The Love of a Libertine: The Duke’s Bastards Book 1

by Jess Michaels

  But now things were different. She knew exactly what Morgan Banfield was. She wouldn’t be fooled by any costume he put on or game he played. Unlike all those years ago, she would be stronger. More distant. It would be a good test, at any rate, wouldn’t it? After all, she was expected to marry at some point. She wanted to be a mother, and that was how it happened. This would be practice for exposing herself to a man who would try to flirt with her. Practice for keeping herself distant from whatever he pretended to want.

  “Well,” she said with a small shrug that didn’t reflect how difficult all this was to her. “Perhaps. His input couldn’t hurt, at any rate, and it will help him learn about the property.”

  Amelia stared at her, and there was no mistaking her surprise that Lizzie had capitulated to the request. She tried not to let her feelings be hurt by that expression and smiled at her sister-in-law.

  “That would be very kind of you,” Katherine said. “Thank you, Lizzie.”

  “I’ll speak to Hugh,” Amelia said. “Before supper. And since Mr. Banfield will be joining us for our meal tonight, perhaps you’ll find a chance to speak to him about it yourself.”

  Lizzie nodded, but was pleased when Amelia retook her place on the settee and she and Charlotte started talking about a book they’d both recently read. Now that the attention of the room was no longer focused on her, she almost sagged with the effort this conversation had required.

  Had she truly agreed to spend extra time with Morgan Banfield? In the guise of helping him, of all things? Perhaps it would all work out and nothing bad would come of it. But she couldn’t help but believe she was making a terrible mistake.

  And she could only hope it wouldn’t be the kind that left a permanent scar.

  Chapter 5

  Morgan sat at the end of the long dining table, smoothing his fingers along the heavy fabric of the napkin in his lap. This was his third night in the service of the Duke of Brighthollow, but the first time he had been asked to join the family for supper. He had no doubt it was thanks to his brother, for Roseford sat across from him with Katherine at his side. On his opposite side was the Duke of Donburrow. The infamous Silent Duke signed his words and his wife, Charlotte, translated the hand language he’d been told they’d shared since childhood.

  It was a fascinating thing to watch them move as such a unit. Morgan had already begun to pick up on a few of the words here and there, and he practiced signing them in his lap below the table. He had little else to do, in truth. After all, he was invited to sup with them, but he didn’t belong in their circle. He was an outsider.

  He stood at the glass in the cold, watching as his brother and his friends laughed and joked and exchanged stories. They were a family, more so than he and Robert had ever been.

  His gaze slid down the table. On the far opposite side sat Elizabeth. She was part of the family, certainly. Seated beside the Duke of Brighthollow, she often laughed at her brother’s jokes or smiled warmly at his friends. But there were times when he could see her join him on the fringes of their circle. Times when he watched her shrink into herself a little, as if she were trying to disappear.

  She glanced down at him as if she noted his attention to her. When she saw he was staring, her cheeks filled with pink color and she dropped her eyes to her nearly empty plate and fidgeted with her silverware.

  He made her nervous. Interesting.

  Of course he had to remind himself, yet again, that Lady Elizabeth was not his type. She was too quiet, too shy, too innocent. He didn’t run around destroying the futures of those who were untouched, it wasn’t his nature. So he couldn’t let his boredom and lack of comfort in his new place in the world alter his goals and the rules by which he lived.

  Elizabeth was out of reach. That was the end of the story.

  “I hear the topic of the garden came up today,” Brighthollow said as the final course was placed in front of each guest.

  Nuts and dried fruit, sprinkled across a vanilla-flavored ice cream. The dessert was all the rage at present, and difficult to come by, so to have it was a casual example of how beautifully managed and well-funded this estate was.

  And now Brighthollow wished to hand over that managing to Morgan. And not for the first time, Morgan wondered if he was the kind of man who wanted to take care of checking the icehouse to be certain it could provide ice cream for a party of eight.

