Page 91 of Tempting the Scoundrel
Fine. Thorne threw Alexandra’s wooden box of papers into O’Sullivan’s chest. The other man caught it. “What is this?”
“Open it,” Thorne bit out.
With an exasperated noise, O’Sullivan opened the latch, looked inside, and froze. He shut his eyes. “Thorne.” That was it. Just the name.
Same as a goddamn confession.
“Tell me why you wrote those,” Nick said, his voice dangerously low. His hands curled into fists. “And I’ll consider not breaking your fucking face.”
“Nick.” Alex’s grip on his arm tightened. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”
“It matters to me. I want him to tell me why.” When O’Sullivan didn’t answer, Nick snapped, “Why?”
“Because she was asking about you,” O’Sullivan said, wiping the blood from his mouth. “She did her research around Whitechapel and asked about you. And I knew it was only a matter of time before she came back into your life and fucked you up again.”
“Don’t,” Thorne said sharply. “Don’t you dare pretend this is about her. This is aboutyounot trusting aristos after what Sunderland did to you.”
O’Sullivan flattened his lips. “This is about you getting a fucking knife to the gut because your mind was onher.”
“What’s he talking about?” Alex asked Thorne softly.
After she’d left him at Roseburn, he remembered feeling crazed. His obsession with taking power from Whelan became consuming. His enemy was an obstruction, an impediment to a better life. He would go to bed at night and agonize ever every moment they ever spent together, every lie he ever told, until the regret gnawed at him.
But he’d had nothing to give her. What did he have? Money that was hers, power he’d stolen. Dozens of enemies trying to kill him.
So he’d eliminated them.
“You didn’t tell her?” At Thorne’s silence, O’Sullivan let out a dry laugh. “When he came back from Hampshire, it was like Thorne wasn’t even the same person. He was so obsessed with finding some way of winning over your lofty fucking approval that he barely slept at night. Whelan wasn’t the only one looking to grab power, and all it takes is one distraction. So yeah, when you came around asking about him and wrote about the East End, I responded. I wanted you to stay away. Because I didn’t want to see you break him.”
Alex’s touch fell away. Some private grief crossed her expression, and he did not wish to see that. Hadn’t he hurt her enough?
“Get out,” Nick told O’Sullivan quietly. “Grab your things, get out of my club. I’ll give you an hour.”
For a moment he wondered if O’Sullivan would argue with him. But the other man gave a nod, set the wooden box of articles on the table, and left.
A beat of silence filled the private game room. When his wife finally spoke, it was to quietly say his name.
“I have work to do,” he said to her. “We’ll talk later.”
Chapter 30
Hours later, Alexandra found Nick alone in a staff room playing a solitary game of snooker.
She watched as he aimed the cue and struck. The colored balls at the end of the table separated with acrack. He lined up another shot, his movements smooth and practiced, with an expression of complete focus. She wondered how many games he had played in the privacy of this room, with only his thoughts for company. Enough that every shot seemed to take no effort at all.
Alexandra closed the door and leaned against the frame. “So this is snooker,” she said. “My brothers described it to me, but I’ve never seen it played.”
Nick didn’t look up. “A few officers from India told me about it. Thought it sounded fun, so I commissioned a table. I’ll come up to bed in a few hours.”
Did he believe he could dismiss her? She almost snorted at the absurdity. He knew her better than that. “I’m not one of your staff that you can command, Nicholas. I want to know happened after I left you at Roseburn.”
Nick clenched his jaw. “Nothing to tell.”
“Mr. O’Sullivan seemed to think differently.”
He set the cue down on the table with a knock that made Alexandra wince. “O’Sullivan’s inability to mind his own fucking business is why I sacked him.”
“He cares about you,” she said, very softly, watching Nick’s tense shoulders. Still, he wouldn’t turn around.
