Читать книгу The Dangerous Debutante - Kasey Michaels, Кейси Майклс, Kasey Michaels - Страница 11

“I, AS A GENTLEMAN, hesitate to point this out, but I believe you might be sulking, Morgan,” Ethan said as they rode side by side through the streets of London. The loud, crowded, definitely not perfumed streets of London.

He’d tried, not successfully, to convince her to return to the coach for this last short leg of their journey, to sit with the maid he’d stationed in the coach—amazing himself with his concern for her reputation—but when Morgan had refused, he’d decided that the best education often comes from lessons learned by one’s own experience.

He’d been amused by her obvious delight when they’d first approached London and she eagerly pointed out steeples and tall buildings she recognized from books in her father’s study. Her eyes had shone, and she’d been as excited as any child. But she’d grown more and more silent, withdrawn, as they’d moved into the metropolis.

“I’m fully aware that I’m sulking, thank you,” Morgan retorted, longing to lift a handkerchief to her nose, for the smell these last ten minutes or so had gone from annoying to faintly sickening, to perfectly vile.

She wasn’t eager to separate the odor into all its contributing smells, but she could tell that they were near the Thames, near the docks. And town docks were docks, here or in the islands.

All Morgan knew was their own small, isolated island, their safe paradise that, to her, was only a vague memory of sand, and heat, and clear, blue-green water. Of laughter, of freedom. And from the time they’d left the island, she’d never traveled more than five miles from Becket Hall.

This street, this place, was so alien to her. Had she been born into squalor like this? If her papa hadn’t bought her the very day she’d been born, and taken her to the island, would she still be living in a sorry, desperate place such as this? Would she even be alive now, to wonder?

For the first time, Morgan thought about her mother as anything more than the uncaring whore who had given her life. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to sell her child. Maybe she had seen the purchaser as the only way out for her daughter, the only chance she could give her.

What if her mother hadn’t sold her, had instead kept her? Would Morgan have fought, or would she eventually have made her own living on her back? How strong does a person have to be, to fight such poverty, such squalor, such hopelessness? How long does someone struggle before she gives up and simply lies down?

Morgan would like to think she would have been strong enough, even angry enough, to have found a way out. But she also knew she could never really know that, never know what choices that child would have made. If there even were choices for women in places like this.

Without knowing anything about her, Morgan knew she had judged her mother, and damned her. This new knowledge wasn’t easy to swallow.

“How can people live like this?” Morgan demanded of Ethan, as uncertainty was alien to her, and she much preferred the familiarity of anger, of attack. “And why would they want to? Crowded together, living in the midst of their own filth? And these houses? They’re all falling down. Surely they don’t choose to live this way.”

Ah, yes, he was an evil man. There were many ways to enter London, make their way to Mayfair, and when Morgan had declined riding inside the coach yet again, Ethan purposely had chosen one of the least palatable routes. She would be uncomfortable, but she would be safe. He was with her, after all, and his reputation rode with him, even in this god-awful section of the city.

Besides, although he knew himself to be reckless, he wasn’t so full of himself he thought he was above being attacked simply because his face and reputation were known here. There was also the trio of heavily armed outriders he’d brought along to make up their small procession. And Saul. And Bessie.

But Ethan had meant only to shock Morgan back into the coach with the smells, the dirt, the squalid surroundings. Instead, she seemed angry. Angry and profoundly sad. There were depths to this woman, something he hadn’t considered when he’d looked at, immediately desired, her.

In his own defense, he knew he had never looked very deeply at any of his women.

Ethan felt the sting of the mental slap that thought provoked: And you’re proud of that?

He’d try again, pretending he’d noticed Morgan’s distaste, but had failed to sense her distress. “Perhaps you’d like to reconsider riding in the coach? We’ve still some minutes to go before we reach Upper Brook Street, and I’m certain your brother would be happier to see you arrive…how should I say this? Oh, yes, I know. In the manner of a young lady.”

Morgan shot him a chilling glance, eager to be angry with someone other than herself. “I’ll say this for you, Ethan, you don’t give up easily. But neither do I. Could you have picked a worse route? Or do you really labor under the misconception that I don’t know what you’re trying to do?”

“I had thought of another street even worse than this one, then decided this was bad enough,” he said, grinning at her. “But, now that you’ve seen through my plan, let’s say we desert this area for a wider street. One where we won’t have to worry about the slops being flung out the upper storys of these fine establishments and down onto our heads.”

