Page 38 of Rules for Heiresses
There it was—the rub—as if neither of them could exist in the same country…as if the reality of his existence was only bearable when they were separated by an ocean. He eyed his brother. The last time he’d seen Stinson, he’d been fourteen, barely a man. Now a decade later, they were close to the same height, give or take a couple inches, and the distinctive features he saw in the mirror every day were evident in his brother’s adult face.
Courtland had wondered if his younger brother would show signs of a dissipated lifestyle, but he seemed fit and hale. He’d filled out, grown up, and yet the hostility in his eyes had not diminished. Instead, it burned.
“Answer me, damn you! Why are you here?”
“I am now duke,” Courtland replied evenly. “This is my place.”
“You’re not welcome.” His brother’s mouth twisted into a sneer.
Sipping his brandy, Courtland ambled toward the other side of his desk, taking his time. He’d known it would not be easy coming back, and especially dealing with Stinson’s wild claims and his unfounded jealousy. Or his incessant attacks on Courtland’s legitimacy. “I’m here to tend to my affairs. I think it best if we simply agree to stay out of each other’s way.” He steepled his fingers. “How are my sisters?”
Stinson scowled. “How dare you insult them? They’re no sisters of yours, and none of us wants anything to do with you.”
“Not even money from the ducal coffers?” he asked silkily.
“Wealth won’t make people accept you,” Stinson said. “And that money doesn’t belong to you.”
“Doesn’t it? Grandfather’s solicitor seems to think it does.” Courtland smiled and waved a hand at their opulent surroundings. “Though I have no need of it. I have more than enough of my own, as you can clearly see.”
“This place was sold years ago,” his brother said. “It’s not yours.”
“It is. I was the one who bought it.”
Stinson’s gaze narrowed. “So you married Lady Ravenna for the same reason you acquired this house in secret. To prove that you’re better than me. Here’s a hint—you are not. You will never be. You’re just the mongrel born on the wrong side of the blanket from your conniving commoner of a mother, and soon that news will be fodder for the masses, too.”
His blood boiled in his veins at the insults, but Courtland kept his face composed and his hands occupied around his glass instead of his brother’s neck. “Is that what you came to tell me? You made those feelings perfectly clear eleven years ago. I assure you I have nothing to prove to you or to anyone.”
Stinson slammed his fist down on the desk. “Stay out of my way.”
“Or what?”
“You’ll find I’m not the boy I once was.”
The threat was empty. Stinson was exactly the same as he’d been as a boy. Cowardly and hateful. Only now he was driven by greed and narcissism that had increased tenfold with adulthood. “Is that a threat?” Courtland drawled.
“Take it as you see it.”
“Rawley!” Courtland called out, knowing his cousin would be close by.
“Yes, Your Grace?” His man of business appeared with two sizable footmen in tow. Courtland had to bite back his grin both at Stinson’s expression and at Rawley’s preparedness. His cousin knew him better than he knew himself.
“Show my dear brother out before he hurts himself with all his grandiose posturing.”
After Stinson took his leave, his face purple with fury at practically being thrown out, Courtland sat back in his seat. Stinson didn’t worry him. Courtland would do what he came to England for, and then quite happily go back to Antigua.
His headache still throbbed at the base of his skull, but his wife’s recipe had worked better than he’d expected. The tea, at least. The rest of it… Well, thinking about what had very nearly happened made him groan.
Then take me.
He would have, too, if reason hadn’t intervened, followed by a timely interruption.
He let out a low chuckle at Ravenna’s statement that blood was naught but a fluid. Her cleverness and her unswerving loyalty astounded him. In another world at another time, perhaps he and Ravenna could have remained betrothed as children, married as adults, and perhaps life would have been different. Perhaps even he could have let himself love her.
His throat knotted. Love wasn’t in the cards for him. Once more, his astute little wife was right. Loving someone meant letting them inside—letting them see the real him with all his flaws, all his fears, and all his faults—and that was something he would never again do. If his own brother by blood could barely stand to look at him, much less love him, how could he expect anyone else to?
Still, he owed Ravenna an explanation, at least, for his behavior around Stinson, as well as the irascibility arising from his own jealousy.
“Rawley,” he called out. “Where’s the duchess?”
