Chapter Eighteen
“Where are we?” Fionaasked tiredly as Morgan’s coach pulled up in front of an imposing red brick townhome in an unfamiliar part of the city. They were surrounded by equally beautiful homes surrounding a lovely park.
Morgan had convinced her to let him drive her home, and she’d been so exhausted she hadn’t had the strength to argue. Now, she wondered if she’d fallen asleep because she couldn’t remember anything since they’d left the docks and certainly didn’t know how they’d ended up here.
“This is my house,” Morgan told her softly.
She blinked. Of course, it was. How strange that after everything that had passed between them, she’d never been here before. Still...
“Why did you bring me here? I need to get back to the children.”
He shook his head. “The children are fine. Your staff has things well in hand. And I brought you here because I wanted you to have a proper soak in a proper tub and then sleep in a comfortable bed. I want you to take a day or two for yourself, Fiona. And I didn’t think you could do that at Brookhaven.”
She stared longingly at the house, knowing what an oasis it was bound to be compared to the controlled chaos that existed at Brookhaven. Still, she was afraid to go in, afraid to see what might have been if she was someone else, someone worthy of living in such a place.
“Don’t argue,” he said sternly. “Just come in. Let me take care of you for a day or two.”
She bit her lip, wondering why he was still being so sweet to her after what he’d learned. Perhaps he just felt guilty, thought that it was his fault Winters had gone after her. In any event, she found she couldn’t resist him. She couldn’t turn down a few more days in his company.
“All right,” she said softly. “Thank you.”
He gave her that beautiful smile of his just as a footman opened the door.
In a matter of moments, she was out of the cold and inside. She stood in the foyer, looking around her in awe. Morgan’s home was beautiful, but it was not as grand as his brother’s. It felt far more comfortable, like a home instead of an ostentatious showplace.
“Do you like it?” Morgan asked, handing off his cloak to the butler, who carefully did not let his eyes dwell on Fiona’s bedraggled state.
“I love it,” she admitted, her heart aching.
A sudden racket had her glancing upward to the grand staircase, where Samuel and Hannah were racing down to greet their father. To her very great surprise, they bypassed him completely, throwing their little arms around her legs instead and burying their faces in her skirts.
“We were so worried about you,” Hannah cried.
“We feared something would happen to you and we’d lose you like we lost our mother,” Samuel said, his voice cracking.
She sank to her knees and embraced them tightly, tears stinging her eyes. “I’m here, my darlings. I’m here and I’m fine, thanks to your father and your uncles.”
