He drew a hand across his face, feeling rooted to the spot. Grief. Shame, guilt. Embarrassment. He wanted to flee, but he wanted to bury his face in her shoulder and weep.
Eventually he allowed himself to be limply dragged. "Received some awful news." He frowned instantly at that; it sounded like his horse had thrown a shoe or some such peccadilo. "Couldn't stand to be around anyone." He still wasn't looking at her. Marguerite, he thought, can you help me.