Behind Robin a door swung open. He turned to find the Marquess of Wolverton poised in the doorway, slate blue eyes scanning the room as if doubting the footman's announcement.

Robin suppressed a shiver at the sight of his brother, for Giles's stern, handsome face was far too reminiscent of their late and unlamented father. The resemblance had always been there, and years of authority had strengthened it.

Their eyes met and held for a long moment, wary azure to controlled slate. Using his lightest tone, Robin said, "The prodigal returns."

A slow smile spread over the marquess's face and he moved forward, his hand extended. "The wars have been over for months, Robin. What the devil took you so long?"

Robin clasped his brother's hand in both of his, almost dizzy with relief. "The fighting might have ended at Waterloo, but my special brand of deviousness was useful during the treaty negotiations."

"I'm sure," Giles said dryly. "But what will you do now that peace has broken out?"

Robin shrugged. "Damned if I know. That's why I've turned up on your doorstep, like a bad penny."

"It's your doorstep, too. I've been hoping you would come for a visit."

After too many years of deceit, Robin felt a powerful need to be direct. "I wasn't sure I'd be welcome," he said baldly.

Giles's brows rose. "Whyever not?"

"Have you forgotten that the last time we met, we had a rousing argument?"

His brother's gaze shifted. "I haven't forgotten- I've regretted it ever since. I shouldn't have spoken as I did, but I was concerned. You looked as if you were at the breaking point. I was afraid that if you returned to the Continent, you'd make a lethal mistake."

Perceptive of Giles; that had been a difficult time. Robin looked down at his damaged left hand and thought of Maggie. "You were very nearly right."