Seductive Deception

Chapter 32

Morgan was in no mood to find guests when he returned, but he did his best to be cordial.

It was a big day for Lavinia as Gil finally returned from his business trip in the north. Despite her typical ladylike demeanor, Lavinia was bubbly and bright the entire evening, gushing about the newest things Charlotte learned to do while her husband was away.

The only bright spot was visiting with baby Charlotte before she was taken away to bed. Morgan stroked the baby's soft cheeks, taking in the scent of soap from the top of her head as he waggled his eyebrows and made her giggle. His heart leaped at the sound, lightened for the moment. He was thrown into visions of babies with brilliant grey eyes and their mother's glorious golden hair.

Morgan envied Gil as he doted on Charlotte, his hand on the small of Lavinia's back for the entirety of their discussion. He had everything Morgan ever wanted. And Morgan's heart wrenched when they left the parlor, giggling and flirting. He did his best to ignore the sharp jab as he gulped down his whiskey, indulging in the fiery liquid as it slid down his throat and into his belly.

Gil's return was an occasion that involved inviting everyone the Claytons had ever spoken to, or at least it seemed that way as Morgan moved from the parlor to the library, where he came across an uncomfortable situation— Lady Rosamund Meade and Mr. Brockton in an embrace.

Lord, help him. Why today?

She sucked in a quick breath before she pushed him away; Mr. Brockton flushed from embarrassment...or something else, did his best to appear put together as he hurriedly fixed his waistcoat and jacket and bowed to Morgan.

In a chair near the bookcases, he heard the tell-tale signs of slumber as the elderly woman he recognized as Lady Rosamund's lady's maid snored.

He should probably turn around and leave, let them collect themselves, but he heard the man's voice call to him, "Lord Whittington, it's a pleasure."

He didn't want to speak to this man. Nor Lady Rosamund, for that matter. But etiquette dictated otherwise, and who was he but a puppet to the system?

"Mr. Brockton. As always."

They tipped heads at one another, and Morgan remarked how well they suited one another. While she was petite and curvy with amber waves and a shy demeanor, this man was her opposite, tall with black hair and overly talkative. He wondered what people thought of him and Aggie together, what they would think when they saw his lithe beauty, honey-colored hair, and grey eyes next to his tall, thick body, dark hair, and eyes.

"May I offer you a refreshment?" Morgan asked. Rosamund remained mum, her eyes downcast and her face scrunched with worry.

"My lady would prefer a moment alone," he said, and Morgan watched as her eyes met. He wondered if any man had spoken for her before and laughed inwardly at the idea of speaking for Allegra.

"Ahh, yes, I'm a big fan of brandy. Thank you kindly. It's an honor to be here tonight. Gil is a good man."

Morgan went over to the sideboard and fumbled through the liquors until he found brandy and pulled it out, offering it for examination to the man.

Mr. Brockton, who it appeared may need spectacles, squinted and approached Morgan's side.

"Gil is a good man," Morgan parroted, only knowing what he did about his cousin's husband through the family's stories and his recent introduction earlier in the day.

"This is a fine one," he said, approving as Morgan poured two fingers and handed it to him, both nodding before they took swigs of their drinks. Was there anything this man disliked?