He was silent for a breath and then he cocked his head. “Morgan. And why not?”
She hesitated. It was a good question. In truth, when she thought of where he wished to place the gazebo, it probably did make more sense and would be more useable for garden parties and small gatherings with friends. And yet she didn’t want to do what he suggested.
And she didn’t trust him enough to tell him why.
“It’s none of your business,” she whispered, snatching up the plans and folding them gently.
She waited for him to argue. Or to become angry at her reticence, certainly her unexplained peevishness deserved a set down. But he did neither of those things. He just watched her, dark brown eyes tracking over her face, down to the plans, as if he were assembling the puzzle of her without any effort at all.
She fought to stand her ground in the face of that.
“I believe I have misread the situation,” he said at last. “Elizabeth, I thought you wanted my creative input on your project.”
She ignored the fact he had just called her by only her Christian name and worried her lip. “I…do. I-I did.”
He tilted his head. “But you don’t want me to change anything.”
“Er…no?” She said it as a question because when stated out loud it did seem ridiculous. And patently unfair to him.
He twisted his face and then scratched his head in confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Lizzie’s breath was coming short. She couldn’t seem to find it as the garden closed in around them. If she explained herself, she would reveal too much to this stranger…this rake. Revealing too much would give him ammunition if he wished to hurt her in the future. She’d seen that before, she’d felt the brutal sting of it.
She didn’t wish to repeat the action. Not now, not ever.
And yet he was asking for an answer, it wasn’t an outlandish request. So how could she tell him the truth without giving him anything?
“Elizabeth?” he whispered, and he stepped a little closer. His gaze held her captive, his concern seemed real. And she felt a strange desire to step into him, to let him curl himself around her.
Was she so weak as to know the consequences of such a thing and still desire it? Was that her nature, to be a fool for men such as this one? Such as Aaron Walters? Were they the same?
She didn’t know what would have happened next, in the quiet of the garden, with his eyes drawing her in and her shaking body trying to convince her to surrender the truth. But she didn’t have to find out. Because before she could make an utter fool of herself, she heard Amelia’s voice in the distance, and it broke the spell.
“Lizzie?” Amelia called out.
Lizzie took a long step away from Morgan, covering her hot cheeks with her cold hands. “We’re here!” she cried out in return. “Near Persephone.”
“Of course you are,” Amelia said with a smile as she rounded the corner and entered the nook in the garden.
As she did so, Morgan stepped away, Hades moving closer to the statue, farther from Lizzie, and she felt the coldness of the morning air once more. It was like a jolt of awareness and it settled her racing heart and flipping stomach at last.
Distance seemed the only way to do that. And so she would have to make sure she maintained it when it came to this man. She knew how, after all. She just had to remember.
As the Duchess of Brighthollow reached them, Morgan forced a welcoming smile to his face. In truth, he wished the woman hadn’t come. Elizabeth had seemed on the edge of saying something important to him. Explaining why she was so determined to stick to the plans she’d dug up from some dusty box in the attic rather than making something new. He might have guessed it was mere sentimentality, but it felt like something more.
Now she had distanced herself once more. He supposed that was for the best. Although it was in his nature to read those around him—a skill he didn’t even try at, it just happened—perhaps in this case it wasn’t the right thing to do. Elizabeth didn’t wish to be read. That was clear in the way she turned away from his seeking eyes. The way she put up barriers.
Whatever had hurt her in the past was not his affair. The best he could do for both of them was to honor the boundaries she put up. To behave as the servant he now was. Nothing more.
“Good morning to you both,” the duchess said as she reached out to squeeze Elizabeth’s hand. “I wanted to see how the garden plans were coming.”
“We’ve only just begun,” Elizabeth said, casting a glance toward Morgan. Her blue eyes flitted over his face and then darted away just as swiftly.
“I think we’re figuring it out,” Morgan added with a quick smile for Her Grace that he hoped would keep her from pressing. It was obvious Elizabeth didn’t need to be pushed at present, whether that was well intended or not. “Does His Grace require my assistance?”
That brought a flash of pink to the Duchess of Brighthollow’s cheeks and a smile to her lips. “His Grace is, er, still abed. So you are free to continue your work. I just wanted to see if you needed anything. Once you’ve firmed up your plans, Lancaster and the rest of the gardening staff are ready to put them into motion.”
Elizabeth nodded. “Very good. Thank you, Amelia.”
The duchess wrinkled her brow. “Are you well, Lizzie? You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine,” Elizabeth said, and she paced away toward Morgan. Her gaze caught his and she held it there. “Just ready to move forward.”
Her Grace looked concerned and more than a little confused, but she inclined her head. “Very well. I’ll leave you to it then. Oh, but don’t let me forget to discuss the assembly ball in three nights’ time! I want to compare what we will wear.”
Morgan watched the light dim in Elizabeth’s gaze a fraction and her shoulders roll forward just a bit. “Yes,” she said with what felt like forced humor. “I will speak to you about it at luncheon later.”
“Good afternoon, then,” the duchess said, and sent one more quick glance first at Elizabeth and then at Morgan before she turned and walked back up the path that led to the house.
Once she was gone, Elizabeth let her gaze move to his face again. She held it there, even, though not entirely certain. She cleared her throat. “My mother designed every inch of the plans I showed you earlier, Mr. Banfield. I don’t want to do anything she wouldn’t have desired. I’m executing her vision, nothing more, nothing less.”
Morgan had a world of things to say to that statement. About the past, about the future, about living someone else’s life. But he wasn’t close enough to the young woman who stood before him to say those things. And if he did, it would be reaching out to her in a way he had already vowed he wouldn’t.
He was a servant. She was the lady. It was his job to do her bidding, not question it or soothe her or help her beyond the boundaries put up between them.
So he nodded. “Very well, Lady Elizabeth. I understand. May I take that copy of the plans?”
She clutched the folded papers against her chest a bit tighter. “Why?”
He flinched at how defensive her voice became. How her gaze narrowed as if she knew without doubt that he would hurt her. Take something from her. Destroy something she cared for.