“That is no business of yours.”
“I’ll take that as an affirmative.”
“Please don’t.”
“Loosen up, brother. Let past grievances go and live your life free of strictures.”
Fate, indeed.
“Strictures are there—”
“To prevent your wife from suffering the same fate as our beloved sister, yes, I gathered.”
Ambrose sucked in a breath. The pain stabbed him, sharp and quick, at the mention of Celia.
“Your wife will not suffer the same fate,” Jonathan murmured softly. “There was no way for you to save Celia any more than I could. She was ill.”
“We have been over this,” Ambrose said quietly, darkly. The guilt he carried over his sister’s death was his burden. For years it had served as a reminder of what happened when there were no strictures in a person’s life. But it had been wishful thinking that Ambrose could breathe the force of his will into his wife. He couldn’t. And he didn’t want to.
“I thought it deserved another mention. Like I said, I’d hate for you to lose your wife because of our loss.”
“But if Celia had lived a healthier life—”
“She would have died anyway.” Jonathan shook his head. “She had a bad heart, Ambrose, and your wife doesn’t. That woman’s heart is as strong as her backbone. But you already know that. That is why you haven’t forced your little rules down her throat.”
Aye, that was the same conclusion Ambrose had arrived at. Celia’s death aside, Willow did not have a bad heart. She had a strong spirit, a good heart, in more ways than one.
Ambrose knew that the day Celia died he had shut himself off from emotion, seeking shelter in cold, hard control. He’d done so because he never wanted pain to darken his door again. And so he had compiled those rules the day he proposed to Holly. They had been drawn up to ensure his wife lived a healthy, non-tiring lifestyle.
Jonathan’s gaze fell to the letter on his desk, his eyes widening as he snatched it up. “You found her. You found Holly Middleton.”
Ambrose cursed. He should have tossed the damn letter in the fire as his wife had done with his rules. And, admittedly, he should have called his men off days ago—only he’d been preoccupied enjoying his wife’s touches and hadn’t thought enough about how his pursuit for justice would affect their truce.
To force this marriage was the quickest way to make his wife loathe him. And it suddenly became important that his wife not loathe him.
“The men I had searching for her found her.”
“And now you don’t know what to do?” Jonathan guessed.
Ambrose glanced to the ceiling. “I know exactly what to do.”
“A role of an eye. Have the heavens fallen? Or has your wife already rubbed off on you?”
“She is my wife; there was bound to be some rubbing.”
Jonathan’s eyes flew wide. “More humor? It cannot be!”
“I’m not a complete bore.”
“You were.” Jonathan continued before Ambrose could object. “But that is not my point. My point is that youdocare for your wife. Maybe even love her. I can see it, old chap. So consider adhering to my warning and abandon those rules of yours.”
Love?
Ambrose cared for Willow a great deal. But love?
“I can see you are bowled over by the revelation.”
“Sod off.”
