“You should find that out for yourself.”

The chipper little voice got louder. Nathan knew he shouldn’t ask, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Is it Chloe?”

“No.” Ed’s tone was flat and disapproving. Nathan couldn’t tell if the disapproval was aimed at him or Chloe. Or both.

“Then tell whoever it is to go to hell.” The misery that Chloe’s name had temporarily banished flooded back through him.

“That wouldn’t be a good idea.”

“I’m sorry to barge in on you like this, son, but I don’t have a lot of time.” This had to be a nightmare, because the new voice sounded like his father.

Nathan pushed himself up onto his elbow even though the shift in elevation tightened the vise currently clamped around his head. He squinted at the two shapes silhouetted against the windows, trying to distinguish faces. “Sir?”

One shape stepped forward. “I have to catch a flight out of JFK at fifteen hundred hours. Angel and I are headed for Vienna.”

It was his father. Long years of training made Nathan straighten and then wince at the new crash of pain. “Sir, if you’ll give me a minute,” he said. He wasn’t going to stagger around the room clutching his head in front of the general.

“I’ll wait in your study,” his father said. “Ed, this young man could use a batch of your patented hangover killer.”

Nathan searched for condemnation in the general’s voice but found none.

“I’ll get right on it, sir,” Ed said as he accompanied the general out of the room.

Nathan crawled out from under the covers and hoisted himself off the bed, stumbling into the bathroom to fill the sink with cold water and dunk his head in it. It didn’t stop the pain, but it cleared away some of the cobwebs.

He braced his arms on the counter and let water drip from his hair into the sink as memories of the day before came spinning back into his brain. Chloe looking scared but determined as she told him they’d have to break off their relationship. Chloe looking angry as she challenged him about the damned bet. Ed and Ben hammering at him in the Rolls about what he’d done to upset Chloe. Gavin telling him he had it bad and then ordering another bottle of scotch. Over it all a dark, colorless blanket of pain and loss.

He submerged his head in the sink again and held it under until he had to come up for air. Grabbing a towel, he headed for his dressing room. He dressed in gray slacks and a black tee, combed his damp hair into some order, and made his way down to the study, every step seeming to jar his teeth in his jaw.

He found his father standing in front of one of the bookcases, scanning the spines of the books. The general was wearing civilian clothes—a white polo shirt and crisply pressed khaki trousers, which made him seem unfamiliar. As Nathan crossed the room, the general turned. “I see you still have Jordan’s Campaigns of General Nathan Bedford Forrest.”

“You gave it to me,” Nathan said, holding out his hand to his father. “My apologies for my greeting. I wasn’t expecting company this morning.”

The general gripped his son’s hand, making Nathan feel as though the bones of his fingers were grinding together.

“I needed to return something to its rightful owner,” his father said. He went to the big desk and picked up the sword case, carrying it to where Nathan was holding himself upright by leaning on the back of a leather wing chair. His father held out the case with both hands.

“I told you to keep it,” Nathan said. “I broke the family tradition.”

The general took a deep breath. “I know I made you feel that way, and it was wrong. You’ve brought honor and glory to the family name in a way that’s different from my way. But that doesn’t make it less than my way. In fact, you’ve already accomplished much more than I have in my lifetime.”

“That’s not true, sir.” Nathan’s clouded brain was having a hard time processing his father’s words.

“I don’t regret how I raised you, because it’s made you the man you are, and I’m damned proud of that,” the general continued. “I do regret the distance between us. I’d like to change it.” He offered the sword case again. “Even if you can’t see your way to closing that gap, I want you to have the family sword in your keeping.”

Nathan released the chair and took the sword case, holding it in both hands as the general had while he stared down at it. It felt like a ceremony of some sort, this passing of the sword. He lifted his gaze to his father’s, realizing suddenly that it was like looking at his own eyes in a mirror. “I’m honored, sir.”

The general gripped Nathan’s shoulder. “You’ve earned it, and that’s the greatest honor of all.”

Nathan took the case back to the desk and set it down as he focused on what his father had said about closing the distance between them. He turned back to the general. “Why now?”

“May I?” his father asked, pointing to one of the chairs.

Nathan nodded and took a seat opposite his father. He didn’t know if he wanted to hear this or not.

The general clasped his hands on his knees. “As much as I love Angel, I refused to marry her because of you.”

Nathan rocked back in the chair. “What did I have to do with you and Angel?”

His father looked up at him from under his eyebrows. “I was afraid it would cause a permanent rift between us, one that could never be repaired. I had always hoped . . .” He shook his head. “Then Angel told me she was pregnant. Once I got over the shock, I realized what a selfish fool I was. I proposed on the spot.”