Magic In The Storm, Page 5

  If only there was not that nagging feeling that she was missing something. But there really was no sign at all of Morgan.

  Finally, and very reluctantly, Adriana decided to turn back. Running her hand over the rough bark of a tree, she grasped hold of it and slowly swung herself around so that she continued walking back the way she had come.

  Her steps homeward were soon halted by a dog’s bark. Its sound was clear, as if it were somewhere very nearby. Adriana stopped walking and strained her ears to try to tell the direction from which the sound had come.

  The dog barked again, but this time a loud splashing sound followed it. There had to be a stream where a dog, or dogs, were playing. Without a moment’s hesitation, Adriana turned toward the sounds. Perhaps, at the very least, she would take a moment to sketch the flowing water of the stream.

  She turned off the path, and picked her way through the wood toward the sounds. There was a clearing not too far ahead, but Adriana was stopped by the sound of a voice—a man’s voice. More carefully and quietly now, she made her way to the edge of the clearing and peeked out from the trees.

  Adriana’s breath caught as she watched a dark head emerge from under the water.

  It was him! He hadn’t been a dream, or her imagination. He was real!

  Morgan flipped his long black hair back out of his face, sending a spray of water flying toward Adriana. As he did so, he turned around to face her. She very nearly took a step forward to let him know that she was there. Her hand was half–way raised, her foot in mid–air about to step out from the trees when she noticed that he wasn’t wearing anything—at all.

  Seven

  She will do,” Tatiana answered with a nonchalant wave of her hand when Lord Devaux asked her what she thought of his ward.

  If truth be told, she had been quite pleased with Adriana’s conversation when the girl had put in some effort. But she wasn’t consistent. It was clear Adriana was still unsure about this marriage.

  Lord Devaux sputtered. “She will do?” He sat down on the chair opposite Tatiana without waiting to be asked. Narrowing his little eyes at her, he said, “That girl is brilliant. She can converse on any subject you’d care to name, including all of the bills currently up for discussion in the House of Lords.”

  “Perhaps. But my neighbor, Lady Hepplewhit, doesn’t care for politics, and Miss Hayden looked particularly lost when asked about the current styles in London. And she had nothing at all to say about Countess Lieven’s ball. Did she even attend?”

  Lord Devaux pursed his lips repeatedly, clearly at a loss. “Er, well...” he began. He cleared his throat and then tried again. “I am certain she received an invitation. Whether she attended or not...”

  “In other words, no,” Tatiana said, losing her patience with the little man.

  “Perhaps not. I assure you, though, Adriana is an excellent political hostess. She can converse with any guest on the issue at hand, and that is just what Vallentyn needs—someone to promote and garner support for the issues he is working on.”

  His face brightened perceptively as a thought overtook him. “You don’t need someone who follows every fashion, and spends too much money on her wardrobe,” he said, voicing his idea. “If she is overly concerned with her own social position among the beau monde, how could she possibly help your son? No, you don’t want some flighty society miss, you need a political hostess. You need someone who will help support Vallentyn’s career in Parliament—and that is just what Adriana will do.” He paused for a moment and then quickly added, “With my help, of course.”

  Tatiana thought about this for a moment. He was right. It was still important for the girl to be involved with society to some degree, however. “You will see to it that she becomes more a part of proper society. And I will see to it that she does not become so involved she forgets her duty to her husband. Moreover, I don’t care what she spends on dressing herself. I want a daughter–in–law with an excellent reputation in every part of society—and with the best connections.”

  “Yes, of course,” Lord Devaux said meekly.

  “And you will ensure she marries my son, won’t you?”

  “Oh, yes. Of course she will. There is no question...”

  “There still is the question. That is why I am telling you this.” Tatiana infused her voice with just a touch of magic. “You will make sure that she marries Vallentyn.”

  Devaux’s Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat as he swallowed hard. “She will marry him. I will see that she does.”

  “Good.” Tatiana sat back in her chair. She herself could easily ensure that the girl did marry her son, but she would really rather not have to resort to such... force.

  <><><>

  Adriana stopped and caught her balance on a tree. How embarrassing!

  She couldn’t allow Morgan to see she was there, not when he... she could feel her face heat and was sure she was blushing furiously.

  She resolutely tried to keep her eyes on his face, but they disobediently darted down his exposed body. Strong muscles defined his bare shoulders and chest. Below that Adriana couldn’t see anything because of the water, and she was extremely grateful. She had never seen a naked man before, and was certain that she never should—at least not until after she was married.

  In her mind, Henrietta’s stern voice told her in no uncertain terms she was to leave immediately. Adriana knew the voice was right—she shouldn’t be here at all. She started to turn away, but Morgan gave another bright shout of laughter. She looked over at him playing in the water and knew she just couldn’t go.

  The thought of leaving without drawing even one little sketch of Morgan and the river was unthinkable. Surely it was alright from an artistic point of view. Men painted naked women, so why couldn’t she draw a naked man?

