What is the use of it if you don’t use it for good? Greater good, yes, but the good of your friends?”
“Like you are,” Sinclair said, his tone cool. “Inviting him and his common little wife to your party. Trying to get him back in at the club. Have you ever thought that you won’t help him at all, but will only hurt yourself?”
Nathan tilted his head. “Is that a threat?”
Sinclair shrugged. “No, it simply a statement of the facts. You may wish to save the world, but we cut out the weak and the wounded for a reason. There are systems in place for a reason.”
Nathan stared at him, this man he’d known since school. A person he’d called his friend. The others were not as direct in their words, but neither were they arguing against them.
“Fuck the systems,” Nathan growled. “And fuck all of you. Get out of my house.”
The three of them looked a little stunned at that order, but after a moment of staring and blinking, they walked away, back into the house and, Nathan assumed, out the front door. He didn’t follow to be sure of it. His hands were shaking too hard, his breath was coming too short. He needed a moment to calm himself, to regain his cool.
To find a way to face Rhys and tell him what had transpired. They would have to find a better way to approach his return to Society. It seemed they could depend on no one else but each other at present.
And that wouldn’t be enough.
He shook his head and stalked away down the terrace. It wrapped around the back of the house, and he found an unlocked door that led into a parlor. It was dim, for the fire had burned down, but when he added a few logs, the room brightened. He leaned against the mantel, staring into the flames, as he tried to make his wild mind settle.
“Nathan?”
He froze. In his upset, he was hearing things. Certainly that couldn’t be Abigail’s voice saying his name. The door to the parlor hadn’t opened, no one knew he was here.
“Nathan.”
He turned, and there she was standing in the same terrace doorway where he had entered a moment before. She was staring at him, dark eyes wide and hands clenched at her sides.
She drew a breath and fully entered the room, shutting the door behind her. “I-I saw you on the terrace. I heard what you said.”
Chapter 8
Abigail watched as Nathan bent his head, his expression crumpling a fraction in the soft glow of the firelight. His hands flexed, open and shut, over and over, and finally he whispered, “So you saw.”
She nodded slowly, and a sudden panic rose up in her chest. “I-I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop,” she tried to explain. “I had gone out onto the terrace for a moment to myself after we danced. When those men came out, I didn’t want to be seen. I slipped into the shadows, hoping they’d go back inside after they smoked.”
Nathan held up a hand, though he didn’t look at her. “I didn’t think you were eavesdropping.” He let out a long sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “I came in here for a drink and a moment of my own.”
“I can…I can leave you,” she said, and found herself hoping he would say no. Hoping he would invite her to stay.
He looked at her, holding her stare evenly. “Would you like a drink?”
She knew she shouldn’t. She knew she should walk away, just as she’d done after they danced, but she couldn’t. Not after what she’d seen and heard on the terrace. Not when he looked so lost and forlorn.
“Yes,” she whispered.
He moved to the sideboard and splashed whisky in two glasses. He handed one over to her and downed his in one gulp.
Her eyes went wide as she took a ginger sip. “I can see you are very upset.”
“Yes,” he ground out, and set the glass down. He paced across the room, tension coming off of him in waves. “I value loyalty in friendship. Rhys has always offered it to those he held dear. He deserves the same in return from them. To watch people we counted as friends being that feckless, being that cruel after something that wasn’t even his doing or fault…”
He trailed off and his shoulders rolled forward. He looked so disappointed, so broken hearted, not for himself but for Rhys.
She moved toward him, shaking her head as she did