Chapter Twenty-One
Once, when Sebastian was a young boy, he saw a barn cat catch a wild rabbit.
The rabbit had made horrid, tortured sounds in its slow death as the cat tightened its grip and ate away at its throat, bite by bite, with no regard for the immense suffering of the creature in its clutches.
The rabbit, with no one to save it, had simply leaked its life out onto the ground while the cat gnawed away.
Standing in the library, watching Augusta storm out, he knew precisely how that rabbit felt.
It took several long seconds for his feet to start moving. They carried him out into the front hall, then the stoop, at which point he looked around and saw that his carriage was gone. She’d left him completely.
It was about then that the rage set in. He returned to the study, where Bancroft still stood dumbly.
His hand was around his friend’s throat in an instant.
“You fucking bastard.” Shoving his friend against the wall, he swung his arm back. When his fist collided with Bancroft’s face, he only felt that it was not enough. Even the crunch of bone breaking did not appease his sudden bloodlust.
Bancroft’s head snapped back against the wall. Blood flowed from his nose and down his chin, sullying his cravat.
“Fuck,” he spat, droplets of blood and spit flying. “You broke my nose.”
You’ve broken everything.
“I ought to have killed you. Count yourself lucky.”
Sebastian dropped his grip on Bancroft, choosing to step away before the urge to do anything worse than throw a punch overtook him.
Holding his nose, Bancroft cast him a hateful look. “It had to happen eventually. Would you rather your wife have gone sneaking about forever, making you look the fool?”
“And this was your solution, then? To humiliate the both of us like this? To ruin a happy marriage?”
Bancroft gave one last wince as he finally removed his hand from his bloodied nose.
“Your marriage was a scheme that was apparently so good, even you fell for it. But that dowry is not going to last forever, and neither is your strange obsession with her. Your little wife had to come off of her pedestal in order for you to see that.”
Loathe as he was to admit it, there was a small seed of truth in Bancroft’s words.
Sebastian needed to know all that had been revealed tonight.
Without his knowing, someone in the ton with far worse intentions than Bancroft could have done something terrible with such information.
Now, at least, it might never leave this library.
And, in truth, Augusta had deserved to know about his lies, as well. He had just thought he’d be able to someday present it in a way that was more palatable, easier to take in. They would have been able to laugh about it, even.
Now, with the ruins of his happy marriage laid at his feet, he had no idea where to begin rebuilding.
“Well,” he said after a time. “I suppose I ought to hail a carriage, oughtn’t I?”
*****
During the long ride home - in a rented carriage, no less - Sebastian’s mind parsed through every detail of the revelations that had just been made. Namely, that weasel Dr. Pinkton.
The man so obviously had bad intentions to lure Augusta to a life of subversion and chaos.
Did he fancy her? He had to, Sebastian thought - no man could spend so much time with her for so many years and not fall for her.
Besides, only love could make a man believe that his female blue-blooded protege would ever be able to work in his field.
He would find the man, soon, and allay such ridiculous notions.
Augusta had been correct about the scandal.
Nothing had leaked thus far, but that meant little.
Scandal in the ton could occur at any time, begun by something as small as a whisper.
Sebastian would have to talk to her, glean details of her liaisons in order to understand just how deep this went, how badly they could be impacted.
But that would have to wait a great while. There were other, more pertinent things to discuss tonight. Like many, many apologies, probably given on his knees.
If she did not accept them, he would have to get comfortable sleeping in the guest room.
That was his final independent thought before the townhouse came into view. At that point, all he could think about was Augusta, and catching a glimpse of her. He sought out every window at the front of the home, praying to see a flickering light of a candle. All of them were as dark as death.
With a sigh, he walked through his front door, pausing inside to listen for any noise. Even so much as a floorboard creaking would have settled his nerves.
Nothing.
He headed up the stairs.
“Love?” he called, flinching at the sound of his own voice. He hated every bit of himself.
Still nothing.
Turning down the hallway, he took cautious steps toward their bedroom. It was of vital importance, he felt, that he found her inside. He had to believe that in her darkest moments, she would flee to their home - their bed - for comfort.
But when he pushed open the door, the only thing that greeted him was an empty room.