Deceiving The Duke (Scandals and Spies Book 2) (18 page)

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unlight streamed through the window
, warming the sheets over Morgan’s legs. The naked woman next to him murmured in her sleep and nestled closer. Her cheek was like silk as she nuzzled his chest just beneath his collar bone, as though trying to find a more comfortable position. He breathed slowly, evenly, afraid to wake her.

He should go. He’d known it when he’d woken briefly at the crack of dawn. But Phil had stirred then, welcoming him back to her, and he hadn’t been able to tear himself away. He was a selfish man. Every time she touched him, he surrendered to her, even when he knew he shouldn’t.

The urge to propose to her, to make her his in every way, rose to the surface, nearly overwhelming. He tightened his hold around her. His palm slid over her smooth skin to the small of her back. Her breathing quickened. She moaned a bit, a small sound that made him ache.

Leave before someone finds you here.
He didn’t want to. But he had her reputation to think about. Even if her maid kept her lips shut, the other servants in the house might not be so kind. He couldn’t tarnish Phil’s reputation, not when he didn’t dare offer for her. At least not until they solved this problem with her brother. He didn’t want to tie her to him when there was a very real possibility that she would soon loathe him.

Stifling a sigh, he shifted beneath her, trying to slide to the edge of the bed. It woke her instead.

She blinked her eyes, her eyelashes tickling his skin. Her mouth was soft and plump from sleep. Her eyes were a deep, vibrant blue with nary a trace of gray in them today. Her hair tumbled around them in disarray, conspiring to keep him near her. He didn’t mind one bit.

“Morgan?”

Her voice was gravelly with sleep. Zeus, she was beautiful. No one, in art or in life, could possibly compare.

He mustered a smile. “Good morning.” His voice was rough from sleep.

Her mouth curved in the secretive smile he’d grown to love so much. She squirmed until she could kiss his mouth, a soft little peck that had him instinctively tightening his arm on her and pulling her closer. He never wanted to let her go.

When she lifted her head again, her breath came in pants. Her chest rose and fell against his. “Good morning to you, too.” Her voice was breathless.

“Shall we see if we can make it better?” He leaned forward to recapture her mouth.

With a groan, she rolled away. “It’s morning.”

He tucked one arm beneath his head as he leaned back in bed. “I didn’t know I turned into a pumpkin after midnight.”

She cast him a sarcastic look. “The household will be awake. And we have much to discuss.”

He sighed. “I don’t suppose you’d be able to help me leave without detection?”

Her mouth dropped open. “Why?”

“Why?” He lifted his eyebrows. “Phil, surely you know that the servants talk.”

She shrugged. “So what if they do? I don’t care.”

“Your reputation—”

“Is mine to worry about.”

As she slipped from beneath the covers, baring her lovely body to the air, all thoughts of leaving slipped from his mind. Staying seemed an infinitely better choice. In fact, he would rather not leave the room.

Sadly, she plucked a chemise from her wardrobe and covered all that beautiful skin. The thin white fabric flirted with her knees, leaving her calves and ankles bare.

She glanced over her shoulder. “You promised to discuss how best to approach this problem with Lady Whitewood and my brother, remember?”

Ah. Treason. Guaranteed to kill the mood. He stifled a groan as he got out of bed, too. Without Phil with him, it didn’t hold much appeal.

Instead of searching for his clothes, Morgan crossed the room to Phil. He caught her around the middle as she was bending to don her stockings, hopping on one foot. She yelped as she collapsed against him. He ran his hand down her side from breasts to hip, savoring the smooth feeling of her chemise. He tipped her head up, bending to kiss her.

“Are you sure?” he whispered against her mouth. “I can leave, if you want.”

She fisted her hand in his hair, pulling him down for another kiss. He lingered, loving the feel of her mouth and body against him.

“I don’t say anything I don’t mean,” she told him.

He tried to remember if she’d insulted him at some point, but couldn’t concentrate with her lush curves pressed up against him.

“I want you to stay. Have breakfast with me. You did promise to solve this problem with me, didn’t you?”

“I did,” he answered. He didn’t hesitate.

Her mouth firmed, her eyes turning hard as she fought to maintain eye contact at that awkward angle. Her fingers tightened on his hair. “Then you must stay. I won’t let you do this without me.”

