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Chapter Twenty-Six
Truth hath a quietbreast.
—Shakespeare,Richard II
The buck staredblankly back at Nicholas. It stood witness in this hall. Catherine had once told him she confided in it all the time. Too young to appreciate the trust in sharing her secret, he’d rolled on the ground, laughing at her. Indignant, she’d claimed it was a far better companion than he was and had stomped off. Sadly it seemed she was right.
“My lord.” Edwards gestured toward the doorway.
Nicholas moved past Edwards and went directly to the study. Stratton stood by the window, his back to Nicholas. Catherine was not in the room. He swung around to address Edwards. “I expressly asked to speak with Catherine.”
Edwards looked pained. “Yes, my lord, you did.”
“And I have denied your request…for the moment,” came Stratton’s voice.
Nicholas swung around and glared at Stratton’s rigid back, frustration growing.
“Leave us, Edwards,” Stratton said quietly. The door discreetly closed, and Stratton faced Nicholas. Shadows darkened the skin beneath Stratton’s eyes, and the lines around them were deeper. It seemed he had aged overnight.
They stared at each other while Nicholas waited for an explanation. Waited for Catherine to come through the door. But it seemed neither was forthcoming. Frustrated, he broke the silence.
“I did not come to speak with you. I came to see Catherine. To bring her home.”
“No.”
“No?” His anger flared, spiking hot, prickling his cheeks as he fought to keep his voice level. He’d had more than enough today already, and his self-control was hanging by a thread.
“You heard me, Nick.”
Heat rushed through his body. The lingering tension from his encounter with Brownlee reignited, and Nicholas’s shoulders stiffened in response as he drew up to his full height. He would not cower before Stratton, father-in-law or not.
“She is my wife,” Nicholas bit out, wanting to roar and charge.
“For God’s sake, Nick, I’ll not deny that. Sit down.” Stratton’s stern posture collapsed as he pointed to the chair opposite to the one he sunk into. He ran a hand over his face. “Come, Nick. Sit. I am not the enemy.”
Nicholas complied, a spark of sympathy tempering his anger. How could that be? This man may not be Nicholas’s foe, but nor was he on his side. Stratton had colluded with Nicholas’s father. Stratton had deceived him alongside Catherine. If he looked the worse for it, well, it was no one’s fault but his own.
“I just want Catherine to come home,” Nicholas said.
Stratton’s green eyes stared intently, so like his daughter’s it hurt Nicholas to look into them. “To what?”
What the hell kind of question was that? To him. To her husband. “To me.” He managed to maintain a civil tone, but irritation still hummed below the surface.
“You,” Stratton repeated, “and your judgment of all that has happened in your absence? Your condemnation of Daniel? Dismissal ofherbrother?”
“So you are fine with Laurence’s…” Nicholas’s fury spluttered as he floundered, looking for the right word. He respected this man, yet Stratton had knowingly betrayed Nicholas, had condoned unacceptable behavior. Worse, Stratton had allowed his daughter to become party to the inexcusable.
“Of course not. I don’t like it. Truth be told, I detest it. But…he’s my son.” He stared down at his hands, then looked up again, holding Nicholas’s gaze. “He’s my son, Nick. And Daniel your brother. Both good men with good hearts.”
Nicholas could not bear to witness the pain in Stratton’s eyes, the plea for understanding. He got up, strode to the side table, and poured himself a brandy without asking. He whirled the contents and lifted it to his nose.His son. My brother. He threw the glass at the empty grate, the shattering a violent explosion, enveloped by the ensuing silence. A wave of shame washed over him.His son. My brother.
He left the room without a glance at Stratton, without another word, and stood lost in the hallway. What now?
“My lord?” Edwards had clearly heard the noise.
“I would see my wife, Edwards.”
“My lord, she left early this morning.”
