And he’d betrayed her. Trying to protect her. He couldn’t breathe from the agony of it.
“Indeed, you have,” Blackbrook agreed, stretching his legs out as he stared up at the old duke. “You will brook no argument from me on that point. But I do ask that you share the brandy.”
James let out a long sigh and passed it over to his friend. “Do you hate me?” he asked.
“Why in God’s name would I hate you?” Blackbrook demanded before taking a swig.
A dry laugh barked out of him. “Because of what I said to your sister. In front of everyone.”
Blackbrook sat silently for a moment before he replied, “That was rather badly done of you, I admit. But I don’t really think that wasyoutalking.”
James rolled his eyes, even as his heartbeat seemed to increase. He did not truly wish to hear whatever thoughts his friend had on his emotions. But he had to listen. Otherwise, he’d lose it all. “Who was it, then, if not me?”
“Itwasyou, but…” Blackbrook turned to him and arched a brow. “It waslittleStone.”
He snorted. “Are you saying I’m a pebble?”
Blackbrook groaned a half laugh. “No. I am saying that the voice I heard in the garden last week was the same voice I had heard when you were twelve years old.”
He looked at his friend, shocked. “I beg your pardon?”
“I remember, Stone,” Blackbrook began, his voice a low whisper as if even his memory of it was a pained one, “what you were like before you became the duke. Before you left your home, really. Those days before you escaped your family and became yourself. I remember the terrified young man you were. You were so afraid of disappointing people. Of frustrating them. Of not pleasing them.”
Blackbrook blew out a breath, as if the recollection of it was almost too much. “Good God. The first time you came to visit me? You were bowing and scraping to my mother and father every few moments, because you were terrified that they would grow upset with you and throw you out.”
James grimaced.
He had not thought of those memories in some time, preferring to think of the positive feelings he had felt in the Peabody house. He looked away.
“It’s true that I felt that way,” he agreed. He lifted the decanter, swallowed again, and as he passed it to his friend, he stated, “But I no longer have those feelings now.”
“Oh, you don’t?” Blackbrook queried, easily taking the decanter, his gaze unwavering. He took a drink, pointedly.
“No, I don’t,” James ground out, clinging to the feelings of order he’d forged over the years. But those feelings? They were slipping away. His friend’s unyielding look did not help.
He swiped the brandy back and took a long drink before sliding down slightly. He contemplated the bottle, then the portrait again. The pain that laced through him had not decreased with the brandy and his friend’s presence. If anything, it had turned into a slicing agony that was consuming him. He sucked in a sharp breath, trying to force the feelings back. “I don’t want the servants thinking that I am a complete mess.”
“Youarea complete mess,” Blackbrook countered without mercy. “You love my sister, and you refuse to admit it. Everyone knows but you, and—”
“That is complete nonsense,” he cut in fervently. “And your sister was vastly mistaken. I know myself very well.”
Blackbrook gaped at him. For several moments he said nothing, but then he said firmly, “My sister is very wise and very correct. You have been in denial about who you are for some time.”
“That’s a bloody lie. I—”
But Blackbrook was having none of it and continued over him in a growl, “You’re damned scared, man. You’re scared to live. You want everyone else to live and to be happy, but you won’t permit yourself to do it.”
He snorted again, clinging to his defenses. “I am afraid of nothing.”
Blackbrook threw his head back and laughed. It was not a particularly jovial sound. “You are bloody afraid of my sister. I can tell you that much.”
He winced, then said quietly, “I’m afraid of her disappointment.”
“You see, you are still in the past, at least when it comes to this,” Blackbrook returned. “All those years ago, you were terrified that your father would lose his temper with you, that he would throw a vase at your head or hurt your mother. My friend, you did everything you could to keep the peace then. To not upset anyone. And that is where you are right now. But you are not in the past, James. You are here. You are here with me.”
James’s throat tightened, and he could make no reply. Wave after painful wave of memories crashed over him. He turned to his friend, who grabbed his shoulder and held tight. “What have I done?”
“Nothing that can’t be fixed,” Blackbrook declared. “My sister is now inmyhouse, just a hundred feet from here, waiting.”