THE CAVERN OF DEEP HARMONY

PART NINETY-ONE:

Throughout February Marshall and Eden had picked carefully through his original manuscript, choosing sections both large and small that could easily be kept. Even Morgan's conversations with George Wythe, Washington, Henry and others at the Raleigh could be kept the way they were. What they had to do was weave a net of Morgan and Susannah and lay it gently over that framework, fitting it in.

February was an unstable month, swinging wildly between ice and thaw, potholing the roads, and lending itself to much time spent by the large living room fireplace or in the big den, fashioning their net of words. Eden experienced some morning sickness, but nothing too

terrible, and Marshall was unfailingly attentive.

"Who's at the door?" Susannah asked as Layla came back into the parlor.

"Be young Marse Harrelson," Layla replied, her tone clearly indicating her displeasure.

Susannah sighed. "I suppose you'll need to show him in."

"I am in," Parker said, brushing past Layla, hardly breaking stride as he pressed his hat into her hands. He stopped a few feet out from where Susannah, dressed in pale rose, was seated.

Layla's fingers curled over a section of the brown tricorn, crushing it slightly as she watched Harrelson's back. "I'll be lettin' yo' father know he's here," she said pointedly, a bit too much emphasis on the word 'he'.

Parker's head turned toward her. "No hurry," he said.

His ice-blue eyes glinted in the morning light streaming through the parlor's white lace curtains, his pale blonde hair, neatly queued. 'Man ain't got no lashes,' Layla thought. Parker's short blond ones hardly showed at all. 'Looks like a pig.'  Well, his nose wasn't short and pudgy, though, was
it. It was very narrow and quite long and he tended to lift his chin and look down the length of it, which gave him an air of supercilious superiority.
 

He'd turned his attention back to Miss Susannah, who looked to Layla's protective eyes like a white hen being sized up by a fox. Pressing her lips together, she left the room, hung the hat on a rack near the door, then hurried to find Mr. Wellington. "Sho' don' want that man alone wif her,"
she muttered under her breath.

"Good morning, Parker," Susannah said, not extending her hand.

Parker looked briefly at the sunlight in the window then back at Susannah, a vision of loveliness to his eager eyes. It was, indeed, why he wanted her. She was undoubtedly the most beautiful woman in Williamsburg and would be a perfect ornament for his arm. That she was blind was, indeed,
detrimental, but women needed leading around anyway and where he wanted to lead this one was to his bed. With war so near, he wanted to lock in his right to that fairly soon.

"Miss Susannah," he responded, taking a couple of steps closer. "My father is having a ball at Graylands Saturday next and I was...."

"Good day, Mr. Harrelson," Harmer Wellington said firmly, appearing through the side door to the parlor. "What is this about a ball?"

Parker inclined his head toward Harmer. "I was just telling Miss Wellington about the ball my father is having at our plantation up the Neck. I...he...wished me to extend his invitation to you

and your daughter if that is...."

"You think a ball is...appropriate...Parker, what with war doubtlessly on the horizon?"

"I think it may be more than appropriate, Sir. It may be necessary."

"And how might that be?" Harmer cocked an eyebrow.

"Soon there will be no time, no opportunity for such endeavors and one must enjoy them while one may."

"Interesting way of looking at it," Harmer said, not smiling.

Parker shifted uncomfortably, aware Mr. Wellington was sizing him up. Mr. Wellington always seemed to do that, especially now that Parker was a man grown.

"And Percival feels the same, does he?" Harmer continued.

"My father, yes, he does." Actually the whole thing had been entirely Parker's idea and his father had taken a great deal of convincing, but Parker wanted to get Susannah there and propose to

her that night.

Harmer was not unaware of Parker's intentions regarding Susannah. The man practically

salivated when he looked at her. At the thought, Harmer's upper lip curled slightly in disgust. As

a boy, Parker had been self-centered and thoughtless, traits that only seemed to have been magnified in his manhood. As long as he was alive, Harmer thought, his beloved child would

never end up in the clutches of such as he. He cleared his throat. "I understand, Parker,
that you bear a great sense of loyalty to the English king."

"To our king, yes, yes, I do." He eyed Harmer, aware the man entertained the likes of Patrick Henry at his dinner table, dinners to which he himself was never invited.

"Well, then, there is an Englishman rather newly arrived in Virginia and, perhaps, being so fond

of things of an English nature, you might consider expanding your invitation list to include him?"

