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wrist free. The gall of the man was unmitigated; she was not used to being the object of such suspicion. "I am who I say I am. And since I traveled unescorted," she informed him haughtily, "I had no wish to fend off unwanted advances from the ship's male passengers. I thought the easiest way to avoid such unpleasantness was to pretend I was already wed—thus the wedding band."
    His eyes narrowed. "Why would a lady of your station travel unescorted?"
    "I'm not certain it's any of your business," Elizabeth snapped.
    "You are in my home," he pointed out curtly. "That makes it my business."
    "
Your
business…
your
home." Elizabeth sputtered with ire. "You ungrateful wretch! I am no fool! You may live here, but this is Nathaniel's home!"
    A smile that could only be called cutting spread across his hard lips. A single word was all he spoke. "No."
    Elizabeth glared at him. "No? What, pray tell, do you mean, sir? I know full well this house is Nathaniel's—I knew as soon as I arrived! He described it to me quite well, and it was exactly as I expected!"
    "Indeed." Morgan's tone was light, but his features were hard. "I suppose he regaled you with stories of O'Connor Shipbuilding, too, along with tales of the thriving business he has built over the years."
    "And what if he did? I daresay he has every right to be proud of his accomplishments!" Faith, but Morgan O'Connor was far and away the most arrogant man she'd ever met.
    A dark brow cocked high. "My dear lady," he drawled, "my brother has scarcely done a day's work in his entire life, most certainly neither
at
nor
for
O'Connor Shipbuilding. Perhaps you already know, but there are some who would say Nathaniel is a liar. A cheat."
    "I know nothing of the sort! And I am given to wonder what kind of man would so malign his own brother!"
    "You have only to ask the servants to know that I do not lie. You're under a grave misconception if you believe otherwise. For I assure you, this house is solely mine. O'Connor Shipbuilding, too, is solely mine."
    He spoke with quiet brevity. All trace of arrogance vanished from his manner. Elizabeth stared at him. Her brain scrambled for clarity. Her head had begun to ache abominably. As the seconds marched slowly by, a sick feeling began to gather in the pit of her stomach. All at once, she was no longer so sure of herself—or Nathaniel.
    But by God, she'd not let Morgan O'Connor leave this room feeling he'd bested her.
    She watched as he moved to stand before the fireplace hearth. Casually he turned to face her, resting an elbow on the mantel. "So," he said. "You are truly who you say you are? Lady Elizabeth Stanton?"
    Her gaze was silently detesting, her tone filled with icy disdain. "Come now, sir. First you refuse to believe I am who I say I am. Now it seems that you do. So which is it to be, I ask?"
    His answer came, but not in so many words. "And you wish to wed Nathaniel?"
    "He asked for my hand in marriage. I accepted. Unfortunately, my father was ill and I was unable to accompany him when he returned here from London." As she spoke, Elizabeth calmly folded her hands upon her knees, drawn up beneath the coverlet—it was hard to feel dignified when she was dressed only in night rail and wrapper.
    "To my knowledge, Nathaniel has never before proposed to marry." He appeared to consider the possibility. "The daughter of an earl no less, eh? Yes, Nathaniel would like that. It becomes quite clear now. No doubt you possess a fortune."
    Elizabeth reeled. His insult appeared directed more at Nathaniel than at her, yet she felt it just as keenly.
    But he was not yet finished, the brute! He continued, his tone smooth as oil. "A lady of breeding," he mused almost thoughtfully. "A lady of quality. A lady of the English aristocracy… Why, Nat's outdone himself this time."
    Storm-gray eyes wandered over her, lingering with blatant approval on the roundness of her breasts, making her feel as if he stripped her naked. Deep inside, she was horrified at his