“No, my lord,” he said, and helped his father choke down one of Ranmer’s strengthening possets. When that was done, he plumped the pillows. Stared down at the ailing man, feeling so helpless. “Is there anything else you need?”

“A grandson,” his father grunted. “When will you announce your handfasting, Morgan?”

Swallowing a groan, he dropped to the edge of the chair. If only his father would stop carping. “When Maris wants me to, my lord. As I’ve told you, she feels that—”

“Ha!” Fretful, his father plucked at the counterpane. “Curse her namby-pamby feelings! Are you a man or aren’t you? What kind of a marriage is it going to be if the girl has her fingers wrapped round your balls already?”

Morgan bit his tongue. Justice preserve me. Easy for Ranmer to declare Lord Danfey too weak yet for any kind of celebration. Ranmer wasn’t the one who had to make up lies.

“She’s young and nervous, my lord, and if I push her, she might bolt. Trust me, I will bring her to heel in good time.”

Capricious in his sickness, between heartbeats his father shifted from anger to grief. “I only want what’s best for you, Morgan. You are my son. It’s my duty to guide you.”

Really, my lord? I thought your duty was to drive me to distraction.

“I know,” he said, soothing. “And I will be guided, I promise. My lord, if there is nothing else pressing I can do for you, I should return to my magework.”

His father turned his face into the pillow. “Yes, yes. Your magework. Very important. You go. Send Rumm to me. He reads aloud better than you.”

Making his relieved escape, Morgan found Rumm and ordered him upstairs, then continued to the library. Barl was so engrossed in her reading she didn’t realise he was there. Smiling, he leaned against the doorjamb and lost himself in the way she curled and uncurled a strand of hair about her finger.

When he couldn’t stand not being seen by her a moment longer, he closed the library door.

“Morgan!” she said, startled by the thud. “How is his lordship?”

Sometimes the urge to touch her stifled the air in his throat. One kiss, they’d shared. Only one. And that was supposed to sustain him for the rest of his life?

It must. Do not do this. Only a fool torments himself.

“His lordship is disgruntled,” he said, feigning lightness. “I fail to meet his exacting standards.”

“What cause has he to complain of you?”

The indignation in her voice was a balm. “It seems I don’t read well enough. Rumm has taken over.”

She smiled. “Well, he is quite remarkable.”

“Perhaps, but I’ll thank you not to tell him so,” he said, sitting as close to her as he dared. “He might demand an increase in salary.”