Phoebe studied herself in the mirror as she waited for Morgan to call for their early morning ride. Her deep blue riding habit with the black piping down the front and around the cuffs and collar was always one of her favorites, even though it was a few years old.

She turned to observe her hair neatly tucked into a chignon at the nape and the matching hat with a saucy feather that swirled around the hat and ended right before her mouth. Pleased with her appearance, she gathered the skirt up in her arm and left the room.

Papa was eating breakfast, as he always did this early in the morning. Since Phoebe had a hearty appetite, she had allowed time for breaking her fast before Morgan arrived.

“Good morning, my dear. Don’t you look lovely.”

“Good morning to you, Papa.” Phoebe grazed his cheek with a kiss and moved to the sideboard where she filled her plate with eggs, sausages, tomatoes, and toast. At the last minute she added an orange.

“I am always pleased to see you, but what brings you down here so early?” He took a sip of coffee from his cup.

“I am awaiting the arrival of His Grace. We are going on a ride this morning in Hyde Park.”

Papa nodded and wiped his mouth with his serviette. “We seem to be seeing quite a bit of St. Albans lately. Should I call the family together for a proposal?”

Phoebe groaned. She’d always thought it cute and funny that their family insisted all members be assembled when a proposal of marriage was made. It had started accidentally when her eldest stepsister Elise became engaged to her husband. But now that it came close to her and Prudence’s time to expect proposals, the tradition no longer seemed so cute and funny.

“No, Papa. His Grace and I are merely friends.”

“Indeed. I seem to have heard that same story from your sisters when they were trying to dodge marriage.”

“In truth, Papa. His Grace is searching for a bride this Season, and I am helping him select someone who I think is suitable.”

Papa’s brows rose. “And you feel you are the best judge of what the man requires in a wife?”

Phoebe swallowed the bit of food in her mouth. “You must know of St. Alban’s reputation as The Cold Duke.” When Papa nodded, she continued. “I have found him to be anything but that. He is a lovely person. He was raised completely alone by parents who were themselves cold and distant.

“Besides that, he was not permitted to attend school but was educated by tutors until University. He never learned social discourse. For as smart as he is and how well he runs his estates, he appears to be quite withdrawn in social circles, which is why he has that reputation.”

“That doesn’t answer my question as to why you have named yourself as the one to find a suitable bride for the man.”

“Because I am the only one who really knows him. He is kind, considerate, and caring. He thinks he doesn’t deserve anyone who would love him. In fact, he has no plans to bring love into his marriage. I have tried to explain to him that—”

She suddenly realized her papa was grinning at her. “What?”

He patted her hand. “Nothing, my dear.” He pushed his chair back and stood. “’Tis time for me to handle my business matters.” He bent and kissed her on the top of her head. “I will see you later.”

Phoebe returned to her breakfast. She was nearly finished when the door knocker sounded. Within minutes, Mason entered the room. “His Grace has arrived, my lady.”

“Thank you. I will be right out.”

“Your father has requested His Grace attend him in the library before you leave.”

Phoebe dropped her head in her hands and groaned. “Oh, no.”

* * *

Morgan stepped up to the Pomeroy townhouse and dropped the front door knocker. A man he recognized from before opened the door. “Your Grace.” He bowed and stepped back to allow him to enter.

He’d seen members of Phoebe’s family addressing the servants, but never comfortable speaking with servants himself—it was never done in his house, only to give instructions—he merely nodded at the man. “I am calling for Lady Phoebe.”

“Yes, Your Grace. His lordship has requested that you join him in the library for a short visit while Lady Phoebe finishes her breakfast.”

Morgan followed the man down the corridor to the library. Pomeroy hopped up the minute he entered the room. “Your Grace, lovely to see you again.” He waved at the settee where they sat the night before. “Won’t you have a seat?” He turned to the butler. “Mason, have Cook send in tea—” he turned to Morgan. “Do you prefer coffee?”

“Tea is fine.”

“Excellent. Then tea it is. And food.”

Morgan generally broke his fast after a morning ride, but if there was to be food along with the tea, he was grateful since eating would prohibit him from having to talk much.

Pomeroy rubbed his hands together. “We’ve seen a lot of you lately, Your Grace.”

Morgan sat up straight. “Yes.”

“Going riding this morning, my precious daughter tells me.”

“Yes, sir. If that is permissible.”

He waved his hand. “Of course. Phoebe is an excellent horsewoman. Rides over the hills like a whirlwind when we’re in the country.”

