The wailing started again. That cat hated him.
He stepped back from the carriage and signalled for the coachman to go.
She waved at him as Kettle kept protesting about his imprisonment.
He returned inside with a heavy heart, despite the laughter he’d shared with her. Usually, when he made a decision, he didn’t go back to it. He only went forwards. But with Effie, he kept wondering what he had to offer aside from his title and fortune, which she didn’t seem to care about. He wanted her to be his wife, but he wasn’t sure he was the right husband for her.
But then again, he didn’t want to live with the doubt of what could have been between them. There was also the possibility that she would run for the hills the moment she learnt his supposed mistress was a dirty, illegal boxing ring.
The warmth of the blazing log fire welcomed him when he stepped into the drawing room. Rowan tottered on his good foot, almost losing his balance as he stood in front of the flames.
“Careful.” Tristan steadied him, taking his arm.
“Thank you.” Rowan slid his arm out of Tristan’s grip and leant on the crutches.
“Are you going upstairs?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll help you.”
“There’s no need.”
“Rowan.” He regretted the commanding tone. “Why are you frightened of me?” He’d asked that question a few times, but he would keep asking it until his brother answered.
“I’m not.” Rowan walked towards the door, using both crutches.
“Then what is it?” He followed him.
“I’m tired.”
He followed him up the stairs in silence, just to make sure his brother didn’t fall. And that pretty much was the only thing he could think of to help his brother.
He held the door open for him. “I think we need to talk.”
Rowan sat on the bed. “Why now? Because I might not walk ever again?”
“Because you could have died, and I was bloody scared.”
Rowan lifted his gaze to him, his mouth hanging open. “You were scared?”
“To death. I thought I’d lost you.” His voice cracked, and for the first time in his life, he didn’t hide his fear.
“You barely know me,” Rowan whispered.
That was true. And it was his fault.
“You’re my brother. We can spend some time together and get to know each other better.” He stretched out his arm towards Rowan.
“Do you really mean that? Or do you just pity me?”
That was something he would say. The similarity with Rowan didn’t please him in the least. His darkness was contagious.
“I mean it with all my heart, and it’s not pity, but compassion.” He’d learnt something from sweet Effie.
For a moment, he thought Rowan wasn’t going to shake his hand, but then he slipped his hand into Tristan’s and sealed the deal.
He couldn’t stop a smile. “I’ll let you rest now. You had a busy afternoon.”
Rowan nodded. “Thank you.”
When Tristan closed the door, he realised that interaction with Rowan had been the first one he hadn’t treated like a business deal.
