“And what is going on here?”
They both jumped at the voice at the library door. They got to their feet at the same time and Elizabeth pivoted to face the intruder. It was the Duke of Brighthollow, along with Donburrow and Robert. All three were staring at the scene before them. Brighthollow looked…concerned.
“Hugh, gracious how late is it?” Elizabeth said as she stepped toward her brother. The guilt she hadn’t displayed after their kiss was written all over her face now.
Morgan didn’t care for the expression.
“Very late,” Brighthollow said with another glance at Morgan. “I’m surprised to find you up. The ladies retired when we returned. The gentlemen were going to have a quick drink before we joined them.”
“Oh, I lost track of time,” Elizabeth said. “I should probably go up, as well.”
She turned back to Morgan and met his eyes. She smiled, and for a moment all he could think about was the intoxicating peaches-and-cream taste of her mouth. The little sigh she’d made when he parted her lips with his tongue. The clench of her fingers against his arms as she reached out for more. Allowed him to take more.
He blinked to clear his mind and returned the smile, though his own felt strained.
“Good evening, Mr. Banfield,” she said. “Thank you for…for the company.”
He inclined his head. “My lady.”
She exited the room, and for a moment everything was silent. The Duke of Brighthollow stood in the door, staring at him, eyes narrowed. Then he cleared his throat. “I think I’ll forgo that drink, lads. I need to speak to Amelia about something before she falls asleep. Good night.”
He pivoted on his heel and marched from the room without another word. Donburrow’s eyes went wide and he motioned his head toward the door. Robert nodded. Morgan sucked in a breath as he and his brother were left alone.
He thought of what Elizabeth had said about his wild streak. He needed to speak to Robert about that. But he wasn’t up for it tonight, not when his entire body felt on edge thanks to Elizabeth. Thanks to his own poor judgment that he refused to regret.
Robert pulled the door shut behind him and leaned back against it. He folded his arms. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
Morgan bent and began gathering up the cards and buttons that proved his evening with Elizabeth. “I won at piquet,” he muttered.
Robert slapped a hand back against the door, and Morgan jerked his gaze up to find his brother shaking his head at him. “What’s happening between you and Lizzie?” Robert clarified.
Morgan sighed. “Nothing. We spent a little time together. Nothing more.”
He expected his brother to rail at him, but Robert merely smiled. “Hmmm. I wonder how many times I said the same thing over the years. I was just spending time with her. It didn’t mean anything. None of it means anything. And then it does.”
Morgan pursed his lips. “It’s vastly annoying to be the brother of a reformed rake, you know.”
Robert snorted out a laugh and the tension in the room bled away a fraction. “Because I can read your intentions? Yes, that’s always troublesome, I agree. I despised it when my friends did it to me over the years. But now I’m going to offer you some advice and you’ll be equally annoyed by that. I only hope you’ll take it.”
Morgan shrugged. “There’s no stopping you. Go ahead.”
Robert pushed off the door and stepped closer. The teasing was gone from his expression. “Tread lightly, Morgan. There are things in this world you cannot trifle with.”
Morgan set his jaw. He hated that his brother was closer to the mark that he should have been. He hated that the advice rang true.
He stepped away and went back to picking up the cards. “Fuck off, Your Grace.”
Robert snorted out a laugh and said nothing else as he left the room. When he was gone, Morgan set the items in his hand down and stared into the fire. As much as he hated to admit it, Robert wasn’t wrong. He was in dangerous waters now.
He’d have to tread extremely lightly from now on.
Chapter 9
Morgan stood at the edge of the area in the garden that had been cleared for the gazebo and watched as the workers staked out the edges of the new building. He ought to have been focused on that work. Focused on the goal at hand and his job as overseer of it.
Instead, his mind kept flitting, insistently and at the most inopportune times, to Lizzie in the library the night before. Lizzie’s lips. Lizzie’s gaze as she stared up at him.
“Mr. Banfield?”
