Seductive Deception

Chapter 4

Morgan wiped his brow and sat to write the letter he'd been thinking about writing since he'd returned home.

He'd spent most of his nights sauntering up and down the hallways of Whittington, reflecting, reliving the past. In truth, the bed was far too soft, and the lack of sound inside the massive manor was jarring. He cracked the window open, desperate to hear the reassuring noise of life— the whir of insects, the distant sound of a train whistle, the rustling of some animal in the thicket. Everything here was so foreign, so unsettling.

The clothing was constraining, although he'd been promised it would soon be remedied with a trip to Mayfair. He was weary but willing to agree. And he loathed wearing cravats and ties. They rubbed against his neck and collected sweat and were entirely ridiculous for wear while one was out shoveling coal or stacking firewood.

He knew these were not activities typical earls partook in, but he didn't care. He wasn't a typical earl.

He winced, as a stabbing pain throbbed in his shoulder, reminding him that perhaps he shouldn't. Underneath his shirt sleeve was the ugly scar he'd kept under wraps. He reached up and attempted to rub it, but that never did any good. He rolled his arm back and forth, hoping the pain would eventually subside.

This morning he'd helped his tenants by assisting with laying paving stones at the church and corralling sheep who'd managed to slip through a broken fence. Although, as he reflected on it, he'd prefer to defer this job to someone else in the future as he found he had no talent for it. A smile played on his lips as he remembered slipping and sliding in the muck, and the tenant's look of terror as Morgan stood, covered head to toe in mud. Morgan had to reassure him that all was well. He'd been to war, for heaven's sake. When that didn't soothe him, Morgan bought him and several other tenants a round at the local pub.

And when Lavinia found him in his office again that afternoon, he knew he had to ask her one of the most important questions he'd ever ask.

"Lavinia."

She was playing with her daughter Charlotte, sending her into fits of giggles.

Ordinarily, Lavinia and Charlotte would be confined to the parlor or nursery, but Morgan preferred it this way. He hated the silence that pervaded in the afternoons. The dichotomy of his fears was so conflicting that it mystified him. He both loathed excess noise and pervasive quiet.

He sighed, exhaling as he prepared himself for the response. "I've been inquiring about a former relation of mine that I am unable to track down."

This piqued her interest, she leaned forward, readjusting the baby on her lap, who turned to grin at Morgan as she gnawed on her finger, a dribble of drool rolling down her chin.

"Do you know of the last post address?"

"Suttonbury residence."
Her fair brows furrowed. "Such a tragic story."
Morgan had heard that Allegra's parents tragically passed away only months after his departure. He tried like hell to get back to her, to come find her. But he was too young. He didn't have the funds, didn't have the means to come to her. He regretted it nearly every day.

He swallowed, pushing the bitter memory aside.

"An elderly man lives there now."

"What is his relation?"

"To the former resident?"

He nodded.

"A brother of the former viscount. From hearsay, he's an evil, curmudgeon man who never leaves the manor. He's gone mad over the years, can't even remember his own name much of the time."

Morgan's jaw clenched.

He didn't have much faith in a response, but he thanked her and set his pen to paper:

To the Lord of Suttonbury Manor,

I am inquiring about the whereabouts of Lady Allegra Warren, a former resident of your estate...