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“I actually have some good news of my own.”

A throat cleared, and Rafe’s attention landed on the portly man they’d both missed approaching. Lord Wentworth. He rocked back and forth on his feet, his brows pinched uneasily.

“Apologies, my lord, Your Grace.” He bowed awkwardly. “I had wanted a word with Lord Dunmore, but I can come back another time.”

Derek looked as though he was trying to smile politely, but it was such a miserable attempt that Rafe nearly laughed. “No worries, Lord Wentworth. Say your piece.”

“Ah. Thank you. I hadn’t seen you around lately, so I wanted to take advantage of your presence.” He laughed nervously. He glanced toward Rafe. “Terrible news to hear about your estate, Your Grace. Fires are a nasty business.”

Rafe nodded, his face expressionless. This man needed to get on with it and fuck off.

Lord Wentworth fidgeted. “Well, then. Yes. To business.”

Good. It would appear Rafe’s fuck off face was still working.

The man turned to Derek. “I was wondering if we could discuss my proposal again. I was thinking I could pique your interest with some shares in my shipping enterprise, perhaps. And of course, do not forget the donation to your foundling home.”

“I see you haven’t heard. We have a fundraising event for the foundling home taking place in a sennight. We’re all set on that end. I won’t deny that what you’ve offered is appealing, Lord Wentworth, but I have my sights set on a different woman.”

Lord Wentworth’s eyes widened. “I see…”

Derek nodded. The man continued to stand there, unmoving, silent. “If that was all?” Derek said tightly, not even attempting to hide his annoyance.

“Ah. Yes.” The man bowed. “Gentlemen.”

They both watched in silence as the man walked away. Finally, Rafe broke the silence. “You have enough then. To fund the home. So you can marry your woman.”

“Yes,” Derek said, but his taut expression spoke volumes. Rafe’s own apprehension was mirrored there.

“Derek,” Rafe said quietly, and he waited until Derek’s gaze met his. “You know I understand on an elemental level. The fear. I get it. Because no one in our bloody lives has ever wanted us.” And it would appear that pattern was holding true for Rafe. It would only ever be Derek and Grandmama.

He lifted his glass in a toast. “Grandmama withstanding,” he murmured. “But if something happens? We have each other. Always. You and me, we’re connected—some shared demon inside us both, drawing us together. When Grandmama and I moved in with you when I was fifteen, for me, it was sealed. Our fate was sealed. Brothers, not by blood, but by something far deeper. Because, as we both well know, blood counts for nothing.”

Derek's throat bobbed as he glared at his whisky.

“I can’t promise you everything will work out with your woman. Whether it be her or if fate deigns to play the villain. And I understand more than you know; fate’s an ill-tempered bastard that fucking hates us. But me and you? That’s something you never need to worry about going away.” Derek was all Rafe had. He would never let that go.

Their gazes clashed. Derek’s nostrils flared, his lips pressing tight as he nodded.

“I will always be here,” Rafe said tightly. “Brothers.”

They sat in suffocating silence, battling the emotions threatening to drown the both of them.

“Brothers,” Derek choked out.

They both averted their gaze and threw back more whisky.

“Glad we have that settled,” Rafe said gruffly to the table. “Now, I think after that we both need to finish this decanter. Then I need a change of scenery. This place is clearly crawling with emotions, and it’s making me nauseous. Will you join me, brother?”

Derek grinned. “Always. The Devil’s Eye?”

Rafe lifted his glass in the affirmative. They downed the rest of the whisky and stood to leave. They stumbled their way toward the exit.

“Come on, make haste. I heard whispers of a curricle race in Hyde Park later tonight.” Rafe rubbed his hands together, a muted thrill filling him. It was something. Something to make him feel alive. To distract from the pain. “Let’s kill a few hours and then perhaps I can win a fat purse to help with the foundling home. It’s been too bloody long since I’ve raced.”

“Don’t you think you’ve had a bit much to drink to partake in a race?”

Rafe chuckled. It was like his mate didn’t even know him. “Do you remember who you’re talking to? It’ll take a lot more than this to take a behemoth such as me down. Plus, we can sober up at The Devil’s Eye.”