She said the last word as if it were a curse. Elizabeth ignored that and inclined her head before she turned to Morgan. “Please lead the way, Mr. Banfield.”
He wanted to touch her. God help him, he wanted so desperately to take her arm and allow her to lean on him as they walked away. But he couldn’t offer her that comfort. Their positions were far too disparate and it would surely cause talk. Something he could see now already followed her, though he couldn’t guess why. Elizabeth was so quiet and genteel. Who could possibly whisper about her?
Except everyone kept dancing around the subject of what had happened to her. Something he still didn’t understand. Something hewantedto understand as he guided her into the hallway and down into one of the empty parlors far from the music and dancing and unwanted friends.
The moment they entered the room, she stepped away from him, dragging in deep breaths as he leaned back and quietly shut the door behind them. He watched her as she paced, her hands gripping in and out of fists at her sides.
“Well, Lady Jocelyn is a pleasure,” he said, his tone dry as dust.
It elicited the desired response, for she stopped pacing and pivoted to look at him. She smiled and her shoulders relaxed. “Isn’t she? I’ve known her since we were little girls. As you heard, her grandmother has a home just a short distance from this estate.”
“Ah yes, the beloved grandmother,” Morgan mused. “Her concern for the woman was touching.”
“The worst part is that her grandmother is wonderful. So kind.” She shook her head and for a moment she seemed distracted. “I will have to call on her. Have a basket put together for her comfort.”
Morgan smiled at her easy kindness. “You are a wonder, Elizabeth.”
She blinked and her attention returned to him. “A-a wonder? What do you mean by that?”
“Do you really not know? Can you truly not see what a revelation you are?” Morgan asked. When her expression remained blank, he laughed. “Then allow me to explain. That wretched woman obviously upset you, and I know you don’t want to be at this ball the duchess arranged. And yet you are instantly distracted by checking on the well-being of an acquaintance.”
Elizabeth waved her hand dismissively. “That isn’t remarkable by any means. It’s just caring about another person.”
He stepped closer. “You have been sheltered in your time on this earth if you think that caring about another person isn’t always remarkable.”
He expected her to smile, but instead she backed away. “I’m not sheltered,” she muttered.
His brow wrinkled. The trouble had reentered her face. The same expression he’d seen when that horrible Lady Jocelyn was needling her about not being in London. Like a cornered animal who feared the bite of a predator.
He stared at her, knowing he should make some excuse to walk away. Leave her to her peace. Perhaps send in one of the duchesses or her brother to comfort her because it wasn’t his place.
But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Not when she was standing there with those amazing blue eyes locked on his, her hands worrying and trembling in front of her.
“Why do you hate London?” he whispered.
Those same eyes widened and the fear entered them yet again. “M-Morgan,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “I am not the kind of man who would or could judge you for whatever it is that plagues you. And I…I want to help you, if I can. Perhaps talking about it would help.”
She swallowed. “I don’t know.”
He stepped closer, and at last he let himself reach out to take her hand. She was wearing gloves. So was he. It didn’t matter. Electric awareness still shot through him, making him want things he shouldn’t have.
“Morgan,” she repeated, but her voice trembled with the same desires he felt coursing through his body.
“Why do you look afraid whenever someone talks about gossip?” he pressed. “Why does everyone dance around your past?”
He saw her struggle with the answer he demanded. He saw all that fear and heartbreak and regret she held inside of her flash across her face in an instant.
And then she bent her head. Bent to his will, and he knew what she would say even before she whispered, “Very well. You want to know the truth? Then you’ll have it. And you might regret hearing it as much as I’m certain I’ll regret telling you.”
Chapter 13
Although a great many people knew her secret, mostly kind friends she trusted to her core, Lizzie had only ever spoken of what she had done to two. Hugh, because she’d had to give him some of the information after he’d been forced to chase after her through the night. And Amelia, because she adored her sister-in-law and because it turned out they shared a chapter in the book of Aaron Walters.
Now she stared up into the dark, welcoming gaze of Morgan Banfield and prepared herself to confess again. Perhaps it would be better. Part of Morgan’s interest in her had to do with the fact that he saw her as sheltered and innocent, as opposed to what he’d encountered in his once wild life. But when he knew what she’d done, what she was, perhaps that would end this connection once and for all.
She drew a shaky breath and sank into a chair before the fire. “I met him at one of those assembly soirees here in Brighthollow,” she began.
