Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [113]
He sighed. In a few hours she’d awaken, and then he’d tell her about Des, his mother and father. Strange. Had her grandfather not set into motion the events that resulted in his father killing himself, he might never have met Asha. Vagaries in the paths of life. It saddened him that everything good in his existence came with a steep price tag. Maybe he could make her see how Fate controlled their destinies, how they were meant to be.
Of that he was firmly convinced. There had never been a woman like Asha, never would be one capable of filling his life, his heart, the way she and her gentle love did. He so admired how she’d come back to The Windmill and worked hard to create this special family community. Not many people understood the quality of caring for others as she did.
He had a smattering of dread that no matter how carefully he explained everything, what drove his brothers, what drove him, there’d be hell to pay. Asha hadn’t been forced to live with the deprivations of his childhood, watched his mother struggle to keep their family together, or how Des drove himself to rise above the poverty that had threatened them. This pampered granddaughter of Sean Montgomerie had never gone to bed hungry. He had, more times than he cared to remember. It’d be hard for Asha, born of a life of indulgence and privilege, to grasp fully what had initially compelled him to go along with Desmond’s plans. Asha wouldn’t take his deception well. Maybe he should take her to meet Des first, let her get to know his brother so she could comprehend how truly obsessed Des was. And why.
Maybe, maybe not. It was too late for alternatives. He had to tell her this morning. The lies stopped now, before he destroyed any hope of a future with her.
Glancing to the closet, he thought of the small, black jeweler’s box in the pocket of his windbreaker—the engagement ring he’d ended up purchasing while in Lexington to buy the Halloween costume. He’d come out of the costumers and was getting into the Shelby when he noticed the jeweler across the street. On impulse, he’d crossed over and went into the upscale store. He wasn’t sure what he wanted, or even why he’d come, but then he’d seen the ring: a yellow diamond, marquis-cut, a nice size at nearly three karats yet not too flashy. Asha wouldn’t like anything flashy. And as he’d stared at the stone, he envisioned it on her finger, knew it was created only for her. For once, he was glad of his fey voice, pleased he’d listened to its proddings.
Of course, he could open their talk by giving Asha the ring and asking her to marry him, bind her to him before telling all. Yeah, right—the coward’s way. Will you marry me, Asha? Oh, by the way, your last name would be Mershan, not Fitzgerald.
“She’s going to kill me,” he said in a whisper. Fear rising in him, he swallowed hard. No, he hadn’t the right to ask Asha to be his wife until he was completely honest with her. Never in his whole life had he been a coward. He’d face the music and then crawl on his belly to kiss her feet if that’s what it would take to make amends. Only, right now being a coward was damned tempting.
The rapping came again, more insistent this time. Obviously it wasn’t someone poking around, but instead, trying to awaken them. The muscles of his abdomen flexed in reaction, preparing to absorb the coming psychic blow. No one would casually disturb them at this hour. Something was wrong.
With one last look at his lady, he padded across the living room to the front door. Pulling the curtain aside, he was startled to see a man in chauffeur’s uniform, the cap off and tucked into the curve of his elbow. The pace of his heart increased in those seconds it took to unlocked the door.
“Mr. Mershan?” the man queried as the door slid to the side.
Jago glanced past the stranger to see a black limousine parked at the end of