Grant looked around the well-appointed room before he took a deep breath. “Well, I wanted to speak to you before you sailed, but you left the house the other morning before I woke.”

 “Then speak.”

 “Very well.” Grant leaned forward in his chair before he cautiously asked, “You know of Lord Belmont?”

 That got Derek’s attention. “Everyone knows about that crazy old bastard. What of him?”

 “He came to see me this week.” Grant took a breath. “He made me a considerable offer to search for his family.”

 “Christ.” Derek shook his head. “The only reason he came to you is that he’s been turned down by every other captain and ship owner in London who hasn’t already signed on for that fool’s errand. Myself included. I laughed him out of my office.” Derek examined his brother’s impassive face. “What the hell could he offer you? He’s already run through his fortune on at least a dozen different attempts.”

 Grant appeared defensive when he answered. “If I was successful, he would give me the lands of Belmont Court when he passes on.”

 Derek let out a surprised whistle. “He is getting desperate, then.” Rumor held that Belmont had attempted to sell the unentailed estate to finance one last search.

 This conversation, Derek decided easily, merited a drink, so he rose to grab a bottle of brandy. By way of offering, he swung the bottle in Grant’s direction. As expected, Grant declined with a curt shake of his head. Although it wasn’t quite noon, Grant didn’t appear surprised when Derek began filling his own glass.

 “You can’t possibly be considering his offer,” Derek said over his shoulder before returning to his desk.

 “Well, I did decide against it,” Grant admitted. “But it made me think—if I had wanted to go, then I should be able to.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean?” Derek asked. “You own half of Peregrine Shipping. You can very well go anywhere you want—”

 “No, I can’t,” Grant interrupted. “I’m too busy running Whitestone and your other neglected estates.”

 “Ridiculous. I have a steward—”

 “Whom I fired several months ago not only for bilking you out of a pitifully large amount, but also for skimming off your tenants.” His face was shuttered. “I wouldn’t have stepped in, if not for your tenants.”

 Derek sank back, dumbfounded. Not just at the news of his steward’s embezzlement, but also at the idea that Grant might not have checked his downfall. He drank deeply. “Why didn’t I hear anything about this?”

 Grant nodded pointedly at the pile of correspondence on the desk that had been ignored for months. “I’ve sent word through every channel. I’m sure if you bothered to look, you’d find that several of my letters found their way to the ship.”

 Derek fought to avoid looking sheepish. “Yes, well, I suppose I remember receiving some letters that I haven’t had time to get to.”

 Grant shrugged. “My point is, if I hadn’t been around to hold everything together after you left so abruptly, then you’d be in a very bad spot. And I’m tired of it. I wasn’t raised to take over Whitestone—”

 “I damn well wasn’t, either,” Derek cut in. It had been years since their older brother’s death, but he still had difficulty accepting that William was gone and that all those responsibilities now lay on his shoulders.

 “It’s not mine,” Grant said in a tightly controlled tone. “Whitestone’s not my estate. I want to earn my own place. Make my own way. You can’t understand how hard it is to work for something that you know you have no future in.”

 “What do you mean, ‘no future’? You’re my bloody heir. Everything goes to you. And I’m not exactly living as though I plan to get old.”

 “One day you’ll have an heir,” Grant said quietly but with absolute conviction.

 Derek’s fingers paled on the glass he grasped. “I will not have an heir. We’ve been through this. It won’t happen.”

 Grant ran a hand over his face. He suddenly looked tired, and his absolute self-control was slipping. “I don’t accept that. I want to work in the shipping line, but it’s impossible when you’ve taken over what was supposed to be my place in this company.”

 “This company is half mine.”

 “But think back to why it was formed all those years ago. We learned to sail so you and I would have a livelihood when William was alive and the heir. Now this earldom is yours. After Lydia, you were too…” Grant stopped, uncomfortable. “Well, I took the reins. But, damn it, it’s been years. You’ve had plenty of time to adjust to your lot in life. My life is completely on hold until you decide to think of someone else for a change and free me from your responsibilities.”

 Derek had never looked at it like that. He’d assumed he did Grant and everyone else a favor by staying off the estates. He’d easily avoided home and all the attendant worries because his younger brother did such a good job with them.

