Page 213 of Dukes for Dessert

To her dismay, he continued to cackle, and Margaret decided she’d had enough. She made to rise. “I thought I heard you say you wished to show me something,” she said. “Apparently, I was mistaken.”

“No.” he said, thrusting out a hand, urging her to remain seated. “Ah, but Maggie. Tis that you look...” He shook his head. “So….” He laughed again. “You have no idea what good it does my heart to see you.”

“You mean to say I look a merry-Andrew,” Margaret countered, wholly vexed with his amusement at her expense. “Look at you,” she said, waving a hand at him. “I did not laugh at you, sirrah, when you came to me looking like... that.” She waved a hand in disgust and made again to rise. But, for the first time, she noticed his feet. “You’re not wearing shoes,” she said. “Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

He knelt down beside her, chortling, as he placed a hand on her shoulder to soothe her. “Hold still,” he said, and groped about her, feeling for the pasteboard at her back.

He moved his hand to her sides, and Margaret slapped his hand in scandalized horror. “I beg pardon,” she said, pinning his hand under her own and glaring defiantly. “What is it you think you are doing?”

His grin was infectious, but Margaret had no intention of allowing it to disarm her. “I simply need to see how much room is left on the pasteboard.”

“Why?”

His eyes twinkled with a devilish light. “You’ll see.” He tilted his head, once again giving her that little-boy glance and smile that melted her will. “Trust me,” he said.

He wasn’t playing fair, Margaret decided. How could she refuse him when he begged so sweetly? She lifted her hand, freeing him, but gave him a warning glare. “Very well,” she relented. “Do what you will.”

Like a boy, his grin returned, brighter than before, and the sight of it melted Maggie’s heart.

“Now scoot forward,” he demanded.

“Scoot?”

“Yes, Margaret, scoot.” He placed a hand behind her, and quite boldly, shoved her bottom forward on the cardboard when she didn’t respond quickly enough.

“Oh!” Margaret exclaimed.

He sat behind her, and before Margaret could think to protest, he wrapped his legs around her, trapping her between them.

“Now,” he commanded, “close your eyes!”

“This is preposterous,” Margaret protested. “What in the Queen’s name are we doing?”

“You’ll see,” he said. And then again, “Trust me, Maggie.” And he took her hands into his own, and said, “Hold tight.”

Margaret didn’t even have time to ask why. Within an instant, Gabriel had shoved them forward, down the hill. She squealed as they went flying, and for a moment, she was horrified, but Gabriel wrapped his arms about her and held her close. And then they were racing down the steep hill on his pasteboard, the wind sweeping her face. Margaret couldn’t contain a peal of laughter. Glorious! Freedom! She opened her eyes and watched the horizon fly by, and giggled.

They ended at the bottom of the hill in a scattered heap, laughing breathlessly.

Neither could seem to stop for the longest interval, and Margaret lay with her head on his chest, oblivious to propriety, laughing like a girl. “Oh, my! That was unspeakably delightful,” she confessed.

He hugged her, a smile in his voice, and his chuckles subsided. “You do not know how long I’ve wanted to do that with you, Maggie.”

She peered back at him, tears shining in her eyes. “Your name isn’t truly Morgan, is it?”

He shook his head with a smirk. “Neither is yours.” And then, once again, both together, they laughed, and couldn’t stop for the longest while.

Finally, Maggie opened her mouth to speak, and Gabriel put a finger to her lips. “Shhhh,” he said, and sat up, turning her about to face him, looking her straight in the eyes. “I still love you, Brat. I never stopped. I told you I’d not forget, and I never have.”

Margaret’s brows slanted as bittersweet memories accosted her. She peered about at the familiar landscape… the bright blue skyline... the circle of trees... the hill they’d come racing down... the windflowers swaying with the breeze… and her heart hammered fiercely, because this was the very spot where they’d said their goodbyes.

“It’s true,” he said, and time slipped away.

She choked on a sob, casting herself into his arms. “Oh, Gabe!” she said, clutching at his dirty shirt, and Gabriel reached out to do what he hadn’t had the nerve to do all those years past. He took a wayward lock of Margaret’s hair between his fingers and brushed it away from her beautiful face, and then he said, “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she cried.

“I know, sweet Maggie. I know.” And he bent to seal their avowals with a sweet, if slightly muddy kiss.

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