by Diana Bold
Jessalyn froze at her brother's feverish words. Her gaze met Ethan's in silent horror.
Christian had taken a turn for the worse during the last few days. She and Ethan had kept a constant vigil at his bedside. They took turns sleeping so her brother was never alone. Deep in her heart, she feared Christian had given up.
The end was terrifyingly near, and she prayed Ethan wouldn't get angry. The undisguised longing in Christian’s eyes took her breath away. A strange mix of exasperation, love, and jealousy warred within her.
Ethan sat back in his chair and raked his hand through his hair. He closed his eyes briefly as though praying for strength.
“Are you trying to drive me away?" he finally asked.
Christian stared at him for a moment longer, then sighed and looked away. He was so weak he barely had the strength to turn his head. "Bloody hell. It's just a kiss. You needn't act as though I asked you to suck my cock."
Jessalyn gasped, shocked beyond words.
Ethan averted his gaze, his whole body trembling with some suppressed emotion. Jessalyn half rose, afraid she’d have to stop him from finishing Christian off.
Then he looked at her, and she realized he was laughing. She stared, transfixed. This was the first time she'd ever seen him laugh with such abandon. It made him appear much younger and even more stunningly attractive.
Still laughing, he stood up and circled Christian's bed, then sat down on the edge of the mattress at Christian's hip. "God, the things you say."
Christian stared at Ethan warily, obviously as confused as Jessalyn by his unexpected reaction.
Ethan sobered and took Christian's pale, bony hand in his own sun-browned, much larger one. Embarrassed color crept into his cheeks as he gazed down into Christian's adoring blue eyes.
He cleared his throat and Jessalyn shifted uncomfortably, knowing she was about to witness a very private moment.
"All my life you've been my anchor," Ethan told Christian softly. "You've been the only person I could always count on. You've been more than a friend. You've been a brother."
Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to Christian's forehead in a tender kiss. "I'm sorry that isn't enough. I'm sorry I can't be what you want me to be."
It was a profession of love, though love of a very different sort than what Christian craved.
Jessalyn's respect for her husband grew. He was capable of such love, of such deep and profound loyalty. He had remained by Christian's side when most men would have left.
Tears shone brightly in Christian's eyes for just a moment before he blinked them away and offered Ethan a melancholy smile. "I never wanted you to be anything other than what you are."
* * * * *
Later that evening, Christian sent Ethan and Jessalyn away. He told them he wanted some peace and quiet and couldn't bear to have them fuss over him another moment. He'd been somewhat surprised when they'd complied. For the last few days, they’d watched him like a hawk.
He committed their beloved features to memory one last time as they both dropped a tender kiss to his brow. Ethan seemed at ease with him again, which was all he could have asked for at this late date.
Ethan drew Jessalyn to his side as they reached the door, giving his wife a concerned frown when he noticed the weary strain on her face.
They were lovers now. Christian was sure of it. In fact, he had a sneaking suspicion the first time had been the night he'd told Ethan he loved him. Unable to cope, perhaps needing to prove his manhood, his friend had sought comfort in Jessalyn's arms.
Though in some pathetic corner of his heart Christian still harbored a niggling dart of jealousy, he couldn't be sorry. He loved them both so much, and they would be happy together. They could offer each other things he never could have given either of them, no matter how much he might wish to.
God knew they'd both need someone to love once he was gone.
After they left, he forced himself out of bed for the first time in days. He swayed dizzily, then made his way over to the chair that sat before the fire.
He was getting weaker by the hour, hurtling toward his death. And yet… he wasn't getting there quickly enough.
He'd spoken to the doctor, who had assured him he had months yet. Months during which he'd be too weak to even attempt getting out of bed. Months during which his coughing fits would become more and more frequent, as he hacked up his lungs bit by bloody bit.
Months during which the two people he loved most would have to sit by his side and watch his slow decay, unable to begin their life together for need of taking care of him.
Christian lowered himself into the chair and ran his fingertip along the smooth surface of the small decorative table, feeling for the small groove that opened the secret drawer. Finding it at last, he opened it and stared at the small pistol he'd secreted within it several weeks ago.
It was better this way, he told himself. Far better to go quickly than to waste away. Far better to choose the time and place than wait for the vagaries of fate.
Ethan and Jessalyn would be upset, but they'd have each other and eventually realize his death had been inevitable. The quicker he did it, the sooner they could begin to heal.
He poured himself a generous glass of brandy, then drank slowly, staring into the flickering flames as he thought back upon his life. There was no hurry. He had all night. The gun was already primed and loaded.
His life hadn't been entirely worthless, he thought with a small bit of satisfaction. He’d been a friend to Ethan through some very dark days. And though his regard for his sister had been late in coming, he liked to think that in the end, he'd served her well.
He'd given her Ethan, after all.
And looking back, he could honestly say his love for Ethan, while unrequited, had made him a better person. Ethan's generous acceptance of what would have been too much to bear for many other men made him certain his friend did love him, not in a romantic way, but as a brother.
It would have to be enough.
All in all, Christian was at peace with his decision. This seemed the best way to end what had become an intolerable situation.
So, after finishing his brandy, he reached for the gun.
