“No,” Brighthollow said, and his sharp tone made Morgan glance at him. The duke had speared him with a focused glare. “Let us discuss the ledgers, shall we?”
Morgan inclined his head, giving over to whatever his employer desired because there was little other choice. But his mind was left to ponder what he’d overheard regarding Elizabeth. That she was in trouble of some kind intrigued him. And even if he shouldn’t, he wanted to find out exactly what kind of trouble it was.
Chapter 8
Silence was Lizzie’s only companion as she took a long stroll down the hallways of the house. The entire party had left for the assembly ball an hour before, and at first she had enjoyed the quiet and peace of only the occasional servant bobbing by and the tick of the clock as she worked on her needlepoint.
The joy of silence had lasted a while. Except in the past quarter of the hour, she had begun to feel…restless. A littlelonely.
But that was ridiculous, of course. She wasn’t lonely. Being alone was a perfectly wonderful state to be in. There was nothing wrong with it.
Which was how she’d found herself walking down the halls toward the library. She’d find a friend in a book, just as she always did. That would quiet the regrets in her mind.
“Not regrets,” she growled at herself through clenched teeth. “I have no regrets. I didn’t want to go to the ball, I didn’t want to exhibit for a passel of people. I wanted to be by myself, and by myself I…”
She trailed off as she entered the library and found Morgan Banfield among the books for the second time since his arrival. He was sitting before the fire, a book in hand, but he looked up as she entered the room. His dark brown gaze swept over her from head to toe before he shut the book with a soft thud. “Good evening, Elizabeth.”
She swallowed hard. “You—you shouldn’t call me that.”
He blinked, almost as if he hadn’t realized he was doing so. Then he pushed to his feet and tossed the book onto the side table. With a shrug, he said, “That’s probably true. But I’ve spent my life not following rules. This transition to doing so isn’t always easy.”
Those words were a stark reminder and Lizzie folded her arms as a shield before her. “Yes. I can see that about you.”
“Directives, though,” he drawled as he came closer by a long step. “Those I’m exceedingly good at. Do you want me to be proper,Elizabeth? Because if you do, I will. But I think perhaps we might be…friends at some point.”
She bent her head. He was testing her. The universe was testing her, it seemed, by sending him here and making him exactly as he was. What she should do, of course, was to set him down and demand he address her properly, whether in private or public. What she should do was walk away from him and find something else to do with her time.
But she didn’t. Because he asked her what she wanted and right now what she wanted flew to the top of her mind, taunting her. She wanted to talk to him. She wanted to hear her name from his lips. She wanted to be…imprudent.
Even though she knew the consequences of such a thing.
“My friends…” She caught her breath. “My friends call me Lizzie…Morgan.”
He arched a brow and a smile tilted his lips. “And is that what you want me to call you? That childhood name?”
She hesitated. She’d been Lizzie so long, she hadn’t really ever thought about it in those terms. “I suppose it is my childhood name. Hugh always called me Lizzie and then everyone else did the same for as long as I can recall.”
“But I don’t think you’re that person anymore,” he said softly.
She tensed because there was a hint of knowledge in his stare. He didn’t guess that—he knew that. How, she wasn’t certain. Was it just because he was so observant or had he heard something? Had he been told something? Her cheeks heated at the thought.
“No,” she said, straightening her shoulders. “I suppose I’m not. Time and experience changes us all.”
“That it does,” he said. “So shall I call you Lizzie like the rest? Or Elizabeth?”
She worried her lip for a moment. How did he do that? How did he just spew a few words and turn her on her head? Demand she look at herself in some new way? It was exceedingly frustrating.
But he was still waiting for an answer to his question, so she squeezed her eyes shut and whispered, “Elizabeth.”
He gave just the hint of a smile, then turned and picked up the book he’d discarded upon her entry. He crossed to the shelf and placed it back where it belonged, and without looking at her said, “Were you looking for something?”
She swallowed. Here was her opportunity to walk away. To lie and say she just saw the light beneath the door or that she didn’t come in for anything.
Only she didn’t. She stepped closer, hating herself for not being able to resist. “A book to pass the time,” she admitted.
He pivoted and speared her with another of those close glances. “Because the others are at the assembly ball,” he said. “And you didn’t go.”
She pursed her lips. He was challenging her, or it felt that way. And she went on the defensive immediately. “I didn’t want to,” she snapped, perhaps more sharply than she had intended to.