“Thank you,” Morgan said, maneuvering Berengaria past an overturned apple cart and the two angry men screaming at each other, blaming one another for the accident. She smiled as she saw that a growing number of young boys dressed in rags, their feet bare, were busily stuffing spilled apples into their ragged shirts, unnoticed by the arguing men.

Then she laughed as, moving very quickly, Ethan bent from his saddle and neatly scooped up one of the apples still balanced precariously on top of the pile in the cart. He rubbed it against his sleeve and then handed it to her. “Please accept this as a peace offering. I’m forgiven?”

Morgan felt a flush of delight lick through her as he bowed to her from Alejandro’s back. She didn’t believe in wasting this moment, or any moments of her life, by holding on to anger. A person said what she said, did what she did, and then the moment was over, and the next one was upon her. Fresh. New. Every moment was a new beginning. Morgan had made that promise to herself long ago.

“Yes, I suppose you’re forgiven. And I understand that you meant well, really. Just never do it again, all right? We’re supposed to have cried friends, as far as things go, at least. And, to tell you the truth, I’m glad I saw this. Everyone at Becket Hall seems to think the streets of London are littered with gold. Now I can tell them that at least a few of those streets are spread with substances not quite so grand.”

“You’d have to tell many who live in Mayfair the same thing, as they rarely venture outside their own insular area, where the gold may not litter the streets, but is definitely present in abundance. An acquaintance of mine once told me he’d gotten horribly lost in Piccadilly, after residing in Mayfair for fifteen years. Piccadilly, you understand, is only about five blocks from his residence. Are you sure you want a Season, Morgan? As I’ve already warned you, by and large, we’re a worthless lot.”

Morgan relaxed somewhat as the street they entered seemed more open, and definitely less odiferous. There were even a few trees gamely lining the flagway, although they were rather sad specimens. “You can’t all be useless. Look at Wellington, all our officers. And surely you’ve served?”

Ethan laughed. “Oh, surely not. As the only son, and with the knowledge that my completely unsuitable cousin would assume the title if I got myself killed, not to mention make my bereaved mother’s life a horror, I’ve kept myself safely on this side of the Channel.”

Morgan began to feel uneasy. “My brothers Spencer and Rian are all hot to go to the Peninsula, and will get there one of these days, I’m sure, when our father decides they’re not still too wet, and agrees to buy them commissions. Chance is involved at the War Office here in London. Courtland’s the oldest after Chance, and has all the responsibilities of the estate, but I know he’d otherwise be standing as close to Wellington as he could get, sword in hand. It’s only natural, only to be expected.”

Ethan shook his head. “So speaks the young and romantic. No, Morgan, not every man is anxious for the chance to sleep in cold mud, be bitten to near madness by fleas, and given the opportunity to either die in that mud or return home inconveniently missing one or more bodily parts. I have not served, I do not serve and I have no intention of serving. Feel free now to call me nasty names.”

What Ethan was saying was so very alien to anything Morgan had ever heard. They had come to England, and England was their country now. A person defended his country, even if it was only to keep his own family, his own home, safe. “You don’t care about England?”

Ethan shrugged, more than happy to pursue the conversation, and to witness her reaction. “I speak English, I speak French. My king is mad, his heir a spendthrift profligate—can Bonaparte be that much worse? I can always sail to America, as the title means little to me, anyway. The money, of course, is another matter. That would go with Maman and me. And perhaps my valet, as a gentleman shouldn’t stray too far from any fellow who knows his way around bootblack.”

Morgan looked at Ethan for long moments. Just looked at him. And then she grinned. “You liar! Is that the sort of thing you say to tip society over onto its ear? But do you really expect me to believe such nonsense? You’re English to your toes. What a bag of moonshine!”

Ethan was quite impressed. And only a little uneasy that she seemed to so quickly and easily see what so many others did not. “A liar, Morgan? Society believes me, why shouldn’t you?”

Because I grew up amid a family that has had to live by its wits, and its lies. “Like recognizes like, I suppose,” was all she said, all she’d admit this early in the game. Not that anyone outside the family would ever know more than the Beckets chose to tell. “So many turns, so many huge buildings—and so much cleaner. Are we getting closer?”

