“I would suggest that you leave Marshfield.”
“This is my home! “ he protested.
“Not anymore. If you care for you own hide, as I know you do, you would do best to take it elsewhere, out of my sight.”
Marcus shifted his grip on the whip. “Otherwise, I won’t be held liable for my actions.”
Henry’s eyes shifted momentarily to the whip. “I believe my uncle has requested that I move in to his home with him. He’s threatened to cut me from his will if I chose not to do so.”
“I think that would be an excellent idea,” Marcus nodded. He then turned his attention back to the road and drove onward to the inn.
It was another week of joy with Marcus—riding the estate with him, sitting and talking over the tea tray through the afternoon, chatting at the table long after dinner had been cleared away—