Harmer never asked anything of him. Here was a chance to do something that might impress his future father-in-law. "Certainly, Sir. What is his name?"

"Morgan Kent. His father owns a large shipping company."  That was all the information he'd

give Parker. He'd not mention Morgan's age, nor his grace, nor his own recent hopes regarding him.

"Where might I find him?" Parker asked.

"Oh, I shall be glad to extend the invitation on your behalf, Parker. Don't trouble yourself about it."

Parker dipped his head, looked quickly at Susannah, then back at Harmer. "So, Sir, I take it that this means you and Sus....your daughter...will be in attendance?"

"We shall," Harmer smiled, walked further into the parlor, and added, "Here, allow me to escort you to the door." 

"That Harmer," Marshall chuckled, "he's quite the schemer."

Eden had been writing Harmer and curved her lips in a smile. "Sometimes a father's gotta do what a father's gotta do."  She looked up at Marshall, who was standing behind her chair as

she typed. "So what does Susannah think of all this?"

When her father had mentioned Morgan, Susannah's lips had parted rather dramatically, but Parker was looking at Harmer at the time and didn't see her response. What her father had said was so entirely unexpected she had no idea what to think. She had not said a word during the whole interchange between the two men and when she heard the front door close and her father's footsteps come back into the room, she said quickly, "Father? You...you...?"

"I happen to be quite fond of our young Mr. Kent," he replied, carefully observing the emotions that passed over his daughter's face.

"You...you are? I didn't...."

"Indeed so. I've spoken with him several times in the Raleigh since he attended our dinner here. He is developing a fine appreciation, I find, of matters of a...colonial...nature."

Her father had not mentioned that he had seen Morgan again. She found that, though she had

not encountered him again, he was never far from her thoughts. Did he think still of her? Was

she untoward in hoping that he did, that he must?

"It is all right with you, Susannah, if I invite him to attend the ball?"

"All...all right? Um, yes, Father. It is all right."

Harmer smiled. Morgan's simple act of deliberately spilling his wine so that Susannah might

have reason to escape an uncomfortable situation had quite won him over. No one, especially no young man, had ever been that thoughtful, that discerning of her needs. He knew they had spent time in the garden that night, indeed, he'd gone out of his way to make that possible. Such was

his measure of Mr. Kent. And ever since, he'd found his daughter smiling to herself in a way

he'd never seen her do before. He worried about her. He was aging, would not be there to watch out for her well-being forever. The thought of Parker swooping her off to his bed was beyond repulsive to him. He'd seen her face when he'd entered the parlor, her cheeks stiff, her mouth

set. And because he'd been facing her when he'd mentioned Morgan's coming to the ball, he'd

seen her reaction to that as well.

"Well, my darling," he said, coming to give her a kiss on her cheek, "I must be off. I have a meeting with Wythe this morning."

She reached out her hand, touching his face as he bent. "I love you, Papa," she whispered.

"I know." He tapped the end of her nose lightly with a fingertip.

He walked briskly down Nicholson Street then headed across the Palace Green toward Wythe's brick home on the far side. He was half way across when he saw Morgan coming out Wythe's

front door and walking toward the Green. He stopped where he was, waiting.

Morgan saw Mr. Wellington and raised his hand in greeting, hurrying his steps toward him.

"Good morning, Sir," he greeted. "I see you are on your way where I have just departed."

"Indeed I am," Harmer smiled, "and most propitious it is to encounter you."

Morgan raised his eyebrows, curious at to what Wellington might mean.

"There is to be a ball Saturday next at Graylands, Mr. Kent. That is the plantation on the James about six miles up the Neck. My daughter and I will be attending and Parker Harrelson, son of

the host, has most kindly extended the invitation to include you."

"Me?"

"Yes, Mr. Kent, you. Is that something you might possibly consider?"

Susannah! Susannah would be there! His eyes almost ached with his need for the sight of her. Harmer's lip twitched as he read that clearly exposed on the young man's face. "Why, yes, yes,

Sir! I would be most delighted to attend! Certainly! Yes!"

"Good. Susannah and I will be going by carriage, of course, but we would be pleased to have you accompany us on the way by horseback if that is amenable to you...since you don't know the way."

Morgan's lips had parted in much the same way Susannah's had. "I should be most, um, most... grateful, Sir. Yes."

