The Misbehaving Marquess Read Online Free PDF Page B

heavy clump of mud to the side. The strain on his muscles felt wonderful after the frustration of the night before.
    Pent up as a rutting bull in a pen, that was he.
    With a great shove, he buried the blade again. The mud made a sucking sound as he hauled out another load. The earth didn’t want to give up. Jamie knew how that felt, the stubbornness of clinging to muck and mire. He had let himself remain angry at Cat for five years now.
    Holding a grudge was exhausting work. Maybe Cat was right, maybe it was past time he let it go.
    With a sigh, he dredged out another clump of muck and threw it onto the growing pile.
    He’d spent so many years reviewing the reasons he had to be angry with his wife—and they were good reasons—that he’d not even considered the possibility of forgiveness. He was like a ship sailing on one course for so long, he’d forgotten how to tack. An entire world waited on the other side of the horizon if he just dared to move the rudder.
    Certainly, he’d wanted to set his course in Cat’s direction last night. Good Lord, but she was all temptation wrapped in soft silk, her hair down and golden in the firelight.
    Annulment, his arse. He wasn’t letting Cat go.
    “It will take a right mount o’tile to drain the field, milord.”
    Dragging his thoughts back to the damp morning, Jamie glanced over at his land steward, Mr. Bourne. The man was short, with a brimmed cap and boots that went over his knees. He was half covered in mud.
    Jamie leaned against the handle of his shovel. “Then we will fire more tile.” It seemed so simple, his plan to turn this swampland into arable fields. Change felt not only possible, but nearly guaranteed of success. What if his marriage could follow the same path? “Let’s lay the first tile, shall we? I’d like to test our theory.”
    “Robert and I can do it, sir.” Mr. Bourne looked over his shoulder to where his boy waited with the horse and wagon. Three tiles were stacked within. “It’s a tricky thing.”
    Jamie didn’t argue. The land steward had struggled enough that morning, watching the Marquess of Forster dig in the mud. He stepped back from the hole he’d dug and let the man and his boy take over.
    Next harvest, this field could be waist high with wheat.
    And what of him? Could he leave behind his muddy past and turn to the future? He certainly wanted to. Needed to, if he wanted to be fair to Cat. She was right; he should set her free if he couldn’t learn to forgive her. Lingering resentment was no life for her, for him, for their family.
    He sighed and looked over the fields. Late morning mist rose above the muddy acres and tangled in the trees. Birds chattered and argued and sang for the pure joy of singing. It was an undeniably British scene.
    Like a breath of wind that blows over the meadow and finds the exposed places on one’s skin, it caught up to him, all in a rush.
    He loved this land. He loved the roll of the hills to the west. The meadowlarks in the fields. Even the fish in the pond. These were his creatures. Not by some sense of entitlement or ownership, but by history. By the love engendered by a youth spent out of doors exploring these green miles.
    He had watched the sun rise over the snow of the Alps, blaze across the shining expanse of the desert, and set through the thick canopy of the jungle. But the beauty had not stirred his heart, not like this.
    This was his home. His soil. He was born of this earth and would be buried within it.
    A rider at the far edge of the field caught his attention. Cat, riding alone, regal as a queen. He was ridiculously glad to see her. Lifting a muddy hand, he waved. A wide arc of his arm that she couldn’t fail to see.
    She was part of his home, too.
    But she did not stop. Just rode on ahead in the direction of the village. Still avoiding him, then.
    All at once, he wanted to see her. To try to change. To try to forgive her and move toward their future together.
    “Can you finish up here?”