Page 26 of Duke of Gold
Morgan studied her, noting the way she seemed perfectly at ease despite the imposing coldness of the house. It fascinated him—that unflagging brightness of spirit. It was as though she carriedan unending reservoir of cheer, the kind that illuminated all it touched but dared not reach him.
How does one sustain such indefatigable lightness?It was baffling, even slightly enviable, though he would never admit it. For himself, he was far too fixed in his ways, his edges too sharp to absorb it.
A flicker of amusement stirred within him as she turned another page, her expression serene, though he doubted she was truly engrossed in her reading.
Margaret looked up suddenly, catching him mid-thought. “You’re smiling,” she observed, her tone startled, as though the very idea was inconceivable.
Morgan blinked, startled himself, and hastily schooled his features. Yet her surprise only seemed to embolden her.
“See? It’s not that difficult, is it?” she said smugly, her own lips curving in triumph.
He cleared his throat, forcing his amusement into submission. “You promised you wouldn’t be a distraction, Margaret.”
“Oh, come now,” she replied, waving a dismissive hand. “Not that scowl again.”
Her defiance, though maddening, was curiously invigorating. He crossed his arms, his tone measured but firm. “You did promise.”
“Right,” she sighed with theatrical resignation and turned back to her book, though the faintest flicker of victory lingered in her expression.
For a time, the room settled into a fragile peace. She read—or so it appeared—and he resumed his work, though his quill hovered over the paper without leaving a mark. He found his gaze wandering to her, alighting on the soft curve of her cheek, the delicate movements of her fingers as she turned a page.
The silence, though tenuous, felt strangely bearable.
Until she closed her book with an audible thump, breaking the moment entirely. She leaned back against the sofa with a dramatic sigh, her voice ringing with indignation.
“What manner of castle this grand has no library?” she demanded, as though the lack of one was the gravest offense imaginable.
Morgan was taken aback as he wondered how she had come to such a conclusion. The conviction with which Margaret had declared the lack of a library in the house was almost amusing.
Perhaps it’s better this way,he reasoned. Keeping certain truths out of her reach was no less than a kindness. The fewer piecesshe uncovered about his past and his home, the safer she would be from the shadows that loomed within them.
“Do you not read?” she asked suddenly, her voice bright and inquisitive.
“Of course I do,” he replied evenly. “I read the ledgers and account books every day.”
The crestfallen expression that overtook her face made him pause. Her shoulders slumped ever so slightly, her lips pursing as though she had tasted something sour.
“You are such a bore,” she huffed, crossing her arms with a petulant pout that would have been infuriating if it weren’t so unexpectedly endearing.
A chuckle rumbled low in his chest, and before he could stop himself, he smiled again.Damnation,he thought wryly. She was far too adept at coaxing such responses from him.
“You have finally made an accurate observation about me, at least,” he said, his tone dry.
She rolled her eyes with dramatic flair, clearly unimpressed with his agreement, before returning her attention to her book. This time, however, she refrained from speaking further. Morgan returned to his desk, glancing at her periodically as the room grew quiet save for the faint crackle of the fire.
It wasn’t long before she reclined on the sofa, the book slipping from her hands as she lay back. With a soft sigh, she placed it atop her face, the spine rising like a makeshift barrier. Her breathing soon evened out, signaling that she had drifted into slumber.
Morgan stood, curiosity drawing him to her side. He stopped beside the sofa, gazing down at her slumbering form. She had covered her face entirely, the open book obscuring her delicate features.
Another smile tugged at his lips despite himself.What an odd creature she is,he thought as he shook his head and removed the book with care, setting it on the table. Her face, serene and unguarded in sleep, drew his attention like a magnet.
Reaching for the blanket draped over a nearby armchair—his usual companion during nights spent working late—he covered her gently. His movements were deliberate, as though sudden noise might disturb the fragile peace she brought to the room.
Instead of returning to his desk, Morgan bent beside her, unable to look away. In sleep, Margaret was undeniably beautiful. The playful spark that often animated her features was absent now, leaving behind a softer, more vulnerable expression.
Without thinking, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair away from her face. His fingers lingered for a moment longer than necessary, grazing the soft skin of her cheek. His hand fell lower, stopping just short of her lips, and something unexpected stirred within him—a warmth, an ache he couldn’t quite name.
He felt his head lower, the space between them narrowing as though some unseen force compelled him toward her. But just as quickly, he recoiled, rising to his feet with a sharp breath.
