Page 100

Unanswered

Your Grace,

While I am sure your return to London has left you occupied with matters demanding your attention, I would appreciate some direction regarding my two previous letters. I trust that, amid the many individuals now vying for Your Grace's time, you might still find a moment to pen a reply and ensure your estate does not suffer for your absence.

There are several matters upon which I would prefer not to proceed without Your Grace's instruction. Though, as we have so often agreed, I am the sensible one between us, perhaps I ought to trust my own judgment and proceed with what I believe to be the prudent course.

I had hoped your return would not prevent you from remembering those of us who remain here to attend to what you have left behind.

I see I may have been mistaken.

Dawson

39

Rafe

Rafe was fairly certain someone was crying.

Sound faded in and out, a buzzing ringing in his ears. His eyelids were so bloody heavy. He tried to make sense of himself, of his surroundings, but his mind was too goddamned sluggish. His mouth felt as though he’d been gagged with a neckcloth; it was so dry, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. A piercing ache slid through his head, and he winced. What the bloody hell happened?

“You have… by my side… Harrow…” The words filtered in, choppy and confusing. “Living… my brother… How do I…”

Familiarity prickled at his brain. He knew that deep voice. The blackness surrounding him grew lighter. The words filling his ears grew clearer. Derek. That was Derek speaking.

He tried to move, but he couldn’t. Panic seized his chest. Why couldn’t he move? The world spun, and his gut rebelled. He tried to think back, tried to make his mind pull together the pieces. What the fuck was going on?

“It’s not a secret we both have our issues.” Derek’s voice was hoarse, the words barely making sense in Rafe’s clouded brain. “But, Rafe, I’ve been working on mine. God, Livy has made me see that I can let people in; I should let people in. Don’t do this to me. Don’t set me back. If you don’t wake⁠—”

Something warm and strong gripped his hand. A small amount of his anxiety eased. Derek. Derek was here. Clearly upset and…crying. They had just… They had been at their clubs.

“I am going to marry her, Rafe.”

Sobs echoed around Rafe, and his heart clenched. He slowly blinked his eyes open and could barely make out his best mate bent over his hand through his bleary vision. Derek’s body shook. Rafe’s attention drifted around him. He was in his bedchamber. In London.

Some of his and Derek’s conversation from Grambler’s resurfaced. Their…awkward moment when they both nearly cried together. Dear God.

And then it all came rushing back. His eyes widened. The race. The curricle. The ear-splitting crack of wood. And then nothing. He’d been in an accident. He tried to move again, and pain seared up his thigh, pulling a weak grunt from him. Fuck. But otherwise, he couldn’t move.

“You need to stand up there with me. I need you by my side,” Derek said, his words broken.

“Why is it that you are always blabbering on about emotions in my presence lately?” Rafe barely recognized his own voice. It was faint and rough, like he hadn’t spoken for weeks. How long had he been abed?

Derek shot to his feet, making Rafe’s head spin.

He stared wide-eyed at Rafe. Like he was looking at a ghost.

“Rafe?” he croaked. And then tears spilled down Derek’s face, uncontrolled and apparently without care, because the only thing on his mate’s face was pure relief.

Cold seeped over Rafe. This was pointing to things having been very bloody bad. But he forced his lips into what he hoped was a smile. “One and the same.”

Derek swiped vigorously at his face as he spun around. “Why isn’t there a bloody pitcher of water in here?”

Rafe’s gaze locked on his nightstand…where there was a pitcher…

Derek grunted and hastily poured a glass, then turned and offered Rafe the glass. Rafe blinked at it, then arched a brow up at his friend. Understanding dawned in his friend’s eyes.

He placed the drink down and came back to Rafe. He slid his arms under Rafe’s. Rafe tried to help Derek, but all he’d managed was to weakly press his fingers into the bed while Derek heaved Rafe into an upright position.