Rosilee laughed. “I vote for tea.”
“I second,” the viscount said, followed by a muttered, “with that touch of brandy.”
Maxen inclined his head.
Damnation. Blake let out a sigh.
They had come to help, these half-brothers, even without ever having met him. They had, in some strange way, commanded a place in his life now, whether he liked it or not. Perhaps it wasn’t too late to build something from the ashes of his father’s cruel legacy. Something not just built on blood, but on choice.
But family?
He reached for his cravat, paused, flexing his fingers, before letting his hand lower to brush Rosilee’s back.
Very well.
“Fine,” Blake muttered. “Tea.”
Bishop flashed a grin, and Rosilee beamed, pulling him to the door of the entrance. He leaned into her just slightly, allowing her radiance to soothe him. As long as she remained at his side, light would pierce the darkness, and everything would bloom.
Rosilee.
His rose.
Epilogue
Reaper stood overBaston’s unconscious body, his breath slow and even despite the crimson pooling at his feet. He gathered saliva and spat, aiming for the blackguard’s face. The unmistakable scent of blood hung in the salty air of the docks.
Mrs. Dove-Lyon had sold him this blackguard, as agreed upon, leaving Reaper to handle the matter in his own way. He had paid her price without a second thought, knowing that this man—this coward—needed to be dealt with. And his brother, the grumpy Duke of Crane, would never have to dirty his hands with this.
His gaze flicked to the docked ship, and he wiped the dark red stains from his hands with the cloth Bishop handed him. “You took care of his men?”
Bishop nodded. “They believe he is still in the Lyon’s Den.”
“You did well.”
“I did what had to be done,” Bishop sneered. “He doesn’t need his conscience weighed by something that we don’t even blink about.”
Reaper snorted. “Such talk from a butler, man of affairs, or whatever else you call yourself.”
“And what of yourself? Why did you do this for a half-brother you just met?”
Because he is my brother, and an enemy of my brother is an enemy ofmine.
It didn’t matter that they were only half-brothers or that they’d never met before this week. Blood ran thicker than brine.
Speaking of which... He scowled at the crimson pool circling the front of his boot.
Shite. Now I must wash my boots.
He wasn’t in the mood.
He nudged the body with that bloody boot. “You shouldn’t have meddled with one of my brothers, Baston.”
A pained grunt.
Reaper grinned, nudging the body again. “Didn’t know I’d care about a brother I never met before?” Another kick. “You were wrong.”
He had always been curious about his mysterious half-brother, who even while a duke, chose to live a life of isolation. Always cautious, always distant. Reaper had wanted to wedge himself into Blake’s life for years, but there had never been an opening. Crane’s wariness of the world had kept Reaper at arm’s length—until now.
