Page 37 of The Marquis' Game of Seduction
Regardless, Colin wasn’t sure how much longer any of this would stretch on. He felt an amount of loss with every new day, knowing that someday soon Amelia would become strong once more and call for her son.
Of course—that was what Colin wanted more than anything. He so yearned for his sister to grow well again. Although their relationship had been strained in recent years, he still upheld her over most creatures on the planet. A world without her in it would certainly be a much worse world.
But of course, Duncan’s absence meant that Colin would have no reason to keep Rose on his staff. This thought latched itself to the back of Colin’s mind and bothered him endlessly, so much so that he considered lobotomy, if it meant he didn’t have to think such thoughts any longer.
During late October, Allan wrote to him that he wanted to visit. “It’s been far too long, my friend. You’ve been cooped up in that estate of yours, hardly leaving. And I’m too tired of waiting. I must come to you.”
When this news came over the post, Colin felt strangely apprehensive. In his more youthful years, Colin had wanted nothing more than to pound about the moors with Allan, to chat and laugh and crack jokes. But in his older years, Colin had grown increasingly inward and unsure of himself. He was afraid that this feeling would enact itself out in his relationship with Allan. He dreaded that Allan would say something like, “You’ve changed, my dear friend.”
To this, what would Colin say? Perhaps—Of course I have. All men change as they grow older. The idea of not changing fills me with a fear that…
But Colin couldn't fully complete the thought. Truthfully, Colin yearned to be the more carefree man he’d been in his youth. He’d understood himself, hadn’t second-guessed a single thought. And about his internal passions for women, he’d been incredibly articulate: always achieving to “court” whichever woman he pleased.
Now, his heart crunched against his rib cage whenever he and Rose stumbled into one another. He felt apprehensive and foolish and strange, a bumbling fool. If he was on the other side of the equation, he felt sure he would think very little of himself at all.
Allan appeared on horseback just before lunch time. Colin watched as he clopped the final stretch toward the stables—a sight that filled Colin with a sense of longing for his youth.
When Allan’s white horse reached the stable, he lifted off and dropped to the ground, springing a bit. He was thin and agile and quick with a smile, which he gave immediately to the stable boy. It occurred to Colin that the stable boy hadn’t seen such a smile in quite some time, as he spent his days with the shadowy and dark Colin Remington.
Colin stepped into the chilly autumn afternoon and waved a hand. Allan’s bright blue eyes found his immediately. He returned the wave and used his long legs to spring toward the mansion. When he reached Colin, he didn’t hesitate—he wrapped his long arms around him in a massive, brotherly hug. And for a strange moment, Colin felt safer than he had since he was a young boy, wrapped in his mother’s arms.
“My boy!” Allan said. He darted back and gripped Colin’s shoulders and gave him a firm once-over with his eyes. “You’re looking quite dashing. I’m sure nobody is telling you that aloud, are they? Oh, but I’m sure they’re thinking it. Namely that governess of yours.”
Colin’s nostrils flared. He yanked his head around to peer into the main foyer to ensure that nobody heard. But Allan just erupted with laughter and said, “Colin, my boy. I would never utter such a thing if I thought it would get you in trouble. We’re entirely alone. Come on. Invite me in. I’ve had quite the journey. The weather seems fine until you’re out in it. I find that always to be true when autumn deepens itself into winter.”
Colin led Allan through the foyer, toward his study. Allan inhaled deeply and let out a sigh. “It smells like you’ve still got that marvelous cook of yours. You always did have the best dinners, my friend. What’s it been since she came on?”
“Seven years,” Colin returned. “And we’re very lucky to still have her. Judith found her, I believe.”
He stretched open the door of his study and headed toward the little cabinet, where he kept the fine Scotch. Allan stepped in and closed the door behind him. Having Allan there—a man that was very much larger than life, in some respects - made Colin feel as though the study was almost too small. He poured them both hefty glasses of scotch and passed one glass to Allan. They clinked glasses. Allan continued to beam at him as he said, “You really do look splendid. How long has it been?”
They drank as Colin considered this. “Perhaps since summer,” Colin returned. The moment he did, however, he realised that it had been even longer—probably since late spring. He swallowed with regret and sat in his chair. Allan dipped into the one across the desk. Then, he stretched out his legs and dipped his shoes atop the desk. This was a move Colin wouldn’t have allowed another man in the world to do. Allan knew he was getting away with murder—and he didn’t care. At least, this was how Colin perceived it.
“How is she?” Allan asked. He arched his brow. For a moment, Colin wasn’t sure who Allan was talking about.
“I’m sorry?”
“Your sister. Amelia,” Allan returned. “I’ve been terribly worried. But not much word comes out of that house, does it? You’re the only connection I have to them anymore.”
“Right. Well. I’ve only just heard from Laurence, actually.”
“Reckless bastard,” Allan returned.
“My thoughts exactly,” Colin said. He leaned forward, his eyebrows low and whispered, “And to think. His son has lived here for months—and his father hasn’t so much as stepped through that door! If I was Duncan, I would be going absolutely mad. Worrying that my father didn’t love me. This is the sort of thing that breeds murderers, you know. People who no longer perceive love from the people who are meant to love them…”
Allan nodded. “I wondered about that. Whether or not they truly missed their son…”
“I’ve never seen Laurence display even a bit of compassion for his son, if I’m honest with you,” Colin returned. He swallowed, sensing himself filling with vitriol. He didn’t need to give it so much power.
“However! He did write me with rather stellar news,” Colin continued, completely changing his tone. “He informed me that Amelia is on the mend. She’s much better, apparently, than she was even a few weeks ago. The doctor has said that Duncan still must remain here a bit longer, but that’s quite all right…”
“Oh, beautiful,” Allan said. “I imagine you must be relieved. It was rather ominous there for a moment. I wasn’t sure she would make it.”
Colin had felt similarly. He felt a shadow pass over his face and he turned his eyes toward the desk. He spread his palms out over the wood. Allan’s eyes remained on him, seemingly captivated. Colin knew that Allan yearned to ask him questions about Rose—especially since his letter had been drenched in his affection for her. But Colin felt that his tongue was strangely tied and heavy. The truth felt too difficult to say aloud.
“I know you want to talk about it. I can see it bouncing around in that brain of yours,” Allan said.
Colin’s eyes darted up. “Just because you can see all the way through me, doesn’t mean you need to advertise it. It makes me feel like a fool.”
