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Turning on his heel, Andrew headed for his office.

The moment he stepped inside, his gaze moved quickly from his stoic brother-in-law to the ashen gentleman at his side.

“She is safe,” he said quietly as he closed the door behind him.

“She is safe?” Wessex repeated, and then his shoulders sagged, and he sank onto his haunches. “She is safe.” He repeated those three words like some sort of mantra to call himself back from a place of terror.

Uncomfortable with that display of emotion, that weakening that bespoke the depth of the father’s love for the cherished daughter whom Andrew had inadvertently put at risk, Andrew headed to the sideboard and poured himself a drink.

“I’m taking her.”

Had the other man bellowed those three words, they couldn’t have packed more power than they did in that quiet, calm deliverance.

Andrew stiffened, and drink in hand, he turned back. “I beg your pardon?”

“As you should. My daughter was nearly killed this night.” Wessex clipped out each syllable of each word. “I am taking her home with me.”

“You think to take my wife?”

“She’s not some damned possession of yours, Waters,” the older viscount bellowed. “She is my daughter. She is mine and my wife’s greatest joy, and I obviously knew you were never worthy of her, but I’ll not stand by and let her be hurt because you can’t properly care for her.”

Andrew squared his shoulders. “You are not taking Marcia anywhere,” he said quietly, and Lord Wessex drew his shoulders back. “That is, not if she does not wish to go.” He’d not keep her here against her will. But neither would he allow anyone—her parents included—to make decisions for her. “If you speak to her, and that is what she wishes, I will not stand in her way.”

He felt Rutland’s piercing stare on him.

Tension filled the room.

Wessex glared at him, and then without another word, he let himself out.

The moment he’d gone, Rutland lit into him. “I told you to marry the lady, and instead of looking after Wessex’s daughter, I’m getting word from DuMond that he’s saved her from being abducted?” his brother-in-law hissed.

“Having your eyes all over London watch me, are you?” he spat.

“Damned straight I am,” Rutland snapped. “And be glad I am, or else your wife would have found herself dead or worse.”

Andrew slammed his untouched tumbler of whiskey down hard enough to break the glass. “My wife was in danger, and your first order of business was contacting her father?”

“Yes, it was,” Rutland bellowed, and Andrew rocked back. It was the first time he’d seen the always composed and in-control marquess lose his temper. “Because she is also Wessex’s daughter, and someday”—he looked Andrew up and down—“given your reputation and how you were discovered with the lady, you’ll find yourself with a daughter, and you’ll understand.”

“She’s my wife,” Andrew barked.

Rutland took a step closer. “The same wife you so easily offered to turn back over to her father?” he taunted.

He drew back. “I did not,” he said, indignant. “That is not what I did at all.” He’d been allowing Marcia to make the choice.

“The lady is your wife, and I’d suggest you startactinglike it,” Rutland said quietly. “For I am not giving you blind loyalty, Andrew, because you are not deserving of it. You’ve done nothing to prove yourself reliable.”

At any point in his life.

Rutland might as well have spoken that harsh truth aloud.

“And yet, with all my many flaws”—and there were many, Andrew agreed—“you still coordinated my marriage to your best friend’s daughter.” He couldn’t manage to keep the bitterness from slipping in.

“Because you ruined her, Andrew,” Rutland said flatly. “Because I knew Wessex would duel you if you did not, at the very least, offer her marriage, just as I knew you wouldn’t shoot Wessex. You’d have defaulted your shot, and my wife, your sister, would be grieving your death,” he said, as ruthlessly methodical in the determination he’d arrived at as he’d always been. “Furthermore, with Miss Gray’s reputation and the scandal already surrounding her, she was never going to find a respectable husband, and I had hoped…” The fight seemed to go out of Rutland. He gave Andrew a sad look and then shook his head. “I had simply hoped you might rise to the occasion.”

Andrew fisted his hands at his sides. The reason Rutland had supported the match was because he’d sought to save Andrew’s life and also because he’d believed there wouldn’t be another more deserving man coming behind him for Marcia. And in that, both of them had stolen from Marcia the future that she deserved. “I have risen to the occasion since I married Marcia,” he said quietly. He’d given up visiting his old haunts. He’d stopped carousing and drinking. “I’ve changed.” His lip curled in a sneer. “Have your men not told you that?” But then, would it really matter? To Rutland, to the world on the whole Andrew was and would always be the same person he’d always been. Only, Marcia had seen more in him. Marcia had opened his eyes to his own worth. Marcia, whose love he’d also lost. Andrew sank into the folds of his chair, and stared blankly out.

Rutland was right.