future." He paused. "Congratulations are in order, Elizabeth. I'm soon to be wed."
Now, this, she was more equipped to deal with. "Oh, dear," she said cheekily. "Well, then, my condolences to your intended."
"Ah, but there's the thing, you see." A smile that could only be called devilish lurked on his lips. "You, sweet"—his tone was soft—"well, you are my intended."
Chapter 8
« ^ »
His smile should have served as a warning. Oh, but she should have known he was up to something… !
For the space of a heartbeat, all she could do was gape. Then she snatched up the paper for herself; quickly her eyes scanned the newsprint. It read:
Boston shipbuilder Morgan O'Connor is pleased to announce his upcoming nuptials to Lady Elizabeth Stanton, daughter of the late Earl of Chester. The pair plan to wed within the month.
Elizabeth's head came up. She stared at him in utter horror. "Who did this? Who would dare to make such an announcement?"
"I placed the announcement," he said calmly.
"Why?" she cried. "As some—some monstrous joke?"
"It's hardly a joke, Elizabeth. I fully intend to make you my wife." His expression was almost grim. There was no doubt he meant what he said.
The floor beneath her feet seemed to dip and twirl. "You-you cannot mean it," she said faintly. "You cannot mean to—to marry me." She could scarcely dare to say it.
"Oh, but I do."
Elizabeth was aghast. She swayed, all at once feeling rather dizzy.
Hands on her shoulders, Morgan guided her to a chair and gently pushed her down. "Come now. Surely it's not that bad." There was the veriest hint of amusement in his tone.
Elizabeth pressed cool hands to her flushed cheeks. Closing her eyes, she fought to regain her composure. When she opened them, speech was still beyond her.
An imperious voice sounded above her head. "There, now. It's not so bad as all that. Take a slow, deep breath and calm yourself."
She did as he ordered. She lowered her hands to her lap, her mind churning. She noted distantly that they were trembling. She clasped them together to still them. At last when she was able, she said the first thing that popped into her mind. "You're mad!"
"I assure you, I am not."
"But… dear heaven, why? I-I cannot think why you should want to marry me!"
One side of his mouth turned up. "Need I point out that you came here to be married?"
"Not to you!" she said wildly.
His expression grew chill. Too late Elizabeth realized her insult.
"It's just that I don't understand." Her tone was as shaky as her hands. "This is so sudden, so"—she groped for the right word—"so unexpected."
Her heart seemed to shiver.
Marry
him. It still seemed too much to take in. How could she marry this strange, brooding man who was so unlike his brother? She didn't like the way he made her feel. So odd. So unlike herself. Especially when he'd kissed her.
The memory flooded her mind—his mouth on hers, warm and demanding. Tenderly she touched her mouth.
He spoke suddenly. Coolly. "The other night, Elizabeth… the kiss we shared? I do hope you realize it was but a moment's idle fancy." His gaze met hers, cool and remote. "I've shared many things with many women," he said with a shrug. "Just so we understand each other, I'm hardly enamored of you."
Elizabeth went icy cold. Never had she resented him more! "Then frankly," she snapped, "I fail to see why you should be so magnanimous!"
"Magnanimous? Indeed, I'm being far more magnanimous than you realize. And I see no reason why you shouldn't know the truth. Unfortunately, you see, the two of us were seen on the terrace that night. Yes," he went on when her eyes widened, "caught in that very same kiss."
"By whom?"
"By an unscrupulous man named Thomas Porter."
Elizabeth strained to recall. "I remember no one by that name," she began.
"Oh, he was not a guest." Morgan's mouth thinned. "He is a reporter for the
Chronicle
who specializes in digging up dirt. At any rate, he paid me a visit yesterday
Now, this, she was more equipped to deal with. "Oh, dear," she said cheekily. "Well, then, my condolences to your intended."
"Ah, but there's the thing, you see." A smile that could only be called devilish lurked on his lips. "You, sweet"—his tone was soft—"well, you are my intended."
Chapter 8
« ^ »
His smile should have served as a warning. Oh, but she should have known he was up to something… !
For the space of a heartbeat, all she could do was gape. Then she snatched up the paper for herself; quickly her eyes scanned the newsprint. It read:
Boston shipbuilder Morgan O'Connor is pleased to announce his upcoming nuptials to Lady Elizabeth Stanton, daughter of the late Earl of Chester. The pair plan to wed within the month.
Elizabeth's head came up. She stared at him in utter horror. "Who did this? Who would dare to make such an announcement?"
"I placed the announcement," he said calmly.
"Why?" she cried. "As some—some monstrous joke?"
"It's hardly a joke, Elizabeth. I fully intend to make you my wife." His expression was almost grim. There was no doubt he meant what he said.
The floor beneath her feet seemed to dip and twirl. "You-you cannot mean it," she said faintly. "You cannot mean to—to marry me." She could scarcely dare to say it.
"Oh, but I do."
Elizabeth was aghast. She swayed, all at once feeling rather dizzy.
Hands on her shoulders, Morgan guided her to a chair and gently pushed her down. "Come now. Surely it's not that bad." There was the veriest hint of amusement in his tone.
Elizabeth pressed cool hands to her flushed cheeks. Closing her eyes, she fought to regain her composure. When she opened them, speech was still beyond her.
An imperious voice sounded above her head. "There, now. It's not so bad as all that. Take a slow, deep breath and calm yourself."
She did as he ordered. She lowered her hands to her lap, her mind churning. She noted distantly that they were trembling. She clasped them together to still them. At last when she was able, she said the first thing that popped into her mind. "You're mad!"
"I assure you, I am not."
"But… dear heaven, why? I-I cannot think why you should want to marry me!"
One side of his mouth turned up. "Need I point out that you came here to be married?"
"Not to you!" she said wildly.
His expression grew chill. Too late Elizabeth realized her insult.
"It's just that I don't understand." Her tone was as shaky as her hands. "This is so sudden, so"—she groped for the right word—"so unexpected."
Her heart seemed to shiver.
Marry
him. It still seemed too much to take in. How could she marry this strange, brooding man who was so unlike his brother? She didn't like the way he made her feel. So odd. So unlike herself. Especially when he'd kissed her.
The memory flooded her mind—his mouth on hers, warm and demanding. Tenderly she touched her mouth.
He spoke suddenly. Coolly. "The other night, Elizabeth… the kiss we shared? I do hope you realize it was but a moment's idle fancy." His gaze met hers, cool and remote. "I've shared many things with many women," he said with a shrug. "Just so we understand each other, I'm hardly enamored of you."
Elizabeth went icy cold. Never had she resented him more! "Then frankly," she snapped, "I fail to see why you should be so magnanimous!"
"Magnanimous? Indeed, I'm being far more magnanimous than you realize. And I see no reason why you shouldn't know the truth. Unfortunately, you see, the two of us were seen on the terrace that night. Yes," he went on when her eyes widened, "caught in that very same kiss."
"By whom?"
"By an unscrupulous man named Thomas Porter."
Elizabeth strained to recall. "I remember no one by that name," she began.
"Oh, he was not a guest." Morgan's mouth thinned. "He is a reporter for the
Chronicle
who specializes in digging up dirt. At any rate, he paid me a visit yesterday
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