The Countess Conspiracy (Brothers Sinister #3)(98)

“Yes,” Benedict said again, this time a little more dryly. “I am aware that my brother fancies himself a jester.”

“A jester?” Violet said. “No. He’s the one who connects everything. When he walks into a room, everyone looks at him. Some of them hate him; some of them love him, but nobody ever looks at him with indifference. When I don’t know what I’m thinking about, when I’m stuck on some great problem, he’ll come over and somehow, every difficulty is smoothed away.”

Benedict let out a long breath. “I…” He shut his eyes. His voice faded to a whisper. “I know.”

“And it isn’t just me,” Violet said. “He makes people smile. Everyone. For all that you called him flashy, it’s not a flashy talent. It will never get his name on a placard—the other things he does will get him that. But that thing he does—making people smile—that is what makes the world worth anything at all. Sebastian will never fight wars, but it’s because of people like him that the rest of us don’t have to fight as many of them. He makes everyone around him more than what they are.”

Benedict sighed. “So,” he finally said glumly. “He got to you, too.” He shook his head. “I should have known.”

“Tell me, Benedict,” Violet said. “Several weeks ago, you told Sebastian that you would never trust him with your son.”

Benedict didn’t meet her eyes.

“Since you have been bedridden,” she asked, “since you allowed him to come back and visit, how often has he come to you?”

“Every day,” Benedict Malheur whispered back.

“And in that time, how often has he argued with you? Made demands?”

Sebastian’s brother shook his head.

“As I thought,” Violet responded. “How often has he made you smile?”

Benedict bit his lip, began to touch fingers, and then shook his head. “Too many times.”

“The entire time he was doing that he was busy—petitioning the queen on my behalf, fielding cables from Harvard and offers from Paris. And yet when he was with you, he made you feel like you were the only person in the world.”

“I… Well…”

“And you think you can’t trust him to care for your son? I had never taken you for an idiot.”

Benedict let out a long breath. “Violet,” he said softly, “listen. There is something…” He trailed off, though.

“This is how things are going to be,” Violet whispered back. “I never, ever want to hear you say that Sebastian is good for nothing. He’s…precious.”

Benedict turned toward her. His eyes were dark and somber, but they widened slightly. And that’s when she realized Benedict was not looking at her. He was looking beyond her.

She swiveled and saw Sebastian standing in the doorway. He wasn’t looking at Benedict; he was looking at her—staring at her as if she were the bright center of everything.

“Violet.” His voice was hoarse.

“I’m sorry.” She stood. “All I could think when I saw you earlier was what I’d done to you—walking away, when you begged me to allow you to make things better. I just—I wanted to—I wanted to make things better for you. Somehow. I just—I’m not thinking straight right now, and—”

“Say it again.” He took a step toward her. “Say it again. What you said just a moment ago.”

She swallowed. “You. You’re precious. After everything I did. I had to do something to make things right for you. You begged, and I…”

His hands touched her shoulders, drawing her close. “No, darling. I had no right to ask what I did of you. All the while you were gone, I kept thinking of your words in the court, what you said. You said it was your work. That nobody would take it from you.” He folded his arms around her. “That’s what I tried to do. I didn’t just try to take your place in prison. I tried to take your claim to what you’d done. You were magnificent, and I realized that I didn’t deserve you. That you couldn’t ever forgive me.”

“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?”