His Black Sheep Bride (Aristocratic Grooms 1)

Colin merely tipped his head in acknowledgment.

Sawyer’s mouth twisted with dry humor, but the smile faded when he thought of his own recent dealings with Tamara.

Were his actions those of a desperate man? After discovering Tamara was pregnant, he’d acted reflexively. He’d tracked her down the next day and given her an ultimatum.

Well done, Melton.

He realized suddenly that Colin and Hawk were looking at him and waiting.

He looked from one to the other of his companions. “Have I missed something?”

“Should we expect to read news of your protracted divorce battle in the Intelligencer?” Hawk countered with a question of his own.

“I bloody well hope not,” Sawyer responded grimly.

“You’re going to persuade Tamara not to divorce you, then?”

Persuade wasn’t exactly the right word, Sawyer thought. Threaten and coerce were more accurate.

“I’ve talked to her,” he responded shortly.

It had been two days since his confrontation with Tamara at the loft, and since then, he’d stubbornly embraced his righteous anger.

“Talked?” Hawk queried now.

“I laid the alternatives out for her.” Sawyer’s lips thinned. “The ball’s in her court.”

Hawk said nothing for a moment, and then gave a short bark of laughter. “In other words, you went in all hotheaded.” He shook his head slowly, ruefully. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“What?” Sawyer asked irritably.

Hawk traded a glance with Colin. “I never thought I’d see the day you’d lose your head over a woman.”

Sawyer gave a grunt.

Was Hawk right? Had he lost his head? Tamara had a way of firing his blood, in more ways than one. He’d never had a woman get under his skin that way.

But he’d lived too long, had borne too much witness to his own parents’ divorce, and was too aware of his and Tamara’s differences to believe he was in l—

Hell and damn.

The realization hit him like a punch to the stomach.

“I don’t see what you know about it, Hawkshire,” he nevertheless responded with aristocratic hauteur. “Isn’t there a wedding planner somewhere who’d dispute your understanding of women?”

Hawk surprised him by refusing to take the bait, and instead, shrugged. “I’ve learned a few things since. Or maybe it’s just easier to see someone else’s situation clearly.”

Sawyer remained silent.

Had he lost his grip on reasonable behavior where Tamara was concerned? But then, when had he ever been reasonable about Tamara?

And more importantly, Sawyer thought, what was he going to do about it now that she refused to believe or trust him?

When the loft buzzer sounded, Tamara was expecting a delivery person or perhaps an unexpected client.

It was a Friday evening, but people had been dropping by regularly to visit her studio ever since her engagement and subsequent quick marriage.

She knew she had Sawyer to thank for the buzz.

Sawyer.

No, she wouldn’t let her mind go there.

But when she went to the intercom, she discovered it wasn’t a delivery or client. Instead, her father asked to gain entrance.

Without acknowledgment, she hit the button to unlock the building door downstairs, left her front door ajar and then wandered back deeper into the apartment, her arms wrapping around herself.

She turned around only when she heard her father’s footsteps and then the loft door closing. She knew she looked peaked from her latest crying jag and lack of sleep, but she didn’t care. It was only pregnancy hormones, she told herself.

She eyed her father warily. “What are you doing here?”

As usual, he was dressed in a business suit for the office.

She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t turned him away. Perhaps because she thought he hadn’t truly received his comeuppance. She’d left her ire for Sawyer three days ago, and her father had, advisedly and rather uncharacteristically, beaten a hasty retreat from the field of battle.

Rather than respond directly, her father surveyed her. “You look awful.”

“Thank you,” she retorted.

“In fact, you remind me of myself during one of my divorces.”

“I’m surprised that disposing of a wife affected you that much.”

Her father sighed. “I suppose in your eyes I bear a passing resemblance to Henry VIII.”

“My only quibble is with the word passing.”

Her father’s lips lifted in barest acknowledgment as he stepped farther into the loft and took a seat in her armchair.

She remained standing.

“I suppose there’s much we can quibble about, including the particulars of my divorces, some known, some not.”

“I’ve witnessed enough.”

“Perhaps.” Her father looked around, his eyes coming to rest on a nearby display case before looking back at her. “It’s quite an inviting space that you have here.”

“Thank you. I managed to hold on to it with a devil’s bargain.”

Her father raised his eyebrows mildly. “Sawyer?”

She nodded. “He covered my rent and then some in return for a short marriage of convenience until the merger went through. Of course, I didn’t know you had attached a very significant additional condition.” She glared. “How could you?”

Her father sighed. “You never asked me why I wanted this match between you and Sawyer.”

“Kincaid News,” she responded succinctly.

“True, but the old earl and I also thought you and Sawyer would suit.”

She arched a brow. “After the failed marriages that you both experienced?”

Her father shrugged. “Every marriage is different. Your mother’s inability to adapt to being a viscountess was just one of the reasons that our marriage didn’t work, though it was a major one.”

“The other being that your heart belonged to Kincaid News?”

Her father grimaced. “I did do my best to make you appreciate your heritage, both with Kincaid News and the title.”

“Yes, you did,” she allowed. “But anyone can see that Sawyer and I are—”

“—meant to be together.”

She shook her head stubbornly. “Will you do anything to succeed? Sawyer has been pretending.”

“Then he’s a damned fine actor.” Her father sighed again. “I’ve had three wives. Allow me to boast some discernment when it comes to a man being ruled by his passion for a particular woman against all reason.”