That very afternoon Morgan ordered a new suit made for himself, not that his Susannah should

see him in it, but he wished to look his best for the occasion, nonetheless. The endless days had passed, their hours creaking almost agonizingly slowly by as though turned by some ancient
waterwheel that shuddered and groaned with the effort of the weight of their minutes. Now he stood before the old mirror in his room in the Francis Street boarding house, studying himself as best he could with a great deal of the silvered backing missing from the aged glass. His coat
and knee breeches were a deep, rich claret, with fine white lace foaming over the claret and

silver damask tunic-vest. His chestnut brown hair was only lightly
powdered, held in its queue by a strip of claret velvet. His new shoes were black with with silver buckles. He stood there, cocking his head, white lace falling across his clasped hands. "You'll

do," he said to himself, unused to this new need to appear at his best, picked up his black cloak lined with matching claret, and strode to the stables to get his bay gelding.

Tying the bay to the post outside Wellington's white house, he mounted the two steps to the front entrance. Before lifting his hand to knock, he closed his eyes a moment, breathing slowly in

and out in an effort to calm his racing pulse. Susannah. He was about to see Susannah again.
He was still standing like that when Micah opened the door.

"You all right, suh?" Micah asked. He'd seen Morgan coming up the front walk but the man had not knocked.

Morgan's eyes flew wide. "Oh, um, yes, Micah. I'm...I'm fine. Would you please let...."

"Come on in, Mr. Kent," Harmer said heartily. He'd been crossing the entrance hall as Micah

had opened the door. "Let me see if my daughter is ready."  He took Morgan's hand briefly then went up the main stairs to Susannah's room.

"Mr. Kent has just now arrived, Susannah," he said, and she turned on the vanity bench where Layla was placing a last pin in her hair. He heard her suck a breath in as she turned and he smiled.

"I'm...I'm ready, Papa," she said as Layla stepped back, her grin of approval going from ear to ear. Miss Susannah had no idea of how fine she looked.

Harmer crossed to her as she stood, offering his arm. "Let us go down then, shall we?"

Morgan paced back and forth across the wide entry hall, unable to remain still. But when Susannah appeared at the top of the steps, he stopped, absolutely rooted to the spot. She was wearing what looked like iced-pink silk, draped over a wide hoop that swayed when she paused

at the top. The fullness of the skirt only emphasized her tiny waist.  Her bodice was embroidered with small, slightly darker pink rosettes with a hint of green leaves, and two stiffly-ruffled rows

of white lace framed the upper curves of her breasts. The sleeves were tight to the elbows where more lace draped in scalloped curves. Her golden hair was done up in complicated series of curls, worked with pink and white ribbons, while two long pipecurls hung down one side of her neck, around which she wore a thin silver chain with a single large pink pearl.

He was staggered. Harmer, seeing how struck through to the core the young man was, smiled slightly. Together he and Susannah descended the wide staircase. As they came closer to him, Morgan was not at all sure he would live through the moment. His heart seemed to be ricocheting
wildly off his ribcage. When they reached the bottom, he tried to speak, but his voice had deserted him. Desperately, he cleared his throat.

"Mr. Kent, if you don't mind," he took Susannah's hand off his own arm, transferring it to Morgan's, "would you wait with my daughter while I get our cloaks?"

Micah had already gotten them, but Harmer made a hand gesture to shoo him back. Neither Susannah nor Morgan had been at all aware of Micah's presence.

Susannah, as she'd descended the stairs, had begun to sense Morgan's presence there in the entryway, knew he was watching her. She didn't think ever in her life she'd been so excited by

any other moment. Morgan. He was there. Every cell in her being began to vibrate, a fact not
missed by her father as her hand on his arm began to tremble.

She heard Morgan clear his throat then was astounded by her father moving her hand to his arm. Her astonishment immediately gave way, though, to her awareness of her hand being on his arm. Again. Not since that night in the garden, but now...again. Her lips curved and she said, "Mr. Kent," then under her breath added, "Morgan."

Morgan had to clear his throat yet again. He was still blinking in his own surprise at what Mr. Wellington had done. His voice low, cracking with emotion, he managed to whisper, "I've missed you so."

Her smile widened. "And I you."  A crease of worry formed on her brow. "Is...is father...?"

"He's not returned yet. I...I...." He lifted a hand, briefly touching her cheek. "Ah, Susannah, I cannot begin...."

"I know," she said softly. "I, too."

"I need to kiss you." His whispering voice broke in a moan.

