“Agreed. But when you are lovelorn and distracted, you are.”
Lovelorn.His stomach clenched. Surely he was not? Oh, who did he think he was fooling? Of course he was. Desperately, deeply in love with the same woman who had laughed at his offer of marriage and disappeared from his life for years, taking their child with her. What was the matter with him?
But he frowned, and never mind that his expression was shielded. “Am I that obvious?”
“Christ, yes.”
Sidney tore off his mask, and this time, he gave in to his temper and tossed it to the floor. His fingers tightened on the hilt of his foil. “Lovelorn. Yes. I am that. Fuck.” He dropped his foil, ripped off his gloves, raked his fingers through his hair. “Hell. Arse. Shite.”
Northwich’s gaze narrowed. “Have you been drinking?”
“No, damn it.” Indignation speared him. “Why the hell does everyone always assume I have been over-imbibing?”
“Because you often have.”
“Fuck you, Northwich.” He glared. Nothing was unfolding the way it was meant to unfold. Not his marriage to Julianna, not this fencing bout, and not this bloody conversation.
“Do you still want another bout?”
“I see what you did there.” It was his turn to quirk a brow and study his friend. “Seeking to distract me because you fear the possibility of my victory and your crushing defeat?”
“This is not about fencing, is it?”
Sidney sighed. “No.”
Nor had it ever been.
Everything, since the first time he had laid eyes on Lady Julianna Somerset in the library at Farnsworth Hall, had been about her.
And it still was.
“You are in love with your wife,” Northwich observed, and not for the first time.
On this occasion, however, Sidney did not argue. His pride had fled him some time last night when his gorgeous vixen of a wife had been in his bed. “Yes.”
“Then why are you here, demanding another sound trouncing?”
Why indeed? The answer was complex. Laden with meaning he had no wish to examine.
He swallowed. “She does not love me.”
“Then love her enough for the both of you.” Northwich shook his head. “Believe me, old friend. Of all the priceless possessions a man can amass, love is by far the most rare and coveted. Treasure it when you have it. Seize it when you do not. The rest will come.”
The devil?
Was Northwich giving him romantic advice?
“How should you know?” he demanded. “You are a dedicated bachelor.”
“Not because I choose it,” he said cryptically. “Go home to your wife, Shelly. Woo the hell out of her until you have her in the palm of your hand. Then woo her some more. Stop to remind yourself how fortunate you are. And bloody well woo her again.”
With that, the Duke of Northwich turned on his heel and stalked away. Sidney watched his friend go, thinking he had almost seemed shaken, as if he, too, was tormented by the same emotions haunting Sidney. By love.
Northwich in love? It seemed preposterous. However, the more he thought over their recent interactions, it also seemed possible.
And Northwich was right.
Sidney had nothing left to lose. He was married to Julianna. She was the mother of his daughter. She already owned his heart. Nothing had changed that—not time, not her defection, not distance. He was, and had always been, hers.
