.
Mena rolled over on her bed and pulled one of her pillows to her chest, adjusting her head as she began to fade back to sleep. The familiar warm scent of her room was soothing but just as quickly began to startle her when she tried to recall how she'd made it to her room. She opened her eyes and glanced around her bedchamber, taking note of how the lowering sun spread its now auburn tint against every painting, the furniture, and even the finely wallpapered blue walls before settling back in her sheets. She gazed down at her body and realized she was in one of her night rails just as a knock sounded on the door.
"Come in."
Her lady's maid, Allie, came into the room, carrying clean clothes and taking them to her wardrobe as though nothing were amiss. "Would you like me to bring you something to eat, my lady?"
"Allie, how did I get here?"
Allie turned around. "A nice woman brought you here. She said you fainted in the park. Mrs. Gale, of course, believes you to have had an ill reaction to the sun." The last comment did not surprise Mena, but the story was not true.
She remembered Morgan laying on her lap. He'd been hurt and so had someone else. Then she remembered the conversation, though none of it made any sense to her. Why would a marquess have a position with the government? A spy? It was unlikely, but questions and curiosity made her rise from the bed. She looked at the clock and discovered it was hours before dinner. She'd not been asleep long.
"Allie, could you inform Mrs. Gale that we're supposed to have dinner with Lord Durham?" Morgan, she was to call him, and after everything that had happened in the house, it was strange to call a bleeding man she'd cradled in her lap by his title.
"Mrs. Gale is better, but her face, the swelling." She shook her head. “She’ll not be able to be seen for days. She only lets a single servant into the room. I’ll go with you.”
Philomena frowned at the news and hoped Mrs. Gale’s face was better by the engagement party. She gave Allie a nod. "Yes, thank you, and I'll wish to depart as soon as possible." She didn't know where the dinner was to be held. Morgan had said it was at a friend's, but she didn't know which friend. She'd have to stop by his London residence to discover the answer.
She dressed quickly and barely recalled to grab her bonnet before leaving the house.
"My lady."
Mena turned and blinked. "Ralph, isn't it?" She gave him a hesitant smile, recalling what he’d done to the bald man at the house. Though, then she recalled what he was. A spy.
He nodded and returned her smile. He seemed not much older than herself, with dark hair and eyes so light in color that they were nearly silver, yet they held a dust of blue. She tried to see him as more than a footman, since according to Morgan, he obviously was. She'd have never known unless someone told her. "Durham sent me to make sure you were all right."
She hid her pleasure at those words. For a moment, she'd felt abandoned. When she'd woken up to surroundings that were unfamiliar to the last place she'd been and had not seen him there, she'd almost wondered if anything of the day had been true. Perhaps she'd dreamt it all. The horrible meeting at the docks. The gardens at Wardington's mansion. Morgan's gentle touch on her cheek as he rested against her skirts.
He'd tickled her and for some reason she could not explain, that moment meant more to her than any other. What sort of gentleman tickled his fiancée?
Perhaps one who tickled his wife as well. Like he'd said, his touch hadn't hurt, but he'd found a way to get what he wanted. She'd called him Morgan.
"Unfortunately, Lord Durham will no longer be attending dinner at a friend's home. He's staying abed as his doctor suggested."
Philomena was surprised by the disappointment that settled in her chest. She couldn't see herself not having her questions answered and hearing that Morgan was in bed laced a small amount of fear in her blood. He'd seemed fine when she'd last seen him, but she knew about wounds that could become infected.
She took a deep breath in order to calm herself and turned to Allie. "Excuse us for a moment, Allie."
Her lady's maid nodded and returned inside.
Philomena and Ralph moved to the stairs as a few pedestrians passed. It was London during the Season and while there were only a few people on the road, she knew that when night fell, the hordes would be out, going either to dinners, parties, or the theatre.
She turned to Ralph. "Tell me the truth, is he all right?"
Ralph's eyes widened. "Why do you assume I wouldn't tell you the truth?"
"Because Morgan pretended he wasn't in pain while his driver stitched him back together and he did it for me. It only stands to reason that he'd tell you that I have nothing to worry about where his condition is concerned."
Ralph smiled. "And you don't. He's perfectly fine. It's simply a matter of his doctor ensuring that the stitches don't break or his skin tear against them."
The image of such a thing unsettled Mena's stomach. "I want to see him." She hadn't meant to say that aloud.
"I'm sure you can." He looked at the door before turning to her. "Would your lady's maid object?"
Mena thought for a moment and shook her head. "No, but Mrs. Gale will quiz the woman about everything. So long as the door remained open, I think Allie can survive it. After all, Morgan is my fiancé. I'm sure seeing that he is indeed well will not cause much scandal."
