“How was Hadleigh during the shoot?” she asked with care.
Wick inwardly cursed his wife’s brother for causing her pain. At the same time, he felt a stab of empathy for Hadleigh: he knew what it was like to have made grievous mistakes. To carry the burden of shame and regret and to long for redemption. In Wick’s case, he’d found his absolution with Beatrice.
In Hadleigh’s case, redemption still seemed a long way off. Wick didn’t think Bea’s brother was a bad man at the core—Hadleigh had, after all, come to Bea’s rescue during her adventures last year—but the fellow did seem…lost.
“Your brother was himself,” Wick said honestly. “Crapulous and withdrawn.”
“Idowish he would drink less,” Bea burst out.
Wick thought privately that drink might not be Hadleigh’s only vice. While Bea’s brother was blessed with the family’s good looks, he had a gauntness that Wick associated with opium users. Years of dissolute behavior had also aged Hadleigh beyond his twenty-four years.
Not wanting to add to Bea’s worries, Wick said quietly, “Your brother has demons, and only he can decide how to manage them.”
“I know.” Bea’s gaze darkened. “But I wish his wife were a better influence. I have my personal reasons for disliking her, as well you know, but they fade in comparison to the harm she is doing Hadleigh. She is the reason they are the scandal of theton.The way she plays on his jealousy, goads him to wild behavior, and manipulates him…it makes me quite ill to think of it.”
“Then don’t.” Wick framed his wife’s face between his palms. “Your brother is a grown man and must live and die by his own decisions.”
Bea sighed. “I do wish I could talk some sense into Hadleigh, but after the years of estrangement, our relationship doesn’t allow for that. I don’t knowhowto talk to him anymore.”
The sadness on her face tightened Wick’s chest. If there was anything he could do in service of his beloved’s happiness, he would do it. Without hesitation.
He cleared his throat. “Would you likemeto?”
“You?” Bea looked startled. “What would you say to him?”
“Probably something along the lines of,would you care for a game ofbilliards?”
His wife snorted. “Thatis the advice you’re going to give him?”
“Sweeting, gentlemen don’t have heartfelttête-à-têtes. We drink, gamble, and play sports together. What I can offer your brother is a healthy version of that camaraderie. At the very least, it will be better than him brooding on his own and drinking in the corner.”
“Thank you.” Smiling tremulously, she kissed his jaw. “Have I told you how much I adore you?”
“Not today.” He slid his hand between her thighs, and the feel of her warm, flowering flesh brought renewed heat to his loins. “But you could show me…again.”
“Wick, we have to change for supper…”
When her words melted into a moan, he smiled against her lips. “I’ll make it quick.”
3
Two days before Hogmanay
“Papa, is Aunt Emma a queen?”
Ambrose Kent smiled at his six-year-old daughter Sophie. She had her small mittened hand tucked in his, her blonde curls peeping out from beneath her cap. Her fur-trimmed navy wool coat was a miniature replica of the one worn by Marianne, who held Sophie’s other hand. The three of them were enjoying a leisurely morning stroll through the snow-dusted grounds of Strathmore Castle.
“No, poppet,” he replied. “Emma is a duchess, not a queen. Why do you ask?”
“Because she lives in a castle,” Sophie said, her amber eyes wide. “And Uncle Alaric has as many servants as a king.”
Chuckling, Ambrose exchanged a look with his wife over their youngest child’s head.Out of the mouths of babes…
“Would you like to live in a castle one day?” he asked.
Sophie appeared to think it over, swinging her hand in his. Then she shook her head. “I don’t care where I live…as long as it is with you, Mama, and Edward.”
His daughter’s innocent words caused an unexpected pang in Ambrose’s chest. Gazing down at Sophie’s angelic face, he had a sudden irrational desire to freeze time. To keep her and his family exactly where they were and preserve this moment of happiness.
