trouser-clad legs came into view. It might have been Archer or Ranulf, but they would have announced themselves. Win waited for the man to come a step closer. Gritting his teeth against the pain, he opened his eyes, thrust his gun out, and aimed.
His brother froze, his dark eyes wide and staring.
Win relaxed a fraction. The shock of seeing his brother before him made his chest burn. For the life of him, he couldn’t think of a word to say. So he waited, unable to lower his gun before he knew what the man wanted.
“I know you.” Oz swallowed, his raised hands shaking as badly as Win’s. “You’re my… Good God, Win. It is you, isn’t it?”
Slowly, Win let his arm fall. He did not want to answer, did not want to see his old life collide with this one. But that had already occurred, and Oz was not his father. Win’s throat closed tight against the emotion welling up from within. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of his brother, the man he’d left behind.
“Oz.” His voice came out in a croak.
Oz’s jaw worked as he lowered his hands and peered into Win’s face. “I thought you were dead. I remember…” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I remember you dying. Your name is on the family crypt.” It was an accusation full of pain and bewilderment. “And then…” He ran a hand along the back of his neck. “I woke up this morning and knew. Knew you were not dead. Knew where to find you as well.” Coal black eyes bored into Win. “How? How is that, Win?”
It took several tries for Winston to find his voice. “I don’t know.”
Oz drew himself up, his tone becoming stronger, more ducal. “You were here, in London, all this time. Working as a detective. How could you not—” He pressed his lips together. “How could you not come to me? You let me believe you were dead. Why?”
Win took a deep breath and regretted it. “Father disowned me when I married Poppy.”
“The merchant’s daughter.”
Win did not know nor care what Oz thought about Poppy. She was his, and he’d be damned if another Duke of Marchland stood in his way. “I thought you knew. And that you disowned me as well.” It was as close to the truth as Win could devise.
Oz sneered, his head snapping back as though Win had spit in his face. “You think so little of me?”
God forgive him. “It was what Father led me to believe.” Poppy had been correct; lying to one’s family was not nearly as easy as it would seem.
Oz gave a terse nod, then lowered his eyes before raising them once again, cold accusation still there. “We met. At Amy’s party. You acted as though you did not know me.”
Bloody hell. “I was ashamed.” Hell and damnation. “And you did not appear to know me, either.”
“Damn it all, Win. You are my brother. But you do not look as you once did. Had I recognized you, I would have…” His mouth snapped shut. “What happened to you?” he said after a moment.
Win sighed. He hadn’t the energy to make up a lie for his scars. “My life is different now, Oz.”
Silence answered him, and then his brother took another step closer to the bed. “It will be better now. I don’t care what Father did or said. You have an estate, funds that I will readily—”
“No.”
Oz blinked. “What do you mean? I give these things to you freely. With joy.”
Win held his brother’s gaze. “I don’t want any of it. I never did. When I said that my life was different, I meant that it was apart from your world. This is the life I want to live.” He laughed abruptly, the action sending spears of hot pain through him. “Aside from my current predicament, that is.”
Oz tilted his head to frown down at Win. For a moment, he appeared so much like the boy who had taught Win to climb trees and shoot a gun that Win’s breath hitched. But the illusion vanished in the face of a duke thoroughly put out. “I will not let this go, Win.”
“I beg of you,” Win rasped back, “please do.”
The dark frown grew. “I don’t understand you at all.” Oz’s gaze slid away, focusing on some spot above Win’s shoulders. “Do you not want to know me then?”
Win gripped the bed sheets tightly. “I would be honored to know you again, my brother.”