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

by Jess Michaels

  He strolled down the hall away from the ball, into the breakfast room. It led to the terrace and was closer to the set of stairs that went to the garden. He slipped out, watching carefully to make sure any of the attendees of the ball who were farther down on the terrace didn’t see him.

  Once he reached the garden below, he sucked in a deep breath. He’d spent so much time lately amongst these flowers and shrubs that it felt like a strangely calming homecoming as he made his way down the path. Who would have thought it? That a garden could become so interesting to him.

  “Or perhaps it’s the woman,” he muttered.

  Oh yes, Elizabeth was more than interesting to him. Tonight had proven that in spades. She was so gentle, so kind. So intelligent and amusing. But she was also a bubbling cauldron of hidden passion. Remove that lid and beneath was lava ready to overflow.

  He hadn’t been ready for that, even if he’d sensed it somehow. Felt it in her touch and her kiss. How many times had a woman’s orgasm moved him so deeply? He didn’t think anyone else ever had. Yes, he wanted his lovers to have pleasure. He had trained himself to be proficient at finding all the ways to make a lady moan and quake.

  But when Elizabeth had lost control beneath his touch, that had felt…different. New. Powerful. He’d couched it as a gift he gave, to make up for the terrible thing that had happened to her. But the gift was his, not hers. And it had…changed him. He felt it now in his soul. And that was terrifying.

  He was a rake, wasn’t he? Not built to be changed by a woman. Not intending to be swept away by a fine pair of blue eyes and the hesitant smile that went with them. It could never happen. He shouldn’t want it to happen—that was a setup for disaster.

  And yet this little ache in him grew every time he saw her across a room or this very garden. An ache that whispered he wanted more than her kiss or her pleasure. He wanted her. All of her, body and soul and heart.

  That realization hit him like a ton of bricks in the chest, and he pivoted to look back at the house in shock. As he did so, there was a sharp, heavy pain at the back of his skull and then a wave of darkness washed over him. His last conscious thought was that someone was beating him and that he might never see Elizabeth again.

  Lizzie lifted on her tiptoes and peered across the ballroom for what felt like the tenth time in a half an hour. Morgan was still not back after their encounter. What did that mean?

  “You look nervous,” Katherine said as she slipped up beside Lizzie and slid a friendly arm around her waist. “Is the party very terrible for you?”

  “No,” Lizzie said, trying to find focus amidst her distraction. “It has been a—a surprising night to say the least.”

  Katherine’s brow wrinkled. “How so?”

  Lizzie almost snorted out a laugh. As if she could explain to Morgan’s sister-in-law that he had brought color to her drab world with his fingers and tongue in a parlor. There was a casual conversation starter.

  So she struggled to find something else to say. “Just so many new friends to meet, I suppose,” she said. “But I do wonder where Mr. Banfield is.”

  Katherine held her gaze a moment, but then she looked around. “You know, now that you say it, I haven’t seen him for a while, myself.”

  Lizzie shifted. “I passed him in the hall not very long ago and he claimed he was going to ask me to dance the next, but two songs have played and he has not materialized.”

  “And you wish to dance with him,” Katherine said softly.

  Lizzie froze. She was revealing too much without meaning to do so, especially to someone as observant as Katherine. “Not…necessarily, but I did accept out of, er, politeness. And I only hope he is well.”

  Katherine frowned and a flash of concern came over her lovely features. “I did see Morgan out on the terrace a short time ago. He was walking into the garden.”

  Lizzie caught her breath. “Perhaps we should look for him. Just to make certain nothing has happened to him. There are a great many tools and things piled around in the dark. He might have hurt himself.”

  She didn’t believe that, of course. Morgan was well aware of the dangers in certain parts of the garden at present. At his order, those areas had been carefully closed off by the servants so no guest would wander in. But there was a prick of concern that was growing in her with each passing moment, and she would have said almost anything to get Katherine to help her with the search.

  “Then let’s seek him out,” Katherine said, and they linked arms and headed toward the terrace doors.

