He slammed the glass down on our father’s desk. ‘Welcome to my study,’ he said in a harsh tone laced with sarcasm and tied off with an ugly bow of anger. I weighed up my options. He wanted an argument. I could see that. We so rarely argued, this was unfamiliar ground and I couldn’t hide my nervousness. He ignored it and took my hesitation to fill it with more of his humourless baiting. ‘Ah, yes, this is now my empire, Ettie. What do you think? The useless second son, the spare heir finally inherits. Winner takes all.’ I watched him and the pain in his heart was nakedly romping across his lovely face that was presently contorted into a sneering grimace. ‘Do you think a second is wise?’ I asked as he poured another slug. ‘Second? This is my third,’ he said, impressed with himself. ‘Salut!’ He threw his head back and gave a growling sound as he swallowed the fiery liquor.
