The man didn’t appear emotional at all. His jaw was set, his gaze was steady, and even his hands were still. But his feet twitched as he shifted slightly forward, then slightly back. Not enough for anyone but his best friend to notice.
“I’m alive,” Lucas said gently.
“Thank God,” Aaron breathed out. Then the two of them collapsed together, hugging each other as they hadn’t for twelve years.
“Call for some brandy, Aaron,” Jackson said. “The finest you’ve got.”
Aaron released Lucas and shot the man a dark look. “You’re always so free with my brandy.”
“Lucas back from the dead deserves—”
“I didn’t say you were wrong. Just that you’re free with my drink.” That was true. Aaron always had the best drink; Jackson had the most charm. And together, they let Lucas devise schemes that entertained them all. And often got them deep in someone’s ill graces.
They broke apart, Aaron to tug the bellpull, Jackson to open the sideboard and bring out a half-filled bottle, and Lucas to stand awkwardly by the fire, wondering how to broach the topic of what he wanted. Didn’t need to. Aaron knew how things were with him. Always had.
“Here’s how it’s going to go,” he said sternly. “First, you’re going to tell us where you’ve been for the last decade, then you can ask us what you want.” He frowned. “Where’s Binner?”
“Out to dinner?” Jackson echoed back.
“Binner, your butler?”
“Yes. And come to think of it, where’s my sister? She should be home.”
“I got her an invite to a séance. It’s all very safe, and I knew she’d want to go—”
“What!” Aaron exclaimed. “The devil you say.”
“Relax. As I said, it’s all very harmless. Should take another couple hours.” Aaron’s sister, Clara, had a fascination with the occult. And since Lucas had needed her out of the house, this was the safest, easiest way.
“You should not encourage her in that nonsense.”
Lucas shook his head. “She’s an intelligent woman. Do try to trust in her good sense.”
“She believes in ghosts!”
“So did your mother,” Jackson said. “The apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree.”
“That’s hardly a recommendation for good sense,” Aaron returned as he stepped into the hallway. “Binner! Where are you, man?”
“The house is empty, save us,” Lucas said. He’d made sure of it when he got here. “Your butler is at the pub down the way, and the others are gone with him or to their own amusements.” He blew out a breath. “You really need to take your staff in hand. How can you run a government if you’re not able to keep your own servants in line?”
Aaron was grumbling as he went to the kitchen. He returned a moment later with glasses in one hand and a cleaning towel in the other. He cleaned the glasses one by one before handing them over to Jackson, who poured them all large measures.
“My sister runs the household—” Aaron said.
“Badly,” Jackson said.
Aaron shot the man a hard look, but he didn’t disagree. “I manage the finances and the…” he waved his hand. “Politics.”
Aaron was a member of the House of Commons until such time as his father popped off and he inherited an earldom. Then he’d take his seat in the House of Lords, and some other eager son would find his way into Aaron’s vacated seat. The man appeared to love the work—had been an avid student of history since he was in leading strings—and worked tirelessly on the nation’s interests. It was a bloody crime that he couldn’t have a clean glass in his own household.
Meanwhile, Jackson got tired of tweaking their political friend. “Forget him, where have you been?”
“War, then another war, and now back.”
“Yes, but when? Everyone else came back years ago.”
“We still have an army,” Aaron cut in. “He’s probably been serving—”
“No, I haven’t,” Lucas interrupted. He didn’t want to go into details. “I sold out after Waterloo.”
“What!”
“But that was two years ago!”
Lucas nodded. He knew. “It took me a while to come back.”
“Two years?”
“I…” He shrugged. “I have been waiting until my hand is better before making an appearance.” He held up his maimed hand. He normally wore a dark glove over it, but because they were his friends, he pulled it off. The damage wasn’t as bad as it could have been. He still had a hand and, for that matter, his life. The thumb and forefinger worked just fine, but the last three fingers were knobby and cramped. His fingers and palm were thick with scars, and the whole thing looked hideous.
Jackson studied the hand with pursed lips. “I’ve seen worse. Your ugly face, for one, though I’ll admit the scar through your hair, is dashing. Aaron, do you think there’s cheese and bread in your larder? I’ve missed supper.”
Jackson always missed supper because his ancestral lands were impoverished, and he only ate when attending a ball or because of the generosity of his friends. Normally Lucas would counsel the man to marry an heiress, but Jackson was both canny and unflinching when it came to hard work. He would bet everything that Jackson had a clever plan to restore his ancestral lands. One that did not include charming an heiress.
Meanwhile, Aaron gave a disinterested wave toward the kitchen. “Take whatever you can find.”
“Thanks, mate,” said Jackson as he disappeared down the hall. Meanwhile, Aaron focused on Lucas.
“Your mother thinks you are dead.”
“Yes, I know—”
“Your father and brother as well.”
“Yes—”
“And my sister plus—”
“Yes! I know!”
Aaron blew out a breath. “Where have you been hiding?”
Lucas looked down. “I’m known as Titan at the Lyon’s Den.”
“The gaming hell? The one where—”
“Yes, yes, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s reputation is salacious, but she runs a clean establishment with fair wages. She employs veterans to keep an eye on things, and I supervise them. It’s good work with good people, and I have no quarrel with it.”
Aaron frowned. “Well, I do. The future Earl of Wolvesmead should not be running tables in a den.” He refilled his brandy glass, but his gaze never left Lucas’s. “What’s really going on?”
How to answer that? Especially since he had no clear understanding of it himself. “You know my family.” Most specifically, his mother, who never tolerated anything that was less than perfect. Perfect attire, perfect manners, perfect appearance in every way. She would be horrified by his hand. “I didn’t want to see them until after I had found my bearings.”
“That answers for a few weeks or even a couple of months. But Lucas—years? Your brother expects to inherit!”
He blew out a breath, then forced himself to speak the truth. “Aaron, I’m an heir who went to war.” He looked up. “They wanted me to die.” At least his mother had.