A Dangerous Seduction. Patricia Frances Rowell

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      “To run? Most gentlemen do not have my motivation. I suffered an injury to my lung. Running has helped me to regain my stamina.” The smile dimmed a bit and the seductive light in his eyes went out. Somehow the expression changed to something just a little menacing.

      Lalia stepped back again. “I—I see. That must have been very difficult for you.”

      “Yes, at first.” He move a pace nearer, and Lalia retreated again, bumping against the gig. The horse sidled and his lordship steadied it with a hand on the bridle. “Where are you two going?” He casually put his hands on her waist as though to help her into the carriage.

      And he took his time about it. Drat the man! Lalia braced herself and prepared to be lifted. “To see Widow Tregellen. I am taking her some of our fresh vegetables.”

      The hands that had tightened around her were abruptly removed and she almost stumbled in surprise as she found herself still on the ground. Lord Carrick stepped back. “I see. As you have been doing as lady of the estate.”

      “Well, yes. I guess you might say that. The tenants have no one else on whom they may depend.”

      “Had no one else. The situation has changed. That is no longer your responsibility, Mrs. Hayne.”

      Lalia’s cheeks grew warm. “I—I had not thought of that. I did not mean to… It is just that she can no longer manage her own garden, and I thought she would especially enjoy the green onions.”

      “No doubt.” His lordship crossed his arms over his chest, his expression unyielding.

      “Very well. If you don’t wish her to have them… James, you may unhitch the gig. Come, Jeremy.”

      “Aw, Uncle Morgan.” Jeremy made to climb down. “We were going to see the lighthouse.”

      Damn the woman! Morgan perceived that he had been cast neatly in the role of villain—an uncaring lord denying an aging dependent a few fresh vegetables and his nephew an outing. Now what was he to do? He held up a restraining hand. James stopped his preparations to lead the carriage away, a carefully neutral expression on his lined face.

      “I did not say I did not want her to have them.” Morgan grimaced. Damnation! Now he sounded defensive.

      “You could come with us, Uncle Morgan,” Jeremy put in hopefully.

      Not a bad idea, three of them crowded onto the seat. Morgan glanced down at his sweat-stained clothes. But not at this particular moment. He turned to the lady who waited quietly. “Are you a competent driver?”

      James chortled. “At least, she never put the gig in no ditch, as I seem to recall a certain young gentleman doing.”

      Morgan scowled, then grinned ruefully. “That was a long time ago, James. I have since learned caution. Very well, Mrs. Hayne. Please deliver the produce with my compliments and greet Old Tom for me. Tell him I will stop in at the lighthouse at my earliest opportunity.”

      “If you wish it, my lord.” She turned back to the gig and Morgan again seized her waist and tossed her up. As she took the reins, he waited until he could capture her gaze. When she looked at him in inquiry, he smiled slowly and allowed his gaze to travel briefly to the bosom concealed beneath the shabby pelisse. When he saw the blush climb from her neck to her cheeks, Morgan turned and withdrew, checked, but in good order.

      Now what had that look been all about? As if she didn’t know! Lalia guided the cob down the road toward the widow’s house, considering. In the first place he had been determined to put her out of countenance, retaliation for her presumption—in short, to show her her place. Well, he could just put his mind at rest. She would certainly never act in her former role again. A spark of anger crept through the calm facade she showed the world.

      Then, of course, there was the second place. Did he think she would so easily fall into his bed? She did, after all, have marriage vows to remember—not that her husband had ever given them a moment’s consideration. Again the wind of wrath ruffled her still waters. Why must she be chained to such a scoundrel—drunken, abusive, neglectful of everything but his pleasures and his schemes?

      Oh, yes. She had heard the schemes. On the rare occasions when he graced his home with his presence, always deep in his cups, he pounded her ears with his talk. He even had the goodness to regale her with his amatory adventures. As if she cared. Apparently he hoped that jealousy would open her door to him, but she long ago had learned better than to do that.

      She knew just when, before he had quite finished the third bottle, to make good her escape and turn the key. If she left him too soon, before he grew helplessly drunk, he would come after her and drag her back. If she waited too late, he would begin to paw her where she sat. Let him batter her door. That was better than his battering her body.

      And now the Earl of Carrick appeared, smiling temptation thinly covering his anger. But for all that, he represented a very tempting temptation, indeed. How she would love to… No. No, she would not think of that. She, at least, would keep the vows she had made before God.

      She drove silently for a few moments, recovering her tranquility. Repining did no good. It merely cut up her peace. She looked around her and drew a deep breath. She had a lovely day to enjoy, and Jeremy was chattering happily beside her. Time to once more put away what could not be remedied.

      “Forgive me, Jeremy. I wasn’t attending. What did you say?”

      “I asked you if I must call you Mrs. Hayne.”

      Lalia pondered the question. “I don’t know. Do you not wish to call me that?”

      “No-oo.” The boy lowered his gaze. “I don’t like the way it sounds when Uncle Morgan says it. He sounds as though he doesn’t like it, either.”

      That made three of them. Lalia didn’t like it very much herself. “I suspect that is because he is angry with my husband. What would you like to call me?”

      Jeremy brightened. “I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t call you by your given name.” He paused, squinting up at her in the bright sunlight. “You do have a given name, don’t you?”

      Lalia chuckled. “Of course. It’s Eulalia.”

      “Yoo…lol…ya. That’s a very long name.”

      “My family calls me Lalia.”

      “I could call you Miss Lalia.” He looked at her hopefully.

      She smiled and ruffled his hair. “I think that would be nice.”

      That must have been very difficult for you.

      Yes, at first.

      If only the woman knew. Difficult had hardly been the word at first. That came later. At first the word had been agonizing, lying propped on a stack of pillows, blood frothing on his lips, every breath an excruciating effort. Everyone knew Morgan would die. But they didn’t understand. He couldn’t die—wouldn’t. He survived to bring the bastard low.

      Although, Morgan had to admit, at the moment he had not yet brought the scum quite as low as he had thought. The man was still at liberty, entirely without chains, and still on English soil. But Morgan would СКАЧАТЬ