Cachet by Shannah Biondine

love with me. Please don't be angry. You didn't finish your tea."
    Morgan knew he should just leave, but when he glanced back at her and saw her eyes huge in the firelight, pleading with him, he was lost. She was so beautiful in that gown of crimson. He wanted so much...but he couldn't caress her as he wanted. Not just yet. Having her beside him in his own parlor while he drank his tea was a good start. He couldn't be greedy. He had to slow down, force himself to wait.
    He returned to the settee and took up his teacup. As he suspected, she eased beside him and sat watching as he took another sip. She stared at his right hand a moment, then her fingertip traced around the oval of gold on his finger. "I'm so glad you got this signet back. It's beautiful." Her eyes moved to his face. "I know how much it means. It's all you have left of your family."
    "That...my inn, and this house." Rachel heard a hollow sadness in his voice. For a second, it touched his eyes. Then it was gone.
    Rachel found a lump forming, tightening her throat. She knew only too well how it felt to be homesick. "Don't you miss this house, Morgan? I couldn't put strangers in my family home and spend nights in a hotel. I'd hate that. I don't know how you stand it."
    "Are you suggesting I spend my nights here?"
    "You know I didn't mean that. I won't become your mistress, Morgan. You're an influential man in this district and you might be very generous, but—"
    "I would be," he corrected.
    She shook her head. "I'd rather clerk for a decade and buy this house from you than allow you keep me in it."
    He set the empty cup on the table and stretched his arm across the back of the sofa. "You've every reason to take pride in earning your own wages. You understand figures and trade as well as most men. Are you also perchance a horsewoman, Colonial?"
    "Why, are you giving the cottage as top prize in an equestrian competition?"
    His laughter echoed off the walls. "I was thinking of a ride Sunday afternoon. See the countryside, our warehouse, the granary. Might prove educational for you."
    "I can ride, yes."
    "Good." His arm dropped to her shoulder and he pulled her close. "You do look lovely tonight, Rachel."
    "And you look…" Her voice trailed off as she studied his face. "I've often wondered how you manage to stay so tanned in a country where no one ever sees the sun. Boyd and the other men look so pale."
    "My mother was European. I got her coloring. Where did you get all the gorgeous dark hair?" He pulled the snood and pins from her tresses, destroying in two minutes what it had taken her hours to design. Her hair tumbled around his hand as it stroked the nape of her neck.
    "The women on my mother's side all have chestnut or auburn hair. It's nothing special."
    "You're wrong," he murmured, using his hand to guide her face closer to his. "Your hair was one of the first things I noticed about you." Her eyes closed as he kissed her. "That and your natural insolence." Her eyes flew open. She saw the amusement on his face. "How anyone can address me politely as 'sir' and sound so mocking as she does it is beyond my ken."
    It was her turn to laugh. "Emily calls you that. So do quite a few of the men."
    He embraced her tightly. "I don't have dreams about them in my arms," he replied in a husky voice. He gave her another long kiss. "And now I'd best say farewell, before I forget that dreams are all I'm allowed. At least for the time being."
     
    Chapter 8
     
    The big charcoal stallion affectionately nuzzled Morgan's shoulder. "He's beautiful, Morgan," Rachel announced, wrinkling her nose. The livery stable had a familiar smell she'd almost forgotten. Once she'd become immune to the pervasive odor of horse manure. An ocean away and a lifetime ago.
    Morgan tightened the stallion's leather cinch. "His name is Phantom. His sire was the first asset I ever purchased with my own wages." He ran a hand along Phantom's neck. "I haven't always been independent, Rachel. I do recall what