A loud 'Ahem' sounded from the next room and Harmer slowly reappeared, two cloaks over his arm. He handed one to Morgan. "Help her with this while I get my own on, Morgan."

Both Susannah and Morgan noticed her father's use of his first name.

Holding her dark pink satin cloak in both hands, Morgan stepped around behind her, placing it over her shoulders. Harmer seemed busy with getting his own cloak straight, so Morgan let his hands linger, then slide slowly down the curve of her shoulders. He'd stopped breathing while
he did so.

"Thank, thank you, Mor...Mr. Kent," Susannah murmured, trembling again at his touch.

"Looks like we are ready," Harmer announced, placing Susannah's hand on his own arm and heading toward the door, which Micah was holding open for them.

Morgan walked immediately behind them, his eyes following the sway of Susannah's hoop as she went down the two front steps. Joel, Harmer's coachman, had pulled the carriage around to the front and Harmer handed his daughter carefully up inside. It was a small one, with only room
for two passengers, and a top that could be pulled down in back. As the evening was quite comfortable, it had been folded back and when mounted on Gideon, his bay, and riding beside it, Morgan had a clear view of Susannah's profile. He was in no hurry to arrive at Graylands. Just riding there so close to her had him entirely content.

"So, Morgan," Harmer said as they left the edge of the town, heading up the Richmond Road in gathering twilight, "how far have you been up the Neck since you've been here?"

"Not so far as Graylands, Mr. Wellington," he replied. "My business keeps me  mostly in Williamsburg with occasional trips over to Portsmouth. I hope in future to make it up to

Richmond, though."

"My sister Clara lives in Richmond," Harmer continued. "I expect she'll be coming  down to Williamsburg when...if...," he looked sideways at Susannah, his voice trailing away.

"If what, Papa?"

Harmer sighed. "If I have to go to Philadelphia, my darling."

"Oh, Papa! I thought you would be able to stay here!"

"It is looking more and more like I shall be needing to go," he said, but added, forcing brightness into his voice, "but your Aunt Clara is a most capable woman."  He didn't want to send Susannah to Richmond, not while Williamsburg was still safe. She was much more comfortable in her own home, her own garden, and he wanted that for her.

He patted her hands. "Let's not think about that now. Tonight is for music."

They traveled in silence for a while, Susannah very aware of the presence of Morgan and his

horse just to her left. Harmer was, too, and wished that she could see him, his cloak spread over

the bay's flanks, the way he sat his saddle.

When they reached Graylands, a steady stream of carriages and horses was arriving, voices were lifted in greeting, torches lighting the front of the plantation crackled in the night air. Morgan dismounted and as Harmer seemed to wait, he handed Susannah down from the carriage, watching
with utmost care that her slippered feet found the small steps.

Harmer, getting out of the carriage, spotted Wythe arriving. "George!" he called. "A moment!"

He turned to Morgan, asking him to escort Susannah inside while he had a word with his friend.

"I wasn't sure you'd actually come to Harrelson's," he chuckled, moving away from Morgan and Susannah.

"One tries to remain civilized as long as possible, Harmer," Wythe smiled. "I heard Patrick Henry was not invited, however."

Morgan was trying to decide just how much longer he should continue to be surprised by what Harmer Wellington did. He watched the two older men a moment then, with Susannah on his arm, walked between the line of torches toward the huge double front doors of Graylands. Like silk
and satin butterflies, the gaily bedecked men and women of the lower Neck moved along before and behind them, Loyalist and Patriot, resplendent and still together in the exquisite early June night.

Parker stood on the wide colonnaded porch that ran the width of the front of the house, his eyes scanning the arrivals, looking for the Wellingtons. When he finally located Susannah, his lips pressed into a thin white line. That was not her father whose arm she rested her hand on. He'd never seen the man before. He went down the top three of the six wide, white steps that led to the porch, waiting for them to come. "Miss Wellington," he said rather loudly, announcing his presence to her. "And where is your father?"

"Good evening,  Parker. I believe he is speaking with Mr. Wythe."

"And who might...this...be?"

"This is Mr. Kent, Morgan Kent. He did not know the way and so accompanied us."

"Ah, Mr. Kent," Parker said, his eyes scanning down the man's impeccable attire. "From England."

Morgan smiled. "Yes, from England." He dipped his head politely.

"Well, glad you could come. I'll take Miss Wellington from here."  With a deft movement he

placed himself between them and managed to move her arm on to his. "Please, Mr. Kent, do go inside. There is refreshment," he smiled with his mouth but not his eyes, "and the best of the

young ladies of Virginia."

