Page 45 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

J ack pounded on his brother’s door, shoving the butler out of the way the moment he gave him an inch. He snaked through the house, searching each and every room until he finally came upon the duke in his study.

Jack’s fist was locked. He spotted his brother behind his huge, shiny desk, as if his accident hadn’t happened, a drink in his hand, and he snapped. Jack wound his arm back to strike. Oliver didn’t even have time to shout as Jack launched toward him.

Jack would relish the crack of flesh, the pop of bone beneath his fist. He hadn’t punched someone in so long. It would be so delightfully cathartic. Until his attention got snagged.

That long and winding scar on Oliver’s head screamed at him to halt. The pitiful thing was still pink and puckered, made even more visible by the fact that Oliver’s curly black hair tiptoed around it as if reluctant to storm into its territory.

Jack’s fist faltered, his intention abandoned.

His anger forgotten.

Oliver opened his eyes, his face still clenched in a wince. He released a stream of breath. “Christ, Jack. What a way to make an entrance.”

Jack couldn’t explain it, but he found that remark absurdly hilarious. Laughter escaped from his tight chest before he could stop it. He leaned back against the wood-paneled wall, giggling helplessly.

When his breath came back to him, Jack lifted his weary head. “Always good to see you, brother.”

Oliver lifted his cut crystal glass to Jack. “And you,” he replied. His eyes were shifty, wary, as if he still didn’t believe Jack was in front of him. “Help yourself to a drink. Something tells me you deserve one.”

Oliver attempted to stand, but he quickly fell back to his seat. Jack wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume his accident was the cause, but he knew better. This wasn’t his brother’s first drink of the day.

Jack frowned at Oliver’s glass. “I thought the doctors told you to give that a rest.”

Oliver grinned, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh,” he drawled, “you know what they say about old habits.”

“They die hard.”

“Unlike you, it seems.”

“Believe me, the sea tried hard enough.”

Oliver chuckled, leaning forward. “Tell me everything.”

Jack shook his head. If he did that, he’d be stuck there for days. And he had come up with a laundry list of items he needed to complete before the day was out. “Later,” he said. “First, you’re going to tell me about Ella.”

“What about Ella?”

Jack’s fist started to itch again. He pushed his anger down. “You can’t have her. She’s mine. My wife .”

A shadow passed over the duke’s face, but he reclaimed his insolent expression. “That’s funny; she never mentioned anything.”

Suddenly, Oliver’s scar didn’t look so bad to Jack. It could certainly take a punch. “We have an… understanding.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “Oh, I see. Christ, Jack, you couldn’t bother to find a church before having her—”

Jack smacked the glass out of his hands. Crystal shattered against the wall, dotting the carpet with tiny, shining pieces. Oliver regarded the mess with a frown, blowing out an exasperated breath.

“How fucking dare you say that to me after everything I did for you!” Jack seethed.

Oliver hopped from his chair, only to fall back again. “You stole my fiancée!”

“She wasn’t your fucking fiancée, you stupid, spoiled arse!”

Oliver grimaced, jerking back as if the words had been a strike. He took a moment to right himself, folding his arms on the desk with careful, calculated precision. “And what about my daughter?” he asked quietly. “Are you going to deny that you stole her?”

Jack stumbled away like he’d climbed to the top of the rigging again and Oliver was the wind. “It… it wasn’t like that.”

“What was it like, Jack? Tell me,” Oliver said, bitterly calm. “Did you think I wouldn’t know? Did you think I wouldn’t find out? No offense, brother, but you’re not exactly the opera type.”

Jack flailed. The decision had made so much sense to him at the time. Why was it so difficult to explain now?

“ Talk , goddamn you!” Oliver boomed.

Jack’s head wouldn’t stop shaking. He dropped his gaze to the floor. “I didn’t know what to do. The orphanage contacted you… Father had covered it all up—”

“Don’t blame Father,” Oliver cut in. “This was your decision! I can’t blame a dead man.”

“I know. I know, Ollie,” Jack snapped. “But I didn’t know if you were going to pull through, and I saw that little girl and wanted to give her a life, a real life.”

“And you didn’t think I could do that?”

Jack matched his brother’s glare. “I didn’t want her to be just another duke’s bastard.”

Oliver slammed his hands on the desk and came to his feet. “That wasn’t your fucking decision to make. And you can’t have her now. You would know that if you ever listened to me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“That day,” Oliver replied. “When I was on the stairs. I saw her. Even in a fucking state, I knew. It was immediate. Christ, Jack, she looks exactly like me. I told you she was mine.”

Jack’s mind was wrenched back to that day. He’d been so tired. He remembered picking Oliver up and returning him to his room. He remembered how hot and skinny his brother had been in his arms as he uttered those words.

“I thought you were talking about Ella. I thought…” With a curse, Jack ran a hand over his haggard face. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I’m sorry, Ollie.”

Oliver squinted, giving his brother a long stare before eventually relenting. He tripped back into his seat. “I’m sorry too. About Ella. If it’s any consolation, I didn’t know she was truly in love with you until after I proposed.”

Jack snorted. “I appreciate that, brother.” He paused. “Wait, you fucking proposed ?”

Oliver waved his hand in the air. “Don’t worry; she refused. Said she would never stop loving you, or something just as saccharine.”

“Good.” Jack stretched his neck back and forth. And then he did it again. “So, are you going to tell Sonia, or am I?”

Oliver leaned back in his chair. “Don’t look at me. You created this mess; you fix it. You are a lucky bastard, though. She’ll be so excited to see you alive that she won’t be able to stay mad.”

Jack laughed. “There is that… there is that.”

Oliver regarded him cautiously, growing serious. His sarcasm had played itself out. “You know, you could go back with me tonight. To Sutton Park. We could tell her together.”

Jack nodded. He appreciated the subtle rebalancing of power.

Oliver would always be the duke. And Jack would always not be.

But they would forever be equals. “I will. We will,” he added.

“But I need your help first. That’s why I came here.

” He tilted his head. “Well, I came here to punch you. And to show you that I’m still alive. And then ask you for help.”

Oliver opened his arms wide and stacked them behind his head. “Jack Sutton, asking for help? That’s impossible. What could I have that you don’t?”

Jack scowled at his brother’s theatrics and then winced. “A house.”