.
Mena wrapped her arms around Morgan and held onto him with all her might. She’d not been overreacting when she’d claimed her wish to protect him, and she would adhere to his advice and protect herself. The dagger that Creed had given her had more of a significant role in her life than before.
She wanted to tell Morgan about it but decided against it. If his men weren’t close enough to protect her, or him, or anyone else she knew, then she’d do it herself. She remembered the way Silas had struck Morgan and even the way her driver had died, the way the men had held the knife, his tight grip, the powerful thrust.
Nothing like that would ever happen around her again unless she was the one wielding the dagger. She’d protect Morgan with her very life, for she would not risk losing someone important to her again.
Yet at the moment, Morgan was there, alive, his breath fanning her face as their lips mated and their hands roamed. She touched his hair, memorizing the texture and swearing she’d see that not a strand came to any harm.
And then she touched his face, breaking the kiss and lifting to a kneeling position on the bed so her fingers could touch him properly. He lifted his eyes to her, offering himself to her, and allowed her to do as she pleased. She traced his cheekbone, his nose, lips. They were so soft and his eyes so warm. She bent forward and kissed him again, learning the rest of him with her mouth.
His hands tightened at her waist and he all but yanked himself away from her. His eyes were no longer warm, but hot. “We should stop.” His voice was rough and sent pleasure through her. He didn’t want to stop. He was being honorable.
She liked it.
She cupped his cheek and smiled as her heart beat inside the cage of her chest. “All right,” she whispered.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her in, humor in his gaze. “I wonder if you always kiss this way.”
She stilled. “What way?”
“Like you’ll never get enough of me.” He grinned. “It’s quite flattering.”
She smiled and cradled him in her hands, thinking that yes, she would protect him. She’d have to practice in order to be ready. She didn’t want to be too badly hindered by her skirts when the time came, if it came. If the string of stabbings was any indication, the time would come soon.
He frowned. “What are you thinking about?”
“George,” she told him. “My driver.” And him. She was thinking of every man and woman who’d been stabbed. She would not be next in line.
He helped her settle back down on the bed before he grabbed the back of her neck and gave it a light squeeze. “Do you think of your father any?”
For once, the thought of the man who’d raised her didn’t cause her much grief. It could have been that she’d just finished crying over him or it could have been that her new resolve was giving her strength, but she had a feeling it had to do with the man whose arms currently held her close.
“I’ve thought of him more recently than I have in few months,” she confessed.
His eyes softened. “Of course. You’re getting married.”
She smiled. “Yes, I am.”
He returned the look, and though she thought he couldn’t get any more handsome, the gentleness in his eyes and his soft smile touched her. It was an expression one didn’t give everyone, and for a man who lived his sort of life, she thought he didn’t share it often.
He took her hand and said, “I want to ask something of you, if I may, and it might be a hard thing to speak of.”
She studied his eyes and could see he didn’t truly want to ask her his question but was compelled to do it nonetheless. “What is it?” she whispered.
He pressed his lips into a thin line and sighed. “Could you tell me about your father’s death?”
That feeling of dread that had missed her before sunk into her stomach. Thinking of her father was one thing, speaking about his death was another. It had been the worst moment of Mena’s life, watching him die, or rather, being there just moments before he was truly gone.
“It happened so fast. We were sitting together and he fell out of his chair.”
“Was he in pain?”
“Yes, but… I only saw him for a moment.” She took a deep breath to settle her emotions and closed her eyes as she spoke of the rest. “When his body hit the floor, a maid who’d been passing the room rushed in and pulled me away. I didn’t see anymore. I looked back as she all but carried me from the room, but I didn’t see his face. I only saw it right before he fell.”
“What had he been doing before he fell?”
“Nothing,” she whispered with a shake of her head. She looked into his eyes. “My father always kept to calming activities because of his heart. We read books, the paper, sat by the window and spoke.”
“What were you doing that day?” he asked.
She frowned. “Nothing. The day had just begun. We were eating a meal.”
“What did you eat?” he asked.
“What does it matter?” She looked away. She’d not had anyone ask this many questions about the incident since the week it took place. Her father’s solicitor, Mr. Deacon, had wanted to know everything she’d seen, everything that had happened, like Morgan. But Mr. Deacon had had his reasons. Why did Morgan wish to know?
“You should rest,” he said. “I’ll be down the hall.”
She looked at him. “You’re staying.”
“I wish to be here if you need me,” he told her. “And I don’t care what Society says. You’ve just gone through something terrible, and I’ll not leave you alone.”
Her heart squeezed with gladness, and she hardly noticed she held onto his hand so tightly until he squeezed her fingers back. The only reason she’d still been awake when he’d arrived was that she was afraid to close her eyes. She was also afraid to turn off her lamps. Knowing Morgan would remain near settled her greatly. It would only be better if he stayed in her bed. She probably wouldn’t sleep soundly, but she would feel protected.
She remembered his offer to move their wedding to a closer date. If she said yes, she would have what she wanted. Morgan, if she wished, could share her bed and she desperately wanted that. Yet, instead of saying as much, she smiled and said, “Thank you.”
He rose, and she laughed as he helped settle her into bed as though she were a child, pulling the sheets over her body and even kissing her hair before telling her goodnight.
“Leave the door open,” she called, her voice holding more panic than she’d wished.
He stopped in the doorway and held her eyes. “Nothing will happen to you.”
“I know, but please.”
He nodded and let go of the door handle before departing down the hall.