It was too muchfor him.
He had half a mind to march up there, step between them, and make it abundantly clear that Violet was his wife. But he remained rooted to the spot, sulking in the realization that while she wore his name and title, she was not truly his.
And that, in large part, had been his own doing.
“What’s going on with you, chap?” Ambrose remarked, his voice annoyingly casual. “You seem a bit… troubled.”
Nicholas shot him a withering glare.
“You’ve been glaring at the poor man as if he’s committed some grave offense by existing in the same room as Violet,” Ambrose continued, laughing now.
“He might as well have,” Nicholas muttered, glancing back at the two of them.
They were still talking. Whatcould he have to say that was so engaging?
“Oh, I think you’re being a bit much. He’s only chatting with her. It’s not as though he’s?—”
“Enough,” Nicholas snapped. He did not even wish to consider the possibility of anything else.
Ambrose raised his hands in mock surrender. “Just observing.”
Nicholas’ gaze returned to Violet. The Duke had moved slightly closer though still maintaining a polite distance. Violet nodded attentively at whatever he was saying.
The jealousy that flared in Nicholas was sharp and immediate. It was irrational, he knew, but knowing did little to temper the storm brewing inside him.
“I’m staying,” he muttered abruptly, his decision made.
Ambrose arched a brow. “Oh? And all it took was for Evan to strike up a conversation with your beloved?”
Nicholas’ lips curved into a humorless smile. “I’ve decided to torture myself, yes.”
Ambrose chuckled again, clearly amused by the unraveling of his typically composed friend. “Then I shall at least accompany you,” he nudged. “But between the both of us, I think you’re the better suited candidate for Violet.”
Nicholas glared at him. “There isnoother candidate. I am her husband.”
“You say there’s no other candidate, but forgive me, old friend, your words hardly hold weight. You’ve chosen to live away from her.”
“I don’t need to discuss my choices again.”
“Oh, but you do,” Ambrose said, his tone maddeningly light. “You see, a husband in name only doesn’t get to act jealous when another man so much as glances at his wife.”
He had not asked to deal with any of this.
“I need air,” he growled, cutting the conversation short.
His boots thudded heavily against the floor as he turned on his heel and made his way toward the balcony doors, his mind a tangle of frustration and self-loathing. He needed to breathe, to escape the suffocating atmosphere of the room—and her.
Just before he departed fully, his gaze went to her again. But this time, as if drawn by an invisible force, her eyes lifted and met his as well.
Her lips parted slightly, a small gasp escaping her. The world seemed to halt, the noise of the gathering fading to nothing. Her hand rose to clutch the edge of the mantelpiece for support.
Then it happened.
Violet’s face lost its color, her knees buckling slightly as she swayed forward. Before Nicholas could move, Evan stepped forward, his hand outstretched to steady her.
That was the final straw.It ignited something primal within Nicholas. Every rational thought evaporated, replaced by a sharp, possessive instinct that propelled him across the room.
“Get your hands off my wife.”
