Page 55 of Duke of Gold
Her response unsettled him, though not in the way he might have expected. For the first time, he found himself unable to read her. She was neither probing nor retreating, simply… waiting.
“Why?” he pressed, his brow furrowing as he leaned slightly closer.
“You’ve brought it up yourself now, haven’t you?” she said, a faint smile tugging at her lips. There was no triumph in her tone, only a quiet certainty that left him momentarily speechless.
Her words hung between them, and something inside him shifted. He felt calm, surprisingly so, even as the weight of the conversation lingered. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced when confronting his past. There was no urgency, no judgment in her demeanor—only patience. He exhaled, realizing for the first time how much he appreciated that patience, even if he wasn’t entirely certain what to do with it.
Margaret, however, seemed entirely at ease. She moved toward the corner of the room and resumed her assessment of the space, her skirts swishing lightly as she turned. “Now, back to the music room,” she said, her tone bright once more. “I’ve been thinking that a mural of climbing ivy along this wall might complement the theme wonderfully.”
Morgan blinked, momentarily thrown by the sudden return to their earlier discussion. “You wish to paint ivy on the walls?” he asked, his voice almost incredulous.
“Not ivy, precisely,” she corrected, casting him a glance over her shoulder. “More of a delicate suggestion of it—subtle vines, perhaps, with small flowers interspersed.” She gestured toward the wall, her movements fluid and assured. “It would bring the illusion of nature indoors even further, don’t you think?”
Morgan folded his arms, watching her with growing fascination. She made no further mention of his nightmares, no inquiries into what haunted him or why. It was as if she had instinctively known to step back, to leave the door ajar rather than forcing it open.
What game is she playing at?he wondered, the thought slipping unbidden into his mind.And should I be concerned?
Yet even as the question formed, he found himself reluctant to call it a game. There was no artifice in her demeanor, only a quiet determination that intrigued and unsettled him in equal measure. For the first time, he began to wonder if perhaps she understood him far better than he had given her credit for.
“I think the pianoforte could do with some lacquer as well,” Margaret said, running her hand lightly over the instrument’s crusted surface. Her touch was delicate, but the intent behind her observation was clear—she would not rest until the entire music room was transformed into her vision of perfection.
“Indeed,” Morgan agreed, his voice lower than he intended. He took a step closer to her, his gaze momentarily drawn to the way her fingers lingered on the wood. She glanced up at him, and as he closed the distance, her sudden shift of expression caught him off guard.
Margaret stumbled slightly, her hand jerking back from the pianoforte as she stepped away. Her back pressed lightly against the instrument, and she looked up at him with wide eyes, her lipsparting as though to speak, though no words came forth. A faint blush crept up her cheeks, staining her skin a delightful pink.
Morgan’s breath hitched as his eyes fell to her lips. They were soft, inviting, maddeningly close.Heaven help him,he thought,every inch of her was inviting.
His hand twitched at his side, an instinctive desire to close the final gap between them. His head lowered slightly, drawn by some invisible force, and for a brief, reckless moment, he considered giving in.
But reason caught him just in time. With great effort, he turned his head and pressed a chaste kiss to her cheek instead, the soft brush of his lips against her skin far more intimate than it had any right to be. He heard her breath catch, and the sound sent an ache through him that he dared not explore.
“I think we should call it a night, Margaret,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. It was the only course of action he could take, the only way to steady himself before this overwhelming want consumed him entirely.
Her gaze lingered on his, searching his face as though she might decipher the sudden shift in his demeanor. Then, with a small nod, she straightened, smoothing her skirts with practiced composure. “Very well,” she replied softly, though her voice carried a note of hesitation.
Morgan stepped back, clasping his hands behind his back as though to physically restrain himself. “Goodnight, Margaret,” he said, his tone steadier now.
“Goodnight, Morgan,” she returned, her eyes still on him as he turned and left the room.
As he strode down the hallway, the air between them still felt charged, lingering on his skin like a memory.
Perhaps the earlier I put some space between us, the better I can contain this relentless, maddening pull.
But as he reached the end of the hall, he couldn’t shake the feeling that no amount of distance would ever truly be enough.
CHAPTER 26
The following morning saw Peggy waking with a lightness in her heart she hadn’t felt in weeks. Sunlight streamed through the delicate curtains, casting a warm glow over her room, and as she sat up in bed, the events of the previous evening washed over her. Morgan’s kiss—it had felt like a dream, soft and fleeting, but filled with a promise she dared not name aloud.
She placed her fingertips lightly against her cheek, recalling the warmth of his lips.Surely, it wasn’t a dream,she thought, her smile widening. Her heart brimmed with hope, a buoyant optimism she had not dared indulge in before. Her plan to make him fall in love with her, to slowly but surely win his trust, seemed to be working. For the first time, she allowed herself to imagine a future where she wouldn’t live in isolation, tucked away in a cold, unfeeling marriage. It filled her with a quiet, giddy joy.
As she sat at her dressing table, her lady’s maid, Clara, set about helping her with her morning routine, pinning her hair into anelegant arrangement. “Your Grace seems to have had a good night’s rest,” Clara observed with a faint smile. “You are looking most rejuvenated this morning.”
Peggy chuckled lightly, her gaze meeting Clara’s in the mirror. “Oh, you make it sound as though I was a wilted flower.”
Clara blushed slightly but pressed on. “I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but you haven’t been at your best of late,” she replied gently, her tone tinged with concern.
Peggy paused at that, her hand momentarily stilling on the edge of the dressing table. Clara was right, though the girl’s words were far kinder than the reality Peggy had faced. The weight of Morgan’s struggles, his nightmares, and the silence between them had gnawed at her spirit, though she had kept it all carefully hidden. Now, however, something had shifted. Last night’s tender moment had sparked a hope she hadn’t realized she needed so desperately.
