Read Online Morgan and Archer: A Novella by Grace Burrowes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Grace Burrowes
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pining for your husband.”
“I know you are not.”
“You do?”
Ellen was smiling, and not unkindly. “Valentine has been over in the corner for the entire set, letting Lady Winterthur pester him about taking a turn at the piano for her guests, and you haven’t looked his way once.”
“The hostesses always pester him. I think he half enjoys it.”
“I quite agree, but the point is, you haven’t taken your eyes off Mr. Portmaine.”
Morgan took her eyes off Archer long enough to stare at Ellen. “I’m not looking at him now, am I?”
“Why not encourage his suit, Morgan? He’s comely, a gentleman despite his investigations, and connected with the Windham family. Moreover, I think he’s smitten with you. You could do much worse.”
Sometimes, it was a mercy to be able to pretend not to hear well. “Shall we get some punch? It’s quite warm in here.”
They made their way toward the refreshments, and just as Morgan was about to accept a cup of sangria from a Winterthur footman, she caught a whiff of cedar and spices.
“Good evening, my lady, Miss James.” Archer bowed very correctly, beaming what Morgan termed his Ballroom Bachelor Smile at her and Ellen both. “If your next dance is not spoken for, Miss James, would you do me the honor of a turn on the terrace? My need for fresh air grows pressing.”
“Do, Morgan. I have it on good authority you spend too much time in stuffy, noisy ballrooms.” Ellen took the cup of sangria when Morgan might have reached for it.
“From whom do you hear such things, Ellen?” Morgan asked.
“His Grace, among others. Take her outside, Mr. Portmaine, before the next sets form.”
Ellen smiled at them both as if she were particularly pleased with herself, then strolled off in the direction of the minstrel’s gallery.
“The Windham menfolk have the knack of marrying ladies who are as pretty as they are dear.” Archer winged his arm at Morgan. “Would you rather be dancing, Miss James?”
The question was rhetorical when Morgan had already confessed that the background noise in a ballroom made it one of the most difficult environments she dealt with.
“I will enjoy a respite out-of-doors.” She couldn’t quite dredge up her own Company Smile, not even when they were seated on a low bench amid the fragrant abundance of the bouquets gracing the Winterthur terrace.
“Are we far enough from the noise for you?” Archer asked.
“Not nearly, but we’re as far as we can get without causing gossip. You look tired.”
“I am tired. My days and nights are getting mixed up, and I miss you.”
Morgan had wondered. After five nights of spending hours in each other’s arms, Archer had been absent for the past two nights. When he hadn’t come gliding into her boudoir on moonlight and shadows, Morgan told herself that was for the best. If Archer did not maintain his distance, before too much longer, she would be begging him to make love to her, properly and completely.
Improperly.
And then begging him to leave.
Archer sat close enough that they touched from knee to shoulder, though Morgan wished they might risk holding hands. “Will you tell me the truth about something, Mr. Portmaine?”
“Something in particular?
The comment was meant to be teasing, but she’d also felt him tense up along her side. “Yes, something in particular. The first night we met, after the concert, were you working on the same project that consumes you now?”
“I’ve been working on it for weeks.”
More of a yes than a no, and a yes with an edge of frustration to it. “Would you make more progress on that project if you were getting more rest?”
He did not answer immediately, which meant he understood her oblique question. “Perhaps you are in need of more rest, Miss James? You do look a trifle fatigued.”
His tone remained solicitous while his expression became guarded. Were she stronger, she’d smile at him and agree cheerily that too many late-night
“I know you are not.”
“You do?”
Ellen was smiling, and not unkindly. “Valentine has been over in the corner for the entire set, letting Lady Winterthur pester him about taking a turn at the piano for her guests, and you haven’t looked his way once.”
“The hostesses always pester him. I think he half enjoys it.”
“I quite agree, but the point is, you haven’t taken your eyes off Mr. Portmaine.”
Morgan took her eyes off Archer long enough to stare at Ellen. “I’m not looking at him now, am I?”
“Why not encourage his suit, Morgan? He’s comely, a gentleman despite his investigations, and connected with the Windham family. Moreover, I think he’s smitten with you. You could do much worse.”
Sometimes, it was a mercy to be able to pretend not to hear well. “Shall we get some punch? It’s quite warm in here.”
They made their way toward the refreshments, and just as Morgan was about to accept a cup of sangria from a Winterthur footman, she caught a whiff of cedar and spices.
“Good evening, my lady, Miss James.” Archer bowed very correctly, beaming what Morgan termed his Ballroom Bachelor Smile at her and Ellen both. “If your next dance is not spoken for, Miss James, would you do me the honor of a turn on the terrace? My need for fresh air grows pressing.”
“Do, Morgan. I have it on good authority you spend too much time in stuffy, noisy ballrooms.” Ellen took the cup of sangria when Morgan might have reached for it.
“From whom do you hear such things, Ellen?” Morgan asked.
“His Grace, among others. Take her outside, Mr. Portmaine, before the next sets form.”
Ellen smiled at them both as if she were particularly pleased with herself, then strolled off in the direction of the minstrel’s gallery.
“The Windham menfolk have the knack of marrying ladies who are as pretty as they are dear.” Archer winged his arm at Morgan. “Would you rather be dancing, Miss James?”
The question was rhetorical when Morgan had already confessed that the background noise in a ballroom made it one of the most difficult environments she dealt with.
“I will enjoy a respite out-of-doors.” She couldn’t quite dredge up her own Company Smile, not even when they were seated on a low bench amid the fragrant abundance of the bouquets gracing the Winterthur terrace.
“Are we far enough from the noise for you?” Archer asked.
“Not nearly, but we’re as far as we can get without causing gossip. You look tired.”
“I am tired. My days and nights are getting mixed up, and I miss you.”
Morgan had wondered. After five nights of spending hours in each other’s arms, Archer had been absent for the past two nights. When he hadn’t come gliding into her boudoir on moonlight and shadows, Morgan told herself that was for the best. If Archer did not maintain his distance, before too much longer, she would be begging him to make love to her, properly and completely.
Improperly.
And then begging him to leave.
Archer sat close enough that they touched from knee to shoulder, though Morgan wished they might risk holding hands. “Will you tell me the truth about something, Mr. Portmaine?”
“Something in particular?
The comment was meant to be teasing, but she’d also felt him tense up along her side. “Yes, something in particular. The first night we met, after the concert, were you working on the same project that consumes you now?”
“I’ve been working on it for weeks.”
More of a yes than a no, and a yes with an edge of frustration to it. “Would you make more progress on that project if you were getting more rest?”
He did not answer immediately, which meant he understood her oblique question. “Perhaps you are in need of more rest, Miss James? You do look a trifle fatigued.”
His tone remained solicitous while his expression became guarded. Were she stronger, she’d smile at him and agree cheerily that too many late-night
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