Morgan was forgotten. That suited him just fine. He backed up to stand beside the parrot perch, afraid that he might disturb her again with an ill-considered comment. In fact, he shouldn’t even be in here with her. He had intended to search her house for proof of treason, but for some reason, he wanted to stand here and watch Phil work instead.
To his left, Pickle squawked. He reached out, gently grabbing one of Morgan’s fingers and tracing it with his beak and tongue. He seemed to like the taste of Morgan’s leather glove because once he finished, he pulled away and said, “Pudding house.”
Then again, that might be an insult to a bird. Morgan chose to take it as a compliment.
“Um. Thank you.”
The parrot squawked and felt along another of his fingers. The sensation was muted due to his gloves, but it still tickled a bit.
Beaming with triumph, Phil finished her sketch and turned. “Done. That should work better. Did you seek me out for any particular reason, Your Grace?”
Morgan fought a grimace. He was back to being the Duke of Tenwick again. He much preferred to be himself with her, sans title.
No. I’m sorry to bother you. The words rose to the tip of his tongue and he almost made his excuse to leave.
Pickle shrieked, flapping his wings as he balanced on the stand. “Kiss, kiss.”
She waved her hand in dismissal. “Not now, Pickle.”
Yes, now. Morgan crossed the space between them in two steps and bent to slant his lips across hers. A reminder that he was more than a duke. He was a man. Her mouth softened beneath his, welcoming the brief caress of his lips. The moment he lifted his head, he took a step back, not trusting himself. The press of her lips was intoxicating like fine brandy—spicy and sweet and she made him burn.
Her eyelids fluttered open. She batted her thick eyelashes. Her irises were dark. With the color in her cheeks and the parted bow of her lips, she’d never looked lovelier. “What was that for?”
Not quite the reception he’d hoped for. He swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. “You wanted me to stop thinking. It was impulse.”
Her mouth curled into a sensual smile that made every part of him burn. Including some parts best left unnamed. Parts that had best behave, considering that his mother and sister were in the house and bent upon him marrying this Season.
“I’m glad you’re taking my advice to heart.” Her gaze slowly traveled down his torso. He clasped his hands in front of his groin. Her smile grew.
He cleared his throat. “This… this room is impressive. You made all of this?” He couldn’t keep the awe from his voice. When she’d confessed to being an inventor, he hadn’t imagined a scope like this. She was brilliant.
She tore her gaze from his to examine the room, as if seeing it again after a long absence. Her gaze lingered on a shelf over his left shoulder. “I made most of it. Some were my father’s inventions. He didn’t care for writing out plans, so I still haven’t puzzled out how a lot of it was made.”
He turned, following her gaze. The goggles she’d worn in the Vauxhall Gardens rested on the second shelf from the top, above a short ladder. “Like your father’s…” Did he have to say it? “…legs.”
The corners of her lips twitched. “The light-enhancing goggles, yes.” Her eyes twinkled.
Zeus, he’d never wanted to kiss her more. Instead, he tucked his hand into his waistcoat pocket. The peculiar piece of glass met his fingers. He drew it out, studying the way it reflected the light of the lantern on the work bench.
Phil’s expression turned guarded. Her chest swelled as she held her breath. She didn’t take her eyes off of him.
Pickle tried to climb onto his arm and snatch the glass out of his hand. He shook off the bird. “This isn’t for you. It’s for Phil.”
Her lips parted as her face lit up. She started to reach out for it, but stopped short.
Put it away. She’s an enemy spy. You don’t know what she’ll use it for. But he already knew, from the hopeful look on her face, that he was going to hand it over. Strickland should assign someone else to the field, because in her hands, he was like clay. He wanted to be a part of something bigger, a part of something that she made.
“Do you mean it?”
“I do.” His voice was hoarse. He held out the ring of glass. Her bare hand hovered over it, and him. He’d never wished more that he hadn’t worn gloves.
“I won’t tell you the name of my contact.” Her eyes were hard, steely.
“I didn’t ask it of you this time.”
He was a bloody fool.
