What is wrong with me?The thought cut through the haze, jolting him back to himself. He turned abruptly, striding toward the door. She deserved her privacy, and he desperately needed distance from the unfamiliar feelings that gripped him.
He found himself in the hallway moments later, the cool air offering little relief. His jaw tightened as he resolved to stay clear of her, at least for tonight.
“Here’s your tea, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hallewell’s voice broke through his thoughts, and he turned to see the housekeeper setting a small tray on the side table beside him.
“I never asked for—” he began, his brows furrowing.
“You didn’t, of course,” she said briskly, cutting him off with a knowing look. “But you need it.”
Morgan glanced at the tray, its presence a quiet reprimand. It was well past midnight, and his body betrayed no signs of impending rest. The thought of a sleepless night stretched before him like an unwelcome specter, but perhaps the tea might dull its edges.
“You haven’t slept a wink since your arrival. This is the third night in a row,” Mrs. Hallewell observed. “You could haveanother episode if this carries on, Your Grace,” she continued , her tone carrying a note of gentle reproach.
Morgan’s jaw tightened, but he knew her words to be true. Since that night—that cursed night—peaceful slumber had become a luxury he no longer allowed himself. When the sleeplessness accumulated, the price was always the same: searing, incapacitating headaches that robbed him of reason and strength.
His gaze dropped to the steaming cup of tea before him. Mrs. Hallewell’s concoction was effective, yes, but vile in taste. He only resorted to it when necessity left him no other choice. The thought of enduring another sleepless night was grim, and with no small amount of reluctance, he wrapped his hand around the porcelain and pulled the cup toward him.
The housekeeper’s expression softened, satisfaction evident in the slight incline of her head.
“How is the Duchess faring in her new home?” Morgan asked, more to delay the inevitable than out of genuine curiosity. He studied the swirl of dark liquid in the cup as though it held some answer.
Mrs. Hallewell clasped her hands before her, her response measured. “Oh, she seems to have made her peace with the lack of a library. I think she will be just fine,” she replied. After a pause, she added, “In time.”
Morgan’s brow lifted slightly. “Were you the one who told her there is no library?” he asked, surprise coloring his voice.
“She seems to have drawn her conclusions from our conversations, Your Grace,” Mrs. Hallewell said, her tone carefully neutral.
Morgan sat back, considering this. So, this was the source of Margaret’s resigned acceptance. He was both relieved and grateful to the housekeeper for her discretion.
The library must remain locked,he thought with resolve. It was more than a collection of books—it was a vault for memories, crimes, and regrets best left undisturbed. The horrors born within its walls still haunted his nights, threatening to unravel the careful control he clung to daily.
“I trust you to continue looking after the Duchess, Mrs. Hallewell,” Morgan said, his tone steady but his gaze pointed as it locked onto the older woman’s.
Mrs. Hallewell inclined her head, her hands clasped firmly in front of her. “Indeed I will, Your Grace,” she replied, her voice calm yet resolute.
Morgan exhaled quietly, leaning back in his chair. Margaret was proving to be... a challenge. That much was certain. Spirited, persistent, and with a knack for disrupting his carefully ordered solitude, she was unlike anyone he had ever encountered. Yet, to his dismay, a small part of him—the part he wished he could silence—yearned for her company all the same.
Shaking the thought aside, he reached for the teacup and finally took a sip. The bitter concoction coated his tongue, and he fought the urge to grimace.This thing grows fouler with each passing night,he thought grimly, though he knew its potency was not to be questioned.
Mrs. Hallewell’s sharp eyes seemed to soften as she observed him. Satisfied, she dipped into a small curtsy. “Goodnight, Your Grace.”
Morgan gave a curt nod, watching as she exited the study with her usual efficient grace. The door closed softly behind her, leaving him alone once more.
The silence was immediate and oppressive, and he sat motionless in the flickering firelight. He should have felt relief, perhaps even gratitude, at the reprieve from conversation, yet the quiet gnawed at him, amplifying the restlessness coiled in his chest.
His gaze drifted unbidden toward the far end of the study, where shadows pooled near the closed door to the hallway beyond.
No, Margaret must never have access to it. Never. For her own sake, the library must remain untouched.
CHAPTER 13
Peggy found herself with too much time on her hands and far too little occupation to fill it. The long, empty hallways of her new home echoed faintly with her footsteps as she wandered, hoping to familiarize herself with its gloomy grandeur. It was during one such stroll that she happened upon a wide hall leading to what seemed to be a portrait gallery. The sound of activity—brushes sweeping, the faint rustle of fabric—drew her attention. It was being cleaned.
Her curiosity piqued, Peggy quickened her steps, the prospect of glimpsing the ancestral faces of this castle’s storied past filling her with anticipation. But just as she reached the entrance, Mrs. Hallewell materialized before her as if summoned by an unspoken alarm.
“Did you need something, Your Grace?” the housekeeper asked, her tone even, her expression unreadable. She bore the same lifeless calm that Peggy was coming to associate with the woman—a calm that both unnerved and frustrated her.
If I’d needed something, I would have summoned you,Peggy thought irritably. Yet, aloud, she said, “Oh, I was just hoping to familiarize myself with the castle.” She flashed her most disarming smile, the one that had won over many a reluctant party. Peggy then stepped lightly to the side, intending to slip past Mrs. Hallewell’s imposing figure, but the housekeeper mirrored her movement with an efficiency that was almost military.
