“You will return to your country estate and stay there,” Morgan continued, as though the man hadn’t spoken. “If I ever, and I meanever, see either of you near my wife again, if I hear that you’ve attempted to contact her, manipulate her, or in any way interfere with her life, there will be consequences. Do I make myself clear?”
“Your Grace,” Lord Ramersby spluttered. “You can’t possibly, she’s our only daughter…”
“She is your daughter, whom you tried to sell to a monster to settle your gambling debts. You have forfeited any right to her.” Morgan’s eyes were hard as flint. “Consider yourselves fortunate that I’m paying those debts at all. Many men wouldn’t be so generous.”
Lady Ramersby’s mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air on a sandy shore.
“The wedding is in three days,” Morgan repeated. “Ten o’clock in the morning. Be there. Be civil. And then get out of my sight.”
He crossed to the door and glared, the gesture unmistakable.
“Your Grace, surely we can discuss…”
“Goodnight, Lord Ramersby.”
“Come along, dear,” he muttered to his wife, his shoulders slumped.
Lady Ramersby cast one last look at Eliza, something that might have been regret, or might have been resentment, then followed her husband out without a word.
Morgan closed the door behind them with decisive finality.
He turned back to Eliza, his expression softening as he looked at her eyes. She looked exhausted, overwhelmed, like she might collapse at any moment. Yet she was so beautiful. His future wife.
“You should rest,” he said gently. “Go upstairs to the guest chambers, the blue room, second door on the left. I’ll have someone prepare it properly for you.”
“Your Grace…”
“Morgan,” he corrected quietly. “You’re going to be my wife. You should call me Morgan. Shall it be Ellie, or Eliza?”
“Call me, Eliza,” she said softly as her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t know how to thank you. For everything. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you, Morgan.”
“We’ll talk tomorrow,” Morgan said, cutting off what was surely about to become an emotional outpouring. They’d both had enough emotion for one evening. “Right now, you need sleep. And I need to,” he gestured vaguely toward the door. “I need to salvage what’s left of this disaster of a ball.”
“I’m so sorry,” Eliza whispered. “I never meant for any of this…”
“Tomorrow,” Morgan repeated firmly. “Go. Rest. We’ll sort everything out in the morning.”
Eliza nodded, wiping at her eyes. She moved toward the door, then paused, turning back.
“Morgan?”
“Yes?”
“Thank you. For defending me. For…for all of it.”
He wanted to cross the room, to pull her back into his arms, to promise her that everything would be all right. But he didn’t trust himself to stop at just holding her. Not tonight. Not with emotions running this high, and a ball to tend to.
“You’re welcome,” he said instead.
She’s safe now. She’s mine. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone hurt her ever again.
With that grim determination fortifying him, Morgan Sedgewick, Duke of Kirkhammer, walked back into the ballroom to face the consequences of the most scandalous proposal London society had seen in decades.
Chapter Nineteen
“Just a bit more here, Ellie,” a maid, Sarah, who had worked alongside Eliza just days ago, caught herself, flushing. “I mean, Your Grace. If I could just adjust the veil?”
The wedding dress was beautiful. Eliza stood in front of the mirror in the guest room,herroom for the past three days, and barely recognized herself. The gown was ivory silk with delicate lace sleeves, elegant in its simplicity. Imogen had arranged for it, working some miracle to have it altered to fit Eliza perfectly in less than seventy-two hours.
