Read Online Lord of Regrets by Sabrina Darby - Free Book Online Page A

table, the sooner we can have dessert.”
    “Trifle,” Leona enthused, clearly energized by the thought of the treat.
    Natasha laughed. Marcus stilled at the sound. He wanted to hear her laughter every day of his life. It would be his mission, his life’s work, to make her happy from this moment on.
    “Bring the pudding, sweetheart,” she instructed their daughter as she continued to the kitchen. Marcus followed her.
    He placed the serving dishes down on the kitchen table. It was one thing to help bring plates back from the dining room, but the kitchen itself was a mystery to him.
    “Thank you.”
    He leaned against the large center table and looked around.
    “Why do you not hire more staff?” The slight pause, a vacancy in the air, made him realize it was the wrong thing to say.
    “I don’t have an annuity. Nor a profession. I need to look ahead to the future, and that doesn’t involve wasting money where I can do for myself.”
    “Your life here would have been easier,” he said quietly, wishing he could have made it so.
    “I live in Little Parrington, Lord Templeton, because life hasn’t been easier. People might be suspicious here, but it is because I am a newcomer, not because I am poor. Reverend Duncan—”
    “I don’t care about Reverend Duncan,” Marcus said curtly. He didn’t want to hear her wax on about the man’s beneficence. He didn’t want to hear a word about another man ever cross her lips. “And I’ll never just be Lord Templeton to you.”
    She rested her hands on the counter and looked at him, her green eyes more gray in the dim light. “What you want from me––”
    “Is no more than I am willing to give in return.”
    She looked away a bare moment before Leona entered. The intense intimacy between them evaporated with Natasha’s quick, efficient movements around the kitchen.
    “As you can see, there is work here to be done. Would you mind showing yourself out?”
    He hesitated. He could plead dessert, call on the trifle to spend a few more minutes in her company. He shook his head, physically banishing the thoughts.
    “Yes, yes, of course. Tomorrow, perhaps, a ride in the carriage?”
    “To where?” Natasha said with a laugh. “It’s winter and an ugly one at that.”
    “Tomorrow will be clear,” he assured her. He started to reach for her hand, to kiss it and her good-bye, but she pulled away.
    “My hands are wet.”
    They were, but it was an excuse. Patience , he reminded himself. “Till tomorrow, then.”

Chapter Eight
    A storm thwarted his plans. The wind had picked up again, and the day outside was obliterated into a cloud of grayish white. It was what kept him from where he wanted to be, by Natasha’s side. There had been that moment yesterday, in the kitchen, when she had listened to him, had almost accepted the honesty of his words. As surely as this weather would pass and this snow would melt, Natasha’s heart would thaw. Although, preferably, she would come to him a bit earlier than that.
    The storm didn’t ease until late in the day, and by then the roads were impassable. However, on Saturday, sick of pacing his room, the parlor, and the taproom, sick of chess and cards, gentleman’s magazines and farmer’s almanacs, and all the other excruciatingly tedious ways to pass the time, Marcus stepped out into the slush and sludge of a clear, bright day.
    He took Juniper, but even with the horse, he still picked his way through the thick, sucking mess that lay between them and solid ground. Marcus arrived at Natasha’s house cold and splattered, his boots discolored from the wet.
    Natasha answered the door herself. She shook her head at the sight of him.
    “Such lovely clear days we’ve been having.” Her teasing smile felt like spring’s first thaw, and Marcus blinked rapidly. He wanted to take her in his arms again. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted––
    “I love you.”
    She took a step back. Her eyes widened, and her lips parted. She looked