“Then it’s a possibility.” Verda’s chin fell to her chest. “That Julius is a product of your father and Miss Wimbley’s mother.”
“There is something…” Sander said slowly. “Years ago.” He turned to his wife and took her hand. “It was the night we met, actually.”
“The Lyon’s Den?” she whispered back.
“Yes. Damien and I had argued. He was most agitated. To a degree that I suggested he, er…” He speared his wife a quick look, red flags dotting the high points of his cheekbones Noah was certain had nothing to do with the heat from the fire.
Aunt Verda squeezed his hand. “Do go on, darling. I also remember informing you that very night the libertine of which your brother was reputed.”
With his free hand, Sander covered his mouth in a choked cough. “Yes, well, I told him he should visit his, er, mistress. His response was that he had, and her husband had returned from the sea, and that he’d had to climb out the window like a common housebreaker.” He cut his eyes to Noah. “He was quite aggrieved. Later, when he suggested I hire Verda as your governess, Damien said he would be heading back to Stonemare after handling a small matter before departing.”
Noah let out another long-held breath, his heart threatening to leap from his chest. “But that doesn’t mean…”
Sander lifted a brow at Noah. “That your father sired a child with Miss Wimbley’s mother? Lower your hackles, son.”
“No,” Verda said. “But we must ask ourselves how Miss Wimbley happened upon Damien as the result of her reasoning in the first place.”
But Noah already knew the answer. It had been spelled out in the note from her mother.You must do something to save my Gen… All that is precious to me is in your hands. Everything in my possession…Some of the words had been marred by tears or fingers, but the note had clearly been addressed to Father. Chest hurting, Noah was quite aware he was attempting to fool himself. All to no avail.
“And Miss Wimbley?” Verda asked.
Noah’s insides rebelled and his teeth gnashed. He stood and moved to the windows. “What about her?”
“Don’t be daft, son. We’ve seen how you look at her. You can hardly manage a complete sentence when she is about.”
“Isabelle adores her,” Verda added. “She’s always possessed an uncanny intuition. Don’t you agree?”
Sander smiled. “Assuredly, my dear.” He turned back to Noah. “If you wish to discuss your intentions toward her…”
While Sander usually offered sound advice, Noah couldn’t quite make the leap in confessing the chaotic emotions that surged through him where Geneva Wimbley was concerned. They were too volatile. Too fluctuating. A disastrous outcome when it came to chemistry experiments.She’s not an experiment.He wanted her in a way that frightened him. From this position, the second of his largest failures loomed in full view. The collapsed turret he’d destroyed with his stubborn arrogance at following safety protocols being the second.
The first had been his inability to save Isabelle’s ankle from the infection of the adder’s bite. It had stolen her rightful life from her and it was Noah’s fault.
“Gads, you are strung tight as a viola string.” Sander’s goad drew Noah’s glance over his shoulder. “You’re not thinking of that damned snake again, are you?”
Noah’s lips tightened.
“Oh, Noah. When will you realize that such a thing could have happened to anyone?” Verda said softly. “You were not to blame.”
Sander grinned. “You need a wife, Noah. I think Miss Wimbley would suit you admirably.”
His suggestion did not fall by the wayside. Quite the opposite. Because Noah’s thoughts bombarded his every waking moment with the exact same words.
“You should bed her and be done with the business,” Sander went on.
Verda gasped. “Sander!”
A red haze blinded Noah temporarily. His hands clenched into fists. “Is that what you did to Aunt Verda?” he bit out.
A quick hiss showed his mark had hit its target. The charged silence didn’t ease for almost half a minute. “My apologies, son. My remark was uncalled for.”
“Indeed.” Noah turned his gaze back out the window to the churning, dark clouds. A flash of bright green caught his eyes. “What the devil?”
“Where is Geneva?” Docia’s crossness cut across the sitting room. “I’ve been looking for her. I vow, she is hiding from me.”
Noah didn’t blame her for her irritability; Geneva had a way of vexing those of the most calming of natures, and Docia was hardly that. “Hiding from you?” he suggested, watching said woman edge her way around the pile of stones. “If she is, then she took drastic measures.” The hair at his nape lifted with a sense of foreboding.
Docia strolled up beside him, her French perfume forcing him to bite back a sneeze. “What do you mean?” She let out an indignant huff. “Well, that isn’t very sporting of her.”
