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Cassian shot his brother a questioning look. If this was some scheme of Julian’s to draw him back into society, it was doomed to failure.

“Don’t attempt to save me from myself, Julian. I do not require it, and I do not want it.”

Julian had always been determined to buck others up, to bring cheer to whomever he was able.

He gave liberally to charities, hosted village feasts twice a year, and he extended an open invitation to anyone among his acquaintances seeking respite from London’s bustle to join him in Berkshire before and after the Season.

It was as if a light burned bright in him, and he wished to share it, especially when he perceived darkness in others.

Cassian had never been able to make his brother understand that it was not always a simple matter of choosing whether to be bleak or cheerful.

For some, dark moods and melancholy were part of their nature.

For others, loss and grief weighed on the spirit and had to be endured like a passing storm, rather than shed quickly like a heavy cloak.

“This isn’t about saving you , dear brother,” he said, his tone suddenly serious. “It’s about saving me.”

“What do you need?” Cassian leaned closer.

“I knew you’d help me. As you always have.” Julian reached out and clasped Cassian’s hand. “Though I should be the one aiding you now that I’m earl. Repayment for all you endured on my behalf.”

He’d been his brother’s protector. Though older by a few minutes, which made him heir, Julian’s gentle nature had enraged their father. He’d sought to toughen his eldest son, to harden and shape him, and his methods had been harsh.

Cassian had always possessed the tougher nature, and he’d never been able to bear seeing Julian’s tears or the welts on his skin. So, he’d stepped in, pretending to be Julian when the time for punishments came.

“There is no debt. You’ve given me the lodge, and it’s been my haven.”

“I’ll give you more than the lodge. There’s a manor in Kent near the sea.”

Cassian swallowed against a sudden tightness in his throat.

God, how he missed the sea. He did not miss being in naval service, most of the time. But he often ached for sea spray in the air, the crash of waves, the song of gulls. Salt water coating his skin.

“I remember Heveston Hall.” How could he forget the rare visits to the comfortable country house, the majestic white cliffs at England’s edge, and the lure of the Channel’s waters?

They’d spent a few summers there while their mother lived.

“If you’re offering me Heveston, this request of yours must be weighty indeed. Tell me.”

“I found her, Cass.”

“Found who?”

“My countess, of course!”

Cassian paused with the snifter halfway to his lips. “That’s wonderful, Jules.” He clapped his brother on the shoulder and regretted it when Julian grimaced in pain.

“Hold your congratulations until I tell you the rest.” Julian attempted to sit up a bit straighter.

Cassian assisted him until he was resting more comfortably against a few pillows braced on the bed’s headboard.

“She’s in London,” Julian finally told him. “And I’ve yet to offer for her.” He lifted worried green eyes that matched the hue of Cassian’s own. “So you see my dilemma.”

“I think I do. Especially if she’s a debutante.”

Julian’s mouth notched up at the edge. “Not just any debutante. She is the debutante. The diamond of the Season. Lady Selina Lytton. She’s a veritable goddess, Cass.” His voice had lowered to a reverent tone. “I love her, and I believe she could love me.”

“Could?”

Julian gestured at his injured leg. “I was felled before I could properly woo her, you see. Bloody damned leg.”

Cassian had rarely ever heard his brother curse, rarely seen him anything but jolly. Hopeful. He wished to aid him however he was able, but he still couldn’t fathom what his role might be.

“Perhaps you should write to her. Tell her what you feel.” It was nothing Cassian could imagine doing, but he’d never wooed a lady properly. “I’m hardly one to advise you in these matters.”

“A letter won’t do. Don’t you see? In but a few hours, she’ll be at the Carstons’ ball. Tomorrow there is the Hollingsworths’ musicale in Mayfair. The Season does not stop for a man with a broken leg.”

“I see that it puts you at a disadvantage, and I’m sorry for it. When does Coates say you can be up and around?”

