“Whatever he went through it is not your fault. All the fault rests with Uncle. Which is the reason that I do wish you’d bloody well let me kill him.”
“So you could hang?” Mary had issued a similar warning, but somehow accompanied by her sweet voice it had held more power. He wondered if she realized how close he’d been to not releasing his uncle. He wondered if she’d be disappointed to meet the darkness he harbored inside him.
“I have a fast ship. And the sea suits me,” Tristan said.
Sebastian pressed his thumb to his brow, rubbed just above the despicable patch, and stared into the fire. “Will you join me at Easton House?”
“I don’t think so, no. I’ve been on my own far too long. I prefer it, Keswick.”
Sebastian jerked up his head and met his brother’s unflinching gaze. From the moment his uncle’s henchman had escorted him to the tower, he’d not been addressed by his title. He’d whispered it to himself every night before he went to sleep—a quiet reminder, a solemn vow. He did not want to forget who he was, what he was, what was owed him. Everything he’d done from the moment Mary slipped the key into the lock to free him had but one purpose in mind—to see that he regained what belonged to him, and in so doing provide a place for his brothers.
His throat tightened. He’d paid a dear price to once again be duke. But then so had they.
They did not need him now. It left him feeling unworthy, as though he had failed them. Like him, they should have been gentlemen. They should have lived leisurely lives. They should have been like the gents in Rafe’s club who had little more required of them than indulging in their vices. They should not have born scars—both visible and hidden.
He watched as Tristan slowly rose and approached him. “Make no mistake, Brother. The desire to see you standing rightfully in Father’s place burned within me with a vengeance. I would endure it all a thousand times, with no regrets, to ensure that you are once again duke.”
Sebastian released a bitter laugh. “I am humbled, Tristan. By your devotion and Rafe’s. I have been blessed with brothers who would do anything to see me hold my title. Our father was cursed with one who would do all in his power to see that he did not.”
“You still believe he killed him?”
“Without doubt.” He shook his head, regretting the truth that lay before them. “But to prove it will be nigh on impossible. Justice cannot be left to others to consider. I have spent years plotting how best to serve as judge, jury, and executioner. Tonight I feel as though we at least killed his place within Society.”
“We may have achieved that, but there is more we can do. We do not need proof to make his life miserable.”
“That should happen soon enough once he moves out of Easton House. I doubt he has anywhere to light.”
Tristan grinned. He’d always been quick to smile, but this one was more wolf than cub. “Then we should put him out of his misery and kill him straightaway.”
“I’ve killed. It is not a pleasant undertaking.”
“As have I, although I am not at all adverse to sending to the devil those who deserve it.”
Sebastian studied him. It had been only a fortnight since he and his brothers had managed to reunite. He had left each of them with the command to meet at the abbey ruins near Pembrook in ten years on the date that they escaped the tower. But war and wounds had delayed Sebastian. The sea had thrown obstacles Tristan’s way and he, too, had failed to show at the appointed time.
Rafe had hired a man to live near the ruins until the brothers arrived. Not once had it ever occurred to him that they were dead. After months spent recovering from his devastating wounds, Sebastian finally made his way to the abbey. The man had provided him with the address to The Rakehell Club and a message from Rafe. Here he would be safe.
But rather than head to London straightaway, he’d spent a fortnight securing the estate. Then he’d come to London. He and his brothers had planned their return to London Society. They’d wanted a dramatic entry. He thought they’d achieved that end with a remarkable bit of success.
But the final curtain had yet to draw closed, and several acts still remained unperformed.
“I don’t want any more blood on my hands,” Sebastian said now.
“They’d be on mine.”
He didn’t much like the speed with which Tristan responded. “You’ve become quite bloodthirsty.”
“I’ve learned to survive, no matter the cost.” He shrugged. “I’ve also learned to take comfort where I can find it. Rafe has a charming girl working here who is very talented at giving comfort. So if you’ll excuse me, I believe I shall seek her out. I’m certain she has a friend if you’re interested.”
“Not tonight.”
Tonight he had far too much on his mind. After his brother left the room, he dropped into the chair and filled his glass with more brandy. He took a long swallow and leaned back. From his pocket, he removed the threadbare bundle. The yellow ribbon had faded with time, but it still managed to hold secure that which he treasured most.
He brought it near his nose and inhaled deeply. The rich scent of the soil tantalized him, spurred him on, made him yearn for home. He would return there soon—once his place in Society was firmly established.
I am the Duke of Keswick,he told the fire. It merely snapped and popped, as though it didn’t believe his words any more than he did.
Chapter 4
