“Codswallop.” Violet felt her throat close. “Utter codswallop. This long I’ve known you, and you think one little attempt to save me from pain will turn me from you forever? Don’t be ridiculous, Sebastian. I love you. I have for years. Even when I couldn’t let myself love at all, I loved you.”
He kissed her then—the kiss she hadn’t known she was waiting for, his lips soft and tender against hers. “And I adore you,” he whispered to her. “I love you. I—”
Behind them a throat cleared loudly.
Sebastian straightened abruptly. Violet blinked and suddenly remembered that not only was Benedict still in the room, he was confined to his bed and couldn’t slip out discreetly.
“This is admirably touching,” Benedict said. “And I do mean that. But perhaps you might finish at some point when you’re lacking a captive audience?”
Violet blushed.
“Violet,” he said, “Championess of Croquet—if you would do me a favor, I should like a word with my brother.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
“SO,” BENEDICT SAID as soon as the door closed. “Violet. Little Violet. Do you remember that when you were five, you announced to me that you were going to marry her?”
“That was a little premature of me,” Sebastian said. “Please keep it to yourself. I have yet to mention it to her.”
A smile flickered across Benedict’s face, but slipped away. “Look. I wanted to talk to you. I spoke with my doctor yesterday.”
Sebastian straightened and slipped into the chair next to his brother’s bedside.
“He let me listen to my heart,” Benedict said. “It’s doing well, all things considered. Once I’ve become a bit stronger, I’ll likely be able to be up and about again, so long as I’m careful.” He looked down. “There’s still a little swish, an arrhythmia that I can hear.” He made a little motion with his finger. “Such a little noise, really, and it’s going to kill me.”
Sebastian tried not to look aghast and failed utterly. Instead, he took his brother’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “In a way,” he managed to get out, “that’s actually comforting.”
His brother looked up in surprise.
“You always said I was going to be the death of you,” Sebastian told him. “It’s a relief to know that you can be wrong about something. There’s a first time for everything.”
A hint of a smile touched Benedict’s lips. “That’s awful.”
“Oh, yes,” Sebastian said. “I have a lot more of that, too. I don’t care how much longer you have, Benedict. I made up my mind, and you won’t be able to gainsay me. You’re right; there’s not much I’m good at, but I am good at making people smile.” He squeezed his brother’s hand harder. “If you have to die, you might as well do so with a smile on your face.”
Benedict exhaled. “I have a confession to make.”
Sebastian nodded. “I do like a good confession. Never tell me that you’ve done something wrong. It’s impossible to believe.”
“You’re making this even more difficult for me.” Benedict swallowed. “It’s just—you see, if I have been hard on you, it is because you always make everything look so easy.”
This didn’t make any sense. Sebastian sat back in his chair and contemplated his brother. “Pardon?”
“I had to work so hard for everything. Making friends…it took a concerted effort on my part, planning just what to say, when to say it. And then you were born, and you didn’t even have to try. From the first moment you could walk, the other children followed you around, eager to please you in any way. I studied for hours every day and scarcely made honors. You didn’t do a damned thing, and you still understood it all better than I did. When I was younger, I imagined that one day I would be doing important things, that people would listen to my every word. That someday, I would matter in this world.” He shook his head, a little smile on his face. “And then my younger brother came along and turned the world on its head. You’re famous, Sebastian. And not just because of Violet. You’re bloody brilliant in your own right.”
Sebastian kept his face carefully blank. “Ah. Well. As to that…”
“No, keep quiet. I’m talking.” He gripped the bedclothes. “I lectured you about my accomplishments because I ∂ humility. And what did you do? You went and made twenty-two thousand pounds over a handful of weeks.”
Sebastian decided not to mention that it had grown to twenty-seven thousand by now.
“I spent ten years earning a mediocre position in the Society for the Betterment of Respectable Trade, and the next thing I know you’re handing me papers announcing that you’ve managed to trump me again. You live a charmed life, Sebastian.”
“Perhaps,” Sebastian said, “it is because I am so very, very charming.”
“Yes,” Benedict said. “You are. My own son lights up when you come in the room. He doesn’t light up for me that way. He never has. Next to you, I’m just boring, stodgy old Benedict.”