Knowing he’d been figuratively slapped down, and feeling more intrigued than ever, Ethan brought himself back to his surroundings. “Look straight ahead, Morgan. We’re nearly at the park. We’ll arrive in Upper Brook Street momentarily. To which end, I suggest you attempt to brush some of that travel dust from your skirts.”

Morgan looked down at her riding habit. “It’s only dirt,” she said, not concerned in the least, and quickly redirected her attention to the vast expanse of greenery that had sprung up so unexpectedly in front of her, as if ripped from the countryside by some giant hand and then carefully placed in the middle of London. “I’ve read about this. It’s Hyde Park, isn’t it? Where everyone goes to see and be seen?”

“At the fashionable hour of five in the afternoon, yes. We, however, are somewhat tardy, it having gone at least seven by now. Luckily, there’s not too many of the ton out and about, and you might even make it to your brother’s door without setting off a small scandal.”

“That shouldn’t please you,” Morgan reminded him.

He would have to tread carefully here. What had begun as a lark, and a definite interest in bedding this beauty, had, somewhere between coercing her into traveling to Tanner’s Roost with him, and arriving in London, become eminently more important to him.

“Truth to tell, Morgan, I’ve had second thoughts. I don’t think you should be so eager to shock society. After all, you might enjoy the Season. You could be a Sensation, you know.”

“Oh, yes, I know that,” Morgan answered without conceit, and Ethan bit the inside of his cheeks to keep from laughing. “But it isn’t as if I was going to go very far in society anyway, so that won’t happen. We’re mere commoners, you understand, and I won’t have to bother with the rules of Almacks and the like, or the queen’s drawing room. And it’s not as if I’m here under orders to capture myself a husband.”

“Really?”

Morgan busied herself brushing at the velvet of her jacket. Why did she keep talking to this man, babbling like some ridiculous twit? Why couldn’t she feel comfortable with him, as she did with Jacob? Even superior to him, as she did with Jacob, with any man who’d ever come into her orbit?

She was aware of Ethan Tanner, and that, she’d been discovering these past few hours, was something totally alien to her. She’d never considered trying to impress any man. Her looks had always done that for her, with little or no effort on her part.

And she couldn’t seem to shock him, which was highly disconcerting, because she liked her admirers feeling off balance, and herself in command. She’d try again.

“Oh, all right, Ethan. They may not have said anything, but I know they want me married off. Quickly. Before I do something horrible, such as deciding to set myself up independently, so that someone isn’t always saying ‘Morgan, you shouldn’t,’ and ‘Morgan, ladies don’t do that,’ and ‘Morgan, for God’s sake, behave.’”

She raised her head, grinned at him. After all, since she couldn’t seem to stifle herself, better to tell him truths that would keep him from searching for other truths she could never share. “I’m quite a handful, and they want me to be someone else’s handful, I think, preferably before the poor bugger figures out that his life will never be in his own charge again.”

“Poor bugger, is it? I don’t even know this eventual poor bugger, but I already feel sorry for him.”

“And it’s not that they don’t love me, because they do,” Morgan hastened to add, rolling her eyes at his last statement. “And I understand. Really. I’m not an…an easy person. Why, much as I believe you’d be rather formidable, I’m reasonably certain I could have you as much under my thumb as poor Jacob in, oh, less than a fortnight. And that’s after forewarning you!”

Ethan heard the words, the jovial warning—that he saw as a challenge—but felt fairly sure that he also heard some hurt Morgan tried to hide with her smile, her casual shrug as she admitted she wasn’t an “easy person.” He certainly did believe her to be a complicated person.

The question that had been nagging at him these past few hours, however, had been did he need another complication in his already complicated life? Morgan Becket was an unexpected delight, unlike any woman he’d ever met. Open, a little too honest, and with a native intelligence that was often missing in other females, or else carefully hidden, because debutantes, God forbid, would never wish to appear smarter than the men they were out to trap.

But Morgan, he suspected, could prove to be his torment if he let her, if he indulged himself in her luscious body, her active mind. Could he afford to find himself thinking of her as more than a titillating diversion, an added confusion to anyone who might look at him and suspect him of being anything more than he’d carefully taught them to believe?

Was nothing simple in these trying times? Not even bedding this incredible beauty he felt sure he could quickly convince to become a willing partner, no matter that she’d all but challenged him to believe he could tame her?