She narrowed her eyes. Her fingers traced circles over the glass in his palm. Was she trying to drive him insane?
“What’s the cost?”
“No cost.” His voice was hoarse. “I only want to watch you work.” The strength of that desire surprised him. He clamped his lips shut before he spilled more of his secrets.
“I accept.” She snatched the piece from his hand and rose onto her tiptoes to press her lips against his cheek. His skin tingled from the contact as she turned to her work table.
On the end was a brown, paper-wrapped parcel very similar to the one she’d carried two weeks ago when he’d caught her in a tête-à-tête at the Society for the Advancement of Science meeting. She unwrapped it, revealing a replica of the goggles he’d already seen, though these were slightly different. For one thing, they weren’t assembled. Morgan stepped closer, peering over her shoulder as she expertly fitted the pieces together, including the glass he’d given her.
Bored, Pickle soared from the room. Morgan thought about asking whether or not the bird was allowed to stray from his perch, but thought better of it. Phil seemed so consumed by her task that he didn’t want to interrupt her.
After she fitted the last piece into place, she lifted the device and thrust it into Morgan’s hands. “Here. Hold this. We’ll need to shut the door.” She brushed his arm as she circled around him to push the sliding wall shut. “And shutter the lantern, too.”
The fabric of her dress pulled tight across her rump as she stretched across the work table to slide the shutter on the glass-encased lantern closed. A crack of light seeped from between and beneath the panes, but darkness descended on the room. He blinked, barely able to make out her silhouette as he waited for his eyes to adjust.
“So?” Phil’s voice held notes of impatience and excitement. “Do they work?”
“Oh.” He was supposed to test the goggles? “Let me check.”
He raised the contraption to his face, peering through it the way he had the other pair at Vauxhall. He expected the details of the room to jump into detail, but they did not. In fact, they looked even more warped than they had previously. And…was it his imagination or was Phil’s silhouette upside down? He lowered the goggles.
“They don’t work.” He hated forcing out the words. Would she be disappointed? Would she resent him for damaging her glass piece in some way that he hadn’t realized?
Light flooded the room as she opened the shutter on the lantern once more. “Oh, bother.” Resignation seethed in her voice, but nothing more sinister.
“I’m terribly sorry.”
When she turned, her expression turned baffled. “Why?”
He’d wanted to see her face light up as she accomplished her goal. He’d wanted to be the person to make that happen. Instead, the encounter fell flat. Disappointing.
He shrugged. “It didn’t work.”
She crossed to him and gently pried the goggles out of his hand. She laid them on the table. “Not everything works. I’m not disappointed.”
“Why aren’t you? I am. That was the part you needed.”
She shrugged. “I thought so, too. As it turns out, I was wrong. That happens sometimes.” Her mouth curved in that secretive smile, as if she knew something she couldn’t wait to impart. She leaned closer and he caught a whiff of her floral perfume. “If I achieved everything I wanted, what would I strive for?”
Me.
The notion came upon him so suddenly and with such strength that he nearly kissed her again. He stepped back a pace instead.
“Perhaps we should adjourn to the sitting room. My mother and sister are waiting to see you.”
“Are they?” She patted down her hair, which didn’t help to tame it in the slightest. If it had once been part of a coiffure, it was no longer. Nearly half the strands had escaped. “You should have told me sooner.”
And relinquish his time with her? A pox would take him before he’d do that.
“Pic—” She stopped short as she turned to the vacant stand. “Where did Pickle go?”
“He flew off before we shut the door.”
“Oh dear.” She nibbled her lower lip as she bolted for the door. She pulled it open with ease.
“Should he have stayed in the room? I didn’t realize…”
“No,” she said, flapping her hand as she trotted off down the hall.
He paused to slide the door shut before he loped after her.
“It’s just that when he finds himself without something to do, he—”
A shriek echoed from somewhere else in the townhouse. Phil winced.
Morgan cocked an eyebrow. “He terrorizes the household?” Perhaps he should have thought twice before acquiring a bird for Lucy.
Phil smiled, rueful. “Mostly Meg, actually. She’s afraid of birds, you see.”