The footman's smile grew. "Of course." The response conveyed a personal knowledge. He must have heard Mena claim that she was not Morgan's fiancée a time or two. Now she was using that very position to bend the rules of Society.
And she didn't care. She would not rest until she knew he was all right.
Ralph rode on the outside of Mena's coach and gave the driver directions. The journey did not take long, and they arrived just as the final rays of the sun sunk behind the buildings. The street lamps were lit on his street, and Mena took measure of the townhouse they'd arrived at before speaking.
"I thought we were going to Durham's home?" she said as Ralph helped her from the carriage. The townhouse was on a prominent upper-class street but was not the larger home she'd visited when she went to speak to the marchioness.
"This is where his lordship resides," Ralph told her. She said nothing more as she showed her into a house that was well decorated and furnished. She wasn't sure what she'd expected from a spy, but this wasn't it. The home looked like it belonged to a man of means, which would make no one the wiser of who he really was.
Ralph led her past a parlor, a small breakfast room... she stopped at the sitting room.
The bloodied man from earlier sat in a red wingback chair, drinking tea. He lifted the cup to her before putting it to his split lip, watching her with his good eye. Allie gasped beside her.
"I don't understand," Mena said. "I don't understand anything anymore."
"Don't mind him. This way, my lady." Ralph led them up the stairs and Mena heard voices the closer they drew. People were arguing. She heard a woman. More than one woman. Ralph led her to the farthest room, and Mena stopped in the doorway and found three women standing around a bed. Sitting in the middle of the imposing structure, curled under sheets, was a grim-faced Morgan.
She didn't move, caught off guard by the company of others. She'd thought it on the verge of scandal that she was present, but Morgan already had three other beautiful women to attend him.
Surely, her presence was excess.
Morgan's gaze moved to her, and his expression softened.
She was frozen and unsure whether to flee.
He seemed to answer the question for her by holding out his hand. "Philomena."
The women who'd still been talking all turned to Morgan and then to her.
One of the women, who was shorter than the others with dark hair and brown eyes, smiled. "Oh, good. It was growing extremely tiresome, trying to keep him in bed. Now that you're here, he has no reason to leave."
Mena turned to Morgan immediately. "You tried to leave your bed?" She walked over to him. "Your doctor told you to stay and rest."
"That's what we told him," another one of the women said. Mena was strangely caught off guard by her beauty. She was raven-haired with bright blue eyes. "He won't listen to us, perhaps he'll listen to you."
"I'll go get refreshments," the last woman said as Mena neared the bed. She had dark red hair and golden eyes. She left the room in a flutter of silk skirts.
Mena's attention was grabbed by Morgan when he took her hand, grasping it securely in his fingers. "I wanted to see you."
Hadn't she just said the same about him only a half hour ago? Not even propriety had kept her away and though she wished it was a simple matter of the ghost of her father's death, she knew that at heart, her need to see Morgan had everything to do with him and nothing more.
Ralph placed a chair beside the bed, but before Mena could take it, Morgan pulled her toward the bed. She glanced around the room and noticed they were alone except for Ralph and Allie.
Allie sat in a corner with a book in hand. She glanced up once to meet Mena's eyes. "Do you need anything, my lady?"
"No."
Allie nodded and returned to her book.
Ralph left, and Mena hesitated before sitting on the edge of Morgan's bed.
This was scandal. Even as his fiancée, she wasn't supposed to be in his bed. If one of the other women returned and decided to gossip... She looked at the door.
"They won't say a word," he promised as if reading her mind. "They're my friends."
She turned to him. "You have very beautiful friends."
He grinned. "And I'm sure their husbands would agree with you."
Her jealousy had been more obvious than she had wished.
He touched her cheek and forced her eyes up to meet his. “If being stabbed is what it takes to bring this side out of you, I’ll gladly suffer again.”
She frowned. “What side of me?”
“The gentle side.” He took a breath and said, “I’m not used to anyone caring for me.”
“Your friends obviously care for you, otherwise they’d have not tried to keep you in bed.”
“This is different,” he told her, holding her gaze.
She blinked. He was right. This, whatever was happening between them, and in spite of the warnings to his nature she’d given herself that morning, was different than anything she’d ever experienced.
But would it last? He was wounded at the moment. While he wasn’t completely weakened, he was injured. What would happen when he returned to being that powerful man she’d seen at his office?
She leaned toward the man who was the source of the spicy scent that filled the room. “Are you really a spy?”
He glanced over to where Allie sat before looking at her and giving her a single nod.
Her fingers tightened on his, and she took a deep breath before saying, “I’ve never met a spy before.”
“You would never know.” His brown eyes filled with warmth. “We’re everywhere.”
“Who else is a spy?”
He shook his head. “I can’t say.” It was too soon. She was still deeply tied to Creed and though he wanted to share everything with her, he knew better than to do so. “Not yet.”
