This was scandal. Even as his fiancée, she wasn't supposed to be in his bed. If one of the other women returned and decided to gossip... She looked at the door.
"They won't say a word," he promised as if reading her mind. "They're my friends."
She turned to him. "You have very beautiful friends."
He grinned. "And I'm sure their husbands would agree with you."
Her jealousy had been more obvious than she had wished.
He touched her cheek and forced her eyes up to meet his. “If being stabbed is what it takes to bring this side out of you, I’ll gladly suffer again.”
She frowned. “What side of me?”
“The gentle side.” He took a breath and said, “I’m not used to anyone caring for me.”
“Your friends obviously care for you, otherwise they’d have not tried to keep you in bed.”
“This is different,” he told her, holding her gaze.
She blinked. He was right. This, whatever was happening between them, and in spite of the warnings to his nature she’d given herself that morning, was different than anything she’d ever experienced.
But would it last? He was wounded at the moment. While he wasn’t completely weakened, he was injured. What would happen when he returned to being that powerful man she’d seen at his office?
She leaned toward the man who was the source of the spicy scent that filled the room. “Are you really a spy?”
He glanced over to where Allie sat before looking at her and giving her a single nod.
Her fingers tightened on his, and she took a deep breath before saying, “I’ve never met a spy before.”
“You would never know.” His brown eyes filled with warmth. “We’re everywhere.”
“Who else is a spy?”
He shook his head. “I can’t say.” It was too soon. She was still deeply tied to Creed and though he wanted to share everything with her, he knew better than to do so. “Not yet.”
“But you’ll tell me once we marry?”
He nodded again, but then stilled as if waiting for her to deny the statement, to tell him once again that she had no plans or desire to be with him.
She looked down at the dark sheet and swallowed down some of her nervousness. She’d never seen a man in bed, not even her father. She was thankful that he wore clothes at least. She still recalled the muscular build of his chest and how captivated she’d been to watch its rise and fall.
He touched her chin and lifted her head. “Ask me anything.”
“Why is the man you beat downstairs drinking tea?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I offered him a book, but he hates reading.”
She stared at him and blinked. “I don’t understand.”
He pulled in a deep breath and said, “I want you to understand, but I don’t think this is the best topic of discussion at the moment.”
“What do you do? How does it work?”
He held her eyes as he thought of the best way to explain himself without her worrying. “We are like the police but without a uniform, which makes us nearly invisible and capable of gaining the information the Crown seeks in order to keep England safe.”
“Are we safe?” she asked.
He touched her shoulder. “We will be.” He’d make certain of that.
Her eyes grew worried. “Are you safe?”
He smiled at the look, liking her concern, but not her worry. “I was caught off guard today. I won’t say my business isn’t dangerous. It can be, but I’ve been doing it for many years and I’m good at it.”
She remained silent for a moment and then asked, “Will you continue if we wed?”
If.
He didn’t know ‘if’. He also didn’t like that it sounded as though she would not marry him if he did continue as he was.
There was no other choice in the matter though. England needed protecting and so long as that was to be, he would always be in her service. “Yes.”
She flinched only slightly, but then righted herself and took a deep breath. “I suppose what you do is good.”
“It is.”
“You keep England safe.”
“Yes.” He held her eyes.
She took another deep breath and said, “You’ve been doing it for years?”
He nodded.
“So, I suppose there is much the English should thank you for.”
He said nothing to that. He didn’t do it for praise. He did it because it was asked of him. He believed that if a man was to call a place home, he should be willing to die for it. As a second son, he’d been expendable to his family. Hiram had been healthy, and everyone had expected him to take the title, so Morgan had joined the military. After a few years and a mission that almost took his life, he was asked to take on a special sort of training and didn’t hesitate to do so.
He went to the Isle of Wight and alongside Simon, Warren, and Lucas, he trained under Sir Maximillian St. Cloud, one of England’s most famed spies. Since then, he’d been shot, stabbed, strangled, and chased out of one country with a bow and arrow.
And still, if given the choice again, he would change nothing.
Her eyes roamed his face and a look passed in those blue depths that made him feel as though she could not only read his mind, but understood him, understood his resolve. If she wanted to thank him in any way, that was enough.
Still, she touched his cheek and whispered, “Thank you.” Then her hand floated away, and a silence fell between them.
Her next question was one he didn’t like. “What are you working on now?”
“I can’t say.”
She tilted her head. “Does it have to do with the stabbings? Surely, you can tell me that.”
“I can’t say.”
She frowned. “You told me to ask you anything.”
“Anything about me,” he told her.
“You beat that man downstairs,” she countered in a quiet hiss. “How is that not about you? How do I know you won’t turn around and do the same to me?”
“Are you a criminal?” His expression was so intense and watchful that she leaned away as her lingering fear grew.
“Of course not.” She placed her hand on her chest.
Allie stood, making a sound as she did. “I’ll go check on the tea, my lady.” She fled the room without a word.
Morgan grabbed Mena’s hand to gain her attention again. “The women I’ve struck were not your usual sort of woman.”
Her heart was racing. “I was right about you. You’re no gentleman.”
“The first woman I struck stabbed me here.” He pointed to his left breast and Mena recalled the scar she’d seen there.
Her hand went to where his finger lay without thought. “She stabbed you?”
“She and her husband ran a brothel that provided children for their clients. Our spy organization found out about it after one of the English daughters went missing. We freed over forty children that day.”
“English daughters? So, you weren’t in England?”
He shook his head.
“Where were you?”
“I can’t say,” he told her. “But if I had to do it again, I would.”