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His wife.
His wife had found him.
Wife.
He chuckled to himself. Silly thing, that. A wife. Demons didn’t care if one had a wife.
His right hand lifted, the edge of the full tumbler of brandy landing on his lip and he swallowed a mouthful.
Juliet appeared in front of him, a sorceress for how quickly she’d moved across the room. His eyes lifted to her, but not his head. That would entail a lot of work.
Her look went down to the almost empty bottle of brandy sitting on the floor next to the chair and then back to his face. “Your chat with Gilroy did not go well?”
He lifted his glass, finger pointing to her, not saying a word. Of course it didn’t go well. Was that even a question? He was dealing with his brother. Nothing ever went well where Gilroy was concerned.
“I am sorry you have to deal with him as you do.”
His shoulders lifted in a shrug and he took another full swallow from his glass.
Before her skirts caught aflame, Juliet moved away from the hearth to the wingback chair adjacent to his and sat. “I had trouble finding you because you never showed me this room.”
He didn’t look up at her, his eyes on the flames in the fireplace licking high. “No, I did not.”
“Whose room is it?”
“My mother’s.”
Her whole body shifted, twisting as she looked around the chamber. She stilled suddenly, her stare landing on him. “I talked to your grandfather. He told me of what your father used to say to you.”
“He did that? Bloody blubberer. He had no right.”
“No. But he clearly wanted me to understand what has set you on this path.”
Evan closed his eyes, his head shaking. Damn his grandfather. Damn his father. His right hand holding the glass lifted, his forefinger flicking out to jab at the air around him. “He—my father—used to drag me in here. Make me sit staring at the bed where she died.”
Silence.
He glanced at Juliet only to find she’d visibly paled.
He didn’t want that. Want her to be sad. Not over him. He wanted her happy. Always happy.
“No. Ye don’t understand.” His right hand dropped to balance the glass on his thigh. “I ken my father did it to punish me, to shame me for even existing, but it wasn’t that—punishment. I liked being in here. Liked imagining how she was, how she might have loved me. Everyone always said she had the most bountiful heart—she adored everyone, even the most asinine of the cousins.”
“She sounds like she was a fine woman.”
He shrugged, taking another long sip of his brandy. Almost gone. He reached down with his left hand toward the floor, his fingers searching for the bottle.
Just as his fingertips touched the bottle her hand jabbed out and grabbed his wrist, stopping his motion. “Evan, I wasn’t going to come to you, but I…I had to. I had to or I will never forgive myself.”
“What is it?”
Her hand pulled away from his wrist. “I need your help.”
The tone of her voice made him pause and look at her directly. She sat at the edge of the chair, barely balanced on the seat, her hands twisting in her lap.
Now that he thought about it, why wasn’t she still naked in his bed as he’d left her? He was going to return to his room eventually. It was their wedding night, after all.
His elbows landed on the arms of the chair and he pushed himself up slightly from the low slouch he’d shrunk into. “What help?”
