Haltingmid-step, Stephen closed his eyes. His father was long dead; it wasOliver’s study now. Perfect Oliver, who never displayed moreemotion than he should, who excelled at math and science and Latin,who pursued proper gentleman pursuits and was the envy of hispeers.
Oliver, the Earlof Roxwaithe and custodian of its riches, who kept thepurse-strings strangled shut.
Exhaling,Stephen started again toward the study. Determination filled him,and he pushed any apprehension aside. He was applying to hisbrother for funds...and he was going to lie about itspurpose.
He could neverapply directly. Oliver was convinced Stephen was still thespendthrift, careless, miscreant fribble he had been before theaccident. It didn’t matter how many times he attempted to proveotherwise—Oliver only ever remembered the failures and none of thesuccesses. He had not had to apply to his brother for a good sixmonths, his own investments with what funds he’d managed to raisefrom Quality he’d approached paying for the establishment andmaintenance of the Young Person’s Football Charitable Endeavour.However, they were now looking to expand and the fastest way wouldbe to source funds from his brother...who forced him to a merrydance for each ha’penny he bestowed.
And so, he wouldpretend to be the fribble Oliver thought him and, in the end, hewould receive the funds. All it cost was the respect of hisbrother...but then, he’d never really had Oliver’srespect.
The quiet snickof the study door preceded his entry. Placing the tray ofsandwiches on a side table, Stephen approached his brother. Oliversat at his desk, the heel of his hand pressing into his forehead ashe continued to work on the report before him. A long strand ofblondish-brown hair fell from the queue at the back of his neck,brushing against the unfashionable beard his brother wore. If theirfather—who despised any man who was not clean-shaven and sportedanything other than ruthlessly short hair—could see his eldest sonnow, he wouldn’t think Oliver so bloody perfect.
“What is it, Rajitha?” Oliver asked.
“Your secretary is still in his office,” Stephensaid
Oliver’s headjerked up, surprise colouring his features.
Stephen loweredhimself into the seat opposite, keeping his expression carefullyblank.
“What brings you to Roxegate, brother?” Oliver finallysaid.
Right. Let thegame begin. “I am here to beg for funds.”
Oliver frowned.“You do not have to beg for funds.”
No, of coursenot. That was why he had to come into this study with all itsmemories and play this game once again. “I should like funds toallow for the continued study of the mythic,” he lied.
Oliver blinked.“I beg your pardon?”
“Themythic. The spiritual. That is what Alexandra Torrence calls it,isn’t it? You know. Ghosts and such.” He’d hit upon this reasoningwhen he’d seen Alexandra at the ball the previous evening. It wasan outlandish enough reason to distract his brother and, whenStephen gave the real reason, his brother was more likely to agree.He had every confidence it would work. He had, after all, done it ahundred times before.
Thoughts of theball sparked a memory of the woman who’d cornered him on thebalcony, of her grey cat’s eyes and dark hair and how she’d spatfire when he’d seen through her game. A smirk tugged at him but hestruggled to control it. Now was not the time to rememberher.
“Thespiritual,” Oliver said slowly. “You wish to study thespiritual?”
“AsI said.”
“Since when?”
“Since when what?” he said, just to be annoying.
Oliver grittedhis teeth. “When did this interest begin?”
“Ihave always possessed an interest.” It wasn’t quite a lie. Vaguely,in the back of his mind, he’d always wondered what AlexandraTorrence found so fascinating about the spiritual.
“Notthat I have observed. You were more likely to be outside occupyingyourself with some sort of ball sport than traipsing through hallswith Alexandra and Maxim hunting ghosts.”
He raised abrow. “And if Lord Roxwaithe didn’t see it, then it must not havehappened?”
“No,I—” Oliver exhaled. “I did not mean it such. It is a surprise. Whatdo you require the funds for?”
“Formy studies.”
“Yes, I understand, but what specifically? Is there equipmentthat must be purchased? Dues to be paid? Are you looking forfurther study? Where, exactly, does one study the spiritual?” Hefrowned. “I do not recall Lord Demartine mentioning Alexandrapetitioning him to fund her interest.”
Affecting ascowl, Stephen averted his gaze. “I should have known you would nothelp.”
“Idid not say that. It is good practice to ask these questions,”Oliver said shortly.
