Living London

chapter Seventeen



After our powwow with Amelia and Lord Heath, I was walking on air. Lord Heath had explained with glee that we were to have a bit of fun. I'd been more than a little hesitant. But as Lord Heath outlined his masterful plan, hope surged through me. Even though I was ruined by ton standards, the damage was repairable if done correctly. Phase one would begin in a few minutes, and I was fighting a few butterflies.

"Don't worry, love, it will be fine," Morgan crooned in my ear as he led me down the stairs and out into Hyde Park. It was the fashionable hour, and the park was full of ladies walking, carriages rolling, and men on horses trotting along Rotten Row. At first everything appeared normal, but soon people began to notice us and an obvious hush covered the park. The hush quickly turned to furious whispers. Morgan beamed beside me, holding my hand and pointing out scenery, whispering for me to wear a smile and keep my chin up. I thought of the note from the Dannberry brothers — Chin up.

With a brave grin, I dared the ton to call me a harlot now. Armed with love and hope, we continued down the way. I resisted the temptation to turn around and watch Amelia and Lord Heath begin their part of the plan a moment later. They were to locate a few key ladies known for their love of gossip and spread the word: Miss Westin was not ruined—rather she was engaged to Lord Ashby. He had left simply to notify his family of his intent on taking Miss Westin as wife.

They had prepared themselves for doubters, so I wasn't concerned when I heard a dowager pelt them with questions. "If that's the truth, then why would she be published in the papers like a common—"

Thankfully, Amelia interrupted the woman before she spoke the derogatory word. And after seeing Morgan's display of anger when Lord Heath had said "harlot" when trying to prepare answers for potential questions, I was thankful for her intervention. The last thing we needed was an irate Marquess giving a dowager a piece of his mind. I had no doubt that Morgan would do it, too. The thought brought a genuine smile to my face.

Soon the word spread. It reminded me of an adult version of Telephone, only with a lot of staring. I hoped the truth was circulating rather than some sort of distortion, as usually happened with the repetition of gossip. Although, as I thought about it, nothing could be worse than the original lie.

It was entertaining to see ladies blanch as we passed, no doubt remembering how they had treated me. Gentlemen shook their heads and cursed gossip columns. By the end of the walk, I was no longer receiving the cut direct but was gathering smiles and small nods of affirmation. Morgan never left my side as he led me through the park, nodding to each person and showering me with proper affection. With deft skill he would draw my attention to a squirrel or cloud to take my mind off of the stares. Again I was reminded how much I loved the man.

By the time we headed back to my house, there was one question left unanswered, a question only few people knew the answer to. If I wasn't ruined, if Morgan was indeed my fiancé, then why had the gossip papers so erroneously published the contrary? They had said they were given information from a reliable source. Thus leading to the final question. Who did it…?

When we arrived home from our walk, Amelia wrote anonymous notes to the three gossip columns, notifying them of their misunderstanding just in case the gossip traveled too slowly. I also wrote a letter demanding an apology. I didn't know if I'd see it ever, but it was cathartic to write the letter. Then, after several hugs from Amelia, a wicked grin from Lord Heath as he studied Morgan and me, and several coughs from Morgan as he tried to rush them out the door, we were finally alone.

With a mischievous grin, Morgan led me into the blue parlor, firmly shutting the door behind us. "What are you trying to do? Ruin me?" I teased. It was freeing to joke about it.

With a predatory gleam in his eye, he stalked forward, his eyes raking over me, sending shivers throughout my body. "Since I already had, according to the gossip, I thought it would be prudent of me to at least do a thorough job of it," he remarked casually, but there was nothing casual about his eyes. They were blue fire.

"Oh, really? What makes you think I'm the type of woman who would go so willingly into your arms?" I backed up, fighting a grin in spite of the heated feel of the room. As much as I had hurt the past week, I was free from it now. The simple joy of knowing I was going to marry Morgan erased the pain and replaced it with pleasure, hope, and joy.

He stopped and raised his eyebrow. "You aren't," he replied seriously. "And that is simply one of the many considerable and at times very aggravating reasons I love you," he provoked as he drew closer. His last words came as a whisper against my lips. My backwards motion stopped as I hit the desk behind me.

"I see," I replied, my eyes locking with his.

"But…" he added as the teasing light in his eyes began to burn brightly.

"Yes?" I asked with a small smile.

"But soon you won't have anywhere to run except to me."

His head descended and he brushed a light kiss across my lips, making me ache for more. He drew back slightly, and an amused grin drew up the corners of his mouth. "That, my love, is the most exquisite kind of anticipation. And I'll be counting down the days, hours and minutes till you're truly mine." He pressed a kiss to my jaw, and my eyes slanted closed in pleasure as I moaned softly.

He stiffened before continuing his sweet seduction. Even if he kissed me each hour of every day, I'd never tire of his ardent affection. "I love you," he whispered just before he kissed me gently, parting my lips and teasing my lower lip with his tongue. He drew back, and the loss of his touch created a physical pain. His intent gaze was flickering with restrained passion. "And mine you will be," he swore as he cupped the back of my neck in his powerful hand and pulled me into a fierce kiss that made me forget my name.

Over and over his mouth ravaged mine until the corners of my lips were tender, but I didn't care. I never wanted him to stop kissing me, to leave. The pain of loving and loss was nothing compared to the powerful sensation of being loved fully and being pursued as Morgan had pursued me, even when I had been rendered unapproachable. He broke the seal of our lips, gasping for air as he threaded his fingers through mine.

"I have to leave," he groaned.

"No," I begged, irrational fear hitting me. What if it had all been a dream?

"Yes." His eyes met mine, and I saw self-control warring against his desire. Part of me wanted to be reckless, but I knew that threatening his control and taking that step would be not only reckless, but also harmful. Both of us would regret it later, and I wanted nothing to hinder our love. Lust's passion could have full reign later, and reign it would.

"When will you be back?" I asked, tracing his features with my fingers, memorizing the texture of his rugged skin and the bristle of his evening shadow of a beard.

His eyes closed, and when he spoke, it was a in a low timbre. "Not nearly soon enough." He kissed me again, ardently. Then, pushing me away gently, he took a deep breath. "Tomorrow, love, tomorrow," he promised.

"Morning?" I asked, remembering the same response I had given him at Drury Lane Theater.

He grinned. "Morning. Always the morning, love." He took a step toward me and caressed my cheek before kissing it lightly and striding to the door.