Page 35 of Duke of Seduction (The Four Dukes #4)
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
“ Y our Grace, if you will not travel to your rooms, you should at least allow us to bring a bed in here,” Martha, his housekeeper and grand leader of his staff, said sternly.
Morgan raised an amused brow at the older woman. He adored Martha. She was a natural leader who kept his household running with efficiency, and as far as sarcasm went, she could easily keep pace with him. When she was angry though, the woman became a mother hen whether he liked it or not.
“I have everything I require here in the library, Martha,” he sighed, feigning exhaustion as he rolled his eyes.
“I understand why you wanted to stay on the first floor,” Martha tittered, going around the room pick up abandoned teacups and plates. “With your wound, I am certain stairs are a difficulty. But you need a proper bed to rest in. You need to rest, period!”
Morgan gave her a cheeky, boyish grin as he watched the older woman drive herself into a tizzy. Although he had sealed himself in the library, the room that held such precious memories of Helena, he had indeed done everything but rest. He had used that expansive space to exercise almost endlessly, forcing his body to sweat and transform through the pain that throbbed in his side.
He was fine. The twice-daily physician visits had assured him of that. His physician always made sure the wound was clean and remained well-sewed. There were no blown stitches or infection. The good doctor, however, agreed with Martha that his restlessness was doing him no favors.
“Is that not what I am doing now?” Morgan asked, waving a lazy hand over his prone body.
Martha gave him a warning look, as if he was pushing her too far.
“You only finally settled onto the couch when I came in,” she replied pointedly. Do not try to fool me, my boy. Your charm does not work on me.”
“Which is why I will always love you,” he replied adoringly, then chuckled as the older woman picked up a dirty napkin from her tray and threw it at him, hitting him square in the chest.
“What did I just say?” she snarled, and Morgan’s chuckle erupted into a booming laugh.
“You are hopeless,” she sighed, heading towards the door. “I do not know why I bother.”
“Because you love me too,” Morgan chuckled.
“Devil with you,” Martha cursed, flinging the door open.
Morgan watched with amusement as the woman tried to step through the portal with her anger, but then folded like a piece of thin paper as she let out a sigh, tilted her face towards the ceiling, and shook her head.
“I will be back at four with your evening tea,” she said reluctantly, an annoyed expression on her face.
“Thank you, Mummy,” Morgan said cheekily, grinning at her with boyish innocence.
Martha grunted and walked out, muttering her complaints under her breath.
For a moment, Morgan chuckled. But the moment the door was closed, the laugh faded and his smile slid into a lifeless line. His brief bout of mirth slipped away as quickly as it had arisen, and he turned his eyes towards the fire.
Images of Helena posing before the great hearth filled his mind, causing a cacophony of sensations within him. Arousal, yearning, heartache, and a desperate need to see and touch her again. Still, he welcomed the memories and let them flood freely through his mind and take him away.
Leaving Ambrose’s house had felt like a ridiculously large mistake from the moment he had returned to his home. He was sure it was the reason he could not stay still or rest for too long, but he could not go back. Too many mistakes had been made on his part, and he had played the fool worse than he had ever done before. As predicted by his brothers, his spirited personality had finally gone too far.
Morgan flicked his eyes away from the fire, the memory becoming too vivid for him to endure. He startled when he looked through the floor-to-ceiling windows facing the back garden and saw Helena’s black-cloaked figure stepping through the glass door.
“Helena,” he burst out, getting to his feet in an instant.
“Yes, Helena ,” she snapped, pulling back her hood to reveal her anger-filled blue eyes.
Dear God, is she beautiful.
“You said we would talk,” she snapped, tugging viciously at the ties of her cloak. “You promised. And then you snuck off while I was asleep ?”
She balled up her cloak, revealing a dark blue and black dress that looked rather becoming on her, and threw it at him.
“I am getting a lot of things thrown at me today,” Morgan muttered, catching the cloak.
Helena laughed bitterly as she crossed her arms and cocked her head.
“Oh, now you want to joke again, hmm?”
“No,” he answered quickly, tossing the cloak aside and looking at her. His body immediately stirring with arousal.
No longer afflicted by the poison, her skin had lost its bluish tint, and she had regained her warm peaches-and-cream complexion. Her blue eyes, previously dull and misted over with confusion, were now sharp and full of expression as she pinned him with her stare.
“You look so much better,” he told her quietly.
For a moment Helena’s anger lessened, a touch of appreciation coming over her pained face, but then she set her glare upon him again.
“You refused to give in to my request at the bath house. Then you never showed up to my wedding. Then you showed up at dinner, saved me, saved our entire family, got stabbed, and then left. That is quite a series of events to follow, and I what to know exactly how you arrived at every single one of those decisions.”
Helena took a quick look around the room, spotted a chair, and then walked with purpose towards it before she sat herself down, crossed her legs, folded her hands over her knee, and looked at him expectantly.
“I am not leaving until you tell me,” she announced while he stared at her in shocked silence. “So either start talking or send for a servant to bring me something to eat. I am hungry.”
Despite the emotions running through him, Morgan let out a chuff of laughter. He had always found her stalwart disposition admirable, and he remembered suddenly why she had come to him with her request. Because she did not bow to just any man, and she would not go down on her knees unless that man was worthy of her. She was now demanding that he prove himself to be worthy.
“Very well,” he agreed, knowing that she would not change her mind, “But I am going to get you something to eat all the same. I will not have you passing out from hunger while I am pouring out my heart to you.”
This earned him a smirk from Helena, which shot an arrow of joy through him, and he went to the door to give the command.