"Come here, Mrs. Reynolds." His voice was gruff as she felt his arm go about her shoulders. "You're cold. Let me protect you from the chill as you protected me from a debt collector's queries."
Startled, she glanced up at him and saw his mouth quirking into an amused grin.
"Then you're no longer annoyed?" She let him draw her against the warmth of his body inside his coat that he'd opened for her.
"About your false dowry? No. But about that young man..."
"A stranger who I will never see again." She snuggled into the warmth and sighed. "If all my problems were as small as that..."
She stopped herself abruptly.
"Tell me, Emma Smith-Reynolds." And she was startled to feel his lips brush the hair above her ear. "Tell me all your troubles."
Slowly she turned to look up at him. And then just as slowly, he lowered his head until his lips met hers.
A small gasp escaped her but she didn't resist. Instead she felt a ripple sweep through her body, a ripple of a wonderful sensation she'd never before experienced. And when his tongue probed her parted lips, she welcomed him shyly at first and then as her body reacted to the closeness of this handsome, virile man who masqueraded as her husband she returned his actions with a fervor she'd never believed herself capable of.
"Emma, Emma," he breathed when he released her mouth. "You're a beguiling creature. I've never met the likes of you."
And then he was sliding her slowly down onto the carriage seat, covering her with his body, his hand sliding her dress from one shoulder, his mouth following it. A whirling giddiness overwhelmed Emma and as his mouth found her breast she could only inhale sharply and run her fingers through his dark curls, holding him closer.
"14 Barrington, sir." The driver drew to a halt and Morgan immediately drew himself upright, bringing Emma with him and adjusting her gown.
Like someone emerging from a dream, Emma accepted his assistance from the carriage and knew, the minute the cold evening air washed over her, that she had made a mistake, a mistake she must begin to rectify immediately.
"Emma." Inside his rooms, Morgan reached out to take her back into his arms, plans to lead her to his bed swirling in his mind. But she stepped away.
"I'm sorry, Captain." She addressed him as formally as if they were strangers. "I believe I may have enjoyed too much excellent champagne at the ball. Please forgive my behaviour in the carriage just now. The night air has restored me to my senses."
She turned and went into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.
For a moment Morgan could only stare at the closed panel. Then he slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand.
"Damnation!" he bellowed and believed he knew exactly how his stallion felt when he was forced away from a prancing mare. "Damn you, Emma Smith!"
There was no response from behind the closed panel. Frustrated beyond anything he could have believed possible, he tore off his cravat, jacket, and shirt and strode over to the sideboard to pour himself a tall glass of whiskey. As he swilled it down, he paced the room, kicking at various pieces of furniture until finally, his rage vented, he sank, bare-chested and sweating into a chair.
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