London rain was as predictable as the world spinning on its axis, but this storm seemed to be gaining strength, the pellets of water beating against the drains and bouncing off the walkways in the street below. The stormy weather matched his mood. Still staring out the window, he pulled the stopper from a decanter of brandy by his side and turned to pour a glass. The spirits, he knew, would do nothing to wash away his anger and guilt. At least the path he had to take was now clear. He tossed back half the brandy, savoring the slow burn down his throat. He had not seen Rowena in the five days since they’d returned in stony silence from Alcestor Court. What he’d learned from Sebastian had shaken him to his core, even though, tonight, he simply ached for her. She was young and she was inexperienced in the games that men like Faron and Sebastian played—yet that would not have stopped her from betraying him if she could have worked the treachery in her favor. The knowledge hurt far more than it should.
