.
Morgan walked down the gangway slowly and paused midway at the sight that caught his eyes. Dawn had just broken over the city, and his mother stood at the edge of the dock in front of her carriage. She was dressed in black from head to toe and though he couldn’t see her eyes clearly from this distance, he could recall seeing only one expression on her face: a calm reserve. Never once could he remember her raising her voice at Morgan and Hiram’s antics. Lady Durham had never needed to or cared to. There was always a nanny or tutor far more capable of delivering the message, whether it be by word or hand. How she could stand the smell of the Thames, the docks, or the men who worked it, he didn’t know and could only assume that she’d known that if she wished to see him, she had to corner him.
Another carriage waited a few yards away from his mother’s. His friend Simon stood before it, but when Morgan caught his gaze, he bowed his head before retreating and riding away. Even Simon had no desire to see his mother. They would have to get together later in the day. For now, Morgan would attend to the marchioness.
He adjusted the bag that rested on his shoulder and made his way toward her, taking his time to observe his surroundings before reaching her.
Looking at her made him recall what his brother had confessed about their mother’s nature and it made his skin crawl. In some ways, she was worse than his greatest enemy, and it coiled his blood to know he’d been born from her.
She said nothing before turning toward the carriage, and Morgan took her offered hand before guiding her inside and following after.
“I need to go home,” he said once the carriage moved.
“Home is where I am taking you,” she replied, her face tight without the creases that one would get with years of laughter or frowning. She’d been a woman of duty and grace her entire life. Nothing broke her. Morgan imagined she’d had that same expression on her face while giving birth. He had no illusions that his parents’ marriage had been one full of love. Instead, Morgan had grown up in what seemed like a space where everyone existed together, but apart, like ships that kept to the same waters but never touched.
And now, more than ever, he understood why his own father had avoided her except for when it came time to sire his heirs.
Besides Hiram, there had been no one in the house he’d cared to talk to and once his brother had left, Morgan had considered himself alone, knowing his life was no longer his own.
He was glad he now had new memories of Hiram to keep with him always and memories of a nephew, who if he ever returned to London would take Morgan’s place as the marquess. Morgan could only hope.
“I mean, I wish to go to my townhouse.” Morgan was not ready to go to the mansion, not ready to take his brother’s place, though he knew it to be his duty.
Something flickered in her dark eyes, and she turned to look out the carriage. “I know what you meant.”
Morgan tried to mask his emotions like his mother, a skill he’d mastered at a young age that had done him well as a spy… though annoyance bubbled in him and threatened to boil over. “Is that where you are taking me? To my townhouse?”
“Yes.”
He held back giving a loud sigh, but when the silence began to annoy him as well, he asked, “Why are you wearing black?”
“My eldest son is dead, according to the Crown,” she whispered. “A mother wears black when her child dies.”
Morgan grunted.
She looked at him. “Why are you dressed like a commoner? You’re the Marquess of Durham now. You can’t go about like this anymore.” The words deserved a scowl or, at the very least, an inflection on the words. Instead, they were simply words.
“I know who I am.” He had to fight from straightening his clothes. Instead, he pressed his hands to his knees and dug his fingers in.
“How was France?” A change of topic.
“It’s quite French.”
The only sign that his reply vexed her was in the short pause before her next words. “I find it odd that none of my friends in that country saw you.”
“France is a large country with many people.”
“I have many friends,” she said evenly, and Morgan knew she was implying that the ‘friends’ she’d sent to look for him had been more like her own set of spies. He didn’t know who was worse where it came to their abhorrent level of nosiness, his mother or the Duke of Wardington.
It reminded him of the other conditions of his marriage that Hiram had told him about. It was a shame he couldn’t bring them up now. If he did, his mother would know he’d seen Hiram and that would be a mistake.
“I’ve chosen a wife for you,” she said as she changed the subject yet again. That was her way. It never allowed anyone to settle around her, keeping them all on edge. “You’ll meet at your engagement party in two days’ time.”
So, there was her reason for seeking him out. He had two more days of being a bachelor. The fact that he would meet his wife at their engagement party didn’t bother him in the least. He suspected that she would be just another one of his mother’s spies… which would not be good, considering the many secrets Morgan had to keep. He would hate to kill his wife if she opened her mouth about the wrong thing. “She’s agreed to this arrangement? She doesn’t even wish to meet me before?”
“Of course, she has. You’re a marquess.”
“Of course.” He suspected the woman was just like his mother. Cold. Unfeeling. “Very well.”