  Lizzie was all but dragging Katherine as they stepped out into the cool night air. She looked around the terrace, but Morgan was not there. She stepped up to the terrace wall. She leaned on it with both hands and peered into the night. The moon was full, so it cast a glow across the grounds that would help their search.

  But there was nothing to be found. She looked up and down the paths and corners of the garden below. But then, in the distance, over by where the new gazebo was almost complete, she saw something. A flash of movement.

  Her heart raced and she pointed. “There!”

  She didn’t wait for a response, though she heard Katherine say, “Where?” as she rushed down the stairs. She weaved through the garden, wishing the paths hadn’t been made so intricate. And as she came around the last corner, she saw him.

  Morgan lay on his back, arms sprawled at his sides. He was unconscious, both his eyes were bruised and there was blood trickling from the corner of his lip.

  “Morgan!” she screamed and dropped down beside him.

  Katherine skidded to a stop and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Great God! I’ll get the others!”

  She pivoted and ran away, leaving Lizzie with Morgan. She reached out, hesitating because she feared harming him more. “Morgan,” she said, this time softer. “Oh please, you must open your eyes. Please look at me.”

  He made a soft moan, a pained sound, and her heart leapt as his dark eyes came open. “Elizabeth,” he whispered.

  She shifted and lifted his head into her lap so he would no longer have to rest it on the cold, hard ground. “What happened?” she whispered. “Stay awake now, love, and tell me what happened.”

  He blinked hard and the pain of that action fluttered across his handsome face. “Struck…from behind. Dangerous.”

  “Yes,” she soothed, smoothing a lock of hair from his forehead and looking at the bruise at his temple. He was struck from more than just behind. “Whoever did this is certainly dangerous.”

  “I’m dangerous,” he corrected, and his gaze got a bit wild. “I’m dangerous, Elizabeth.”

  She didn’t get a chance to respond to that statement. The crowd began to stream from the ballroom, people shouting and racing toward them. Robert, Hugh and Ewan burst into the small area first with their wives at their heels. All the color went out of Robert’s face as he looked down at his brother.

  Morgan’s gaze was starting to clear and he forced a tight smile. “Not so pretty now, am I?”

  “Do shut up,” Katherine snapped. “Can you stand?”

  Morgan glanced at Elizabeth. She shifted, gripping his arm to help him as he struggled first to his knees and then slowly tried to get up further. He staggered, and before she had to catch him, Ewan stepped forward and caught him beneath the armpits. The Duke of Donburrow was a massive man and he held Morgan upright like he weighed nothing. Morgan leaned heavily on him and Lizzie squeezed his arm before she released him.

  “My head is spinning,” Morgan muttered.

  “What happened?” Hugh asked as he looked over his shoulder. All along the terrace, the guests were lined up, watching the drama below unfold. Lizzie could hear them on the paths, too. Curious onlookers, gossips and those with true concern over the injury of a guest. It didn’t matter their intent—the outcome of their observations would be the same.

  Rumors.

  Lizzie swallowed past the lump in her throat. “He’s injured,” she said as she found her voice. “We can
talk about the particulars once we get him inside, can’t we?”

  The question seemed to snap the others from their shock. Robert lunged forward and slung Morgan’s arm around his neck. Together he and Ewan began helping Morgan up the path, the other women circling around the three, clearing the crowd and calling out comfort to those they saw along the way.

  Lizzie pivoted on Hugh. “He was attacked,” she said.

  His eyes widened. “He told you that?”

  “Yes, and not much more. So when you are sending for the doctor, may I also recommend you send for the guard?”

  Hugh stared down at her, eyes slightly wide. “Anything else, my lady?” he asked.

  Her cheeks heated at the pointed question, but she ignored the embarrassment when she thought of Morgan’s statement that he was dangerous. He believed it. Believed he had somehow earned the attack on his life.

  She waved her brother up the path. “Go then!” she said.

