“Yes, it is,” Rafe said. “It’s because of me. I know it. Grimaldi confirmed my suspicions. You’ve been working against Baptiste ever since, to avenge me.”
Cade clenched his jaw and glanced away. “Those bastards nearly killed you.”
Rafe shook his head. “I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me when you came to London. Why did you let me go on thinking you were hardly more than a petty criminal? I’d no idea you were a privateer, working for the War Office.”
Cade’s jaw clenched again. “Would it have made a difference how you felt about me after all these years?”
“Of course it would have, I—”
Cade looked at his brother, allowing the years of hurt and misunderstandings to shine in his eyes. “That’s why I didn’t tell you.”
Rafe scrubbed a hand through his hair and sat up to face him. “Damn it, Cade. Why do you always have to be so contrary? Why can’t you ever let anyone be proud of you?”
Cade shrugged. “Perhaps for the same reason you’ve always done things to make people proud.”
Rafe cursed under his breath. “Which is what reason?”
“Because it’s what’s expected of us. Rafe and Cade, the good son and the bad one, the white sheep and the black, the hero and the ne’er-do-well.”
“Stop it!” Rafe shouted. He jumped to his feet and pounded his fist against the table, making the whiskey bottle jump.
“Why? You don’t want to hear the truth?” Cade let his head fall back against the pillows. He’d saw off his damn leg to escape this room right now.
“It’s not the truth,” Rafe argued. “It’s nonsense. It’s—”
“Mother told me it was true,” Cade said softly, staring down at the sheets that rested over his legs. They were only a green blur.
Rafe shook his head. “No.”
“It’s true. I heard her. One day she asked me, ‘Why can’t you be more like Rafe?’”
“What did you say?” Rafe’s lips formed a tight white line across his face.
“I said, ‘Why can’tyoube more like Rafe and stand up to Father?’”
“No.” Rafe pressed the back of his wrist to his mouth as if he might throw up.
“Yes,” Cade replied. His brother had to finally hear the truth. “That was the day I left. I had nothing more to say to her.”
Cade scratched savagely at his bandaged head, welcoming the physical pain.
“You left me, too, you know,” Rafe said. “You didn’t even say good-bye.”
Cade pulled the whiskey bottle from the tabletop, pulled off the stopper, and took a healthy swig. If he was going to continue this conversation, he needed more to drink. “I asked Mother to say good-bye to you for me.”
Rafe hung his head. His words were low, angry. “She didn’t.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Rafe lifted his head to look at his brother. “She thought you were coming back. She used to ask me to leave a candle lit for you. We kept it lit for years.”
“I had no intention of returningever,” Cade admitted, taking another swig. He’d need another bottle before this conversation was through.
“I didn’t blame you. I never blamed you for leaving,” Rafe said, his words holding an edge.
“I did.” Those were two of the hardest words he’d ever spoken. The hardest and the most truthful.
“Why?” Rafe pressed his knuckles against his forehead. “I know how miserable you were there.”
