Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
The room was transformed. Candles flickered on every surface, casting warm, golden light that danced across the walls.
The harsh brightness of day had been replaced with something softer, more intimate.
On a small table near the window sat a bottle of wine and what looked like chocolate truffles arranged on a porcelain plate.
It was romantic. Deliberately, carefully romantic. Her heart began to race.
“I asked the staff to prepare a few things,” Morgan said from behind her, closing the door with a soft click. “I thought it might help… ease the evening.”
Eliza turned to face him, her hands twisting together nervously. “It’s beautiful. You didn’t have to go through such trouble. I don’t know what to…”
“I wanted to.” He moved past her toward the table, his movements relaxed despite the tension thrumming in the air between them. “I wanted you to feel comfortable here. This is your home now, after all. These rooms are as much yours as they are mine.”
Eliza’s gaze drifted around the chamber, taking in details she’d only glimpsed before. The massive bed with its dark blue hangings. The fireplace with its ornate mantle. The wardrobe against the far wall.
The wardrobe.
Heat flooded her cheeks.
“In the spirit of honesty,” she said quickly, before she could lose her nerve, “I should probably confess something.”
Morgan paused in the act of opening the wine. “Oh?”
“Do you remember when Arthur and Philip were here? During their stay?”
“Of course.”
“Well, there was an incident. In the kitchen. With flour. Lots and lots of flour.” Eliza’s words came faster now, tumbling over each other like an avalanche. “They spilled an entire sack of it everywhere, and then they ran. I chased them through the house, and they ended up… well…
“Where?”
“Here. In your chambers.”
Morgan’s eyebrows rose. “They what?!”
“I got to them before they could go snooping through anything, I promise! I whisked them out immediately. But in the process of… corralling them… I might have accidentally discovered…”
“Discovered what, Eliza?”
She gestured vaguely toward the wardrobe. “Well, your secret closet.”
For a long moment, Morgan simply stared at her. Then he laughed. It was a genuine, unguarded sound that transformed his entire face.
“Oh God. You found my… collection.”
“I promise, I didn’t mean to!” Eliza’s face was burning now as hot as the flames of Hell. “I was trying to grab Philip, and I backed into the wardrobe, and the false panel just… opened. And I saw, well. I saw…”
“What exactly did you see?” Morgan asked, his eyes dancing with amusement.
“Enough to know that you have… varied interests. I am not a woman of the world, but I know enough to ascertain the use of such items.”
“That’s a diplomatic way of putting it.” He shook his head, still smiling. “I’m not thrilled that you discovered that particular secret quite so soon. I had planned to… introduce you to it. More gradually.”
The implication in those words made Eliza’s stomach flip as they hung in the air for a quiet moment.
“I promise I didn’t mean to snoop,” she said again.
“I believe you.” Morgan poured two glasses of wine, the liquid dark and rich in the candlelight.
“I am glad,” she said with a blush. “Will I see it again?”
“Good Heavens, Eliza,” he said with a small laugh. “You surprise me. You want to be corrupted by your formerly rakish husband?”
“I want… I don’t know.”
“I had no intention of debauching my beautiful wife, but I fear you’ll see it again eventually. Though next time, the circumstances will be rather different.”
The flirtation in his voice was unmistakable. Eliza bit her lip, heat pooling low in her belly and moving like a typhoon between her legs. She’d never felt anything quite like this before, this mixture of nervousness and anticipation and want. It was more intoxicating than the Bordeaux.
Morgan crossed to her, offering one of the wine glasses. “Here. This might help.”
She took it gratefully, bringing it to her lips.
The wine was smooth, warming as it slid down her throat.
She took another small sip, then set the glass aside, not trusting herself to drink more.
She’d had wine at dinner, many times of course, but never in a situation like this.
Never when she needed her wits about her.
Though what good her wits would do her now, she had no idea.
Morgan set his own glass on the mantle, then turned to face her fully. The soft amber light played across his features, highlighting the strong line of his jaw and full beard, the intensity in his emerald eyes.
“Eliza,” he said quietly. “May I approach you?”
The formality of the question, the careful seeking of permission, made her heart squeeze.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He moved closer, slowly, as though afraid she might startle and flee. As if she were a doe, and he were the hunter. When he stood directly in front of her, so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body, he asked a single question.
