“You startled me.” She pressed her hand to her heart. “Why are you awake at this hour?”
“Paperwork.” The lie came easily. “I lost track of time.”
She studied him, her green eyes searching his face. He wondered what she saw there. Whether she could read the truth beneath the excuse.
“Did everything go well?” He kept his voice neutral. “At the office?”
Sophia nodded. “Yes. Mr. Colborne sends his regards.”
Silence stretched between them. The corridor felt too narrow, too intimate. Edward was acutely aware of the loose hair framing her face, the rise and fall of her breath, the way the candlelight from his study caught the green of her eyes.
“Well.” Sophia gathered her cloak around her. “Goodnight, Edward.”
“Goodnight.”
She moved past him toward the main staircase, her skirts whispering against the floor. He watched her go until she disappeared around the curve of the landing, until the sound of her footsteps faded into silence.
Only then did he return to his study, to his brandy, to the long hours before dawn.
Two nights later, Edward descended into the basement tavern with violence burning in his blood.
The crowd parted for him as he made his way to the ring. He shed his coat, rolled his sleeves, and wrapped his knuckles with practiced efficiency. His opponent tonight was a dockworker named Sullivan, a man built like a brick wall with fists to match.
Perfect.
The fight began, and Edward threw himself into it with a ferocity that surprised even him. He needed this. Needed the impact of bone against bone, the sharp clarity of pain, the primal satisfaction of a battle he could win.
Because he was losing every other battle in his life.
Sophia was everywhere. In his house, at his table, in his thoughts. He saw her face when he closed his eyes at night. Heard her voice in the quiet moments between meetings. He remembered the way she had looked at him in her chambers, confused and hurt and so damnably beautiful that it had taken every ounce of his self-control to walk away.
He wanted her. Wanted her with an intensity that bordered on obsession. And he could not have her, because having her would mean admitting things he was not ready to admit.
Sullivan’s fist connected with his jaw. Edward staggered, tasted blood, and came back swinging.
The fight lasted longer than most. But in the end, Edward stood victorious, his chest heaving, his knuckles split and bleeding, his body aching in ways that almost drowned out the ache in his chest.
Almost.
“You fight like a man possessed.”
Hugo appeared at his elbow, pressing a drink into his hand. His fair hair was disheveled, his cravat loosened, his expression caught between amusement and concern.
“I fight like a man who needed to hit something.” Edward drained the glass in one swallow.
“Yes, I noticed.” Hugo guided him to a table in the corner, away from the crowd. “What I cannot fathom is why you are here, bloodying your knuckles in a basement tavern, when you have a beautiful wife waiting for you at home.”
Edward’s jaw tightened. “Watch your tongue.”
Hugo sighed. He signaled for another round of drinks and settled back in his chair.
“Edward. You married a woman who is intelligent, kind, and genuinely fond of your nephew. A woman who, from what I observed at your wedding, looks at you like you hung the moon. And instead of enjoying your good fortune, you are down here beating strangers senseless.” He spread his hands. “Explain this to me.”
“There is nothing to explain.” Edward wrapped a fresh bandage around his bleeding knuckles. “The marriage is an arrangement. Nothing more.”
“It could be more.” Hugo leaned forward. “It should be more. You are allowed to be happy, Edward. You are allowed to want things for yourself.”
“I do not need a lecture from you.” Edward pushed back from the table. “Not tonight.”
