A Dangerous Seduction. Patricia Frances Rowell
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perched like a gargoyle on the ladder, she squeaked and hastily withdrew.
“Wait!” Morgan sprang out of the chair and through the door barely in time to grasp her arm before she could disappear into the kitchen wing. Jeremy scampered down the ladder and peered around the door. “Here now. What’s the matter with you? Where is everyone?” The girl cringed away from him and hung her head, giving every evidence of terror. Morgan snorted in frustration. “Is your mistress at home?”
The girl nodded. At last! A response. “Then kindly tell her that the Earl of Carrick would like a moment of her time. I’ll be in the library.” She scurried away and disappeared. “Am I mad or is it everyone else?” Morgan stalked back into the library and sprawled into a chair. “One pensioner in the stable and one half-wit in the house. Perhaps Mrs. Hayne is almost ready to leave.”
At least she had ordered a good cleaning before going. The books looked dusted and the leather chair smelled of lemon oil. The stone floor was well polished, although the carpet was distinctly worn. It had been worn the last time Morgan had seen it. Too impatient to sit longer, he paced around the room. Where was the woman? He had been waiting for at least twenty minutes. Was she showing her disdain for him? His lip curled. If so, let her enjoy it while she may. If the curst woman would but show herself…
After another half hour his anger had grown to the point of explosion. Jeremy prudently busied himself with looking at the pictures in an old book, careful to avoid the avuncular displeasure. Morgan had almost decided to scour the castle for its soon-to-be-former mistress himself when the door opened and a woman stepped into the room. He recognized her immediately as the younger woman he had seen in the garden.
“Who the hell are you, and where the hell is Mrs. Hayne? I sent for her an hour ago. She has not yet done me the courtesy of responding.” He glared at the gardener. Her gown had green stains from the plants and there was a smudge of dirt on her nose. There was also a puzzled expression in her eyes—eyes, he noted, that were the calm, transparent aquamarine of the shallows on a sunny day.
“I’m sorry you had to wait, my lord.” She crossed the room to the chair opposite Morgan and sank into it gracefully. “Peggy did not tell me until a moment ago that you were here.”
Morgan stared in astonishment. This woman certainly had a lot of brass for a gardener. His scowl deepened. “What’s wrong with Peggy? Is she half-witted?”
“No, just fearful.” She wiped at the dirt on her face, smearing it and making matters worse.
“What the devil is she so afraid of?” Morgan’s eyes went to the streaked face and then to the skin beneath the dirt. It appeared to be flawless—as luminescent as a pearl. The tendrils of raven-black hair escaping from the kerchief framed softly rounded cheeks that glowed a slightly deeper rose. When she spoke he discovered that, for a moment, he had forgotten his own question. He jerked his attention back to her answer.
“Everything. Of you. Of me. Of making a mistake.”
Morgan shook his head, not completely understanding. If that were the case, the young girl deserved his pity, not his scorn. In fact, it came to his attention that the woman in the chair across from him did not deserve the anger he had generated toward the elusive Mrs. Hayne. He should not have cursed in her presence, whoever she was.
He moderated his tone. “You have still not told me who you are.”
She looked startled. “Why, I am Eulalia Hayne. You asked for me?”
The sense of unreality that had been growing in Morgan reached a new height. This lovely but disheveled creature was the stylish Cordell Hayne’s wife? He had pictured a cold and haughty woman, lifting herself on the backs of others as Hayne himself did. And he had pictured her living in grandeur stolen from his family. He could only stare.
“You are Mrs. Hayne?” She nodded and he thought he glimpsed for a moment the slightest twinkle in those remarkable eyes. “Where is the rest of your staff?”
“There is no staff except me, my grandmother, James and Peggy.”
“And Hayne is content to live like this?”
For a moment the eyes darkened, as though a cloud had passed over the sun. Then a small smile curved the deep-rose lips. “My husband is very rarely here, except when he takes his sloop out. Did you wish to speak to him?”
The question of Hayne’s whereabouts began to disturb Morgan. “Is he in residence now?”
“No. He rode in yesterday, but only for a short while. He left again in the Seahawk, saying that he had a wager on a sailing race that would bring him about.” She shrugged. The movement brought the tops of two plump globes covered in pearly skin nearer to the rounded neckline of her dress. The train of the conversation again momentarily eluded Morgan. With an effort he pulled his gaze back to her face as she continued. “I don’t know what he meant, exactly, but he often races the Seahawk. He has been doing so a great deal of late. It’s very fast, and he likes to wager on the outcome.”
“He likes to wager on everything.” Morgan frowned. Apparently he had not succeeded in depriving Hayne of his boat. An oversight on his part. But perhaps not. Hayne would think nothing of taking out a boat that had already been foreclosed. Or of making a wager when he no longer had anything to back it.
Or of leaving Morgan to break the news to his wife that she no longer had a home.
Suddenly the shining prospect of that satisfying moment faded a trifle. He had believed that Hayne would have at least sent word to her that he had lost Merdinn, but obviously he had not. His wife sat before him with confusion in her eyes. As Morgan searched for the words that would at last avenge his mother and sister, Jeremy closed his book and edged forward to get a better look at the lady.
She turned in surprise, and the first real smile Morgan had seen bloomed in her face. “Well, who is this?”
Morgan motioned the boy forward. “This is my nephew, Jeremy Pendaris. He makes his home with me.”
Jeremy stepped closer and essayed a polite bow. “How do you do, Mrs. Hayne?”
She held out a welcoming hand and clasped Jeremy’s small one. “How nice to meet you, Jeremy.”
Seeing the warm response in his nephew’s face, Morgan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. Things were not going as he had expected. “Jeremy, I need to speak with Mrs. Hayne privately. You may explore on this floor of the building, but on no account are you to climb the wall or the towers. Nor are you to go down the path to our cove alone—not now or at any other time. Do I make myself clear?”
“Oh, yes, sir. I promise.” Jeremy quickly dashed for the door before his uncle could change his mind.
When the door had banged shut behind him, Morgan turned back to Eulalia Hayne and hardened his heart. “Mrs. Hayne, apparently it falls to me to explain your situation to you.” Damnation! Where were the arrogant words he had rehearsed so many times in his dreams? “Are you aware that nineteen years ago your father-in-law came into possession of Merdinn, a property that had been in the Pendaris family for generations, as the result of a dishonorable business arrangement?”
Again her eyes seemed to darken to a light gray, like the sunless winter sea. “I know very little about the dealings of my husband’s family. At that time I would have been only five years old. My family lived nearby, but I would not have remembered anything like that.”
Morgan remembered. He remembered that day in every agonizing detail. His father’s impotent anger, his mother’s tears, his own pain as his beloved home was ripped away from him. His own anger. It welled in him again, and a muscle jumped in his tightened jaw. At the age of fifteen he had been dispossessed of his birthright. He spoke through clenched teeth. “Suffice to say that he did so—by defrauding my father. I have recently been able to regain what the Haynes stole from my family.”
A small pucker increased between the lady’s brows. “I am not sure I understand.”
“I now own Merdinn.”