Chapter Three

The following morning, Morgan handed off the reins to a livery attendant and glanced skyward, the oppressive heat enveloping him like steam from a Turkish bath.

One of the many black servants at L’Esperance met him on the porch. "If ya is lookin’ for Miss Olivia, she is in dah garden," the woman said and nodded to the right.

Morgan peered between the branches of a hickory. Dressed in a fashionable lavender gown and displaying an ample amount of cleavage, Olivia sat on a bench near her mother’s prized roses, reading. He closed his eyes against the beauty that stopped men in their tracks, him among them. A familiar piquant mixture of jasmine and white tea blossoms wafted around him, more potent than poisonous vapors infused by a viper’s fangs. Unbeknown to the confounded woman, her secret weapon brought him to his knees after one teensy whiff.

An overt clearing of his throat prompted her to place the book in her lap, fold her slender hands and look up at him. "Morgan, I assume you’ve brought me good news."

He had a powerful urge to slap that smug look from her face. "Indeed, I have fulfilled my obligation and met with Madame Rousseau."

Her eyes grew wide. "And?"

"Everything is arranged. I insist on accompanying you the first time."

"The first time?" She blinked and came to her feet while placing the book on the bench. "Does that mean you’ve scheduled more than one appointment?"

With acid amusement he said, "One cannot choose a husband after one showing. I assumed—"

She stepped toward him with a devastating smile. "I knew I could count on you, knew you’d understand."

Loath to admit it, he did empathize. Placed in her situation, he’d insist on doing the same, but it irked him beyond imagination that in two days those angelic eyes would feast upon strangers fornicating. Among other things.

He bowed at the waist, straightened and waited for her to speak again.

"I’m forever in your debt, eternally grateful."

His breathing had returned to normal and he managed to respond. "Yes, well, think nothing of it. How do you plan to disguise yourself?"

"Oh," she said. "That’s the corker! Cain suggested I attire myself in men’s clothing, and I couldn’t agree more. My best chance of not being recognized is to wear men’s attire." Acknowledging the little choking noise from his throat, she looked at him with sharp eyes. "Are you all right, Morgan? What’s the matter, don’t you think it’s a splendid idea?"

How could he tell her it had nothing to do with what she would wear, but rather the sudden impending image of her peering through that little peephole? He rocked back on his heels and said, "Leave it to our little ingenious Cain."

"What day will you arrive to escort me?"

"Friday evening, say, nine o’clock?"

An instant blush found her cheeks and he had the strange feeling she had conjured an erotic image in her mind. "Will you be staying with me the entire time or…."

"No," he said with a knife-edged finality. "I’ll escort you to Madame Rousseau’s suite and she’ll manage the rest."

"You told her to expect a woman?"

He ground the words out. "Yes, she will expect a woman of the gentry who desires to observe an amorous liaison."

Her tone grateful she asked, "What did it cost, Morgan? Tell me what you had to pay and I’ll reimburse you on Friday."

He dismissed her question with a wave of his hand. He didn’t want her damn money; if she ever found out it fattened his pocketbook, there’d be hell to pay.

"Oh no you don’t, dear friend. I can’t allow you to pay for my shameless inquisitiveness."

Dear friend? Wielding a dull knife to cut out his heart to serve it à la friteuse would have sufficed. "Is that what you call it? Your inquisitiveness? I thought it fell more along the lines of depravity."

Green eyes narrowed. "You don’t approve, after all?"

With another wave of his hand, he forged ahead. "Forget it, it doesn’t matter whether I approve or not. I gave my word to Cain I’d see it through to the end whether or not you’re shocked out of your pristine bloomers."

Her delicate chin tilted up. "I assure you, I’ve seen it all."

"Is that so? Where?"

"Books. You do remember my father has an extensive library, including a vast collection of nude pictorials...French and Italian."

With a sick knot in his stomach, he met her gaze. "One hundred dollars."

"What?"

"One hundred dollars to observe."

"That’s exorbitant! What does it cost to—?"

"Less than it costs to engage in voyeurism, and that should be of little significance since you don’t plan to offer yourself up as a fille de joie. Or do you?"