She nodded, and the carriage stopped. He didn’t live far from the docks. It kept him close to his shipping company, close to the government buildings, and far, far away from his mother.
He stood and said, “Good day to you.”
“Don’t you even wish to know her name?” his mother asked.
“I’m sure addressing her as ‘my lady’ will do.” He shut the door behind him and went up to his door. His butler opened it for him, and Morgan was given a full report on the current news about Creed. His staff were all spies. Every man and woman had been enlisted to help the O.S.S. get Creed. Sadly, yet not surprisingly, there was not much good news.
One of the men the O.S.S. had taken from Creed to work for them had gone missing, a bald man by the name of Silas Christoph. He, along with three of the men working under him, had disappeared while Morgan was away. Everyone suspected Silas and the others had either fled or were once again working for Creed.
Creed didn’t operate like the common criminal. Instead, he hired fools who claimed to be working for themselves, who, in turn, hired even bigger fools who never knew they were working for Creed. It left the entire city without a good place to look for evidence that would put Creed on a boat to Australia.
“On a happier note,” his butler, Horace, began, “Creed has gone into hiding. Simon has put all his efforts into turning the public against him. It’s made people more fearful of being associated with a possible criminal.”
“Well, at least that’s some good news.”
Horace took his jacket and made a face at the smell of the sea. The old man was a spy, but he was also a butler, and Morgan had a feeling he’d never see that jacket again unless it was in his fireplace. “And then there are the stabbings.”
Morgan stilled and looked at him. “Stabbings?”
Horace nodded. “London has run rampant with them, mostly in the East End.”
“Why?”
Horace shrugged. “Some speculate it’s the lack of jobs. People are hungry. Others believe it’s the lack of Creed’s presence. They feel a leader is needed, even a criminal, to oversee crime.”
Morgan grunted. He didn’t like hearing that his city had fallen into chaos, even the East End, which was known to have its crimes, but not of the magnitude Horace spoke of. Most of the people in the East End were simple working folk. What had caused this rise of stabbings? He was sure Creed was behind it.
Once the meeting was over, Morgan called for a bath, quickly changed, and set out for the docks once more.
Atlantic Imports’ dock was like a city in itself with shops, a laundry facility for the men, and sleeping quarters for those who didn’t have a home of their own. Two large warehouses held ships, some being loading while other were pulled in for repairs. The busy depot was alive with action. He stopped to talk to a few of the managers about shipments and laborers before heading to his office.
He arrived at his office’s foyer to find his secretary openly flirting with the only other person in the building. The woman’s back was to him, but from what Morgan could tell, she was a woman of Society. Her morning dress was a pale-yellow silk dress of high quality, which made her own hair look like spun gold in comparison. She was slim where a man wished and round where he appreciated, and slightly taller than most women.
He stilled at the sound of her laugh, caught off guard by the abundance of joy in it after suffering his mother’s company. It was not common for women of the beau monde to express themselves so openly and never with a common worker like his secretary, Mr. Garvey. If it were anything to go by, Mr. Garvey’s face told Morgan that the front of the woman was just as stunning as her backside.
Garvey’s eyes went up and met Morgan’s, which prompted the blonde to turn around with a ready smile.
Morgan took in her stunning looks just as recognition hit him. He knew this woman, though he had seen her only once in person, and again when Simon had commissioned a painting to be done of her when the O.S.S. discovered she was connected with Creed.
Lady Philomena Housley.
He narrowed his eyes, which had the effect of killing her smile. “Can I help you?”
Mr. Garvey moved around Philomena and positioned himself beside her, or rather in front of her, as though he planned to protect her from Morgan. Sadly, the man didn’t know Morgan’s true identity, or he would know that Morgan could kill him in more than one hundred ways with nothing more than the knife in his boot. “Mr. Platt… I mean, Lord Durham, surely you know what reason this woman would have for seeking you out.”
Morgan lifted a brow and thought of at least one reason. Creed had finally sent in a spy and though he knew Mr. Garvey didn’t know much, he didn’t like her snooping around. “Why is she here?”
Garvey blinked. “Why, she’s your—”
“Mr. Garvey.” The temptress touched the secretary’s arm and grinned up at him. “If I could, I would like to speak to Lord Durham alone.”
Once Garvey’s eyes met hers, he was smiling once more and covered her hand with his before lifting it to give a kiss. “Of course, my lady.”
