She was wearing a plain white nightdress, demure and lacy, that must have belonged to Anne, though he didn’t recognize it.
“Do you have everything you need?” he asked softly. “Is there anything else I can get you?”
“Your servants brought me everything I could possibly want,” she said a bit ruefully, but despite her small smile, the emptiness in her eyes disturbed him.
For a moment, silence fell between them, then she cleared her throat. “Good night, Morgan. Thank you.” She started to close the door, but he put up a hand, stopping her.
“Can I come in, Fiona?”
She dropped her gaze, her whole body riddled with tension. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please,” he whispered, unwilling to take no for an answer. She needed him tonight, needed him desperately, and he needed her, too. “Please let me hold you for just a little while. I thought I was going to lose you today. I just need to convince myself that you’re all right, that you’re safe and alive.”
She made a small, strangled sound, and whether it was dismay or pleasure he wasn’t sure, but she stepped aside and opened the door wide enough for him to slip inside the room.
He was pleased to see that a fire burned merrily in the hearth and a plate of food sat mostly untouched on a table in front of it. The bed had been turned down, and the room smelled fresh and inviting. His servants had done well. He’d have to thank them tomorrow.
“Did you try and eat something?” he asked.
“A little, but I’m not hungry,” she said, her voice hollow.
Deciding not to push it for the moment, he walked over to the table where someone had also thoughtfully left a decanter of Irish whisky. Pouring a small amount in two glasses, he turned around and handed her one. “At least have a drink,” he coaxed. “It might do you a world of good.”
“All right,” she capitulated. She took the glass, and to his surprise, drained the entire thing, coughing a bit as she lowered it, her eyes watering.
“Careful,” he said uneasily. “This stuff is strong.”
“Good,” she said, squaring her shoulders and holding it out for a refill.
Hesitantly, he poured another small portion into her glass and she drained that as well. Then she finally met his gaze. “We need to talk, Morgan. And I need to be a little drunk when we do so. Otherwise, I don’t think I’ll ever find the courage.”
He nodded nervously and sat down on a small sofa in front of the fireplace, patting the empty space beside him. “Come sit with me, darling.”
She bit her lip and gingerly perched on the edge of the sofa, as far away from him as she could get, refusing to meet his gaze. “I haven’t been honest with you. The things Winters said... they were all true. I need to tell you about my past.”
He took a deep breath and then let it out slowly. “Nothing that man said about you tonight matters to me in the slightest,” he told her, putting as much confidence as he could in his tone. “But if you feel that this is something you need to do, I’m ready to listen.”
A brittle laugh escaped her, and she hugged her arms around her as though she was cold, even though the fire blazed in the hearth. “I appreciate the sentiment, but I doubt you can even fathom the things I’m about to tell you.”
Memories of his stepfather’s abuse of his brothers nearly overwhelmed him. “I think you’d be surprised. Just because I grew up wealthy doesn’t mean I’ve escaped the ugliness of this world.”
She finally looked at him, tears welling up in her lovely green eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps none of us do.”
He reached out and cupped her cheek tenderly. “Not when the ones who are supposed to protect us don’t. That’s one of the reasons why I want you in my life, in my children’s lives. I know you are fiercely protective and would never let something bad happen to someone you love.”
Love swelled within him, stronger than anything he’d ever felt for Anne. He loved Fiona. And the last of his fears fell away. No matter what she was about to tell him, they would make it work. He couldn’t lose her.
She leaned into his touch for a moment and then pulled away, blinking away her tears and visibly gathering herself. “Thank you. To hear you say that... it means everything.”
Resisting the urge to pull her into his arms once again, he simply waited, humbled by her strength.
Standing up, she crossed the room and stabbed the fire poker into the smoldering logs in the grate a few times, keeping her back toward him. “I never knew my mother. She died when I was very little. My earliest memories are of being alone in my father’s flat. Cold. Hungry.”
The logs popped suddenly, sending up a shower of sparks, and she started briefly.
“My father worked on the docks... when he wasn’t drunk. Whatever money he made, he drank. There was never enough to eat, and we were always on the brink of being evicted. He was rarely around, so from a very young age, I was constantly trying to find ways to make money myself.”
She shook her head and put the fire poker back, once again rubbing her hands over her forearms as though she was freezing. “Then one day, when I was sixteen, he came home and told me he’d made a deal with a man he’d met at the local pub. He sold me into a house of prostitution, and to this day, I’m not sure how much they paid him.”