“May I touch your hair?”
She nodded, not trusting her voice. Morgan reached up then, his fingers finding the pins and small combs Carrie had so carefully arranged just hours ago. One by one, he removed them, his movements gentle and unhurried. Each pin clinked softly as he set it aside on the nearby table.
Eliza’s hair began to fall, cascading down over her shoulders in waves. She felt the weight of it, the freedom of it, and realized she was trembling. Morgan’s hands moved through her hair, running through the long strands, his touch reverent. Never had she felt so revered, so wanted.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. “I’ve wanted to see it down like this for longer than I care to admit.”
Eliza’s breath hitched. “Morgan, that feels so nice.”
“May I kiss you?” His voice had dropped lower, rougher. His eyes searched hers, asking, seeking, waiting as he pulled her closer. She nodded. Morgan cupped her face in his hands and lowered his mouth to hers.
“Kiss me, Morgan,” she whispered.
This kiss was different from their first. It was different from the chaste brush of lips at their wedding ceremony.
This was deeper, slower, full of heat and promise.
His lips moved against hers with a skill that made her knees weak, coaxing responses from her she didn’t know she was capable of giving as she moaned against his mouth.
When he finally pulled back, they were both breathing hard.
She had no idea how much time had passed, whether a minute or a lifetime.
“God, Eliza,” he breathed against her lips. “Do you have any idea how much I’ve been thinking about this? About you? That kiss we shared has haunted me for weeks. I’ve been desperate to feel you again. To taste you again. You are like my personal wine, intoxicating and rich.”
“I… Oh Morgan…”
“No secrets, wife,” he said.
She swallowed hard, her face flaming. “I’ve thought about it too. More than I should have. More than I wanted to admit.”
His eyes darkened with desire. “Good. Because I intend to make sure you never regret saying yes to me. You will always say yes to me.”
“Yes,” she sighed and he kissed her again, deeper this time, his tongue tracing the seam of her lips until she opened for him.
The sensation made her gasp, made her clutch at his shoulders for balance.
His hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer.
She could feel the solid heat of him through the thin fabric of her dress, could feel the way his body responded to her nearness.
“Morgan,” she breathed when he finally released her mouth to trail kisses along her jaw. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve never…”
“I know.” His lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear, making her shudder. “I know, darling. We’ll go slowly. I promise. I’ll take care of you.”
His hands moved to the fastenings of her dress, and he paused, looking at her questioningly. She nodded once more, and he began to work the buttons free with ease.
“You’re shaking like a leaf,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder as the dress loosened. “Relax for your husband like a good girl.”
“I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be. We’ll only do what you’re comfortable with. If you want me to stop at any point, you just have to say the word. We will not do anything that you do not want.”
The dress fell away, pooling at her feet. Eliza stood in her chemise and stays, feeling more exposed than she’d ever been in her life. Morgan stepped back, his gaze traveling over her slowly, appreciatively.
“You’re breathtaking,” he said simply. “A rival to any painting the Louvre.
Then he guided her toward the bed, his touch gentle but so sure. He helped her sit on the edge, then knelt before her to remove her slippers as if in prayer. His hands traveled up her calves, over her knees, finding the ties of her stockings.
“May I?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He rolled them down slowly, his fingers brushing against her skin in a way that made her breath catch. When both stockings were removed, he stood and shrugged out of his coat, then his waistcoat, then his cravat.
“May I?” He asked.
“Please, hurry,” she said as she watched, transfixed, as more of him was revealed. The strong column of his throat. The broad expanse of his shoulders beneath his shirt. When he reached for the hem of his shirt, she sucked in a breath. “If I am a painting in the Louvre, you are Adonis himself.
He paused. “Are you sure it is not too much? Too fast?”
“No. I want to see you. All of you.”
“Your wish is my command,” he said as he pulled the shirt over his head, and Eliza’s mouth went dry.
He was so beautiful. All lean muscle and smooth skin, with a dusting of dark hair across his chest that arrowed down past the waistband of his trousers. Morgan moved to sit beside her on the bed, and she felt the mattress dip under his weight.
“Lie back,” he said softly. “Let me make you feel good.”