Now she turned her face and he saw a flash of desperate pain. She covered it, but there it had been, plain as the brightest sunny day.
“And you know even less,” she muttered, and turned as if she would leave. “You owe me no explanation, Morgan—Mr. Banfield. I will leave you to whatever troubles you.”
She took a step toward the door and he found himself lunging after her, reluctant to allow her to walk away. If she did, she would never come back. She’d convince herself to never, ever come back.
“My mother was a courtesan,” he said, the words feeling heavy as they exited his lips.
She pivoted to face him, her eyes wide. “I see.”
“Everyone saw,” he spat. “She was one of the most celebrated women of her generation. A shining jewel in the crown of any man who paid for the benefit of her company. She was the best, and that is why the last Duke of Roseford wanted her so badly. To stake a claim on what everyone else desired.” He glanced at Elizabeth and those wide eyes. “You must think very little of a woman like her.”
She drew back with a shake of her head. “No. I am not of that world, so it’s difficult for me to picture her life. But it’s not hard to imagine the choices she likely had to make. How a woman would end up in circumstances such as the one you describe and would make the best with what she had. You may think you see, but you don’t know me, Mr. Banfield. I would never judge her or any other person for what they did to survive.”
He stared at her, shocked by the acceptance she offered. There were few of her rank who would do so. Even the men who had drooled all over his mother would have spat on her if she dared enter their hallowed halls. His father included.
“I apologize for judging you,” he said softly. “I simply wouldn’t have assumed a lady of your background would take such a view.”
She swiftly cast her glance away. “Demons, sir. You already spoke of them.” She didn’t allow him an opportunity to press her on that. “Is she still with us?”
“My mother?” he asked, and his throat got suddenly dry. “No. She died six years ago.”
Her expression softened. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I.”
“How?”
“Consumption, they say,” he said with a shake of his head. “But it wasn’t that. She died of a broken heart, courtesy of my father. That man claimed things of beauty and then crushed them so no one else would get a chance to enjoy them. She was part of that. When he left her, she never recovered. I watched her wither for decades. His name was the last on her lips when she left this earth.”
“Oh, Morgan,” she whispered, and now she moved closer again. The soft scent of her skin wafted up to tickle his nose as she closed her fingers around his forearm. Orange blossom.
He stared down into that beautiful upturned face. “I learned a great deal from her,” he whispered. “To watch people. To read them. Those skills have kept me one step ahead a great many times. They’ve kept me safe.”
Her lips parted slightly, and then she tightened her hand on his arm. “You are safe here.”
“Am I?” he whispered, and he could no longer resist the desire to do something very foolish. Very dangerous. He reached out a hand and traced his fingers along the gentle line of her jaw. The need to touch her was just too powerful to deny. The need to take a tiny piece of this pure, lovely thing that he didn’t deserve.
“Morgan,” she whispered, his name a warning and a prayer and a question all at once.
He leaned in, the room blurring around them as all there was became her. He waited for her to step away, to tell him no. But she didn’t. She didn’t even as his breath stirred her lips.
She didn’t when he claimed her mouth at last.
Morgan was kissing her and it was…so, so lovely. She was mesmerized by the soft brush of his whiskers against her chin, the pressure of his firm lips, the faint taste of whiskey and mint that flowed into her as he parted his lips and traced the crease of her mouth with the tip of his tongue.
She opened. She knew how this dance was danced. But this was very different than it had been all those years ago. Or at least, she had remembered it differently.
Aaron’s kisses had been insistent, wet, sometimes a little painful with their force. But Morgan…he was something different. He didn’t claim. He could have, of course. He was far bigger than she, far more experienced, despite her past. He could have had her on her back on the carpet without even losing breath if he wanted to.
But he seemed in no hurry to do anything but just…taste her. That’s what he was doing, after all. Leisurely exploring her mouth with his tongue, swirling and sucking and washing her away on a very gentle current.
She clung tighter to his forearms, trying to find purchase in the tide. The world was turning, burning, and there was an ache deep inside of her for something more. More and more of his mouth and his arms as they gently wrapped around her and molded her firmly against his chest. She felt the accelerating thud of his heartbeat echoing her own, felt the clench of his fingers against her spine as he let out a very soft sound of pleasure and deepened the kiss yet again.
She was about to be lost. She felt it in every fiber of her being. If she didn’t pull away, she would end up making the same mistakes she had all those years ago. Worse mistakes because surely her brother wouldn’t forgive her again. Amelia would look at her with judgment, not love. Lizzie would destroy everything important if she let this happen.
So she pressed her hands flat against his chest and pushed. To her surprise, he released her immediately, opening his arms as he stepped away to give her space and purchase.
He said nothing, simply stared at her from that one long pace away, his expression utterly unreadable. She fought to regain her footing, gripping her hands at her sides as she struggled to slow her breath.
