An endless stream of unanswered letters and unreturned social calls.
Over and over, such events occurred until Kendall abandoned trying to make friends altogether.
He had always assumed it was his title and stiff personality that others found repellent. Both were barriers to any sort of true relationship.
And yet . . .
His brother’s words made . . . a plausible, terrible sort of sense. Such actions were precisely what their father would have done.
A miasma of long-buried emotions churned in Kendall’s abdomen—grief, loneliness, rejection.
Sir Rafe watched Kendall with quiet patience. Withcompassion, he realized. The emotion on his brother’s face was compassion.
“Do not believe the lies that man told ye,” Sir Rafe said. “Ye can overcome the horror of your upbringing. Yecanfind peace and joy and even love in your life. As I have told ye in the past, the measure of a man is greater than mere political power.”
The words abraded the ends of Kendall’s nerves. He had heard enough. “That is your opinion. Careless words, again.”
“No,” his brother shook his head, “it is a fact. I have always looked upon ye a bit like ason—”
And there it was—the end of Kendall’s tether.
“You haveneverbeen a father to me,” he spat, voice low and vibrating with rage. He pointed at the door. “Get out.”
How dare this man enter his house to deliver a pathetic excuse of an apology and unsubstantiated theories, capping the whole with a lecture.
And then to imply that he had been any sort of father-figure . . .
Sir Rafe nodded. “At the very least, think about visiting. I shall extend the offer to Lady Isolde, as well.”
Wrenching the door open, Kendall pointed into the entry hall. “Get. Out!”
Kendall was stillfuming several hours later when Allie found him slumped into his favorite—thoughfavoritewas far too-cheerful a word for his mood—library chair.
“I am not forgiving you for permitting that bastard of a brother of ours to speak with me,” he said without preamble.
“He merely wished to extend an invitation. There is no harm in that.”
“No harm?!” Kendall’s voice rose.
He hated speaking with Sir Rafe. It always left him . . . unmoored.
Kendall deliberately kept ye isolated and alone.Sir Rafe’s words still hung in the air. And when combined with Allie’s suggestion that Kendall saw himself as unloveable . . .
Rubbish.
Or rather, it wasn’t rubbish. It was all likely true.
But it was rubbish to think upon. What was the point? The fact of his sire’s cruelty was long established.
Kendall had survived. And he would have his revenge once he obliterated his father’s memory. Or hewouldhave. That dream was dust now.
Loss swamped him anew.
He was rather sure he could feel a headache forming behind his eyes.
“Enough, Tristan,” Allie sighed. “I do not wish to argue with you.”
Kendall squinted at his sister. She appeared more . . . subdued than usual. Something was wrong.