  He was shaking his head as he rushed up to the join the others. She followed close behind, and at the entrance back onto the path, she turned. The grass was flattened where the struggle between Morgan and his attacker or attackers had occurred. She saw the boot scrapes and the divots, and she shivered.

  She was about to catch up with the others on the path when the moonlight from above glinted on something in the dust. She stepped closer, and there was a cufflink smashed into the dirt. She picked it up and turned it over. It was a flat disk of gold, impressed with the initials G.C. Not Morgan’s then. Perhaps the man who had attacked him.

  It was a fine piece. Not the attire of a common criminal. Though she supposed a thief might have simply dropped his wares gathered from some other unsuspecting mark.

  She closed her hand around the item, gripping it tightly as she made her way up the path back toward the house. She needed to get to Morgan’s chamber with the rest, to ensure he was well, and then she’d certainly find a chance to ask him about the item. Perhaps together they could determine from the item who had attacked him.

  She climbed the stairs to the terrace. There was a crowd there, buzzing and gossiping and staring. All her life, she had hated those eyes. She’d shrunk from her name being whispered across the room. But today she barely paid attention. Morgan was all she could think about, all she could focus on.

  But the crowd wouldn’t let her through without comment. Her arm was suddenly grasped by Lady Jocelyn, who had spoken to her earlier in the ball. The woman’s gaze was lit up with interest, a desire to get at the heart of what had happened so she could spread it and embellish it.

  “Your brother’s man is quite a bit of trouble,” she cooed. “I hope he isn’t badly injured. Was he drunk and fell?”

  Lizzie yanked her arm away. “You needn’t trouble yourself, my lady. Now excuse me. I must return to my duties. You ought to go back into the ball. I’m sure Amelia and Hugh will be back soon enough.”

  Jocelyn arched one of those fine brows just as Lizzie turned away. “Oh, Lizzie, dear?”

  Lizzie clenched her hands at her sides and forced a smile as she looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”

  “You’ve that bastard’s blood all over your skirt,” she sneered. “You might want to wash it out before it stains.”

  Lizzie glared at her. She’d wondered when women of this ilk would bring up the subject of Morgan’s birth. She, herself, had mentioned he was one of Robert’s brothers and the world knew of his famous bastard siblings. Jocelyn wouldn’t be stopped from bringing that up if it would sting.

  She moved a long step back toward Jocelyn. She had spent years ducking her head to this woman, including as recently as an hour before. She’d feared her, cowed to her, hidden from her because Jocelyn had power in their circles and Lizzie just prayed not to be seen.

  But in that moment she didn’t give a damn.

  “I told you earlier, Jocelyn, we are lucky to have a man of Morgan Banfield’s quality to serve at my brother’s side. And if you wish to be invited to this house again, you will think before you speak about him again.”

  Jocelyn’s eyes widened. “You—you think you matter to me, little mouse?” she stammered.

  Lizzie shrugged. “I matter to very few. But I think everyone knows that the wives of my brother’s friends matter very much in Society. Three of them are here now. It would take me half an hour to write to the rest. I choose not to destroy you because it isn’t in my nature. But speak on him, and I will speak on you. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

  To her surprise, Jocelyn actually looked…frightened. She backed away and nodded. “You misunderstood me, I assure you. I was only asking after the gentleman’s well-being and making certain you knew about the blood.”

  “Very good,” Lizzie said, and then left without so much as a farewell. Her hands shook as she hustled into the house and through the ballroom. She had never set another person down like that in her life, despite the fact that her shyness sometimes brought out the worst in those around her.

  And yet protecting Morgan had caused her to do for him what she hadn’t ever done for herself. Stand up. Protect.

  Why? Well, the answer was clear now. She had fallen in love with him. And she had no idea what to do about it, because if she knew one thing and one thing only, it was that when she fell, it didn’t end well. And it couldn’t end well this time, either.

  Chapter 15

  Morgan shifted as Robert and Ewan helped him onto the narrow bed in his chamber. Robert stepped away immediately, running a hand through his thick hair as he said, “What happened?”

