“Yes, a priest’s hole. It has been there for centuries—comes out above the path to the cove.”
She nodded. “I knew they would catch me if I used it. They were too close. So I opened it and hid in the wardrobe. I heard them make for the stair, laughing and shouting and hallooing as though they were hunting… Which I guess they were.”
Morgan winced at the image.
She continued calmly. “The panel can only be opened from inside my room, so I closed it and ran back the other way and hid in the tower guard room. You saw the condition of the steps there. I thought that, as drunk as they were…”
“That they would break their necks climbing them.”
“Well, I did not think they could come up, and they didn’t. They all went away the next day.” She smiled a sad little half-smile. “But you see, you will not harm my husband in this way.”
Morgan moved away from her a few more steps. “Mrs. Hayne, I find myself taken at fault. I beg you will forgive my boorish behavior.” He heard the coldness embarrassment injected into his voice and made an attempt to ameliorate it. “I assure you, however, that my actions were based more upon feelings engendered by you than on those I hold toward your husband. Nonetheless… I apologize.” He walked around her, picking up her candle as he passed. “I’ll have a look around for what you heard before I go back to bed.”
Opening her door, Morgan cursed himself for a cad and stood well back, giving her plenty of room to enter.
He should have known that he would not force himself on an hesitant woman, the crushing precept to the contrary notwithstanding. Convincing himself that she shared his desire was blatant wishful thinking. True, as the veteran of a number of affairs, Morgan knew encouraging signs when he saw them, and he felt sure he had seen them in Eulalia Hayne. That, however, brought him around to what should have been obvious to him by the second day of their acquaintance.
In spite of the fact that polite society condoned discreet affairs in married women, this lady did not. This lady would keep her vows, even when they trapped her in a hideous marriage. This lady, for all her soft, gentle manner, had courage, resilience and character. She made Morgan examine his own.
On reflection, he did not regret one moment of ruining Hayne. The man was a predator from which society needed protection. Had Morgan been able to kill him in a fair fight, he would gladly have done it. But subjecting Hayne’s wife to further abuse…
Unforgivable.
It put him firmly in the category with Hayne himself. That thought made Morgan want to take a bath. The devil was in it, though, in that he wanted the woman as much as—no, more than—ever. He couldn’t quite give up his determination to have her in his arms, to taste her sweetness.
But he could not do it as an act of revenge.
The pile of vegetables in the basket beside her grew steadily as Lalia’s sure hands picked them and plucked dead blossoms from their neighbors. A few feet away Jeremy, not so sure, attempted to master the mysteries of what constituted a weed. She smiled. The bed would be short a few flowers by the end of the day, but he seemed to enjoy the challenge if not the work.
Usually working with the plants lifted Lalia’s spirits, but today even the cheerful sun and soft ocean breeze did not help. Despite her optimistic nature, the future looked bleak. She had not realized how much her home meant to her. Now that she had only a few more weeks to spend in it, even the relentless drudgery and loneliness seemed dear. And she would greatly miss visiting the tenants. They accepted her—most of them, at least.
What would she do with herself, aside from caring for Jeremy, for the next three months? Already Lord Carrick had taken away most of her duties. He himself had greeted the crew of workers who had appeared earlier in the morning, explaining to the overseer what he wanted done first. He had made it very clear to her that he did not want her help.
Another in a long line of people who did not want her. She didn’t know whether to welcome his apology of the night before or to regret it. At least he seemed for a moment to want her. But Lalia knew from bleak experience that Carrick’s approaches did not count as wanting her. The future looked lonely indeed.
Lost in these melancholy thoughts, she jumped when the subject of her thoughts spoke right behind her.
“You two are busy to a purpose this morning.”
“Oh! Good morning, your lordship. You startled me. Have you… No, Jeremy, not that one. That’s a delphinium.” Lalia turned back to smile up at Lord Carrick from her spot seated beside the flower bed.
He knelt on one knee and examined the bed, pulling out what was obviously a dandelion. “Do you always plant vegetables in your flower beds?”
Lalia nodded. “We need them. I considered putting the whole bed to them, but I can’t bear to give up all the flowers.”
“Can’t you just buy some of the local produce?”
“We could, of course, but…” She paused and turned her head back to her work. “But the tenants need what they grow for their families, and it…it is more economical to grow them myself.”
“Well, soon you will not have that necessity. The new gardeners start next week, and I have hired enough help to reopen the home farm.”
Lalia swallowed around a lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat. So… Soon she would not even be allowed to garden. Unless… A ray of light appeared. Perhaps she could hire herself out as a gardener. To work all day at what she loved—at last, a heartening thought.
Lord Carrick stood and brushed the dirt from his knee. “Jeremy has been plaguing me to take him down to the cove. The cleaning in the great hall seems to be well under way, and the tide is out. I thought this would be a good time.”
“Hooray!” Jeremy bounced to his feet. “Come on, Miss Lalia. I’m tired of being a farmer.”
Lalia smiled, shaking her head. “I must take these to the kitchen and help Daj. I will see you when you return.”
“Unnecessary.” Carrick bent and scooped up the basket. “Another local woman has been hired to help in the kitchen. We will take these in before we explore the cove.”
Lalia sighed. Another role removed.
Morgan extended his hand to help Lalia down a rough portion of the path. He knew she didn’t really need the help, but it gave him an excuse to touch her. Exulting in the crackle of awareness between them, he clasped her fingers and rested his hand lightly on the small of her back as she passed him. No, the lady was by no means as cool as she would have him think. Perhaps there was hope for him. She kept her gaze carefully on the path, avoiding puddles left by the tide, while Morgan enjoyed his view of the dainty curve of her neck.
Jeremy scrambled down the rocky track easily. A small stream had cut a narrow defile through the cliff. The old trail ran beside it, switching back and forth across the width of the cleft in the steeper spots and around a few twisted trees, dipping and rising with the broken ledges. Above them loomed the precipice, crowned by the towers of Merdinn. The cove boasted very little in the way of sand, but Morgan knew that the spaces between the guarding boulders allowed a medium-size vessel to come through and shelter there. Jeremy immediately made a dash for the water, quickly wetting himself to the knees.
“Don’t step out very far,” Lalia called, hurrying toward him. “The currents are not safe.”
“Yes, ma’am. I want to see what’s up there, anyway.” The boy pointed at a small dam of stones holding a tidal pool. He sprinted away.
“He will be well enough. I’ll keep my eye on him.” Morgan strolled along the waterline examining and discarding