Deceiving The Duke (Scandals and Spies Book 2) (13 page)

For opening a door? Morgan sincerely doubted that. He ignored the bird and stepped into the room.

The other occupant was Phil. Dressed in a simple black smock that scooped low across her breasts and clung to her hips, she consulted a diagram. The paper was weighed down at the corners with what looked to be two mirrors smaller than his palm, an inch-long screw, and a glass tube. Phil craned her neck as she examined the diagram from various angles, her hands cupping her current invention to keep it from falling apart. She plucked the screw from one corner and inserted it into the device. That corner of the paper curled. Morgan stepped closer, peering at the paper. Was that a woman’s breast? He took a healthy step back. Perhaps he didn’t want to know what she was creating.

He coughed into his fist, alerting her to his presence.

She jumped. Whirling, she pressed a hand to her heart. “Morgan! How long have you been there?”

Apparently, she hadn’t heard him come in. “Only a few minutes. Please, don’t let me distract you from your work.”

She glanced down at the contraption, then met his gaze once more. “It’s to help Lady Westlake. Her infant is finicky and she experiences great discomfort if she can’t feed him at certain times of the day. This will help her pump milk for him to drink when he’s ready.”

Morgan eyed the contraption. “It looks… uncomfortable.” He suppressed a shudder. Thank God he wasn’t a woman and didn’t have to go through
that.

Phil frowned. She lifted the device and held it in front of her chest. “Humph. You’re right. I need to start over.”

“What?” He held up his hands in surrender. “No, I didn’t mean that at all. What do I know? I’m just a man, and not even an inventor, at that.”

Phil wasn’t listening to him. She crumpled the schematics for the breast pump and pulled a blank sheet of paper toward her. She leaned over the desk as she sketched in wide, vigorous strokes of her hand. The position deepened the shadow between her breasts. A lock of her hair escaped to tease the curve of her neck. She muttered under her breath. “Maybe buckles instead of screws to hold the straps in place. Yes! Buckles. That way, it’s adjustable.” She worried her lower lip between her teeth as she sketched.

Morgan was forgotten. That suited him just fine. He backed up to stand beside the parrot perch, afraid that he might disturb her again with an ill-considered comment. In fact, he shouldn’t even be in here with her. He had intended to search her house for proof of treason, but for some reason, he wanted to stand here and watch Phil work instead.

To his left, Pickle squawked. He reached out, gently grabbing one of Morgan’s fingers and tracing it with his beak and tongue. He seemed to like the taste of Morgan’s leather glove because once he finished, he pulled away and said, “Pudding house.”

Then again, that might be an insult to a bird. Morgan chose to take it as a compliment.

“Um. Thank you.”

The parrot squawked and felt along another of his fingers. The sensation was muted due to his gloves, but it still tickled a bit.

Beaming with triumph, Phil finished her sketch and turned. “Done. That should work better. Did you seek me out for any particular reason, Your Grace?”

Morgan fought a grimace. He was back to being the Duke of Tenwick again. He much preferred to be himself with her, sans title.

No. I’m sorry to bother you.
The words rose to the tip of his tongue and he almost made his excuse to leave.

Pickle shrieked, flapping his wings as he balanced on the stand. “Kiss, kiss.”

She waved her hand in dismissal. “Not now, Pickle.”

Yes, now.
Morgan crossed the space between them in two steps and bent to slant his lips across hers. A reminder that he was more than a duke. He was a man. Her mouth softened beneath his, welcoming the brief caress of his lips. The moment he lifted his head, he took a step back, not trusting himself. The press of her lips was intoxicating like fine brandy—spicy and sweet and she made him burn.

Her eyelids fluttered open. She batted her thick eyelashes. Her irises were dark. With the color in her cheeks and the parted bow of her lips, she’d never looked lovelier. “What was that for?”

Not quite the reception he’d hoped for. He swallowed against the lump forming in his throat. “You wanted me to stop thinking. It was impulse.”

Her mouth curled into a sensual smile that made every part of him burn. Including some parts best left unnamed. Parts that had best behave, considering that his mother and sister were in the house and bent upon him marrying this Season.

“I’m glad you’re taking my advice to heart.” Her gaze slowly traveled down his torso. He clasped his hands in front of his groin. Her smile grew.