  “—and since Mr. Banfield already offered to help her, we thought that might be the best opportunity,” the Duchess of Brighthollow was saying.

  Morgan jolted as he realized he’d been dragged into the very circle where he’d claimed to himself that he didn’t belong. He looked around the table to see if he could glean the particulars of the conversation. They’d brought up the garden, of all things. And that he should help someone. The only her he’d offered to assist was Elizabeth, in their truncated encounter in the library days before.

  He glanced over to find her eyeing him from the corner of her eye with an almost guilty expression. “I would certainly be happy to help Lady Elizabeth with her garden project if she’d like the assistance,” he drawled, holding his gaze on her until she was forced to acknowledge him with a slight nod.

  “Th-thank you,” she said, her voice only barely carrying down the long table.

  “I will find you when the gentlemen rejoin the ladies and we can discuss what it is you need,” he added.

  She nodded and her eyes moved away, while her cheeks were suddenly pink. He would have smiled at creating that pretty blush, but for the fact that when he stopped looking at her, he realized her brother was watching him closely. Brighthollow was not an easy man to read. It took effort generally, but in that moment there was no work required to see his concern.

  Blast, Morgan would have to be more careful. Playing around was one thing, but getting sacked less than a week into this odd venture was another entirely.

  For a short time, conversation was drawn away and then the dessert plates were cleared. As Elizabeth got up, Morgan noticed her briefly glance his way again before she took Amelia’s arm and the two strolled out of the dining room together, down toward the parlor where the ladies would have their sherry.

  The men separated off in another direction, toward the billiard room and port. Robert found his way to walk side by side with Donburrow, which left Morgan with his employer. Brighthollow moved with a quick, purposeful gait toward the billiard room, his gaze straight ahead.

  “Lizzie’s garden is very important to her,” he said as they neared the room.

  Morgan pressed his lips together. The tone made it clear that Brighthollow was warning him. “Yes, I get that sense,” he said, keeping his tone carefully neutral as he tried not to picture bright blue eyes and blushing cheeks.

  “I will advise you to be careful with my sister,” Brighthollow added as they entered the room together. “She is not to be trifled with.”

  Morgan wrinkled his brow at the choice of words, at the deep concern on Brighthollow’s face. But before he could pursue the topic further, Robert crossed to them with his own concerned expression. “Is there a problem?” he asked.

  Morgan fought not to roll his eyes at the protective instinct in his brother. “No. His Grace and I were just talking.”

  “I was only reiterating how seriously I expect Mr. Banfield to take his duties,” Hugh said, his gaze holding Morgan’s.

  “Of course he will,” Robert said, and now his eyes shifted to Morgan, too. Two dukes, staring him down, their messages dueling across their faces. He would have laughed if he didn’t want to shrug off the shackles created by both and simply run into the night.

  “Don’t let me keep either of you from your port,” he said, motioning toward the sideboard where the bottle had been left out by some helpful servant.

  Robert looked like he would argue, but Brighthollow caught his arm and the two ended up chuckling as they crossed to pour drinks and set up the billiard table. Morgan let out a long breath as he was finally left al
one to his own devices.

  But not for long. The Duke of Donburrow edged up to him, a small silver notebook in his hand. They are an intense pair, he wrote in a neat, even hand.

  Morgan read the message and smiled as he used one of the signs he’d picked up from watching Donburrow and his wife interact. “Yes.”

  Donburrow’s eyes went wide and his smile broadened. Not many pick up our language. Only our children thus far.

  “Well, I’m observant,” Morgan said with a chuckle.

  I can see you are that, Donburrow conceded, and he leaned back to examine Morgan a bit closer. Unlike when his brother or Brighthollow did it, Morgan felt no discomfort at Donburrow’s observation. Though he did wonder what the other man saw, for he had fewer tells than even Brighthollow.

  Don’t let them scare you off, he wrote.

