Chapter Forty-One
Nick stared down the tumbler of whiskey. He was no closer to forgetting Adelaide than he had been a drink ago. He could still see her dark eyes pleading for understanding and forgiveness. The taste of her still mingled with the whiskey on his tongue. His ears were full of the sounds she’d made, the words of her confession, the lingering echo of her sobs.
He tossed back his second drink.
It did no good.
By God, how many drinks would it take?
“I told you he would be here,” Nathaniel said, claiming the seat to his right.
Wessex took the seat to his left. “I never doubted it. He doesn’t keep liquor at home, and this is no time for sobriety.”
Nick thunked his forehead down on his fist. Why? Why must they continuously torture him with their presence? He didn’t deserve this.
Or maybe he did.
“Go away,” he growled, the hated words coming easily.
Wessex remained stubbornly seated. Likewise Nathaniel.
“I would like an explanation,” Nathaniel said pleasantly. “I believe my exact words were don’t make things worse for her. And yet you did exactly that.”
Sweet heavens, no. A lecture from his sanctimonious brother was the last thing Nick wanted to endure.
“What, then? Will you challenge me to another duel?” Nick asked sarcastically.
“I doubt there will be a need for that. I wager you will be begging for her forgiveness within forty-eight hours.”
Nick snorted. “And why would I do that, pray tell?”
“Because if you don’t, you will be forced to live without her.”
Nick felt the words like a knife to the liver. Of course he knew he must live without her. His brain understood that what she had done was unforgivable. But his heart seemed not to have gotten the notice, because it cracked open painfully.
“You don’t understand,” he said quietly. “You don’t know what she’s done, and the terrible secrets she’s kept.”
“Are they any worse than yours?” Wessex asked pertly.
Nick opened his mouth, then hesitated. He had killed a man—or several. He had killed a friend. Was Adelaide’s sin in any way equal to that? She had left her baby—their son—to a stranger’s care, but what choice had she had? Prostitution? Besides, Miss Sherwood wasn’t a complete stranger. They had lived together through the fall and winter before Adelaide left for London. And Miss Sherwood was a good woman who kept a neat and orderly home—he’d seen both for himself.
Unbidden, an image of Adelaide saying goodbye to James that day sprang to mind. It had ripped shreds in his heart at the time, and remembering it now felt like vinegar being poured on the wounds. She had not wanted to leave her son, that much had been crystal clear.
Still, she had betrayed Nick. She had kept his son from him, for God’s sake. Had kept even his existence a secret from Nick.
“She should not have lied to me,” he said.
“True,” Nathaniel admitted. “Perhaps you are lucky to be free of her, then.”
No doubt.
But Nick didn’t feel lucky. He felt…utterly wrong. How completely unfair. He was not wrong, dammit! It was she who had betrayed him. She who had engaged herself to another man. She who had lied.
And still he wanted to fall at her feet and beg.
It was pitiful, really. Pathetic.
“How fortunate that Montrose is willing to take her off your hands,” Wessex said, then grinned. “Or, if he does not, I would be happy to.”
Nick saw red. “You won’t touch her. Not one goddamned grimy finger of yours will ever touch her.”
Wessex tipped his head. “One might wonder why you care, if you are as done with her as you claim.” He took a sip of brandy. “But quite frankly, I don’t care why you care. You don’t deserve her.”
Nick’s head spun—whether from the whiskey or Wessex’s nonsense, he couldn’t truly say.
“The truth of the matter is, I don’t like you, Eastwood,” the duke went on. “You could have stopped the madness years ago. But you did nothing. You let it fester and turn rancid.”
Nick blinked. What the devil was he talking about? Adelaide hadn’t reappeared until two months ago, and before that he hadn’t known that he’d left her with child.
“For years,” Wessex went on, “he was consumed with worry for you. Were you safe? Were you trying to kill him? Would your family ever be whole again?”
Oh.
Wessex wasn’t speaking of Adelaide at all.
He was talking about Nathaniel.
Nick held up a hand. “He could have written. He could have asked me to come home,” Nick said angrily.
Wessex arched one dark brow. “Because you were so very easy to find. Miss Bursnell might argue otherwise.”
“That isn’t the point.” Nick crossed his arms and glowered at the duke. “The point is, he didn’t even try.”
“And my point is, neither did you.”