Something approaching a laugh slipped from his throat. “My dear, I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m no fool, and you’re more intelligent than I am. Together, we will solve this.” He infused his voice with every shred of confidence he had. He voiced none of the fears.

“Yes, we will.” Her hand slipped from his hair to trail along the side of his face. Tingles erupted in her wake. She grinned. “My, your beard grows fast. In a day or two, you’d be as hairy as a bear.”

He rolled his eyes as he stepped away. When he passed his hand along his jaw, rough stubble met his palm. “Don’t remind me.” Shaving twice a day was deuced annoying. But the beard, as it grew, was also quite itchy.

Phil pulled on a plain brown dress as he found his drawers and breeches. A bit formal for breakfast, but he couldn’t very well go down without. He didn’t even have a banyan here, for heaven’s sake. Briefly, he considered rectifying this.

No, he didn’t need one. If he made a habit of spending his nights with Phil, it would be because they had solved the issue of her brother’s treason and she had become his wife. She would accept his proposal this time, wouldn’t she? Butterflies erupted in his stomach.

“Can I have your help with the buttons?” Phil pulled her long, wavy hair over her shoulder and presented her back to him.

He ran his finger along her spine, tracing the curve and resultant shiver.

“I want your help doing them up, not undoing them,” she said, her voice halfway between a laugh and a groan.

He bent and pressed a kiss to the back of her neck. He snaked out his tongue to tease the bare flesh. “I’m getting around to it.”

“Breakfast will be cold, at this rate.”

“Eating is overrated.”

The moment he finished the last button, she danced out of reach. She must have sensed his intentions. With a grin, she turned to face him. “I might be willing to forego breakfast, if I thought there was any chance of conversation in here. You know I can’t think straight when you touch me.”

Neither can I.
Morgan wanted nothing more than to touch her again. She must have sensed it, too, because she backed to the door and laid her hand on the latch.

“Put on a shirt. You’ll scandalize the staff.”

He laughed. “That would be a first. Usually, it’s my brother scandalizing the household.”

“Gideon or Tristan?”

“Anthony,” he answered, just to be ornery. Though, to be sure, when Anthony was home, he spent more time carousing than Tristan, and he wasn’t half as careful about hiding it from Mother as Tristan tried to be. Anthony had once confessed to Morgan that he had to make up for the rigid way he held himself out at sea, as an example to the officers beneath him.

Welcome to my life,
Morgan had answered. Certainly, if he had any sense at all, he wouldn’t have spent the night here with Phil.

Sense was overrated.

He found and donned a shirt, but Phil didn’t give him time to pull on his stockings or boots before she slipped her hand into his and tugged him out the door. He grinned as she led him down the hall, eager. He must have made her famished.

The servants in the corridor hid their smiles behind their hands but didn’t otherwise look surprised to see him. Morgan’s cheeks heated. Apparently, even if he had tried to sneak out, it would have been no use. He ducked his head, fingering the streak in his hair with his free hand. He’d never spent the night at a woman’s place before. Never before had he met a woman he’d like to wake up next to in the morning.

Phil, on the other hand, didn’t seem concerned that the moment they trotted past, the maids giggled and whispered. What were they saying about him? What would they tell others?

He might want to make an effort to take the London reports back from Gideon over the next few weeks, until his name didn’t pop up with quite so much frequency. Unfortunately, since he was a duke, that might not be for months. He was always a favorite topic on everyone’s lips.

Until now, that hadn’t included scandal.

The scandal won’t last long,
he assured himself. They would free Jared from whatever blackmail Lady Whitewood had on him, and then Morgan would be free to marry Phil. He refused to consider any other alternative.

The breakfast room seemed unusually crowded to Morgan. Not only was a footman waiting to ladle their food onto plates from the row of dishes on the sideboard, but a maid held a steaming pot of tea and another carried a carafe of coffee. As he and Phil stepped into the room, hands still joined, the maids grinned and exchanged glances.

Morgan glared.
Don’t you dare make her feel uncomfortable.
He didn’t care if they were her servants, he wouldn’t allow anyone to make Phil regret the passion they’d shared last night. She was too precious to him.