Julian’s face fell, and he scraped a hand over his clean-shaven cheeks. “A month. Perhaps more. The Season will be over, Cassian, and I will have lost her. No doubt, she’s already had offers.”

Cassian stood, his brother’s misery causing a stew of unease inside him.

Julian was often fanciful, but in this, he seemed to have adopted a sense of practicality.

If the young lady was lovely and appealing, as most were who’d been dubbed the Season’s diamond, then she would, in all likelihood, be snapped up.

“I need to be there.”

“No chance.” Cassian shook his head firmly. “A broken bone needs time to heal. Months.”

“She’ll forget me.”

Cassian stroked his beard. “Even if I helped transport you to London, you’d need to convalesce there. Not go to balls or?—”

“No, I do not wish her to see me like this. How would I compare to the bucks who surround her?” Julian twisted his hands on his lap, ducked his head, and then shot Cassian a long, beseeching look. “There is a solution.”

“Which is?”

“You must go in my stead,” Julian said in a firm, unwavering tone. “As me.”

Cassian stood, and the floor seemed to sway under him like when he was on the deck of a ship at sea. The thought of the crush, the noise, the heat of a hundred perfumed bodies preening and pontificating made him queasy in a way seasickness never had.

“No.” The reply came out without thought, immediate and unwavering.

Yet he saw the seriousness in Julian’s gaze. The resolve. As if he were nearly as hard as their father had long wished his heir would be.

Then the ridiculousness of it struck him, and he choked out a laugh.

“You cannot imagine I could fool anyone.” He needn’t stand side by side next to his twin to know how much they’d diverged in the last two decades—in appearance, in habits.

Even their accents set them apart. Cassian’s had been softened the slightest bit by his time in Scotland.

Julian’s was as plummy and refined as any aristocrat’s.

Julian cocked his head. “A good shave. Kit you up with suits from the best Bond Street tailor. And I’ll fill you in on Lady Selina and what I’ve learned of her interests. In truth, we’ve only danced thrice and made conversation at a few other soirees.”

“Julian…”

“I know I’m asking a great deal, but you are the one person upon whom I can ever truly rely. And I’ve never needed your help more than I do now.”

Despite the impossibility of his request, Cassian settled heavily onto the chair beside his brother’s bed. He’d never failed to help Julian. Indeed, the idea of failing him felt as impossible as whirling though London’s ballrooms.

“If she ever learned of your deception, you’d lose her entirely. Ladies do not like to be lied to.”

“There’s no chance of her being mine if I can’t be there to compete with her other suitors.”

Cassian pressed at the arch above his left eye, pressing at the hammering pain that had begun the moment he thought of entering London society. “You truly want me to woo your lady?”

“Not thoroughly, of course,” Julian said dryly. “But dance with her?—”

“You must have forgotten that I’m dreadful at dancing.” He’d happily left all the social graces to his twin.

“Charm her a bit.”

“The last lady I charmed was an injured, surly wolfhound who I found in the woods.”

“There are only a few weeks left of the Season. You won’t be stuck in my place for long, and once those weeks have passed, I will take up my place and offer for her.”

“Your leg won’t be fully healed.”

“No, I am aware.” Julian’s vehemence twisted his features, and for a moment, Cassian saw himself reflected in his brother’s face.

“Even though it won’t be fully tip-top, I will hobble to her doorstep if I must and offer for my countess myself.

” Julian reached for Cassian’s hand, squeezing until his knuckles blanched.

“She’s the one for me, Cass. I know it. I cannot lose the chance to win her. ”

Cassian closed his eyes and pinched the skin between his brows. His head pulsed like a drumbeat. He sensed the folly of this falsehood before he’d even agreed to it.

Yet when he opened his eyes and saw the hope in his brother’s—so much like his own—he could no longer refuse him.

Though his gut twisted in protest, he heard himself say, “Go on then. Tell me what I need to know about this Lady Selina Lytton.”