“I’ve got a chance at a place in the 10th Royal Hussars. I’ve asked my father to purchase the commission, but he’s refused—something about not wanting his only son to die in battle, or some such nonsense.”
A cold, hard stone settled in Cam’s stomach. “You want me to purchase it for you.”
“I haven’t decided whether or not to take the place, but if it comes to the point, yes.”
Cam shot to his feet. “For once Uncle Reggie and I are in agreement. I don’t want you to die in battle any more than he does.”
“What would you have me do, then? Join the church? Or gad about London year after year, drinking, whoring and gambling away yours and my father’s fortunes?”
“You don’t have to do any of those things. There are other options. You could come and work with me. I’ve asked you dozens of times.”
“No, Cam. What kind of man drags around on his cousin’s coattails all his life?”
“Not that, then. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”
“Yes, I know. That’s the problem. I can do anything, or nothing at all.” Julian shook his head. “I can’t live that way.”
So you’ d rather becomecannon fodder?
Cam opened his mouth to say it, but closed it again without a word. He’d gone off on his own adventure to India, and it had changed him—made him a man. Didn’t Julian deserve the same chance? As long as he remained here, his father would be forever watching over his shoulder. He sighed. “The commission is yours if you decide you want it.”
“I knew you’d see reason.” Julian grinned.
“Reason?” Cam snorted. “I’m much more likely to see your father’s fist in my eye.”
“I doubt it. You’re far too tall now for him to reach your eye.”
Julian crossed the room and opened the glass door, then turned back to Cam. “Do you remember when we were boys and we used to play hide and seek? You didn’t have much imagination as a child, you know—always hiding behind the draperies.”
Cam smiled a little at the memory. “But different draperies each time, cuz. It worked well enough. As I recall, it used to take you ages to find me.”
“That was because we could never agree on who should hide, and who should seek. We both wanted to hide, every time.”
An unexpected wave of sadness washed over Cam. “With no one to seek, there was an end to the game, I suppose.”
Julian gave him a puzzled look. “But it wasn’t the end at all. We still played the game, and we had a grand time, too. Don’t you remember?”
It was true. They had. How had he forgotten? “I do. I remember.”
“Ah. I thought you must.”
Julian stepped outside, into the darkness, and eased the door closed behind him. He filled his lungs with the cool night air, then let his breath escape in a long sigh. For the first time since this business with Lady Charlotte began, he could breathe again.
It was done.
Done, yes. For him, but not for Cam.
Julian glanced back at the dark window of the library. He’d done all he could do. Now he could only hope Cam would come to the right decision on his own, before it was too late. Too late to fill his lungs with the cool air—too late to draw his own deep, cleansing breath.
He looked up to see the sky had gone the deep midnight blue of all early summer skies. When he and Cam were boys, they’d spend the summer nights lying on their backs in the grass, dew seeping into their shirts as they watched the stars swim to the surface, one by one, winking in the deep blue ocean above them. He’d always loved that about Lindenhurst. From here it seemed as though you could see every star in the universe.
It had grown quite late, so he took care his boots didn’t ring against the stone terrace as he made his way toward the back of the house where he’d left his horse. He wouldn’t reach London before midnight, and it was dark, despite the stars—
He stopped. Froze for a moment. Turned.
Every night afterward, for months, years, he’d think about this moment and wonder what had made him turn. Had he sensed her before he saw her? Or did he catch her scent? Every night afterward, for months, for years, he’d remind himself it didn’t matter why he’d turned. It mattered only hehad, and he’d seen her.
Nothing was ever the same again, after that.
