Chapter Thirteen
“You’re doing it again,” Ambrose said.
White’s was nearly empty the following afternoon, most members either attending to business or sleeping off the previous night’s excesses at such an hour.
Morgan sat in a leather chair near the window, a glass of port untouched on the table beside him, staring out at St. James’s Street but not really seeing it.
He blinked at Ambrose. “Doing what exactly?”
“That thing where you pretend to be present in a conversation while your mind is clearly elsewhere.” Ambrose settled into the chair opposite, his own glass in hand. “You’ve been doing it for weeks now. It’s rather concerning.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re many things, Morgan, but fine is not currently one of them.” Ambrose took a sip of his port, studying his friend over the rim of the glass. “You haven’t cracked a single joke since we sat down. What’s troubling you?”
“Nothing too troubling. Parliamentary matters. Tenant issues. The usual.”
“Liar.”
Morgan shot him a look. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. You may have a silver tongue, but you can’t deceive me.” Ambrose leaned back, crossing one leg over the other. “So, let’s dispense with the pleasantries. What’s the matter?”
For a long moment, Morgan said nothing. Around them, the club was quiet save for the ticking of a clock in the corner and the occasional rustle of a newspaper from one of the other members smoking a fat cigar.
“I kissed her,” Morgan said finally, his voice uncharacteristically low.
Ambrose raised an eyebrow. “Lady Tayham? I thought you were avoiding that particular?—”
“Not Lady Tayham.” Morgan ran a hand through his hair, and he lowered his voice even more to make sure no one else heard.“Miss Graham… Ellie. I kissed her, and I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Silence swallowed him like a snake. He thought telling his best friend would help, but all he felt was more hopeless. Morgan risked a glance at Ambrose, expecting judgment and disapproval.
Instead, his friend simply looked thoughtful and nodded. “I see,” Ambrose said slowly. “And… it was only a kiss?”
“Yes.” Morgan’s throat tightened at the memory of her soft, sweet lips. “Reality reasserted itself, as it always does, before it could… escalate. We both came to our senses.”
“You apologized, I assume?”
“Immediately.”
“And she accepted?”
“She did. We agreed to forget it ever happened,” Morgan laughed bitterly. “Except I can’t. Every time I see her, every time I hear her voice in the hallway, every time I catch even the faintest trace of her in a room, her scent, her…” He broke off, shaking his head. “I’m losing my bloody mind, Ambrose. This is not like me. I’m over my head… I…”
Ambrose sighed, setting down his glass. “Morgan. You’re my closest friend, and I say this with all the affection our friendshipdeserves. This is a terrible idea. You’ve had dalliances in the past, but this is…”
“I know.”
“She’s your employee. A member of your household staff. The power dynamic alone makes any kind of entanglement deeply problematic. Unfair to her in particular…”
“I know.”
“Not to mention the scandal if word got out. A duke involved with his maid? The ton would have a field day.”
“Iknow, Ambrose.” Morgan’s voice was sharper than he intended. He took a breath, forcing himself to calm. “Believe me, I’ve thought of all of this. I’ve listed every reason why pursuing anything with her would be disastrous. I’ve tried to put it out of my mind. And yet…”
“And yet, she’s all you can think about.”
