Finally, this hell would be over with and he could move on with his life like he'd planned. He leaned back in his chair with feigned ease as the lawyer reviewed the letter. Already, Barnabas was thinking of how joyous it would be to return to his townhouse and sleep in his own bed. He'd have to have his housekeeper wash the sheets first. The idea that his bed might still smell like her made his stomach churn.

The lawyer's face wasn't one of confident reassurance. It was one of alarm. Concern. Amusement. "This is not the offending letter," He said and passed it back over the desk so that they could see for themselves. Without looking at it, Barnabas argued back, "What do you mean it isn't? Of course it is." He snatched the letter from the desk so that he could read it properly. He recognized it immediately with a sense of dread. This had been written by Barnabas' own hand one of the evenings he'd drank too much whiskey and had sent out ridiculous love poems to several women. How it had gotten into his desk and inside this envelope was something he had no answers for.

He let out a string of curse words not meant for the fairer sex's ears - his wife not included.