Page 60 of Marigold and the Marquess
Were he not so wretchedly obsessed with bringing the traitor to justice, he could very well be one of the happiest married men in all of England. But he was still in the grip of this darkness. His soul still craved vengeance at any cost, not only for his sake but for protection of the royal family. They needed to know who within their intimate circle had sabotaged his delegation and their mission four years ago.
Was it Denby?
He was the most obvious suspect since he was the envoy sent to secure those mining and mineral rights on behalf of the Crown. How many other assignments had he sabotaged?
Leo had heard the reclusive Lord Denby would attend Lady Gaston’s soiree this evening. Ian had warned him not to confront the man, but Leo was not certain yet what he would do. Killing him was not ruled out.
Marigold did not know Denby was to be at tonight’s soiree.
Perhaps it was cowardly of him to withhold the news and only advise her once they were in the carriage on their way to Lady Gaston’s affair. Yes, it was completely cowardly of him. In his own defense, it was only because she held more sway over him than he dared admit. If he told her, she would find a way to stop him.
Her tears tore at his heart.
Her love for him humbled him.
Her anger…the girl did not know how to be truly angry. Her heart was too soft ever to properly rail at him. She did not insult or manipulate. At worst, she boxed his ears. And when she boxed his ears, her lips pursed in that prim schoolmistress way that made him want to strip the clothes off her and kiss every inch of her body starting with those plump, rosy lips, which would then lead to his kissing his way down her body to her lush, creamy breasts and the sweet dessert between her thighs.
Gad, did his every thought have to lead back to Marigold and the bed they shared?
She was more than a lovely bed partner.
She was what his heart had been missing all these years.
He had not even mentioned Denby to her and he was already in a roil.
Was it not sensible of him to avoid all these complications?
He poured himself a glass of port and drank it down fast.
Practically guzzled it.
Denby.
Revenge.
Loving Marigold.
He refused to allow himself to love her. Was his life not complicated enough? He turned away from her while he drank.
Did she have to look at him with those soft, loving eyes?
He firmed his resolve and set his glass aside. He would warn Marigold in the carriage ride to Lady Gaston’s affair and not a moment sooner.
Marigold frowned as she watched him. “Leo, are you all right?”
“In the pink of health, love. Why?”
She shook her head. “You suddenly look flushed. Let me feel your forehead.”
If she wanted to know what was wrong with him, she need only feel lower. However, since he had taken great pains never to consummate their union, she had no reason to think of that part of his anatomy.
“Oh, good,” she said, placing her hand to his brow, “you are not burning up.”
Again, she had only to look lower to figure out what was ailing him. “Indeed not. I am fine, Marigold. Truly.”
“Well, if you are certain.” She nibbled her fleshy, lower lip.
“I am.” He circled an arm around her waist and drew her closer. “Tell me you love me and then kiss me.”
