Page 71 of A Bride for the Heartless Duke
“No.” Ignoring his better instincts, Nicholas took a long gulp of the brandy, savoring the burn as it went down. “All I have are the doubts he’s instilled in me, andthoseI cannot so easily rid myself of.”
As though summoned by talk of doubts, Nathaniel Windham strolled past their table. At the sight, Nicholas’s hackles rose. First Sherborne, now this man.
Before he could think better of it, he pushed himself off the table and strode after the other man. At the fair, Dora had taken him away from Windham, preventing a confrontation, and at the time, her words had reassured him. But now… now he saw them only as a means of separating her two beaus and ensuring they were not given a chance to meet and contradict each other’s stories.
If she still cared for Windham—if perhaps the man had convinced her to lie with him or fall back in love with him, or even just charm her into fondness—then Nicholas ought to know.
“Your Grace,” Windham drawled from the table he sat at. He raised his tankard. “What brings you here?”
“Stay away from my wife.”
Windham stared up at him, eyes bloodshot from too much ale already. “And what if she chooses to stay closer to me?” he asked, a tiny smile playing around his mouth. “What then, Your Grace? Will you call me out for my sins? Or will you throw her out, instead?”
Oliver came around fast and grabbed his arm. “Steady, Winchester.”
“Stay away from her,” Nicholas warned. “I will know.”
Windham let out a harsh laugh. “Planning on watching me, are you?”
Oliver dragged Nicholas back to their table, and Nicholas sank back down on the seat. He didn’t want to doubt Isadora, but the fact was, when he’d been in his marriage with Grace, he had assumed her fidelity—only hindsight throwing doubt on his assumptions—and if he assumed the same of Isadora and she hurt him…
What was left of their marriage now? What could be left unless he became a tyrant, having her followed every time she left the house, tracking her movements obsessively to ensure she did not betray him.
And then there truly would be nothing left.
How could he ever move past this? How could he ever trust that Isadora wouldn’t do the same? If they had a child, would he constantly be wondering if the child were his? He couldn’t trail Isadora around in a practical sense—that was not a solution. She would not accept it, either, and why should she?
Grace and her suspected infidelity had broken something inside him, and he didn’t know how to go about repairing it. There would always be a question in the back of his mind about Sophia’s parentage, and for all he told himself it didn’t matter, he didn’t know if he could fully believe it.
“Your wife has nothing to do with this,” Oliver muttered, livid as he’d ever seen him, and thank god for the man. “Nor does she care for Windham either. That blackguard knows it. If you were in your right mind, you’d know it too.”
“If not him, then why not another gentleman?” Nicholas mumbled, dropping his head in his hands. “Plenty will show her favor.”
“I can’t answer that for you. You will just have to trust her,” Oliver sighed.
A bitter, humorless laugh escaped Nicholas. “And there’s the rub of it,” he said, knowing the truth of the words as they landed. “I don’t see how I can ever trust anyone again.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“I’m sorry for calling uninvited like this.” Isadora stepped into Caroline’s bedchamber, shaking the rain from her hair. The July storms had swept in, and all the north lay under a great cloud. She didn’t mind; the weather reflected her mood.
“Don’t you dare apologize for disturbing my tedium,” Caroline interrupted, crossing the room to where she had an open perfume bottle standing on her desk. She dabbed it liberally at her wrists and under her ears, then proffered it to Isadora. “Make yourself comfortable. And do try it—my mother sent it from America.”
“Why didn’t she come with you?” Isadora asked.
“Oh, because she has no intention of being stuck among the British, and who can blame her.” Her American friend raised an elegant shoulder. “You’ve no notion how many times a lady or gentleman has looked at me askance the moment I open my mouth.”
Isadora smiled. “You don’t want their good opinion anyway.”
“No, indeed I don’t,” Caroline snorted. “So—what is this about?”
Isadora rubbed the perfume on her wrists, the pretty floral scent surrounding her, and flopped into the chaise by the fire. “Nicholas,” she sighed.
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes. I feel as though we had our three minutes of bliss, and then he has gone right back to his old habits.”
“For what reason?”
