Page 5 of Duke of Gold
Margaret rolled onto her side, clutching the pillow tighter as if it could somehow silence her thoughts. It was going to be a very long night.
CHAPTER 3
“Damned ball,” Morgan, the Duke of Giltford, grumbled, yanking the stopper from the decanter with a sharp pop. “Should have stayed home. No, should never have returned at all.”
He poured the brandy into his glass with a deliberate hand, his movements sharp with frustration. “And the fountain. Blasted fountain.”
The events of the evening churned in his mind, each memory more infuriating than the last. The feel of cold water soaking through his clothes. The wide-eyed horror of the matron and her companions. And Lady Margaret—Lady Margaret with her sharp tongue, her fiery eyes, and her penchant for creating chaos.
Morgan scowled into his glass, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “A disaster waiting to unfold. That’s what this was. And here I am, right in the bloody middle of it.”
He threw back the drink, the warmth doing little to soothe the gnawing tension in his chest. Before he could refill his glass, a knock sounded at the door.
“What is it?” he barked, his voice sharp.
The door opened a fraction, and his butler’s composed face appeared in the gap. “Your Grace, a caller. Unexpected and rather late.”
Morgan glared at him. “Send him away. I’m in no mood for callers.”
“I would,” a familiar voice drawled from the hallway, “but that would be quite unkind of you, Giltford.”
Morgan closed his eyes briefly before turning to see Colin Caldwell, the Marquess of Broughton, stroll into the room with infuriating nonchalance.
“You finally show yourself in society after years of reclusiveness,” Colin began, his grin wide and unapologetic, “only to vanish before the evening’s revelries were done? Shocking behavior for a Duke.”
Morgan grunted and turned back to his drink, pouring another.
“For someone who hasn’t seen his good friend in ages,” Colin continued, leaning against the desk with exaggerated ease, “you’re positively brimming with warmth.”
Morgan raised his glass. “I see your tongue is still laden with its usual sarcasm.”
“And you’re still a beast,” Colin replied, laughing as he made his way to the sideboard. “How reassuring to see some things never change.”
Morgan didn’t bother offering a response, watching instead as Colin helped himself to the decanter.
“So,” Colin began, pouring a generous measure into a glass, “what flowers have you been poisoning during your exile?”
Morgan glared at him. “I didn’t offer you a drink.”
Colin smirked, raising the glass in mock toast. “Good thing I’ve always been a resourceful guest.”
“Perhaps I’m the one who’s been poisoned,” Morgan scoffed, the image of Lady Margaret flashing in his mind with startling clarity. Her fiery eyes, the sharpness of her tongue—how infuriatingly unforgettable she was.
Colin laughed, a sound full of ease and humor. “You? The poison wouldn’t dare. Too much of a challenge.”
Morgan shook his head, a reluctant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Flattery as extravagant as ever, Caldwell.”
Colin leaned back in his chair, swirling his glass lazily. “Speaking of extravagance , did you know the Duke of Sterlin is married now?”
“Sterlin?” Morgan frowned, the name tugging at distant memories. “Alexander Hunton?”
“The very same,” Colin confirmed, his grin widening. “Blissfully rusticating in the country with his new Duchess, no less.”
Morgan’s brow furrowed as the news settled over him. It wasn’t surprising, not really, but it brought a peculiar weight to his chest. Life had moved on while he’d cocooned himself in Giltford Estate, wrapped in the ever-present shadows of his past.
“Sterlin…” he murmured again, his voice quieter this time. The man had always been an acquaintance, someone with whom he might have formed a closer bond had he been inclined. But that inclination had long been smothered by his own reclusiveness.
“You should get yourself a Duchess too,” Colin teased, the sparkle of mischief unmistakable in his tone.