As their horses slowly walked along the cobbled street beside the park, as if even their mounts were reluctant to put an end to this fairly intimate interlude in the midst of the metropolis, Ethan said, “Perhaps we should part ways once I’ve safely delivered you to your brother’s door.”

Morgan turned startled eyes on him, shocked to think she could win so easily. Was having him go away winning? She didn’t think so.

“Why? What did I say? I thought we were going to be friends, enjoy London together.” Then her gaze dropped, and all she felt was disappointment to learn that Ethan wasn’t the man she’d begun to believe he was. “It’s because I told you that we Beckets aren’t very important, isn’t it? You say you don’t care what anyone thinks of you, that you even go out of your way to be outrageous, but when it comes straight down to it, you’re still the earl, and you still want to be accepted by…by your peers.”

“Not accepted, Morgan. Tolerated is all I’ve ever aspired to over the years. I’m more surprised than I can tell you, but it’s your reputation I’m thinking of now. And now we turn onto Upper Brook Street and your brother’s residence, which may be all that will save my life, considering the way you’re staring daggers at me.”

She did long to slap his face. “My reputation? So how had you planned for our association to play out, Aylesford, before this attack of conscience, or perhaps vanity? Or, because of what I’ve told you, are you simply afraid Chance will see me as compromised and demand you marry me, see your title as a real coup for his sister?”

“So many questions. Depending on my answers, I would have to be a hardened seducer, a socially conscious twit or a bloody coward. Why not all three?”

Belatedly, Morgan realized that, while she had been testing him, he had been testing her. And, damn his eyes, she was fairly certain she had been bested in their contest to see which of them was the worst, the most unsuitable—or which of the two of them was to be in charge of their association.

Well, he might have put her down, but she was far from out, and was more than ready to begin again. “Why not, indeed. All three. Since that’s what you want me to believe.”

“Added to all the things you want me to believe about you,” Ethan told her as he motioned for her to turn toward the flagway. He quickly dismounted, and took Berengaria’s reins in one hand as he stood on the cobblestones, looking up at Morgan.

Yet again, Ethan understood, she’d seen through him, judged him correctly.

And she knew. She knew, just as he knew. They’d been going round and round since the first moment they’d looked at each other. And all to no effect. They could never be friends. They would have to be so much more than friends, or nothing at all.

“You’ve warned me away. I’ve warned you away. And now we’re here, at your brother’s door. What next, Morgan? We can’t keep on fencing like this, or we’ll exhaust each other. So, does it end here? Do you believe we should end here? We’ve both certainly given each other enough reasons to have it end here, whatever in hell it is we seem to have begun between us.”

Morgan fought back the urge to run her gloved fingers through Ethan’s dark blond hair. She’d known, from the first moment she’d seen him. And he’d known, as well. She wasn’t congratulating herself, being prideful in thinking that. He’d also known, from that first moment.

Dangerous Ethan. Dangerous Morgan.

Like recognizes like.

She wet her lips, spoke carefully. “Together, we could be very dangerous, to society, to each other. Mostly to each other. Couldn’t we, Ethan?”

He put a hand on hers as Alejandro gracefully stepped to his right, bumping up against his master, pushing him closer to Morgan.

“Damn horse,” Ethan said mildly, near enough now to see the deeper gray rings around Morgan’s pale gray irises. “I swear, he’s worse than my mother.”

She relaxed, only then realizing how frightened she’d been that this man, this so very different, so very intriguing man, had almost walked out of her life as quickly as he’d walked into it. Giving in, just this once, couldn’t be called total defeat.

She leaned down, her face within scant inches of his, and whispered, “You won’t leave now. Will you? Please.”

“I was only fooling myself if I thought I could. No, I’m not going anywhere, unless we go to hell together.” Ethan’s attention was now fixed on her full, slightly smiling mouth. “If I were to kiss you right now, could you promise Saul won’t loose Bessie on me?”

Something inside Morgan relaxed. Lose a battle, win a war. “I can’t promise that, my lord Aylesford. I suppose you’ll simply have to decide if the kiss would be worth taking that chance.”

Ethan’s slow, knowing smile served to curl her toes inside her riding boots. He cupped his hand around the back of her neck and gently pulled her closer. “Oh, that decision was made long ago, on the road to Tanner’s Roost. By both of us. Bessie, do your worst….”

