ICHOLAS downed his third brandy in twenty minutes and poured another. James Malory and Conrad Sharpe, his shadows for so long, had just left his house, and he was still stinging from the amusement they had derived at his expense. Even so, he told himself, he had more important matters to simmer over.

He sat in what had so recently been his study, now a small music room. A music room! If that wasn’t a piece of malicious spite, he didn’t know what was. A man’s study was sacred. And she hadn’t just changed the study, she’d eliminated it entirely.

Had she expected him never to return? Or had she hoped he would? Damnation take her. His sweet, beautiful wife had turned into a vengeful, hot-tempered woman in the same mold as her two younger uncles. Damnation take them too.

Eleanor paced the room, casting disapproving looks at Nicholas every time he raised the brandy glass to his lips. He was stewing in his resentment.

“What the bloody hell did she do with my papers, my desk, my books?”

Eleanor steeled herself to be calm. “You just learned that you have a son. Is this is all you can ask about?”

“Are you saying you don’t know where she put my things?”

Eleanor sighed. “In the attic, Nicky. All of it is in the attic.”

“You were here when she turned my house upside down?” he accused.

“I was here, yes.”

“And you didn’t try to stop her?” he asked incredulously.

“For heaven’s sake, Nicky, you took a wife. You couldn’t expect to keep a bachelor residence after getting married.”

“I didn’t ask for a wife,” he said bitterly. “And I expected her to remain where I put her, not trespass here. If she wanted to redecorate, why the bloody hell couldn’t she satisfy herself with remodeling Silverley?”

“Actually, I believe she liked Silverley the way it was.”

“Then why didn’t she stay there?” he raged.

“Do you really have to ask?”

“What was the problem?” he sneered. “Wouldn’t my dear mother turn over the reins?”

“Regina took her rightful place there, if that is what you mean.”

“Then they got along famously? Well, why not?” he laughed derisively. “They have so much in common, both despising me as they do.”

“That is unfair, Nicky.”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to defend your sister at this late date?”

“No,” Eleanor replied sadly.

“I see. You’re taking sides with Regina. Well, you wanted me to marry her. Are you pleased with the way it’s turned out?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I swear I just don’t know you anymore. Why did you do it, Nicky? She’s a wonderful girl. She could have made you so happy.”

Sudden pain welled up in his chest, choking him. Happiness with Regina could never be his, no matter how much he wanted it. But Eleanor couldn’t understand why because Miriam had never told her the truth. The sisters had been estranged for as long as he could remember. And if Miriam or Regina hadn’t told her, he certainly wasn’t going to. Sweet Ellie would pity him and he wanted none of that. Better she think him the detestable character everyone else thought him.

He stared down at the glass in his hand and mumbled, “I don’t like being forced.”

“But the deed was done,” Eleanor pointed out. “You did marry her. Couldn’t you have given her a chance?”

“No.”

“All right. I understand. You were bitter. But now, Nicky, can’t you try now?”

“And have her laugh in my face? No thank you.”

“She was hurt, that’s all. What did you expect when you deserted your bride on her wedding day?”

The hand on the glass tightened. “Is that what she told you? She was hurt?”

Eleanor looked away. “Actually…”

“So I thought.”

“Don’t interrupt, Nicky.” She frowned sternly. “I was going to say she won’t talk about you to me at all. But give me some credit for understanding the girl after living with her for four months.”

“She’s wise not to tell you what she thinks of me. She knows you have a soft spot for me.”

“You’re just not going to unbend, are you?” she cried. He refused to answer and she lost her patience. “What about your son? Is he to grow up in a household of strife—as you did? Is that what you want for him?”

Nicholas shot out of the chair and hurled his glass against the wall.

Eleanor was too shocked to speak, and after a moment he explained himself by saying in a hoarse voice, “I am no fool, madame. She may have told everyone the child is mine, but what else can she say? Let her try and tell me the baby is mine!”

“Are you saying you and she… that you never…”

“Once, Aunt Ellie, only once. And that was four months before I married her!”

Eleanor’s expression softened. “She gave birth five months after the wedding, Nicky.”

He stopped cold, then stated flatly, “The birth was premature.”

“It was not!” Eleanor snapped. “How would you know?”

“Because,” he said reasonably, “she would have told me about the baby in order to keep me here if she’d been pregnant when I left. You cannot tell me she wouldn’t have known if she’d been four months along. Also, she would have shown some sign of it, which she didn’t. She could only have been one or two months pregnant when I left and obviously unaware of her condition.”

“Nicholas Eden, until you can stop being so perverse, I shall have nothing to say to you!” With that, Eleanor swept angrily from the room.

Nicholas grabbed the brandy decanter, about to send it the way of the glass. He tilted it to his lips instead. Why not?

Yes, she’d have told him if she’d been pregnant when they married. He recalled the times she let other men take her home. He recalled George Fowler in particular and the red-hot rage he had felt over that. Had it been intuition? Had he known the young bastard wouldn’t take her straight home?

Nicholas was so furious he could barely think straight. He had tried not to think about the child from the moment he’d learned of his birth. His son, was he? Just let her try and convince him of that.