“So I did.” Sam couldn’t manage to hide his disappointment.
The clerk was back again, his message for Lucas this time. “Your intended sends her apologies, Mr. Holt, for not returning. I don’t think she’s feeling well.”
“Where is she?”
“Waiting for you out front in your carriage.”
“Hope it wasn’t anything Fiona said,” Sam offered, and the three men stood up to leave.
Lucas was just angry enough to say, “Undoubtedly it was, and you and I both know why. I’m sick and tired of it. She’s your wife now. Whatever she and I had once is over. See that she finally understands that, Sam. Because if I have to, I’ll damn well wring her neck—especially after tonight.”
Lucas left Sam to explain that to Emery any way he chose to tell it.
Twenty-three
Sharisse couldn’t stop crying. It was such a silly thing to do, something she hadn’t done since her disastrous affair with Antoine. But wasn’t her behavior tonight just as stupid? Never in all her life had she acted like that. She was afraid she didn’t know herself anymore, afraid this impetuous adventure was changing her in ways she couldn’t stop. Certainly that was the reason for these tears that wouldn’t stop.
Lucas found her like that, her face hidden in her hands and her shoulders shaking. She was crying soundlessly. If she had been wailing loudly he might have thought it was a female ploy for attention, but this silent suffering disturbed him. A feeling long dormant rose up to overwhelm him, the instinct to protect and defend his own.
“Sharisse?”
Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice. She had hoped to hear him, to have time to compose herself. Why had he come upon her so silently? She was mortified. She’d meant to keep her face averted, too, and conceal her left cheek. Yet here she was facing him, and what she hadn’t wanted to happen was happening. His expression changed from concern to unmistakable fury as he saw the vivid mark on her cheek.
For a breathless moment, Sharisse wasn’t sure who his anger was directed at. Then he exploded. “I’ll kill her!”
“But I’m not hurt, Lucas,” Sharisse assured him.
“Then why are you crying so hard?”
“Because of what I did. Oh, it was just awful!” Fresh tears erupted. “I shouldn’t have followed her. I should have listened to you. But I never thought she would attack me.”
He sat down next to her and pulled her into his arms. “Fiona lives by a different set of rules than you do, honey. I thought you realized that.”
“How could I? I’m accustomed to civilized women. I only meant to find out why she was baiting me and to let her know my tolerance was at an end. But when she slapped me, oh, I don’t know what came over me. I…I hit her back, Lucas. I’m so sorry.”
He set her away from him, amazed. “Your instinct was only natural,” he told her softly. “It’s nothing to cry over and certainly no more than Fiona deserved.”
“But you don’t understand,” she cried. “I think I broke her nose!” Shocked, he burst out laughing. “Lucas Holt, it’s not funny!”
“God, yes, yes it is,” he laughed. “She insulted you, hit you, and you’re crying because she got more than she bargained for. It’s funny, believe me.”
“But a broken nose, Lucas.”
“Did you hear the bone break?”
“Well, no. But she was bleeding. And she looked at me as if I’d killed her.”
“Well, of course,” he said. “She wasn’t expecting the civilized city girl to fight back. Stop fretting over it, honey. If she was hurt that badly, she’d have screamed the hotel down.”
“Do you really think so?” she asked hopefully.
“Yes. I think so.”
Sharisse brought out her handkerchief from her reticule. She was calmer.
“I’m sorry I left so rudely. I hope you extended my apologies.”
“I did more than that where Sam was concerned. The man should have more control over his wife,” he said roughly. “Why’d she slap you?”
