He smiled. “They are very attached, aren’t they? All these couples so powerfully connected is uncommon, I think, in your class.”
Elizabeth worried her lip a fraction, which of course drew Morgan’s attention to it. A very full lower lip, indeed, when she wasn’t pursing it flat. A kissable set of lips, to be sure.
“I suppose it is uncommon,” she said slowly. “And yet all my brother’s friends have found such a harmony in their marriages. It’s lovely for them. No one should be anything but happy, for they all worked hard to earn their happiness.”
“No one should be,” he said, focusing on that careful turn of phrase. “But I suppose being surrounded by people so desperately in love can be…challenging.”
“When you are alone?” she said softly. “When you will always be alone? Yes.”
The moment she said the words, her gaze snapped up to his. Filled with terror, filled with regret. She lifted a hand to her lips as she stared at him. Then she cleared her throat and whispered, “I ought not to have said that. Not to anyone, especially not to you.”
His brow wrinkled at that last bit. Why especially not to him? He wanted to ask her, but then he saw the tears glittering in her eyes. He saw her true, powerful discomfort. And he couldn’t bring her more of that. He couldn’t prove himself as untrustworthy as she apparently believed him to be upon first glance.
“Would you like to talk about the garden instead of this topic?” he asked.
Her hand lowered and she stared at him a beat. Then she nodded. “That would be best.”
“It was your mother’s project, yes?”
She seemed to be struggling to gather herself. “Yes. She was not the kind to be satisfied with just hosting parties and managing the household. She liked a project and the garden was hers.” A shadow of a smile tilted her lips, and Morgan caught his breath. She was even lovelier when she wasn’t bracing for some unknown attack.
“She is not still with you?” he asked.
She bent her head. “No. She died long ago and the garden fell to the wayside. But I found her plans not that long ago, Mr. Banfield. I wish to execute her vision.”
He nodded slowly. Here he’d thought they were just talking about planting a few shrubs or clearing a space for a fountain. What Elizabeth actually wanted was far more personal.
“Why don’t we meet in the morning and walk through your garden?” Morgan asked. “I’ll better understand your wishes if we are standing in the middle of the space. Bring those plans if you can, so we can review them. Afterward we can talk more about it.”
She stared up at him, holding his gaze like she was trying to determine something about him. Finally she said, “Very well. I rise earlier than the household. Shall we say eight?”
Morgan flinched. His life in London often had him lounging abed until luncheon. But he supposed those days were over if he were going to take on the duties of a man of affairs. He might as well start getting used to it.
“Eight o’clock in the garden,” he repeated.
She worried her lip and then began to edge away from him, tiny side steps. “I should—I should rejoin the party. Until tomorrow, Mr. Banfield.”
“Until tomorrow, Lady Elizabeth.”
He watched her go, her hands shaking as she walked away. She slid up beside the Duchess of Brighthollow, almost hiding behind her and Katherine, but not really participating in their conversation. But Morgan felt her eyes move to him from time to time.
He felt her watching. And he wondered what would happen when they were well and truly alone together.
Chapter 6
Lizzie stepped down from the terrace steps into the garden and drew in a deep breath of the clean air around her. She loved the smell of her mother’s garden, she always had. It was roses and honeysuckle, wet green leaves and earthy soil. The scents she always associated with a woman long gone, but never forgotten. Now when she took them in, tears pricked her eyes.
But she was not going to let Morgan Banfield see that moment of vulnerability, so she blinked the tears away, pushed her shoulders back and took a few steps down the path into the garden. She looked around for him, peering around bushes and into nooks and crannies, but he was nowhere to be found.
She huffed out a breath. “Probably lazing around like the true rake he is,” she muttered as she moved toward a flat stone bench beside her favorite statue in the garden. She smoothed the wrinkles from the folded plans and then stepped back to look over them.
“You are very serious.”
She jumped at the deep voice right at her elbow and pivoted to find Morgan standing there, looking down at her. He was informal in another white shirt rolled to the elbows and a black waistcoat. His beard was neatly trimmed and it looked soft this close, like it would feel good against bare skin.
She blinked and took a step away from him. “You startled me,” she gasped, trying to find breath when there seemed to be none left.
He smiled and her heart stuttered even though she knew it shouldn’t. He had a truly lovely smile because it felt so genuine and warm. Like it pulled her in. She didn’t want to be pulled in. Being pulled in was dangerous, as dangerous as noting that woodsy smell of him or the fact that his warmth curled around her when he stood so near to her.
