Edward’s jaw tightened. He moved closer, using his height to intimidate. “You will stay away from him.”
“Excuse me?”
“You remind him of the past. Of the parents he lost. Your presence will only cause him pain.”
“Yes, clearly he was in great pain as he clung to me,” Sophia retorted. “Or perhaps I remind him of happier times. He needs someone familiar. Someone who knew his mother and father. Someone with more patience than you seem to possess.”
His eyes narrowed. “You know nothing of my patience.”
“I know I found a four-year-old child sobbing in your entrance hall while you barked orders at him to sit down.”
The words landed like a blow. Edward’s face darkened. “You have no right to judge how I handle my nephew.”
“And you have no right to keep me from him.” Sophia stepped closer, matching his intensity. “I am not some stranger off the street. I loved Jane like a sister; I love Oliver like a nephew. I will not abandon him simply because you find my presence inconvenient.”
“Inconvenient?” A harsh laugh escaped him. “You wander the most dangerous streets in London at four in the morning. You appear in dark alleys surrounded by cutthroats. And now you show up at my door expecting me to trust you with a grieving child?”
“You were in that same alley.” Sophia tilted her chin. “At that same hour. Doing what, exactly?”
His mouth snapped shut.
“How curious.” She folded her arms. “The Duke of Heatherwell prowls the streets at night, and he dares to lecture me about propriety. We are both hypocrites, Your Grace. The only difference is that I admit it.”
They stood close now, too close. Sophia became aware of the heat radiating from his body, the scent of leather and something woodsy beneath it. His blue eyes burned into hers, and for a moment, the anger within her shifted into something else. Something that made her pulse quicken.
He stepped back. His expression shuttered. “Leave.”
“I will not abandon Oliver.”
“Leave. Now.” He strode to the door and yanked it open.
Sophia paused at the threshold. “That boy has lost everything. His parents. His home. And now he is trapped in a house with a man who does not know the first thing about caring for a child.” She held his gaze. “I pray you learn quickly, Your Grace. Before he loses what little remains of his heart.”
She swept out before he could respond.
The crack of bone against flesh echoed through the cellar.
Edward drove his fist into his opponent’s ribs, felt the satisfying give of muscle and sinew. The man grunted and staggered back, blood streaming from his nose. Around them, the crowd at the Crossed Keys roared their approval.
It was not enough.
Lady Sophia’s words echoed in his skull, louder than the jeering crowd, more painful than any blow.A man who does not know the first thing about caring for a child.He blocked a punch and countered with a vicious hook.Before he loses what little remains of his heart.
His opponent crumpled to the sawdust.
Edward stood over him, chest heaving, knuckles split and bleeding. The rage still burned, unsatisfied. He wanted to hit something else. Someone else. Wanted to exhaust himself until he could no longer think, no longer remember the look on Oliver’s face when he screamed for his mother.
Grimsby appeared with the purse.
Edward waved it away. “The orphanage.”
He dressed and climbed the stairs to the street. The night air hit his face, cold and sharp, clearing the fog of violence from his mind. He walked without direction, letting his feet carry him through the darkened streets.
Movement caught his eye.
He slowed, pressing into the shadow of a doorway. Ahead, a small printing office spilled light onto the cobblestones. A figure stood near the entrance, cloaked and hooded, speaking with a lean man in spectacles.
The wind gusted. The hood blew back.
