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Sebastian finally threw back the whisky, his face flinching in a grimace.

Rafe immediately refilled the glass with a healthier pour. “This one you can drink more slowly.” He dragged a chair in front of his brother’s and dipped a towel into the hot water, then wrung it out. He paused, cloth held in front of him. “I’m going to clean your face, all right?”

Sebastian’s lower lip wobbled, but he nodded stiffly. Rafe carefully gripped his brother’s chin and cleaned away the dirt. “It doesn’t appear there are any visible scratches,” he said, gaze trained on his task. His attention darted to his brother’s, which was locked over Rafe’s shoulder somewhere. “Are you…injured anywhere else?”

The flush from earlier came back with a vengeance. “N-no.” He met Rafe’s gaze for a heartbeat before it fell away. “You got there in time.”

Rafe ground his teeth. Thank the bloody gods he did. What if he hadn’t been heading back from Miss Dawson’s? If he had left only a minute earlier or later, he wouldn’t have caught the movement at the edge of the wood. He wouldn’t have followed. He wouldn’t have…

“This time.” Rafe studied his brother carefully. “I heard him suggest this wasn’t the first time.”

Sebastian’s eyes widened.

Rafe quickly retrieved the glass of whisky and shoved it into his brother’s hands. “Relax. Take a breath. Take a drink. I don’t give a bloody damn who you take to bed.”

The glass shook as Sebastian lifted it to his lips, but he took two healthy swallows, ending with a hiss.

“What I do care about is if either party wasn’t willing. Has he hurt you before?” Because if he had, there was nowhere he could run that Rafe wouldn’t find him. He was done with people harming his family. Even if that harm came from within.

“I never said no.” His brother’s words were quiet, but they spoke volumes.

“Did he hurt you?” Rafe asked again.

“Yes,” he whispered, cheeks flaming. “He wasn’t like that in the beginning.”

Rafe’s nostrils flared. The fury from earlier came roaring back. Not only had that man hurt Rafe’s family, but his brother also now felt…what? Shame? Shame over being assaulted? “You’re embarrassed.”

“It is mortifying. What kind of man am I, that I’m so weak that I can easily be taken advantage of?”

“You are not weak.”

Sebastian jolted at Rafe’s harsh tone, his whisky sloshing onto his lap.

Rafe leaned forward, eyes locked on his brother’s. Because this was of utmost importance. A lesson that Rafe needed a constant reminder of.

“You. Are. Not. Weak. Being preyed upon does not make you weak. It is those who do the preying that are. A weak man wields a heavy fist. Inflicts pain. Abuses. Trust me, that is no sign of strength. It is pathetic. If they were subject to even a fraction of the trials they inflicted, they’d crumble. Yet we survive.” He stared hard at his brother and raised his brows. “We don’t let them win.”

Sebastian nodded.

“Now.” With that settled, time for the next order of business. “Do you have a name? Of the bastard.”

“I do…” Wary green eyes watched him. “But after you scared the piss out of him, he’s probably halfway to London by now. He’s a sailor, was between voyages and heading back to port soon.”

Rafe’s gaze sharpened. “I want that name. And any information you have on him. Now.” He had a letter to write. And he knew a man in London who loved nothing more than ensuring villains received exactly what was coming to them. There wasn’t a man in London Ryker Drake couldn’t find. And dispose of.

“You’re confusing.” His brother’s pronouncement rang around them.

Rafe leaned back in his chair and grabbed his own glass of whisky. He took a sip, letting the comforting burn hiss through his teeth. “How so?”

“I thought you hated me.”

Rafe thought that over. Did he hate Lord Sebastian? Hate wasn’t the right word. “I resent you.”

His brother hummed thoughtfully. “Well, no one can say you’re not honest.”

“And regardless of my resentment or dislike, it doesn’t mean I want to see you subjected to…harm. If you were anything like the bastard you were with, then I would. Considering Miss Dawson’s opinion of you, I trust you’re a good sort.”

Green eyes sharpened. “Miss Dawson, you say? What exactly had you out in the early hours of the morning today, Your Grace?”