Morgan felt as though he was under siege. It was the last day of the house party, and if it hadn’t been for Phoebe’s diligence, he’d be working out marriage settlements right now. Four different young ladies had attempted to put him in a position that would have compromised their reputations. He shuddered, thinking about how miserable his life could be if one of them had succeeded.

Throughout the time spent at the party, he’d picked up dozens of dropped handkerchiefs, grabbed the elbows of seven stumbling young ladies, caught three swooners, and held one tearful miss who threw herself into his arms.

The worst of the group had been Lady Brenda. Bloody hell, the woman could come up with more dangerous situations to drag him into than Boney had during the war. It had reached the point where the only place he felt safe was his assigned bedchamber. Even then he’d searched the room each evening when he returned to sleep.

Each time Phoebe had rescued him, he asked her to marry him. And each time she asked if he’d found his heart. Terrified to say yes and disappoint her later on when he came to realize he could never love anyone, he truthfully told her each time that he wasn’t sure.

She continued to turn him down.

Truth be known, he had begun to believe this feeling he had when he spotted her across the room was something akin to love. But since he’d never experienced such a state before, he didn’t know. He loved being in her company, he loved her laugh, her humor, her protectiveness, and most of all her solid friendship. As far as lust went, he’d never been in such a constant state of arousal in his life.

Did all of that constitute the state of love? If only he could be sure.

He finished tying his cravat to his satisfaction and left the room for the final dinner and ball of the party. It would be with a great deal of relief when he left the next morning. As the Season was only a few weeks away from ending, most likely he would have to repeat this nonsense again next year.

Unless he found his heart, and Phoebe agreed to marriage.

I could lie.

No. He would never do that. She meant too much to him.

“Your Grace! Mother is so very anxious to speak with you.” Lady Brenda latched onto his arm the minute his foot hit the bottom stair. Botheration, the girl had been waiting to pounce on him. She gripped his arm so tightly he would need a cleaver to separate them.

“I shall be delighted to speak with your mother. However, I need to take care of a matter of importance first.” He physically pried her arm from his and practically ran down the corridor to the drawing room.

He burst into the room, his eyes swinging back and forth before they landed on Phoebe. All the tension left his body, and a smile graced his face. As always, she looked beautiful. Her soft pale blue gown fell in folds around her lovely curves. Her hair caught the lights from the candles, the loose curls at her nape and temples moving as she spoke to her mother and sister.

The neckline of her gown was no lower than any other woman present, but he felt annoyance that other men could gaze upon the swell of her perfect breasts.

He took a deep breath and strode in her direction.

“Your Grace. I am so terribly sorry the house party is over, aren’t you?” Lady Daisy stepped right in front of him. If his reflexes hadn’t been so well honed over the past few days, he would have trampled right over her. Most likely he would have been informed that the only remedy for that situation would be to marry the chit.

He ran his finger around the inside of his cravat and nodded. “Yes. So sorry.” He skirted around her and made his way to Phoebe.

“My goodness, you are in a hurry.” Phoebe grinned at him, then frowned. “What is wrong?”

Morgan took her hand in his and bowed. “Nothing.” He squeezed her hand. “I just wish this party was over.”

“Your Grace, I’m sure it has been a trying time for you, and I apologize on behalf of all the mamas and daughters here.” Lady Pomeroy extended her hand which he bowed over. She was truly a lovely woman, and one he’d grown comfortable speaking with. He then turned to Lady Prudence. “My lady. Good evening.”

As much as he wanted to spend time alone with Phoebe, it appeared this last evening all the desperate chits and their mamas were going to make their final attempt at snagging him. Therefore, a group of ladies would be a much better defense. “Ladies, may I accompany all of you on a walk in the garden?”

Phoebe leaned toward him. “It’s raining out.”

“Oh.”

A footman approached them with a tray of glasses. They each took a glass of an unknown beverage, which he was pleased to note was a decent light sherry. Not one of his favorites, but with the ladies present, Bentworth would not be serving anything stronger.

