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Drew’s anger reignited. It had been glowing like coals since they left the Marquis’s house. ‘The rift… Were you not in the room, Mary?’

Did she need him to spell it out for her? He had no intention of doing so. He was an unwanted bastard. He would not explain that.

‘Andrew.’ She came towards him, all sweet innocent charm and quiet voice. ‘What harm would it do to tell me what happened? Whatever you did it must have been years ago.’

It cut that she automatically laid the blame on him. He thought her opinion of him had changed. That she no longer thought him bad. But this mess was not her fault. He calmed his temper – silencing the urge to yell at her. ‘It is not a rift,’ he said quietly, walking over to the decanter to pour himself a brandy. ‘It is a canyon a mile wide and there are no bridges. Let it rest.’

‘But apologies can make?—’

‘I have nothing to apologise for.’ He lifted the stopper from the decanter.

‘I know that it often seems that way,’ she said more hesitantly, as he half-filled a glass. ‘But sometimes an apology can help, even if you do not think you are in the wrong.’

Am I to apologise for my birth?

He swallowed some brandy.

Her fingers slipped about his middle, holding him from behind, as she pressed her cheek against his shoulder. She was offering comfort, but he had a feeling she sought to appease him too.

After a moment, she let go.

He turned.

Her hands hovered in front of her waist, her fingers nervously touching her wedding ring. She looked from the ring to him, her crystal-like eyes looking straight into his eyes. ‘Why is your ring inscribed T R? I wondered if it was a family ring, but the initials do not link with anyone.’

Could the woman not work it out for herself? He sipped the brandy.

‘I am sorry, I suppose you won it in a game of cards, or…’

Good God. Drew felt his anger soar. Or? Was she accusing him of giving her a stolen ring?

‘Or what, Mary?’ His pitch was low, his temper threatening. ‘Say it!’ he growled.

She stepped back, grasping the back of a chair to stop herself from falling. ‘It is nothing.’ Confusion flickered in her beautiful eyes.

But he could not get a grip on his anger. ‘Nothing, Mary?’ She had unleashed the devil in him. He glared at her. But damn her! ‘Or that it may be stolen? From whom would I steal it? Why would I give you something of so little meaning? I neither won nor stole your ring.’

‘I… I… did n… not m… mean…’ she stuttered.

‘To assume I must be in the wrong and them right? You meant every damned word! Well, I am sick of your condemnation. I don’t give a damn what you think any more.’ He threw the last of the brandy into his mouth, swallowed and turned away from her. ‘Think what you damn well wish.’ He had to get away.

‘Andrew.’ She followed him towards the door. ‘I just did not understand.’

As he passed the games table, where the chessboard was set for a new game, he turned back, lifting a hand to warn her from coming close. ‘I told you I did not want to go there, but you insisted. Are you happy now?’

He felt as though she had pulled a loose thread and he was fraying. ‘I have no idea who T R is. But whomever he is, he is my father! Would you have me apologise to the Marquis and my mother, who have always hated that I exist, for her lechery?’

The eyes he had admired so often, and seen strength and humour in, misted with pity.

His anger burned even brighter. ‘Do not pity me!’

‘Please…’ She tried to hold his arm.

He lifted it away. ‘Please what? Apologise to them! No!’ With that he struck the chess pieces from the board, swiping them onto the floor with the back of his hand, sending them flying with a satisfactory crash, and then for good measure he tipped over the table, so the marble board followed its players.

Then he stormed from the room, his heart racing.