When Adam found him, Ronan was busy cradling a rose between his fingers. It was a purple rose, an oddity that his father had brought back for his mother after one of his many travels. The both of them delighted in seemingly impossible things. Purple roses had apparently made the list, and his mother had gotten seeds to grow some of her own. They reminded Ronan of her most of all.

His thumb traced along one of the wide petals with surprising tenderness. Velvety soft.

At Adam's voice, Ronan glanced up from his thoughts and gave a curt nod. "Time to deal with my brother, then." He did not sound the least bit excited about it. Standing straight and shoving his hands into his pockets, he began to stride back to the house, reluctant yet not willing to back down. Declan wouldn't get the better of him.

Though when the arrived in front of the door to Declan's study room, there was the undeniable giggle of a woman, and the murmur of a man. Ronan's face twisted up in disgust and he pounded on the door with an incredible ferocity. The woman gasped and there was the sound of clothes being hastily thrown on before the door opened and the maid rushed out, blushing and straightening her skirts as she rushed past them.

"You're disgusting," Ronan said, staring at his brother from the hallway. Declan, smoothing his hair back, shot his brother a look.

"You'd do yourself a favor to find a woman of your own," his brother said, leaning back in his office chair, behind his desk.

Ronan was quiet, not quite ready to parse that particular conversation with Declan—not in front of Adam, especially. "Come on, Adam," he said, stepping inside, "what are you going to need for the loft? Tell him. I forgot everything."

Declan looked confused, "The loft?"