His Brother's Viscount

by Stephanie Lake

  “My little girl’s ears are in perfect proportion. She is beautiful.” Will glowed, simply oozing fatherly pride. He acted like a simpleton around his squirming bundle, making funny squeaking noises and wiggling his fingers—as he did now—to make his daughter laugh. And she did laugh, with a toothless, infectious mirth.

  Hector laughed with her and ruffled the baby’s tuft of downy hair.

  Will’s attention, as usual, was divided between his daughter and his wife, Mary. She chatted with guests, lovely in a sunny yellow muslin afternoon dress. Mary was one of those natural beauties who were always attractive. In fact, she probably woke up pretty, even with rumpled hair, pillow marks on her cheek, and sleep in her eyes.

  Anyone who glanced at them could tell that Will and Mary were besotted. That was what he wanted. He wanted someone to stay by his side, to wake up with every morning. Someone to grow old with. Someone he found beautiful even with rumpled hair, pillow-creased cheeks, and a sparkling drop of drool on silk sheets.

  A stupid romantic, he, ever since boyhood; but on a day like today it was hard not to be. Because even if he didn’t quite match up to his older brothers, it didn’t matter. Somebody had noticed him again, and today that somebody would collect him for an extended stay in the country.

  He had magnificent plans for this fortnight. He rubbed his hands together, the friction warming his fingers, getting them ready for anything. Everything. Yes, joy filled his body today, and nothing would ruin his optimism for the future. Not even his brother’s perfection.

  Even so, he stiffened when Will said, “You enjoy little Margaret so much, you should marry, have your own children.”

  “That won’t happen, Will. You know why, so leave off.”

  Tight-lipped, Will looked about to say something. Fortunately, Mary joined them at that moment. “How are my three favorite Somervilles?” she said in her soft, smoky alto. She leaned over and kissed her daughter’s forehead, then brushed the fuzzy locks back into place. She glowed with pride, just like her husband. “Hector, I believe you are as fond as we are of our little girl.”

  “Actually, I spent the day planning my revenge. I will take her on outings, spoil her rotten, and then give you back an overexcited and insufferable child.”

  Will groaned with an age-old weariness. “Save your strength. I will simply hand her off to Nanny Pennington if you do so. Besides, you’ve given me enough trouble throughout my lifetime. I don’t need her following in your footsteps.”

  “Me? You were the one who tormented me to distraction and tears. And got me into predicaments where I required doctors to sew me up.”

  Will laughed. “I will not deny Stephen and I were terrors, but in my defense, he usually instigated the worst of the pranks.”

  Hector snorted but knew he’d been partly to blame, always following his older brothers, wanting to be as big, bold, and brave. They’d picked on him because he’d been the youngest, the weakest. It didn’t matter. Hector no longer held animosity over his brothers’ dealings. To be honest, they hadn’t been that bad. They shared brotherly affection. They held together through their father’s drunken abuse. In fact, Hector could remember times when Will took the switch meant for him.

  He did appreciate his older siblings. It was just that sometimes, when the days were gloomy and he did not quite know what to do with his life, the comparisons to perfection rankled.

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  The crunch of wheels on gravel alerted Will to a new arrival. He watched a sleek, black carriage pull into the circular drive. Two large, saddled horses tethered to the carriage shook their hides and bobbed their heads. One of them whinnied.

  “Er, William.” Hector’s voice broke. “I must go. I have plans for a holiday. A fortnight out in the country. I’ve been in London too long. Time to stretch my legs, do a little hunting, that kind of thing, you know?”

  “Why keep it a secret until now?” What the hell? Hector was rambling. He had an idea why he just now learned of the trip, and he felt his blood start to simmer.

  “What, I didn’t tell you? Been planning this for a while but didn’t know if I would have time to go. Must have slipped my mind. Telling you, I mean.” Hector stared at his feet.

  A lie. “Where are you going? Who are you going with?”

