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He had known what was coming and had been deep in thoughts. The emotions Willow roused in him were similar to those he had formerly felt, except now he saw her through the viewpoint of a man. There was a time Alasdair had been convinced, once he experienced pleasure in Willow’s arms, the desperate hunger he had felt for her over the years would ease. He grimaced. It had increased tenfold. She haunted his most wicked and sensual dreams. He wanted her. And not only for pleasure. He wanted her as his marchioness.
He had swiftly composed letters to his solicitor, his barrister, his investment partners, and the stewards of his estates. He wanted to understand his financial standing and how long he would remain solvent if he married her.
The doubts crowded his mind. Could he still pursue Willow and achieve happiness for his sisters? They needed him, and their disappointment he would not bear. He wanted to smash the glass of brandy into the wall above the fireplace.
“Well?” his friend demanded.
Alasdair asked, “Is Willow well?”
Quinton sighed. “As well as can be. Our grandmother realized something was amiss, and I stupidly confided in her. The alacrity in which she told our father you had compromised Willow startled me.”
Alasdair braced himself. “How did Willow react to that?”
Quinton came to stand beside him, still stiff with anger. “She has told our father she will not be forced into misery.”
Alasdair jerked, and from the sharp glance of his friend, he surmised he had not masked his reaction. The pain of her words sliced deep. But what had he expected? She had been right when she accused him of leaving and not looking back. Though it had not been intentional. His father’s death, his mother’s grief, and Marcus’ illness had all happened within months of each other. It had been a lot to deal with. The despair of those times still had the power to affect Alasdair even after all these years. But when he finally emerged from the shadow of it all, he had not looked behind him, assuming that she had married her duke.
What a damn fool he had been.
“It is not you Willow objects to my friend,” Quinton admitted. “It is the situation. She fears to be a burden. Though it is embarrassing to admit, I saw her face as she smiled at you. I realize nothing has changed for her, even after six years. She holds the same regard for you, and it is that regard that will make her deny you. Even as father roared, she only sought to protect you from his anger.”
“I can manage the duke’s wrath.”
Quinton sighed. “I told her as much. Why would you place yourself in such a situation?”
Alasdair ignored the question. “She told me she fell from her horse.”
His friend was silent for the longest time.
“What happened, Quinton? Please tell me.”
“She rode after you.”
Alasdair stiffened, a deep sense of foreboding filling his chest. “What do you mean?”
“I overheard her rejection of your offer.”
My father has forbidden our union. You are only a third son, and he believes I deserve more. You say you are leaving for Europe. Go. I won’t change my opinion.
While the memory still stung, the words no longer choked him with loss as they once did.
“She cried for days in her room after you left. Our parents were proud of her. Hell, everyone thought she was being sensible, but she was miserable. I visited her and asked her if she loved you. I regret to this day I interfered. For when she said yes, I told her the truth, that in a few hours, you would leave London and it could be years before you returned. She rushed to our father, confessed her love and expressed only wanting to be with you, and that she needed to visit you. Her request for the carriage and chaperone was denied. She went to the stables, mounted her horse and rode for Westerham Park.”
“Hell!”
He glanced at Quinton and the savage fury and pain on his face told the rest of the story.
“Grayson is more tormented than I am. He has never been the same, and the wild debauchery he indulges in now is to soothe his guilt. He was the one that rode after her…to stop her. She urged her horse faster when she realized he was on her trail. She was thrown. I was following behind him, and I do not think I will ever forget his cry of fear when he realized what had happened. We raced to her side, and she was unconscious, bleeding from the head. The next two weeks were the most terrified I had ever been in my life, not even what we experienced in the war compared.”
There was an empty, hollow ache in Alasdair’s chest. It was his fault she was blind. The guilt crashed into him like a wave, suffocating and drowning him. All these years while he had raged at her, believing her fickle, she had raced after him and had been hurt. He logically tried to wade through the pain. It had been years ago, and to allow the grip of guilt to warp his mind now would be foolhardy. “You should have told me,” he said softly.
Quinton sighed. “Maybe. But what would you have done? Run to her side and offered to be with her out of guilt?”
“No…I loved her, I wouldn’t have needed chains of guilt. I would have cared for her, been there when the doubts ravaged her, and when she felt alone in her world…I would have supported her.”
Quinton smiled grimly. “I think it best you were absent, the first few years were very torturing for her. It has only been this past couple year I have seen my sister gain some peace.”
Alasdair probably shouldn’t torment himself further, but he needed to know. “Did she call for me?”
