He owed her an apology. Another one now. Though at this rate, he was going to run out of ways to apologize for his increasingly ridiculous behavior.
She stayed,a small voice whispered in his mind.
Morgan reached for the water, drinking deeply, trying to wash away both the taste in his mouth and the confusion in his heart.
Chapter Fourteen
Morgan stared at the card in his hand, reading the name for the third time as though it might change.
Arabella.
She was in his drawing room at this very moment, having arrived unannounced, again, with some flimsy excuse about returning a book he’d supposedly lent her. A book he had no memory of lending, which almost certainly didn’t exist. The intelligent thing would be to send her away. Again. But Morgan was tired of being intelligent.
Two days had passed since his spectacularly humiliating display of drunkenness, and he hadn’t been able to look Ellie in the eye since. Every time he saw her in the hallway, he remembered the chair beside his bed. Every time she curtsied and murmured “Your Grace,” he wondered what mortifying confessions he’d slurred in his brandy-addled state.
The distance between them had grown from awkward to unbearable.
Surely, Ambrose was right. Perhaps the solution was to simply… move on. Find a distraction. Arabella was beautiful, willing, and refreshingly uncomplicated. A few nights in her bed might be exactly what he needed to purge Miss Graham from his thoughts.
It was worth a try, at least.
“Tell Lady Fairfax I’ll join her shortly,” Morgan told the footman. “And have refreshments sent to the drawing room.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
Morgan straightened his coat, ran a hand through his hair, and made his way to the drawing room with the grim determination of a man going into battle.
Arabella was posed artfully on the settee, her burgundy gown arranged to show off her figure to best advantage. She looked up as he entered, her smile predatory.
“Morgan, darling. How good of you to see me.”
“Lady Fairfax.” He moved to the chair opposite her rather than sitting beside her, a small act of self-preservation as he assessed the situation. “You mentioned a book?”
“Did I?” She laughed, a calculated sound. “How silly of me. I must have been mistaken.”
“I see.”
“But since I’m here…” She leaned forward slightly, her neckline dipping in a way that was more than intentional. “Perhaps we could continue the conversation we started the other night? Before we were so rudely interrupted.”
Morgan opened his mouth to respond, but a soft knock at the door cut him off.
“Enter,” he called.
The door opened, and Ellie stepped inside, carrying a tray with a decanter of sherry and two glasses. Morgan’s chest tightened.
Ever dutiful, Ellie kept her eyes carefully downcast as she moved into the room, her movements precise and controlled. She set the tray on the low table between Morgan and Arabella, not looking at either of them.
“Will there be anything else, Your Grace?” she asked quietly.
“No, thank you.”
“Wait.” Arabella’s voice cut through the air like a blade. She was staring at her with an intensity that made Morgan’s instincts prickle. “I know you.”
She went very still. “I don’t believe so, my lady.”
“No, I’m certain of it. I never forget a face. It is a talent of mine.” Arabella tilted her head, studying her like a cat studying a mouse. “Where have we met before?”
“We haven’t, my lady. I would remember.”
