“Why?” his brow furrowed.
“Because you’re making this very difficult.”
“Making what difficult?” he swayed towards her, his head tilting down closer to hers, closer than appropriate.
Keeping my distance. Protecting my heart. Remembering why I can never let myself care about you.
“Never mind that. You need to rest, Your Grace,” She said instead, and gently guided him down the corridor.
They made their way to his chambers and mercifully, they didn’t encounter any other servants. Eliza managed to get the door open. The room beyond was large and masculine, all dark wood and deep colors, just as she remembered. But seeing it at night, with him so close to her, and the massive four-poster bed dominating the space…
I need to get out of here as soon as possible.
“Here we are,” Eliza said, guiding him toward the bed and remembering her mission. “Sit down before you fall down.”
He obeyed, sitting heavily on the edge of the mattress. He looked up at her, his emerald eyes warm despite their glassiness.
“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly.
“For what?”
“For kissing you. For avoiding you. For calling you nothing when Arabella was here.” His expression turned almost pained. “You’re not nothing, Ellie. You’re… you’re in my thoughts, in my dreams….”
Eliza shook her head. “You’re drunk. You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Maybe. But I mean it anyway.” He reached out, his fingers brushing against hers. “Stay. Just for a minute.”
“I can’t.”
“Please?”
The word was so soft, so plaintive, that it broke something in her chest. She had wanted a friend, she had been so lonely since she lost…
I cannot think of that now.
“Just until you fall asleep,” she heard herself say. “Then I’m leaving.”
Morgan smiled, a genuine, unguarded smile that transformed his entire face. “You’re wonderful.”
He laid back on the bed, not bothering to remove his boots or coat. Eliza knew she should probably help him undress, at least to make him more comfortable, but that felt far too intimate. Too dangerous. Instead, she perched carefully on the edge of the bed, keeping a safe distance.
“Tell me something,” Morgan said sleepily. “Something true.”
“Like what?”
“Anything. I just want to hear your voice.”
Eliza thought for a moment. “When I was a little girl, I wanted to be a pirate.”
Morgan’s eyes had closed, but he smiled. “A pirate?”
“I read a book about Anne Bonny and Mary Read. Female pirates who sailed the Caribbean. I was completely entranced by their stories.” She found herself relaxing slightly, the familiar rhythm of storytelling calming her. “I used to pretend our garden was a ship, and I’d command my imaginary crew on grand adventures.”
“That’s adorable.”
“My mother was horrified.”
“She sounds terrible.”
