William slowly set the letter back down on his desk, unsure of what he was feeling or even what he was supposed to feel. A surge of different emotions ran through him, like a wave crashing up against cliffs and leaving behind endless ripples.
Amusement, surprise, pity, frustration. And a strange, restless sadness that started to ache in his chest.
What was it about Malcolm's words that cut him so deep?
Of course, he'd now trapped himself. He'd never be able to talk to Camilla about it all without revealing that he'd read the r letter without her permission.
Not that he exactly needed permission to read anything to do with his wife. But William knew his conscience would never let him just disregard her feelings. If she wanted her correspondence with her brother to remain private, she had a right to request that.
And he'd just gone and disregarded it. Damn.
