“I’m aware.”
“Half the women in this room are circling like sharks,” Imogen added, not unkindly. “You do realize that, don’t you?”
Morgan did realize. It was the same at every event, which didn’t usually bother him so. Women smiling at him with calculated interest, mothers pushing their daughters into his path; widows and debutantes alike angling for his attention, his title, his fortune. None of it held any appeal. Not anymore. Not even for a brief distraction.
Surely, he went through the motions of polite conversation, the occasional dance, the requisite charm, but his heart wasn’t in it. His mind kept drifting back to hazel eyes and guarded smiles. To a woman who wanted nothing from him except to be left alone.
“Morgan?”
He blinked.
“Are you all right?” Ambrose asked.
“Fine,” Morgan lied. “Just distracted.”
“Clearly.”
Before Ambrose could press further, a new group approached. A husband and wife, accompanied by a portly gentleman Morgan vaguely recognized as Mr. Dorney, a merchant with high aspirations.
“Your Grace,” Lord Ramersby said, bowing stiffly. “What a pleasure. I have only seen you in passing at other parties. Please allow me to introduce myself and my dear wife, I am Lord Ramersby and this is Lady Ramersby.”
Morgan inclined his head politely. He’d heard of the Ramersbys before, an earl with a fondness for cards and a wife with a fondness for gossip.
“Lord Ramersby. Lady Ramersby.” Morgan turned to the third member of their party. “Mr. Dorney.”
“Your Grace, it’s an honor,” Mr. Dorney said, beaming. “I was just telling Lord Ramersby how much I admire your work in Parliament. Your recent speech on agricultural reform was quite brilliant.”
Morgan murmured something appropriately modest, though he could barely remember the speech in question or what he had even said. The conversation drifted to the usual topics, politics, the weather, the upcoming season.
And then Mr. Dorney said, “I was sorry to hear about Lady Eliza, by the way.”
Morgan’s attention sharpened.
Lady Eliza?
Lord Ramersby coughed awkwardly. Lady Ramersby’s expression froze, her smile becoming brittle, as if it would break at any moment. Morgan was intrigued.
“Yes, well,” Lady Ramersby said quickly. “These things happen. She’s recovering nicely.”
“Recovering?” Mr. Dorney frowned. “I heard she had… disappeared.”
“A ridiculous rumor spread by gossips,” Lady Ramersby complained.
“Oh dear,” Mr. Dorney said. “From what, exactly? She will be all right, won’t she?”
“A fever,” Lady Ramersby said smoothly, though her voice trembled ever so slightly. “Nothing serious, but we thought it best for her to convalesce in the countryside. The air in London can be so oppressive, you understand.”
“Of course, of course.” Mr. Dorney nodded. “Please send her my regards when you write to her.”
“I shall.”
Lady Ramersby’s tone was too smooth, too practiced. Lord Ramersby looked distinctly uncomfortable, his gaze fixed on the floor.
They are lying… but why?
“I see. And where is she staying?”
“With family,” Lord Ramersby interjected quickly. “Distant relatives. In… in the north.”
