The Officer's Temptation | A Regency Romance

Chapter Fifteen: Truth

Marlowe's palms were sweaty as he waited in the study. The air was close, warm enough that there was no fire in the hearth, only candles consuming themselves in their holders. His heart was beating quickly, but he wasn't nervous, only full of determination. He had been thinking about Arabella's threat all day. There was only one course of action to take, now that he had cleared the air with Kate. He had been fooling himself for months, thinking that events could lead him anywhere but to where he was now.

He was done running. He was done hiding. And he was done with Arabella.

The door opened. "Hughes, you're looking peaked." Nicholas closed the door behind him. The click as the latch fell into place had an air of finality and danger that Marlowe did not like. Better that the door had remained open. Nicholas came around and sat behind his desk. "Still recovering from the ball? I didn't even see you drink last night."

"I didn't drink," Marlowe said.

Nicholas nodded his approval. He looked different in the candlelight, younger yet somehow older as well. "Would you like a port now? I had a glass an hour or so after dinner, but I could do with another now."

Marlowe shook his head and brushed back a sweat-dampened curl. "It's better to not. This is not going to be a long visit. I wanted to talk to you, Nicholas, about something important."

Nicholas looked worried. He raised an eyebrow cautiously. "What ever is the matter? Is it your parents? Your Miss Jennings?"

Marlowe sighed heavily and stood. His body was restless and he needed to pace. Nicholas watched him with an ever-growing look of alarm. "It's about Arabella." Marlowe swallowed. "Your wife," he added unnecessarily.

"What is it?" The blood drained from Nicholas's face. He rose suddenly, gripping the edges of his desk. "What is it," he repeated, each word punctuated by something primal.

Marlowe grit his teeth before responding. He flexed his hand against his breeches. The pain from the recent wound helped clear his thoughts. Nicholas watched him with the raw expression of an animal. "She has been my lover."

Dark shock resonated through Nicholas's eyes. He shook his head and blinked rapidly. "What did you say? Is this some kind of a twisted jest?"

Marlowe moved back reflexively. "I'm sorry, Nicholas. It's true."

Nicholas's mouth hung open in shock. His grip on the desk tightened, his knuckles turning white. "When?" he choked out.

"Months ago. Before we left England. I met her before you returned and ever invited us to that dinner party."

"The dinner party where she turned her ankle... and requested that you accompany her back." Nicholas looked sick. He slammed his hand on the desk with a sharp growl of anger. "How could you?" His voice was deep in the back of his throat, raw with emotion.

"I'm so sorry, Nicholas. I never meant for things to go as far as they did."

Nicholas made a fist, and Marlowe tensed, ready for the fight he knew that he deserved, but Nicholas only banged it again on the desk before pressing his fingers to his head, letting his dark hair fall in front of his face. "I always knew," he moaned. "I always knew that you were the more desirable, the stronger, the braver. Of course she would prefer you. Of course; it makes perfect sense." His voice cracked. The pain on his face was visceral.

Marlowe wanted to rush to him, to comfort him somehow, but he was incapable. "It's not like that Nicholas, I swear. It was a mistake, a stupid bloody mistake."

Nicholas's eyes burned. "And does she think that it is a mistake as well? Or does she regret that she met me and accepted my suit before she ever had a chance to meet you?" He took a few quick steps away from the desk, towards Marlowe. Hurt, anger, betrayal all glinted in his eyes.

Marlowe raised his hands in alarm. "Calm down, Nicholas."

Nicholas laughed darkly and swiped his arm across his desk, knocking some books and an ashtray to the ground. "How can I be calm!" he said, voice rising angrily, "when my wife prefers my closest friend? Do you even know what she meant to me?" He thumped his fist against the wood of the desk, "Of course you don't, how could you! Well, let me tell you, she meant everything to me! And I gave her everything that I had!"

"I know," said Marlowe. "I'm so sorry. You never deserved this."

"Do you love her?" Nicholas barked.

"No," said Marlowe softly. "I thought I did, but I was wrong."

Nicholas shook his head in disbelief. "I trusted you. I told you things about her, about our marriage, all while the two of you were making love behind my back. You must have laughed at what a fool I was."

"No," said Marlowe hotly. "Never. It's not your fault, Nicholas. It's me. There was something broken in me, and I did something stupid, and I will regret it for the rest of my life, because you have been like a brother to me, and I have never been good enough to deserve your esteem."

Nicholas looked sick. "The baby," he said. "I suppose I should be happy there was no baby. Would it have been yours?"

"I don't know," admitted Marlowe.

"Get out of my house before I kill you with my bare hands," growled Nicholas. "Now!"

Marlowe nodded and reached for the door, but at that moment it flew open. Arabella ran in, trembling. "What have you done!" she cried at Marlowe. She was pale, and trembling like a leaf caught in a storm. She ran to Nicholas. "I heard the shouting! What did he say? What did he tell you?"

"I told him the truth," spat Marlowe. "It's over now, Arabella."

Arabella sank to the floor, pawing at Nicholas's knees. "What did he say?" she sobbed. "Did he tell you the truth? That he forced me! Oh Nicholas, I never wanted him, I swear to you!" Tears began to streak her face. Nicholas looked furiously at Marlowe.

"I never took what was not freely offered," Marlowe hissed. "Nicholas, you know me."

"I know nothing! I can not trust my oldest friend. I can not trust my wife!"

Arabella clung to his legs, sobbing, "I love you Nicholas! I love you!"

Nicholas met Marlowe's eyes. "You have sullied our friendship, and you have dishonored me and my wife." He pulled Arabella up by her elbow, supporting her at his side. His gray eyes flashed like naked steel as he met Marlowe's gaze. "Pistols," he said. "At dawn."