Page 471

“Friend?” he said again.
She didn’t respond.
“Margaret?”
Still, she didn’t respond, and Gabriel glanced down to see that her eyes were closed. Neither did she move, nor did she seem to be breathing.
Had she fallen asleep?
Damn, but he was enjoying her answers nearly as much as he relished the feel of her in his arms… after so, so bloody long—too long.
“Brat,” he said, and then settled back against the carriage seat with his delicious burden cradled in his lap. Gad, she was his wife—after all this time. He grinned over that fact, and leaned back against the carriage, closing his eyes to enjoy the feel of the woman in his arms.
8
The following morning Margaret awoke in her own bed, with only vague memories of how she’d arrived there. She’d fallen asleep in her husband’s arms whilst playing that silly game. But she hadn’t really fallen asleepduringthe game,only pretended to be asleep, unable to respond to the wordfriend.
She’d had a sudden epiphany while she’d sat there. She’d had only one true friend in all of her life, and it so happened that he shared the same name as her husband. Of course, her response, at once, had beenGabriel,but she’d caught herself before speaking it aloud, breathing in deeply of his all-too familiar scent, and found herself lost in memories…
After a while, she’d drifted off to sleep and her dreams had been a mélange of old memories and new—sweet child’s play, and lusty, heart-stirring kisses.
Lord, but she’d been a wanton, throwing herself into Gabriel’s arms after fairly begging him to kiss her. And, furthermore, she had shamelessly reveled in every moment of his embrace, every sweet caress of his lips.
Now, patting the bed beside her, she realized it was all a sham. They had both been playing at charades, and she wanted more than what she’d bargained for.
She wanted it with Gabriel.
Sighing as she glanced over at the closed door between their suites, she couldn’t help but wonder if her husband had found his way there last night. She’d had him ensconced in her father’s chamber—why not? Despite that their marriage was supposed to have been one of convenience, it wouldn’t serve either of them if the servants talked. So, then, was he there now?
Or perchance in the dining room breaking his fast?
Gabriel S. Morgan made her good sense scatter to the winds, and with no more than a glance from his compelling blue eyes, he’d filled her head with wicked thoughts.
After all was said and done, it was a good thing he’d had the good sense to stop before she’d had the opportunity to do something foolish.
And, having determined as much, she descended to breakfast, moderately prepared to face him. And, if her cheeks were pink with chagrin, she admonished herself, it was well and good. It would serve as a reminder for the next time not to abandon herself so shamelessly to temptation. But she prepared herself for naught.
Dressed for the day in a lemon-yellow chiffon dress, she entered the dining room only to find herself alone. She exhaled a breath she’d not realized she’d held and her arms dropped by her sides, as a terrible heaviness settled in her breast. Certainly, it was not disappointment, was it?
The table was set, a steaming breakfast arranged on the buffet, the servants all waiting to serve. But no Gabriel. And still she lingered in the doorway, frowning over the depressing emptiness of the room—and yet, it was just as it was supposed to be, so why was she crushed? A certificate of marriage did nota family make. Nor were kisses promises. She, not Gabriel, had insisted upon the formality of this arrangement. Why then, had she expected to find anything different this morning? Had she hoped to discover a husband who would greet her with a “jollygood morning, darling”and a peck on the lips?
Perhaps yesterday she had not, but after last night…
Lingering a moment longer, she contemplated the answer to her questions, then suddenly didn’t feel like breakfast at all. Oblivious to the confounded looks the servants gave one another, Margaret turned to make her way out to the rose arbor. That was the one place she felt most at ease, and she needed to figure out how to handle this new dilemma: The man she had married was not at all who he claimed to be…
It had takenGabriel the better part of the morning to locate a pasteboard. Finally, with the child’s toy in hand, he was ready to face Margaret.
He didn’t know why he needed to relive this moment, but somehow, it seemed to promise closure—whatever that meant, he didn’t know, but, once upon a time, he’d had such high hopes for the two of them.
It took some searching, but he found Maggie in the garden, kneeling over a an exceptionally unsightly rose bush, her back to him. The sight of her on her knees, with the pruning shears in hand, took him slightly aback.
So, too, did the appearance of the rose garden. Gad, but it wasn’t at all the way he remembered it, and his brow furrowed as he surveyed the garden in which he and Margaret had spent so many hours as children.
It was the most pitiful excuse for a rose arbor that Gabriel had ever had the misfortune of laying eyes upon in all his life. In his father’s day, the bushes had been lush and vivid, every colorof flower peeping out from behind leaves so green they hurt one’s eyes. How many times had he forgotten the thorns behind their shining facades and leapt into the midst of them to hide from Maggie, only to leap back out, howling in pain?
The memory alone made him grin, for then as now, he suspected Margaret had more to do with his embarrassing lack of judgement than did those bloody bushes. She’d always had a way of turning his thoughts inside out.
Armed with props, and with a singleness of purpose, he made his way toward his wife, sidestepping overgrown, leafless, thorn-filled vines that sprawled across his path like writhing garden snakes. He sensed she was close to a revelation last night, and, for some reason she’d tucked her memories away so deep, ignoring the truth that was staring her straight in the face. But Gabriel couldn’t play this game any longer, and it surprised him that he ever thought he could.