Chapter Seventeen
The echoing report of a gun startled Ethan out of an exhausted sleep. For a moment, he lay still, wrapped in Jessalyn's arms, trying to place the sound. Then he sat bolt upright, dread taking root deep within him.
"No." He pushed Jessalyn aside and leaped from the bed. Grabbing his trousers, he pulled them on with trembling hands.
"What is it?" Jessalyn pushed her hair out of her eyes and blinked at him with owlish concern.
He shook his head, unable to put his fears into words. "I have to check on Christian."
Leaving her in bed, he left the room and headed down the hall toward the sick room. Halfway there, he broke into a run, his heart thundering in his chest.
It couldn't be, he told himself repeatedly. Christian would never do such a thing.
Wrenching open the door, he entered Christian's room, only to stop dead at the terrible sight that greeted him.
"No," he whispered again. "God, Christian. No."
He crossed the room in a daze, then knelt by his friend's side and checked for a pulse that couldn't possibly be there. He averted his gaze from what was left of Christian's face and tried to avoid the reality of what lay before him.
Christian was gone. He'd put a pistol to his head and pulled the trigger.
"No." Ethan let out a ragged sob and wrapped his arms around his friend, crushing his lifeless body against his chest. "Damn you, Chris. How could you do this?"
Jessalyn skidded to a stop in the doorway of her brother's room. Her breath escaped in a whoosh of horror. Her brother sat in the wing-backed chair in front of the fireplace, the top of his head splattered against the floral upholstery. Ethan knelt beside him, rocking him tenderly, blood smeared across his bare chest.
Ethan looked up at her, tears tracking down
his cheeks. "He's gone," he told her brokenly. "He's gone, Jess."
Jessalyn clutched the doorknob for support as her knees threatened to buckle beneath her. Suddenly, Christian's behavior this evening made perfect sense. His calm request to be left alone, the way he'd held her hand overly long as she'd kissed him goodnight.
"It's all my fault." Ethan’s big body trembled with emotion. "I should have known he was going to do this. I should have stopped him."
Ethan's words gave her the strength to push away from the door and come to his side. "No." She tenderly brushed a lock of hair from his tortured eyes. "No, don't even think it. There was nothing you could have done. This is the way he wanted to go. He didn't want to suffer anymore."
She allowed her gaze to drift to her brother's sightless eyes, but she could only bear to look at him for the briefest second. Whatever answers she'd hoped to find eluded her.
One thing was clear. Christian was beyond her help now. It was Ethan who needed her. He needed her like never before, and she didn't intend to let him down.
"Come away," she whispered. "You can't help him. You need to let him go."
Ethan released Christian and sprawled on the floor beside him. His breath hitched in and out of his broad chest as though he'd run a dozen miles. Blood streaked his skin, and his eyes were glassy and unfocused.
"Damn," he whispered over and over again. "Goddamn it."
Jessalyn helped him to his feet, anxious to get him out of the room. She was never so happy to see anyone as she was the wide-eyed footman who appeared in the bedroom doorway.
"Send for the constable and the undertaker," she told him brokenly. "My brother has killed himself."
Ethan broke away from Jessalyn as they exited Christian’s bedroom, desperate to get away. He needed to be alone with his overwhelming grief. Ignoring her anguished cry, he raced down the stairs and out the front door, heedless of his state of undress. Snow crunched beneath his bare feet as he crossed the front lawn and headed into the trees, but he didn’t feel the chill.
When he was certain he was no longer in view of the house, he sank to his knees and let the tears and choking sobs come. Christ! Why hadn’t he seen this coming? Why hadn’t he been able to stop it?
He stared down at his own wrists, at the scars that still marked him after all these years. At the lowest point of his life, Christian had saved him. But when Christian had needed him most, he hadn’t been there. Worse yet, he feared he’d been the cause of his friend’s despair.
Christian’s recent revelations had rocked him to his core, and despite his half-hearted attempts of reconciliation, he knew his rejection had hurt his friend badly. He should have found some way to soften the blow.
His friend had put that gun to his head because of the way Ethan had reacted to his profession of love. He was poison to those who loved him. This proved it. Everyone who had ever loved him met a tragic end, and this latest fiasco made him more certain than ever that Jessalyn was better off without him. How could he bear to stay here and watch her inevitable destruction? Far better to walk away now, while he still could.
He wept until he had no tears left and the bitter cold had seeped into every part of his body. Wiping his face with the back of his hand, he struggled to his feet and headed back to the house, filled with shame.
Jessalyn needed him tonight. Her brother was gone, and instead of offering her a shoulder to cry on, he’d selfishly given in to his own grief and left her to deal with the aftermath of Christian’s suicide by herself. The least he could do was take care of the details and be strong, so she didn’t have to be.
He didn’t know how long he’d spent in the woods, but the constable hadn’t yet arrived, so perhaps there was still time to make it up to her. He would hold her and take care of all the messy details so she could grieve for Christian. But after the funeral, and Julian’s wedding at the end of the month, he had to go.
The best thing he could do for Jessalyn was to leave her.
