It takes so much to earn even a grin from him. And she gets one so easily.
Gregory stood. “And I play for my wife every week. Come, Loretta, let us not impose further. You’ve had too much sherry.”
He took her arm and guided her firmly toward the door, casting an apologetic glance over his shoulder.
When the door shut, April rose.
Theo watched her. “You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
He caught her wrist, drawing her close. She stumbled slightly and landed against his chest, his arm around her waist.
His heartbeat is strong. Steady. And mine… mine is a traitor.
“What is the matter?”
She shook her head. “Nothing.”
He did not release her. His gaze searched hers, deep and quiet.
Why do I feel like I am losing a battle I did not know I had begun?
“Good night, Theo.”
She slipped from his grasp and walked out, her chest tight with what she could not name.
Theo raised his hand to knock on April’s door. His knuckles hovered inches from the wood, but he stilled, his hand dropping to his side with a quiet sigh.
The air between them had grown brittle, like the crust atop a frozen stream—beautiful and fragile, liable to crack at the slightest weight. He knew she was upset. He knew Loretta had something to do with it. But knowing and mending were not the same.
He turned and descended the stairs, the hush of the manor pressing in around him. Stone Hall had never been particularly warm, but tonight, it felt colder still, stripped of its faint joy.
On his way to the study, he passed Gregory in the hallway, decanter in hand and that ever-ready grin in place.
“Theo,” Gregory called out, lifting the crystal decanter like a prize. “Come, join me for a drink. It is from Vienna, rich as a widow and just as dangerous. Let us toast your marriage and perhaps dull the edges of wedded bliss with a round of chess.”
Theo gave a small nod. “Very well.”
They entered the drawing room where the fire snapped and glowed. Gregory poured the amber liquid into two cut-glass tumblers and gestured toward the chess table near the hearth.
As the pieces began to move, Gregory leaned back and watched the flames dance.
“You chose well,” he said at last. “Your Duchess is as beautiful as she is intelligent. Rare combination, that.”
Theo moved his rook deliberately. “The Roth men always choose well.”
But inwardly, his thoughts stirred. Loretta had once been charming—lovely, gregarious, confident. Now, her beauty remained but there was an acerbic edge to her, a veiled arrogance that clung like heavy perfume.
April would never speak in such veiled barbs. She doesn’t cloak her truths. She lives them.
He stared at the board a moment, his gaze unfocused.
Only one woman mattered now.
“How fared your tour of the Continent?” Theo asked, capturing Gregory’s knight.
Gregory gave a rueful chuckle. “The boys adored it. Especially Florence. Samuel tried to befriend a street performer. Everett chased pigeons through the piazzas. Loretta, however, found nearly every element beneath her. The beds were too hard, the weather too damp, the musicians too loud.”
