Sleeping Engagement

XXXIII. The Mentor

Margaret stared at Cole and sighed. That must have been the tenth time she did. "You are insane," she said, running a thumb over a swollen cheek. "I told you to wait. Why did you come here?" His smile did not even look like a smile. His mouth was swollen as well. "Did you tell Benedict? About Leah?"

He nodded, took her hand in his. "I let him read her letters."

"Oh, Cole," Margaret said, bending down to level their gaze. She leaned her forehead against his. "You just made something easy so much difficult."

"What do you mean?" he whispered, his lips brushing against hers. "What's easy and why is it difficult?"

"Saying yes," she said with a bleak smile.

"I don't think that's too difficult, Meg," he said.

"It is when I have to leave for Sheills."

He stiffened. "You're leaving?"

She pulled away and stood. "Yes."

"For the social season?"

"Yes," she lied. Calan Haverston was waiting for her there. However, her next words were true. "With my brothers. My mother and sisters are also on their way."

Again, she let out a heavy sigh. "You have to go home."

He blinked at her in confusion. "Meg—"

"You have work to do."

"Yes. And I'm working on it."

"And Fiona needs you."

He reached for her hand and pulled her closer to him. "I also believe Fiona needs you."

With a scoff, Margaret drew her hand away from his hold. "She needs a mother, Cole, and you are suggesting I become one. And although I do not find any problem with that, it's rather unfair that you would use the situation to—"

"—And I need you more," he continued, looking up at her with one eye swollen more than it was earlier. His one good eye desperately searched hers. "Do you know how many times I had saddled my horse in the past years? Multiple times, I even managed to pack a satchel or two. Every time with every intent to go to you. But then I would be a coward. Reason would tell me I could never have you back."

Her heart seemed to have stopped inside her chest, her breath caught in her throat. And her face crumpled, her lips trembled with tears.

"Don't cry, darling." His voice was strained. His arms wrapped around her waist and he rested his forehead on her midriff. Then, his shoulders shook as he cried silently. Margaret cried with him. She ran her fingers through his hair, down his nape, his shoulders. "I'll wait."

Margaret freed herself from his hold and came down to cup his face in her hands, finding it wet with tears. She kissed his mouth lightly, her eyes closed.

"When you're ready, I still have the special license I acquired ten years ago," he whispered against her mouth.

Margaret's heart swelled. Her chuckle mingled with her tears. "I don't think it's still valid, my lord," she whispered.

His swollen lips allowed a small smile. "Don't underestimate the Lord of Ashmore, Meg."

"Then hold on to it," she said. Forehead pressed against his, she closed her eyes. "Wait."

His shoulders sagged as he let out a dramatic sigh of disappointment. "I'll have to work for that yes, do I?"

Something flashed before her eyes that alarmed him, but she tearfully laughed it away. "I'll have to make it difficult for you, too, my lord."