Page 68 of Duke of Gold
When he rose, he extended them toward her with an air of casual chivalry. “For you,” he said simply.
“Oh my,” she gasped, her cheeks coloring faintly as she accepted the blooms. It was only then, with her gaze shifting, that she seemed to notice the abundance of hydrangeas growing wild around them. Clusters of soft mauve, pale blue, and blush pink dotted the landscape, their beauty a quiet but persistent reminder of nature’s artistry.
“They’re everywhere,” she murmured, bringing the small bouquet to her nose instinctively. “Were they planted here, do you think? Perhaps brought from the gardens?”
Morgan shook his head slightly, his expression thoughtful. “I cannot say. They’ve always been here, as far as I recall.”
His voice softened as he glanced at the familiar scene, unchanged yet somehow ever more vivid in her company This place had been his refuge in boyhood, a sanctuary from the burdens of duties and grief. Time, instead of eroding its beauty, had only seemed to enhance it, and its significance to him had deepened with each passing year.
“Then perhaps the ones in the gardens were taken from here?” Margaret suggested, ever undeterred in her pursuit of answers.
Morgan couldn’t help but smile. Her inquisitiveness, unrelenting and endearing, was as much a part of her as the freckles that danced across her nose. “It’s possible,” he conceded, his voice tinged with affection. “But I’m afraid I cannot provide a definitive answer to that either.”
Her brows furrowed briefly, though the soft smile on her lips never wavered. “You mean to tell me that you, the master of this estate, do not hold the secrets of its flora?” she teased, her tone light and playful.
“I grew up with these hydrangeas as they are,” he replied, glancing around them with a wistfulness that crept unbiddeninto his voice. “As familiar to me as the ones in the gardens, yet as mysterious as the land itself.”
“We shall never know which came first, then,” Margaret declared with mock solemnity, though her eyes danced with delight. “What a mystery we have stumbled upon now.”
Morgan chuckled, unable to resist the infectious excitement in her voice. “Indeed, a puzzle for the ages. Though I might add, you seemed altogether indifferent to this grand mystery when you walked straight to the fountain that night without so much as a glance at the hydrangeas lining the path.”
Margaret gasped, her expression caught between mock offense and genuine amusement. “Oh, you shall never grant me respite from that, shall you?” she asked, though a laugh quickly escaped her lips.
Morgan allowed himself a grin, enjoying the way her laughter seemed to ripple through the serene landscape. “Not likely, Margaret. A man must seize what opportunities he can.”
Her eyes narrowed, but the corners of her mouth lifted in a playful smile. “Then I shall take comfort in knowing it was my inadvertence that gifted you such a cherished memory.”
“Cherished,” he repeated, the word rolling off his tongue with a warmth he had not intended to reveal.
Margaret looked away, her cheeks coloring faintly as she turned her gaze back to the valley. The hydrangeas swayed gently in the breeze, their soft hues blending seamlessly with the verdant beauty surrounding them.
Morgan sobered, his gaze drifting over the familiar landscape. The years had not dimmed the allure of this place. If anything, time had only deepened its hold on him, the memories woven into its every corner too vivid to fade.
“This place,” he began, his voice quieter now, “has always been my refuge. As a boy, I came here to escape the burdens of expectations. Later, after—” He paused, the words momentarily catching in his throat. “After the loss, it became my sanctuary. The only place where I could find even a semblance of peace.”
Margaret turned toward him, her expression softening, though her hands tightened slightly around the bouquet she still held. “Morgan,” she said gently, her voice laden with sympathy. “I am so sorry for all you have endured.”
He met her gaze, the sincerity in her eyes both comforting and unsettling. For so long, he had carried his pain in solitude, unwilling to share it even with himself, much less another. And yet, here she was, standing amid the hydrangeas, offering not pity but understanding.
“I am happy to share this place with you now,” he said after a moment. “It feels… right.”
Margaret stepped closer, her fingers brushing lightly against his sleeve as she looked up at him. “Thank you for trusting me with it,” she said softly. “It is truly a gift, Morgan.”
Her words settled over him like a balm, easing a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding. As they stood together, the wind carried the faint scent of hydrangeas, and for the first time in years, the sanctuary he had guarded so fiercely felt less like a retreat and more like a beginning.
Margaret’s fingers, soft and warm, brushed against his cheek. Morgan stilled at the touch, his breath catching as a surge of something tender and profound swept through him. Almost without thinking, his hand lifted to cover hers, holding it in place against his skin as though anchoring himself in the moment.
With deliberate care, he brought her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss first to her palm, then trailing to her wrist. Her blush deepened, a becoming shade of pink that seemed to radiate across her cheeks, and he found himself utterly undone by her.
This time, Morgan did not hesitate. He slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her closer until her soft gasp was but a whisper between them. Then, bending his head, he kissed her—thoroughly, deeply, as though the world began and ended in her arms. In that fleeting moment, all the shadows that had haunted him receded, leaving only light, warmth, and the quiet certainty that this was what perfection felt like.
When he drew back, her gaze was luminous, her lips softly parted, and it took all his restraint not to kiss her again. “Wemust return,” he murmured, his voice roughened by the strength of his emotions. “Dinner awaits, and I suspect the household would grow quite curious if we were absent for too long.”
Margaret’s laughter was breathless but genuine as she nodded. Together, they mounted their horses and began the leisurely ride back toward the castle, the golden light of the setting sun casting long shadows across the fields.
But the peace of the moment shattered abruptly. Margaret’s chestnut let out a sharp, frantic neigh, rearing on its hind legs. She gave a startled cry as she lost her balance, the reins slipping through her hands, and in the blink of an eye, she was thrown from the saddle.
“Margaret!” Morgan’s voice tore through the air as she fell, her head striking a jagged rock near the path. His heart thundered painfully as he leapt from his own mount, his boots hitting the ground with a jarring thud.