He cleared his throat. “This… this room is impressive. You made all of this?” He couldn’t keep the awe from his voice. When she’d confessed to being an inventor, he hadn’t imagined a scope like this. She was brilliant.

She tore her gaze from his to examine the room, as if seeing it again after a long absence. Her gaze lingered on a shelf over his left shoulder. “I made most of it. Some were my father’s inventions. He didn’t care for writing out plans, so I still haven’t puzzled out how a lot of it was made.”

He turned, following her gaze. The goggles she’d worn in the Vauxhall Gardens rested on the second shelf from the top, above a short ladder. “Like your father’s…” Did he have to say it? “…legs.”

The corners of her lips twitched. “The light-enhancing goggles, yes.” Her eyes twinkled.

Zeus, he’d never wanted to kiss her more. Instead, he tucked his hand into his waistcoat pocket. The peculiar piece of glass met his fingers. He drew it out, studying the way it reflected the light of the lantern on the work bench.

Phil’s expression turned guarded. Her chest swelled as she held her breath. She didn’t take her eyes off of him.

Pickle tried to climb onto his arm and snatch the glass out of his hand. He shook off the bird. “This isn’t for you. It’s for Phil.”

Her lips parted as her face lit up. She started to reach out for it, but stopped short.

Put it away. She’s an enemy spy. You don’t know what she’ll use it for.
But he already knew, from the hopeful look on her face, that he was going to hand it over. Strickland should assign someone else to the field, because in her hands, he was like clay. He wanted to be a part of something bigger, a part of something that
she
made.

“Do you mean it?”

“I do.” His voice was hoarse. He held out the ring of glass. Her bare hand hovered over it, and him. He’d never wished more that he hadn’t worn gloves.

“I won’t tell you the name of my contact.” Her eyes were hard, steely.

“I didn’t ask it of you this time.”

He was a bloody fool.

She narrowed her eyes. Her fingers traced circles over the glass in his palm. Was she trying to drive him insane?

“What’s the cost?”

“No cost.” His voice was hoarse. “I only want to watch you work.” The strength of that desire surprised him. He clamped his lips shut before he spilled more of his secrets.

“I accept.” She snatched the piece from his hand and rose onto her tiptoes to press her lips against his cheek. His skin tingled from the contact as she turned to her work table.

On the end was a brown, paper-wrapped parcel very similar to the one she’d carried two weeks ago when he’d caught her in a tête-à-tête at the Society for the Advancement of Science meeting. She unwrapped it, revealing a replica of the goggles he’d already seen, though these were slightly different. For one thing, they weren’t assembled. Morgan stepped closer, peering over her shoulder as she expertly fitted the pieces together, including the glass he’d given her.

Bored, Pickle soared from the room. Morgan thought about asking whether or not the bird was allowed to stray from his perch, but thought better of it. Phil seemed so consumed by her task that he didn’t want to interrupt her.

After she fitted the last piece into place, she lifted the device and thrust it into Morgan’s hands. “Here. Hold this. We’ll need to shut the door.” She brushed his arm as she circled around him to push the sliding wall shut. “And shutter the lantern, too.”

The fabric of her dress pulled tight across her rump as she stretched across the work table to slide the shutter on the glass-encased lantern closed. A crack of light seeped from between and beneath the panes, but darkness descended on the room. He blinked, barely able to make out her silhouette as he waited for his eyes to adjust.

“So?” Phil’s voice held notes of impatience and excitement. “Do they work?”

“Oh.” He was supposed to test the goggles? “Let me check.”

He raised the contraption to his face, peering through it the way he had the other pair at Vauxhall. He expected the details of the room to jump into detail, but they did not. In fact, they looked even more warped than they had previously. And…was it his imagination or was Phil’s silhouette upside down? He lowered the goggles.

“They don’t work.” He hated forcing out the words. Would she be disappointed? Would she resent him for damaging her glass piece in some way that he hadn’t realized?

Light flooded the room as she opened the shutter on the lantern once more. “Oh, bother.” Resignation seethed in her voice, but nothing more sinister.

“I’m terribly sorry.”

When she turned, her expression turned baffled. “Why?”

He’d wanted to see her face light up as she accomplished her goal. He’d wanted to be the person to make that happen. Instead, the encounter fell flat. Disappointing.

He shrugged. “It didn’t work.”

