“He’s gone.”
“Humor me.”
He could do that. She’d just given him the best night of his life, after all.
Dane stared at the bed, seeing the ghost of his brother. “He lay in this bed all pale and mute. He didn’t even look like my brother.”
“Pretend you’re introducing me to him.”
“Roman, this is Miss Sandrine Oliver, my fiancée. Sandrine, this is my brother, Roman, the Duke of Rydell.”
“Very pleased to meet you, your grace.” Sandrine curtsied. “It’s going to be a beautiful day today. The sun will shine so brightly that every leaf on the oak tree outside your window will look like it’s been dipped in gold.”
Dane cleared his throat. “This is silly, Sandrine.”
“It’s not. I think it’s necessary. Will you do this for me?”
“We’ve had a long night and no sleep to speak of. Which was entirely your fault, I’ll have you know.”
“Tell your brother how you felt about him.”
“I can’t. He’s dead.”
“You’ve kept yourself so tightly closed away from pain. You told me that to love someone isto give them the power to hurt you. I’ve given you that power over me, Dane. I know you could hurt me. I’m willing to take that risk because love is worth it. Breaking free of the patterns that drag us down, the people that seek to keep us down, is worth it. You can’t ever hide your fear deep enough or outrun it. It will always be there. It’s a part of you, but if you keep trying to outrun it, you allow it to rule you. Face your brother, face your dark memories, one last time.” She moved to stand beside him. “You can do this.”
Dane stared at the empty bed. “Roman, Sandrine says I need to face you, to forgive you. And forgive myself. But I don’t think I can. You did your job too well. You made me hate myself. I know it’s because you loved our mother so much and you missed her dreadfully. It was a hatred born from love, wrought by the pain of loss. And that’s the most vicious kind, I think.”
Sandrine lifted his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. “Go on,” she whispered.
Her touch calmed him. Gave him the strength to continue.
“Our mother’s death wasn’t my fault, Roman. I wish I could have known her as you did. I wish I had the memories, however painful. I’ve always envied you for having those ten years with her. I loved you, Roman. I worshipped you.”
He closed his eyes. “I don’t think I can do this. I’m talking to a pillow. And if I had ever said such words to him, he would have laughed in my face.”
“You’re doing so well.” The approval in her eyes wrapped him in warmth.
“Roman.” He clenched his jaw. Released it. Sandrine squeezed his hand tightly until he could feel her fingernails digging into his palm. “I... loved you.”
Christ. Tears behind his eyes, demanding to be shed. He hadn’t cried since he was a boy. He wasn’t going to do it now.
Too late. A tear escaped his tightly clenched eyes and fell on the bed. Sandrine squeezed his hand even tighter, and when he looked at her, she was crying.
Damn it. Another tear fell. “I forgive you, Roman,” he blurted out, needing to be done with this.
Sandrine nestled into his arms, and he buried his face in her neck and held on to her, allowing the emotion to come for the first time since he was a boy.
“I need a brandy,” he finally said.
“I think I need one, too,” she replied.
Dane informed the maid that they were not to be disturbed. He didn’t care who knew he and Sandrine were sharing a room. All he knew was that he would sleep next to her for the rest of his life.
They had their brandy, and then they fell asleep together.
When he awoke, Dane was momentarily disoriented. Then he remembered what had happened. All of it. Chasing after Cleveland. Thinking that Sandrine might die. A night of unparalleled passion, followed by becoming the duke.
Forgiving Roman.