* * * * *
Jessalyn watched from an upstairs window as Ethan crossed the lawn and headed back to the house. Relief washed through her. She’d been so afraid he wasn’t going to return.
He was barefoot and shirtless but seemed impervious to the bitter cold. The grief and anguish that had driven him out of the house seemed to have abated. He walked toward the house, his shoulders squared with purpose.
Leaving the window, she rushed downstairs to meet him, knowing he needed her now more than ever. But she needed him, too. She wanted nothing more than to rest her head upon his broad chest and cry her heart out, wrapped in the security of his embrace.
Christian’s death didn’t seem real. She couldn’t think about it, couldn’t think about the bloody mess that had once been her brother in the upstairs bedroom. If she did, she feared she’d start screaming and never be able to stop.
She was standing in the foyer when Ethan opened the front door and slipped inside. Rushing forward, she wrapped a heavy blanket around his shoulders, stunned by the coldness of his skin. “You’re freezing. Are you all right?”
“I-I shouldn’t have left.” His teeth chattered. He met her gaze, and she was frightened by the lack of emotion in his emerald eyes. “Can you ever forgive me?”
She nodded, blinking through her tears. “Of course. You needed to be alone for a few minutes. There’s nothing to apologize for.”
“I’ll take care of everything,” he promised, pulling her into his arms. “You don’t have to worry about anything. I’m here for you.”
“I know you are.” She relaxed against him, so glad for his strength. “Thank God, you’re here. I couldn’t have gone through this alone.”
He held her tight and rubbed her back in slow, soothing strokes. “Why don’t you go up to our room? I’ll take care of everything.”
It was the third time he’d assured her of that, and the wooden tone of his voice frightened her. He’d locked all his grief inside, buried it as he’d buried so much in his life. She’d much rather he yelled and cried, went out of his mind with grief as he had earlier. She didn’t want him to shoulder the entire burden of Christian’s suicide.
No doubt he’d already found a way to blame himself for her brother’s decision to end his life.
“Let’s do it together,” she suggested. “I don’t want you to have to deal with this by yourself. I can do it, as long as you’re here beside me.”
He pulled away, agitation dancing across his grim features. “Please, sweetheart. I need to do this for you. I need to do it for Christian.”
“Christian wouldn’t have wanted either one of us to go through this alone,” she argued. “That’s why he went to such lengths to make sure we had each other.”
He didn’t look convinced. “I need to get dressed,” he muttered, heading toward the stairs. “Perhaps you should, too.”
Until he pointed it out, she hadn’t realized she was still in her nightgown. Trailing him up the stairs, she carefully avoided looking toward Christian’s door.
Once she and Ethan returned to their room, she stared blindly into her wardrobe, lost in whirling thoughts about all that needed to be done. Ethan stepped up behind her and pulled her back against his chest. He’d already dressed and seemed fine, no longer the wild-eyed stranger who’d run off into the night, half-naked and heartbroken.
“You’re trembling.” His breath warmed her ear. “Why don’t you get back into bed for a while? It’s still early. The constable probably won’t be here for quite some time.”
She stared up at him and tried to see past his careful mask. There was nothing in the world she wanted more than to just crawl back into bed and pull the covers over her head, but she couldn’t hide from what had happened as long as he still needed her.
“Are you sure?”
He nodded and pressed a swift kiss to her lips. “I’m sure. Go back to sleep. Pretend everything is all right for just a while longer. Morning and reality will be here soon enough.”
“P
erhaps you’re right.” She didn’t think she’d be able to sleep, but she could use some time alone to cry. Perhaps she could get it all out now, so she could be strong later.
She moved toward the bed, her strength draining with every step. “You’ll wake me if you need me?”
“Of course,” he assured her.
* * * * *
For the next few hours, Ethan felt as though he were sleepwalking through some nightmarish landscape. He supervised the removal of his best friend’s body, instructed the servants to clean up the blood and destroy the chair, and planned the details of Christian’s funeral with calm detachment.
Emptiness filled him. He’d spent all his emotion in the woods. His guilt and sense of duty kept him going, when all he wanted was to walk away. So many things needed to be done, and he couldn’t leave them for Jessalyn.
Perhaps, in some far distant jungle, he could forget the look in Christian’s eyes when he’d said he loved him. Maybe he could forget the sight of his friend’s brains splattered all over that floral chair.
But he doubted it. Christian’s death would haunt his dreams just as Elizabeth and Nathaniel’s had all these years. He’d wake up in a cold sweat in the middle of the night and never find the peace for which he’d been searching. He couldn’t run fast enough or far enough to escape the memories.
Perhaps the only answer was to do as Christian had done and end his nightmarish existence once and for all.
The thought took hold and tumbled relentlessly through his mind. The happiness he’d found with Jessalyn during the last few weeks was only an illusion. He’d never have that sort of closeness again, because he couldn’t risk hurting anyone else. But how could he live without it?
He didn’t even want to try.
A few more weeks, he told himself. He had to help Jessalyn through Christian’s funeral and then fulfill his promise to Julian. But after the wedding, after he’d said goodbye to everyone he loved, he’d head for some distant jungle. He’d do what he had to do somewhere far away, where no one would ever find him.