His wife had given him that love.
In return, he’d given her duplicity.
She was right: he’d betrayed their marriage first, by not being honest about his intentions regarding her father’s bank. In his fury last night, he hadn’t even told her about De Villier, hadn’t corrected her erroneous assumption that he hadn’t deceived her for money and power, but for...his honor. The honor she accused him of not having.
Perhaps she was right. He hadn’t been honorable toward her, had taken her love and devotion for granted. He closed his eyes briefly, the heat of remorse prickling his eyelids. Tears he hadn’t cried since age nine.
A knock sounded on the door, and he quickly swiped his sleeve across his eyes.
Clearing his throat, he said hoarsely, “Come in.”
Murray sauntered in, looking as fresh as a damned daisy in his grey suit and yellow cravat, his bronzed hair gleaming. He sprawled into the chair on the other side of the desk and flicked a glance at the empty whisky decanter. “Looks like someone dipped too deep last evening.”
The chipper tones made Adam aware of his splitting headache.
“For God’s sake, keep your voice down,” he said tersely.
“That’s your pickled brain shouting at you not me.” The other slid a silver flask across the desk. “Here, try this.”
Taking the flask and uncapping it, Adam grimaced at the released fumes. “What is it?”
“A personal remedy that I keep handy at all times. Wickham Murray’s Cure for All Ails—or Cureforthe Cure of All Ails, rather. Drink up like a good lad.”
Adam would have refused the cheeky bastard, but he needed to clear his head. He needed to find a way to fix things with Gabriella. But what if she couldn’t forgive him for his years of neglect, for the secrets he’d kept, for scheming to take over her father’s bank? His gut clenched. If he tried to explain to her why his retribution was important to him, would she understand? What if he had lost her trust and her love for good?
“For God’s sake, it’s the hair of the dog, not a visit to the tooth-drawer,” Murray said, clearly misinterpreting the cause of Adam’s expression.
Adam downed the concoction; it blazed through his system.
“I’d wager your head feels better already, doesn’t it?”
He coughed, surprised when fire didn’t come out of his mouth. “Only because the hole your ‘remedy’ burned in my throat is distracting me from the headache.”
“Whatever works, I always say.” Murray studied him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“About why you’re wearing yesterday’s clothes and clearly spent the night at the office getting as soused as a sailor on leave.”
Adam managed a quelling stare. “Mind your own bloody business.”
“Fine.” The other man shrugged. “Then I’ll just have to come to the obvious conclusion. The one that every single clerk in the office has also arrived at.”
“What conclusion is that?” He wondered if he had the wherewithal to strangle the other.
“That you’re in hot water with your lovely wife.”
The accuracy of the statement struck Adam like a flaming poker to the chest. He was in more than hot water, he thought with burning despair. He was drowning without her.
“Holy hell, how bad is it?” The humor faded from Murray’s voice, his hazel eyes turning serious. “Did she really kick you out of the house?”
“What part of ‘mind your own business’don’t you understand?”
Christ, he wished Murray would stop prying. He felt as if his self-discipline had abandoned him. He needed to be left alone, to think things out. How was he going to satisfy his honor without losing his wife?
“When have I ever minded my own business? Admit it, my nosiness is part of my charm, and why I’ve grown on you despite your futile efforts to find me annoying.”
“Who said my efforts were futile?”
