“The rumors of my death were obviously exaggerated.” He kept his attention on the horse as if it were of far more importance than she.
“Obviously.” She let the full force of her sarcasm intone her response.
His head jerked up at that. “You’ve grown cold.”
She was anything but cold. Her pain burst deep beneath the growing heat of her fury. “Only with people who have betrayed me.”
His eyes narrowed. “I have done nothing to warrant such an accusation.”
“You haven’t?” She held her left palm up and tapped it with her index finger. “You were alive, but didn’t send word to your betrothed.” She tapped her palm again, harder this time. “You returned to England and still didn’t send her word.” She tapped her palm a third time. “When she arrives, you tell her to leave.” She dropped her hands. “That sounds like a betrayal to me. A betrayal of our oath to each other. A betrayal of the love you promised.” She swallowed hard, refusing to cry. “A betrayal of our families.”
He dropped the bucket in his hand and took a step toward her then stopped, his hands fisting at his sides. “I did not betray anyone. There were circumstances beyond my power to control.”
“Such as?”
He stood there glaring at her, his jaw clenched, but didn’t say anything.
She lost her patience. “Very well, I’ll simply ask your mother.”
“No!”
His immediate response was what she’d hoped for. “Whyever not?”
“She’s been through enough.” The words were uttered between gritted teeth.
The double implication that his mother seeing her was too much, and that she herself had not been through enough snapped her ever-present control. She slammed her hands on her hips. “Then you’d best tell me. Now!”
At her shout, he finally moved, stopping within arm’s reach. The scent of tonka wafted over her, the nutty aroma mixing with the scents of horse and hay, the combination threatening to fill her with heartbreaking memories. She swallowed hard. “Well?”
“You are a widow. Why does it matter to you, when after they reported my death, you so quickly married another? It’s clear to me that whatever feelings you had, whatever loyalty to me, had been far less than I realized. There was no reason to contact you.”
She widened her eyes in shock, his assumptions too wrong to allow. “When we received the letter from your brother that you had been killed, my heart died.” She stepped forward and poked him in the chest with her finger. “I didn’t see any reason to mourn because I didn’t see any reason to continue living. You had my heart and took it to the grave with you.”
He stepped back from her. “You’re a widow.”
“Because I found a purpose.”
He scowled. “To be someone else’s wife.”
She gave him a hard stare. “No. To save my family from financial ruin. My heart was dead, so I married Lord Beaumont to insure my family would continue to thrive. His death set me free, but to what? To find out that you’ve been living here, hiding?”
Suddenly, the truth hit her in the gut. Hehadbeen hiding, from her. But inheriting the title had thrown him back into society whether he wanted it or not. She pointed behind her. “Well, you can’t hide anymore, Viscount Blackmore. You have a duty to your family, to your mother, to marry some chit and have heirs. It is unfortunate that you hadn’t searched me out. I could have saved you from all this.”
Reaching up, she grasped the jewel on her chest and yanked. “To think I’ve worn this every day since you left. I had no idea you had left me so long ago. Here’s your heart back.” Throwing the stone into the hay at his feet, she turned on her heel and strode out.
She barely made it to Zephyrus before the tears started to fall. Climbing up onto him, she kicked him into a gallop, not caring where he took her. Not caring about anything.
*
Marcus crouched downand picked up the garnet necklace. Memories filled his head, and his heart started to pound so loud he was sure Ebba could hear it.
She’d kept it. She’d worn it against her heart.He closed his fingers over the stone, even as his breathing remained erratic, the pain in his chest intensifying. His memory of Mariel was but a shade of the truth. Her height remained the same, but her chestnut hair seemed to shine with warmth, her green eyes were so brilliant as to make the leaves on the trees appear dull, and her skin, glowing with wrath appeared as soft as the orange blossoms she loved so much. Her dark brown riding habit accentuated the fact that her slender build had filled in, especially her bosom, which now encased her closed heart.
Bootsteps on the brick floor of the stable had him rising.
“So that was Lady Mariel Mabry?” Anthony came to a stop at the entrance to the stall.
He nodded, his throat too tight to speak.
