“I am grateful to you for allowing me to be your husband.” Here too were words he meant with everything in him, but they made him sick as well, for his intentions were not pure, and the angel holding him in her lap, hands, and heart deserved so much more than what he could give her.
He prayed she would not hate him when the truth was revealed.
“Well, you rather ruined me, did you not?” she asked lightly, clearly striving to brighten the mood.
“Yes.” His tone was grim, for he felt grim at this reminder of the man he had become.
She pressed a kiss to the crown of his head. “I am glad you did, Morgan. More and more with each day.”
And his guilt grew, along with his need for her.
Chapter Twelve
Morgan chanced aglance at Leonie as she rode with effortless grace at his side. The boulder of guilt that had been growing inside him since their arrival at Westmore Manor a sennight earlier, had grown to the size of a mountain by now. Just then, the insistent roar of thunder broke through the countryside, spooking Leonie and Morgan’s mounts.
Bloody hell.
A cursory glance at their surroundings filled him with dread. He had been so caught up in his thoughts, he’d failed to realize how far they had traveled, and neither had he noticed the ominous portent of the darkening clouds on the horizon. They had traveled too far to risk returning to Westmore Manor before the storm unleashed its rage upon them.
“A storm is brewing,” he called out to his wife above another rumble of thunder in the distance.
“Shall we return to Westmore Manor?” she asked, clutching her smart hat against a sudden gust of wind that threatened to tear it from its jaunty perch atop her head.
“I fear we do not have the time to make it there before the rains soak us.” He cast another glance toward the darkening sky. This particular storm appeared to be fast moving. He judged it would hit them within minutes, soaking them to the skin. “Fortunately, we are not far from a gamekeeper’s cottage. It has been abandoned for some years now, but I do believe it will provide us the shelter we need until the storms pass.”
She nodded. “Lead the way.”
Damnation, she was beautiful. He drank in the sight of her sitting sidesaddle on her mount. He would not have guessed she was as fine a horsewoman as she was, more than capable of controlling her mount and galloping alongside him, or slowing to a trot and keeping pace. But of course, he supposed nothing this woman was capable of should ever surprise him. She was nothing like what he had expected her to be, and nothing like any other lady he had ever known.
She was Leonie, and that was all. He could not help but to admire her determination, strength, and poise yet again.
“Morgan,” she said then. “Shall you lead the way?”
He realized he had reigned in his mare and had been content to remain there admiring her whilst the clouds drew nearer and a bolt of lightning lit the sky. What the devil ailed him?
“Of course.” He guided his mount in the direction of a copse of trees not far from where they rode, knowing the way to the cottage even though so many years had passed since he had last seen it.
He supposed that was the way of things at Westmore Manor. The land was in his blood, in his memory. And he would always belong here, regardless of where in the world he traveled and how far he wandered, or how greatly he’d changed.
As he rode toward their new destination, he could not help but feel his connection to Leonie could be the same. That she could always be his home, no matter how far he roamed from her.
But then, the skies opened and a torrent of rain fell upon them. He told himself what a fool he was for entertaining such a ludicrous notion. Westmore Manor was a piece of land that had existed before him and would become the burden of another Marquess of Searle after him, and that was all. There was nothing special about it, and only the accident of his birth made him belong here. And his marchioness was only his because her brother had nearly seen him killed. She was the tool of his vengeance, nothing more.
By the time they reached their destination, they were thoroughly soaked from the downpour. He delivered Leonie inside the door after securing the key from its old hiding place, then led their mounts to the dilapidated stable on his own, tethering the horses and tending to them before rushing back to the cottage.
In his absence, Leonie had thrown back the window dressings, allowing some meager light in, and she was on her knees before the hearth, attempting to spark some dry kindling she had scavenged.
On her knees, though surely such a position pained her.
“Leonie.” He stalked forward, water running in rivulets from his hat and coat, sloshing all over the bare floor. “You ought not to risk injuring yourself in such a fashion. Allow me to light the fire.”
The unseasonable warmth of their first few days at Westmore Manor had given way to more temperate weather, and the storm had brought an even stronger chill to the air. His sodden garments heightened the cold, and he had no doubt hers did as well.
She had removed her hat, and her glorious hair was a beautiful jumble of wet curls. “I cannot injure myself by remaining in one place upon the floor, Morgan,” she told him, continuing her task as she flicked a glance in his direction. “This cottage is damp, and I knew you would be cold after tending to the horses for so long. I must have a contribution of my own, else I shall feel most useless.”
He understood her pride, and a ferocious streak of that same emotion went through him as he stood there watching her. She was more than capable, and she continued to impress him with her calm resilience and perseverance. Her life had not been an easy one, he would wager. She had suffered the effects of her injury since she had been a girl, and for that same reason, she had been relegated to the periphery of society. Then, he had come along and ruined her, forcing her into marrying a man she scarcely knew. A man who had proceeded to treat her coolly. A man who had abandoned her on the day of her wedding.
And what had she done? She had given him a bloody dog.
