The Love of a Libertine

by Jess Michaels

  “We did say eight o’clock, my lady, did we not? Unless you wagered I would not make it.” He arched a brow in challenge.

  She opened her mouth to deny the charge, but then she shrugged. “I did guess you might have forgotten our meeting. I suppose that was an unkind assumption, I apologize.”

  “You needn’t,” he said with a low chuckle that seemed to make its way into her bloodstream. “I am a bad bet, my lady. You might have been right more than half the time.”

  She worried her hands together before her, uncertain how to respond to his playful magnetism. Part of her wanted to laugh. He brought that out so easily. But…it felt dangerous to do so.

  He seemed to sense her discomfort and stepped away, granting her space as he turned around in a circle to look about him. “It’s already a beautiful space,” he said.

  She nodded. “My favorite on the estate, truth be told. This spot in particular.”

  He focused his attention on the little nook where they stood. “Let me guess, you curled up on the bench where you’ve laid your designs and read before the statue.”

  She couldn’t help her smile then, for he had guessed entirely right and it brought her back to long, lazy days where she’d done just that. “Persephone and I shared a great many stories, yes.”

  His eyes widened a little and he looked a bit closer at the statue. Lizzie found herself watching him instead of following his gaze. He took in the lines of the marble young woman’s face, beautiful and soft as she glanced downward with an almost coquettish smile.

  “Persephone, eh?” he said, his voice a little rougher now. “I would not have pegged you for a devotee.”

  “She made the god of the underworld love her,” she said softly as she shifted her attention from him to the statue she had long loved. “She found the good in Hades. And according to legend, she is the reason for all these flowers and trees. Life and death, light and dark. What is not to like?”

  She felt him watching her, and she shifted beneath the sudden regard. Heat suffused her cheeks and she caught her breath as she lunged toward the plans. “At any rate, I have my mother’s designs. Now that you are in the space, perhaps we can discuss them at greater length.”

  He did not follow her for a moment. She still felt his gaze on her back and she waited for him to say something more about the statue or the myth or anything else that would peel away a layer she’d wrapped around herself for protection.

  But he didn’t. Instead, he stepped up to join her. He leaned in, examining the plans carefully. “Hmm, yes, I see. She wanted to change the plantings. Moving the bushes and trimming them should be easy enough. Now what about this?”

  He pointed to a gazebo that was to be built in the far corner of the garden, right beside the exit of the hedge maze and near the place where the garden met the long, rolling hills of the remainder of the estate grounds.

  “What about it?” Lizzie asked.

  “Why not move it?” he pressed, skimming his index finger across the plans gently. He seemed to be trying to divine a location and then he settled on the opposite side of the garden. “Here. It makes more sense with the path line.”

  She scowled and reached out to push his hand away. “No.”

  He straightened up and stared at her. “No? Just no?”

  She folded her arms and glared at him. “We—we are not altering the plans, Morgan.” She caught her breath at the inappropriate slip of the tongue. Had she truly called him by his Christian name? What was wrong with her? “Mr. Banfield.”

  He was silent for a breath and then he cocked his head. “Morgan. And why not?”

  She hesitated. It was a good question. In truth, when she thought of where he wished to place the gazebo, it probably did make more sense and would be more useable for garden parties and small gatherings with friends. And yet she didn’t want to do what he suggested.

  And she didn’t trust him enough to tell him why.

  “It’s none of your business,” she whispered, snatching up the plans and folding them gently.

  She waited for him to argue. Or to become angry at her reticence, certainly her unexplained peevishness deserved a set down. But he did neither of those things. He just watched her, dark brown eyes tracking over her face, down to the plans, as if he were assembling the puzzle of her without any effort at all.

  She fought to stand her ground in the face of that.

  “I believe I have misread the situation,” he said at last. “Elizabeth, I thought you wanted my creative input on your project.”

  She ignored the fact he had just called her by only her Christian name and worried her lip. “I…do. I-I did.”

  He tilted his head. “But you don’t want me to change anything.”

  “Er…no?” She said it as a question because when stated out loud it did seem ridiculous. And patently unfair to him.

  He twisted his face and then scratched his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

  Lizzie’s breath was coming short. She couldn’t seem to find it as the garden closed in around them. If she explained herself, she would reveal too much to this stranger…this rake. Revealing too much would give him ammunition if he wished to hurt her in the future. She’d seen that before, she’d felt the brutal sting of it.

  She didn’t wish to repeat the action. Not now, not ever.

  And yet he was asking for an answer, it wasn’t an outlandish request. So how could she tell him the truth without giving him anything?

  “Elizabeth?” he whispered, and he stepped a little closer. His gaze held her captive, his concern seemed real. And she felt a strange desire to step into him, to let him curl himself around her.

  Was she so weak as to know the consequences of such a thing and still desire it? Was that her nature, to be a fool for men such as this one? Such as Aaron Walters? Were they the same?

  She didn’t know what would have happened next, in the quiet of the garden, with his eyes drawing her in and her shaking body trying to convince her to surrender the truth. But she didn’t have to find out. Because before she could make an utter fool of herself, she heard Amelia’s voice in the distance, and it broke the spell.

