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Margaret’s quiet voice brought him closer. She wore the same brown cloak he’d seen her in before and her boots were sturdy beneath the hem of her plain blue gown. No adornments, not even a ruffle at her throat, and yet in his eyes she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He cleared his throat. “What does her doctor say?”
She frowned. “That she is tired and must rest. I want her to see another doctor, but my father … He prefers to believe nothing is wrong.”
He had the urge to wrap his arms around her and draw her into the warmth of his body, but couldn’t. She was talking to him again as if they were friends and he needed to behave in kind. So he contented himself with saying, “There are doctors she could see in London.”
She looked up at him, eyes hopeful, searching his, and then, disappointed, shook her head. “My father would never consider taking her there. And my mother … Some days she is afraid to leave her room. Some days she does not even know where she is or—or who she is.”
“These things can be managed,” he reassured her, although really he had no idea. But Dominic was confident that if anyone could create order out of chaos then it was he.
“By bullying her, you mean? I prefer not to use my father’s methods.”
“Margaret—”
She took a breath and he knew she was about to deliver the speech she had been preparing since the funeral. “What you did the last time we met, what you said … You must know I cannot allow you those liberties. Besides, you are only too well aware of the obstacles between us. You and I come from vastly different walks of life.”
“Perhaps there are differences in wealth and prestige, but in character we are perfectly suited, Margaret.”
“How can you say that? How can you speak to me in this way when we both know you are married, my lord?” Her eyes were even greener than usual, her lips red from the cold. He noticed that she was twisting her gloved hands together and reached to take them both in his larger hand, stilling her agitation.
“You are cold,” he said. “We should go inside.”
“Are you listening to a word I’m saying?” she asked in despair.
He sighed. “I have listened. I am listening. But nothing you say will make me change my mind.”
Dominic could see her debating whether or not to ask him what it was he had made up his mind about. He was ready for her, ready to declare himself. He felt the heat in his blood, the tug of his heart, and he knew he wanted to tell her exactly how he felt, even if it meant that afterwards she turned and ran from him.
Time passed. It seemed she wasn’t brave enough after all. “You will not ask me?”
“I can’t.”
He brought her hands to his mouth.
Her lip trembled. “My lord … Dominic …”
He gazed into her eyes so there could be no doubt in her mind that he meant what he said. “Then I’ll tell you anyway. I think, at the inn, I was too rough with you. I let my feelings overrule good sense. But you should know that I desire you, Margaret. Deeply desire you. I want a life with you that means I can hold you and kiss you, wrap my arms about you in the darkness of the night and wake up with you in the morning.”
Her face had paled and a tear ran down her cheek. “Please don’t …” she gasped, but he had to finish what he wanted to say.
“I love you, Margaret.” His breath warmed her face. “I want to be with you. I want us to be together.”
She tugged, trying to pull her hands away, and he released them. She began to shake her head as if she was denying his words, wiping them from her mind. “You can’t,” she blurted out. “It isn’t possible.”
“Yes,” he said, “it is. Does my loving you
not change anything? Margaret, can’t you see how perfect we would be together?”
“No,” she whispered, her voice full of misery. “I’m sorry, but no, I can’t see that. And no, it doesn’t change my mind. I want you to leave Denwick. As soon as possible.”
10
Dominic’s handsome face was full of such intense feeling. His dark eyes were on fire with the emotions he had just expressed to her so eloquently. She wanted to fling herself into his arms and hold him. Kiss him. She knew now what it was like to kiss him and she wanted more, so much more. She wanted to say yes, please love me and take me away with you.
Only it couldn’t be. She was clinging on to reality by a thread and she couldn’t let herself weaken and fall. Denying what her heart craved was tearing her in two.
It was a relief when she heard voices behind her, coming from inside what she had thought was an empty church. Other people meant she could step away, give herself some distance, and compose herself. Become Margaret Willoughby again rather than the passionate woman she barely recognised.
