The Dangerous Debutante. Kasey Michaels

the work is a slow process, I’m afraid. I’m drawing up plans for a second house on the estate, quite on the other side of the park. Brick, not stone, in case you might wonder. And there will be no moat. Tanner’s Roost will become the dowager’s residence.”

      “Because your mother adores her castle.”

      “Very much so, yes. Unfortunately, Tanner’s Roost also has become one of the many reasons anyone in London will be more than happy to tell you that the late Earl of Aylesford was a lunatic who eloped with a common piece who’d worked her dark magic on him. Right before they warn you away from the couple’s sure-to-be unstable progeny.”

      Morgan thought about all of this for a moment, then said, “And you wanted me to know all of this. You brought me here especially to hear it, to see everything, to be introduced to your mother, and to have her tell me the story. You didn’t have to do that. You’re Chance’s friend. If he’s accepted you, nothing anyone else could say would mean anything to me. Besides, I make up my own mind.”

      Ethan looked toward the pair of grooms leading Alejandro and Berengaria toward them, composing his thoughts. “Ah, yes, your brother. Chance. Would it bother you overmuch if I told you I’ve never met the gentleman, never had the pleasure?”

      Morgan turned on him, her glorious gray eyes opened wide. “You lied?”

      He grinned at her. God, she was gorgeous. Fiery. “Blatantly, yes.”

      “But…but you said Upper Brook Street. I heard you. Only a few steps off Park Lane.”

      “Your groom is quite gullible, and inordinately helpful. I’d slice out his tongue, were I you, if you have any secrets you don’t want told.”

      Morgan shot a glance toward Jacob, a small smile beginning to play about her lips. She’d been fooled, tricked. Lied to. And she didn’t care. “I have considered that, from time to time.” Then she turned back to Ethan. “It isn’t just what people may think, what they might say. You really are reprehensible, aren’t you? You may even enjoy what must be your terrible reputation.”

      “Oh, there’s no may about it, Morgan,” Ethan said, cupping his entwined hands so that she could use them as a mounting post as he all but threw her up onto the sidesaddle.

      Morgan looked down at him from atop Berengaria, who had begun to dance in place, eager to be on her way once more. “Please be certain to behave yourself when you deliver me to my brother, Ethan, because I believe you and I could become very good friends over the coming weeks.”

      He bowed to her in agreement, then swung gracefully onto Alejandro’s back. “There are many things in this world and out of it, Morgan, many questions to which I don’t know the answers. But there is one thing I do know, and that is this—you and I are destined to be very good friends. We’d both have it no other way, and I will greatly enjoy introducing your unique self to the ton. Shall we ride, take our first steps in shocking the good citizens of Mayfair?”

      Morgan, being who she was, knowing who she was, didn’t bother to dissemble, and certainly did not even consider acting coy or missish. Odette hadn’t given her any suggestions on how to handle a dangerous man like Ethan Tanner, but Morgan had already made up her mind. She would be straightforward, would never back down, and she’d challenge him to be the same.

      “You can’t wait to stand London on its ear, can you? But what makes you think I should be such a willing partner to what is most probably your ongoing assault on the ton?”

      “You were about to ride into London, unescorted, straight into Mayfair. And, if I may be so bold—and I’m always bold—if I ever saw a young woman ripe for mischief, it’s you. I imagine there’s little you’d shy from, Miss Becket.”

      “My father, as I understand it, has already sent my brother his condolences as he attempts to steer me through the Season, if that’s what you mean. But all I wanted to do was make clear, from the outset, that Chance might be my host for the Season, but he will not be my keeper. And it’s Morgan. I’m Morgan, remember? And you’re Ethan.”

      “With each other, Morgan, yes, we are, but not in public. Then we would be wise to play by some of the rules, even as we bend or break many more of them. I will address you as Miss Becket, and you can simply call me Aylesford. Agreed?”

      “So your mother isn’t the only one who enjoys playacting,” Morgan said. “Very well. I suppose I’ve played my own share of games.”

      “Meaning?”

      “Meaning you may have made a point to have your mother explain at least something of you to me, but I’m convinced she doesn’t know the half of it. Oh, and that, much as you may have hoped I might, I’m not returning the favor by confessing my own possible shortcomings, either in part or in whole. After all, Aylesford, I barely know you and, from what you have said, I have to think you at least slightly scandalous in your own right.”

      “Only slightly?” Ethan’s full-throated laugh shooed several birds from the canopy of trees above them. Moments later, the two riders turned onto the main roadway once more, already a good fifty yards ahead of Jacob and the coach.

      “Jacob will be having fits if we get much farther ahead of him,” Morgan said, looking back at the vehicle.

      “Really? How very unfortunate for Jacob. It’s a straight run from here to Birling, and with little traffic to get in our way. Shall we?”

      Morgan and Berengaria were a full three lengths ahead of Ethan and Alejandro before he’d finished speaking….

      CHAPTER FIVE

      “I, AS A GENTLEMAN, hesitate to point this out, but I believe you might be sulking, Morgan,” Ethan said as they rode side by side through the streets of London. The loud, crowded, definitely not perfumed streets of London.

      He’d tried, not successfully, to convince her to return to the coach for this last short leg of their journey, to sit with the maid he’d stationed in the coach—amazing himself with his concern for her reputation—but when Morgan had refused, he’d decided that the best education often comes from lessons learned by one’s own experience.

      He’d been amused by her obvious delight when they’d first approached London and she eagerly pointed out steeples and tall buildings she recognized from books in her father’s study. Her eyes had shone, and she’d been as excited as any child. But she’d grown more and more silent, withdrawn, as they’d moved into the metropolis.

      “I’m fully aware that I’m sulking, thank you,” Morgan retorted, longing to lift a handkerchief to her nose, for the smell these last ten minutes or so had gone from annoying to faintly sickening, to perfectly vile.

      She wasn’t eager to separate the odor into all its contributing smells, but she could tell that they were near the Thames, near the docks. And town docks were docks, here or in the islands.

      All Morgan knew was their own small, isolated island, their safe paradise that, to her, was only a vague memory of sand, and heat, and clear, blue-green water. Of laughter, of freedom. And from the time they’d left the island, she’d never traveled more than five miles from Becket Hall.

      This street, this place, was so alien to her. Had she been born into squalor like this? If her papa hadn’t bought her the very day she’d been born, and taken her to the island, would she still be living in a sorry, desperate place such as this? Would she even be alive now, to wonder?

      For the first time, Morgan thought about her mother as anything more than the uncaring whore who had given her life. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to sell her child. Maybe she had seen the purchaser as the only way out for her daughter, the only chance she could give her.

      What if her mother hadn’t sold her, had instead kept her? Would Morgan have fought, or would she eventually have made her own living on her back? How strong does a person have to be, to fight such poverty, such squalor, such hopelessness? How long does someone struggle before she gives up and simply lies down?