Morgan allowed her eyelids to flutter closed as she waited for the touch of Ethan’s mouth against hers. Not her first kiss, but she knew this one would be different. She didn’t know how it would be different…but she was eager to learn.

“Experiencing some difficulty in dismounting, Morgan? That isn’t like you.”

At the sound of Chance’s deadly calm voice, Morgan sat up straight on Berengaria once more, sparing a quick smile and shrug of her shoulders for Ethan before saying, “Peeking out from behind curtains now, Chance? That isn’t like you. Or is that, Lord forbid, what marriage does to people?”

“Hush, Morgan,” Ethan warned her quietly. “Your brother’s attempting to pretend he doesn’t have grounds to call me out. Be grateful, even if you can’t be gracious.”

“Call you out? Don’t be ridiculous. We Beckets aren’t that civilized. He’d just knock you down, right here in the street. Several times.”

“Don’t sound so delighted, imp,” Ethan said, then left her still atop Berengaria, and mounted the flagway, his right hand outstretched, the most recent shock in a day littered with them carefully hidden behind a genially smiling face.

How could he have known, even though Morgan had told him that her brother worked at the War Office? The War Office was immense. And yet, at this moment, the world seemed dangerously small.

Amazingly, either Chance Becket didn’t recognize him, or he was as accomplished at concealing his emotions as was Ethan himself.

“Mr. Becket, please allow an explanation if you will. Your sister and I came upon each other out on the road, and I offered my services in escorting her into London once I ascertained that she had planned to abandon her coach and insist upon riding into the city. Ah, and I am Ethan Tanner, Earl of Aylesford, and I extend my sympathies, sir, as your sister would appear to be a rare handful with a mind very much her own.”

Chance Becket accepted Ethan’s hand, squeezed his around it with more force than a gentleman would consider necessary, and held on, drew Ethan closer.

Ethan considered returning that pressure, but what point would it serve? He had been caught out, about to kiss the man’s sister. Besides, if either of them physically pressed the matter, the situation could vault above the uncomfortable and into recklessness that would serve neither.

“Aylesford, is it? Your reputation precedes you, my lord,” Chance said flatly, looking over at his sister. “I’m now attempting to understand what I’ve done to make God so anxious to punish me. It would please me if you were to tell me that you have now completed your gentlemanly duty and are eager to be shed of my troublesome sister, to whom you may not have taken an instant dislike, perhaps, but to whom I suggest you would be wise to feel a very definite indifference.”

Ethan kept his expression neutral as Chance Becket released his grip, although he inwardly damned the poor reputation he’d so carefully built these last years, if only because Chance Becket obviously was aware of it. Of that, and probably of much more. “You’re warning me away, Becket?”

“Let’s be polite, Aylesford, but not that polite. I’m ordering you away,” Chance countered. “I owe you my thanks and a drink, I believe, and then you will oblige me by forgetting you ever met my sister.”

He looked past Ethan again. “Morgan, get yourself down here, now. No one is present who doesn’t know you’re more than capable of dismounting on your own.”

Ethan watched as Morgan lifted her leg over the pommel and slid gracefully to the cobblestones. She brushed off her gown, stripped off her gloves and advanced on her brother with a bright smile on her incredibly gorgeous face.

“Don’t frown so, Chance. I come bearing gifts.” Reaching into the pocket of the riding habit, she then held out her hand to her brother. “Apple?”

The imp! Was she afraid of anything? Ethan stepped beside Chance, knowing when to take his opportunities. “My advice, friend? Don’t take it. That little Eve has already landed us both in enough trouble. Our only hope now is to join forces.”

Chance looked at Ethan, one eyebrow raised in question, before he sighed, nodded and gave in to the inevitable. “As long as you know…”

“Oh, I know. So does she. And now you do, as well. It’s going to be a very interesting Season with Miss Morgan Becket as one of its debutantes.”

Morgan pushed the apple, hard, into her brother’s stomach. “Soon you’ll be hugging, and drooling all over each other’s shoe tops. Enough of the both of you. I’m going to see Julia and Alice.”

Both men watched her go before Ethan said, “Now, having been duly warned and threatened, how about we all step inside in case there are other curtain-twitchers about, and discuss how I am going to procure your sister’s voucher to Almacks, hmm? Because, no matter what you do or say, even a brother can’t be so blind about that magnificent creature. Steel yourself, Becket. I am not going away.”