He’d also thought—for a long time—that Grace would never let another man see them.
There could be no doubt now: Sherborne had not just been his wife’s confidante, but he had also seen her naked.
Unfortunately for him, that was all Nicholas would allow the man to hang over him.
“Spread your rumors,” Nicholas snapped, leaning over the other man, his fists clenched. He was a hair away from striking Sherborne and being done with it. “Tell the world your little story, and see how many people you can convince. What do you think you can do to me? Grace is dead.” He spat the words, and for once, they didn’t wrench something free from him. Grace was dead, and it was not his fault.
And Sophia was—
Damn it, Sophia washis.
Sherborne’s eyes gleamed as he looked up at Nicholas. “Hit me,” he whispered. “You know you want to. You hate me for siring the daughter you love, and you will look at her differently from now on. You know it—we both do. No matter what you try to claim as honorable, you won’t ever stop yourself from hating her just a little.”
“Lies!” Nicholas’s fist connected with Sherborne’s cheek before he could prevent himself. There was such a rush of rage insidehim, so much anger that he felt his reason drowning under the tide.Sophia is mine. The words pounded in his chest, in his head, all down through his body.
She was his, but this terrible doubt ate away at him. If he had confirmation, would it matter?Wouldhe look at Sophia differently merely because of Grace’s infidelity?
He wanted to say no, but he couldn’t be sure. An ache grew in his stomach, tightening and sharpening into a pain so acute, he could hardly breathe. All he knew was he needed this man to pay for the hell he had put him through.
“Winchester!” Hands grabbed his shoulders, hauling him back. Oliver stood between him and Sherborne, his face very pale. “Have you gone mad!?”
Awareness slowly filtered back into red fog.
Sherborne stared back at him, his expression emptied of everything but shock. His nose sat canted grotesquely to one side, and blood streamed over his upper lip. The habitual smirk had vanished. In its place was the pallor of a man who had looked directly at death and recognised the person standing behind it.
Nicholas had done that.
“Cool yourself,” Oliver muttered by his ear. “There are places for that.” He held Nicholas’s gaze until Nicholas finally understood.
Yes, there were places he could let off some of this simmering anger before it came too much. Isadora had made him promise not to go back—but she knew nothing of this, and Nicholas couldn’t tell her.
She believed so completely in the happiness of their household, in the family she had gathered and guarded with both hands. How could he place the truth before her and become the reason for its destruction?
No, he couldn’t.
But he couldbleedsome measure of anger from himself before returning home. If he exhausted it elsewhere, perhaps he could look upon Sophia without betraying what had happened. Perhaps he could pretend their world remained the same.
She is mine!
Nothing else mattered—not what Grace did, not what other men claimed. No doubt it was merely a ploy for money, anyway. Anyone with a brain would have known Nicholas would never give up his daughter; the only conclusion was that the bastard wanted to blackmail him for money.
He turned on his heel and strode from the room.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Isadora watched the bedchamber door, brushing out her hair for the umpteenth time.
Her heart felt a little unsettled in her chest, though she could not have said why. Nicholas had gone to his club with Oliver that afternoon, and there was nothing remarkable in his remaining out late. The two men were friends. They were entitled to an evening in one another’s company.
Even so, there rested a stone in the pit of her stomach when she glanced at the clock on the wall and noticed it was almost two in the morning. She had postponed retiring for as long as she could, hoping to see him when he returned. Evidently, she was not to have that small pleasure tonight.
Well, that was perfectly fine.
She placed the brush on the dressing table and carried her candle to the bed. One night apart was hardly a tragedy. Marriedcouples survived such things constantly. Nicholas would return, and tomorrow they would share breakfast, and she would feel foolish for ever having worried.
She held tightly to that picture as she climbed beneath the covers.
Just as sleep began to draw her under, the door creaked open.
