Chapter 15

CHAPTER 15

“ W hat brings you to our humble corner of the world in the middle of the season?” Morgan asked as Barrow ushered Colin into his study.

Colin, as always, made himself at home with an ease that bordered on insolence. “I am here for the annual fundraising ball,” he replied, settling into one of the armchairs opposite Morgan’s desk. “Sir and Lady Aleshire are good friends of mine, if you recall. I never miss any event they host.”

Morgan did recall. The baronet and Colin had been childhood companions, their bond forged in the kind of unshakable camaraderie that Morgan had always admired but never sought for himself. He knew the Aleshires as well, though their relationship had never ventured beyond cordiality. Like most connections in his life, he had kept it at arm’s length.

“As a matter of fact,” Morgan said, leaning back in his chair, “I’ll be joining you at the ball this year.”

Colin froze mid-reach for the decanter on the nearby table, his head snapping toward Morgan with wide-eyed disbelief. “ You ? At the charity assembly?” he repeated.

Morgan shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Margaret wants to go.”

Colin blinked at him, then slowly leaned back in his chair, as though he needed the support to process the revelation. “Good Lord. Who are you, and what have you done with the Duke of Giltford?” he asked with mock horror.

Morgan gave him a flat look, though inwardly he couldn’t deny the irony of the situation. He had spent years avoiding the trivialities of public engagements, but now, with Margaret’s involvement, those evasions seemed impossible.

“Margaret’s insistence aside,” Colin said, his usual glibness returning, “what on earth could have possessed you to agree?”

Morgan glanced at the papers on his desk, though his thoughts drifted to the terrace and the memory of his wife’s determined gaze as she’d informed him of her intentions. “It wouldn’t reflect well on her—or on me—if I left her to her own devices,” he said. “It’s her first public event as the Duchess of Giltford.”

Colin tilted his head, his expression unreadable for a moment before a smirk tugged at his lips. “Ah. Your Duchess, ” he said, emphasizing the possessive. “I see.”

Morgan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t rise to the bait. He knew Colin too well to engage in his provocations. Instead, he said simply, “It’s a matter of duty.”

Colin laughed outright at that. “Duty, you say? Very well. I suppose I should applaud your sense of responsibility, though I must admit I never thought I’d see the day.”

Morgan’s lips twitched, though the smile never quite formed. “You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“Immensely,” Colin admitted without shame, lifting the decanter to pour himself a glass of brandy. “I’m looking forward to witnessing the spectacle of you at a social gathering. You, the great recluse, among the ton. It’s going to be marvelous.”

Morgan rolled his eyes but said nothing. Duty might have driven his decision, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Margaret’s persistence would ensure he wouldn’t simply endure this ball—he would survive it because she expected him to. And, for reasons he didn’t yet wish to examine, he found himself caring about those expectations far more than he’d like.

He watched as the surprise on Colin’s face slowly dissolved, replaced by a sly, mischievous grin.

“I see we are becoming more mature and responsible now that we are married,” Colin drawled, his tone dripping with mock solemnity.

Morgan leveled a pointed look at him, but it lacked the true edge of irritation. Instead, the corner of his mouth twitched despite himself. He might have given Colin a withering retort if a chuckle hadn’t escaped him first—a rare sound that seemed to startle even himself.

“Marriage has done, and is still doing you well, dear friend,” Colin continued, leaning back in his chair with an air of exaggerated observation. His impish grin widened, clearly delighted at Morgan’s lapse in his usual reserve.

Morgan leaned forward, resting his forearms on the desk as he arched a brow. “Perhaps you need a dose of that maturity too,” he countered smoothly.

Colin’s bark of laughter filled the room. “I refuse to sacrifice my glorious time as a bachelor,” he declared, raising his glass in mock toast.

I cannot sleep. Not tonight. Not ever, it seems.

Morgan lay on his back, staring at the shadows cast by the moonlight filtering through his chamber curtains. He’d tried closing his eyes, slowing his breathing, even counting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. Nothing worked. The silence only gave more space for the whispers of his mind to grow louder, filling the void with echoes he could never quite escape.

With a growl of frustration, he tossed the covers aside and rose. His bare feet met the cool wooden floor, the chill bracing him as he grabbed his robe and pulled it over his shoulders. Wandering the halls might be pointless, but lying there, suffocating under the weight of memory, was unbearable.

The house was still, its silence broken only by the faint creaks of old timbers settling. He let his feet carry him, his mind blank save for the ever-present pressure of restlessness. It wasn’t until he halted abruptly that he realized where he had come.

There it is. Always there, waiting.

The air in his lungs stilled, and he stood frozen, staring at the thing before him. His breath quickened, a slight hitch breaking the stillness of the hallway. His hands clenched at his sides as it began again—the blurring of past and present, memory and reality merging into a storm he couldn’t control.

The screams came first, piercing and vivid. He could hear them as clearly as if they echoed through the silent halls. Her screams. Then his own voice, shouting, ragged with desperation. The cries that followed tore at him, scraping against his resolve, pulling him deeper into the vortex. Glass shattering. The sharp, guttural crack of something breaking. The metallic tang of blood filled his senses, and he felt his fists, knuckles split and throbbing, stained with evidence of his failure.

His breaths grew shallow as he stared, unable to move, unable to tear himself from the scene playing out before his mind’s eye. His body ached as though the blows had been dealt moments ago, the weight of it crushing him as he gripped the edge of reality with fraying fingers.