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He nodded. “There’s no point in pretending otherwise. Not any longer. I tried to fight what I feel for her, believe me. But seeing her again this afternoon made me realize how inescapable it is. I’ll never love another woman the way I love Phee.”
His sister’s eyes were wide. “I suspected there was something between the two of you, but I had no notion your feelings were so strong.”
“I’ve never felt anything like this,” he told his sister.
“It seems…forgive me…sudden.” Aphrodite frowned.
“I’ve been in love with her for years,” he admitted.
His sister’s mouth fell open. “Years, Apollo? When she was married to Corbett?”
He held Aphrodite’s gaze, unflinching. “I’ve waited a long time for her, goose.”
“Very well.” She nodded, as if reaching a deep, inner decision. “Ophelia told me that Lord Timothy called upon Reggie and took him to a horse auction. Reggie later told her that he’d fallen in the street and was nearly run down by a horse and cart, and that he was certain his uncle had pushed him.”
By God. There was only one reason the man next in line to inherit the marquessate would push a child into the path of a horse and cart—to murder him.
Apollo didn’t know which he ought to do first, race to Ophelia or go to Lord Timothy and beat the bastard to within an inch of his life.
“Apollo?”
His sister’s worried voice pierced the haze of protective rage fogging his mind. He realized he was standing without any recollection of rising from his chair.
“What are you going to do?” Aphrodite asked. “Don’t do anything foolish, I beg you. If Lord Timothy truly did try to harm Reggie, then he could be capable of anything.”
“You needn’t worry about me,” he reassured her. “But you may want to say a prayer for Lord Timothy.”
“Apollo,” Aphrodite protested, rising as well and clutching his arm. “Please speak to Ophelia before you do something rash. I already fear she’ll never forgive me for betraying her confidences.”
“You did what was right, goose. Phee will understand.”
“Promise me you’ll speak to her first,” Aphrodite insisted.
“I promise,” he relented. “I’ll go and speak to her now.”
“At this hour?”
“She’ll see me,” he said with grim determination.
Or he would bloody well climb the side of her town house and break in through a window if he must.
He bussed his sister’s cheek with a kiss. “Now, don’t worry, sister, and wish me luck.”
She sighed. “Good luck.”
“Lady Corbett is not at home.”
Apollo eyed Phee’s butler, an elderly man so skinny he looked as if a brisk wind would topple him over, and thought that perhaps his confidence had been a touch misplaced. Phee was refusing to see him after all.
Or, at least, she was refusing visitors.
It was past customary calling hours.
He offered his card. “Please take this to Lady Corbett and let her know the Duke of Prestwick is calling.”
The butler frowned at him but accepted the card. “Of course, Your Grace.”
He disappeared with an unhurried gait, favoring his left leg, and Apollo stood in the marble-floored entry, watching him go, despairing. This was the protection she had? An elderly, arthritic butler, a nursemaid, and a pair of children?