"Of course not!" she replied indignantly and in the next breath, "What did you call them?"

"A prostitute."

"Yes, I know that, but did you use a French term?"

He could have kicked himself for overlooking her uncanny perception, and why did he get the feeling pistons and pulleys worked overtime in that pretty little head as she scrutinized him? "About the money..."

"I’ll have it on Friday."

Her eyes warned him another question from that kissable mouth struggled for release. "What? You’ll burst if you don’t spit it out."

"Will they...will the people in the room know I’m, well, you know, watching?"

"Do you want them to?"

She clutched her throat. "Of course not, but I can’t help but wonder if that is an option."

"It is, but that will cost another fifty dollars." He studied her. "Should I arrange that, too?"

"No, no, thank you. I’d prefer—"

"To spy on people while they’re rutting."

A little gasp spewed from her throat, but like the Olivia he knew, she recovered quickly. With a bold step forward, she threw her arms about his neck and kissed him, without warning, without pretense. His head swam. Christ, those sweet, sensual lips melded into his as if they had done so a thousand times in the past, but in reality, it had only been once—a lifetime ago. She clung to him and pressed her firm, ripe body against him. His fingers splayed and tangled in her wild mane as he drew her deeper into the kiss.

On and on it went, her sweet breath mingling with his, their tongues entwined. Amid the little soft moans from the back of her throat, his resolve disintegrated, his kiss reaching a demanding plateau. Still she did nothing to stop him. Overcome by an irresistible urge to feel her beneath him, he backed her toward the bench, intent on taking her here, now, on that hard, cold surface or the ground, he didn’t care which. The rigid length of his cock pulsated between them. More than anything in the world, he wanted to shove it into her...into every orifice imaginable.

The soft echo of a woman’s voice filtered through the labyrinth of trellises and twisted vines. "Liv, darling, where are you?"

Olivia jerked from his arms and staggered back, her voice hoarse. "Oh, forgive me, I shouldn’t have..."

"Olivia!"

"Here, Lark, near the roses." She buffed her lips with her fingers and then straightened her dress. "You must leave." She pointed toward a narrow path. "Please, Morgan, Lark will suspect something if she sees you."

Caught up in the moment, he took her chin in his hand with a vague awareness of the robin’s twill overhead, the rustle of nearby branches, and the scattered gravel crunching beneath someone’s feet. "The next time you start something with me, be prepared to have it finished."

The sound of footsteps heightened with every passing second. "Please," she said, her voice degenerating to a nervous twitter. "I’ll expect you on Friday at nine o’clock."

Releasing her, he turned and walked from the garden.

* * *

Olivia had little time to collect herself before Lark entered the inner sanctuary of the garden. Her soon-to-be-sister-in-law had the most befuddled expression on her face.

"Who was that?" She pointed to a fleeting image of Morgan’s back disappearing behind a six-foot hedge.

Olivia feigned ignorance. "Who? Where?"

"Liv, dear, I know, at times, you think me quite dense, but I recognize broad shoulders when I see them." She scanned Olivia from head to toe. "Oh, dear me, look at your dress. Have you been pruning rose bushes? Don’t we have servants to take care of that sort of—?"

"I don’t believe you are dense, Lark, and no, I wasn’t pruning rose bushes."

"I’m happy to hear both."

"Both what?"

"That you weren’t pruning roses in that lovely dress and that you don’t find me dense." She looked over her nose, her voice calm. "For example, I’ve known for years that your brother is a notorious rogue and has been tumbling women since early puberty, and..."

"And what?"

"I’m grateful for it."

"You are?"

"Of course," Lark said in a light tone. "I’ll soon be wedded to a man who comes to my bed with more experience than Casanova."

"Lark!"

She lifted her chin. "What? Women should not enjoy copulation, experience sexual gratification?"

"Yes, yes, they should," Olivia said. "I just wasn’t sure you also believed they should."

A sly smile formed her lips. "Also, Liv?"

"That’s not fair, you tricked me!"

