“Nellie,” he began, his expression pained, “please—”
“No,” she interrupted, rising suddenly. “No more. If you will excuse me, I have lost my appetite.”
Without waiting for him to respond, she fled the dining room.
But most importantly, she fled Jack and all their shared memories, along with all the temptation to fall headlong into him again. Because she knew just how ruinous it would prove.
She had already planned her future, and the Marquess of Needham was nowhere to be found in it.
Chapter Thirteen
JACK COULD NOTfind his wife.
He had looked for her everywhere since she had fled breakfast earlier that day.
No bloody luck aside from learning she had taken a horse from the stable. And so had he in response, determined to find her. She could run, he had reasoned, but she could not hide. Not from him. Not forever.
But he had been riding for hours, stopping to change out his mount and return to Needham Hall to see whether or not his wife had come back from her sojourn twice, only to be disappointed each time. He spurred his horse on now, scouring the horizon for any hint of her.
Already, she had been gone for hours. He had pressed her hard at breakfast, and he knew it. Her emotions had been high—as much as she liked to believe he could not read her, her countenance was as expressive as it had always been, giving her away. He had shaken her. Instead of bringing her closer, however, he had chased her away.
Their connection yesterday, though primarily physical, had been undeniable. The desire between them was just as it had always been. Electric, raw, carnal, and all-consuming. Even more so now, since they had spent so much unnecessary time apart.
Still, none of that mattered if he could not bloody well locate her, speak to her. And the longer she was gone, the more his frustration turned into fear. Needham Hall was a massive estate. She could be anywhere. If she had ridden recklessly and been thrown from her mount again as she had confessed to him had happened in the past…
Grounding his molars, he spurred his mount on, toward a forest that eventually gave way to a small natural stream. As a lad, it had been one of his favorite places to visit. Far enough away from the main house that no one could find him. Peaceful enough that he could relax, wade in the water with his trousers rolled to his knees. Escape his parents’ endless matches of bickering and hatred.
He had taken Nell there once, and though it seemed foolish indeed to suppose she would be there now, he was willing to look for her anywhere. His desperation where she was concerned knew no bounds, it would seem. He was, as ever, her fool.
Doomed to be so, from the moment he had seen her dancing in the arms of another.
His heart wouldalwaysbe hers.
But he was beginning to realize a more desperate truth: if she could not move beyond the past, he would lose her forever, and his pride would force him to let her go. He could not make her love him. Could not make her be happy. And a life with an unhappy Nell, though he loved her so, would be worse than a life without her. He could not bear her pain.
And Nell? She still did not believe him. She doubted his word. Doubted his faithfulness. And whilst he could not deny Lady Billingsley had been in his bed that night, and although it was no excuse, he had never betrayed Nell aside from being too deep in his cups when the wrong woman had slid into his bed, naked and ready to seduce.
He reached the edge of the trees and slowed his mount. The old path remained, wide enough for a horse to pass. And there was only one way that was possible, after three years of his absence. Nell had been coming here.
Hope rose, sharp as a knife, within.
Slowly, carefully, he guided his horse along the shadowy path leading to the stream. After a time, he saw what he had been waiting for, what he had been hoping for. Nell’s horse was tethered to a tree, nosing at a clump of grass sprouting in a slat of sunlight between the massive old oaks.
Relief hit him.
She was here. Somewhere. He just had to find her.
Jack reined in his mount and tethered her to a tree not far from Nell’s mount. And then he set off on foot down the trail, where it grew narrow and twisted and rife with old tree roots rising from the earth, making it treacherous indeed for equine travel.
Strange how he could have been absent from a place for so long, and yet he knew every bend in the path by heart. He knew were moss grew thick, where a massive old quartz rock protruded white and sparkling from the earth, where wild flowers sprouted like old friends every year. And he knew the precise moment he would hear the gurgling of the stream.
One step, two.
There it was. The stream.
And there she was, his Nellie.
She was seated, her back to him, skirts billowing around her, on a bed of forget-me-nots. The sun was shining down on her through the break in the trees overhead, making her appear as if she glowed. As if she were an angel, sent from heaven.
