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“How is that working for you?”

Ambrose grunted and got up to retrieve his decanter of whiskey.

“Nothing about this is casual,” Ambrose sighed. “I have spent the last two days wrapping my mind around you marrying my sister, and it still does not seem plausible.”

He poured out two glasses and then walked one over to Morgan.

“That is why you are here, is it not?” Ambrose asked warily, raising the glass to his lips.

Morgan tilted his glass towards Ambrose in a toast of agreement, and then took a sip of the liquor.

Ambrose shook his head as he looked at the ceiling and drained his glass.

“We did not mean to, but Helena and I have fallen in love, Ambrose. I want to marry her. Be her husband. Make sure she never has to worry about anyone coming after her again,” Morgan replied.

“You run through women like you run through boxing partners,” Ambrose retorted. “You have “been in love” dozens of times. How do you know this is real?”

“Fair point,” Morgan acknowledged wittily, taking another sip of his whiskey. He was expecting more than a few barbs and harsh questions to be thrown at him today, and he had prepared himself for it.

“Reuben’s spy might have discovered our little tryst, but what he did not discover was how much she and I talked,” Morgan explained. “By our second meeting, I was sharing things with her I have not shared with anyone. Including you, brother.”

Ambrose frowned at him, but did not interrupt.

“In our talks, I discovered many things. Helena is an incredibly kind soul beneath her haughty exterior.”

“I already knew that,” Ambrose snapped.

“But I did not.” Morgan countered. “I learned, though. I learned all about her, and the more I learned, the more I wanted her. We had a deal that was supposed to have a starting and stopping point, but Ambrose, I knew far too quickly that I was going to go through torture when we stopped. And I did, and you saw it.”

Ambrose let out a long breath through his nostrils.

“Indeed I did,” he agreed begrudgingly.

“I do not want to be apart from her anymore,” Morgan went on. “What I feel for her, what we feel for each other is real, Ambrose.”

Ambrose sneered as he looked down into his empty glass and went to refill it.

“Very well, let us say you are truly in love. I can accept that. I never thought I would love a woman as I love Barbara, but here we are. But what about Helena’s last engagement? Do you have any idea what rumors we are already dealing with? An engagement announcement is only going to make them more vicious.”

“Helena deserves a long engagement if she wishes,” Morgan replied. “And Helena has never cared about the opinion of the ton, nor have I. But do not ask me. Ask her. I am simply here to ask for your approval to ask for her hand.”

“Rumors will also spread about you,” Ambrose pointed out. “No doubt some are already circulating. You are used to playing the clown and the rake, Morgan, but will you still be comfortable when people treat you differently because of it?”

“Whatever happens, we will deal with it together,” Morgan stated calmly, steepling his fingers. “As a family.”

Ambrose perked his brow and leaned back against his desk.

“As a family?” he asked. “Does that mean you are coming back into our fold?”

“Did I ever truly leave?” Morgan asked, smirking. But when Ambrose did not say anything, he grew serious.

“I never wanted to leave, I just thought it was best for everyone if I did. But I am not going anywhere. You, Ezra, and Duncan are my brothers. Barbara, Alice, and Lydia my sisters. And Helena will be my wife.”

Ambrose looked at Morgan for a long time, the silence filling room like suffocating quicksand as he studied him.

“Very well, then,” Ambrose sighed, a wry smile spreading over his face. “Let us call her in here. It looks like you have a question to ask her.”

“Morgan?” Lydia asked, her eyes wide with shock.“Morgan?”