The Countess Conspiracy (Brothers Sinister #3)(9)

“Your infamy,” Benedict said sharply, “hardly recommends you. Years ago, I told you it would cause problems for you, but you didn’t listen then.”

Sebastian hadn’t thought it relevant. What did it matter, if people he didn’t give one fig about didn’t care for him? He’d never realized that his brother stood among the ranks of those who disliked him. Benedict had made a few offhand remarks, but what older brother worth his salt would pass up the chance to make snide comments? But then, Benedict hardly knew the man Sebastian had become. Was it any surprise that he’d been taken in by the role Sebastian played for everyone else?

“Maybe that’s so,” Sebastian said with a nod, “but I love Harry.”

“So do I,” Benedict said. “But look at the facts of the matter. Your grandfather was a duke. Your father was a wealthy industrialist; you inherited a sizable portion when he passed away. You haven’t gone into trade or governmental service or the army. You were born with every advantage, and what have you done? You’ve made yourself the biggest scoundrel in all of England.”

Sebastian felt his fist clench at his side, but he refused to let his anger show. He tried for a lazy smile instead. “But at least I’ve been superlative about it. That’s worth something.”

Benedict winced. “Yes, Sebastian,” he said quietly. “You have been superlative.”

That’s when Sebastian realized precisely how high a price he’d paid. Benedict himself had followed in their father’s footsteps, taking over the factories and the machinery of trade that Sebastian had ignored. He was quiet, responsible, and competent. They’d grown as far apart as two brothers could be. Oh, he’d known that his brother despaired of him—but he’d always thought it was a loving, brotherly sort of despair, the kind where he clapped his hand on Sebastian’s shoulder and called him incorrigible.

But this was disapproval with a bite, a vicious reproof that would rob him of his brother and his nephew all in one blow.

“You’re wrong,” Sebastian said quietly. “I’m much more than you’ve credited me with.”

“Hmm.”

“I understand,” Sebastian continued, before his brother could launch into a second list of complaints, “why you’d think that way. Over the last years, I’ve hardly given you the chance to know me.”

“I know you,” Benedict contradicted. “I know you very well.”

“I’m not like you,” Sebastian said, “but I think we have more in common than you think.”

“Oh?” Benedict raised an eyebrow in disbelief.

“My choices have meant that you haven’t had an opportunity to see that,” Sebastian continued, “so I should be the one to bridge the gap. You want me to do something that you’ll understand? Very well. Trade, it is.”

His brother snorted. “Sebastian, you can’t just announce that you’re going to take up trade. It takes years.”

“Mmm.” He had no intention of dedicating his life to trade—but he did have an idea, one that had tickled his fancy the other day as he was reading an account in the newspaper. His idea was a little thing, but it would be something they could talk about. They might have a conversation based on something other than lies or Benedict’s disapproval.

“Oh, no,” Benedict said. “I know that look on your face. You’re coming up with a plan. A Sebastian-like plan. I know how you operate. You’re going to come to me and tell me you’ve gone into trade, when we both know it will be some sort of trick.”

“No tricks,” Sebastian said, already distracted by thoughts of what he would have to do. “No cheating.”

His brother snorted. “Neither of us needs more money, Sebastian. I don’t want you to engage in speculation. The last thing I need to worry about on top of everything else is my brother’s solvency.”

“There will be no need to worry.” Sebastian smiled at his brother. “I promise I won’t risk any more than four or five thousand pounds, which I can well afford to lose. But I meant what I said. I’m done with my work as a scientist. And…” He looked up, meeting Benedict’s eyes. “And you are important to me. You’re right; it’s not about the money. It’s about having something we can talk about.”

His brother took a step back. “My God, Sebastian. I almost think you’re serious. When are you ever serious?”

“I’m serious about you,” Sebastian said. “You’re the only family I have left. Harry is…he’s the closest thing I have to my own child.”

“It’s hard to take in. You’re never serious about anything.” His brother considered his words. And then—because Benedict was perfect, and he didn’t believe in exaggerations, he added, “Except Violet.”

Violet. God, thoughts of her felt like the memory of a missing limb.

Another man might have seen Violet’s eyes at their last meeting—so calm and collected—and thought her unaffected. Sebastian thought about her hands. She always showed her emotion in her hands. Her hands had been clenched tight, wringing together in an anguish that had not come out on her face. He felt sick, thinking of what he’d said to her.

I have standards, and you don’t meet them. Truth, but truth twisted to sting. Just because she pretended not to have feelings didn’t mean he could outrage them at will.