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When she had disappeared, Mrs Hall shared a worried luck with Bess, the maid, but neither woman spoke as they set about doing their best to get rid of the blueness around their guest’s lips.
Sissy dropped the night gown over her head and clutched the voluminous folds around here. It shrouded her and was far too long but was considerably warmer than her dress.
‘There you go, miss. Put that on as well,’ Mrs Hall suggested, dropping a dressing gown over the top of the retiring screen.
Sissy gratefully added that layer too before hobbling back into the room. She leaned against the wall when pain lanced up her shin. Before she could begin to hobble toward the fireplace, Morgan rapped briskly on the door and let himself in before anybody could say if it was safe to enter. He took one look at Sissy and made his way over to her. Lifting her effortlessly into his arms, he deposited her safely on the bed Mrs Hall had just turned down.
‘Stay there. Don’t move,’ he ordered gently.
To prove that she was going nowhere, Morgan tucked the covers around her and accepted the warming bottle Mrs Hall held out to him. Shoving it under the covers, he grinned when he saw Sissy’s startled look. He expected her to say something but she was too nonplussed by his forthright behaviour. Taking advantage of her momentary bemusement, Morgan tucked the covers tighter around her and then promptly lay on the top of them so that she couldn’t escape even if she wanted to.
Sissy gasped when the bed dipped beneath his weight. ‘Er-’
Morgan was sure he had just seen Mrs Hall’s lips twitch before she turned to leave. He had most definitely seen Bess’s look of astonishment before Mrs Hall pushed her out of the room. Once they were alone, Morgan shuffled around until he was on his side, facing Sissy.
‘We have to talk, you and I,’ he began.
Sissy sighed. ‘I apologise for rushing off into the storm. It was a foolish thing to do. I am glad you came to fetch me, though.’
Morgan pursed his lips. The thought of her being all alone out in the storm still had he not fetched her was enough to make him scowl. ‘You were lucky I did come after you. With that leg you could have ended up out there all night. Do you think you will need a doctor?’
Sissy shook her head. ‘It is sore but I can manage.’
‘So, you never told me the real reason why you ran from me. I know you said you didn’t want to lie to me if I had issued another invitation but that is hardly enough of a reason to race out into a thunderstorm, is it?’ Morgan willed her not to avoid being honest with him. When her gaze lowered to the covers, he tipped her chin back up.
‘I didn’t want to see you,’ she whispered.
Morgan tried not to be offended or too hurt. He had asked for honesty and that was what he had received. ‘Why? Were you afraid that people would talk if they saw me at your house again?’
‘Yes, but that was not the only reason,’ Sissy whispered.
‘Did you think I was Mariette, or my mother?’
Sissy shook her head. ‘I panicked,’ she admitted. ‘If I am completely honest with you, I didn’t want the stiff formality or awkwardness that is usually between us when we meet.’
‘Why do you think it is there? What do you think causes it?’ Morgan pressed.
‘I don’t know,’ Sissy whispered.
Morgan knew she was lying because her gaze slid guiltily back to the covers. ‘Why do you think you needed to avoid meeting me, Sissy?’ When she still didn’t respond, Morgan tipped her chin up again and pressed a loving kiss to her lips. ‘Talk to me. We cannot resolve anything if we don’t talk openly with each other. There is just you and I here. Nobody can hear us. I won’t be offended by anything you have to tell me.’
‘We have known each other a long time,’ Sissy whispered. ‘I feel as if I have known you all my life but I don’t really know you. Well, not who you are in the house, or as a person. I know you as the lord of the manor, Lord Campton. I don’t have any idea about the things that truly matter to you. I mean, I know the locals respect you. Your staff admire you. Nobody has a bad word to say about you. But I don’t know about you as a man; what kind of things you like to eat, or what you prefer to do with your days.’
‘Ask,’ Morgan grinned. ‘That’s all you have to do. Just ask me.’
Sissy blinked at him. It was difficult to concentrate when he was so close. She tried to think of something she could ask him but her mind was blank. Eventually, she said the first thing that came to mind. ‘What is your favourite food?’
‘Meat pie,’ he replied promptly. ‘With boiled potatoes.’
‘Drink?’
‘Fine French brandy.’
‘What about your days?’
Morgan sighed. His good humour seemed to become overshadowed by something. ‘My days are largely decided for me. My life is far more mundane that you might imagine. I wake at six, have breakfast, read my newspaper at my desk, begin my paperwork, do the rounds of my estate, meet with people, settle down to luncheon, do more paperwork. One day is very much like another. It is all tedious and boring. Any variation to my day has, until now, been largely decided by other people.’
‘How? By the servants, or tenants, do you mean?’