“Your Grace.” Lady Stevenson’s nasally tone had him tensing as she tapped him on the arm with her fan. “You are naughty. I believe my daughter told you I was anxious to speak with you.”

He groaned inwardly and turned to her. “Yes. She did.” He said nothing further and hoped the annoying woman would fall through an opening in the floor.

She offered him a tight smile. “Perhaps we can take a stroll in the garden?”

Phoebe choked.

“It is raining,” he was happy to say.

“Oh, dear. Then perhaps a stroll around the room?”

He was fully aware of his lack of experience with the ton and the social niceties necessary to move about in Society. However, good manners had been drilled into him, and surely this blatant attempt by this harridan to whisk him away from a group of ladies he was already conversing with did not fall into the realm of good manners.

“Lady Stevenson, how lovely to see you.” Lady Pomeroy offered the woman such a bright smile she had Morgan convinced they were the best of friends. “However, I must beg you to allow His Grace the opportunity to finish a story he was telling us. Perhaps you can speak with him after dinner?”

With Morgan and all three Pomeroy ladies staring at Lady Stevenson, she backed down, much to his relief. “Yes. Of course. Do accept my apology, Your Grace.” With a quick turn on her heel, she left them.

“My lady, I am forever in your debt,” Morgan said as Lady Pomeroy glared at Lady Stevenson’s retreating back.

“I have never seen the likes of the behavior I’ve witnessed this weekend.” She shook her head. “’Tis quite disconcerting.”

“A duke, mother. The absolute best a woman can hope for.” Phoebe took a sip of her drink.

“Is that true of all women, Lady Phoebe?” Morgan smirked.

A flush rose to her face as Lady Pomeroy and Lady Prudence exchanged amusing glances.

Drat the man to ask her that in front of Mother and Prudence. They had been questioning her about him just as he’d strode up. If she ever told Mother how many times he’d asked her to marry him, she would probably faint dead away. And then rise to plan the wedding.

Frankly, she did not honestly know how many more times she could turn him down. She grew more and more fond of the man as time went by. When she allowed herself to think hard on it, she had to admit she was in love with him. All the more reason to continue to refuse his offer of marriage.

How horrible to be married to someone you dearly loved who only felt affection for you. She’d spent too much time around family members besotted with each other to settle for that sort of marriage.

A footman arrived at the door to the drawing room to announce dinner. Morgan again led the group into the dining room as the highest-ranking male in the room. He partnered with the Marchioness of Davenport, the highest-ranking lady.

Phoebe was surprised to find herself to the right of Morgan, with Prudence on his left side. Directly across from them, Mother took her seat between Mr. Goldring and Lord Benson. When she regarded Morgan with raised brows, he bent close to her ear.

“’Tis often hard for a hostess to refuse a duke’s request. I was quite tired of the constant inane chatter from the young ladies seated next to me all weekend. I suggested to Lady Bentworth that you and Lady Prudence would make wonderful dinner partners.”

“See, Your Grace. Not all your experiences as a duke are bad.” She shook out her serviette and placed it on her lap, grinning. “Shall I drop my serviette on the floor so you can retrieve it for me, Your Grace?” She batted her eyelids, bringing a chuckle from Morgan.

The dinner passed pleasantly. It amazed her how much fun Morgan could be when he was relaxed and not constantly on his guard. He was charming, funny, and completely different from The Cold Duke everyone saw.

However, after this weekend, it was apparent his coldness had not hindered the mad chase to drag him to the altar. But then, with a duke who was actually young, handsome, and wealthy, it was no wonder the ladies were lining up with one scheme after another.

“You know, you could make all my days as a duke pleasant if you would marry me.”

“Oh, I see. I should marry you to make your life pleasant? And what benefit is there for me?”

He seemed to give it consideration. “Since I already know my title and money do not impress you, perhaps the thought of watching me stumble through various social events for the rest of my life might bring some amusement?”

What would not amuse me is loving you while you did not return my feelings.

