Fuck.
He clenched his fists and pivoted to take in the most unwanted arrival. Sidmouth entered the chamber and bowed formally. Jack suppressed a bitter laugh at the action. As if he had not smashed his fist into the bastard’s nose just yesterday. As if the man were not attempting to steal his own damned wife from him.
As if he had not cuckolded him.
But no, he would not think of that. He would not think of the lovers Nell had taken. It served no purpose, for he knew the truth of his feelings for her, the terrible depths: in spite of what she had done to him, in spite of what she thought of him, he would love her forever. Nothing could change that. Not time, not distance, not bloody Sidmouth, not anyone, nor anything.
He offered a curt return bow, and Nell dipped into a curtsy though her feet were surely aching her.
“Sidmouth,” he bit out.
“Needham,” his former friend acknowledged, equally solemn.
The viscount’s nose was swollen and discolored, the only imperfection on the man’s otherwise flawless face. Sidmouth had been a quiet lad, given to romantic notions and poetry. Where Jack had been involved in athletics, Sidmouth had been absorbed in the arts. Still, they had been friends, because Jack appreciated both the physical and the aesthetic.
Their differences seemed glaring, here in the bright light of day, in the midst of the library, the woman they both loved standing between them. Jack was dark, as his mother had been, with his father’s cold, green eyes. The viscount was fair. Golden.Good God, he matched Nell, quite as if the two were a pair.
“Tom,” Nell greeted him warmly, her smile genuine, her affection apparent.
“How is your nose?” he asked Sidmouth pointedly.
Sidmouth’s gaze broke away from Nell at last, landing upon Jack, and in that dark-brown gaze, he detected a great deal of resentment, fury, pent-up rage. “Passable. No thanks to you, Needham.”
“I owe you far more than a broken nose,” he returned, meaning those words.
He was not a man who ordinarily indulged in violence. Indeed, he could count on one hand the number of times he had ever thrown a punch, unless it was in a good-natured sparring match. But being in the presence of Viscount Sidmouth made him desperate.
“I have nothing but the utmost respect for Lady Needham,” Sidmouth told him calmly.
Too calmly.
Damn the bastard.Could he not at least lose some of his confidence?
“As I have nothing but respect and warmest regards for you, Tom,” Nell said, offering her lover a warm smile.
The sort she had once given Jack.
The sort he wanted her to bestow upon him again.
This was deuced untenable. He made certain to keep his stare trained upon Sidmouth rather than Nell. What he was about to suggest would require every modicum of bravado he possessed.
“I will be clear with you, Sidmouth. You seem to persist in the hope that I am amenable to a divorce from my wife. I am not. If I were to sue for divorce, the process would take time and involve considerable scandal for us all. Is that truly what you wish?”
“She does not want to be married to you,” Sidmouth returned. “Do you truly wish to force a woman to remain tied to you when she loves another?”
“Ah, but has she told you she loves you, Sidmouth?” he could not resist needling the other man.
This, too, required mettle. He was assuming Nell had not spoken the words to her lover because she had hesitated in her response.
And Jack could not deny the smug pleasure washing over him at the manner in which Sidmouth’s calm dissipated.
“This conversation serves no purpose,” the viscount snapped.
“At last, a subject upon which we can agree.” He did his utmost to inject calm into his voice, into his mien.
“Stop this,” Nell interrupted then, giving them each a quelling look. “You are behaving like children. Needham, I would like some time with my guest.”
“Not a bloody chance,” he growled at his wife.