  Morgan looked at his employer and his brother, standing by the billiard table, heads together as they seemed to be involved in serious conversation. Robert cast his gaze toward Morgan and his lips thinned slightly.

  Morgan gritted his teeth and, mixing in sign, he said, “I’m not afraid of anyone.”

  Donburrow nodded slowly and wrote, Come, let’s play a game, shall we?

  Robert had racked the balls, and Donburrow and Morgan joined them. They paired off, he and Donburrow against Robert and Brighthollow. For a while, Morgan forgot his worries and simply focused on a game he was very good at. When their team bested his scowling brother’s, he couldn’t help the grin of triumph that tilted his lips.

  “You owe me a rematch,” Robert muttered. “But for now, I say we rejoin the ladies.”

  All three dukes seemed vastly pleased to rejoin their wives. Another interesting tidbit, since Morgan knew so many men who would do anything to avoid their spouse. But the dukes were all in love, just as it was rumored all over London. Somehow that knowledge made Morgan uncomfortable.

  They entered the parlor where the ladies were gathered together. The three duchesses were giggling over something by the fire and Elizabeth stood alone by the window, staring out into the very garden she wanted help from Morgan with. As the other men moved to their wives, Morgan edged toward her. She wasn’t paying attention and didn’t note his approach.

  Which gave him a moment to observe her. She was truly lovely. Her face was the kind ships had been launched for in long ago pasts. The kind painted as a great beauty, no matter the era, in which she was found. And yet her full lips were pressed together in an expression of displeasure. There was tension to her shoulders, to her back, like she was always waiting for something bad to happen.

  He knew that kind of tightly sprung apprehension—he’d seen it before, he’d felt it before. It almost always accompanied a past where the bad thing had already occurred. Where one was waiting for it all to come crashing down again.

  So what had happened to Lady Elizabeth? What could have happened to a lady so sheltered and obviously loved by her close-knit family?

  She pivoted to face him, and her gaze flitted over him from the top of his head to the toes of his boots. She swallowed hard and her pupils dilated ever so slightly. His body reacted to the look, though he didn’t want it to do so. He knew that look too. It was another expression he hadn’t expected on the face of such a lovely innocent.

  Desire.

  But then it was gone, and her mouth went tight again and her shoulders pushed back. “Is it your habit to sneak up on people, Mr. Banfield?”

  He shrugged as he joined her to look out the window, being careful not to push too much into her space. For both their sakes. “I didn’t think I was sneaking. The three dukes came into the room with such a clatter in their hurry to find their wives that I assumed you must have been alerted to our presence. And where else would I go but to you?”

  She let out a tiny gasp and pivoted to face him again. “Why would you come to me?”

  Her hands were shaking. It was such a strong reaction that Morgan actually took a step away from her. “The garden, my lady,” he said, gentling his tone. “At supper I said I would come to discuss it with you after the party reformed.”

  That same pretty blush entered her cheeks again, but this time he thought it was for a different cause. Embarrassment. And he found he didn’t like it quite so much when it was linked to pain and not to being merely flustered.

  “Of course,” Elizabeth breathed. “How silly of me.”

  “Not silly,” he reassured her quietly, and found himself wanting to touch her arm in comfort. His fingers flexed at his sides the desire was so strong, but he didn’t do it. He had no right, after all. He had no place.

  Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. The dukes and duchesses had paired off as couples. Every single one of them looked to be in intimate conversation, as if they had been separated for days rather than less than an hour for drinks and billiards. Her lips pursed again and she refocused on Morgan. “I suppose now is as good a time to discuss it, given the distraction of the other guests.”

  He smiled. “They are very attached, aren’t they? All these couples so powerfully connected is uncommon, I think, in your class.”

  Elizabeth worried her lip a fraction, which of course drew Morgan’s attention to it. A very full lower lip, indeed, when she wasn’t pursing it flat. A kissable set of lips, to be sure.