She really had nothing to say and was horrified to find tears welling in her eyes. She blinked furiously.

“What is wrong, Phoebe?” The unease on his face frightened her. No, he did not love her, he only offered friendship. He had been plain about that so there was no point in reading more into his concern.

“Nothing. I believe I am just tired from all the activities.” She smiled brightly. “I’m well.”

They continued to converse about the food, the company, and the return to London, but the look of apprehension never left his face. Several times he turned to speak with Pru, which allowed her to take a deep breath and compose herself.

After this weekend, she would work to end their relationship. She’d found loving someone who didn’t love you back was not only torture if it were your spouse. Just being with Morgan so much this weekend had reached the point where she was suffering.

Lady Bentworth stood as the last plate was swept away from the table by the footmen. “As the ball will follow dinner, we will pass on tea and move to the ballroom. I am expecting guests from the neighboring estates who should arrive shortly.”

The group made their way to the ballroom, several young ladies moving in Morgan’s direction. Phoebe was so very tired of the weekend, the handkerchief-dropping young ladies, the aggressive mamas, and her confused feelings toward Morgan that she was ready to skip the ball and retire to her room.

“Your Grace, I believe I feel a megrim coming on. If you will excuse me, I shall retire to me bedchamber.” Phoebe pulled her arm from his and stepped back.

He reached for her hand. “Phoebe, I want you to tell me what is wrong.”

She shook her head, tears once again threatening to belie her words. “Nothing. I assure you.” She backed up, turned, and fled.

Morgan watched Phoebe race from the room, and his stomach muscles clenched.

And his heart hurt.

Yes, the heart he thought he did not possess was making itself known, but instead of joy it was bringing him terror.

He loved her.

There was no doubt in his mind that what he felt for Phoebe was love. Pure, simple love. He didn’t know how he knew that, but once he’d seen her so upset that she left the room, his heart had told him.

The heart he thought he didn’t possess.

He followed her out of the room, dodging everyone in his way, making mumbled apologies and excuses. Nothing would keep him from reaching her and telling her what he’d just discovered.

Once he reached the floor where the guests were staying, he realized he had no idea which room was Phoebe’s. Since everyone would be at the ball, the best thing to do was to knock on each door.

After six attempts, he finally heard a muffled, “What?”

“Phoebe, open the door.”

The door opened to reveal a teary-eyed Phoebe. Her eyes were red and puffy, and she chewed on her lower lip. He leaned his arm against the door frame. “Please tell me what is wrong.”

She wiped her nose with a handkerchief. “What are you doing here? If you get caught, it will be a disaster.”

Not such a disaster since he’d been asking her to marry him for weeks.

“Then meet me somewhere we can talk.”

Phoebe sighed. “We’ve talked all weekend.”

He touched her soft cheek with his finger. “Please? I believe this is a conversation we must have.”

She raised her chin. “Very well. There are a few things I must say to you, also.”

Unsettled by her tone and concerned about what she intended to say to him, he nodded. “I imagine the orangery would not be very populated tonight. If you follow the corridor past the ballroom and go into the library, there are French doors that lead to a path. Proceed down that path and you will reach the orangery.”

She gaped at him. “How do you know this?”

“Bentworth took us on a tour yesterday afternoon when the ladies were resting.” He bent and kissed her briefly on the lips. “Meet me there.”

When she didn’t answer, he pulled her to him and took her mouth in a possessive and demanding kiss before he released her and said, “Please?”

Not waiting to hear her refuse, he backed up and made his escape down the stairs. He’d almost made it past the ballroom when he was stopped by Lady Stevenson. “There you are, Your Grace. The dancing is about to begin. I’m sure there are many young ladies wanting you to write your name on their dance cards.”

Bloody hell.

Lady Brenda grabbed his other arm. “The first dance is a waltz. I would love to have you stand up with me.” The two women moved him toward the ballroom. He wanted more than anything to shake them both until their teeth rattled. He needed to escape.