"And you’re avoiding the question. Now," she asked again, tilting her head toward the pebbled walkway, "since there are few stallions taller than an oak and the color of pine pitch, I’m certain I spied Valor near the stables as we rode in." Lark tapped her foot against the paved rock. "I swear, I don’t know what has gotten into everyone. I sense something is amiss, but questioning your brother is pointless."

"Is it? Well, that’s because nothing is amiss, Lark. You have much to occupy your thoughts these days so please don’t worry your pretty little head about insignificant issues."

"Insignificant issues? What does that mean, and was that, or was that not, Morgan rushing from the garden like a nest of hornets were on the attack?"

"Yes," she replied. "It was Morgan. He stopped by looking for Cain and found me instead." Olivia shrugged and hoped the lie would pacify her.

"I find that quite strange. We met him in town an hour ago, and he said nothing about stopping by." Lark leaned forward and studied her, the puzzled expression returning. "Your face is chafed, and your lips are swollen."

Olivia’s hands flew to her mouth as she slouched onto the bench. "All right, I’m not very good at lying." She blew a lock of hair from her forehead and confessed. "It was Morgan and I-I kissed him."

A giggle flew from Lark’s lips. "You did?"

She nodded.

"Well?"

"Well, what?"

"After nursing feelings for him for ten years, what was it like?"

Olivia exhaled a drawn out sigh. "Breathless, utterly breathless, like the first time." Then she frowned. "Oh, Lark, there is a mystery, a wonder and a wildness about the man. I can no longer think straight when Morgan comes around. And I’m nothing more to him than a childhood friend."

Lark settled onto the bench beside her and took her hand. "Trust me, dear; the look in Morgan’s eyes is anything but social when you enter a room."

Olivia shifted until their eyes met. "How I wish it were true."

Lark kissed her on the forehead. "It is true."

"Did Cain ever tell you about the time Morgan saved my life?"

Lark shook her head. "What happened?"

"I was twelve, Morgan fourteen. I decided to cool off in the river while he and Cain fished on shore. The current took me under faster than a hoot owl can blink. I struggled, knowing, my efforts were futile. Out of nowhere, Morgan appeared, and his strong arms pulled me from my watery grave. I don’t remember much after that, except for the look in his eyes."

"What look?"

"He hovered over me while I lay sprawled in the mud. A mixture of anguish, fear, and something I didn’t recognize at the time lurked in those half-crazed silver eyes. I loved him at that moment and realized I would until the day I died. Years later, the night he almost ruined me in Mother’s garden, I saw the same look in his eyes, minus the fear and anguish."

"Love," Lark said. "Didn’t I tell you? Now the question is what does he plan to do about it?" With a mischievous glint in her blue eyes, she pulled back. "More to the point, you have less than six months to bring him around, so what are you going to do about it?"

Olivia chewed on her finger. "I’m working on that."

Lark snapped her fingers. "I knew it! My intuition has never failed me. Well whatever it is, don’t do anything to compromise your reputation until he asks for your hand."

If she only knew. "My reputation is the least of my worries right now, thanks to Father. Curse the man and his blasted will."

"He wanted what was best for you," Lark said. "Although I do admit, he had a queer sense of practicality—forcing you to choose a mate within six months or lose your inheritance." With a finger to the corner of her lips, she asked, "Did you remind Morgan about the ball next week at L’Esperance?"

"It escaped me."

"No matter, I’ll tell Cain to remind him."

As if Lark had summoned him, Cain appeared, his brow furrowed. "What in the world’s taken hold of Morgan? I called out to him, but he mounted that monstrous stallion and stormed off. Did he have an encounter with a disgruntled badger?"

Exchanging glances, Olivia and Lark broke into laughter. "I would imagine about now," Lark said, "he wishes he had."

Her brother shot her a concerned look. "Apparently, it’s a private joke and I’m to be kept in suspense." He craned his neck toward the manor. "I’ve been sent to retrieve you; Cook is ready to serve lunch."

They rose from the bench and followed Cain back to the manor, Lark’s lips pinched against laughter and Olivia doing her best to reign in her battered emotions.