Blaise pressed his lips together. He had pictured this moment a dozen ways during the journey, but now the words cut his throat, sharp as glass.
“You are at Oxford,” he said instead, each syllable feeling like a strategic retreat, “because your father made sure to provide for you.”
Marcus scoffed, grateful for the easier topic. “No. I am at Oxford becauseyouconvinced him. Do not pretend otherwise. He did not wake up one morning, wracked with paternal concern. He cared enough to sign what you put before him. That is all.”
“Sometimes, that is what caring looks like. It is imperfect and inadequate, but it is not nothing.”
“You would defend him until your last breath. I wonder what he did to deserve such loyalty.” Marcus shook his head as if he were disappointed.
“He was my brother.”
“You are insufferable,” Marcus said. “But I am… grateful for it, occasionally.” His jaw flexed. “That does not mean you must wear his sins like a cloak. Or mine.”
Blaise’s breath caught. There it was again, the haunting clarity that pierced through Marcus’s defensive disdain, leaving behind something raw and simple. His tongue felt heavy. He saw Benjamin’s body collapsing into the leaves once more, and he remembered Marcus’s eyes, dry as stone, when he was told that his father was gone.
Say it, some part of him urged.Give him the truth and be done with it.
His mouth opened.
“Come to the party,” he heard himself say instead.
Marcus stared. “Were you listening to anything I just?—”
“Yes.” Blaise cut him off gently. “I heard you. I am choosing, in this instance, to be stubborn rather than obedient. Come to the party, Marcus.”
Marcus braced his hands on the back of the chair again, head bowed. The posture was weary rather than defiant now. “You will not relent.”
“Rarely,” Blaise agreed. “It is one of my more charming qualities.”
“You think you are charming?” Marcus laughed humorlessly.
“IknowI am charming. Ask half of London.”
Marcus’s mouth twitched.
“If I agree to come, I make no promises to be agreeable. I am not going to be paraded like a prize bull. And I will not?—”
“You will be my guest,” Blaise said. “Nothing more or less. Do you trust me that far?”
Marcus’s answer was almost instantaneous. “Yes.”
It landed between them with surprising weight. Blaise’s chest tightened around it. He nodded, allowing himself no more reaction than that. “Then come. That is all I ask.”
Marcus breathed out slowly. “I will think about it.”
“For you, that is progress,” Blaise said.
“Do not sound so pleased with yourself,” Marcus retorted.
Blaise smiled faintly as his hand found the latch, then he froze and looked back. “If, at some point, you decide you do care to know more about your father… ask me. I will not volunteer another word uninvited. But I will not lie to you.”
Marcus’s throat worked again. He nodded once. “I know.”
“Good.” Blaise opened the door, and the corridor’s chill crept in around the edges as he stepped out.
CHAPTER 23
“Your Grace,” a dry voice drawled at Blaise’s elbow. “Are you looking for someone in particular?”