  No, neither Henrietta’s voice in the back of her head, nor the threat of being caught in so compromising a position could force her to leave. She would stay, but only for a very short time. Just long enough to do one quick sketch, she told herself sternly.

  She opened her sketchbook, took out her pencil and watched in fascination as Morgan reached out and grabbed a long stick floating on the water in front of him. He threw it further downstream and, with a bark of excitement, a great black Labrador went swimming after it.

  Morgan dove for it as well, with a jump that gave Adriana a glimpse of a sleek, sculpted back and buttocks. His legs kicked powerfully at the water. He reached the stick just before the dog. Laughing, he came up for air as the dog barked again.

  Adriana watched transfixed as Morgan and his dog played together in the water, throwing the stick back and forth. Morgan was so happy and carefree, so strong and handsome.

  Adriana stopped. Where had that thought come from? She silently reprimanded herself.

  But it was true.

  Even as she watched, she could feel herself become as relaxed and happy as he was. But there was something more. There was another feeling deep inside her. Desire.

  Heat was building up in Adriana’s blood, she could feel it churning within her. The heat and tingles of desire and happiness, like laughter, bubbled through her veins. Overcome with her emotions, Adriana put her crayon to paper and let the heat flow through her body and out through the crayon. Her hand carefully, but quickly, sketched Morgan, his dog and the flowing water.

  But there was more. There was the bright sun in the heat of the day, Morgan’s laughter, the dog’s joyful barking, and the splashing of water. She captured it all in her drawing so she could experience it again another day.

  On another lonely day, Adriana thought, looking at her sketch. When she was back in London, she would want to remember this day and this time. These feelings would come back to her when she looked at her sketch, and she would be able to live these happy moments all over again. She was glad—these were good feelings.

  A shout of laughter interrupted her thoughts, and she looked up to see Morgan holding the stick up triumphantly once more. Suddenly, A
driana noticed Morgan’s back, which was turned towards her. Long red welts stripped it, as if someone had whipped him. Her crayon hung suspended in mid–air as she stared at his back.

  How could someone do that to him? How could he allow it? He was such a large, strong man—and someone had whipped him?

  Adriana’s hand came to life once more, adding in the long welts down his strongly muscled back. A tear dropped onto her paper.

  As she smoothed the black lines running down Morgan’s back in her drawing, her hands tingled with an overwhelming desire to run her fingers down his real back and sooth away the hurt. Suddenly, she wanted desperately to touch him. To run her hands over his back and his chest and along the strong muscles of his arms. To trace the contours of his muscles with her fingers. To feel his soft skin and its warmth. To hold him close and feel the strength in his arms as he wrapped them around her and...

  She put her hand up to her heated cheek, unable to even continue with the thought.

  Directly in front of her, Morgan came up from under the water, having once again beaten his dog to the stick. This time, the dog grabbed hold of one end of the stick and began to pull. Morgan laughed and held on to the other end with both hands. Slowly, he began to back out of the water, dragging the dog, who still clung with determination to the stick.

  Adriana watched with fascination, flipped to a clean page and sketched a new drawing rapidly as, step by step, Morgan slowly revealed more and more of his naked body.

  Her conscience pricked her. She should leave. But she just could not tear her eyes away from the sight of this amazingly attractive man.

  Quickly, she worked on her drawing, copying his lines down to his bare ankles, trying to see him purely as an object to be sketched rather than an incredibly handsome, and disturbingly desirable man.

  When Morgan was standing at the very edge with only his feet still covered by the lapping water, the dog suddenly stopped tugging on the stick and let go.

  Morgan took a step backward to regain his balance and laughed, “Ah ha, you finally give up, do you, Oberon?”

  The dog had not given up, however—he had been distracted by the sight of Adriana. He gave a bark and took a few tentative steps in her direction. Morgan stopped laughing, and began to turn inquiringly toward the wood where she stood.

  With a gasp of fright, Adriana dropped her sketchbook, turned, and ran.

  Eight

  Oberon took a step or two towards the trees, and barked. He had seen something or someone in the woods.

  Morgan turned around in time to see a woman’s fleeing back. It was her! He knew it instinctively. It was the woman he’d saved in the forest the day before.

  He ran to the edge of the trees and tried to call out to her. He wanted her to stop running away, he wanted to talk with her. But his voice wouldn’t come. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get a sound out. Morgan’s throat was closed. There was nothing he could do.

  His mother’s command! It was her command stopping his voice!

  He hit a tree in frustration, and hurt his hand.

  He hadn’t sought her out. She had found him. Didn’t that count? Morgan supposed not, since she was running away from him.

  But why was she running away? Why hadn’t she come and spoken with him? If she had come all this way, why hadn’t she... Oberon gave another bark to draw his attention to something on the ground.

  It was a book, a sketchbook. Morgan picked it up and turned it over. His skin prickled at the drawing of a naked man pulling on one end of a stick while the other end was held firmly by a large black Labrador. He could almost hear the sound of the man laughing in his game of tug–of–war with the dog. He knew immediately this was a picture of himself and Oberon as they were just moments ago.

  She had been watching!

