Eliza couldn’t help but laugh softly. “She had her moments.”
“What changed your mind? About being a pirate?”
“I grew up. Learned that women aren’t allowed to have adventures. We’re supposed to sit quietly and marry well and produce heirs.” The bitterness crept into her voice before shecould stop it. “We’re supposed to be ornaments and nothing more.”
“You’re not an ornament,” Morgan murmured, his words starting to slur together. “You’re a pirate. A beautiful, mysterious pirate.”
Just as she was about to step back, he let out a small gagging sound followed by a groan.
“Oh,” he said, pressing a hand to his stomach. “That’s… not good.”
Eliza’s eyes widened. She’d helped care for her father on more than one occasion after he’d overindulged, and she recognized the signs. She should have known this was coming.
“Your Grace, do you feel ill?”
“Everything’s spinning a bit,” he admitted, swaying slightly even while seated. “Like I’m on a ship. Are we on a ship?”
“No, Your Grace. You’re in your bedroom.”
“That’s good.’.”
Eliza bit her lip. She couldn’t leave him like this. If he became sick in his sleep, he could choke. And despite everything, despiteall the reasons she should maintain distance, she couldn’t let that happen.
“We need to get you more comfortable,” she said, reaching for his coat then. “Can you help me with this?”
He attempted to shrug out of his coat on the bed, shimmying awkwardly, but his arms seemed to have stopped cooperating with his brain. He flailed a bit, got one arm stuck, and looked at her with such bewildered consternation that she nearly laughed.
“I appear to be trapped,” he said seriously.
“So, I see. Here, let me help.”
She tugged gently at the coat, maneuvering it over his shoulders and down his arms as he wiggled on the bed. Morgan watched her with an expression of deep concentration.
“You’re very good at this,” he observed. “Have you undressed many drunk men?”
Eliza felt her cheeks flame. “No, Your Grace.”
“Good. I’d be quite jealous if that was the case.”
She set his coat aside and reached for his cravat, unwinding the hopelessly tangled linen from around his neck. He tilted his chin up obligingly, still watching her face.
“You have very gentle hands,” he said. “Like… like butterfly wings.”
Eliza pressed her lips together, fighting desperately against the laugh that wanted to escape. “Thank you, Your Grace.”
“I can’t stop looking at your honey eyes,” he said as he inched closer to her, a growing heat roaring between them. “They seem to hold the light of the stars in them, the way they catch the candlelight.”
Lines a rake has said a million times before,she told herself as she continued her work.
“They are just brown, Your Grace… I’m going to remove your waistcoat now.”
“Very well,,” he said quickly, his emerald eyes meeting her gaze, hot and assessing. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Your Grace.’.”
She unbuttoned the garment with fingers that trembled slightly. He tried to help by shrugging, which only went against the way she was working.
“Perhaps just stay still,” she suggested.
