Romancing The Crown: Drew and Samira: Her Lord Protector. Carla Cassidy
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to a cousin you’d grieved as dead? How did you tell him what it meant to have him back? Drew counted stairs, hunted for words and came up dry. ‘‘It’s good to see you, Lucas. Good to have you back.’’
Lucas glanced over his shoulder, and for a moment the tightness around his eyes eased. ‘‘I hear you’ve been a frequent visitor in my absence.’’
Drew shrugged. ‘‘For whatever good it did, yes.’’
Lucas didn’t reply. Drew struggled to find a pleasant topic. ‘‘How are your sisters?’’
‘‘Fat and happy. At least they’re all happy and two out of three are on their way to fat, though they aren’t showing yet.’’
‘‘Two?’’ Drew stopped near the stop of the stair. His legs seemed to weigh at least ten stone apiece. ‘‘I knew Anna was expecting. Christina—?’’
‘‘Yes, she’s a finalist in the baby sweepstakes, too, and so delighted we keep having to yank her back down off the ceiling. Her husband, Jack, too. She’s due to reach the finish line a month after Anna.’’ Lucas’s hesitation was brief. ‘‘It’s wonderful news, of course.’’
‘‘Of course.’’ But not, Drew thought as he started walking again, a completely happy subject for Lucas. In the months the prince had been missing, one of his sisters had become engaged and two had married, and Lucas didn’t know any of the men. In some ways, his family had moved on without him. Though he gave a decent impression of his usual upbeat manner, his heart wasn’t in it.
By the time they reached Lucas’s room on the second floor, Drew had had enough. ‘‘For God’s sake,’’ he said as he shut the door behind him, ‘‘would you quit working so hard at being cheerful? It isn’t necessary, you know.’’
Luke swung around to face him. ‘‘I suppose it interferes with your plans to pry the lid off my skull and lap up the contents.’’
‘‘Quite a gruesome turn of phrase you’ve developed.’’ Drew observed, unbuttoning his shirt. ‘‘No doubt your recent trauma has given you a fascination with cracked skulls and addled brains. Didn’t you promise me a clean shirt?’’
Lucas’s mouth twitched. ‘‘Good old Drew. Same chilly bastard you’ve always been. It’s nice to know some things didn’t change while I was gone. I’ll see what I can find.’’ He opened the door that led to his dressing room.
‘‘I suppose the rest of the family has been tiptoeing around you.’’ Drew followed, tossing his filthy shirt into the hamper just inside the dressing room. ‘‘When they aren’t hugging you.’’
‘‘Lord, yes. Everyone’s so blasted careful with me…you won’t bother with that, at least. You’ll just stand around not saying much until I spill my guts.’’ Lucas handed him a pale-blue shirt. ‘‘It’s quite a trick. I’ve often wondered how you do it.’’
‘‘So have I.’’ Drew had never understood what about him prompted confidences. Lord knew he didn’t have any special wisdom to offer, nor any great warmth. Yet people told him things. Private things. Griefs and guilts and choices made or unmade, all the aching questions that can trouble a soul when the night is dark and lonely. This compulsion to confide, to confess, was alien to Drew. He couldn’t imagine willfully violating his own privacy that way. Yet often those who breached their privacy with him seemed to feel better for it afterward, the way one does after a splinter is removed or a bad tooth has been pulled.
And sometimes, afterward, they avoided him. Drew slipped on his cousin’s shirt and stepped out of his slacks—which were, as Lucas had noted, much the worse for wear.
His unwanted knack for eliciting confidences had been the one thing he could offer his aunt and uncle while their son was missing, and later, when they thought him dead. He wondered if they would be uncomfortable around him now, if they would avoid him. He told himself it didn’t matter. Or not very much, anyway, not as much as helping them had mattered. If he had helped. ‘‘Why do people answer questions I don’t ask?’’
Lucas, rummaging through the hangers, turned around holding out a pair of slacks—gray, clean, faultlessly pressed. ‘‘I guess it’s like dropping stones in some dark pit. There’s the assurance that any foolishness we let fall won’t come back at us. Lord knows nothing else does. Clams have nothing on you.’’
‘‘Hmm. Vanessa compared talking to me to howling at the moon or going to confession. Except, of course, that I don’t hand out penance.’’
Lucas’s mouth turned up wryly. ‘‘Sisters can be the very devil, can’t they? They know us too well and spare us very little. Here. These won’t be a perfect fit, but at least they won’t leave soot on the upholstery. Speaking of sisters, one of mine is upset with you.’’
‘‘Which one?’’ He stepped into the slacks, which were a trifle long—Lucas was six-two to Drew’s six-one—but were a major improvement otherwise.
‘‘Anna. Have you offended Julia and Christina lately, too?’’
‘‘Probably. I’d better go see your father now that I’m decent.’’ Before he collapsed. Fatigue was lapping at his defenses like a flood-swollen river. He started for the door.
Lucas fell into step beside him in the wide hall. The king and queen’s private suite occupied a separate wing that lay an achingly long distance away, from Drew’s current perspective.
‘‘So why is Anna mad at you?’’ Lucas asked as they crossed the picture gallery.
‘‘She didn’t care for the way I treated the last candidate she sent me.’’
‘‘Candidate? But what—no, she didn’t. Surely she didn’t decide to play matchmaker. Not with you. I know she was very successful with your brother—’’
‘‘It went to her head.’’ Briefly Drew’s expression softened. His brother Rafe had settled into marriage as if he were made for it—and perhaps he was. As long as his partner was Serena. ‘‘The last bit of bait Anna trolled across my path was a pretty blond bundle of innocence named Theresa. I gather I was supposed to have been struck by the contrast she made with my usual fare and collapsed, smitten, into matrimony. Or at least come down with a mild case of honorable intentions.’’
‘‘Ah. What did you do? Or maybe I don’t want to know.’’
‘‘Probably not.’’
Lucas held his tongue through the picture gallery and into the green sitting room. ‘‘I take it you aren’t feeling any overriding impulse to unburden yourself.’’
‘‘You sound very American. Another result of your trauma?’’
‘‘Dammit, Drew—was the girl an innocent? And just what did you do?’’
‘‘Nothing extensive, though I’m afraid the tour I offered her wasn’t exactly what your sister had in mind. Don’t worry,’’ he added drily. ‘‘I may have done more sightseeing than I should have, but I don’t tour virgins.’’
It was easy to see Lucas didn’t approve, but then, Sebastiani males were born with a hair-trigger impulse toward chivalry. ‘‘Was that really necessary?’’
‘‘It seemed so at the time. She wasn’t the one I was trying to discourage.’’
‘‘You wanted her to run crying to Anna so she’d stop matchmaking.’’
‘‘Yes.’’ He paused. ‘‘I suspect my mother had been encouraging her.’’
Lucas didn’t respond, a courtesy Drew appreciated. It was well-known within the family that Drew and his mother were, if not estranged, at least at odds. Her Grace did not approve of her son’s lifestyle. In time-honored female fashion, she considered that the cure lay in finding the right woman—kind,