Page 27 of How to Cross a Marquess (The Way to a Lord's Heart 3)

“What?”

“Horrified,” she repeated.

“That seems too strong a word.”

She shook her head. “No. It’s quite apt. You made your opinion very clear when we met at the Duddo Stones, the day after they’d commanded us to marry.” Fenella paused as her mind conjured up that dreadful afternoon, as it could still do in crystalline detail. She’d ridden away from home, even though she was afraid of riding back then. She’d had to get away from her father’s shouting. The ride had been aimless and sometimes frightening, and when the circle of ancient stones had risen before her, she’d practically fallen off her mount to sit among them. She’d been trying to get up the nerve to remount and head home when Roger had come thundering along on one of his terrifying horses. He’d looked half-demented, with blood trickling down the side of his head.

“We met at Duddo? That can’t be right. What were you doing there?”

Clearly, he didn’t remember the scene that was engraved on her memory. Fenella was glad, actually.

“I’d been out riding like a lunatic that day,” Roger continued. “I know that. Blaze finally turned and tried to bite me when I whipped him on. He tossed me off. I fell and hit my head. I don’t even know how I got back into the saddle.”

Fenella nodded. That fit with his state when he’d galloped up. He’d slid off his horse and fallen bonelessly to the ground.

“Someone helped me. Was that you? My recollection of that afternoon isn’t clear.”

“Yes,” said Fenella. She’d been frightened and clumsy, but she’d bound the cut on his head with a bit of cloth torn from her petticoat.

“I could never recall who it was afterward. I thought of it like a visitation from the fair folk in their ancient ring.”

He gazed at her. Such a different look from that long-ago afternoon, Fenella thought. Then, his eyes had burned with outrage as he raved about the fate planned for him, about the ignorance and tyranny of parents. She’d hated the shouting, cringed under it. Fenella felt a pang of sympathy for the girl she’d been.

“I do recall seeing you at church though. Back then.”

That had been two miserable days later. Her father had filled them with discord.

“I was rude to you.”

He’d been beastly, scowling at her in front of everyone. And the neighborhood was well aware of the painful situation, thanks to her father’s intemperance.

“I think I said I’d rather marry—”

“A sheep.” It had hurt, then. “A ‘sodding’ sheep.” Fenella snorted. “I’d never heard that word before. Your intent was clear, however.”

“I was an abominable sprig. Shall I remind you that I’m sorry?”

“That was a different apology.”

“True. I wonder how many I owe you?”

A laugh escaped Fenella, clearly surprising him. “I did tell you I’d rather become a nun than marry you,” she said. A weak riposte, she thought; she’d do much better today. But his sodding-sheep comment, with all those friends and acquaintances looking on, had been the last straw. It had sent her home to pack her things and sneak off to her grandmother. Which had turned out to be a splendid thing to do.

“You did?”

She nodded.

“Good for you. I don’t suppose I heard you. I rarely thought of anyone but myself in those days. I imagined that I knew everything, when in fact I knew nothing. Will you accept my belated apologies for that slur as well?”

And she’d run from marrying this man, Fenella marveled. But, no. He hadn’t been this man, at the time.Thisman was dangerously alluring. He inspired an impulse to lean closer, to run a fingertip along his cheek, perhaps. What would he do? She could hardly resist the impulse to find out.

A housemaid appeared at the end of the corridor. “There you are, miss. This just arrived for you.” She held out a folded note.

Fenella stepped back.

“I should go,” said Roger.

He sounded breathless. Yes, he should go. The situation was getting out of hand. Fenella nodded.

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