.
Philomena held back a moan as Morgan’s kiss devoured her in the dark, feeding on her lips, and taking everything she had to give. The air was thick around them, and she struggled to breathe, pulling in one aching breath after another as the kiss deepened and their equal aggression rose. Her blood seemed to pulse through her every vein, rocking loudly against her flesh and waking part of her that had been dormant until his touch. He used his lips, tongue, and fingers on both seen and unseen parts of her, a kiss that conquered where it went.
His hold on the back of her hair kept her mouth exposed to him while the hand that was wrapped around her waist kept her anchored and pressed against his body.
As though she wished to be anywhere else.
If she could, she would burrow deep within him, allow herself to become infused with his spicy scent, so that when they parted, she could still smell him on her, her body soaked with it.
She’d locked her hands in his hair, communicating that she wanted him just as close as he wanted her.
Her body tingled, and perspiration broke over her, making her clothes feel damp on her arms and chest, the heat building the small closet that Morgan had thrown her into how many moments ago, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was that the moment the door closed behind them, the happiness and triumph of a successful engagement party seemed to pull them together.
The rain had not come. Instead, the clouds had opened every so often to let just enough sun in to make her smile and whenever the sun broke, her eyes would catch Morgan’s eyes as though they were sharing a secret.
How quickly that had become a thing. He knew of her infatuation with the sun. It was clear from the glances, no matter how far apart they’d stood, he now thought of her when he saw the sun.
The moment she realized it, something pinched her heart and it was as though the gates of her emotions had come unhinged, collapsing under the weight of her blooming emotions and spilled out for all to see.
She was going to love him. If she didn’t already, she was going to love him, and the kisses they were currently partaking of in the stolen moments of the afternoon only made that more certain. She hadn’t needed Lady Wardington to tell her Morgan was a good man. She could feel it in the way he touched her. Possessive, yes, but so shockingly tender that she often wondered if he thought her a dove or some easily bruised flower. He’d said he’d never hurt her but managed to touch her in a way that told her she was precious, the treasure he’d said he’d been lucky enough to find first.
Morgan had said many wonderful things before this day, but Philomena hadn’t allowed herself to truly believe them because she’d not only feared him, but there’d been Creed between them.
But something had changed that morning.
It could have been finding that he’d arrived early to spend time with her. It could be the fact that when she’d taken in how handsome he’d looked in his finery, she’d felt a little possessive herself. Morgan Pratt, whomever he was, was all hers. Every inch of him. She took him in with her eyes, but anyone could do the same.
This kiss proved that she could take more, much more, from him, and he would give her exactly what she wished for.
And more.
His hold on her hair, while firm, was gentle as his mouth drifted down her cheek and jaw before kissing a path to her ear. “I can’t wait to make you my wife,” he whispered hotly in her ear.
“Yes.” The word was more like a pant.
She felt the pull of his lips against her skin. He was smiling. “Marry me.”
She laughed into his shoulder so that they wouldn’t get caught. She loved how he made her laugh when they were like this. Joy and pleasure and happiness that made her body feel as though it contained its own bright sun. “I’ve already pledged to marry you.”
“Marry me, Mena.”
Mena.
She moaned softly and whispered, “Morgan, I can’t promise to marry you more than I already have.”
The next kiss was deeper and more intense and left her dizzy and yearning for more.
He said something, and her mind fought to grab hold of his words and used them to pull herself from the fog of desire.
“Tomorrow?” she whispered.
“Tomorrow,” he confirmed.
She leaned away as though to meet his eyes, but in the blackness of the hall closet in the Durham London residence, she couldn’t see anything, wouldn’t have been able to make out her hands if she waved them in front of her face.
They could have snuck off to any room, but Morgan had chosen the closet because it was the first door off the terrace, and he’d wanted her quickly and apparently still did.
“Tomorrow?” she asked again.
Somehow, she did not know, but he managed to find her mouth in the dark, hitting it squarely before he growled against her lips, “Tomorrow.”
There was so much hidden within that word and all of it sent shivers racing down her spine.
Tomorrow.
It was inconceivable and though he had her nearly ready to throw caution to the wind, she did have other things to worry about.
She replied quietly in the dark, “I can’t.”
“Mena—”
“I think we should return to the sitting room.” No doubt Mrs. Gale and Lady Durham were about to send a servant looking for them. They’d been gone long enough.
She heard and felt Morgan’s sigh. “You’re right. This way.” She was nearly blinded by the lights in the hall as he emerged first. He stopped in the doorway and said, “Come on.” He took her hand and started down the empty downstairs hall.
The house was cool compared to the romantic alcove they’d made of the closet, and the hall wasn’t the only thing that made her feel cold. She glanced at Morgan and found his eyes set forward, the only warmth in him seemed to be the connection of their hands. She couldn’t read his expression but knew his thoughts were not good. His hair was mussed from being gripped and tangled in her fingers. He didn’t seem to care.
She didn’t know what to say. She’d not wanted to ruin the moment by speaking up about her fears, but it seemed pointless to delay any longer. The moment was over.
They turned toward the main foyer, and he placed her hand on his arm and came to a stop. His eyes found hers. “I should apologize. I got carried away.”