If there was a response to that, Morgan had no idea what it would be so he just nodded. Where the devil was the food?

“I married off three daughters, don’t you know?”

“Three?”

“Yes. All of them have children now.” He beamed at him. “I love being a grandpapa, don’t you know? However, my lovely wife presented me with a son a couple of years ago. The Viscount Mounthorpe—such a mouthful for a little boy—is my heir. Charming little mite. Always into one sort of trouble or another, Nurse tells me.”

The pride in the man’s voice warmed Morgan’s insides. Somehow he did not think his own father ever spoke about him in such terms. Were he ever blessed with a child, he would surely love him as much as Pomeroy loved his son.

I have no heart.

If he could already feel love for a child of his that hadn’t even been born yet, how could he profess to have no heart?

“Ah, here is the tea.” Pomeroy waved the footman to place the tea tray on the table in front of them.

While Morgan poured the tea himself and added a few items to a plate, Pomeroy sat back and watched him. “You know, Your Grace, I would love to have tea trays with real food.” He waved at the tray. “Not this women’s food.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his thighs. “For a while there, I did. My daughters all arranged for this stuff—” he gestured to the small sandwich Morgan was about to put into his mouth. “Then they all married, but my lovely wife, who was companion and chaperone to my daughters, decided the girls were right and women’s food was good for my health. For a short period of time she lived somewhere else before we married. Hearty food during that time.” He mused for a moment. “I’d rather have my wife.”

Morgan almost choked on the sandwich. Pomeroy was like no one he had ever met before. Of course, he didn’t speak with many people besides his parents, tutors, and University professors. And those who sought his help and assistance with things. To hear someone just ramble on about mundane things was odd. And nice.

“Before you take my beloved daughter off for a ride in Hyde Park, I just wanted to speak with you a bit. Wonderful girl, my Phoebe is. Prudence as well.”

Morgan wiped his mouth just as Pomeroy stood. “Well, lad, time for your ride.”

Lad?

Absolutely no one had called him lad in his entire life. He quickly stood and followed Pomeroy to the door. The man moved so fast Morgan had to hurry to catch up to him. So much energy.

They left the library and continued on down to what appeared to be the breakfast room. Phoebe sat, sipping on a cup of tea. “There you are.”

“Your young man is ready, my dear. Have a nice ride.” With a kiss on the top of Phoebe’s head, Pomeroy hustled from the room, whistling.

Whistling?

* * *

Phoebe studied Morgan as they made their way down the stairs to the two horses being held for them at the end of the pathway. Her horse, Poppet, a black-as-night, four-year-old mare had been given to her, and another to Prudence, by Papa on their seventeenth birthdays. She loved the horse so much she’d convinced Papa to bring her with them when they traveled to London from their country estate.

Hopefully, Papa hadn’t said anything to embarrass Morgan. He didn’t look uncomfortable when he left the library with her father.

He stepped back and let the groom assist her in mounting the horse, and then put his foot into the stirrup and swing his leg over his animal. She tried not to notice how well he sat a horse. Or his bulging thigh muscles as he settled into the seat.

“Are you ready?” He turned to her and actually smiled. Well, then. Papa certainly hadn’t upset him.

“Yes. I am.”

They began the ride by walking and then trotting the animals. It was a lovely almost-spring day. As usual, Morgan remained silent, but Phoebe didn’t mind since she enjoyed his quiet company.

Once they entered the park, Morgan led his horse toward Rotten Row and she followed. There were a few riders out, but all men. Most ladies enjoyed their chocolate in bed first thing, then breakfast around ten or eleven. She never could abide all that sitting about. She had far too much energy for that lifestyle.

“What did Papa want?”

Morgan studied her for a minute. “I am not quite sure. He spoke about food and tea trays and how lovely you are.”

“Did he ask any questions?”

“No.”

At least that would ease her mind. Knowing Papa as she did, he was liable to say just about anything and ask just about anything. The girls all loved him to death, but sometimes he did make them cringe.

“He seems to really like your mother.”

Phoebe grinned. “Oh, yes.”

His lips twitched. “I sense a story behind that remark.”

“Mother was a companion and chaperone to my stepsisters. Once Marigold married, Mother moved us all out of Papa’s house because it was no longer proper for her to be living there. Papa wanted to marry her, but it seems my other father’s will had tied up all his wealth so Prudence and I would lose a great deal of money if Mother remarried before we did.”

“That’s terrible.” He hesitated for a moment. “He sounds a bit like my own father.”

