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“He mentioned a week,” Morgan murmured. “Is that true?”

Helena’s cheeks flooded a deeper shade of pink than her gown, but she did not look away from him.

“Yes,” she breathed. “He…I…we…decided that there was no need for an elaborate ceremony.”

“I do not recall that being what you wanted,” Morgan mused.

“It is what is best,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “My other plan was to have a love match. This is not a part of my plan, although I believe that he will be an amicable husband.”

“Amicable,” Morgan echoed with a scoff. He stepped closer and grazed his fingers from her earlobe to encircle her throat. She nodded slowly, not stopping him as his fingers tightened with his need to possess her.

Helena nodded again, a look of lust glazing over her eyes as an electric charge began to build between them. Each time it began, they were powerless to stop its advance.

“We must finish your list,” he whispered, stroking his fingers over her neck, “Before your…amicablemarriage begins.”

Helena licked her bottom lip as if suddenly parched and shook her head while still in his grip.

“With the wedding so close…” she began to say.

Unable to help himself, Morgan pulled her close and steadied his lips just a breath above hers.

“Come to me tomorrow night,” he rasped, teasing her lips by barely brushing his own over hers, “At eight.”

“Eight,” she gasped, breaking out of her trance. “That is so early!”

“You will find a way,” he murmured, pulling away from her as they heard footsteps approaching.

Morgan was across the room in an instant, opening the dining hall doors just in time for Ambrose to step through.

“Are you leaving?” Ambrose asked, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping you would stay.”

Morgan had meant to stay. Meant to show Ambrose the letter in his jacket pocket with the Whittler’s name on it. But now, as he stood before his friend, he realized he could not. How would he explain how or why it had come into his possession? He was not even sure he could be honest to himself let alone Ambrose.

Besides, the letter had not been addressed to Luke, so there was no proof that it belonged to him, other than the fact that Morgan had hired an investigator to break into the viscount’s office. Which, of course, would only expose him to more grueling questions.

“Let us meet up in a few hours,” Morgan said, patting Ambrose on the back as he paused beside him. “At your place.”

Ambrose nodded, looking relieved that their friendship was no longer strained.

“See you there,” Ambrose nodded, clapping Morgan on the shoulder as he took his leave.

As Morgan made his way out into the hall, he heard Ambrose’s voice as he spoke to Helena.

“The viscount is most looking forward to your union, Helena,” he heard him say.

“That is well, brother,” Morgan heard Helena say as he suddenly stopped outside the doors. She sounded as dull and lifeless as Luke’s personality.

“He will be the perfect provider, I believe,” Ambrose went on. “Though, a little overzealous for time alone with you, perhaps.”

“Yes, brother,” Helena replied in that same lifeless tone.

Morgan was pleased by the lack of interest in Helena’s tone, and as he pushed away from the door, he knew he had finally confirmed his suspicions. Helena did not want to marry the man.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“We are out of time.”

Morgan said the words simply and numbly. Helena felt the weight of their brevity sinking deep into her heart like a stone, tearing it in two. She swallowed, rubbing the stinging tears from her eyes and nodded. She could not look at him.