She crossed to him and gently pried the goggles out of his hand. She laid them on the table. “Not everything works. I’m not disappointed.”

“Why aren’t you? I am. That was the part you needed.”

She shrugged. “I thought so, too. As it turns out, I was wrong. That happens sometimes.” Her mouth curved in that secretive smile, as if she knew something she couldn’t wait to impart. She leaned closer and he caught a whiff of her floral perfume. “If I achieved everything I wanted, what would I strive for?”

Me.
The notion came upon him so suddenly and with such strength that he nearly kissed her again. He stepped back a pace instead.

“Perhaps we should adjourn to the sitting room. My mother and sister are waiting to see you.”

“Are they?” She patted down her hair, which didn’t help to tame it in the slightest. If it had once been part of a coiffure, it was no longer. Nearly half the strands had escaped. “You should have told me sooner.”

And relinquish his time with her? A pox would take him before he’d do that.

“Pic—” She stopped short as she turned to the vacant stand. “Where did Pickle go?”

“He flew off before we shut the door.”

“Oh dear.” She nibbled her lower lip as she bolted for the door. She pulled it open with ease.

“Should he have stayed in the room? I didn’t realize…”

“No,” she said, flapping her hand as she trotted off down the hall.

He paused to slide the door shut before he loped after her.

“It’s just that when he finds himself without something to do, he—”

A shriek echoed from somewhere else in the townhouse. Phil winced.

Morgan cocked an eyebrow. “He terrorizes the household?” Perhaps he should have thought twice before acquiring a bird for Lucy.

Phil smiled, rueful. “Mostly Meg, actually. She’s afraid of birds, you see.”

“Ah. Then perhaps it was bad form of me to suggest that she introduce her niece and nephew to my sister’s new parrot.”

Phil’s face lit up. “You bought Lucy a parrot? Oh, how delightful!”

“Not to Meg, no doubt.”

She giggled. “No, I doubt Meg approves at all. It’s a good thing she doesn’t live with you.”

“It sounds as though she has her hands quite full here,” he agreed.

They descended quickly to the parlor. Meg stood in the doorway, her arms raised to ward away any aviary attacks. She stepped aside with a grateful look as Phil and Morgan reached her.

“Come now, children. The duke has returned. Let’s go to the kitchen.”

“Awww,” Brandon whined. “I wanted to play some more.”

As Morgan stepped into the doorway, he found his mother seated on the settee next to Lucy. She was looking at something that the young girl was showing her. The boy stood by the perch next to the window that both parrots currently shared, trying to grab a fistful of Pickle’s long tail. The parrot wisely kept his tail elevated.

Bonny, the girl, squealed as she saw Morgan. “You found Aunt Phil! Did you kiss her, Mr. Duke?” When she said ‘Duke,’ it sounded more like ‘duck.’

Don’t look at Phil.
If he did, his family was sure to see the truth in his face. The heat climbing up his neck likely gave him away.

Across the room, Brandon turned away from the parrots. “’Course he did. She’s awake, isn’t she?”

“I was already awake,” Phil informed him, her tone matter-of-fact. “I was working.”

Meg came to their rescue. She held out both her hands for the children, though she didn’t step into the room. “Come along, let’s see what Grandmam’s made for us.”

Brandon scampered into his aunt’s embrace. Bonny followed more slowly. She stopped in front of him and offered a wobbly curtsey. He bowed to her from the waist. He hadn’t done that since he’d been introduced to King George shortly after attaining the dukedom.

The moment the children whisked out of sight, Mother sighed. “They are so dear. I had thought that I would have grandchildren by now.” She gave Morgan a pointed look.

Beads of sweat formed around his hairline. He offered his best smile and said glibly, “Given Tristan’s adamancy to have a hurried wedding, I doubt you’ll have to wait long.”

“He isn’t the heir.”

Actually, until Morgan begot a son, Tristan
was
his heir. He held his tongue and glanced around the room for allies. Lucy was no help, her sly gaze moving from Phil to Morgan and back. Morgan could practically hear the wedding bells chiming in her head. In the leather armchair next to her, Phil’s brother looked bored. He leaned his chin on his fist. Gideon stood at the sideboard, pouring himself another tumbler. When Morgan caught his eye, he shook his head. When he raised his eyebrow quizzically, Morgan returned the signal. He hadn’t found any sign of treason, either.