Anger for herself.
Anger for her mother.
Anger for Everett.
And most of all, anger for what might have been.
Closetedin the study that had once been his father’s, the chamber in the town house he liked the least and the one which he generally did his utmost to avoid, Everett was attempting to review his correspondence. He was also failing miserably. It had been penance that had driven him here. Regret and resignation, lingering with the need to turn his attention somewhere—anywhere—else.
Each opened epistle captured his attention for no more than two lines, four at the most. Because his mind kept inevitably wandering back to the god-awful events of the night before. To the woman he loved and the man she loved instead of him.
He scowled down at the most recent letter from his steward. Calls for crop rotation and discussions of sheep rearing and rents and walls and fences that needed mending all blurred before him. Instead, he saw her face, upturned and earnest. Saw the love shining in her mysterious dove eyes. Love for another man.
Damn that bloody bastard. He didn’t know what he had. And what a novel sensation it was for Everett to envy a footman. He was a duke who had been born first in line, who had only known wealth and power, who had always managed to buy or charm his way into getting what he wanted. But neither his wealth nor his title could garner him what he most desired.
His wife’s love.
Instead, that had been granted to a man without fortune and without the éclat of an aristocratic name. Everett sighed heavilyand moved the letter to the side, taking out a blank sheet of paper to dash off his response.
Theirs was and had always been a marriage of convenience. He only had himself to blame for lowering his guard and becoming vulnerable. He bloody well ought to have learned his lesson with Lydia. But he hadn’t. Instead, he had fallen desperately in love with a chestnut-haired beauty who was beloved by orphans, who had been strong in the face of her father’s viciousness, who was brave and bold and everything he admired in a woman. A woman who had made it more than apparent she would never love him back.
He began scrawling a hasty missive to his steward, trying to distract himself. Fences, he reminded himself. Fences, crumbling stone walls, sheep breeding. That was what he was meant to address. Not the irreparable state of his marriage.
Not that.
He raked a hand through his hair and threw down his pen, rising from his chair. He couldn’t remain seated. Couldn’t concentrate. Couldn’t write one more damned word.
A knock sounded on his study door, interrupting the tumult within him. He was relieved for the respite. Until he bade the interloper to enter and discovered Sybil hovering in the doorway. She wore a simple blue afternoon gown that hugged her figure, emphasizing her curved waist. Her hair was plaited at her crown, a riot of curls framing her face.
“Am I intruding, Your Grace?” she asked with the cool efficiency of someone who was addressing a stranger instead of her husband.
Yes, she damned well was. But she had already been intruding on his thoughts. She may as well do so in the flesh.
He offered her a curt bow. “Not at all, madam. Come in.”
Unsmiling, she swept forward after closing the door. The subtle scent of her perfume hit him, and he couldn’t controlthe surge of longing that barreled through him like a runaway carriage. He clasped his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for her.
“Thank you.” She stopped with an arm’s length between them, eyeing him warily. “I was hoping we might speak for a moment.”
“What do you require?” he asked, steeling himself for the conversation ahead.
“I wanted you to know that I am leaving London today. I’ll be joining Lady Verity on her visit to the Children’s Foundling Hospital so that I can bid farewell to the children, and then afterward, I shall be going to the train station. I’m returning to Riverdale Abbey.”
He reeled, feeling as if she had struck him. “What do you mean, you are leaving London?”
She straightened her shoulders, her posture going stiff. “I am no longer willing to participate in the bargain you offered me.”
Understanding dawned. Sybil wasn’t merely telling him that she was returning to Riverdale Abbey. She was telling him that she was leavinghim.
He clenched his jaw. “You are saying that you no longer wish to keep your promise? I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You are ever inconstant, darling.”
Her lips compressed. “I have been unfailingly loyal to you, which is more than I can say for Your Grace. You kept me a secret and spent three months wooing heaven knows how many conquests whilst I patiently waited for you to return to me. It was only when I finally realized that you had no intention of returning that I took matters into my own hands and found you.”
“I was a faithful husband to you,” he countered, “in thought, word, and deed. I’ve never touched another woman since we met, and neither have I wanted to.”
Anger roared through him. How dare she accuse him of being unfaithful when her heart belonged to another? From the moment he had seen her, she had consumed him. What a fool he was.
“You, the callous rake,” she scoffed. “You were hosting a bawdy house party. You expect me to believe that you didn’t engage in any of the vulgarities I witnessed?”
