Morgan wrinkled his brow at the choice of words, at the deep concern on Brighthollow’s face. But before he could pursue the topic further, Robert crossed to them with his own concerned expression. “Is there a problem?” he asked.
Morgan fought not to roll his eyes at the protective instinct in his brother. “No. His Grace and I were just talking.”
“I was only reiterating how seriously I expect Mr. Banfield to take his duties,” Hugh said, his gaze holding Morgan’s.
“Of course he will,” Robert said, and now his eyes shifted to Morgan, too. Two dukes, staring him down, their messages dueling across their faces. He would have laughed if he didn’t want to shrug off the shackles created by both and simply run into the night.
“Don’t let me keep either of you from your port,” he said, motioning toward the sideboard where the bottle had been left out by some helpful servant.
Robert looked like he would argue, but Brighthollow caught his arm and the two ended up chuckling as they crossed to pour drinks and set up the billiard table. Morgan let out a long breath as he was finally left alone to his own devices.
But not for long. The Duke of Donburrow edged up to him, a small silver notebook in his hand. They are an intense pair, he wrote in a neat, even hand.
Morgan read the message and smiled as he used one of the signs he’d picked up from watching Donburrow and his wife interact. “Yes.”
Donburrow’s eyes went wide and his smile broadened. Not many pick up our language. Only our children thus far.
“Well, I’m observant,” Morgan said with a chuckle.
I can see you are that, Donburrow conceded, and he leaned back to examine Morgan a bit closer. Unlike when his brother or Brighthollow did it, Morgan felt no discomfort at Donburrow’s observation. Though he did wonder what the other man saw, for he had fewer tells than even Brighthollow.
Don’t let them scare you off, he wrote.
Morgan looked at his employer and his brother, standing by the billiard table, heads together as they seemed to be involved in serious conversation. Robert cast his gaze toward Morgan and his lips thinned slightly.
Morgan gritted his teeth and, mixing in sign, he said, “I’m not afraid of anyone.”
Donburrow nodded slowly and wrote, Come, let’s play a game, shall we?
Robert had racked the balls, and Donburrow and Morgan joined them. They paired off, he and Donburrow against Robert and Brighthollow. For a while, Morgan forgot his worries and simply focused on a game he was very good at. When their team bested his scowling brother’s, he couldn’t help the grin of triumph that tilted his lips.
“You owe me a rematch,” Robert muttered. “But for now, I say we rejoin the ladies.”
All three dukes seemed vastly pleased to rejoin their wives. Another interesting tidbit, since Morgan knew so many men who would do anything to avoid their spouse. But the dukes were all in love, just as it was rumored all over London. Somehow that knowledge made Morgan uncomfortable.
They entered the parlor where the ladies were gathered together. The three duchesses were giggling over something by the fire and Elizabeth stood alone by the window, staring out into the very garden she wanted help from Morgan with. As the other men moved to their wives, Morgan edged toward her. She wasn’t paying attention and didn’t note his approach.
Which gave him a moment to observe her. She was truly lovely. Her face was the kind ships had been launched for in long ago pasts. The kind painted as a great beauty, no matter the era, in which she was found. And yet her full lips were pressed together in an expression of displeasure. There was tension to her shoulders, to her back, like she was always waiting for something bad to happen.
He knew that kind of tightly sprung apprehension—he’d seen it before, he’d felt it before. It almost always accompanied a past where the bad thing had already occurred. Where one was waiting for it all to come crashing down again.
So what had happened to Lady Elizabeth? What could have happened to a lady so sheltered and obviously loved by her close-knit family?
She pivoted to face him, and her gaze flitted over him from the top of his head to the toes of his boots. She swallowed hard and her pupils dilated ever so slightly. His body reacted to the look, though he didn’t want it to do so. He knew that look too. It was another expression he hadn’t expected on the face of such a lovely innocent.
Desire.
But then it was gone, and her mouth went tight again and her shoulders pushed back. “Is it your habit to sneak up on people, Mr. Banfield?”
He shrugged as he joined her to look out the window, being careful not to push too much into her space. For both their sakes. “I didn’t think I was sneaking. The three dukes came into the room with such a clatter in their hurry to find their wives that I assumed you must have been alerted to our presence. And where else would I go but to you?”
She let out a tiny gasp and pivoted to face him again. “Why would you come to me?”
Her hands were shaking. It was such a strong reaction that Morgan actually took a step away from her. “The garden, my lady,” he said, gentling his tone. “At supper I said I would come to discuss it with you after the party reformed.”
That same pretty blush entered her cheeks again, but this time he thought it was for a different cause. Embarrassment. And he found he didn’t like it quite so much when it was linked to pain and not to being merely flustered.
“Of course,” Elizabeth breathed. “How silly of me.”
“Not silly,” he reassured her quietly, and found himself wanting to touch her arm in comfort. His fingers flexed at his sides the desire was so strong, but he didn’t do it. He had no right, after all. He had no place.
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder. The dukes and duchesses had paired off as couples. Every single one of them looked to be in intimate conversation, as if they had been separated for days rather than less than an hour for drinks and billiards. Her lips pursed again and she refocused on Morgan. “I suppose now is as good a time to discuss it, given the distraction of the other guests.”
He smiled. “They are very attached, aren’t they? All these couples so powerfully connected is uncommon, I think, in your class.”
Elizabeth worried her lip a fraction, which of course drew Morgan’s attention to it. A very full lower lip, indeed, when she wasn’t pursing it flat. A kissable set of lips, to be sure.
“I suppose it is uncommon,” she said slowly. “And yet all my brother’s friends have found such a harmony in their marriages. It’s lovely for them. No one should be anything but happy, for they all worked hard to earn their happiness.”
“No one should be,” he said, focusing on that careful turn of phrase. “But I suppose being surrounded by people so desperately in love can be…challenging.”
“When you are alone?” she said softly. “When you will always be alone? Yes.”
The moment she said the words, her gaze snapped up to his. Filled with terror, filled with regret. She lifted a hand to her lips as she stared at him. Then she cleared her throat and whispered, “I ought not to have said that. Not to anyone, especially not to you.”
His brow wrinkled at that last bit. Why especially not to him? He wanted to ask her, but then he saw the tears glittering in her eyes. He saw her true, powerful discomfort. And he couldn’t bring her more of that. He couldn’t prove himself as untrustworthy as she apparently believed him to be upon first glance.