Free Lord of Regrets by Sabrina Darby Page A

events.
    “It’s my family’s motto,” Marcus was telling Leona. “Our family actually.”
    Our family.
    During her pregnancy, she had dreamed of Marcus finding her, apologizing, and begging her forgiveness. She had dreamed of a family. She had never truly thought of herself as a mistress. Not until that last day when he had called her a whore.
    And only minutes ago, she had let him kiss her like that––had fallen into his arms as if she didn’t care, as if there weren’t Leona to protect, as if there weren’t her own broken heart to keep from shattering further.
    She was confused and she knew it. The confusion angered her. How could she let him come into her life now, as if the past five years hadn’t mattered? How could she let herself forget?
    Watching him with Leona was an extra dagger to the heart, because her daughter, while cautious, was curious about him. And she turned away from her mother’s hugs and stared at her with eyes full of accusation. It was unfair.
    Life was unfair.
    “It’s too warm to build a snowman.” Natasha marched forward to take Leona’s arm. “It’s time to go in and wash up.”
    “But…”
    “I said it is time to go in, Leona.”
    “Go on, do as your mother says,” Marcus said. “She’s right. Our Cyclops’s stomach is melting already.”
    It was a great exaggeration, but Leona nodded as if it were evident and ran into the house. Wordlessly, Natasha followed her. And though she didn’t look, she knew that Marcus followed as well.

Chapter Nine
    After his visit the day before, Marcus knew Natasha would eventually say yes. He had never really doubted that. They had been apart due to his foolishness and cowardice, and now that he had found her, they could be together as they’d been meant to be.
    When the carriage rolled to a stop outside the church, Marcus descended. A handful of villagers stared at him.
    It made him long for home, for Sussex with its familiar towns and neighbors. Even long for London, where in that bustling international metropolis, everyone and no one was a stranger.
    The rector was by the door, greeting people as they arrived. His stare was far less welcoming than the last time they had met. Duncan clearly saw himself as a rival for Natasha’s affection. Although the rotund parson hardly seemed much competition.
    Just when Marcus thought they would stay stuck at the congested entrance to the church forever, making strained chitchat with his supposed rival for Natasha’s affections, the arrival of more of the congregation eased their way forward. As his party made their way to the first pew, he found no sign of Natasha inside.
    Where was she? If she was now as pious as she seemed to claim, surely she would be there. A handful of parishioners entered, followed by the closing of the heavy church doors and the rector’s steady steps up the aisle. With a prickling of sensation in his skin, Marcus realized she would not be coming. He felt at a loss, empty, and the four walls of the church became a prison. There existed, as always, the possibility that she had fled. But the memory of her near submission the night before was strong within him. More likely, as he knew she had no carriage, it was the still difficult conditions of the roads that kept her home. Surely his man would have come to find him if she had taken flight.
    The rector, having gained the pulpit, seemed to peruse the congregation, until his attention rested upon Marcus and then quickly moved on.
    His lips set grimly, Marcus settled into the hard pew and counted the minutes until the service ended.
    Two hours later, he traversed the snow-packed road back toward Natasha. His thoughts were full of wind and snow and the scent of horse. He was traveling on instinct, on the need to see her face at least once this day. By the time he dismounted, that instinct had grown into wild emotion and lodged in his throat. When she opened the door, he simply stared at her, wordless.
    She stared at him in