Morgan reached out and took the golden item from her palm, resisting the urge to brush his fingertips along her skin just to comfort himself and her. He turned the item over. “G.C.” He squeezed his eyes shut and pictured the man that item very likely belonged to. And he didn’t want to say it out loud. He didn’t want to explain how depraved he’d been. Not to her. Not to them. It was just as he’d feared. His behavior had truly brought this hell down upon Brighthollow’s house.
There was a knock on the door and Brighthollow’s butler stepped in from the hall. “Dr. West, Your Grace.”
As the doctor edged his way into the crowd, Hugh shook his head. “I think we should all step out. Let the man do his job.” He motioned for the others to go. “Amelia, you and I need to return to the ball and try to move everyone along with as much tact as is possible. You know I cannot do that alone.”
They all began to move, nodding to the doctor, talking softly as they exited into the hall. Elizabeth stood aside as they left, watching him. It was only when just Brighthollow and the doctor remained that she slipped out.
Brighthollow glanced toward him. “This conversation is not over. Dr. West, do take good care of him.”
The doctor nodded as the door closed, and Morgan let out his breath. He didn’t need a doctor. Now that his mind was clearing, he knew nothing was broken except the trust of his employer. The trust of his brother. And perhaps, the trust of a woman who had allowed him such liberties tonight that he could still taste her on his tongue.
But surely that was all over now. It had to be.
The house was quiet but for the light tick of the clock as Lizzie slipped from her bedchamber and into the hallway. The time was after two, and at last all in the house had gone to their beds. It had been a raucous night. The ball, what she and Morgan had done during it, the attack, having to clear the ballroom. Having Amelia, Katherine and Charlotte all watch her so closely after they left Morgan. Like they knew, like they could see.
Perhaps they could. Perhaps when she had allowed him to touch her so intimately, it had permanently marked her in some way that good women could identify. Mark. She certainly felt marked.
But she wasn’t shamed by it.
She knew Morgan was fine, or would be. He was bruised—she’d heard the doctor say so when she eavesdropped on his evaluation to Hugh and Robert. Morgan needed a few days rest and then he would be right as rain. And that had been that.
But she hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since she’d slipped from his bedchamber hours before. Images of him unmoving on the grass had jumped into her mind over and over, lifting her heart into her throat and making clear the truth.
She did love this man. It hadn’t been a mere reaction when she saw him lying there, when she thought he might be gone forever. She did love him, and the feeling wasn’t fading, but offering her more proof as she tried to force herself not to overthink or over-plan or over-anything.
And here she was, slipping from the family quarters, past the guest quarters, up the stairs into the servant quarters where she’d left Morgan hours before. She needed to see him. To finish the conversation that hadn’t been able to be private after his attack. To make sure he was whole and safe. Because she needed that to be true more than she needed breath or food or water. She needed to touch him and feel his warmth that proved he still existed in her world.
She stepped up to his door, and the nerve she’d somehow found after years of being passive faltered. What if she knocked and he didn’t answer? Or worse, turned her away? What then?
“Then you’ll know your heart is a fool,” she muttered as she raised a fist, drew a breath and knocked.
There was a pause and then a rustling from behind the door. Then Morgan’s voice called out, “Enter.” As she opened the door, he continued from the bed, “You may tell Brighthollow that he needn’t keep sending up compresses. I appreciate the doting from the staff, but I am…”
He trailed off as she slipped inside the room and shut the door. “…fine.”
He wasn’t wearing a shirt, though the blankets were tucked around his waist. Still, there was a lot of very toned flesh on display, and she boggled for a moment at how beautiful he was. How could he be so beautiful?
But then her gaze lifted, and she flinched as the firelight and candlelight danced off the angles of his handsome face. Both his eyes were black, as was his temple.
“Your bruises,” she whispered, blinking at tears that leapt to her eyes in the face of his pain.