"But...," Susannah started to protest as Parker led her firmly and rather rapidly up onto the porch and toward the door.

Harmer came up behind the once-again astonished Morgan. "Man's a first-class prick," he rumbled close to Morgan's ear, only serving to further Morgan's astonishment. "Watch yourself around him. He wants her."

Harmer passed him and went inside. Morgan stood where he'd stopped on the steps, just staring

at the open doorway, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Wythe paused at his left

side. "Coming in, Morgan?"

"What? Oh, yes, Mr. Wythe. I am."  He walked along at Wythe's side, finding himself inside the grandest house he'd been in since he'd come to the Colonies. Its ballroom was as large, if not larger, than that in the Governor's Palace back in town. Hundreds of candles, their light multiplied
by huge mirrors on the walls, lit the room. In one corner a small orchestra played, the notes sent forth by violin and cello soaring over the large, colorful crowd. Finding himself a place to one

side, he looked for Susannah. Ah, there!  Parker had led her to a seat at the front of the room
and was handing her a cup of punch. Her expression he could tell, even though she was rather distant from him, was not very happy. He studied young Harrelson. She'd called him Parker. They must have known each other for a while, had possibly grown up together. He frowned, then
was startled by Harmer's hand on his shoulder.

"I didn't know, " he began but was cut off by Harmer.

"Not much to know, Morgan. Parker wants her because she's the prettiest thing in the Colonies. Doesn't care a fig about who she is, what she likes, what she needs. He just wants her."

"I take it, Sir, that fact does not please you?"

"It pleases me not at all. Not at all."

"Is that why...?"

Harmer looked up at the taller Morgan, his face a mask of innocence. "Why...?"

"My coat...the garden?"

Harmer smiled, then looked back across the room at his daughter, his expression changing to one of fatherly concern. "I want only the best for her. That man is not the best." His gaze turned back up to Morgan. "She doesn't dance, you know. Too much moving around in circles on her own. She's afraid she'll bump into people, be some sort of spectacle." He sighed, looking again at Susannah. "Keep that in mind tonight. She doesn't...but she wants to." His eyes settled on Parker, dressed in midnight blue. "But Parker, he likes to dance. He'll be out on the floor with the ladies soon. You'll see." With that, he moved away into the crowd.

Morgan kept to the edge of the ballroom, but moved further along, more toward the end where Susannah sat. Parker had taken a seat to her right, his eyes on the dancers, the fingers of one

hand tapping on his leg in time to the music. Morgan had had no idea of how he expected this evening to go, but it had not involved watching his Susannah sit forlornly beside another man.

Yet, this was that man's home and he was his guest. So he waited, keeping his eyes on them.

Parker knew he'd have to wait till later, till most of the dancing was done, before he could possibly lure Susanna out to the porch and ask her to be his wife. He glanced sideways at her. She was unutterably lovely, yes, she was, and her scent of roses went straight to his groin, making him

shift in his seat. "I don't suppose you'd try a dance with me," he tried as the music stopped for a moment.

"You know how I feel about that, Parker," she said, her voice low. She wasn't quite sure why she even came to occasions like this. She did enjoy the music, though, and the sounds of the others dancing, the sense of excitement in the air.

A rather attractive young brunette stood alone not far away and Parker watched her hips swaying as the music began again. "Would you mind terribly if I...?"

"Go right ahead, Parker," she encouraged. "I don't mind at all." She truly didn't. What was it to her if he danced with another woman?

Parker frowned, wishing it did matter to her. He could see it didn't, though, so he stood and approached the brunette and soon they had turned with the music and disappeared into the

massed dancers.

Morgan smiled, came around the corner of the ballroom, and slid into Parker's vacated chair. "Susannah," he said, lightly touching her arm.

"Morgan! I didn't know where you'd gone!"

"I've been here. I was wondering if you...would you...come outside with me? Now."

"But Papa will...."

Morgan caught sight of Harmer only twenty feet away and Harmer dipped his head and winked

at him. "Your father won't mind. I have that on good authority."  He stood. "Please?"

More than anything she wanted to be in a garden with him again. "Oh, yes!"

