More than he had wanted, it was true.
“Occasionally,” he muttered. “It was nothing, and many years ago now. Do not worry yourself over it.”
“It happened when I was sent to stay with Mother in London, was it not?” Ash asked, his jaw rigid.
“It did,” he admitted.
Their father had made certain to separate them often in their youth. Though he had claimed it was because he wished his heir to follow in his shadow whilst a mere second son was extra trouble he did not need, Gill saw quite suddenly the reason why. When the brothers had been separated, they were unable to defend each other against their father’s wrath.
Thus it had remained until, eventually, they had grown too tall and strong to suffer their father’s abuse any longer. He had turned his perversity to his mistresses then, the despicable sort of man who took pleasure in the pain of others.
“Damn it to hell, Gill, why did you not tell me?” Ash demanded. “I would have done something to try to stop him. We could have banded together.”
“That is why I did not tell you.” He looked away, gazing into the trees in the distance ahead.
Bereft of their leaves, their wizened branches were raised to the sky like open hands. Waiting for something. Something that would never come.
“I should have killed him before the devil took him,” Ash growled.
Gill glanced back to his brother. “And that is another reason why I never told you. You have found happiness now. You deserve it, Ash. Leave the past where it belongs.”
“Tell yourself the same bloody thing,” his brother said.
“I am…as happy as I am capable of being,” he said, struggling to give voice to the complex emotions churning through him.
“Horse shit,” Ash spat. “You want to marry the hellion, and yet instead of fighting for her, you are giving in, allowing an enemy army to storm your bloody castle.”
His brother’s words produced a visceral reaction in him that he could neither deny nor control. The notion of another man touching Christabella made him want to slam his first through something.
“I am not giving in,” he denied again, though this time with considerably less vehemence.
“Damn right you are not.” Ash’s countenance was determined. Stubborn. “Because I am not going to allow you to do something so cursed foolhardy. You are every bit as capable of being happy as I am. You said it yourself, Gill. Leave the past where it belongs. Do not allow that miserable prick to rule the rest of your life and ruin it from the grave.”
Was that what he was doing?
His brother’s words gave him pause.
“But what if he was right? There is something wrong with me, Ash,” he said. “You cannot deny it. I freeze in large gatherings. I can scarcely speak.”
“There is nothing wrong with you except that you are being a stubborn, wrongheaded fool,” his brother accused. “There is no other explanation for what you are doing. You love Miss Christabella, do you not?”
Did he?
His heart was pounding, his ears going hot despite the frigid late December’s winds tearing at him. “How did you know you were in love with Miss Prudence?”
“I realized I could not fathom spending one day without her,” Ash answered. “That her kindness and beauty are mesmerizing. That her kisses drive me mad. That I could not bear to be anything other than hers.”
Bloody hell.
It sounded familiar.
He reined in his horse, drawing to a stop. What if everything Ash had said was right? And what if he was a fool who had given up with far too much ease?
What if helovedMiss Christabella Winter?
“I need to return to Abingdon House immediately,” he said.
“Yes,” his brother agreed. “You do.”