He lifted a hand and touched the purple skin. “They don’t hurt…much.”
He smiled at the quip. She didn’t.
He cleared his throat. “You are here.”
“I am,” she said, and clenched her hands behind her back. What in the world had she been planning by coming here? She could scarcely recall when he was so close.
“Why are you here, Elizabeth?” he whispered.
She blinked. She’d been telling herself it was just to check on him, but it wasn’t. That was just the excuse she’d used. And now she stood there, with him in his bed, and she knew why she’d really come. The answer terrified her.
She glanced down at her feet. “Are you not going to rise, Mr. Banfield?”
He chuckled. “I’m not wearing any clothes, my lady. If I rise, I think that would shock you.”
Her eyes went wide and she choked out, “O-oh. Well, then probably best to stay where you are.” She worried her lip. So he was naked. Well, that was something. Just a tug of that blanket and…
She shook her head. “We didn’t get a chance to speak after your attack,” she said.
He nodded slowly. “And you have questions.”
“I suppose we all have questions,” she said. “Perhaps I’m not owed answers.”
“You are owed answers more than anyone else,” he said, and his gaze held hers steadily. “You know why.”
She swallowed hard. He was talking about what had happened between them earlier that night. He was talking about the connection that bound them. He might not know that she loved him. He might never know that if she chose to keep it secret, but that they were attracted and connected was obvious to them both.
“Before the doctor came, it was evident you recognized the cufflinks your attacker left behind,” she said softly. “Who was he? Why would he do this?”
He let out his breath in a shaky sigh and she saw shame cross his face. It was a funny thing to see it. Morgan so often wore a mask before others. A face that deceived and tricked and played a game. But now it had slipped and she saw the truth. Dark and deep.
“What did you do?” she asked.
He dropped his chin. “That is the better question. I do know who the cufflinks belong to. Gareth Covington.”
She inched a little closer. “And who is Gareth Covington?” she pressed.
His mouth twisted. He struggled with the answer and her heart hurt for him. Feared for him.
She drew a short breath. “Earlier tonight you promised me no judgment. No reprisals. And I offer you the same thing now.”
He shook his head slightly. “Oh, sweet, you can’t promise me that. Not once you know. But you need to know. So there’s no avoiding it now.” He scrubbed a hand through his beard, and then he said, “We were friends in school. Close friends. We snuck out of school grounds together, we gamed together, raced our phaetons together.”
“Sounds like a sobering influence,” Lizzie said with an arch of her brow.
“I wasn’t looking for sobering influences, my dear,” he said with a brief chuckle. “And Gareth and I brought out the worst in each other. He started talking about this woman about a year ago. I didn’t pay much attention. I was rather annoyed, truth be told, when he rambled about her. I wish now I had paid more attention.”
Her brow wrinkled. “Why? What happened?”
He shifted. “I had spent the night with a…a…er…a willing lady.”
Lizzie fought not to flinch. She knew what kind of l
ife Morgan had lived before. She had no cause to be jealous of his past.
“I woke to banging on my chamber door. Wild banging and loud yelling. My servants were trying to keep the intruder back but he managed to get past them. It was Gareth. The woman I was still naked in bed with was—”
Lizzie clamped her hand over her mouth. “The woman he’d fallen in love with.”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“And you didn’t know it was her?” Lizzie asked. “Was she disguised?”
“No, I just was a terrible friend. Gareth had asked me to meet her a few times, but I always found some excuse to get out of it. I wasn’t interested in his happily ever after because I was an ass more interested in my own pleasure and fun. So when this woman approached me, I had no idea who she was.”
Lizzie tried to wrap her head around it. “Did she know who you were?”
“Oh yes.” His voice got bitter. “She made that very clear as Gareth tore my chamber apart. She’d seen me from afar.”
“Why would she do that?” Lizzie gasped. “Why would she be so cruel?”
