A delicate, beautiful face. Blue eyes that seemed to plumb the depths of his soul. A raging courage that would not admit defeat. Her scream as for the third time he bound her, tearing his newly woken heart in two.

“A figure of speech,” he said, his lips stiff, his throat tight. “My choice is made.”

Sighing, his father slumped. “Very well, then. You may go,” he said, with a petulant shrug of one shoulder. “Frolic and fill your belly, leaving me to the tender mercies of your bound miscreant. But tell Rumm she’s not to set foot anywhere I can see her. And not just while you’re away, mind. For as long as she’s here. You wanted her, Morgan, you can keep her busy. I don’t want Rumm bothered. He’s to look after me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Though how you can stomach the wench,” his father muttered, “I’ll never know.”

Morgan felt his skin crawl with apprehension. If his father knew how his blood burned to hold despised, bound Barl Lindin close to his heart again, feel her hair beneath his cheek again, breathe in her sweet scent as though it were the life-sustaining air, fury would kill him stone dead where he sat.

So he can never know. And no matter what my heart desires, I can never have her.

It seemed Barl was right. There was no justice in the world.

“Morgan?” His father thumped the arm of his chair. “You’ve got a look on your face that would curdle milk.”

“Hunger,” he said, forcing a smile. “I must snatch my breakfast from the kitchen before I depart.”

“Where are you going now?”

Surely he was imagining things. His father sounded frightened. “Not far, my lord…” he said, gentling his voice. “I have a matter to resolve with Sallis Arkley, that I’d like to see put to bed before I attend the Garrick gathering.”

More gnarled than ever, his father’s fingers plucked at the blanket covering him, and his gaze, suddenly skittish, darted around the sun-soaked parlour. Rumm had not yet come upstairs to shave him. The bright light glinted on meagre stubble gone tiredly grey.

“I need you here in case you’re wanted.”

“And I will be here, once I’ve spoken with Lord Arkley.”

“For an afternoon, you’ll be here,” his father grumbled. “And then you’re leaving me to the silence of servants.”

“Not for two more days, my lord,” he said, pricked with guilt. It was unnerving to hear his father so childishly querulous. Should he mention after all that Maris had also invited Lord Danfey to her house party? Perhaps. But even were his father able to make the journey…

I do not want him there. Bad enough I must sell myself, no better than a Trindeki courtesan. I cannot bear to do it where he is watching.