Page 155 of The Lord Meets His Lady

His voice was strong, but an ache lit his eyes. He could’ve argued that marriage drove him to chase her, that he was compelled to find her because of a piece of paper and the vows said to get it. But Marcus wasn’t driven by paper or words. He was driven by love.

His gloveless hand grazed her chin, sliding deeper into her hood. “You may not want my love, but I’m giving it to you.”

The knot got bigger. Words stuck in her throat. Love scared her. Inside her heart a whirling, dizzying mass of feelings spun for Lord Marcus Bowles, gentler of horses and women. He’d flipped everything upside down and made it all seem normal. Men of his station didn’t seek women of hers.

She craved logical order…of mechanisms and soul-cleansing labor.

Sex was easy. Emotions were not.

He knew this. It was in the tender line of his mouth, the angle of his head as if he hung on every word she had yet to say. The flat line of her mouth wobbled. He was more skilled with words, and she was on the verge of becoming a blubbery mass of tears. How horrifying!

“Shh…” He soothed her, stroking her bottom lip.

“Milord, we shared laughter and sex.” She sniffled. “It’s true we also shared an ease together…a friendship, if you will, full of respect and companionship and a genuine wish for the other’s well-being the way we looked after each other.” She sniffled again. “We accepted each other, flaws and all, but I don’t know that you could call it love.”

He wiped a brazen tear rolling down her cheek. “Sounds a lot like love to me. Unless you’re negotiating for more sterling qualities.”

His smile was a blur.

“I’m very serious, milord.”

“You usually are,” he said softly, wiping more wetness from her cheeks.

She was weak in the knees with each caring caress.

“I have something for you,” he said.

What more could he give?

Lord Bowles dug inside his coat and pulled out foolscap folded end over end. “These belong to you.”

Paper slid against paper. A conspicuous notch showed. “My indenture.”

“And our marriage license.”

She fanned the papers in her hand.

“You’re free, Genevieve. You don’t have to run from any man. Including me.”

“My freedom,” she said, her voice awed.

“Do with it what you will. If you come to me, you do it of your own free will.”

The knot in her throat expanded. It swelled in her chest and stung her eyes. Years of being alone in crowded places crashed in on her. She was stripped bare on this quiet country road. Lord Bowles,her husband, saw everything, and he still wanted her.

“But you’d be tied to the likes ofme.”

“There’s no other woman I’d rather be with.” His smile was gentle against his collar.

A breeze blew blond wisps across her eyes. Unshed tears made him blurry and clogged her throat. “What about the wealthy, appropriate Miss Rutherford?”

He cupped her cheek. “She’s not the one for me. Trust me on that.”

“Trustworthy as a vicar.”

Gentle north wind curled around them, blowing her cloak’s hem against his boots. Another gust freed brown hair from his queue. She angled her face into his palm, the warmth, the smell of his skin calling to her. She covered his hand with hers.

“I want to be the man you need,” he said and kissed her forehead. “Somewhere in my life, I stopped listening to what made me happy…to who I am. Being with you opened my eyes.”