“Ah. Then perhaps it was bad form of me to suggest that she introduce her niece and nephew to my sister’s new parrot.”
Phil’s face lit up. “You bought Lucy a parrot? Oh, how delightful!”
“Not to Meg, no doubt.”
She giggled. “No, I doubt Meg approves at all. It’s a good thing she doesn’t live with you.”
“It sounds as though she has her hands quite full here,” he agreed.
They descended quickly to the parlor. Meg stood in the doorway, her arms raised to ward away any aviary attacks. She stepped aside with a grateful look as Phil and Morgan reached her.
“Come now, children. The duke has returned. Let’s go to the kitchen.”
“Awww,” Brandon whined. “I wanted to play some more.”
As Morgan stepped into the doorway, he found his mother seated on the settee next to Lucy. She was looking at something that the young girl was showing her. The boy stood by the perch next to the window that both parrots currently shared, trying to grab a fistful of Pickle’s long tail. The parrot wisely kept his tail elevated.
Bonny, the girl, squealed as she saw Morgan. “You found Aunt Phil! Did you kiss her, Mr. Duke?” When she said ‘Duke,’ it sounded more like ‘duck.’
Don’t look at Phil. If he did, his family was sure to see the truth in his face. The heat climbing up his neck likely gave him away.
Across the room, Brandon turned away from the parrots. “’Course he did. She’s awake, isn’t she?”
“I was already awake,” Phil informed him, her tone matter-of-fact. “I was working.”
Meg came to their rescue. She held out both her hands for the children, though she didn’t step into the room. “Come along, let’s see what Grandmam’s made for us.”
Brandon scampered into his aunt’s embrace. Bonny followed more slowly. She stopped in front of him and offered a wobbly curtsey. He bowed to her from the waist. He hadn’t done that since he’d been introduced to King George shortly after attaining the dukedom.
The moment the children whisked out of sight, Mother sighed. “They are so dear. I had thought that I would have grandchildren by now.” She gave Morgan a pointed look.
Beads of sweat formed around his hairline. He offered his best smile and said glibly, “Given Tristan’s adamancy to have a hurried wedding, I doubt you’ll have to wait long.”
“He isn’t the heir.”
Actually, until Morgan begot a son, Tristan was his heir. He held his tongue and glanced around the room for allies. Lucy was no help, her sly gaze moving from Phil to Morgan and back. Morgan could practically hear the wedding bells chiming in her head. In the leather armchair next to her, Phil’s brother looked bored. He leaned his chin on his fist. Gideon stood at the sideboard, pouring himself another tumbler. When Morgan caught his eye, he shook his head. When he raised his eyebrow quizzically, Morgan returned the signal. He hadn’t found any sign of treason, either.
Granted, he hadn’t looked very hard.
He changed the subject. “The birds seem to be getting along well.”
His tactic worked. Lucy preened. “It’s a shame you missed it! They’re such good friends. He flew in and called her his Pickle. She said he made her giddy. It was love at first sight.”
Morgan and Phil exchanged an amused glance. Her mouth curved in that alluring, mischievous smile that never failed to get under his skin.
When he returned his gaze to his relatives, Mother regarded them with a sly expression. Not this again.
Antonia called, “Lucy, shut your gob.”
Lucy balled her fists. “Shut your gob, you rude bird.”
Gideon snorted. She rounded on him.
“Giddy, this is all your fault!”
Antonia swiveled her head, repeating, “Giddy. Giddy, giddy, giddy.”
Pickle took up the cry, too.
Gideon wiped tears from the corners of his eyes as he laughed. “I have never been more proud of any decision that I’ve ever made.”
“I am going to get you back for this.”
Pickle got bored and started preening Antonia. Startled, Antonia examined her suitor. When she cocked her head, she looked like she was smiling.
She burst, “Let’s take a walk.”
Lucy’s mouth dropped open. “Who taught her that?”
Laughter rumbled in his chest. Before he gave in, he said quickly, “That sounds like a splendid idea. We should go at once.”
