Page 121 of Bride of Fire
Chapter 53
Alicia couldn’t put it off forever. Sooner or later, she was going to have to return to Morgan’s bed. She needed to establish, once and for all, that he belonged to her. And she needed to show him that it was she, not his son, who held the most intimate claim on Morgan.
It wouldn’t be easy. She wasn’t exactly in the mood for trysting. Not after the rough week she’d had, fretting over whether she’d left any evidence of her crime behind. Tangling with that conniving, loose-tongued lass. Suffering through a less than ideal reunion with her wriggling, demanding infant.
At least, in some ways, Morgan was a better lover than Edward had been. He never tore her fine silk garments with clumsy hands. He never shoved his member into her while she was sleeping. He actually made an effort to please her.
Still, for Alicia, swiving was only a means to an end. She needed leverage to bend Morgan to her will.
When Morgan returned from the nursery, she’d be prepared to acquiesce to his seductive whims. She’d be timid and apologetic, in need of his reassurance. Though it could set a dangerous precedent, she might even allow him to swive her by the light of day.
That plan was propelled forward at full speed when Morgan entered the bedchamber.
He looked brooding and uncertain. More of a mind to engage in deep conversation than tryst with her.
She couldn’t have that. Doubt had already reared its ugly head with Morgan. She couldn’t have him poking his nose into the past, digging into the details of what, to her mind, was dead and done.
So she schooled her features to a sort of helpless dismay and let her kirtle slip strategically off of one shoulder.
“Morgan, I’m so sorry,” she murmured. “I know I’ve disappointed you.”
“Disappointed me? What do ye mean?”
She lowered her gaze and worried the coverlet between her fingers. “I know you wanted me to bond with wee Al-…” Shite. What had he called the infant? Alfred? Alisdair? She covered her faltering with a soft sob.
He fell neatly into her trap, venturing near to give her comfort. “I know ’twill take some time.”
She sniffed and nodded shyly. “At least we have each other.” She gave him a sidelong glance, gauging his response.
His expression wasn’t what she expected. Or what she wanted. His brow creased, not in instinctive empathy, but in concerned contemplation.
She couldn’t have that. She couldn’t have himthinkingabout things.
“Unless you don’t want me anymore,” she said softly, “now that I’m…soiled.”
He looked sharply at her. “What? Never. What happened wasn’t your fault. Ye aren’t to blame.”
That was what she needed to hear. She looked up at him with wide, watery eyes. “Oh, Morgan, what did I ever do to deserve you?”
He sat beside her on the bed. To her chagrin, he reached out and slipped her kirtle back up, covering her shoulder.
But then that was Morgan. He was a gentleman. Almost too much of a gentleman.
Maybe that was what had attracted her to Edward. Besides being strategically located to give her the lifestyle she desired, Edward had always been forceful and demanding. She didn’t have to play the meek mouse with him. He took what he wanted. So did she. They understood each other perfectly.
Swiving Edward was rough, urgent, and over with in moments.
With Morgan, she’d had to learn a complicated dance. He wanted caresses and kisses, whispers and whimpers, a breathless passion that was hard for her to emulate and sustain.
So she’d created strict rules for trysting that ensured he wouldn’t discover her pretense. She feigned modesty to keep him at arm’s length and in the dark. She made frequent claims of illness and infirmity to keep his desires at bay. When she did relent and allow him to come to her bed, it was with carefully modulated responses that eased his hunger while maintaining her aloofness.
Considering the infrequency of their trysts, she’d been astonished to discover she was with child. But she’d never let circumstances of fate interfere with her plans. Not then. And not now.
“Alicia,” Morgan breathed, taking her hand between his two, “I don’t wish to hurry ye.”
She resisted the urge to smirk. Sometimes she wished hewouldhurry her. The quicker a thing was begun, the quicker it would be over with.
“You’re so kind. So patient,” she said.
