Nicholas spread his arms. “I’m waiting.”
The final blow crashed against his face, and he tasted blood as he toppled. The agony was exquisite.
In his mind, Isadora leaned over him. There was too much hurt between them for an easy peace, but for a few desperate, euphoric moments he let himself imagine one.
"Well then,"she purred, touching his cheek."What mess have you gotten into now?"
"I promise,"he told her, perhaps in his mind, perhaps aloud,"never to come back to this place, so long as you promise to be mine and only mine."
She cupped his jaw, smiling a little. "I will never belong to any other man, Nicholas. You are my forevermore."
He smiled, bloody-lipped, prostrate on the ground. A whistle blew. He had lost the bout—and yet felt he'd won back some common sense. However he despised Grace for what she had done, he could not live the rest of his life fearing what Isadora might do to him.
Sophia was his, whatever Sherborne claimed, and Isadora belonged to no one else.
Until she proved otherwise, he would not doubt her.
He raised his eyes, vision fuzzy, and saw a man standing in the doorway, staring at him. A nondescript face, gray eyes, and a large greatcoat that swamped the man’s smaller body.
Sherborne…
Nicholas struggled to his feet, but the man disappeared.
Someone wrapped a towel around his shoulders. “What was that about?” he demanded. “You gave up halfway through!”
“I… I need to go.” Nicholas wiped away the worst of the blood with the towel. No broken bones—there was that, at least.
But men swarmed him, shaking their money bags at him. He’d lost plenty of men their money, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.
Finally, he shook himself free, and a pageboy handed him a piece of paper. “Sorry, sir. A gentleman left this for you.”
Hands trembling, Nicholas unfolded it to reveal five words. His heart pounded in his chest as he scanned the paper, then scanned it again.
‘I will take what’s mine.’
“Send for a carriage!” Nicholas roared, not caring that he had spoken as though he were the duke and not Will.
It was time for this charade to end; he would never forgive himself if he lost Sophia because of his foolish, shortsighted vices.
The sun beat down on Isadora’s head as she walked through the rose garden—minus the blooms she had harvested for Grace’sgrave. The world was still, and by her side, Sophia chattered inconsequentially about the new countries and facts she had discovered in her Atlas.
The world could still be a good place for her to be. She could still feel as though she belonged. This moment was one that gave her a sense of peace and rightness.
“Oh look!” Sophia exclaimed, pointing straight ahead. There was the cat, followed by her stumbling little brood of kittens. They were a few weeks old now, and had more or less learned where their legs and paws were, although they did sometimes get surprised by their own tails. Isadora had poked her head into the closet every so often to check on them, but this was the first time she had seen them out and about.
Sophia rushed to Molly’s side, sinking to her knees as the cat circled about her, meowing pointedly.
“I think,” Isadora said, coming to sit beside Sophia, “she wants us to look after her kittens for a while.”
The cat watched her with intelligent green eyes, then picked up one of the kittens by the scruff of its neck and placed it very firmly on Isadora’s lap. Sophia got the other two, and then the mother cat stalked away, no doubt in search of prey or perhaps even just an opportunity to be alone.
Isadora’s fingers trailed the delicate fur at the top of her kitten’s head. It moved its paws jerkily, raising its head and meowing weakly.
“Do you think they’re hungry?” Sophia asked anxiously.
“I doubt it. I expect they’ll have recently fed. But they won’t be used to being without their mother.” Isadora hesitated. “…Do you ever miss your mother?”
Sophia pressed a kiss to the heads of the two kittens she held. “No,” she said, perfectly cheerfully. “I don’t remember her much. Maybe if I were older when she died, I might miss her, but how do you miss someone you don’t know well?” She nuzzled a pale gray kitten. “Don’t worry,” she told it, her voice gentle. “I will look after you. Just like Izzie looks after me. You won’t miss your mother then.”
