Page 35 of A Raven Reborn

Patrick raised his brows. “Isn’t it?”

She shook her head. “Of course it isn’t. But that wasn’t what I meant.” She looked into his eyes then. “What I don’t understand is why you’re ashamed of who you are.”

“Ashamed?”

She shrugged, looking a bit exasperated. “Embarrassed? I don’t know the reason, but you hide your rank, your standing in society, and refuse to allow people to show you the deference to which you are entitled.”

Patrick shook his head and let out a long sigh. “You see, that is precisely the reason I chose this life.” He turned over another card. “I don’t want deference. I want people to respect me for the man I am, not because of the man my father was.”

Rosie stared into his eyes then, her head to one side.

He’d never tried to explain this to anyone before and hadn’t expected her to take him seriously. If he was honest, he felt a bit churlish complaining about being the son of a marquess, and he’d assumed Rosie would think him ungrateful and self absorbed. And perhaps he was. But she didn’t look at him that way. Her gaze was tender, and curious.

“So how exactly does the second son of a marquess end up here?”

“You mean, living in a tiny flat over a shop in a less than respectable part of London?”

Rosie chuckled. “Well yes, but I’m actually more interested in the part where you became the owner of a gaming hell with your two friends. Are they also lords?”

Patrick sighed and nodded. “The three of us were at Oxford together. We were all orphaned fairly young and close together. After we left school, we soon all had our own demons to fight.” He reached for his glass, but it wasn’t in its usual place. He’d left it next to the decanter. He let out another sigh. “When Ash asked if we’d like to partner him in opening a club, Michael and I both jumped at the chance. It was exactly what all of us needed.”

They reached the end of the first round, and Patrick’s stack of cards was much taller than Rosie’s. Another tendril of guilt snaked its way around his heart.

“What does your brother think of your club?”

“Ha!” Patrick nearly choked on his laughter. “If we’re going to talk about my brother, I definitely need my brandy.” He pushed back his chair and crossed the room to the decanter. “Would you like a glass?” he asked, as he filled his own.

“No, thank you,” Rosie answered, with a soft groan. “My head wouldn’t thank me. I’ll just stick with tea.”

He chuckled, and then yawned as he returned to his desk.

There was concern in Rosie’s eyes. “Perhaps we should put our game on hold so you can get some sleep.”

Patrick was exhausted. He hadn't had any real sleep in days, and under any other circumstances, he would wholeheartedly agree. But he had to finish this game.

“I’m fine,” he assured her, forcing as genuine of a smile as he could muster. He nodded to the desk where it was her turn to play a card. Hesitantly, she looked away from him and took her turn.

“Surely, you must have more questions for me.”

Rosie raised her eyebrows. “I did, in fact, ask you a question.”

“Oh yes, my brother.” He tipped his head to the side stretching some of the tension from his neck. “I think he’s still holding onto the hope that I will eventually lose interest in all of this and settle down.” He shrugged. “Our relationship has always been a bit difficult, but I think he probably cares, in his own way.”

“Well,” Rosie said, turning over another card, “I, for one, think you are lucky to even have a brother.”

Patrick nodded. “I won’t argue with you there. For one thing, without him, I’d have been the one to inherit the title, and God knows I’m not cut out for that level of responsibility.” He grimaced at the thought.

Rosie took a breath, presumably about to argue his case, but then just shook her head. “Tell me about Michael and Ash. I mean, Patrick and Michael are common enough names, but surely Ash isn’t actually his name?”

“No. Ash is short for his title,” Patrick explained. “His full name is Adrian Black, Earl of Ashdown” Rosie blinked rapidly.

“Earl,” she said under her breath. “And Michael?”

Patrick hesitated, but what did it matter at this point? “Michael Cunningham, Earl of Dalinridge.”

Rosie laughed nervously.

“I know what you’re thinking, Rosie, but they’re nice people.” Patrick looked into her eyes. “We’re nice people.”

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