He took a step towards the trees.
Gideon looked away, his eyes fixed on Catherine.
Aaron looked from one to the other.
“Keep your damned dukedom!” he snarled, “I will be husband to Meredith and a pauper than be a Duke alone!”
He turned to run after Meredith and took one step. There she was, standing in the trees’ shadow, waiting.
“Do you truly wish to give up this quest that you have pursued for years?” she asked.
“Yes!” Aaron’s knees buckled, and he fell before her. She stooped, tears glinting in her eyes, and took him into her arms.
Gideon staggered to his feet, swaying from the blood loss. He climbed the stairs, his hand leaving smears of blood on the wood, until he stood before Catherine.
For a moment, he stood there, paralyzed as though fearing that she doubted him still.
“I will give the dukedom to the first man I meet,” he pleaded, breathless. “I don’t care. All I know is that I can’t—I can’t breathe when you’re not near.”
Catherine looked into his eyes, saw the truth there, naked and raw. Her heart answered before her lips did. She ran into his arms.
EPILOGUE
ONE WEEK LATER
Caerleon Manor, Berkshire
Gideon walked at Aaron’s side through the long corridor of portraits, his boots quiet upon the runner. His brother’s shoulders were taut, gait uneven, though no cane was needed now. The walls, lined with stern faces of Dukes past, seemed to close in with each stride.
Gideon stole a glance at him.
“You are not overawed by it, are you?” he asked lightly, though a tension lay beneath his words.
The merest flicker of jealousy might rekindle the old rivalry.
Aaron did not answer at once. His face was pale. His gaze flicked to one portrait, then another, until his lips pressed into a hard line. He faltered. Then stopped suddenly, staring at the painted eyes of their grandfather glaring down from a gilded frame.
Gideon had ensured there were no portraits of their father anywhere in the house.
Aaron’s breath came ragged, his voice hoarse.
“I cannot…” he muttered, “I cannot breathe in here.”
Gideon frowned. “Brother…”
“The walls press upon me. Do you not feel it? This house is a tomb.” His eyes darted like a trapped animal’s. “I lived in terror here. Of him. Of you.”
“So did I,” Gideon assuaged, careful to keep any hint of confrontation out of his voice.
I will not reignite an old duel. I will have my brother back. As we were before Father decided to make us fight for his approval.
He caught his brother by the arm and half-led, half-supported him down the grand staircase, out through the open doors, and onto the gravel sweep before the house. The air outside was clear, the sky vast. Aaron bent double, bracing his hands on his knees until the panic began to ebb. Gideon turned sharply to McKay, who had appeared soundlessly at the door.
“Tea, please, Mr. McKay,” he ordered.
A look passed between master and butler. McKay’s expression was wary, testing, but Gideon’s steady gaze held no arrogance, no demand, only respect. The smallest inclination of McKay’s head answered him. Whatever rift had once stood between them, it was quietly set aside.
I have no appetite to train a new butler to my ways. I do not think McKay is a traitor—his loyalties lay to his correct master. Perhaps I can win them over to me.
