Page 135 of Wedlock
His incredulity is obvious.
“Yes. His title, his castle, everything. But that was before he learned he had a daughter. And anyway, I said no.”
“You refused him?”
“Let’s be real. I’m only going to live two human lifetimes. What happens to him after that? He’s Lord Dragonspur, that’s what he’s always been, what he’s been destined for. No marriage, however much the two people love one another, can weather someone giving up everything. Sooner or later he’d resent me, or the children, or both. I could never have him do that for me, Jag.”
“I had no idea the depth of his feelings,” he murmurs, “to have offered such a sacrifice….”
“Yes,” I sigh, “he truly does love me, in his way.”
“In his way…” he echoes as though still stunned by my revelation.
“And you, Angie, do you love him still?”
“Jag,” I sigh, “I…I’m not sure you and I should be talking about this. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I already have.”
“Answer the question, Angie.”
“Yes. Yes, I love him, but it makes no difference.”
“Your fear for the children is the only thing stopping you from returning to him.”
It’s a murmured, mournful statement more than a question.
“Yes.”
“Forgive me, Lady Dragonspur. I had no right to speak to you as I have. I have no right to any claim upon your heart.”
“Jag, wait…”
He hangs up, and I dial his number back immediately. I can’t let our call end on such a note. He’s been a good friend, a loyal friend, and I need him to know that.
But his number says disconnected.
Frowning, I prepare to phone Yin to fill her in on what I’ve just been told and ask where we should go, when there’s a knock on the door.
Normally the dogs would have barked to indicate an intruder, but they were with Yin and the kids.
“What now?” I groan as I draw my gun and straighten my shoulders, prepared for whatever, or whoever, is trespassing on my mountain.
The knock hadn’t sounded like Falcon, but it didn’t sound timid either.
Opening the door with a violent yank, I step back and level my gun at a young man, a vampire. He looks vaguely familiar, but I know I’ve never seen him before. He’s not wearing any of the usual uniforms I’ve seen to show which royal house he works for, if any. He takes two steps backwards when he sees my gun.
“What do you want?”
“Lady Dragonspur?”
“Yes.”
“Lord Dragonspur asks that you do him the courtesy of reading this letter before you run again.”
He holds the letter out, and I step forward and take it from him.
Bowing, he turns and leaves at a run.
Staring around the yard to ensure there’s no one else, I shake my head and return indoors, locking the door behind me before sitting, fingers trembling, to open the ornate, gold-edged delivery. My name is written in his exquisite handwriting on the front of the envelope, and I recall the last letter I’d received from him. It had been an invitation to a date in Thailand, right before the final ceremony in The Games.
