He ran his thumb beneath her eyes tenderly, catching some of her errant tears. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
She shook her head. “I’m not upset. I’m happy. These are happy tears.”
He gave her a hesitant smile. “I don’t understand.”
“Lots of people want to help these children. They throw money at the problem, try to give their advice, but they don’t really understand what the children need. Yet somehow, you know exactly what to do.”
“The puppies are good, then?” he asked, his lovely eyes twinkling from her praise.
“The puppies are perfect.” Impulsively, she leaned forward and this time, she kissed him.
She’d meant it to just be a fleeting press of her lips to his, a gentle thank you for his kindness, but it exploded into something far more visceral, a clashing of teeth and tongues that went straight to her core, an avalanche of desire that she hadn’t expected but discovered she’d needed with every fiber of her being.
At last, they broke apart, gasping, and she realized he’d been just as stunned by the passion between them as she had.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, embarrassment setting her cheeks on fire. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“It’s all right,” he told her, but he backed away, unable to hold her gaze. “I’ll go get started on another room. I’ll let you give the puppies to the children.”
Then he whirled and strode away, leaving her more confused than ever.
* * *
MORGAN TOOK THE STAIRSto the third floor two at a time, not stopping until he got to the room shared by two of the older boys, who’d chosenMoby Dickfor their mural. He shut the door and leaned against it, his heart still pounding in his chest from the passionate kiss he’d just shared with Fiona.
The warning he’d received this morning from his brother echoed in his mind, and he banged his head hard against the door to try and clear it. Fiona had been hurt in the past. The last thing she needed was a man who was still grieving his dead wife. A man with three children and no real purpose. She deserved far better. She deserved someone who would marry her, someone who could love her...
Morgan wasn’t certain he’d ever truly been in love. He didn’t know if he had the ability to love any woman the way his brothers loved their wives. He hadn’t loved Anne in that way. But what he felt for Fiona was so different that he couldn’t even put a name to it and perhaps that scared him most of all.
He sighed and sat down at the small desk in the corner, pulling out his sketchpad, determined to focus on his work and not his feelings for Fiona. It proved more difficult than he’d hoped, but at last, he was able to turn his mind to ships and whales. After he had a few preliminary drawings, he got up and stretched, then went and got his paints from the carriage. His driver seemed bored, so he instructed him to do a few of the other items on Fiona’s repair list, and then he headed back upstairs.
While he was trying to decide which of his ideas to go with, he looked up to find half a dozen curious faces peering in at him, his son Samuel among them. He managed a smile. “Can I help you, lads?”
One of the older ones, a handsome young man with a shock of shiny black hair, stepped into the room. “Is it true you’re gonna paint something in all the rooms?”
Morgan nodded, pushing the sketch forward across the boys’ desk where he’d been working. He’d envisioned a ship tossed at sea, the whale rising out of the waves behind it. “Do you think this is too scary? Whose room is this?”
The boy who’d stepped forward gave him an incredulous glance. “’Course it’s not too scary. I’m not a baby.”
“This is your room, then?” Morgan asked.
The boy nodded. “Mine and Jim’s.” He gestured to another, smaller redheaded boy at the back of the crowd. “He is the one who pickedMoby Dick.”
Morgan locked eyes with Jim. “That was a really good choice, Jim. It gave me a lot to work with.” He glanced back at the first boy. “And what’s your name?”
“I’m Alex, sir. And we’re so excited to see what you do. We’ve all seen the girls’ room.”
“I’m glad to do it,” Morgan assured them, a little uncomfortable with the praise. He’d hidden his artwork for so long it was strange to get this sort of feedback and approval.
He met Samuel’s gaze, pleased to see that his son looked happier than he had since Anne’s death. Perhaps he had needed the company of other boys his age. He was old enough to go away to school, but Morgan hadn’t been able to bear the thought of sending him away after the boy had just lost his mother. “Have the rest of you given thought as to what you’d like in your own rooms?”
That induced a spirited discussion about their favorite books and arguments between roommates. As Morgan continued his sketches, he found that he, too, was happier than he’d been in quite some time.
“Does it have to be from a book?” one of the boys asked. “Couldn’t we do the Battle of Trafalgar or King Arthur’s knights?”
“You can do whatever you want,” Morgan assured them. “Just as long as I’m familiar enough with the work to be able to paint it.”
Another boy, a tow-headed blond, thrust a piece of paper at him. “Would somethin’ like this be all right?”