  “Lizzie?” Amelia called out.

  Lizzie took a long step away from Morgan, covering her hot cheeks with her cold hands. “We’re here!” she cried out in return. “Near Persephone.”

  “Of course you are,” Amelia said with a smile as she rounded the corner and entered the nook in the garden.

  As she did so, Morgan stepped away, Hades moving closer to the statue, farther from Lizzie, and she felt the coldness of the morning air once more. It was like a jolt of awareness and it settled her racing heart and flipping stomach at last.

  Distance seemed the only way to do that. And so she would have to make sure she maintained it when it came to this man. She knew how, after all. She just had to remember.

  As the Duchess of Brighthollow reached them, Morgan forced a welcoming smile to his face. In truth, he wished the woman hadn’t come. Elizabeth had seemed on the edge of saying something important to him. Explaining why she was so determined to stick to the plans she’d dug up from some dusty box in the attic rather than making something new. He might have guessed it was mere sentimentality, but it felt like something more.

  Now she had distanced herself once more. He supposed that was for the best. Although it was in his nature to read those around him—a skill he didn’t even try at, it just happened—perhaps in this case it wasn’t the right thing to do. Elizabeth didn’t wish to be read. That was clear in the way she turned away from his seeking eyes. The way she put up barriers.

  Whatever had hurt her in the past was not his affair. The best he could do for both of them was to honor the boundaries she put up. To behave as the servant he now was. Nothing more.

  “Good morning to you both,” the duchess said as she reached out to squeeze Elizabeth’s hand. “I wanted to see how the garden plans were coming.”

  “We’ve only just b
egun,” Elizabeth said, casting a glance toward Morgan. Her blue eyes flitted over his face and then darted away just as swiftly.

  “I think we’re figuring it out,” Morgan added with a quick smile for Her Grace that he hoped would keep her from pressing. It was obvious Elizabeth didn’t need to be pushed at present, whether that was well intended or not. “Does His Grace require my assistance?”

  That brought a flash of pink to the Duchess of Brighthollow’s cheeks and a smile to her lips. “His Grace is, er, still abed. So you are free to continue your work. I just wanted to see if you needed anything. Once you’ve firmed up your plans, Lancaster and the rest of the gardening staff are ready to put them into motion.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “Very good. Thank you, Amelia.”

  The duchess wrinkled her brow. “Are you well, Lizzie? You look a little pale.”

  “I’m fine,” Elizabeth said, and she paced away toward Morgan. Her gaze caught his and she held it there. “Just ready to move forward.”

  Her Grace looked concerned and more than a little confused, but she inclined her head. “Very well. I’ll leave you to it then. Oh, but don’t let me forget to discuss the assembly ball in three nights’ time! I want to compare what we will wear.”

  Morgan watched the light dim in Elizabeth’s gaze a fraction and her shoulders roll forward just a bit. “Yes,” she said with what felt like forced humor. “I will speak to you about it at luncheon later.”

  “Good afternoon, then,” the duchess said, and sent one more quick glance first at Elizabeth and then at Morgan before she turned and walked back up the path that led to the house.

  Once she was gone, Elizabeth let her gaze move to his face again. She held it there, even, though not entirely certain. She cleared her throat. “My mother designed every inch of the plans I showed you earlier, Mr. Banfield. I don’t want to do anything she wouldn’t have desired. I’m executing her vision, nothing more, nothing less.”

  Morgan had a world of things to say to that statement. About the past, about the future, about living someone else’s life. But he wasn’t close enough to the young woman who stood before him to say those things. And if he did, it would be reaching out to her in a way he had already vowed he wouldn’t.

  He was a servant. She was the lady. It was his job to do her bidding, not question it or soothe her or help her beyond the boundaries put up between them.

  So he nodded. “Very well, Lady Elizabeth. I understand. May I take that copy of the plans?”

  She clutched the folded papers against her chest a bit tighter. “Why?”

  He flinched at how defensive her voice became. How her gaze narrowed as if she knew without doubt that he would hurt her. Take something from her. Destroy something she cared for.

  He gentled his tone. “I want to examine the work a bit more closely. Then I’ll put together a schedule for what will be done and when and at what potential cost. Afterward I can present it back to you and to the duke, if the expenses require his approval.”

  Her lips parted. “Oh.” She shook her head as she held out the plans with hesitance. “I-I suppose that makes sense. I wouldn’t have thought of such a thing.”

  He took the papers with a smile. “There’s no need for you to do so. That’s why your brother asked me to help. I suppose this project is also a way for me to prove my mettle. To him and, I hope, to you.”

  She stared at him, eyes widening a fraction. “To me? Why would you wish to prove yourself to me?”

  “Because,” he said, inching forward a fraction, even though he didn’t make a move to touch her. She still sucked in a breath regardless. “I don’t like to see you look at me as if I’m a potential enemy, Elizabeth. If all goes well, I may serve under your brother for a long time. I don’t want you to…fear me.”

  She hesitated, then her lashes lowered and she stared at her clenched hands. “I-I’m not afraid of you.”