Making sure to stay out of Parker's sight, he led her carefully through the crowd to a side door

he'd noticed that opened onto a a patio, paved with brick, with a garden area just beyond.  A tall, neatly-clipped boxwood grew at the edge of the patio and he went behind it, instantly pulling her into his arms, his mouth, warm, finding hers with a kiss that lasted nigh unto breathlessness for them both.  He was aware of her breasts pressed against his chest and he felt himself responding

to it, felt himself filling with such an aching need of her that he trembled under the strength of its onslaught. He knew he should step away, but he couldn't, so he stood there and ached and held

her pressed against the length of himself, his heart pounding, and kissed her again and again.

Marshall cleared his throat as Eden finished reading aloud what she'd just written. "I'm not sure I can stand much more like that and not grab you up and and run to our bed. Just hearing you read that makes me...ache."

"It does? Oh, good!" She began typing again.

"You are a cruel woman," he sighed. "I hope you know that."

"Oh, I do, I do!" she chuckled. "But I fully intend to do something about that ache in just a minute."

"A short minute?"

"Maybe 56 seconds," she replied, her fingers still flying over the keyboard.

He sighed dramatically and she let out a full-blown laugh. "I love you, Sinclair."

"Prove it."

"56 seconds. Come on, jump in with Susannah."

"All I want to do is jump in with you."

Susannah could barely stand. The rush of feelings through her had turned her legs to jelly and it was only his arms about her that kept her upright. "Oh, Morgan," she gasped when his lips moved to her neck. "I...I...." There were no words. Her mouth found his forehead and she kissed her
way across it.

"I'm getting really uncomfortable here," Marshall said, his voice rather hoarse.

"Hang in there. We're almost done."

Without conscious thought, his hands had begun to fumble with the laces at the back of her dress. Suddenly he became aware of what he was doing and dropped his arms to his side. "Oh, God, Susannah...I...I...."  He had nearly lost control of himself and he turned away, his face pressed into the tall boxwood. When her hand slid down the length of his back, he moaned audibly, knowing they must go back inside or else he would....

"Uhhhhhh!" Marshall echoed Morgan's moan.

"Now, now," Eden said. "He's resisting."

"This is just the second time he's been with her. I'm your husband. I don't have to resist."

The orchestra began a new piece, the music wafting out onto the patio. Perhaps? "Susannah," he said, turning to face her, "give me your hand."

Her brain felt entirely fogged by what was going on in her body. "Wh...what?"

"Your hand," he repeated, reaching to take it though she hadn't lifted it. "Come."  He led her

back on to the bricks. Yes. He wanted to remain with her but knew he had to stop kissing her. "Listen," he said, and she cocked her head, aware again of the music.

It was a minuet and ordinarily he would have had to let go of her hand, only returning his to hers from time to time, but he adjusted the steps, keeping hers always in his.

Susannah knew the basic steps of the dance. Her father had led her through them more than once in their wide entryway, but it was never something she would engage in in public, not with all the other dancers moving so closely nearby. She hesitated.

"It's all right," Morgan whispered. "It is but you and I and the music and I will not let go of you nor let you stumble."

For some minutes he guided her in smooth turns and movements and a smile began to curve her lips more and more. She was at a ball and she was...dancing. And not only dancing, but dancing with...him. A small, lilting laugh of joy came from her just as the piece ended and Morgan bowed, pressing his lips to the back of her hand, then just stood there,  filling his eyes, his senses with

the pleasure of her presence.

Parker, finished with the brunette, had been looking for his intended. He circled the ballroom twice, not able to locate her, then noticed the door to the patio was open. Perhaps she'd gone out for a breath of air? He knew she tended to spend an inordinate amount of time in her gardens. Irritated that he must look for her when she should have been in her seat awaiting his return, he walked out onto the bricks, stopping, aghast, when he saw she was, my God, dancing with that Englishman. He watched them a while, his muscles tensing and when he heard her happy little laugh, he ground his teeth. So, that's the way it was, was it? Then the music stopped and the usurper had the gall actually to kiss her hand!  Something in him exploded and his hand found

a buggy whip that had been left lying on a small metal table just outside the door. He curled the fingers of his right hand around its handle, his mouth squared in fury.

Morgan took a few steps back from Susannah because he wanted to see the full length of her.

His back was to the house and her face was bathed in the glow of the lights through the huge windows. "Susannah Wellington," he said, emotion wetting his eyes, "I love you."

Something white hot wrapped itself around his neck, sinking into his flesh, and he was yanked backwards off his feet, his head smacking hard against the bricks. The world tilted and he fell off into whirling blackness.

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