the damage was done. He'd made a promise, and he wouldn't go back on his word.
Early the next morning, he hired a detective named Evans; Evans left that very morning to attempt to track down Nathaniel.
God, but he hoped Evans wouldn't find him.
As for Elizabeth, he would put her from his mind… an impossible task, he soon discovered.
The days turned. A week passed, then another, and soon a month had gone by.
Her presence in his home—in his life!—was a distraction he hadn't counted on. His awareness of her was tremendously vexing, so much so that he stayed in his offices longer and longer every evening; their paths crossed but seldom. Yet the more he resolved to ignore her, the more her image lingered in his mind—an unfamiliar rustle, a soft sigh, a swirl of scent the moment he walked through the door was all it took. And then there were those eyes, wide, deep pools of vivid green that grew dark with wariness whenever they chanced to meet—that, too, he found vexing. Yet when they spoke, they were both politely formal. Still, Morgan couldn't deny the air of quiet dignity that always surrounded her—and even that both disturbed and impressed him.
Christ, where had Nat ever found her?
He suspected she made every effort to avoid him, dining alone in her room, often retiring before he arrived home. But already he could see the difference her presence had wrought upon the household. Meals were hot and well prepared, and offered far more variety. Where there had sometimes been a veil of dust coating furniture and furnishings, there was none. Thank heaven Simmons didn't mind her assistance. Indeed, the old man appeared almost fond of her.
And it was from Simmons that Morgan learned Stephen was a frequent early evening visitor. It seemed the pair spent a good deal of time together, a situation he found highly annoying—yet for the life of him, he couldn't precisely say why it was so.
But all the while he hoped Evans would not find Nathaniel.
Unfortunately, his hopes were in vain.
Evans appeared at the shipyard one bright spring day, just when he'd begun to think the detective was well and truly stumped in his search for Nathaniel.
A burly, heavyset man who looked more like a salty old seaman than a detective, Evans swept his hat from his head as Morgan's assistant escorted him into his office.
"Sorry to come unannounced, Mr. O'Connor, but I thought you'd want to hear what I found right away."
"That I do." Morgan waved him to the chair opposite him and resumed his place behind the desk. He waited until the other man was seated before he spoke. "So tell me, Mr. Evans. Were you able to find my brother?"
Evans's head bobbed up and down. "I did indeed, sir. Yes, I did indeed. He spent the first of the year in Pittsburgh, then moved on to Philadelphia." His grin was rather tentative. "Seems he met a real fancy widow from New York while he was there."
Morgan arched a brow. "I see. And where is he now, Mr. Evans? New York?"
Evans's grin faded. He looked startled. "You mean you knew all along?"
Morgan's smile was tight. "No. But I do know what my brother would do in such a situation. Tell me, is the widow rich?"
Evans rolled his eyes. "Lord, yes."
"And no doubt my brother has relieved her of a goodly portion of her riches."
Evans's grin reappeared slowly. "From the looks of him, he keeps the tailors busy. And just last week he bought himself a fancy pair of Thoroughbreds. Paid more for those horses than most people make in a lifetime."
Of course, Morgan agreed with derisive scorn. As long as he was spending someone else's money, it was nothing but the best for Nathaniel.
A glint had appeared in Evans's eye. "I got pretty friendly with one of the house maids. She had some wild tales of how your brother keeps the widow too busy to miss her late husband, if you know what I mean."
That he did, Morgan thought silently. He had not a single doubt that Nathaniel and the widow were lovers. But he conceded the fact that
Early the next morning, he hired a detective named Evans; Evans left that very morning to attempt to track down Nathaniel.
God, but he hoped Evans wouldn't find him.
As for Elizabeth, he would put her from his mind… an impossible task, he soon discovered.
The days turned. A week passed, then another, and soon a month had gone by.
Her presence in his home—in his life!—was a distraction he hadn't counted on. His awareness of her was tremendously vexing, so much so that he stayed in his offices longer and longer every evening; their paths crossed but seldom. Yet the more he resolved to ignore her, the more her image lingered in his mind—an unfamiliar rustle, a soft sigh, a swirl of scent the moment he walked through the door was all it took. And then there were those eyes, wide, deep pools of vivid green that grew dark with wariness whenever they chanced to meet—that, too, he found vexing. Yet when they spoke, they were both politely formal. Still, Morgan couldn't deny the air of quiet dignity that always surrounded her—and even that both disturbed and impressed him.
Christ, where had Nat ever found her?
He suspected she made every effort to avoid him, dining alone in her room, often retiring before he arrived home. But already he could see the difference her presence had wrought upon the household. Meals were hot and well prepared, and offered far more variety. Where there had sometimes been a veil of dust coating furniture and furnishings, there was none. Thank heaven Simmons didn't mind her assistance. Indeed, the old man appeared almost fond of her.
And it was from Simmons that Morgan learned Stephen was a frequent early evening visitor. It seemed the pair spent a good deal of time together, a situation he found highly annoying—yet for the life of him, he couldn't precisely say why it was so.
But all the while he hoped Evans would not find Nathaniel.
Unfortunately, his hopes were in vain.
Evans appeared at the shipyard one bright spring day, just when he'd begun to think the detective was well and truly stumped in his search for Nathaniel.
A burly, heavyset man who looked more like a salty old seaman than a detective, Evans swept his hat from his head as Morgan's assistant escorted him into his office.
"Sorry to come unannounced, Mr. O'Connor, but I thought you'd want to hear what I found right away."
"That I do." Morgan waved him to the chair opposite him and resumed his place behind the desk. He waited until the other man was seated before he spoke. "So tell me, Mr. Evans. Were you able to find my brother?"
Evans's head bobbed up and down. "I did indeed, sir. Yes, I did indeed. He spent the first of the year in Pittsburgh, then moved on to Philadelphia." His grin was rather tentative. "Seems he met a real fancy widow from New York while he was there."
Morgan arched a brow. "I see. And where is he now, Mr. Evans? New York?"
Evans's grin faded. He looked startled. "You mean you knew all along?"
Morgan's smile was tight. "No. But I do know what my brother would do in such a situation. Tell me, is the widow rich?"
Evans rolled his eyes. "Lord, yes."
"And no doubt my brother has relieved her of a goodly portion of her riches."
Evans's grin reappeared slowly. "From the looks of him, he keeps the tailors busy. And just last week he bought himself a fancy pair of Thoroughbreds. Paid more for those horses than most people make in a lifetime."
Of course, Morgan agreed with derisive scorn. As long as he was spending someone else's money, it was nothing but the best for Nathaniel.
A glint had appeared in Evans's eye. "I got pretty friendly with one of the house maids. She had some wild tales of how your brother keeps the widow too busy to miss her late husband, if you know what I mean."
That he did, Morgan thought silently. He had not a single doubt that Nathaniel and the widow were lovers. But he conceded the fact that
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