  Ewan sent Morgan a look, and Morgan forced a painful smile as he signed, “Thank you.”

  Ewan’s eyes widened and he inclined his head and signed back, “Any time.”

  “Are you going to answer me?” Robert snapped.

  Morgan finally met his brother’s eyes and saw, to his surprise, not the anger his harsh tone might have implied, but fear. Terror, on Morgan’s behalf. His hands shook and Katherine took his arm, but it seemed to make no difference.

  “Please,” his brother said, a little softer.

  It was in that moment that Brighthollow entered the room. “I’ve sent for a doctor and the guard. I think we all deserve an answer to your brother’s question, Morgan. Was this some random act of violence committed in my garden? Do I need to protect my house? And if so, is it from some chance encounter or from something you brought upon it?”

  As he asked the question, Elizabeth slipped into the room. She met his eyes as she quietly closed his door. He could see the flutter of her hand as she stared at him. As if she wanted to touch him. To make sure he was unharmed. He didn’t deserve that, of course. He hadn’t deserved anything he’d taken this night.

  The attack was just a reminder.

  “You know I have a past,” he said, breaking his gaze from Elizabeth and shifting it to Robert. “You knew I had a past when you came and fetched me from gaol.”

  His brother’s shoulders rolled forward and all the air left his lungs in a long, hissing sigh. “Morgan,” he said softly.

  “I…I received a note a few days ago,” Morgan said, and his gaze darted to Elizabeth once more. “A threat.”

  She stepped forward, her lips parting and her hands clenching before her. “The—the note you received just before we were walking through the garden that day? When you showed me my corner?”

  The rest of the room shifted their attention and all the heads seemed to swivel between Elizabeth to Morgan and back again. Except for the Duke of Brighthollow. His gaze stayed firmly locked on Morgan, his eyes narrowed.

  “Yes,” Morgan said softly.

  Her breath caught. “But you—you said nothing to me, Morgan. Not that afternoon or later, even though we—” She cut herself off as if she had only just realized the room was full of people analyzing her every word and tone. “I wish you had told me.”

  Brighthollow was still staring evenly at Morgan, and he sat up straighter on the bed just in case he was about to
be punched by the second person that night.

  “Yes, Morgan. I wish you’d told me, too,” Brighthollow said, low and dangerous. “Why are you being threatened?”

  Morgan sighed. How he loved airing his dirty linens in this very public manner. But perhaps it was best. He and Elizabeth had gone too far tonight. His mere existence threatened hers. And yet again, he had to try to find a way to distance himself.

  This was as good as any.

  “In London, I was out of control,” he said. “Drinking too much, gambling too much, not caring about boundaries of honor or decency. I took the money of many a man in cards. I fought with them, I—” He cut himself off and watched Elizabeth carefully from the corner of his eye. “I slept with a few of their wives.”

  Brighthollow flinched. “Lizzie, perhaps you should step out if we’re going to discuss—”

  She pushed off the door and stared at her brother. “You must be in jest, Hugh.” She held his gaze. “You must be forgetting both yourself and what I am.”

  Brighthollow glanced once more at Morgan and then shook his head. “I apologize. I should not have treated you like a child. If you wish to stay and hear this, I won’t object.”

  Robert stepped up. “So you think it’s one of those men, come all the way to Brighthollow to punish you for your misdeeds?”

  “I don’t know,” Morgan admitted. “But the attack and the note cannot be unrelated. It would be too much of a coincidence. Still, I can’t say who for certain. The person who struck me did it from behind. I couldn’t see his face and I lost consciousness too quickly to make any mental notes on him.”

  “Blast it all,” Robert said, pivoting away and pacing the small room, now extra cramped because of the overload of inhabitants. “Then we cannot know the true nature of the threat or how to thwart it.”

  Elizabeth cleared her throat and stepped up. “I found this in the garden, ground into the soil where Morgan and his attacker struggled.” She opened her hand and there was a cufflink. She’d been holding it so tightly, it had dug a groove into her delicate skin. “Do you recognize it or the initials?”