanish wife manifested itself in the aching hardness of his loins. Bloody Hell, Luca set his pulses racing, and she tested his control. Just looking at her stoked his desire to a raging inferno. He should have sent her back to her father in disgrace after he’d taken her virginity instead of keeping her for his own selfish enjoyment. Or better yet, he should have taken one look into her innocent eyes and not touched her at all. If fortune favored him, he’d have his fill of her tonight and go off to London with a clear mind and sated body. In the sexually charged atmosphere of Elizabeth’s court it would be easy to forget he had a wife, he told himself.
Unable to wait a second longer, Morgan nudged Luca’s legs apart, flexed his hips, and thrust deeply. The moment he felt her slick heat surround him he gave up his dark thoughts and let pleasure overwhelm him. The kind of pleasure only Luca could give him. He lowered his head and sucked her nipples.
Luca gasped and cried out, wanting desperately to be more to Morgan than a warm body. Then her thoughts scattered. The race toward ecstasy was too compelling as she exploded in violent climax. When he had coaxed everything from her she had to give, he grasped her bottom and thrust wildly. His own explosion was no less turbulent than Luca’s.
Luca came to her senses slowly, feeling thoroughly sated. She glanced at Morgan and saw that he appeared as overcome as she.
“Morgan…”
His eyes opened slowly, dark with confusion, as if the very structure of his life had crumbled and he had learned something too disturbing to share. “Bloody Hell!” He leaped from bed, staring at her as if his world had been torn apart. “I’ve got to get the Hell out of here! You’ve sucked the soul from my body. I don’t even know myself anymore!”
“Morgan, what is it?”
“I’m leaving, Luca, now. I’ll keep in touch by messenger.” He shoved his fingers through his tousled blond hair and turned away, muttering something beneath his breath about witchcraft and wives. He left the way he had come, through the dressing room, slamming doors behind him.
A short time later Luca heard the brisk tattoo of footsteps on the stairs and realized Morgan had been serious. He actually did intend to leave in the dead of night regardless of highwaymen and other dangers awaiting him on the road to London.
Dios!
It was as if he’d glimpsed Hell and was fleeing for his life.
Luca slept late the next morning. She had remained awake for hours in hopes that Morgan might change his mind and return, but eventually sleep overcame her. A weak morning sun was streaming through the windows when Daisy roused her abruptly from a deep sleep. “The captain is gone,” Daisy charged reproachfully. “‘Tis strange that a bridgroom would leave his new bride so soon ‘Tis obvious you do not please him.” The smug smile died on her lips and her eyes widened when she spotted Luca’s torn shift lying on the floor beside the bed. She tried to hide her surprise as she picked up the torn garment and tossed it over her arm. “Do you want this mended?”
Luca gasped in outrage. “You are brazenly disrespectful.” If she couldn’t put the impudent Daisy in her place now she’d never be able to control any of the servants. “Of course I want the garment mended. And see that it is returned within the hour.”
“You’ll have to speak more clearly,” Daisy taunted, “your English is difficult to understand.” She sauntered out the door, hips swaying jauntily.
Luca fumed in impotent rage. Never had she been so insulted, and by English heretics, no less. And adding insult to injury, Daisy made her wait over two hours for her crudely mended chemise. After breakfast the dressmaker arrived with the first of her dresses. When Luca met with Morgan’s steward later, she looked quite fetching in a deep red velvet gown that accentuated the slim curves of her elegant form.
Clyde Withers was not what Luca expected. He was quite young, not much older than Morgan, and he had been hired by Morgan shortly after Morgan’s return to London after his years of captivity. The queen had returned Morgan’s estates almost immediately, and he needed someone to run them while he was off plundering Spanish galleons. Withers was an intense man, large and capable, with ruddy good looks and a serious nature. He appeared to be all business as he conferred with Luca in the library, the only room besides her bedchamber in which she felt comfortable.
“Your husband presented me with specific instructions before he left, Lady Scott,” Withers said with a hint of embarrassment. “If you need anything, you’re to come to me and I’ll take care of it.”
“Did my husband say how long he’d be in London?” It stung to have to ask a stranger what she should have learned from Morgan.
“No, but he promised to keep in touch by messenger. I’m sure he’s told you all this. The captain rarely remains in the country when he’s in England. The queen is a demanding monarch who insists her courtiers lavish her with their attention”.
“So I’ve heard,” Luca said sourly. “Is there anything else I should know, Mr. Withers?”
Clyde Withers felt a pang of pity for the lovely Spanish woman whom Morgan Scott had married. He was aware of gossip circulating among the servants. It was rumored that Morgan was a reluctant bridegroom, but after finally meeting Morgan’s bride he could well understand his master’s fascination with the sultry beauty. He very much doubted Morgan would take a Spanish wife unless he truly wanted to. Yet he sensed in Luca an innate sadness, as if she hovered close to a breaking point. She appeared fragile and vulnerable. Something was desperately wrong in her marriage, Withers deduced.
“Captain Scott mentioned that you might have problems with the servants. Sometimes they can be uppity with foreigners.” Suddenly he flushed, realizing what he said. “I’m sorry, Lady Scott, I didn’t mean… I’d be happy to handle any difficulties you might encounter.”
Luca gave a deprecating laugh. “No offense taken, Mr. Withers, I’m accustomed to it by now. By your standards I am a foreigner. I appreciate knowing that I can count on you, but I must learn to handle the servants on my own.”
Withers’s admiration for Luca grew in leaps and bounds. He wondered how Morgan could abandon such a compelling woman, who appeared fragile yet exuded confidence.
“I would be grateful if you’d inform me each time a messenger arrives from London with word from my husband.”
“Of course,” Withers agreed. “Oh, I almost forgot. Captain Scott left the coach for your convenience. Let me know if you wish to go to the village or visit the crofters, and I will see that it is made ready for you.”
The interview ended on that note, and Luca was almost sorry to see the affable man leave. So far, he had been the only person in the entire household to exhibit kindness or offer the respect due her as Morgan’s wife.
During the following days Luca learned her way about the hall. She knew instinctively that the house had been much loved by its former occupants. There was little, if anything, she would change. The rooms were large, airy, and filled with ghosts of the happy family who had once roamed the lofty halls. She sensed that there had been much laughter in this home. But, above all, she felt sad because she could never truly belong to this house, or to the man who now owned it.
Luca missed Morgan desperately. Though she had received no personal message from him, she knew he kept in touch with Clyde Withers, for he dutifully informed her whenever a message was received. He appeared embarrassed when he was forced to admit that no personal message had been included for Luca. Christmas arrived with little fanfare. Luca ordered the house decorated in hopes that Morgan would come home for the holidays. Instead, he sent a messenger with a gift.
A gift! Of what use was a gift when it was Morgan she wanted? She eyed the expensive emerald necklace dispassionately and promptly put it away. He hadn’t even had the courtesy to include a note of greeting with the gift.
Early in January a messenger arrived with a thick packet of papers for Withers. Luca waited anxiously for Withers to tell her if Morgan had included a message for her. Of course he hadn’t, and her disappointment was a bitter pill to swallow. She decided to disregard her pride and question the messenger, hoping he could tell her what besides the queen, was occupying Morgan’s time. A hot-blooded man like Morgan wasn’t likely to deny himself a woman’s comfort and the thought of Morgan in another woman’s arms shattered her.
She found the messenger in the kitchen surrounded by the household servants. Luca heard them talking and gossiping among themselves and paused in the hall outside the door when she heard organ’s name mentioned. Cracking the door open, she peered inside. The messenger was sitting at the table holding court What he was telling them must have been fascinating, for he had their rapt attention.