He dragged Phil out of the room with him. He didn’t care if anyone followed. The moment they reached the front door, she clapped her hand over her mouth to suppress her giggles. He leaned against the door as he lost the battle with his amusement. He hadn’t laughed like that in a long time.
In fact, his chest felt lighter because Phil was there, sharing it with him.
16
Phil felt light enough to fly. She grabbed Morgan by the hand and towed him through the door before the others caught up to them. The sun beamed down at them, infusing her with energy as they stumbled onto the street.
He laughed. “Shouldn’t we wait for the others?”
She grinned, leaning closer. “Do we always do what we should do?”
His gray eyes darkened. His gaze dropped to her mouth. A tingle swept through her as she wondered if he would kiss her, right there on the street. She ran her tongue across her lower lip in anticipation.
The front door burst open. “Phil, wait! Don’t you want your bonnet?” Lucy leaned out the door, waving her arm to get Phil’s attention. Curiously, she didn’t scamper down the steps to catch up to them.
Reluctantly, Phil stepped away from Morgan. “Thank you, but I like the sun. I’ll be fine without one.”
Lucy ducked back into the house. Didn’t she intend to come with them? The door gaped wide, showing the shadowed entryway and the harried Mr. O’Neill as he fussed after the guests. The irritable squawk inside the house didn’t bode well. Phil exchanged a look with Morgan, who shrugged.
A moment later, Lucy returned to the doorway and lobbed a hat in his direction. It spun through the air and whacked him in the shoulder, narrowly missing Phil’s head. Morgan fumbled to catch it before it toppled to the ground. He mashed it onto his head.
Somehow, the end result was just as sinfully sexy as he was without a hat. There was something debonair and forbidden about him in full formal dress. Something—dare she say it—ducal. The black topper cast shadows onto his chiseled cheeks. As his sister stepped through the doorway, a sigh escaped his lips.
The blue macaw perched on her glove. The area around her eyes and beak was a blazing yellow grin
.
“Not the bird,” Morgan muttered under his breath.
Phil shrugged. “It could be worse. She might have brought mine. Lucy’s parrot at least seems willing to endure a leash.” A thin cord, tied to the bird’s ankle, ended at a bracelet around Lucy’s wrist.
On her heels, Lady Graylocke, Lord Gideon, and Jared exited the house. Phil’s brother didn’t look happy about joining the expedition, but to his credit, he smoothed the expression upon reaching the bottom of the stairs.
He offered his arm to Lady Graylocke. “May I have the honor of escorting you, my lady?”
With a smile, the dowager duchess waved him off. “Thank you, but you don’t want to be stuck with an old lady like me. Why don’t you escort my daughter?” There was a twinkle in her gray eyes, a darker shade than Morgan’s. Was she hoping that Lucy and Jared would make a good match?
Lucy would drive him out of his mind. He was a quiet sort of young man, the kind who observed more than he spoke and made friends with difficulty. Then again, maybe Lucy would be the perfect wife for him. Phil didn’t know enough about matchmaking and marriage to make an informed decision. She resolved to stay out of it.
Jared didn’t seem particularly thrilled at the idea. He eyed Lucy warily, then offered, “She seems to be busy escorting her bird.”
Lucy nodded. “Quite right. I’m afraid I need both hands in case Antonia decides to take flight.”
Which, at some point, the bird undoubtedly would. Phil had tried to take Pickle for a walk a time or two. Open spaces only encouraged him to wander and terrorize young ladies. Within the first week, he’d managed to become an expert at chewing off his leash.
Lady Graylocke looked disappointed, but she accepted Jared’s arm nonetheless. She started speaking to him in a quiet voice that didn’t carry. A look of alarm crossed his face.
Phil exchanged a glance with Morgan. Should she interfere? He didn’t seem concerned.
Adjusting his hat, Gideon stepped up next to her. He offered his arm. “May I offer you my escort, Miss St. Gobain?”
“Oh.” She’d expected to find herself on Morgan’s arm. Judging by the twin glares his mother and sister were leveling at him, everyone else had expected that as well. If Gideon noticed the murderous looks, he ignored them.
Deceiving The Duke (Scandals and Spies Book 2) Page 14