He shrugged. “Some people just…are. She and Gareth had had a quarrel, it seems. She was angry and wanted to hurt him. She took her revenge by bedding me…and making certain my friend found out about it so he could catch us.”
“She destroyed your friendship,” Lizzie whispered.
Morgan nodded. “And a great deal more. Gareth called me out. That was how Robert got involved in my life initially. He heard about the planned duel, raced back from the continent where he and Katherine were touring around and stepped in to try to right the situation. But Gareth has been angry with me ever since.”
“That was why you spiraled out of control this last year,” Lizzie whispered. “You were mourning what you’d done. What you’d been a puppet in creating.”
“Yes,” he whispered. “The night I went to gaol, Gareth joined our table in a hell for cards. I kept letting him win. I let him win and win and I drank and drank to keep from seeing the hate on his face. I woke up in Newgate. But whatever else happened that night, it must have renewed his hatred in me. Hearing that I’d taken a respectable job, that I was starting over…”
“It must have triggered his need for a revenge he doesn’t feel he has truly taken.”
“Because he didn’t get his duel. He never evened the score.”
Lizzie shook her head. “Oh, Morgan. I’m sorry.”
“Why are you sorry?” His brow wrinkled. “I’m the one who did this.”
“This woman, she’s the one who did it. Would you have bedded your friend’s lover if you’d known her identity?”
“Of course not. I’m a libertine, but I have a code,” he said immediately.
She almost sagged in relief at his reaction. He was the man she thought him to be. He was the man she loved, indeed. “But she knew your identity and pursued you in order to hurt Gareth. That is on her.”
He sighed. “Perhaps, but it doesn’t matter. My friend is clearly not finished with his punishment. My actions have created danger for your family. For you. Embarrassment for you all, thanks to his attack coming at your ball. I’m certain your brother will wish to discuss it with me further later today. And he’ll likely sack me.”
She flinched. That was possible. Hugh was an honorable man—he might see Morgan’s actions as dishonorable, no matter the explanation. And to protect those he loved, he might, indeed, let Morgan go. He would leave and she would possibly never see him again.
“Morgan, I did come here to ask you about the attack,” she whispered. “But it was more than that. I came here because I want…I need…”
“Elizabeth,” he whispered, cutting her off. “You can’t say it.”
“But I must,” she said. “If you might be gone tomorrow, then I must say it tonight. I have to ask for it tonight or I’ll never have another chance.”
She moved forward then, as if magnetized by his presence. “Morgan,” she whispered as she sank onto the edge of his bed, cupped his cheeks as gently as she could muster, and brought her lips to his.
“Lizzie,” he said, slipping into her nickname as he turned his face slightly away from hers. “My past.”
She turned him back to her. “You told me earlier tonight that I had to move beyond my past. Are you sorry for what you did?”
He held her gaze. “Infinitely.”
She nodded. “Then you need to let it go, just as you say I do. Now please.”
She kissed him again, and this time he didn’t pull away. This time his arms came around her, dragging her partly across him on the bed. His mouth opened and their tongues tangled in desperate desire, and she knew with all her heart that tonight she would be his.
And despite all her fears associated with this act, all her questions about prudence, she wanted this more than she’d ever wanted anything.
Chapter 16
Lizzie shivered as Morgan expertly reversed their positions on the narrow bed, sliding her beneath him. The sheets were trapped between them, but she could still feel the hard length of him pressed against her thigh. He wanted her. She wanted him.
And this was a dance as old as time itself.
His weight pushed her deep within the soft mattress, and she wound her arms around his neck with a sigh. He captured that sound with his mouth, slowing his tongue as he stroked along hers, savoring, just as she savored this moment.
His hands glided along her sides, fingers bunching against her nightrail and robe, pressing into her flesh beneath until she turned her face against his neck with a garbled sound of pleasure.
His breath was short, hot against her skin as he stopping moving, stopped kissing. “I shouldn’t do this,” he whispered.