“But you’ll tell me once we marry?”
He nodded again, but then stilled as if waiting for her to deny the statement, to tell him once again that she had no plans or desire to be with him.
She looked down at the dark sheet and swallowed down some of her nervousness. She’d never seen a man in bed, not even her father. She was thankful that he wore clothes at least. She still recalled the muscular build of his chest and how captivated she’d been to watch its rise and fall.
He touched her chin and lifted her head. “Ask me anything.”
“Why is the man you beat downstairs drinking tea?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I offered him a book, but he hates reading.”
She stared at him and blinked. “I don’t understand.”
He pulled in a deep breath and said, “I want you to understand, but I don’t think this is the best topic of discussion at the moment.”
“What do you do? How does it work?”
He held her eyes as he thought of the best way to explain himself without her worrying. “We are like the police but without a uniform, which makes us nearly invisible and capable of gaining the information the Crown seeks in order to keep England safe.”
“Are we safe?” she asked.
He touched her shoulder. “We will be.” He’d make certain of that.
Her eyes grew worried. “Are you safe?”
He smiled at the look, liking her concern, but not her worry. “I was caught off guard today. I won’t say my business isn’t dangerous. It can be, but I’ve been doing it for many years and I’m good at it.”
She remained silent for a moment and then asked, “Will you continue if we wed?”
If.
He didn’t know ‘if’. He also didn’t like that it sounded as though she would not marry him if he did continue as he was.
There was no other choice in the matter though. England needed protecting and so long as that was to be, he would always be in her service. “Yes.”
She flinched only slightly, but then righted herself and took a deep breath. “I suppose what you do is good.”
“It is.”
“You keep England safe.”
“Yes.” He held her eyes.
She took another deep breath and said, “You’ve been doing it for years?”
He nodded.
“So, I suppose there is much the English should thank you for.”
He said nothing to that. He didn’t do it for praise. He did it because it was asked of him. He believed that if a man was to call a place home, he should be willing to die for it. As a second son, he’d been expendable to his family. Hiram had been healthy, and everyone had expected him to take the title, so Morgan had joined the military. After a few years and a mission that almost took his life, he was asked to take on a special sort of training and didn’t hesitate to do so.
He went to the Isle of Wight and alongside Simon, Warren, and Lucas, he trained under Sir Maximillian St. Cloud, one of England’s most famed spies. Since then, he’d been shot, stabbed, strangled, and chased out of one country with a bow and arrow.
And still, if given the choice again, he would change nothing.
Her eyes roamed his face and a look passed in those blue depths that made him feel as though she could not only read his mind, but understood him, understood his resolve. If she wanted to thank him in any way, that was enough.
Still, she touched his cheek and whispered, “Thank you.” Then her hand floated away, and a silence fell between them.
Her next question was one he didn’t like. “What are you working on now?”
“I can’t say.”
She tilted her head. “Does it have to do with the stabbings? Surely, you can tell me that.”
“I can’t say.”
She frowned. “You told me to ask you anything.”
“Anything about me,” he told her.
“You beat that man downstairs,” she countered in a quiet hiss. “How is that not about you? How do I know you won’t turn around and do the same to me?”
“Are you a criminal?” His expression was so intense and watchful that she leaned away as her lingering fear grew.
“Of course not.” She placed her hand on her chest.
Allie stood, making a sound as she did. “I’ll go check on the tea, my lady.” She fled the room without a word.
Morgan grabbed Mena’s hand to gain her attention again. “The women I’ve struck were not your usual sort of woman.”
Her heart was racing. “I was right about you. You’re no gentleman.”
“The first woman I struck stabbed me here.” He pointed to his left breast and Mena recalled the scar she’d seen there.
Her hand went to where his finger lay without thought. “She stabbed you?”
“She and her husband ran a brothel that provided children for their clients. Our spy organization found out about it after one of the English daughters went missing. We freed over forty children that day.”
“English daughters? So, you weren’t in England?”
He shook his head.
“Where were you?”
“I can’t say,” he told her. “But if I had to do it again, I would.”
Yes. Mena agreed, tracing the cut underneath his shirt. She could feel the small rise underneath the linen. She flattened her hand and felt the strong beat of his heart. He’d saved forty children from a fate probably worse than death. She always complained about her lack of freedom but couldn’t dream of living as those small children had. Morgan was a living, breathing hero. Not a monster. “How terrible was it?”
He captured her hand and placed a kiss on her gloved fingers. “Nothing too terrible.”
He was lying, once again hiding his pain for her benefit.
She moved closer. “She almost killed you, didn’t she?”
He smiled. “She struck just above my heart.”
“You’re a very lucky man.”
His eyes moved over her face before he rested her hand against his mouth and said, “I’m starting to agree.”