Hell, after yesterday, she could be carrying his child.
You stupid, stupid arsehole. Why did you not exercise some control and some caution and at least withdraw before spending inside her like a callow youth with his first woman?
He pressed his fingers to his temples in an attempt to stave off the threat of a skull-crushing headache.
“It would seem Lady Isolde saw you in an embrace with the widowed Lady Anglesey,” Wycombe said quietly. “Late last night in the hall. She says the two of you kissed and then you pulled the countess into your bedchamber. She is understandably shaken by what she saw.”
Fuck.
Everything inside him felt as if it had suddenly seized.
She had seen Beatrice kissing him in the hall. And she had seen him angrily pulling her into his chamber so he could be certain no one saw them alone together.
Only, he had been too late. Because the last person at Barlowe Park he would have wanted to see the two of them togetherhad.
And now, she was leaving him.
“I can explain,” he said hoarsely.
“Christ,” Wycombe muttered, shaking his head, disgust evident. “I was hoping she was mistaken.”
“She was mistaken in how she perceived what she saw.” He winced as he realized how bloody foolish that sounded and how guilty he must appear. “You must think me the world’s greatest cad, but I can assure you that nothing that happened between Beatrice and I was romantic in nature. Perhaps on her part, but not mine.”
In truth, he believed Beatrice was jealous and desperate to sink her claws into him so that she would not be replaced as the Countess of Anglesey. The title had been everything she had ever wanted. Never him. Certainly not his love.
“I have no wish to be a part of this,” Wycombe said. “This is between you and Lady Isolde.”
“Not if she refuses to speak to me.” He raked his hands through his hair, desperation soaring through him. “I am not going to allow her to run away from me like this, Wycombe. This is a mistake. A misunderstanding.”
“I am afraid the decision is not yours,” his friend said, uncompromising. “It is the lady’s. I am merely telling you this in my role as her sister’s husband. She is quite firm that she will not speak to you and has no wish to see you.”
“But you know me, damn you,” he growled, frustrated at this different, cold side of his old friend he had never seen before. “You have been my friend longer than you have been her sister’s husband.”
“That is true,” Wycombe agreed, some of his sternness fading. “But it is also true that I know your past. You are a Lothario and you cannot deny that. In the past, it was not out of the ordinary for you to be bedding three different women at once. All in the same bed.”
His ears went hot. “Yes it is true that I have done some things in my past that I regret. I am no innocent virgin, and I’ll not pretend otherwise. But damn it, Wycombe, I would never bed my brother’s widow. Notever, let alone when we are beneath the same roof as my future wife, with family and friends gathered for the bloody wedding.”
His friend sighed, the sound heavy. “I know you are not a heartless blackguard. But I also know you were thoroughly soused last night. You admit that you embraced Lady Anglesey?”
He ground his molars so hard he feared his teeth would crack as he tried to tamp down his rage. He should have damn well banished Beatrice when he had first had the notion upon their arrival.
“She threw herself at me,” he snapped. “I was afraid someone would see us and think the worst. And yes, I was in my cups last night, but I would never be so far gone that I would betray Izzy like that. I thought you knew me better than that.”
Wycombe had the grace to look embarrassed. “Forgive me. My wife is terribly upset on her sister’s behalf, and I cannot bear to see her hurting. I promised Ellie I would bring Izzy to Brinton Manor, and I intend to honor my word to her.”
“I will forgive you if you take me to her before you go,” he said, because Izzy was all that mattered. Their future was hanging tenuously in the balance by nothing more than a rapidly fraying thread. “Take me to her now.”
“Thank Christ,” Wycombe said, sounding relieved. “That is precisely what I hoped you would say. Otherwise, my darling wife would not be pleased with me.”
“Damn you, Wycombe,” he growled, “was this some manner of test?”
His friend shook his head. “I love you as a friend and I love Izzy as a sister. My loyalty is to the both of you. This is a deuced precarious position to be in, you know.”
It had to be a predicament, being caught between his duty to his family and his loyalty to his friend.
“I do not doubt it,” Zachary allowed, his irritation fading.
“Izzy has been waiting in the carriage for a quarter hour now, expecting to leave. Go to her,” Wycombe urged. “Go to her and explain everything.”
