Chapter 25

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

“ W hy do you not like him?” Helena asked Morgan as soon as Barbara had left.

Morgan smirked but it looked more like a snarl as he rose from his seat.

“I was perfectly polite,” he replied defensively, going to the window.

“And as pointed as a knife,” Helena retorted, following him. “You might not have been as blatant as you were in the park but you were cutting him open all the same. Now tell me, what is it that you have against him?”

The letter Varley had given him burned in his breast pocket. He realized then that he wanted to tell Helena was going on. After all, her father had also been killed by Whittler. But he could not divulge his information to her until he’d had a chance to talk to Ambrose and perhaps not even thereafter. It was not as though telling her about Whittler would address his possessive feelings towards Helena. That stark realization only served to darken his mood.

“I will just say that I now perfectly understand why you sought out someone like me before you must marry,” Morgan replied, forcing a playful tone into his voice. It was harder than he would have liked, and he regretted it the moment he saw Helena’s brows furrow with hurt.

“The man is boring, Helena,” Morgan sighed wearily.

To his relief, Helena’s pout disappeared and she rolled her eyes.

“You may be right,” she agreed begrudgingly. “But he is trying in vain not to be, and you are quelling his efforts at every turn.”

Good , Morgan thought vindictively, but he kept the remark to himself and studied Helena as she stood before him. She wore a gown in a particularly deep shade of pink, and looked as lovely as ever. Yet, as he took her in, flashes of her in the black-sequined gown consumed his mind.

Morgan looked towards the door to ensure that they were still alone, and then reached for the dangling diamond earring hanging from her left lobe. He caressed the sensitive flesh and reveled in the way Helena’s breath immediately quickened.

“He mentioned a week,” Morgan murmured. “Is that true?”

Helena’s cheeks flooded a deeper shade of pink than her gown, but she did not look away from him.

“Yes,” she breathed. “He…I… we… decided that there was no need for an elaborate ceremony.”

“I do not recall that being what you wanted,” Morgan mused.

“It is what is best,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “My other plan was to have a love match. This is not a part of my plan, although I believe that he will be an amicable husband.”

“Amicable,” Morgan echoed with a scoff. He stepped closer and grazed his fingers from her earlobe to encircle her throat. She nodded slowly, not stopping him as his fingers tightened with his need to possess her.

Helena nodded again, a look of lust glazing over her eyes as an electric charge began to build between them. Each time it began, they were powerless to stop its advance.

“We must finish your list,” he whispered, stroking his fingers over her neck, “Before your… amicable marriage begins.”

Helena licked her bottom lip as if suddenly parched and shook her head while still in his grip.

“With the wedding so close…” she began to say.

Unable to help himself, Morgan pulled her close and steadied his lips just a breath above hers.

“Come to me tomorrow night,” he rasped, teasing her lips by barely brushing his own over hers, “At eight.”

“Eight,” she gasped, breaking out of her trance. “That is so early!”

“You will find a way,” he murmured, pulling away from her as they heard footsteps approaching.

Morgan was across the room in an instant, opening the dining hall doors just in time for Ambrose to step through.

“Are you leaving?” Ambrose asked, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping you would stay.”

Morgan had meant to stay. Meant to show Ambrose the letter in his jacket pocket with the Whittler’s name on it. But now, as he stood before his friend, he realized he could not. How would he explain how or why it had come into his possession? He was not even sure he could be honest to himself let alone Ambrose.

Besides, the letter had not been addressed to Luke, so there was no proof that it belonged to him, other than the fact that Morgan had hired an investigator to break into the viscount’s office. Which, of course, would only expose him to more grueling questions.

“Let us meet up in a few hours,” Morgan said, patting Ambrose on the back as he paused beside him. “At your place.”

Ambrose nodded, looking relieved that their friendship was no longer strained.

“See you there,” Ambrose nodded, clapping Morgan on the shoulder as he took his leave.

As Morgan made his way out into the hall, he heard Ambrose’s voice as he spoke to Helena.

“The viscount is most looking forward to your union, Helena,” he heard him say.

“That is well, brother,” Morgan heard Helena say as he suddenly stopped outside the doors. She sounded as dull and lifeless as Luke’s personality.

“He will be the perfect provider, I believe,” Ambrose went on. “Though, a little overzealous for time alone with you, perhaps.”

“Yes, brother,” Helena replied in that same lifeless tone.

Morgan was pleased by the lack of interest in Helena’s tone, and as he pushed away from the door, he knew he had finally confirmed his suspicions. Helena did not want to marry the man.