The Lord and the Banshee (Read by Candlelight #13) - Gillian St. Kevern Page 0,22

Though he was younger, he was ahead of me in scholastic ability. I asked him to tutor me. I soon learned that Hubert possessed more—much more—than an able mind and a gift for languages.”

Julian raised an eyebrow. “Birmingham stuff?”

Cross gave him a dry look. He was going to regret talking to Julian. “My first experience of it. I fell hard, Hubert likewise. We were aligned in every way. I could not imagine a life without him at the centre. We made plans to travel Europe together after graduating. Life seemed full of promise. And then, my father died in the third year of my degree. I had to return to Foxwood and see, not only to his funeral, but to the estate.”

Cross took another sip of water, more to have something to do with his throat than because he wanted it. “In his later years, father had neglected the estate. I realised I could not return to college soon. I corresponded with Hubert, letting him know how much I missed him and desired to be with him. He replied in kind.” Cross found it hard to swallow. Even after so many years, it still hurt to speak of him. “He graduated and returned to his family home. We were planning our European jaunt when I received a letter from him, so disjointed I scarcely recognised it as his. The import when I eventually divined it was this: he had glimpsed one of my letters on his father’s desk. Our relationship was known, and our disgrace imminent. He could not bear to be the instrument of my destruction, so he was taking the only escape he could think of.”

Julian caught his breath, his eyes widening. “He didn’t—”

Cross bowed his head. “I ordered a carriage and set off to Canterbury at once. I arrived in time to attend his funeral.”

Julian swallowed. “Other-father…”

“He did not have to die.” Cross squared his shoulders. That it was old pain did not make it hurt any less. “We could have gone away. Left everyone behind us. I would have let no one injure him. He didn’t even try.”

Julian frowned, as if parsing Cross’s words took effort. “You still miss him.”

“No. I loved Hubert, but I cannot forgive him for abandoning me. Your father…” Cross pressed his lips together. “Your father has too inflated a sense of my capabilities.”

“I can see why. You’re more you when you’re with him,” Julian said. “And he’s more him too.” There was no censure in his voice, just the tone of someone thinking out loud.

“When I met your father, I was reconciled to a life without companionship. I could not risk another betrayal—another death. Pip…” Cross swallowed, gripping the bedsheets. “He changed everything.”

He could never put into words just what Pip had done, but if there was anyone could understand, it was Julian. “Father does that.” He wrapped his arms around himself. He looked very young for a man of twenty.

“We cannot let anything happen to Pip.” Cross was surprised by the vehemence in his voice. He swallowed the tight feeling in his chest, forcing himself to adopt a more even tone. “You must remain with him until we are home.”

Julian didn’t move. “Is that why you haven’t told him? Because you don’t want to hurt him like Hubert hurt you?”

Curse Julian. How could he be so ignorant in everything obvious, but so right when it came to the things better hidden? “I will tell him when the time is right. When we are in Foxwood, and our friends there to support him. Then I will tell him.”

Julian’s raised eyebrow was insolence perfected. “You might not have that long. Father’s more in tune with the other world than this one, but even he has noticed enough to be worried.”

“I’m not dead yet,” Cross snapped.

“At least you acknowledge that possibility.” The breakfast bell sounded. Julian stood. “I have said nothing to Father. But if you do not tell him, I will.”

12

Thomas was the last to breakfast, finding the dining room deserted. As he quit the room, wiping toast crumbs from his hands, a footman approached with a letter on a silver platter. “This arrived by the first post, Lord Cross.”

He grunted his thanks, taking the envelope. He recognised the precise handwriting at once. Morley. This must be regarding his will. He found a comfortable armchair in the sitting room to brood over the letter.

Morley was as to the point as ever:

I have changed your will as requested. I do not see any