Grinding his teeth, Rollo got one foot underneath him.“It is not the wind as you damn well know.It is my fear of heights.”
“Ah, yes.”Lyndon nodded.“I had forgotten.When you visited me in the nursery, you always sat on the window seat looking across at the gardens, but never directly down.”
“Actually, I spent most of the time looking at you.”
For a second, Fitz’s features softened.Then his mouth twisted into a sneer.“Fear of heights is irrational, pup.Are you afraid of widths too?And depths?”
Despite his terror, Rollo’s heart swelled.Sophistry at a moment like this!Absurd, and yet so typical of the man.Sucking in a breath, he shakily rose to his full height.
“Fear of falling then,” he corrected, his voice cracking.Anything to keep Fitz distracted and talking.“It is much the same thing, is it not?”
“It’s not the fall that scares you either,” remarked Fitz.“It’s the crunch and thud when you reach the bottom.”
Rollo shuddered.He blinked several times, his vision blurring.Two Fitz’s now appeared to be dancing on the edge of the roof, not one.
“Please, do not say that, Fitz,” he whispered, though his voice sounded as if it was coming from very far away.His left leg had numbed, too, as though it were no longer there.He thought he heard his father’s voice, urgently insisting on something.The grey sky faded in and out, little white stars dotting it as it merged with the flint roof slates like a vast, stormy ocean.“Please, Fitz, I cannot bear—”
*
ROLLO CAME BACKto himself, cradled in a pair of strong arms and ensconced in a solid, broad lap.Despite the sloshing in his belly and feeling like he might swoon again if he opened both eyes properly, he decided that he was so comfortable he never wanted to climb out of it.When he braved peeling his eyelids apart, he discovered he was still far too high from the ground for his tastes, though not near the edge.A howling wind whistled through his ears.
And yet, he’d never felt more secure.
Fitz’s throaty voice rasped in his ear.“Heights are stupid things to be afraid of, pup.”Soft lips pressed against his temple.“You should avoid them in future.Or you’ll do yourself an injury.”
Rollo would have had a smart retort for that if his mouth were working properly.Instead, he drifted in a half-asleep haze with the steady thrum of Fitz’s heart against his cheek until he felt better.
“I’m afraid of many stupid things,” he answered eventually.“Such as Willoughby doing pretty much anything from here onwards.And the peat bogs surrounding Goule.Sheep when they start that higgledy, gambolling run.This creaking house when darkness falls and the ghouls come out to play.”He opened both eyes to find his lover’s soft, dark, worried ones gazing down at him.“But…but losing you scares me more.”
Fitz stroked his damp hair back from his face.“I tried, pup.I strived to return to how it was before you came.But…existing in such an empty, meaningless world felt so hopeless.No one needed me.I am not capable of such a pointless existence.”
“No, but you are capable of love.You have so much to give.”
“I am.”Fitz kissed his forehead.“And I gladly gave it all to you.But then I realised it wasn’t the giving that frightened me.I am afraid of not being loved back.”
Rollo entwined his fingers in Fitz’s.“Then be afraid no longer.Because you are much loved.And needed.”He paused.“Very needed.”
“I respectfully disagree.”
“What about Will?”Rollo countered.“Who would read him Johnson’s cheerless essays one day and Rodolfo’s exploits the next, if not you?And give a highfalutin Italian count a rough Glaswegian accent, just to bring a smile to your oldest friend’s poor face?”
Fitz’s cheeks warmed with a tinge of colour.“He nearly choked to death the first time I tried it, from laughing so hard.Perhaps it would be wiser if I didn’t.”
“And no one except you would keep Berridge in employ.He can barely climb the steps to the front door, let alone the hall staircase.A lesser lord would have palmed him off years ago.And Simpson wouldn’t receive any church support for his second project without your name adhered to it.The Elliot’s grave markers would be strangled by weeds at the first hint of spring.Not to mention your beautiful hydrangeas.”
Rollo sat up a bit, rallying.“In fact, the whole of Goule would suffer.You have no heirs, and your brother is far too busy to spend his time trekking all the way to Norfolk several times each year to ensure all is kept shipshape.The hall and the village would fall into disrepair and the people into poverty.Ripples would stretch far and wide.These folk aren’t tin soldiers, Fitz.If one kills the commander, the entire regiment falls.”
“All right, all right.You’ve made your point,” Fitz muttered.
“Trust me, I’ve only just started.I have much more to say, especially about the duke.He needs—”
Fitz held up a finger.“That’s where you’re wrong.Benedict has no need for me.He is perfectly capable of being Ashington without my hindrance.And anyhow, if its support he’s after, he has Squire warming his bed.”
Rollo scoffed.“And Tommy Squire, born in the back alleys of Covent Garden, knows all about running a dukedom, does he?”
“Well, no—” began Fitz, but Rollo cut him off, apparently suddenly feeling much better.
“I shall support Willoughby in every way I can when he takes over from Papa, and gladly.”
