“Think nothing of it, Miss Graham.”
Within a few minutes, the mare was secured, and Morgan offered his hand to help Miss Graham into the carriage. She took it briefly, her fingers smooth and delicate, then climbed in andimmediately positioned herself in the far corner, as far from him as the space allowed.
Morgan settled into his own seat, noting the way she kept her gaze fixed firmly on the window, her soft hands folded tightly in her lap.
She is wary. Cautious. Understandable, given the circumstances. Yet there is a lingering confidence underneath I cannot put my finger on, no doubt a result of her remarkable beauty.
The carriage lurched into motion. For a few moments, they rode in silence. Morgan watched her from the corner of his eye, as he could not keep his gaze averted for long.
She was somehow younger than he’d first thought. In her early twenties, perhaps. Her features were delicate, dark blonde locks pinned neatly beneath her bonnet. There was something guarded about her, something that suggested she was used to keeping secrets, though Morgan couldn’t put his finger on how he knew such things about a perfect stranger.
“Tell me, Miss Graham,” Morgan said. “Have you heard much about your perspective employer, the Duke of Kirkhammer?”
She glanced at him, her expression carefully neutral. “I’ve heard of the title.”
“And what do people say about him?”
“I don’t put much stock in gossip, Mr. Sedgewick.” Her tone was polite but firm. “I believe it’s not my place to judge a man I’ve never met.”
Morgan blinked.
That is… unexpected. And refreshing.
“A wise philosophy,” he said, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Not many share it.”
“People enjoy speculation,” she said simply. “It doesn’t mean their speculation is accurate, or interesting.”
Morgan leaned back in his seat, intrigued. “Fair enough. And you? Are you from Sussex originally?”
“No.”
“London?”
“I’ve, erm, spent time there.”
“And before that?”
“Various places. Nowhere of consequence,” she shrugged, yet Morgan could pick the slightest bit of tension on her shoulders.
He raised an eyebrow. She was giving him nothing. Absolutely nothing. And he was hanging on like a fish on a hook.
“You’re not much for conversation, are you, Miss Graham?”
A flicker of something, amusement, perhaps, rose in her high cheekbones. Morgan felt himself drawn to it, like a moth to a flame. “I find it prudent to be cautious when traveling alone, Mr. Sedgewick. Surely you can understand that.”
“I can. Though I assure you, my intentions are entirely honorable.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Her tone was polite, but there was steel beneath it.
A warning. Morgan found himself smirking at her subtle confidence.
“What brought you to seek employment at Kirkhammer Hall?” he asked.
“I need work. The advertisement seemed promising.”
“You’re qualified for domestic service?”
She inhaled slowly and his eyes were drawn down to her generous breasts that heaved beneath her coat. “I’m a quick learner.”