  She said it. She lied. He knew that as well as she did. But he didn’t push. “Well, then whatever negative emotion you associate with me, how does that suit? I want you to see me as a…a friend. Someone you can count on if you need something done. If I can prove that to you by doing your bidding in the garden, then it will be worth it.” He held out a hand. “Will you allow me to try?”

  She stared at his outstretched fingers, then slowly extended her own hand to shake. When they touched, there was almost an electric sizzle in the air that Morgan had not expected. A heat that flushed up his hand, his arm, filed into his blood, pumped into every nerve ending. He lived with that touch.

  And that was a terrifying notion. He swiftly released her hand, clenching his hands together as he forced a smile for her. “Very good. Now I’ll leave you and get to work on this. Good day, my lady.”

  “G-Good day,” she whispered, her voice almost not carrying as he turned and walked away from her. This woman, this slip of a woman who wasn’t even his type, was turning his world on its head.

  And he wasn’t sure if he should like her for that fact. Or avoid her like a plague that would ultimately destroy him. But he’d have to decide soon enough. And he feared once he did, there would be no turning back.

  Chapter 7

  Lizzie sat at her desk in her study, a half-written letter to an old friend there, waiting for her. In truth, she was having a hard time composing what to say. She wanted to tell her friend about what was going on in her life and yet…

  The truth of that wasn’t something she felt she could fully put in words. She wasn’t sure how to explain it to herself, let alone another person. Not unless she wished to fully expose herself, that was.

  It had been three days since her meeting with Morgan in the garden. Three days and she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him. About that dimple hidden behind those soft whiskers. About the way he looked at her, focused on her, always reading her with what seemed like no effort whatsoever. She couldn’t stop thinking of the way he’d asked her about Persephone and picturing him as a handsome Hades reaching up to her from the underworld. Beckoning her to darkness she feared…and craved.

  Not to mention it had also been two nights and she had dreamed of the dratted man on each one. Benign dreams where they were walking through the endless garden. And less benign ones where his arms came around her, his lips lowered to hers, his hands clenched against her skin.

  She jerked her head up to break the thoughts and sighed. It was very annoying to feel this way when she knew full well the consequences of such wicked desires. She could tell herself it was just because he was a new person in her life, handsome and compelling and born to draw women to him like bees to honey.

  She could tell herself her thoughts were so desperate because she was surrounded by loving couples who often didn’t realize doors were cracked or that sounds carried in the hallways. Knowing how much they each loved and desired each other was enough to put strange thoughts into anyone’s heads and dreams.

  Yes, Lizzie could tell herself all those very rational things. And none of them rang true. None of them explained her emotions quite as well as that she simply had a weakness for wicked men. That Morgan Banfield had come into her life to prove to her that she could not be trusted, no matter how much time had passed since her last fall from grace.

  She sighed as she pushed her unfinished letter aside. Only that didn’t help clear her mind, for under the sheet was another reminder of Morgan. A note she’d received from him that morning.

  Because, despite how wicked she knew him to be, despite the fact that rakes and libertines were known to be lazy layabouts, the man had been working, just as he’d vowed, on the garden. He was doing things for Hugh, but each morning he sent her a missive with a list of things to do, an order in which they would be done, and a price sheet for materials. He had neat, even handwriting. Occasionally he drew a sketch and asked if it pleased her.

  All of them pleased her. So she signed off on those things or made notes on changes and sent them back.

  Work hadn’t begun in
the physical sense, but she could see that his strategic organizing would make everything flow smoothly and quickly once it did.

  Once there was no garden to use as an excuse to hide here in Brighthollow, Lizzie had to assume she would be ferried back to London to continue the Season. Morgan would stay here to manage the estate, just as he had been hired to do. And that would be the end of all of it.

  There was a light knock at her door and Lizzie jumped at the sound. She twisted in her chair. “Come in.”

  Amelia did so, with a bright smile for Lizzie. “Good afternoon. I wanted to come speak to you about the particulars regarding the assembly ball tonight. Have you thought about what you’ll wear? I’ll pick something to complement your gown if you know.”

  Lizzie pushed to her feet and shifted with discomfort. Amelia had been making little noises about the assembly gathering for days. Charlotte and Katherine had joined in, all of them loudly declaring what fun would be had, as if somehow Lizzie didn’t know about these things. As if they could change her heart by saying the same words enough times.

  Only her heart had not been changed.

  Amelia frowned when she didn’t answer right away. “You—you don’t want to go. You’ve been avoiding the subject since I first brought it up, and I hoped you would come around to it. But you don’t want to go.”

  “I don’t,” Lizzie admitted. “You know how those things are. Everyone in the county will be there since you and Hugh are in residence and you’ll be bringing two additional ducal couples to the fray. They’ll push in and talk too much and ask for too many dances and it all seems…” She dipped her head. “It’s too much.”

  “I know you don’t love these gatherings,” Amelia said carefully. “I know they are silly sometimes, and overheated and the punch is bad. But they are also a way to meet and thank Hugh’s people for their hard work and support.”