  Hector fiddled with his cravat.

  “Now, Will, you are not the board examiner,” Mary said. “Your brother is an adult. He can make holiday plans on his own.” He wanted to argue that statement, but he would not ruin this day for her. Leaning over, he placed a kiss on her cheek.

  “He’s my little brother, dear. I will always look after him. Just as I will always be looking after our little girl here.” He gently tweaked Margaret’s nose.

  “Yes, well, sorry to rush off, and lovely christening. Take care of my niece until my return, won’t you?” Hector backed toward the drive.

  Trying one last time to extract information, Will said, “I need to know where to contact you in case of an important event.”

  Hector nodded, pursing his lips in that practiced wise-old-professor expression. He thought it made him look older, but it actually made him look like a boy pretending to be an adult. “Yes, yes, as soon as the itinerary is set, I will drop you a letter in the post.”

  “Heckie!”

  The boy straightened his shoulders, looking all too much like a man. “Leave off, Will. I’m going. And I will warn you again, stop calling me by that child’s name.” He nodded to Mary. “Until next time.” Then he turned and practically ran down the drive.

  The young fool. “Damn it.” When had his little brother turned into a man?

  Mary placed her hand on his arm, her engraved gold wedding band glinting in the midday sun. “He will do as he wishes. You cannot force him into a mold you cast for him.”

  “It’s a mold society cast, not me.”

  “Will.”

  “I just don’t want him hurt.”

  “Do you want him to be miserably unhappy?”

  He squeezed his lips together to keep from spouting vehement opinions—no, vehement realities—that would upset Mary, but damn the boy.

  In the back of his mind, he knew who Hector would spend the fortnight with. Even if he guessed incorrectly, it was a sure bet he knew what Hector would spend his fortnight doing.

  Through a blood red haze, Will watched the carriage leave, glaring at the retreating dust cloud until it dissipated. What the hell was Ty doing here? He was not welcome.

  He had lost the desire for making conversation and enjoying the festivities. Slamming his half-empty glass of champagne onto the tray of a passing footman, and almost toppling the man’s load, he searched among the partygoers for Mary. Where the devil had she disappeared to? He stood at the edge of the crowd and stared once more at the road, fists clenched, face hurting from tightened jaws.

  “Lieutenant. Oh, do excuse me, as you are no longer a lieutenant, are you? I should call you what was communicated on the invitation—the Honorable William Somerville, second son of Baron Forsythe.”

  Will turned and felt his face go slack for an instant before he plastered what he hoped was a congenial smile into place. “Ah, Lieutenant Baker. You could make the event.” He looked to the left, just over the vile man’s shoulder. He did not remember his acknowledgment of attendance. Rules dictated he would extend the invitation to officers of his old crew, but that did not mean he expected an appearance.

  Bad blood flowed between them. Of course there would be bad blood. For twenty years, Will and Ty had been inseparable, until the incident almost two years ago. Baker was a toadying climber, always looking for the bluest blood to give him cachet. Ty’s blood was bluer than the Atlantic, so Will and Baker clashed.

  “Doctor, you have a beautiful family. I hope you remain as blissfully happy as you appear today.”

  Will was not particularly jovial at the moment. He was certain that aspect of his emotions slipped through to some extent. “Thank you, and I wish the same to you—
”

  “Afraid I must leave, and almost as soon as I arrived, but please excuse me. I have a prior engagement.” Baker headed off to the stables.

  Will’s empty platitudes wilted on his tongue and drifted away into the soft breeze, so the half-spoken words didn’t actually count as a lie.

  Chapter Two

  Hector forced himself to slow down but barely kept his steps to a walk. He was tired of Will acting as though he had an unblemished past, and he was frustrated by people forcing him into a convention that would never work for him. But there was one person whose nature matched his perfectly. He reached the carriage, the door held open by a footman with eyes cast down.