Morgan tightened his fist, the kiss on her hand annoying him more than he thought it should. He thought it was perhaps the fact that Lady Philomena had managed to turn Mr. Garvey into clay beneath her vile fingers. “Shall we continue this meeting in my office?” He started for the door in the back of the room without waiting for her to agree. Still, he listened for the telling sound of her feet moving against the wooden floor before starting toward his desk.
Lady Philomena stepped into the room.
Morgan avoided looking at her as he spoke, instead pretending to rummage around his desk as though he had other pressing matters. He didn’t. His business partner Warren had done well in his absence. “Close the door.”
“No, that would be improper.”
He lifted his head to find her hands resting at her side and a blank expression on her face. He didn’t know what to make of her or what to say. She was a fool for coming. He had nothing to say to her. She was the enemy as far as he was concerned.
What could she possibly wish to speak to him about? Was there a message from Creed? If there was, he would gladly accept it, hoping it would reveal clues as to the madman’s next move. Creed ruled the underworld of London, but his goal was to rule the Crown. How he planned to do so was what everyone was trying to figure out and how Lady Philomena fit in was yet another mystery.
Her debut, which was where Morgan had finally got a good look at her, had been a set up for the ton. Creed had been gathering large amounts of rats in the basement of the hotel and had planned to have them moved out and set upon the homes of some of the most powerful and wealthy lords of the ton. His plan had been for those lords to take up residence in the hotel and listen in on their private conversations while the lords worked to clear their homes of the rodents. It had been a good plan. Lady Philomena’s party had pulled everyone to the hotel, which had gone above and beyond to give them all a time they’d not forget, so when they heard about their homes being full of rats, they’d not think to go anywhere else. They would have stayed at the Housley.
But lucky for the ton, the O.S.S. had gotten to the rats first and set them on the building, ruining Housley’s reputation and her party.
And if he had the chance, he would do it all over again because what stood before him was nothing more than a walking version of her establishment. A pretty facade full of pests.
Something in his eyes must have given away his thoughts, because she took a step back and looked at the door.
“If you wish to go, then do so and don’t return,” he told her.
She looked at him again and the pain that filled her blue eyes struck him right in the gut. She had to be playing some sort of game. She had no heart.
He looked down at his papers once more, the gesture dismissive.
The room fell into silence, and he thought she’d left until he looked up and to find her standing there, a puzzled expression on her face.
“What?” he asked.
“I… don’t understand,” she whispered, her arms crossed over her chest as though to protect herself. “Is this what I am to expect from you? Such blatant cruelty?”
“Expect from me?” He glared. “You can expect nothing from me if you leave me alone.”
She closed her eyes but not before the open grief hit him again.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been cruel to a woman. Surely, it had been some time. Perhaps the assassin he’d met in Spain or the smuggler in Africa. He wasn’t sure, but never had it left him feeling like he did now, like he’d done something wrong.
She murmured something that strangely seemed to end with the word ‘cursed’.
“Lady Philomena,” he began to apologize, but before he could stop her, she fled the room.
Morgan slowly took his chair and let out the breath he’d seemed to have been holding since the moment he’d left his mother’s presence.
He was not having a good day.
“You may be my employer, but if I ever heard you speak to my wife that way, let alone your own, I’d have called you out, sir.”
Morgan opened his eyes to find his secretary glaring at him. He adjusted himself in the chair, feeling properly chastised. He already didn’t’ feel good about what he’d done but having his secretary go in on him made it all the worse. “Your wife? What are you talking about?”
Garvey shook his head. “I don’t understand you. You ask the woman to be your wife and then you treat her like this? I don’t know if I can continue to work for a man like you, Lord Durham, even if you pay well. My wife would never approve of a man who mistreats his fiancée and neither do I. I know that plenty of men don’t enjoy having their wives interfere with their business, but she meant no harm. She only asked questions about you, nothing more.”
Morgan had stopped listening to Garvey the moment he’d identified Lady Philomena as his fiancée. Then he cursed and cursed some more before standing, but by then Garvey was gone, probably never to return again. Morgan ran his hand through his hair and started to pace the floor.
His mother had arranged for him to marry the ward of his enemy. How had such a thing happened? He shouldn’t have let his mother get to him during their short ride from the docks. When she’d offered to tell him his bride’s name, he should have listened. Now, he’d just angered the last person he needed to make more an enemy than she already was.
He’d probably just single-handedly destroyed the O.S.S. because unless he could come up with a way to break his engagement— which he knew was impossible; if Garvey knew about it then everyone did— he’d have to lay beside a woman he’d been cruel toward.
He left the office quickly, knowing exactly where he needed to go.