“No.” She lifted her hand and touched his arm. “If whatever is happening between us has carried you away then I am on the same current.”
Warmth returned to his eyes, and he took her hand and kissed her fingers. “Is there any way I can change your mind?”
Mena thought the more important question was what she could do to change his mind, and not about their wedding day, but about Creed.
She looked down.
“It’s Creed, isn’t it?”
She snapped her head back and met his eyes. “How did you know?”
The irritation in his expression only confirmed her worries. It was too soon to marry. She couldn’t bear this hostility amongst men she cared for.
“I’m beginning to know you very well,” he told her, and she barely had time to take the full measure of his words before he went on. “When are we to have this dinner?”
“Soon,” she told him. But first, she needed to speak to Creed about it. She had no way to get in touch with him. Contact was always initiated by him. But she was sure her uncle wouldn’t refuse. After all, he’d been the one to suggest she marry Morgan. “I’ll let you know the moment it can be arranged. Everyone knows how important this dinner is to me, do they not?” In the time she’d spent with Morgan’s friends, they’d not spoken about Creed or even a topic close to it. Still, she knew that gentlemen enjoyed spending their time with men of like minds, so she assumed that Simon, Lucas, and Warren didn’t like her uncle either and perhaps even their wives.
He licked his lips. “They’ll be on their best behavior.”
She had her answer. She’d be Creed’s only ally at the dinner. She was probably his only true ally in the world.
His eyes softened. “Tomorrow.”
“Morgan—”
“I say we go for a ride in the park,” he went on.
She stilled. She’d been ready for him to propose they marry tomorrow again and was glad he hadn’t. She sighed. “Tomorrow.”
“What is to happen tomorrow?” Mrs. Gale came into the room followed by Lady Durham.
“A ride through the park,” Morgan told her.
Mrs. Gale smiled. She’d healed very nicely from her reaction to the nuts. “Excellent. I’m sure you two will enjoy yourselves.” She was going to let them go alone. Their engagement had been official for months, but since the party, no one would question seeing her and Morgan together in public. They were free to court as they wished… so long as they weren’t discovered kissing in dark closets.
The hour had come for them to part, and Mena had no opportunity to give Morgan the goodbye she’d wanted, one that would have included a kiss, but instead bowed and left.
They were halfway home when the carriage made a strange noise and came to a stop. Her driver came to the door and helped both Mena and Lady Gale out of the carriage just before a wheel popped off and fell to the ground.
“I saw it tilting and knew it best to get out immediately,” the driver said.
“Thank you.” Philomena’s hand went to her chest, and she ignored Mrs. Gale’s frightful shouting as she stared at her transport. If they’d been going fast, if her driver hadn’t caught sight of the wheel, something worse could have happened. How he’d managed to see it when the sun had already sunk behind the building and the street lamps had yet to glow, she didn’t know but was thankful.
Needing to get her mind on something else, anything else, she moved to Mrs. Gale and got her to settle down. She knew the woman was only shouting in anger because she was scared. They could have been injured or worse.
“Pardon me.”
Mena jumped and turned to find a man with a low hat and shabby clothes standing close. He smelled of the docks and while he wasn’t tall by any measure, his arms looked powerful underneath the beaten blue shirt.
“Have you a shilling to spare?”
“She doesn’t.” Mrs. Gale stepped forward. “Be gone with you, now.” She waved at him as though he were a flea.
The man lifted his light green eyes and stared at Mrs. Gale with pure hatred. “I only asked for a coin, miss. There’s no reason to speak to a man that way.”
Mrs. Gale, thinking better of herself, took a step back and pulled Mena with her. “George,” she called to the driver.
“No.” Mena agreed with the man. “All he wants is a coin. I have a coin.” She’d had her reticule in her hand since the carriage stopped and began to dig inside.
Mrs. Gale ignored her. “George!” His name had more urgency in it than before.
That urgency startled Mena slightly. Her hand shook because she was afraid, though she didn’t want to be. She told herself that the man needed help and that was all, but her mind couldn’t help but think about Silas and the dagger. Her own was currently still pressing against her thigh. She wore it just as Creed had sked and for a moment, it gave her some comfort. She found the coin and started to hand it to the man.
A shadow on her side made her turn just in time to see George approach. “Don’t bother the lady anymore.”
The next second happened in a blink. With the last spill of sunlight, Mena saw the flash and screamed just as the man struck George, his eyes menacing. The stranger’s hand remained still and close to George’s chest, wrapped around the handle of a dagger, before he pulled it out, snatched Mena’s purse, and ran, the sound of his feet slapping the pavement the only sound before Mena heard something heavy hit the ground.
She turned and found Mrs. Gale laying limp and cried out again as George crumpled to the ground. Watching George fall seemed like watching a Montgolfier hot air balloon deflate. He simply fell like the wind had been cut from him and unlike when Morgan was stabbed, she could tell that George was truly gone.
Someone must have heard her screaming, because a crowd gathered. She had no idea how long she’d screamed and didn’t remember what happened next, but as Allie put her to bed, she knew she wouldn’t find sleep and wondered if she’d ever sleep soundly again.