Veronica stood and made her way to the window. She stared off through the icy glass at the wide, white expanse, watching the fat flakes of snow drift to join the others on the piles in front of the house. A hundred different thoughts flew through her mind at once, but the main one, the overriding one, was…she had been a completely intolerant ass. She should say something. She knew that. But…what? What could she possibly say to make any of it right? Even an apology seemed hopelessly inadequate.

The door behind her opened, and she turned swiftly to see Sebastian about to leave.

“Where are you going?” she blurted, shattering the tomblike silence of the room.

“Back to my study,” Sebastian replied. “I’ll have the maids pack your things. I’m releasing you from our bargain. You no longer need to attend the Hazeltons’ ball with me tomorrow night.” A muscle ticked in his jaw and his eyes were shards of jade.

Veronica closed her eyes briefly. It hurt to breathe. “You want me gone?”

“You’ll have to go to your brother’s tonight.” Sebastian’s voice was flat. “It’s too dangerous to return to Edgefield Hall in this storm.”

“How do you know I want to go back to Edgefield Hall?” Her throat ached. Her voice was barely more than a whisper.

“Honestly, Veronica, once the storm lets up, I don’t give a damn where you go.”

Chapter Seventeen

Later that night, Veronica sat on a cream-colored sofa in a drawing room of her brother’s town house staring into an empty wine glass. She’d had three glasses of the stuff and felt no better than she had when Sebastian had unceremoniously ordered the maids to pack her things and sent her and Mary off into the snowy afternoon to Justin’s house. Justin’s house being only two streets away, they’d hardly been in danger while traveling.

The door to the drawing room opened and Justin stepped inside. Veronica held up her empty glass and eyed her brother through the thing. “Why do so many people say it’s a good thing to drink your troubles away?”

“Pardon?” her brother asked, moving over to the sideboard and splashing brandy into a glass for himself.

“It’s mentioned in books, in poetry, in plays. Drinking is supposed to help one forget one’s cares, but all its done is give me a nagging headache.”

“You’re not doing it correctly then,” Justin drawled.

“Show me how to do it correctly, please,” she said hopefully.

He arched a brow at her. “Care for a brandy?”

She nodded. “Yes, absolutely I care for one. Thank you.”

Justin returned to the sideboard and splashed a much smaller amount of brandy into another glass before crossing the room to hand it to her. He sat in a large sage-colored chair at right-angles to the sofa and pushed his booted feet out in front of him, crossing his legs at the ankles. He took a large sip of brandy. “Dare I ask why you’re here and not at your husband’s house?”