Lord of Regrets by Sabrina Darby Page B

Marcus was the cause of that unease.
    “Yes, she’s quite bright. I had some difficulty at first convincing Mrs. Prothe that we can hardly waste such an intellect, but I persevered.” Natasha watched Marcus carefully for his reaction, but his expression was shuttered and difficult to read. “We’ll begin tomorrow, if that’s fine by you, Mrs. Prothe? Beginning with Latin.”
    “Do you know how to read?” Marcus asked Leona with an admiring look. She nodded. “That’s quite a feat for a person as small as you.” Something about the interaction warmed Natasha, and she turned her attention away quickly.
    “Yes, that is very kind of you, Mr. Duncan. Leona is clearly excited,” Natasha said. She picked up the teapot up to pour for the rector.
    “So, Lord Templeton,” Duncan said in a slightly louder voice. “What brings you to Little Parrington?”
    “Business,” Marcus said, “and the chance to see Natasha.”
    Natasha winced at his familiar use of her name, but she understood, even as it shamed her. He would not use Mrs. Prothe.
    Suddenly the fire seemed too hot, too stuffy, and the room too small. She glanced at Duncan, unwillingly, but needing to see his reaction. The reverend’s brows furrowed, and Natasha opened her mouth to make some excuse, reaching for anything that made her relationship with Marcus sound more normal, more tame.
    “Well, then,” the reverend said, his voice thick with a forced joviality that made Natasha want to sink into her seat. Her anxiety was made worse by knowing that through it all, Leona watched them over the rim of her teacup. “How long do you intend to stay in our little village?”
    “Until my business is complete,” Marcus said. “But I should take my leave. May I call on you again, Natasha? Perhaps I could impose upon you, Reverend, for a ride back to the village? It looks as though it has begun to snow.”
    How neatly Marcus forced Duncan to leave with him. The maneuver at once revealed everything she loved and despised about him. Loved? Natasha’s own thoughts took her aback. Did she still feel any love for the man?
    …
    A storm rolled through in the night and pounded Little Parrington with hail and freezing rain until the early afternoon. Marcus slept in late and then lay abed, listening to the roar against the roof of the inn.
    How did one woo a woman? It had been too long. Far too long. Flowers would be impossible to get unless he procured them from Norwich. Baubles would be inappropriate considering the circumstance and, again, would necessitate a ride into Norwich earlier than he planned.
    No, he would need to remind her of how they fell in love.
    He hadn’t fallen in love all at once; he’d admit that. The first emotion he’d experienced was more a sensation of sweetness, of deep knowing, as if this girl were someone he should have known always. Soul mates. Foolish claptrap perhaps, but he had believed it then and, having gone five years with her haunting his days and nights, he believed it more now.
    Love had come more slowly, with each caress, each whisper, each shared confidence. Love had come after he’d carelessly made her his mistress.
    He’d torn her from the bosom of her family and promised to shelter her and to keep her safe, to show her the world. She had been his.
    She would be his again.
    Intent upon his courtship, Marcus arrived late in the afternoon with a basket of bread and invited himself to supper. It was sundown and the maid, Mary, was just leaving.
    “It isn’t proper for you to be here,” Natasha protested.
    Marcus almost laughed at that, at the idea that after all their intimacy, they would need a chaperone. Especially here, far away from town and any curious eyes.
    “Mary will surely tell her family about your visit.”
    “Then the damage is already done. Give me a chance, Natasha.”
    She took the basket out of his arms. “Won’t you join us for dinner?” she asked, her tone laden with sarcasm.
    “I’d be honored.”