Gray stared. “Don’t you think that calls for an apology?”

“I don’t know,” Win said thoughtfully, and propped his hip on a corner of the desk. “As I said before—we are all dying. The fact that Father isn’t dying anytime soon is really insignificant.”

“I wouldn’t call it ‘insignificant.’ ”

“Regardless, it did what it was intended to do.” Win sipped his brandy and considered his cousin. “I should have thought of it years ago.”

“You could have simply requested my return,” Gray said and then winced.

“And haven’t I?” Win’s eyes narrowed. “Let me think, when you had been gone for three years, I requested your return.”

“I couldn’t—”

“The next year, when my first engagement was broken and my heart was shattered, I asked you to come home and help me drown my sorrows.”

“I wasn’t able—”

“And two years later, I asked you to come to my wedding and you couldn’t be bothered.”

“But that was yet another wedding that didn’t take place.”

“It didn’t take place at the last possible moment. I was very nearly left standing at the altar.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “I was devastated, you know. I could have used the support or, at the very least, the comforting shoulder of the man I consider my brother—the man who is my dearest friend. But, no, you couldn’t be bothered.”

“Circumstances were such—”

“And two years after that, when you had at last amassed the fortune you had worked so hard for, when you were no longer penniless with no prospects—”

“Win.” A warning sounded in Gray’s voice.

His cousin continued mercilessly. “When she was widowed and the opportunity came to throw it in her face—”

“Win!”

“You didn’t come home then either.” Win heaved a resigned sigh. “If that couldn’t lure you home, I had no idea what would.” He sipped his brandy. “I’m quite displeased with myself that I didn’t think of this years ago. Father dying.” He chuckled. “He’s entirely too obstinate to die and leave everything in my hands, capable though they may be.”

“I had every intention of returning to England sometime soon.”

“I know.”

Gray’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“There’s been a tone in your letters these last two years and a vague hint in the year before that. You might not even be aware of it. But I know you as well—no, better than you know yourself.”

“I still have no idea what you are trying to say.”

“You know exactly what I am trying to say, but as this talk is eleven years in coming . . . eleven years, Gray.” Win shook his head, accusation shaded his eyes.

Gray stared. “I . . . apologize?”