Page 76 of Duke of Gold
No,she thought bitterly.He would not be.
CHAPTER 35
Morgan urged his horse onward, the pounding of hooves echoing his own relentless thoughts. The cold wind whipped against his face, but he barely felt it, his focus consumed by the image of an empty house—her absence a palpable ache.
He had arrived in London in a whirlwind of anger and worry after hearing that Margaret had left for Town. Finding their house vacant had only deepened his turmoil, but a few inquiries had revealed her whereabouts: she had lodged with her family.
The knowledge settled heavily in his chest. She had sought refuge among her own instead of retreating to her Town house—a house he had painstakingly arranged for her independence. The bitter irony twisted in his gut. He had driven her to this, had pushed her away in the name of protecting her, yet he had not anticipated the hollowness her absence would leave behind.
His grip tightened on the reins as he swallowed the bitterness rising in his throat. He recalled their last conversation, thecoldness he had forced into his words, and the wounded look in her eyes. He had hurt her, shattered the delicate connection they had begun to build. And in doing so, he had broken himself as well.
Slowing his horse, Morgan turned toward White’s, seeking solace—or perhaps oblivion—in the familiar confines of his club. By the time he was seated in the privacy of his snug, a tumbler of whiskey in hand, his mood had darkened further. The bustling atmosphere of the club, with its pretentious conversations and hollow laughter, grated on his nerves, though he welcomed the solitude of his corner.
He refilled his glass from the decanter before him, the amber liquid catching the dim light. The burn of the liquor as he drank did little to dull the ache in his chest. The future stretched before him, bleak and uninviting, without Margaret by his side. Yet, for all his torment, he resolved to honor what he believed to be her desire for space.
But God help him, he wanted to see her again. Needed to see her.
“What are the odds of finding you back in Town, least of all drinking at the club?” came a familiar, sardonic voice.
Morgan glanced up, his expression darkening further. “Good day to you, Broughton,” he said gruffly, raising his tumbler in a half-hearted salute.
Colin Caldwell, the Marquess of Broughton, arched a brow as he took the seat opposite. “You certainly do not sound like you arehaving a good day,” he observed. “And it is rather surprising to find you here at all. I trust all is well?”
Morgan let out a sigh, unable to summon the energy to deflect the question. “What happened to you?” Colin pressed, leaning forward with a glint of amusement tempered by genuine curiosity.
“Not now, Colin. I am in no mood for one of your inquisitions.”
Colin smirked, leaning back. “That bad, is it? Come now, Giltford, I’ve known you far too long. What have you done this time?”
“Why must it always be assumed that I am the guilty party?” Morgan retorted, though his tone lacked its usual bite.
“Because you are more stubborn than a mule,” Colin replied easily, settling back in his chair.
Morgan’s lips twitched into the faintest semblance of a smile, but it faded as quickly as it appeared. He swirled the whiskey in his glass, staring into its depths as if it might hold the answers he sought. “It was my only option,” he said quietly. “To protect her.”
Colin’s brow furrowed, his expression turning serious. “Protect her from what, exactly? Herself?”
Morgan hesitated, then relented. He recounted the events of the past days, his voice steady but heavy with the burden of hischoices. “She chose to lodge with her family when she arrived in Town,” he said finally, the admission almost inaudible. “It cannot be clearer that she does not wish to see me.”
Colin scoffed, sitting forward. “Do you hear yourself? You practically banished her, Morgan. What did you expect? That she would remain at your beck and call while you walled yourself off like some martyr?”
Morgan stiffened at the rebuke but said nothing.
“She is probably already giving you the spaceyouappear to desire ,” Colin added pointedly, his voice rising slightly. “Did you expect her to come running back to you after you cast her aside?”
Morgan’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, unable to refute the accusation.
Colin leaned forward, his gaze steady. “Do not let a good woman like that slip through your fingers, man. There are not many like her. If you cannot see that, then you deserve the misery you are inflicting on yourself.”
Morgan remained silent, his mind churning with Colin’s words.
“For the love of God, man, admit it,” Colin said, leaning closer. “You’re terrified of her. Of how much you care for her. Because loving her means risking something—risking yourself.”
Morgan flinched, his chest tightening as the truth of the words struck him. He drained his tumbler in one swift motion, setting it down with a clink. “It is not that simple,” he muttered.
“Isn’t it?” Colin challenged, his gaze unwavering. “You love her, Giltford. And that terrifies you.”
Morgan stared at him, the words ringing in his ears. Love her? The thought had haunted him for days, unspoken and unacknowledged. He had told himself he was protecting her, but the truth—raw and undeniable—was that his fear of losing her had driven him to push her away.