One more reason why he had to solve this problem as soon as possible, so she could become his wife. No one gave the cut direct to a duchess.

Fortunately, Phil didn’t seem to notice her servants’ behavior, let alone get offended by it. She took the head of the table and Morgan dropped into the chair next to her. She continued to hold his hand as the food was placed before him. That posed more of a problem; he needed his right hand to eat. Unwilling to relinquish a moment of touching her, he tried his best not to embarrass himself with his left hand.

“My first thought was to retrieve the black…hat,” Phil said, casting a look at the staff. She reached out to sip her tea, which the maid had fixed for her with milk and sugar.

He nodded. “That seems like a solid idea. Do you know what kind of hat the lady in question has taken? Perhaps she took it to appease a gambling debt? Or from a lover?” He could think of a dozen other things a young man might get into trouble doing—in fact, his younger brothers had probably explored them all. Those, however, seemed the likely two for a bored man of Jared’s station.

Phil sighed. Her face fell. “I have no idea. Jared refuses to tell me. He seems bent on the fact that we won’t find anything.”

“Leave that to me,” Morgan said.

She raised her eyebrows. “Us.” Her voice was as sharp as steel.

He should have considered that she would want to accompany him out into the field as well as concoct the plan. He took a deep breath. Given the look on her face, even if he tried to talk her out of going with him, she would undoubtedly sneak off and follow him. He would have a better chance of keeping her safe if she was at his side.

He nodded. “Very well.”

The tense, determined look on her face faded into one of surprise, which she soon covered with satisfaction, as if she’d expected him to agree with her all along. He bit his tongue to keep from snorting. He knew what most men in his position would do. Fortunately for him, he was more intelligent than most men.

When he had his amusement under control, he added, “That won’t solve the problem entirely, but it will remove Jared from…the situation. If we want to keep him away, we’ll have to arrest the lady who stole the hat.”

Phil nodded. “That sounds simple enough.”

He held his tongue. Nothing about this mission had proven simple so far. Even talking in circles so the staff didn’t catch on had his head throbbing.

They continued to eat. Phil rubbed her thumb over his hand idly, seemingly unaware that she did so. The servants slowed as they passed by the room, craning their necks to see inside. Morgan offered them his coldest ducal stare. The maids twittered again next to the sideboard, their words too high pitched to decipher. He turned his glare on them.

Abruptly, they silenced. Because of him? Not bloody likely. They hadn’t taken his wordless admonishments to heart yet.

Phil glanced up, toward the door. “Jared.”

Reflexively, Morgan tightened his hand. He turned, standing as he did. Jared, half-dressed in his shirt sleeves and breeches, stared at him and Phil, appalled.

Morgan slipped his hand from Phil’s. He stepped forward.
This isn’t what it looks like.
Well, perhaps it was, but Morgan wanted to impress that he had the best of intentions toward Phil.
After
they solved Jared’s problem, of course. A throb started in Morgan’s temple.

Phil scurried around him, herding Jared into a chair. “I’ve asked for Morgan’s help with your little problem. He’s…in a position to help.”

Morgan released a breath when she didn’t announce him a British spy in the middle of the breakfast room.
That
piece of gossip certainly wouldn’t help the situation if it circulated London.

Rather than sit, Jared backed away from his sister. “Obviously, you have everything under control.” Disgust laced his voice. He backed out of the room, shooting daggers at Morgan.

Every muscle in Morgan’s body stiffened. That hadn’t gone according to plan. Did Jared not like him? He’d seemed a perfectly affable fellow when they’d met previously. And he must have seen the way Morgan’s mother and sister had been pushing him and Phil together. It was inevitable that he and Phil should succumb eventually.

Lud, he’d made a mess of this, hadn’t he?

He slipped past Phil. “I should go after him, talk to him.” Tell him that he meant Phil no disrespect. Just the opposite, he loved and esteemed her more than any other.

Phil caught his sleeve. “I don’t think it would do much good when he’s in a mood like this.”

Morgan frowned. When he turned to study Phil’s face, he found her pensive. Her eyes were stormy. “Then he’s usually like this?” Perhaps it wasn’t due to his presence, then. Or was there something else afoot with the young man?