.
There was one thing Morgan was certain of as Philomena spoke. His driver David's touch was not as pleasing as hers and broke his concentration more than once. His side radiated with pain, but he worked to keep it from showing on his face. Since she'd refused to leave, he'd had no other choice but to distract her from shedding more tears, each one like another knife in his gut. He'd only asked after her father as a way to entertain her, but when Morgan managed to clear his mind of thoughts about the needle that dug repeatedly into his flesh, he listened to her and even without understanding the words, he could hear the deep love and affection she'd had for her father. Theirs was a love so rare amongst the ton, not that the beau monde didn't love their children—Morgan's own upbringing was just as odd—it was only that the upper-class didn't spend as many hours with their children as Philomena had obviously spent with hers.
He closed his eyes, holding back a grunt and a moan as her fingers worked their own healing upon him. He'd never been touched this way before. Not by a lover and definitely not by his mother. Now that he knew just how cruel his mother's touch could be, he was glad she'd left him in the care of a nursemaid.
Her fingers stilled, and he opened his eyes.
Some of Philomena's golden hair had come loose of her bonnet and trailed toward him like a gleaming river. She stared down at him with an inquisitive expression, her blue eyes just as searching as her touch. Her fingers trailed the bone that curved his upper cheek before slipping to his jaw. "You seem nearly harmless on your back."
"I'd never bring you harm." He stiffened at the searing agony of David's pulls on the thread.
Her eyes moved down to the cut.
"Why did you stop?"
Her gaze returned to him. "You won't bring harm to me, but you will to others? Why did you beat that man?"
He felt David still as well but only for a second before continuing.
Morgan sighed. He had no clue what to say. He couldn't tell her he'd been running after a common criminal and a man who'd once worked for her uncle. She'd never believe him.
Or would she?
It wasn't as though her knowing part of the truth could bring him any more harm. Creed already knew he was after him. Creed even knew that they were spies sent to destroy him. He probably didn't know about the Order and if he did, like most of England didn't believe that the legends were true, that since the beginning of England, there had been an order of four men comprised of the sons of men from strong allies to the Crown.
Besides that, there were other benefits to telling Philomena the truth. It would be yet another step closer to her understanding of him.
David stopped and said, "I'm finished, my lord, but you shouldn't be moved. I'll send word to the others that you're here."
Morgan looked down at the swollen reddened skin. The stitching was perfect. The wound wasn't long, but as David had guessed, it was deep. Less than an inch in any direction and he might have bled out. "I can stand." He started to move, but Philomena put pressure on his shoulders to keep him down.
"He said you shouldn't move."
If he wanted to fight her, he could, but at the moment, he enjoyed where he was. With her close, he could smell her floral fragrance. It was clean and vibrant and feminine. He wondered just how much of that scent was simply her skin.
He settled back on her lap and watched David leave the room before turning to Philomena.
She spoke first, her narrowed eyes reminding him of an angry cat. "I can't believe you jumped out of a moving carriage that way and then burst into someone's home only to beat him senseless. While I hate that he stabbed you, I'm starting to think you deserved it."
He grinned, his mouth splitting wide.
Anger made her eyes dark. "Exactly where do you find the humor in this? You could have died. Now, tell me why your life was worth a game of fisticuffs."
"My friends and I have been looking for that particular man for months."
"Your friends? Why? Does he owe you money?" The fingers of one of her hands were once again moving through his hair, but this time with a little more force.
Pleasure rolled through Morgan and rooted itself deep within him. He closed his eyes and thought for a moment. "In a way. We purchased his loyalty."
"You can't buy loyalty, my lord."
He opened them again and looked at her. "I know." And he dearly wanted her loyalty. It was amazing what a simple touch could awaken. "And it's Morgan. You're forbidden from calling me 'my lord' or 'Lord Durham' or anything like it again. It's Morgan."
"And what will you do if I don't obey, my lord?" she shot back.
Morgan lifted his hand and touched her side right under her arm, a light dance of his fingers.
Philomena laughed and leaned away from his touch in surprise, her expression brighter then he'd ever seen it before. Her smile took his breath away. "Did you just tickle me?"
He chuckled through the bolt of sharp pain it caused. "Yes, and I plan to do it every time you call me anything but by my given name."
She laughed again, and he was sure that if light could have a sound, it would be her laugh. "How wicked of you." She didn't sound as though she disapproved in the least.
He held her gaze. "I wonder where else you might be ticklish."
That caused her cheeks to redden, and she looked away. When her gaze returned to his, it was as somber as she could make it. "You’ve still not told me what happened. Why did you beat that man?"
Loud footsteps could be heard coming up the stairs and the sound of fervent cursing made Morgan smile. In seconds, the doorway was filled with a broken and beaten Silas Christoph. He took one look at Morgan through his good eye and visibly sighed with relief.
Morgan grunted. "Yes, I'm still alive." And he was very lucky that he was. Had Morgan died, it would have been a death sentence for Silas.
His footman Ralph stood behind Silas and pushed the man onto the floor. "I caught him a few blocks from here. It was dragging him back without giving us away that was the issue, but I managed it well." The young man smiled, pleased with himself.
Morgan smiled as well. "Very good, Ralph. You'll be commemorated for this, and I'll personally put in that you be given a position that pleases you."
Ralph's smile grew before he bowed. "It's an honor working for you, my lord. I'd like to remain until we finally catch..." His gaze slid to Philomena and his voice wavered. He cleared his throat. "The enemy."
"The enemy?" Philomena looked around at everyone and then down at Morgan. "What does he mean? And what do you mean by giving him commendations?" Her eyes widened. "Are you criminals?"
"I wish," Silas murmured. "They'd be easier to deal with."
Philomena's eyes fell to him. "What's going on, my... Morgan?"
My Morgan. Though she'd not meant it in that context, his mind jumped to remember it.
"I work for the Crown, Philomena."
"And what is it that you do?" Her grip on him tightened, her gaze searching once more.
How would she react to the news? Could she keep a secret?
"He's a spy," Silas said.
Morgan frowned at him.
Ralph lifted a hand and hit Silas right where the jawline met his ear, instantly knocking him unconscious.
Philomena screamed.
Morgan glared at Ralph.
The young spy lifted his hands as Silas' body crumbled to the ground. "My apologies."
Another thump made Morgan turn.
Philomena had passed out.