He was staring at the still surface of the lake, agonized by the turn of events that had brought Philippa to him, and the social conventions that would likely keep them apart, when he felt a touch on his shoulder, turned his head, and found his brother at his side. As brothers do, they understood each other without a word; Gabriel was squinting at him in a way that conveyed to Wick that his private kisses were no longer private.

“Damnation,” he said flatly.

“Hmm,” Gabriel said, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “Philippa is a lovely girl. Kate adores her.”

“I can’t marry her.”

“Why not?”

It took a moment before Wick could compose himself and look over at his oblivious brother without rage in his eyes. He prided himself on never showing emotion of that sort. “I’m in your service,” he said, finally. “As a butler.”

“Only because you chose to be so,” Gabriel responded.

“Once that choice was made, the decision was irrevocable.”

“Rubbish. I can hire another majordomo in London. You only took over because we had no money, don’t you remember? Well, now we have Kate’s unexpectedly lavish inheritance, not to mention the payment I received for my book on Greek archaeology. In fact, I just bought Kate’s father’s estate from her stepmother. We could—”

“You could what? Make me legitimate? Make me the proper spouse for Philippa?” Wick couldn’t help it. The calm front he was so proud of maintaining cracked along with his heart, and bitterness poured like acid into his voice. “You can’t give me what I most need: a father who didn’t bed a dairymaid and impregnate her. You can’t give my mother her marriage lines, nor myself the pedigree that Philippa deserves.”

He saw his arguments hit home. “I’m no husband for a lady, Gabe,” he said more quietly.

“Philippa loves you,” Gabriel said rallying. “A blind man could see that. She doesn’t care about your pedigree.”

Wick’s throat was too tight to answer. He knew that his brother could see raw despair in his eyes because he pulled him into a rough embrace. “She couldn’t do better than you,” Gabriel said a moment later, thumping him on the back.

He just shook his head. “Bollocks.”

“There’s just one way in which you fall short.”

It didn’t seem like merely one way to Wick, but he waited for Gabriel to elaborate.

“You’re a coward.”

At this slur, a flush of hot rage, the kind that only his brother could inspire, surged up Wick’s chest. “You dare not say that to me,” he said between clenched teeth.

“You’ve got the balls to love her, but not the balls to take her,” Gabriel said. “And do you want to know why I know that?”

“No.” Wick’s hands were curling into fists.