Nathaniel cleared his throat.
They turned to him.
“If I might say—” Nathaniel began.
“No,” Nick said in one voice with Wessex.
Which Nathaniel ignored. “Do you think we will still be having this argument when we’re sixty?”
“Unless we’re dead,” came the cheerful reply from Wessex.
“That can be arranged,” Nick said. And it would be, if the duke tried to wed Adelaide. “Don’t you have anything better to do than pry into my affairs? Go bother your own damned family.”
“As my family happens to be dead, no, I don’t have anything better to do. I have immense amounts of time on my hands, and if I choose to spend it contemplating all the ways Mr. Nicholas Eastwood has been a blithering idiot, I am free to do so.”
Nick stared at him. How the devil was he supposed to respond to that? It seemed ungentlemanly to kick a man who had lost his entire family.
“Nick,” his brother said in a tone that somehow managed to be both exasperated and affectionate. “I don’t want to have this argument when we’re sixty. Can we not be done with it now? I apologized for my wrongs and forgave you for yours. What more will you ask of me? Do you intend to punish me forever?”
Forever? That was a long time. Nick gazed at his brother. Would he cling to his anger through the decades that stretched unwritten before them? Through the weddings, and the births of their children, and perhaps through the deaths of loved ones, and then still more weddings? Could he?
That seemed…exhausting.
Nick did not want to hold on to the grudge, yet he didn’t know how to let it go.
Nathaniel sighed. “Even when I thought you were trying to murder me, you were still my brother and I loved you. Of course I should have demanded you come home. I should have done a great many things. Love does not make us perfect, unfortunately.”
Nick froze with his whiskey halfway to his lips, his brother’s insight hitting him like a lightning bolt.
Love does not make us perfect.
No, it most certainly did not.
But perhaps love could accept imperfections in others.
Adelaide was proof of that.
He had told her love did not exist, that it disappeared with hurt or disappointment. Once a lover’s flaw was discovered, love turned to ash. So he had always believed. His life seemed a prime example of betrayed love.
But Nate loved him, even as a possible murderer. And Adelaide had claimed to love him even after he had abandoned her in Cornwall. Even after seeing his long list of crimes.
And what were murder and abandonment if not flaws?
She had told him she loved him.
Good God.
Good God.
That was what she had said just before her confession.
I love you.
She had said it, and she had meant it, even knowing he would most certainly abandon her again. She loved him, even knowing he would not want her once he learned the truth about his son.
Nick felt the duke’s amused, curious gaze on him. “I do believe he’s having an epiphany. How droll.”
Nick raised his eyes to meet his brother’s. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Indeed,” Nathaniel said gravely. “What will you do about it?”
“I’ll…” Nick’s voice died as he realized the extent of the mess he was in.
Adelaide was engaged to another man.
The same man who held Nick’s future in the palm of his hand.
Even if Montrose didn’t ruin him, the scandal would. And Nick knew Adelaide would never let him sacrifice his promised title for her. She simply wouldn’t allow it.
Besides, a scandal would bring her down as well. Her father might never speak to her again, and her mother would never forgive her for throwing over a duke. How could Nick ever make it up to her? How could he convince her that he was worth all that she would surely lose?
How could he extricate them both from this tangled web with his title intact?
He could not.
“He won’t do anything.” Wessex sounded bored. “Miss Bursnell made the mistake of accepting another man, and now she must suffer the consequences. We can’t expect your brother to take the blow for her. She did so once for him, to be sure, but that was merely her reputation and life, and this is a title. A marquessate that will be handed down to—”
“Fuck the title!” Nick exploded. “I only want her.”
“There, now.” Wessex took a long pull of brandy, looking more than smug. “Was that so hard?”
Truly, it was a miracle the duke had survived this long without being murdered.
“Nick,” Nathaniel said insistently. “What are you going to do?”
“I’m open to suggestions.” Nick spread his hands helplessly. “How do I get her free of her engagement without a scandal? And if scandal cannot be avoided, how do I convince her I’m worth it? I’ve let her down twice now. I couldn’t blame her for not wanting to risk a third time.”
“Grovel. Beg,” Nathaniel said. “Give her whatever she wants.”
Whatever she wants.
Of course.
The answer hit him solidly in the chest.
She had only ever wanted one thing.
And, by God, he would give it to her.