  All he could see in the gloomy recesses were two long, elegant legs in black Hessian boots, stretching toward the door. The master of those limbs lazed back against the leather-padded walls.

  Hector knew that nonchalant sprawl very well.

  Intimately well.

  A thrill crackled through his body at what the next two weeks would hold. Before vaulting into the beckoning darkness, he glanced over his shoulder. William stood with his feet apart as Mary took Pug from him. He glared at the coach and took a step forward, but stopped when Mary placed a hand on his arm.

  Hector had known this would not be easy for Will. That was why he kept it secret for so long. That was why he hadn’t revealed who he was leaving with. Bad form on his part, but he’d been protecting his holiday.

  Or maybe he’d wanted to prevent trouble. Awfully noble of him. He almost chuckled, since overt flaunting was more his normal behavior than graciousness.

  Noble feelings or not, he recognized that part of the thrill running through his veins was achieving something Will had not, even though he had likely been offered the chance once. The more fool him for not grasping the opportunity with both hands and holding so tight, it would never slip away.

  He placed one foot on the running board of the obsidian coach, its dark recesses heralding the foray into forbidden pleasures this fortnight promised.

  The vehicle lilted toward him with a creak as he stepped up, then it creaked again as it recentered when he sat across from the carriage’s current occupant. The door closed, eclipsing the light. With the shades pulled low, it was difficult to see Wentworth. But Hector could picture the man in his mind. He had dreamed about that firm, elegant body every night for the past eighteen months.

  If he had a talent for the brush, he could paint Wentworth from memory. The portrait would be bold, daring—ebony hair, deep sea-blue eyes, aristocratic nose, full, perfectly shaped lips above a strong chin, and straight white teeth he flashed during his rare sardonic grins. He was long, lean, powerful, and tough as spikes, though you wouldn’t suspect that from such a graceful exterior. In essence, Wentworth was flawless and mature.

  They shared no greeting. Hector simply absorbed Wentworth’s essence, their calves touching. Thick tension filled the air, making it difficult to breathe.

  The carriage jolted to a start, and as they exited the drive and joined a country lane, Wentworth opened a shade.

  Golden sunlight exploded into Hector’s eyes. He blinked several times and squinted before he could absorb Wentworth’s beauty. The stupid grin he’d fought all day crept across his face. He should try to act aloof, sophisticated, like Wentworth, but he was just too damn happy.

  “God, I thought you would never return to England.” He looked out the window. “The road is empty. Seems we’re the only people about. No one giving chase from the manor house.” Hector launched himself onto the other man, and Wentworth made an umpfh before Hector kissed him. Need rushed through him at the warm brush of sinfully talented lips. The kiss lasted two quick heartbeats before strong arms pushed him back into his seat and Wentworth turned his attention to the window as he wiped a shaking hand across his mouth.

  “If you are afraid of being seen, we can simply close the shade,” Hector said. Then he noticed the bloody bandage on Wentworth’s hand.

  What a damn awkward oaf he was. Had always been, really. “You are hurt. I am so very sorry to jump on you. I probably made it worse. How were you wounded?” He would never forgive himself if he’d caused further damage.

  Wentworth laughed and waved off the fussing. “Just a scratch. A stupid little incident. I should be more careful,” he said in that husky baritone Hector could listen to all day.

  “But I may have reinjured you.”

  “No, not at all.”

  Wentworth looked at the stained cravat, turning it one way, then the other. The loosely tied snowy bandage was red-spotted and unsightly against his pristine white cuff. “Odd thing is I feel nothing.” He turned toward the window once again.

  Just a scratch? He felt nothing? Then why break the kiss?

  Why push him away?

  Why stare out the window?

  Hector swallowed. He’d thought by this time they would be panting and straining against one another, but that had probably been too much to ask. After all, they needed some time to reacquaint themselves.

  Correct?

  Certainly!

