Seductive Deception

Chapter 21

The warm glow from Pennington manor cascaded like long trailing amber fingers to the outreaches of the grounds. Here, Allegra could watch the balcony as she waited for Morgan, sitting against the base of a large tree on the garden's outskirts.

Muffled laughter and merriment spilled from the open doors into the night as couples took to the gardens for midnight dalliances.

Part of her felt a pang of jealousy for lost opportunities, experiences she'd never had. Those dreams had been long ago lost and tucked away in the recesses of her mind, along with the other prospects she'd once taken for granted— balls, tea times, shopping on Bond street, holidays at the sea. She'd lost those opportunities; they'd been stolen away from her.

And yet, instead of holding on to her anger, she put one foot in front of the other. She had to. For Louisa. For her. For them. And built herself her own empire. And damn, was she ever proud of that.

She was also proud that she'd helped her sister fill her entire dance card with a group of respectable gentlemen. And, perhaps, maybe even a future husband, if they were lucky enough. Per their agreement, she'd seen Louisa off and watched as she greeted Lady Ambrosia, who fabricated a relationship as a doting great aunt, and introduced her to the ton.

And when she'd wiped her hands clean of that, she'd been left but nothing but him on her mind— the memory of their embrace—the touch of his lips on hers as she ran her hands in his hair, the way he held her chin tenderly as he kissed her, and the heat of his skin at her touch.

Her throat tightened. She didn't dare watch as any other woman touched him—the idea causing her stomach to flip.

"Madam Cerise."

A gravelly whisper pierced the quiet. He was finally there...with her.

Morgan.

"Lord Whittington?" she whispered back.

She wasn't prepared for this, seeing him like this. Lord help her; she knew she shouldn't find him so appealing, but he was breathtaking in his formal black double-breasted suit, his hair sleeked back, his beard oiled and neatly trimmed, the au fait fashion that pervaded London at the moment.

"Take a walk with me," he said as he held a hand out to her.

Despite her reservations, she stood, straightened her skirts, and took his hand—a sense of hopefulness pervading her thoughts. For what, she couldn't say, but the emotion was intoxicating. And right now, she felt like drowning.

***

They weaved through the labyrinthine gardens, the glow of the manor now a beacon of ochre light in the distance. On the outskirts, despite a generous half-moon, it was darker, shrouded in mystery and nighttime sounds. They'd taken on a leisurely pace, ambling beside the hedgerow when they'd run out of garden.

A trickle of sweat dripped between Morgan's brows, and he wiped it away with a quick swipe of his hand.

"You're...perspiring."

"I... yes," he admitted, avoiding her eyes.

He took a deep breath, his shoulders dropping. "I have this overwhelming urge to escape from large crowds. I can't breathe, and my heart starts to race. And when that happens, I perspire. My legs feel like they're filled with lead," Morgan admitted. "I hate the smells... and the lights. But it's the noise—the chatter, music, and laughter I can't abide," he rubbed a hand over his face. "You'd think I'd enjoy that, that I was missing it. And a part of me was," he paused as he turned to her.

Allegra sucked in a breath, her chest tightening at the confession. "When was the last ball you attended?"

"Before this?" he inclined his head toward the balcony — the light and noise spilling into the night like a vat of spilled ink.