“What’s working? Not our cursed marriage, apparently.”
“You’re swearing a lot.” She tentatively stepped towards him, hovering near him, just in case.
“I’ll swear as much I damn well want to.” His words slurred. What had Jonathan laced with the brandy?
“You’re quite beautiful,” he purred, leaning forward to cup her cheek in his hand.
“You already said that.”
“I have?” He looked startled at the thought. “There is something else I need to confess.”
“Yes?” Willow urged when he fell silent.
He stared into her eyes, drawing his brows together. “It slips my mind.”
“You cannot recall anything?”
He thought about that, and then muttered. “Meant to let her go.”
“Ambrose?” Willow shot forward when he began to slump, keeping him upward. “Meant to let who go?”
“Planned an entire feast.”
“What are you talking about?” Willow asked. She had a hard time following his train of thought. He meant to let someone go and planned a feast? But before she could form a thought on his ramblings, his head slumped against her shoulder.
“Jonathan!” she cried.
“You like my brother better than me.”
“That’s not true.”
“You do.”
“I truly do not.”
“Warton ruined everything, bastard. Was going to tell you, you know, and now you prefer my brother. Much better than me.”
Dark eyes lifted to meet hers, stark longing reflected there. Her heart tugged, and Willow could not prevent the next words from tumbling out—no matter if she knew better, no matter if they might be already doomed.
“I prefer you,” she whispered and dragged in a shaky breath. His shoulders leaned heavily into hers and Willow realized he was no longer aware of the world around him, so she said, “I will always prefer you, because despite everything, I think I might be in love with you.”
At which her husband promptly crumbled to the ground.
“Jonathan!” Willow called out again, sinking down beside him.
Moments later, her brother-in-law strode into the room, his gaze flicking over them as he kneeled beside Ambrose. “Well, that didn’t take long.”
Not long? It felt as though it had taken everything from her. “He’s going to be a beast when he regains consciousness.”
“Better get him up to the room. I’m not sure how long he’ll be asleep.”
Her anxious eyes sprung to his. “I thought you said it would work!”
“And it has, though I cannot speak to how long the draught will keep him under, which is why we are tying him up.”
Willow traced a finger over Ambrose’s brow. This confrontation must have been the hardest thing she’d ever done, but she wanted to give Holly the best chance at a happy future. And if marriage to Warton made her sister happy, then Willow was happy.
But what did that mean for her? What had her husband attempted to confess? Had he planned on letting her sister go? What was this feast? When had he replaced his rules with a blank set? But more importantly, had she gotten it all wrong?
