Scandal by Carolyn Jewel

get out, he probably would have stayed. So, in a way, she was right.” He watched tears pool in her eyes, and the sight tore at him. “Seeing Mrs. Peters brought it back. Even if he’d lived, he was never going to love me. I knew that, too, but I never cared. I never could believe it was so.”
    He pulled her into his arms, and the moment he felt her body against his he knew that he’d made a mistake touching her.
    â€œYou knew,” she said into his shirt. “You knew all along he never loved me.”
    â€œShh,” he crooned. He held her while she cried, her hands against his chest. He loved her still, and there didn’t seem to be anything he could do about it. He would probably love her until the day he died, a pathetic, dried-up old man married to some worthy woman who would give him his heir and a spare and would never, ever be to him what Sophie was right now and forever.
    â€œI know Tommy’s to blame for what he did, I know that,” she said. “But I can’t forgive her, either. She was married. She knew he was married. She knew it was wrong of her.” He put his handkerchief in her hand. “I wish I’d never come here.” She lifted her tear-streaked face to his. “How many other women here tonight were Tommy’s lovers, too? Five? Ten? A dozen?” She crumpled his handkerchief. “I should hate him. Why do I miss him so terribly when I ought to despise him?”
    He grabbed her by the shoulders. His hands were bare, and his fingers splayed onto the skin exposed by her gown. “That’s quite enough out of you.”
    She reared back and stared wide-eyed at him.
    â€œSophie Mercer Evans, you are better than her. Better than this. Go back in there. She can’t compare to you. She never will.”
    â€œI can’t.” She dissolved into tears again.
    He gave her to a mental count of five, and yes, the tears stopped, exactly as he knew they would. “I’ll fetch your brother,” he said. “He’ll take you home if that’s what you want.”
    â€œThank you,” she whispered.
    In the parlor, he dispatched a footman to have Mercer’s carriage brought around then found Mercer and took him aside. “I beg your pardon,” he said to Fidelia. “I need a word with Mr. Mercer.”
    â€œWhat is it, my lord?” he asked.
    â€œYour sister is ... ill.” His hesitation was yet another mistake. One of many tonight. Mercer heard it and understood quite well that some other word must have been foremost in his mind. “I’ve called for your carriage.”
    Anger flickered in his eyes. “Bold of you, my lord.”
    He grabbed Mercer’s arm, hauling him farther from curious ears. “Whatever the cause, forget about Fidelia for five minutes and take your sister home. She’s in no fit condition to be seen.”
    Mercer took a step toward him. “What have you done?” He only just kept his voice low. “If you’ve harmed her, Banallt—”
    He raised his hands. “I’ve not touched her, nor am I the cause of her distress. We barely spoke.”
    â€œThen what is the matter?”
    Banallt ought to have kept his tongue. He didn’t. “For God’s sake, man. One of Tommy’s mistresses is here, and Sophie, God help her, knows what the woman was to her husband. Why on earth she ever loved that man, let alone loves him still, I’ll never understand.”
    â€œI do,” Mercer said sharply.
    â€œThen I fail to comprehend why you continue to stand here instead of looking after your sister.” He ground out the words. “If you won’t take her home, I shall, and I won’t be responsible for the consequences of that.”
    â€œStay away from Sophie,” Mercer said. “Stay well away or—”
    Banallt turned to see what had caught Mercer’s attention. Sophie had come into the room. She’d