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"May I help you, Your Grace?"
Aurora jumped, whirling about to face the Morland butler. "Oh, Thayer. You startled me. Yes. I was looking for my husband."
"He's in his late father's study," was the haughty reply.
"Which is…?"
"Down the hall, fourth door on your left."
"Thank you." Aurora hastened off, still unnerved by Thayer, the manor … everything that reminded her of Lawrence Bencroft.
The slam of a drawer greeted her as she stepped into the study.
"Julian?" she asked tentatively, watching him rifle through the desk.
He was on his feet instantly. "Did you find something?"
"I don't think so—at least nothing significant. 'Tis just that all the bedrooms I went through were utterly bare with the exception of the last. I found this—" She held out the pad. "—in the desk."
Julian walked around and took the sketchbook, flipping it open to the first scene. An odd expression crossed his face and he scrutinized the picture, drinking in every stroke, almost as if he'd been reunited with a long-lost friend and wanted to absorb every detail he'd missed during the time they'd been apart. Swallowing hard, he sifted through the pages, pausing now and again to study a particular scene or part thereof.
"They're exceptional," Aurora offered softly, feeling as if she was intruding upon an intimate reunion—and as if a vast chasm had suddenly sprung up and was now separating her from her husband.
"Yes. They are. He was incredibly talented. I'd almost forgotten." Julian turned away, his tone strained, his shoulders stiff. Wordlessly he placed the pad atop the desk.
"Did Hugh draw those sketches?" Aurora tried.
A prolonged pause. "Yes. And if you don't mind, I'd prefer not to discuss my brother."
"Why not? He obviously meant a great deal to you."
"He did. But he's been gone over thirteen years."
"My parents have been gone nearly eleven. That doesn't mean I've stopped missing them."
Slowly Julian turned to face her, his stance less rigid, his expression veiled. "I know, soleil. And I'm sorry for all you've endured, both then and now. However, my situation is entirely different. Any unresolved issues I have regarding Hugh involve much more than a sense of loss or grief. So while I appreciate your concern, please—don't deem me some broken toy that needs fixing."
Frustration annihilated discretion. "A broken toy?" Aurora blurted. "Hardly. What I deem you is a stubborn man who needs friendship. Or who needs anyone, for that matter. You're so bloody self-contained, so determined to preserve your damned autonomy. You infuriate me!"
To Aurora's amazement, a corner of Julian's mouth lifted. "And you're going to reform me?"
"I'm going to try," Aurora retorted. "If you'll let me."
For a long moment, Julian said nothing. Then, he leaned back against the desk, regarding her from beneath hooded lids. "What would you like to know?"
"About your brother. Tell me about Hugh."
"Why?"
"Because he was an important person in your life. Because you obviously cared a great deal about him. And because I have the strangest feeling he's indirectly responsible for our marriage."
That brought a flicker of interest. "Do you?"
"Yes. If you recall, on the day you proposed I said I believed there was some reason—or person—that was compelling you to right the past, to find the black diamond in order to untarnish the Bencroft name. Someone other than your father or your grandfather. You chose not to answer me then. Perhaps you'll answer me now. Was that person your brother?"
"Ever the intuitive one," Julian murmured, folding his arms across his chest. "Very well, soleil, yes, it was."
"Then I'd like to hear about him."