She looked up at him outlined in the firelight, and memorized every taut line of his face, his lips, his jaw. “I want you to,” she said, and meant it. “Until earlier tonight, I thought that I would never feel pleasure when it came to a man’s touch. I thought that was something for everyone else. But what you gave me in the parlor, with your hands and your mouth…it thrilled me. And I know what was supposed to come after. It’s all I can think about.”
“Elizabeth,” he murmured. “You do test me and all my resolve not to be the kind of man everyone thinks me to be.”
“If you were the kind of man everyone thinks you to be, you would have claimed me earlier and not given a damn about my pleasure,” she retorted. “And you didn’t. I know who you are, Morgan. I know what you are and how much you are capable of. And I want that. I want you. I’m asking you for tonight. Won’t you please give that to me?”
He stared at her, seeming to ponder that. “Your innocence was already taken, so I won’t ruin you.”
“You can’t,” she agreed.
“And if I’m careful, there don’t have to be…consequences.”
She shut her eyes, trying not to picture a child she could make with this man. She had always loved children and reveled in the babies of her brother’s friends. But he was right that creating a child from a liaison was a mistake. It would trap him, and she didn’t want him that way.
“The only consequence of this night should be pleasure,” she said, to herself as much as him. “I’m not asking for anything else.”
His lips thinned, almost as if he didn’t like that answer, but then his dark head came down and he claimed her mouth again. Words were forgotten, thoughts forgotten, fears forgotten. All that was left was him and the heated sensation of his mouth molding to hers, exploring hers, his whiskers brushing her skin. His hands began their movement again, his body grinding against hers as she shivered with pleasure.
He kicked at the covers that separated them and she looked down at him as he did so. Her eyes widened. She’d seen a man’s cock before. That was the word Aaron had used to describe it that long-ago night. She had remembered it very differently, for it had become, in her mind, an instrument of destruction.
Morgan’s cock was not as fearful as those memories. It was h
ard, of course, curled toward his stomach because he wanted to claim her. But the head wasn’t so cruelly red, the length didn’t seem punishing or mocking.
“You look afraid,” he whispered. “Are you sure you want this?”
“I do,” she said. “But last time it wasn’t very…nice. I can’t help but be nervous.”
“Did he force you?” he asked.
She flinched. “No.”
“You said you gave yourself to him,” he whispered. “Did you do it willingly?”
“Yes,” she said after what felt like an eternity of struggle to find the words. “He was many things, but he didn’t rape me.”
He let out his breath gently. “None of it was your fault.”
“So you said. Still, he wasn’t like you were earlier. He didn’t seem to care about my pleasure. He wasn’t trying to cause me more pain, but there was no mitigating it, either.”
He frowned. “The pain comes with the first time. And you’ll be tight this time because it’s been so long. But, Elizabeth, I want you to understand. There won’t be pain tonight. This—” He motioned to his cock. “—is here to pleasure you, not hurt you. I’d never, ever hurt you.”
She believed him in that moment and her love for him swelled even higher. She nodded because she could find no words, and then she looked at him again. “May I…touch it? I was too afraid to ask that night.”
He smiled. “Of course.”
He rolled on his back and laced his fingers behind his head to support him. She eased to her side, looking him up and down. “You look like a very casual Hades in this pose.”
“Well, Persephone, I link my hands behind my head so casually because I’m afraid I won’t be able to control myself. And I need to do that. For you.”
She blinked down at him, her god of the underworld, and then she smiled. It was time to give in to the darkness. To live in the seductive pleasure he would give. Just one time to surrender to him and his world.
She reached out and touched him, but not his cock. She started at the winged ridges of his collarbone, tracing there, feeling how hot his skin was. She dragged her fingers lower, her nails brushing the flat pectoral, the hard nub of his nipple. He hissed out a breath as she did so, and his muscles tightened like he was struggling for control.
The Love of a Libertine Page 17
