Page 79 of The Viscount's Promise
As Malcolm was wont to do here, he hurried past the butler in the direction indicated. He had the mad desire to forego seeking Willbridge out first, to find Emily instead. His entire body tingled with the awareness that she was here somewhere, within these walls. So close he could sense her.
But Willbridge deserved the respect of hearing Malcolm’s intentions first. He had been one of his closest friends since childhood. And how did Malcolm repay him? By taking advantage of the promise he had given, kissing the man’s sister senseless, pursuing her, then inadvertently breaking her heart. Though Willbridge had brought Emily to London to find him, what were his true feelings on the matter? It was a big man, indeed, that would not be upset in some way that his friend wanted his little sister.
Coming up on the study, Malcolm’s steps slowed. Unaccountably nervous, he took a deep breath and knocked.
“Enter.” Willbridge’s voice was neutral, giving away nothing. Straightening his shoulders, Malcolm stepped over the threshold. And was immediately met by a very large fist.
It was luck and luck alone that kept Malcolm on his feet. The force of the punch had him stumbling back, crashing into the door frame. He cleared the stars from his eyes. Cradling his throbbing jaw, he looked up.
Willbridge stood with feet planted in a fighter’s stance, his fists white-knuckled and raised before him. There was no softness in his expression, no forgiveness. Pure fury pulsated from his tightly wound form.
“So I was right,” Malcolm muttered with a sinking heart. “You did see me with Lydia.”
Willbridge’s eyes narrowed. “You deserve much more from me than a bruised jaw. But I promised Emily I would not kill you, and so this was my one option. Damn it, I trusted you, Morley. With someone infinitely precious to me.”
The pain in his friend’s voice was like a dagger in Malcolm’s chest. “That moment with Lydia—it isn’t what it looked like. I feel nothing for her any longer. Nothing.”
His friend was deaf to any excuses. “You broke my sister’s heart.”
“I swear, I never meant to hurt her.”
“Yet you did.”
A vision of Emily’s face when last they’d been together at the river’s edge sliced through his thoughts. The pain in her eyes. So what if Lydia had been the puppeteer in the whole mess. He had been equally guilty for not seeing what Lydia was up to, for leaving Emily to her mercy.
“I did,” he whispered, overcome with his idiocy, and what it had cost him. “I can never make up for it.”
“You can make up for it by leaving and never returning.”
“I can’t do that. I need to see Emily.”
Willbridge’s brows lowered further over his blazing gray eyes. “I don’t know the details of your association with her during my absence. I cringe with shame when I think how I entrusted her to you. It was against my better judgment to bring her here after you. You who were my friend, who would prey on my sister. If you think I will allow you to even breathe in her presence again, you are sorely mistaken.”
“Please, Willbridge,” Malcolm begged, holding his hands out before him when his friend would have moved forward, no doubt to throw him bodily from the room, “for what we were to one another.”
“You deserve nothing from me,” Willbridge growled. “When you broke my sister’s heart, you forfeited any right to favors from me. If it were up to me, I would beat you to a bloody pulp, and smile while doing it.”
Malcolm lowered his hand, raising his chin a fraction. “Do it then,” he said quietly. “I won’t stop you.”
If anything, Willbridge looked angrier. “Don’t you dare,” he spat. “You will not play a victim now, not after what you’ve done.”
“I am the furthest thing from a victim there is,” Malcolm said, self-loathing coating every word until he could taste the bitterness on his tongue. “What I have allowed to happen to Emily is reprehensible. Do your worst. I give you free rein.”
Willbridge’s fists shook, his eyes darkening. Malcolm forced himself to look his friend in the face. He had wronged him as much as he had Emily, had broken the sacred trust that had been given to him. He waited for the blows to come.
They never did.
Willbridge seemed to deflate. He ran a hand over his face, looking a decade older. “Leave, Morley,” he rasped. “I never want to see your face darkening my door again.”
Malcolm’s heart, which had begun to beat again with Emily’s help, fractured.
“Caleb, what’s going on here?”
The quiet, feminine voice broke over the tense cloud of rage and grief that pulsed throughout the room. Malcolm’s stomach flipped. But when he turned it was to find not Emily, but Imogen.
Instantly Willbridge’s face softened. No, not just his face. His entire body changed, his posture relaxing visibly. He held out a hand and his wife went to him. “Nothing, love. Morley was just leaving.” He shot Malcolm a warning look over her head.
“He doesn’t appear ready to leave,” she commented, directing her steady gaze to Malcolm. There was a mildly censorious glint in her eyes. No, not quite censorious. More disappointed. It was more potent than any of Willbridge’s ragings, and hit him harder than the fist to his jaw. He squirmed with guilt.