  He continued to look at the picture, even as this knowledge sent an excited chill down his body. But there was something more here. There was something else in the picture, beyond the simple representation of him and Oberon, which, admittedly, was excellent.

  A feeling came over him as he stood staring at the picture. It was a feeling of happiness—no, not just happiness, but contentment and joy. He felt like laughing once again at the good feelings embodied in the sketch. And he felt... he felt a stirring in his nether regions as heat rushed to that part of his body. Yes, he felt desire. But it wasn’t desire for the woman who had drawn the picture—although he couldn’t help but admit to some of that as well.

  It was more that she had been feeling desire for him when she’d drawn the picture.

  He didn’t know how he knew that, but somehow underneath the lines and smudges that made up the picture were these feelings. He felt all of her feelings as he looked at her sketch.

  It made absolutely no sense. He had never felt emotions and feelings when looking at pictures before. Why would he do so now?

  Morgan walked toward the river bank and sat down on the soft grass, still examining the drawing.

  The scars on his back caught his eye. He had never seen them before, but naturally, he knew they were there. His mother had lashed out at him, scolding him and berating him so many times the marks were now permanent. He had never allowed her words to hurt him emotionally, but looking at the drawing, he knew that just seeing his scars had hurt the young woman.

  He felt bad, and wished he could have soothed her, told her that it was all right, really. But she was gone. An empty feeling of frustration settled in his gut.

  Out of curiosity, he turned the book over and turned back a page.

  There was another picture of him and Oberon playing. This time they were in the water. His hand was reaching out for the stick while Oberon’s mouth was nearly on it. Morgan knew that he would snatch that stick right out from under Oberon’s nose and laugh heartily over the dog just missing it. But that knowledge was not because he had just experienced it, it was because the drawing told him so.

  He shook his head in disbelief. It was a drawing, a sketch. And yet, he felt as if he were there watching this happen. He could feel the warmth of the day, hear the sound of the splashing water as he and Oberon swam about.

  Morgan looked around to see if he could possibly be experiencing something that was really happening. But the river was quietly rushing past as always, and the sun had hidden itself behind a cloud.

  He looked back at the drawing, and heard the splashing sound again. He could almost see the water in the picture undulating with his movements and Oberon’s. And once again, he could feel the happiness the woman had felt as she had watched them play. But there was another feeling in this picture as well. Not so much desire, as there had been in the first drawing, but something more akin to embarrassment. Yes, she had been embarrassed at seeing him naked.

  That was why she hadn’t come and spoken to him! She had been embarrassed by his nudity! Morgan nearly laughed.

  He turned back another page in the book and stared directly into his own face. Suddenly the hollowness he had felt the other day was filled. It was an amazing likeness.

  This drawing too was filled with emotions—wonderment, curiosity, interest, and the same feeling of familiarity he had felt when he’d first seen her in the woods the day before. He longed to find out how they both had this feeling, and where it was coming from. He knew they’d never met before, and yet, he’d felt so right being with her. He’d felt...complete and happy. He needed to feel that again.

  But there was nothing he could do until she came and actually spoke to him instead of just drawing pictures of him.

  And then he noticed at the bottom of the drawing, in one corner, she had written her name, Adriana Hayden.

  Adriana. What a beautiful name for such a very beautiful and talented artist.

  Adriana, if only you had not been so embarrassed and had spoken with me, he thought. Morgan closed the book with a sigh. I will meet you, Adriana Hayden. And I will find out who you are, because, clearly, you are a very special person.

  <><><> />
  The knock on his cabin door later that afternoon interrupted Morgan’s musings. He had gone back to staring at Adriana’s sketches. He couldn’t stay away from them—looking at them made him feel close to her. It was almost like being with her—only that, he knew, would be much, much better.

  Reluctantly, he slid the sketchbook under the mattress of his bed and then went to open the door. As he had expected, it was his cousin, Kat.

  She came to visit him nearly every day. Usually, she was filled with good cheer as she laughed and told him all the gossip from the abbey. Today, however, she looked odd, as if she didn’t know whether to smile or be upset.

  Morgan had always been very sensitive to Kat’s moods, ever since she had moved into their home when they were only six years old. Born on the same day, their mothers as close as two sisters could be, Morgan and Kat had a bond even stronger than most siblings. They understood each other, and had done so ever since the first day Kat was at Vallentyn, and they had banded together in the fight against his older sisters’ attempt to rule over them both.

  He moved to his table where, earlier, he had been grinding some herbs for the potion to cure the animals. He was fully confident she would tell him what had happened without him having to ask—she always did.

  She followed him, and began to absent–mindedly separate some dried flowers from their stems. Morgan looked over at her, but she remained silent, lost in her own thoughts and her mindless task.

  He wondered if he dared to ask Kat about Adriana. His cousin would surely know who she was. If Kat hadn’t seemed so very upset about something, he would have. And he still might, but first he had to be patient and allow her to tell him what was on her mind.

  Just as the silence was beginning to become awkward, she said, “I heard about your meeting with your mother.”