has been doing, or rather not doing, to lead to this mess.”
“Thomas?” She scoffed. “Are you truly going to blame your brother for something that is your fault?”
“My fault?”
She shot him a look he couldn’t read. “Managing the property is your duty, is it not?”
Ah…that’s right. She believed he was slothful. That he had ignored his duties in the pursuit of pleasure and leisure. Nothing he had done since they’d married had convinced her otherwise. The last of his good mood evaporated in the bright coastal sunlight.
“Indeed, it is my duty. But Thomas—” He cut himself off. It sounded like he was making excuses for himself.
“I know Thomas has not managed things as you would have. But he has been overwhelmed by the responsibility. I know it weighs heavy on his shoulders.”
Sullivan released a mirthless chuckle. “Oh that’s right. He poured his soul out to you, telling you how selfish I am for making him do my duties.”
“You would claim otherwise?”
“I was out of the country when I inherited the title, Tilly. For two years Thomas acted as viscount in my absence instead of contacting my regiment and notifying me of Roderick’s death. Two years!” He didn’t bother tempering his tone. He was angry, and tempted to tell her his suspicions that Thomas had killed their eldest brother and then had hoped—perhaps even counted on—Sullivan being killed in battle, thereby giving him the title he so obviously wanted. “I would much rather not be the bloody viscount if it meant Roderick were still here.” This time his words were quiet. He would give anything to have his brother back. Did she think he was such a cad that he didn’t feel the loss of his brother every day?
Her tone gentled as well, and she placed a gloved hand on his arm.
He glanced at her. Her gaze was soft. Pleading. Open in a way she often wasn’t with him. Not in the daylight anyway.
Then she ruined it by adding, “I merely meant you should speak to Thomas before accusing him of mishandling the viscount duties. I’m certain he has a reasonable explanation.”
The tiny spark of hope he’d felt at her touch withered at her quick defense of Thomas. Sullivan wanted to say that it didn’t bother him. That she was just giving Thomas the benefit of the doubt because that’s the kind of person she was. But the truth was, she wasn’t a trusting person by nature. At least she hadn’t been with him. She’d been quite leery of anything regarding Sullivan and accepting of Thomas.
With him she was guarded and reserved.
With Thomas, open and receptive to the thinnest of lies.
With him, she questioned everything.
With Thomas, nothing.
It could mean only one thing. She was still in love with his brother. The realization sat in his stomach like a heavy rock. How had he found himself in this untenable situation? Pining for a woman who would never love him, never want him. Who found him inferior to another in every way?
He drew the carriage to a stop and jumped down to tether the horse, suddenly desperate to dispel some of his pent-up energy. Then he walked around to assist Tilly to the ground. She took his hand, then once she was standing in front of him, she cupped his cheek in her palms, not moving until he met her gaze. Then she rose onto her toes and kissed him, her lips a whisper across his own.
“What was that for?” he asked, recognizing that his voice was taut with anger.
“I do not wish you to be angry with me,” she said.
He turned his face away from her then because he wanted to keep hold of his anger for a little while longer. Looking into her lovely face with her earnest expression would dissolve it. The fact that she still obviously had feelings for his arse of a brother made Sullivan want to slam his fist into Thomas’s smug face. She had to still love him; why else would she defend him so fervently?
Thomas didn’t deserve any kind of affection from Tilly. She didn’t know the truth of who Thomas was, but there was no reason for Sullivan to try to explain it to her. She likely wouldn’t believe him and instead decide that Sullivan was the real arse.
It seemed that no matter what he did, he simply couldn’t win with her. Maybe he never would.
Maybe he would only ever be her second choice. No, not even her second choice. Marrying him had been