 Now, learning that Grant was encumbered by those duties, Derek understood it wasn’t fair to tie him up in his affairs. But he couldn’t think about that now. Besides, Grant knew better than to have mentioned Lydia and William to him in the same conversation.

 “To hell with you, Grant. I have other plans. I don’t give a bloody damn what happens while I’m gone. No one’s forcing you to stay on.”

 A look of bitter disappointment flashed in his brother’s eyes before he stood and turned away. Seemingly resigned, Grant walked over to the port window, studiously taking in the scene of activity on the docks. Derek wasn’t fooled. This wasn’t the last he’d hear about this, and the only reason it had ended now was that Grant despised emotional scenes.

 Changing the subject, Grant remarked, “I am pleased that you’re captaining this race, at least. We need this win.” He turned to stare Derek down. “We really need this win. Our reputation has been compromised—whose wouldn’t be after losing twelve cargoes in the last year? Yet you continually sign on the riskiest ventures. In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve had several contracts pulled.”

 “Of course I’ve noticed,” Derek said testily. And he had. Shipping contracts were based on past performance and reputation, so lost ships and the consequently damaged reputation could prove ruinous to a line.

 “If Lassiter wins this race, his company will finally be on solid footing. He could easily take over even more of our business.”

 “I willnever allow that to happen.”

 Grant’s brows drew together. “Why do you two hate each other so much?”

 Derek drank while considering his answer. “He harasses me because he has a Yank’s natural aversion to the aristocracy—men should make their own way and all that drivel.” He looked up when he realized Grant had said nearly the same thing, but ignored his brother’s frown. “He complains to any who’ll listen that I was handed everything while he works tirelessly.”

 “You know that’s not true,” Grant said. “And you? Why do you hate him?”

 “Of those twelve lost cargoes you were mentioning, he’s directly responsible for at least four—”

 A knock on the door broke the tense conversation.

 When Derek called permission, Jeb entered and said, “Cap’n, we’ve got goods come to be delivered. I just wanted to make sure that we’re not taking on perishables until the decision to sail is made.”

 Whatever Grant detected in Derek’s face had him clenching his fists. “Decision to sail—what bloody decision?” he ground out. “Why aren’t you provisioned?”

 Jeb decided this was a good chance to escape, and with a “Sorry, Cap’n,” he scrambled out to close the door behind him.

 “Calm down. I do plan on sailing,” Derek said. “Just not yet.” Seeing the uncompromising look on his brother’s face, he reluctantly began filling him in on Nicole.

 “Derek, don’t take me for a fool,” Grant said when he finished. “You don’t expect me to believe you are looking for a woman. Much less Lassiter’s chit.”

 “It’s true. And it’s important to me.” He took a generous swig of brandy. “Lassiter, you obviously haven’t heard, is in jail right now. And will be until after the race. Without him, there is no competition for the Southern Cross.”

 As Grant took in that new information, Derek continued, “And what’s the urgency about sailing today? I’ll win, but if I didn’t, what’s the worst thing that can happen? We lose a few more contracts? You know that won’t break either of our banks.”

 Grant loomed over his desk. “Don’t you have any pride left? Peregrine could be the most powerful line in Britain, was well on its way to being that. But then you let a woman crush you and, as a result, the company?” Grant’s eyes bored into him. “I’m glad the American’s picking us off. He deserves it more than we do.”

 “That’s a little much—”

 “You damn well know it’s not. Think of the people we employ. What happens to everyone who works for the line? To the sailors’ families? I can’t tell you how much it pleased me to watch the company grow, to revive another port town. Now, without regard for anyone else, you’re killing the one thing that made me proud.”

 Derek gave an unconcerned shrug just to irritate him.

 Grant exhaled and then changed tactics. “You may shun everyone you used to associate with, but the rest of your family doesn’t.”

 “So that’s what this is about?” Derek demanded. “Your standing in the ton? I can see it now, you and Mother at Lady Sarah’s rout hearing tales of the drunken reprobate heir. Do they whisper about me? About me ruining what was already an embarrassing foray into commerce for an ancient family?”

 Both men stared at each other, neither prepared to back down.

 His eyes like ice, Grant finally said, “I’ll sail this ship if you don’t.”