His chest filled with pride that a few little words from him could do that. It felt like the greatest accomplishment of his life.
“You’re right, of course,” she whispered. “When you say it, I can picture it perfectly. That past that should have been, that future that would have been. And I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to bring a tiny bit of myself into whatever we do here.”
“I think it would be wonderful,” he corrected her.
She turned into him, and suddenly they were chest to chest. Her upturned face was such a temptation, and he fought to keep himself from taking her lips yet again. He had almost won the battle when she lifted on her tiptoes and wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. She drew him down and this time she was the one who pressed her lips to his.
Morgan was a strong man. He’d fought to be so out of necessity. But in this moment, he had no way to battle this woman. He let his breath out in a harsh sigh and surrendered to the gentle insistence of her tongue as she darted it against his lips. The kiss deepened and his entire body pulsed with growing need for her.
This was only getting more desperate now, this desire to be near her, to touch her. It couldn’t end well. And he didn’t give a damn. Not when she was kissing him.
She stepped away with a blush, and the spell over him faded. It was reckless to let this happen, of course. To keep kissing her in the bright light of day in the garden where anyone watching from the house could see. It was going to get him sacked at best. Called out to duel at worst, and he had to assume Brighthollow was a good shot. Men like him always were.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “You helped.”
His resistance faded at that simple phrase. He didn’t think he’d helped very many people in his life. Hurt some, certainly. The note in his pocket proved that. But helped?
He swallowed back the strong reaction he hadn’t expected and offered her his elbow. “Of course. Now, what do you think of going over those plans again? Perhaps we can see where we might put a bit of you.”
She hesitated a moment but then slid her hand into the crook of his elbow. “Do you know those tall bushes on the east lawn?” she suggested.
“Yes.”
“What do you think about trimming them into the shape of animals?”
He glanced down at her with a laugh as they headed toward the house and her study where she kept the plans for the garden. “Animals.”
“You know, little bunnies. Cats.”
“Foxes,” he suggested.
“Oh, to stalk the others!” she said with a giggle that warmed his heart in a way he shouldn’t have allowed.
“I like the way you think,” he said.
They were about to head up the stairs toward the terrace above when Brighthollow started down toward them. Elizabeth slid her hand from Morgan’s arm as she stared up at her utterly unreadable brother.
“Oh, Hugh,” she said, and Morgan heard the tension in her voice. She was obviously worrying over the same thing he was. Had they been seen?
“Lizzie,” Brighthollow said, and arched a brow down at Morgan as he stopped in the middle of the staircase. “Might I have a word with you?”
She swallowed. “Of course. I’ll join you.”
She hurried up to her brother and took his arm. At the top of the stairs, she glanced back at Morgan. Her blue eyes were wide, not fearful, but concerned. And lovely. And he couldn’t help but watch as long as she was still in view.
But once she was gone, he shook his head with a curse. He was in a lot of trouble. Not because Brighthollow might sack him, but because the connection he felt toward Elizabeth Margolis was not going to lead to anything good, that was for certain. And he hated the idea of it leading to something bad.
Chapter 10
Lizzie stepped into her brother’s study. They parted and he crossed to the sideboard to pour himself a drink, while her throat closed with anxiety. And so she filled the uncomfortable space between them by talking.
“Did you see the gazebo staring to go up?” she asked. “It’s almost entirely framed out—I wasn’t expecting that to happen so soon. I think we should paint it, what do you think?”
“Lizzie,” Hugh said softly.
She pretended not to hear him. “Or perhaps let the natural color of that pretty wood remain? And a table inside, do you think? Or benches around the perimeter? It’s so hard to say. Mother only sketched in the gazebo’s placement, so I suppose this is a way to put me into the garden.”
“Lizzie,” he said a second time, and this time he stepped toward her so she couldn’t pretend not to see his concern or hear it in his voice.