From what Phoebe had learned about the former duke, he did sound as though he would do something mean like that.

“What happened?” Morgan asked.

“Prudence and I found out why Mother was refusing to marry Papa. We went to them both and told them we didn’t want the money. How can you put a price on someone’s happiness? My parents were very much in love, and neither Pru nor I wanted to be rushed into marriage because we felt bad for our mother.”

“So how did it end?”

“The man who received all the money when Mother married set up a large dowry for me and Pru. However, Papa insisted on adding to it.”

Morgan’s brows rose. “That was very generous.”

She made a face. “Yes. But in some ways, it has been more of a hindrance.”

“Surely you don’t think men are interested in you for your money? You have so much more to offer as a wife than coin.”

She shrugged. “There have been more than a few who have found our healthy pockets attractive.” Before the last word was out of her mouth, her mare stumbled and she flew from the horse and landed on her backside. “Ouch.”

“Phoebe!” Morgan vaulted from his horse and squatted down alongside her. “Have you been injured?”

“No.” She took the hand he held out and climbed to her feet. “Whatever made her toss me like that?” She walked to Poppet who stood very still. “What happened, Poppet?”

Morgan took hold of the reins and moved the horse forward. The animal limped. “It appears she must have stumbled and hurt her front right hoof.”

Phoebe ran her hand down the horse’s satiny nose. “Oh, dear. I can’t ride her back to the mews.”

“You will have to ride with me on Bellator.” Morgan stood with his hands on his hips and regarded her.

She grinned. “Your horse’s name is Warrior?”

“Ah, not many women know that bellator is Latin for warrior.”

“Not many women know English, Latin, French, Spanish, and German either.”

His eyes grew wide. “You know all those languages?”

“Yes. I have a flare for languages and pick them up quite easily.” She shrugged.

“You never cease to amaze me, Lady Phoebe.” Once again he smiled at her. Goodness, it was becoming a habit, almost. It made her happy to see him smiling. And it brought funny twitches to her stomach, sort of like butterflies. The man was handsome enough, but when he smiled…

Pulling her thoughts from where they were going, she said, “I don’t know how proper it is for me to ride on your horse with you.”

“Then I can walk your horse back and you can ride mine.”

“I need a sidesaddle.”

“I can switch saddles.”

It was about five miles back to her home from where they were. Not a great amount of walking, but since it was early, perhaps no one would spot them if they rode together. And it would take quite some time, and she had a modiste appointment with Mother and Pru in little over an hour.

“Perhaps it would be better if we rode together. I don’t think there are that many people up and about to see and comment on it.”

“’Tis one of the reasons I enjoy my anonymity. I don’t notice, or perhaps even know, what is being said about me. The only moniker I’ve ever heard was The Cold Duke, and that is mostly because I first heard it at University.”

She touched him on the sleeve of his jacket. “But you are not The Cold Duke, you know.”

“Actually, the temperature has dropped somewhat, and right now I am the cold duke.”

He grinned at her, and then his smile faded as he studied her face. His eyes grew darker, and he raised his hands to cup her cheeks. When she did not object, he lowered his head and placed his warm, moist lips on hers.

Her heart did a double thump, and a fluttering like she’d never felt before settled in her stomach and lower parts. Morgan dropped his hands and wrapped his arms around her shoulders and waist, pulling her flush against his body.

His warm, muscular body. She was by no means chilled any longer. He pulled away from her lips, then kissed her eyelids, cheeks, jaw, and back to her lips again. Her breathing sped up, and she felt as though her knees would crumble. She slid her palms up his chest to settle on his shoulders aa a way to anchor herself.

A noise from behind jarred them apart.

Morgan pushed her behind him where she rested her forehead against his back and attempted to garner enough air to fight off the black dots threatening her collapse.

“’Twas nothing, sweeting.” His voice was raspy. “Only a couple of deer crossing the path.” He turned back. “But we must get you and your horse home.”

Before her mind had returned, he placed his hands around her waist and set her on Bellator’s back. Since she could not ride astride, he sat her sideways on the saddle, then threw his leg over the animal and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her against him.

She drew in a sharp breath when their bodies touched. His warm chest heated her back, and the light scent of something spicy drifted to her nose as Morgan’s warm breath teased the skin at her nape. “Relax, Phoebe. I have a strong grip on you. You won’t fall.”

A strong grip, indeed. She was not concerned about falling. Not from the horse, anyway.

I am in trouble.