She looked up. “You are?”
“Terrified, actually.” He set down his own spoon, his expression wry. “I’ve faced down hostile lords in Parliament, negotiated trade agreements with men who wanted to see me fail, and once gave a speech to five hundred people while suffering from the worst hangover of my life. But sitting across from my new wife? This might be the most terrifying thing I’ve ever done.”
Despite herself, Eliza felt a laugh bubble up and escape her throat as she took her napkin to dab at her lips. “The worst hangover of your life? The one where I…”
“The very same.” His eyes crinkled with amusement. “Though I maintain that your storytelling skills made the entire ordeal almost worth it. Almost.”
“You flatter me.”
“And I remember approximately none of it, which is a tragedy.” He leaned back in his chair, his emerald eyes glittering in the light cast from the candelabras. “But I do remember you staying. Making sure I was safe. That meant more than you know.”
Eliza felt some of the tension in her shoulders ease. “You called the water a magic elixir.”
“It tasted like a magic elixir at the time.”
“And you gave a lengthy philosophical discourse on the geometric precision required for toast making.”
Morgan groaned. “Please tell me I didn’t.”
“Oh, you absolutely did.”
“I’m never drinking again.”
“That seems unlikely, Your Grace.”
“Morgan,” he corrected gently. “Just Morgan. At least when we’re alone.”
“Morgan,” she repeated, testing the name on her tongue without the formality of titles between them.
The main course arrived then, roasted chicken with savory root vegetables, and the conversation flowed more easily after that as they consumed more wine. By the time dessert arrived, a delicate lemon tart with a raspberry sauce, Eliza realized she was enjoying herself without stress. Morgan set down his fork and looked at her, his expression growing serious.
“There’s something we should discuss,” he said.
Eliza’s stomach tightened as she set down her wine goblet. “Yes?”
“Not here.” He stood, moving around the table to offer her his hand. “Come with me.”
She took his hand, allowing him to help her to her feet. Her heart was pounding again, fear and anticipation warring in her chest. He led her from the dining room, through the hallways she’d once navigated as a maid, up the grand staircase. Past the guest chambers. Past her new rooms. To his door.
He opened it, gesturing for her to enter first.
“Shall we?”
Eliza stepped into Morgan’s chambers, her breath catching. And waited to see what would happen next.
Chapter Twenty-One
The room was transformed. Candles flickered on every surface, casting warm, golden light that danced across the walls. The harsh brightness of day had been replaced with something softer, more intimate. On a small table near the window sat a bottle of wine and what looked like chocolate truffles arranged on a porcelain plate. It was romantic. Deliberately, carefully romantic. Her heart began to race.
“I asked the staff to prepare a few things,” Morgan said from behind her, closing the door with a soft click. “I thought it might help… ease the evening.”
Eliza turned to face him, her hands twisting together nervously. “It’s beautiful. You didn’t have to go through such trouble. I don’t know what to…”
“I wanted to.” He moved past her toward the table, his movements relaxed despite the tension thrumming in the air between them. “I wanted you to feel comfortable here. This isyour home now, after all. These rooms are as much yours as they are mine.”
Eliza’s gaze drifted around the chamber, taking in details she’d only glimpsed before. The massive bed with its dark blue hangings. The fireplace with its ornate mantle. The wardrobe against the far wall.
The wardrobe.
