Every eye in the garden was on them.
When it came to engagement gifts, Wardington’s beat the rest. No amount of weapons or money held more value than Wardington’s favor.
“What’s happened?”
Morgan turned to find his mother standing beside him, but not even her presence could ruin the moment. “Wardington has volunteered to give Philomena away.”
His mother’s eyes widened. A triumphant grin curled her lips. “Excellent. She’s the perfect match for you. Don’t mess this up.” Then she moved away, undoubtedly to spread the word of what had taken place.
Don’t mess this up.
Morgan wanted to ask, “Or what?”
What would happen if Morgan failed?
He put those thoughts aside and moved toward Philomena, and she easily went into his arms with the duke and duchess moving on to mingle with the other guests. Even with a tear-stained face, she was more beautiful than any woman in the garden and when the breeze picked up again, Morgan managed to finally get his chance and tuck her hair behind her ear.
She looked up at him and said, “The duke is giving me away.”
“I know.” He laughed. “I happen to have heard his offer to do so. What did Lady Wardington say to you?”
Philomena looked away and sniffed. “Oh, I’d rather not say.” He was surprised when she went on, even so. “She asked if I knew how good a man I was to wed and that…” She lifted her eyes to him and smiled. “She said, you will always have the best intentions where I am concerned.”
Morgan did a silent prayer of gratitude that Lady Abigail had ever found favor in him. They would help his campaign for her heart and her loyalty, but he was not fool enough to think they alone would be enough. Still, it was something. “I’ll protect you with my very life, Philomena, and vow to see to your continued happiness.”
She let out a shaky breath and whispered, “I believe you and trust it will be so just as I will do the same.”
He’d have kissed her if they didn’t have a crowd, but instead all he could do was return her smile.
She trusted him, but how far did that trust extend?
He remembered what Wardington had said in his office that day. Morgan would have to share his fears with her if she was ever to truly trust him.
But how could he show them without hurting her? How could he help her see that behind whatever veil of goodness Creed placed before her was hidden a darkness that could change the course of history forever?
* * *
17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
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“Just do it!” …
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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.