  Especially considering they had barely spoken ten sentences a month ago, when there’d been just enough time to pleasure each other during a chance meeting at the theater, just enough communication to rekindle their dormant lust, leave them both sticky, barely sated, and then to arrange this holiday.

  Well, then, reacquaint themselves they would. “What a beautiful christening that was. I wish you could have been there. Oh, no, I suppose that wasn’t possible, was it? But it was lovely, and my niece is a precious baby…Perfect day, sunshine, all the green…Won a bout at Gentleman Jackson’s…Your trip to Paris…?”

  Wentworth watched him with a half-smile the whole time. Hector ran out of things to say and, truly, he wanted to listen to Wentworth’s arousing baritone anyway, so he added, “How are you?”

  Wentworth cracked that beloved sardonic grin, and oh, the shivers it sent down his spine. “Run out of things to say already?” He laughed. “Oh, my chatty boy, I have always enjoyed your enthusiasm. Do not worry. I am well, except for this annoyance.” He waved his bandaged hand. “It has been a long time since we simply conversed. I had forgotten how much you have to say.”

  It had been a long time, too long since they’d spent time together. They no longer had that easy interaction they once did. Hector could work on that, could get their affair of hearts back to the way he remembered it before the incident—steamy, intense, yet comfortable.

  He grabbed Wentworth’s wounded hand, kissed his wrist, then turned and put Wentworth’s arm around his shoulder as he snuggled against his firm, warm body. He held up the wounded appendage and made a vow. “I will look after this. Make sure it is well cared for.” Then he put his other hand on Wentworth’s thigh, slowly rubbing back and forth with a second message. I will look after the rest of you as well.

  “In addition, I have lots of plans for us while we are in Kent.”

  “Do you?” Wentworth slid farther down the cushions, his legs spreading open, and fitted him snugly against his broad, strong chest. The new position allowed for better access.

  Hector slid his hand up Wentworth’s thigh and kept it there, letting his fingers play with Wentworth’s hard muscles under smooth, cream-colored fabric.

  Wentworth closed his eyes.

  “Good?”

  A nod.

  He ran his hand farther up, reaching for a goal tucked away in wool breeches. Before he reached his target, Wentworth stopped the progression. “It will be better if we wait until reaching my estate, Sprout.”

  Hector hated that name. Wentworth had called him Sprout since…well, since he could remember. This, on top of Will calling him Heckie for the first time in probably a year, rubbed him the wrong way. “Perhaps you could cease using that stupid pet name.”

  Wentworth looked him up and down, blazing a heat trail every inch of the way. Hector nearly panted.

  “You do not like the endearment I gave you when you w
ere a boy?”

  He shook his head. “I’ve never liked it.”

  “And you waited until this moment to let me know that important bit of information?”

  “I’ve told you at least a hundred times over the past ten years, and I’m certain you remember.” Hector sighed as he deduced the situation. “You are just teasing me, but do stop using that insufferable name. Makes me sound like an insignificant plant. Something, someone forgettable.”

  “Yes.” The word slipped out like a lazy summer haze. “You have always felt you are forgettable, I remember. And you do not wish to be forgotten, do you?”

  Of course he didn’t wish to be forgotten. No one wanted to be forgotten, especially third sons. And anyway, wasn’t the need to be remembered the reason for so many babies, so many wars, so many monuments? Not to mention the fact that everyone always remembered his brothers but couldn’t remember his name. He hated being third and last born. He hated being unmemorable.

  Not waiting for an answer, Wentworth continued. “If I cannot call you Sprout, then what should I call you? Hector does not roll off the tongue in a pleasant manner.”

  He didn’t know what exactly prickled his skin, but currently he was quite annoyed. “You could call me Edmund.”

  “Good God, no! Edmund is more cumbersome to pronounce than your given appellation. I hate to mention this, but your family has ridiculous naming conventions.”

  “Ridiculous?”

  “Quite so.”

  “But you call me Sprout.”