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It all came unraveled in this moment of weakness as he wept in his wife’s arms like a little boy. His tears soaked the bodice of her gown, as the warmth of her generous bosom cushioned his face and his sobs gradually abated, leaving him feeling hollow and slightly sick.

He sat up, wiping his face with his palms and found Ava offering him a handkerchief from her reticule. He took the dainty bit of white cloth and lace and blew his nose, wiped his face and sniffed.

“I’m so sorry,” he said thickly.

Ava sat back on her heels and glared at him. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you dare apologize for feeling! I was wondering when you were going to crack. You’ve been so strong!”

She leaned in and wrapped her arms round his neck. “I love you so much!” she whispered and kissed him.

“Oh Ava, I don’t deserve you!” he said brokenly.

“Yes, you do!” she kissed him again and he kissed her back fiercely.

“God, I love you,” he muttered and dragged her down onto his bed.

“And I love you,” she responded between feverish kisses as their hands tore at each other’s clothes.

His mouth landed on her bared breast and took the nipple with a deep, almost punishing pull that made her arch off the bed with a moan, as his hands scrabbled beneath her skirts to reach the soft weeping flesh between her legs. His fingers plunged inside her, his thumb swirling on her clitoris, his mouth laving and punishing that poor nipple until the surrounding breast was red with the scratch of his bristled chin and the ravaging of his lips and teeth.

“Give me this,” he whispered, his fingers curling inside her. “Come for me!”

She arched up with another moan and shattered. With a groan of satisfaction, he kissed her. “At least I can make you do that,” he said, his voice hoarse with emotion.

She blinked up at him and frowned. “Jerome, it’s not a competition. A fight. You don’t have to defeat me. I’m not the enemy.”

He stared down into her flushed face, her curls in disarray around her head. The lace veil had come off and was lying on the pillow. Her gown was open at the front, baring her breasts to the waist. She lay beneath him, vanquished. And it was a hollow victory. He withdrew his fingers as a cold wash of horror ran through his body. Suddenly, a picture of himself he’d never seen before presented itself to him. Is that how others see me? Is that how I am? Someone who must win at all costs?

He felt sick. Rolling onto his back he stared blindly at the bed canopy overhead. But he wasn’t seeing that. He was seeing Tindal reading from his mother’s diary, trying to prove that she was mad and so was he. He’d failed. But the parallel had hit him hard and gone deep. A sword thrust to the heart that Jerome had blocked until this moment. His relentless drive for perfection. The win at all costs. Was it a form of madness?

“Jerome?” Ava sat up on one elbow to look down at him, her expression alarmed at whatever she saw on his face.

He got up off the bed. “There is something I need to show you,” he said, heading into his room. He went to his desk and drew out the diary that he hadn’t looked at and brought it back into her room, where he found her sitting on the edge of the bed. She had tidied up her bodice, but her hair was loose and tangled.

“What is it?” she said.

He sat down beside her, the little book felt heavy in his hands. “I didn’t tell you this. But during the trial, Tindal tried to suggest that my mother was mad and”—he swallowed—“that I was too.”

She gasped and said indignantly, “You are not!”

He smiled weakly at her valiant defense and squeezed her hand.

“The gambit failed, no one thought I was mad, and once Garrow was able to present his argument and Robert gave me a character reference, it was put to the vote and I was exonerated.”

She nodded. “Yes, you told me.” She touched the book. “What is this?”

“It’s the evidence Tindal used to try to prove my mother was insane and killed herself. It’s her diary.”

“Where did he get it?”

“Lady Mostyn paid one of her servants to break into the house and search it for, I’m not sure what she expected to find, but they found this—I believe under a floorboard in my mother’s room. I had no idea of its existence until Tindal produced it in the trial. Afterward I demanded he surrender it to me.”

“That woman—!” exclaimed Ava. “If anyone is mad I think it’s her! Her mind has been turned by grief and a desire for revenge.”

“Indeed,” he said heavily.

“Have you read it?” she asked softly, covering his hand with hers.

“No. I couldn’t face it after the trial. I just shoved it in my desk drawer. I planned to take it to Letty and read it with her.”