“They sent me word he was dying. Asking for his son. I told myself I shouldn’t go. That I wasn’t the son he wanted. But in the end, I . . .” His voice broke. “I couldn’t stay away.”
Clio reached forward and took hold of his hand.
He started to pull back, but caught himself. Instead, he squeezed her fingers in silent thanks. If she could be brave enough to make the gesture, he ought to be man enough to accept it.
“So I went to the house. I stood at his bedside. He was half-gone already, it seemed. Weakened, confused. I’ve seen a great many fighters in a bad way, but I’ve never seen a man go from indomitable to frail so quickly. He didn’t know where he was, or when. He just kept saying, ‘my son.’ Over and over again, ‘my son, fetch my son.’ I . . .” Rafe cleared the emotion from his throat. “I told him Piers was in Vienna. He didn’t seem to understand.”
“Perhaps he was asking for you.”
“Perhaps he was. Maybe he loved me all along. Perhaps he attended all those fights in hopes I’d come up into the crowd and reach out to him.” Rafe released her hand. “I only know that afterward, it all seemed so stupid. All those years of being bad in every way I could manage, heaping brimstone on my devilish reputation just to spite him. So much stubborn pride and wasted time.”
“It’s only wasted time if you don’t learn from it.”
“You believe that?”
“I have to believe that. Or else I’d weep every time I thought about the past eight years.”
He thought on it. “I suppose you’re right. I’ll never be able to go back and be a better son. But I have a chance—if a dwindling one, after tonight—to do right by Piers. We’re never going to be best friends, the two of us. He’ll never see his father again, and that’s my fault. I can’t do anything to bring the old man back, but at least I can—”
“Keep his dog alive,” she finished. “And make sure his bride is waiting.”
He didn’t bother to deny it. “You say Piers doesn’t feel any passion for you. Maybe you’re right; I can’t honestly say. But he and our father were so much alike. I can’t set aside the possibility that my brother cares for you, deeply. In some reserved, distant Granville way. So much that losing you could break him.”
At heart, Piers and Clio were two of the best, most decent people he knew. If Piers did love her, and if the two of them could be happy together . . . ?
Rafe wanted that for them both.
She rested her head in her hands.
“I know you despise being told to wait. But it’s only a few weeks. If you want to break it off, I won’t stand in the way. I just can’t be the one to deal the blow.”
Rafe had one broken heart on his conscience already. That guilt was more than enough.
He said, “You’ll never know how he truly feels unless you give him a chance.”
“He’s had eight years of chances. I worry I’ll never have mine.”
“This is your chance. Don’t wait as a favor to me. Do it for yourself. Because it’s your decision, and both you and Piers deserve to know that.”
“You’re right,” she said after a pause. “I know you’re right. It was selfish of me to ask you to sign those papers. Selfish, and cowardly. I’ve just been so afraid. How on earth am I supposed hold my own with him? He’s a diplomat who’s spent the past eight years convincing governments to surrender. I’m terrified that when he comes home, my mother’s lessons will overwhelm my intentions, and I’ll marry him just to be polite.”
“You’ll be fine,” Rafe said.
She laughed aloud.
“I mean it. All week long, you’ve had no difficulty arguing with me.”
“That’s different.” She gave him a confessional look. “I’ve never talked with anyone the way I can with you. You don’t agree with any of my ideas, but at least you listen to them and pay me the compliment of arguing back.”
He cast a bemused look at his porter. “We’ve been training you all wrong.”
“Training me?” Her eyebrow arched. “Like a dog?”
Rafe groaned. Not this again. “Not like a dog, like a fighter. Bruiser had this idea that we should go into wedding planning the same way he’d prepare a prizefighter for a championship bout. Get your head in the ring, boost your confidence. So you could imagine yourself victorious.”
“Well, that explains a few things. Like the compliments. And the kisses. And that ridiculous lie about Piers at my debut.” She covered her eyes with one hand. “So embarrassing. You only wanted to boost my confidence. And then tonight I—”
“And then tonight you were nearly ruined.” He pulled her hand away from her face. “I’ve always desired you. It’s one of the reasons I kept my distance. You’re too damned tempting, and it’s not in my character to resist.”
In response, she pushed a morsel of cake around her plate.
Surely she couldn’t doubt him on this. Even if she believed Rafe capable of deceit, she had to have felt his lust for her tonight. Every hot, steely inch of it.
On the other hand, considering that she’d received nothing but casual insults and neglect from her family, peers, and intended groom for the past several years . . . to the point of being starved into illness . . . Rafe supposed a little dirty talking and a prod in the soft bits might not be the gesture of confidence she craved.
A lacy white gown probably wasn’t the answer, either.
Damn. Rafe had never been any kind of scholar, but this week, he’d truly been an idiot.
I want a challenge, she’d told him. Something that’s mine.
She was already a fighter. He should have recognized it from the first. She couldn’t have survived these past eight years if she didn’t have a champion’s heart. But she didn’t want to win at “Mother’s game,” any more than Rafe wanted to be world champion of lawn bowls.
She wanted to define her own success.
“So that grand wedding of every girl’s dreams,” he said, “where you float down the aisle like an angel and prove all the gossips wrong. That isn’t the victory you’re wanting.”
“No. It isn’t.”
He nodded. “Then finish your cake and porter. And we’ll see about toughening you up.”
Chapter Eighteen
Clio hadn’t the faintest idea what Rafe had in mind. They took lamps in hand and moved to the drawing room, where he cleared the small tables and chairs to make an open space.