Page 95 of A Wicked Game

“Harriet Jane Montgomery, will you marry me? I promise to show you adventures and tease you every day for the rest of your natural life.”

Harriet caught his hand and tugged him to his feet as joy warmed her from the inside out. “Yes, I’d love that. Yes!”

She threw herself into his arms and he gathered her to him with a crow of triumph.

Oh, he was going to be unbearable now.

But at least he was going to be hers.

Their lips met in a kiss that started out desperate but quickly gentled into something closer to worshipful. Morgan kissed her like a man who’d been starved of sensation. As if she was something sweet, his first taste of sorbet, and he was savoring the taste.

Harriet tasted him back, delighting in the sybaritic pleasure of discovery, loving the low growl that rumbled from his chest as she stroked her hands through his hair and along the back of his neck.

Time flowed around them like treacle. Harriet’s knees almost buckled at the way he teased her, deliberately refusing to rush, creating a wicked pleasure-pain of longing.

Minutes or perhaps hours later, he tore his mouth from hers and glanced toward the house in front of them. “I forgot to ask. Will you live in this stupidly big house with me? Your father can have an entire floor of his own, if you want him here with us.”

Harriet took a much-needed gasp of breath. “I’ll ask him. He might prefer to stay at the shop, now that he has his sight back. At least for a while.”

Morgan nodded and took a cooling step back from her. “Do you want to look inside?”

“Why not?” Her euphoric mood made everything seem light.

He threaded his fingers through hers and together they rounded the cherry tree and stepped through a second door in the back wall that Harriet hadn’t noticed before.

It opened on to the traditional garden she’d been expecting. The courtyard only took up a third of the total plot, and, just like Maddie’s garden next door, the rest seemed to be a grassy, tree-lined oasis. It was hard to see in the moonlight, but it appeared to be relatively well-maintained.

Morgan led her across the shadowed grass and up the shallow steps of a terrace, edged with a stone balustrade. He produced an iron key from his pocket and fitted it to the lock on the back door, which opened with the easy glide of well-oiled hinges. No dusty, haunted-housecobwebs greeted them, and Harriet let out a silent exhale of relief.

Morgan seemed to read her mind. “The duke kept this place ready to live in at a moment’s notice, even though he never came. He had servants clean it every few weeks.”

They stepped into a high-ceilinged hallway and Harriet was surprised to see the shrouded shapes of dust-sheet-covered furniture all around.

“The whole house is furnished,” Morgan said. “I bought the entire contents, lock, stock, and barrel. The only things he wanted were a couple of paintings, portraits of his ancestors, which I gladly agreed to. I certainly don’t want people who resemble Oliver De Montfort staring at me while I eat my breakfast.”

Harriet bit back a smile. “That’s a shame. He’s very pleasing on the eye.”

Morgan squeezed her hand.

“But not nearly as pleasing as you,” she finished dutifully, biting back a laugh.

“That’s right,” Morgan grunted. “Good answer.”

He picked a candle and tinderbox from a side table and lit it, and Harriet followed him around the rooms in a state of awed wonder.

“You can sell anything you don’t like,” Morgan said. “Do whatever you want to the place. Paper every inch of wall with maps, floor to ceiling. I don’t care, as long as you live here with me.”

Harriet shook her head, still a little dazed at the enormity of his gesture. “How did you get all that work done in the garden without Maddie noticing?”

Morgan snorted. “Oh, she noticed. I had to swear her to secrecy on pain of death. Gryff too. In fact, they were instrumental in helping oversee the planting when I couldn’t be here.”

“You Davieses are so sneaky!”

“You’ll be a Davies soon.”

Harriet chuckled. “I think I finally see your nefarious plan. If every Davies male marries a Montgomery female, there will be none of us left. You’ll claim victory for wiping us out.”

“Damn,” Morgan groused, with faux annoyance. “You’ve seen through our dastardly plot. Unfortunately, Tristan got his own back by turning Carys from a Davies to a Montgomery, but if you marry me, we’ll be one bride ahead.”

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