  “I suppose it is uncommon,” she said slowly. “And yet all my brother’s friends have found such a harmony in their marriages. It’s lovely for them. No one should be anything but happy, for they all worked hard to earn their happiness.”

  “No one should be,” he said, focusing on that careful turn of phrase. “But I suppose being surrounded by people so desperately in love can be…challenging.”

  “When you are alone?” she said softly. “When you will always be alone? Yes.”

  The moment she said the words, her gaze snapped up to his. Filled with terror, filled with regret. She lifted a hand to her lips as she stared at him. Then she cleared her throat and whispered, “I ought not to have said that. Not to anyone, especially not to you.”

  His brow wrinkled at that last bit. Why especially not to him? He wanted to ask her, but then he saw the tears glittering in her eyes. He saw her true, powerful discomfort. And he couldn’t bring her more of that. He couldn’t prove himself as untrustworthy as she apparently believed him to be upon first glance.

  “Would you like to talk about the garden instead of this topic?” he asked.

  Her hand lowered and she stared at him a beat. Then she nodded. “That would be best.”

  “It was your mother’s project, yes?”

  She seemed to be struggling to gather herself. “Yes. She was not the kind to be satisfied with just hosting parties and managing the household. She liked a project and the garden was hers.” A shadow of a smile tilted her lips, and Morgan caught his breath. She was even lovelier when she wasn’t bracing for some unknown attack.

  “She is not still with you?” he asked.

  She bent her head. “No. She died long ago and the garden fell to the wayside. But I found her plans not that long ago, Mr. Banfield. I wish to execute her vision.”

  He nodded slowly. Here he’d thought they were just talking about planting a few shrubs or clearing a space for a fountain. What Elizabeth actually wanted was far more personal.

  “Why don’t we meet in the morning and walk through your garden?” Morgan asked. “I’ll better understand your wishes if we are standing in the middle of the space. Bring those plans if you can, so we can review them. Afterward we can talk more about it.”

  She stared up at him, holding his gaze like she was trying to determine something about him. Finally she said, “Very well. I rise earlier than the household. Shall we say eight?”

  Morgan flinched. His life in London often had him lounging abed until luncheon. But he supposed those days were over if he were going to take on the duties of a man of affairs. He might as well start getting used to it.

  “Eight o’clock in the garden,” he repea
ted.

  She worried her lip and then began to edge away from him, tiny side steps. “I should—I should rejoin the party. Until tomorrow, Mr. Banfield.”

  “Until tomorrow, Lady Elizabeth.”

  He watched her go, her hands shaking as she walked away. She slid up beside the Duchess of Brighthollow, almost hiding behind her and Katherine, but not really participating in their conversation. But Morgan felt her eyes move to him from time to time.

  He felt her watching. And he wondered what would happen when they were well and truly alone together.

  Chapter 6

  Lizzie stepped down from the terrace steps into the garden and drew in a deep breath of the clean air around her. She loved the smell of her mother’s garden, she always had. It was roses and honeysuckle, wet green leaves and earthy soil. The scents she always associated with a woman long gone, but never forgotten. Now when she took them in, tears pricked her eyes.

  But she was not going to let Morgan Banfield see that moment of vulnerability, so she blinked the tears away, pushed her shoulders back and took a few steps down the path into the garden. She looked around for him, peering around bushes and into nooks and crannies, but he was nowhere to be found.

  She huffed out a breath. “Probably lazing around like the true rake he is,” she muttered as she moved toward a flat stone bench beside her favorite statue in the garden. She smoothed the wrinkles from the folded plans and then stepped back to look over them.

  “You are very serious.”

  She jumped at the deep voice right at her elbow and pivoted to find Morgan standing there, looking down at her. He was informal in another white shirt rolled to the elbows and a black waistcoat. His beard was neatly trimmed and it looked soft this close, like it would feel good against bare skin.

  She blinked and took a step away from him. “You startled me,” she gasped, trying to find breath when there seemed to be none left.