“Tell me again how Blair managed to obtain a bucketful of curd.”
“Well, it turned out his mother—”
The dining room door opened, and Wentworth frowned as his butler approached, carrying the ever-present silver salver. His joy collapsed. He knew with a gut-gnawing surety Will was calling, even if Wentworth did not fully understand why he was here.
“You have a visitor, my lord.”
He took the calling card presented on the salver, and his blood ran cold at the touch of smooth cream paper. He shoved the card deep into one pocket.
“At six in the evening? That is rather unconventional,” Hector said.
Something must have shown on his face, or more likely Hector noticed him stiffen, for he said, “Wentworth, is something amiss?”
“No. No, just…an acquaintance. I will inquire about his purpose for the visit and send him on his way. Then we can have a port or brandy.”
Hector smiled at that statement, and Wentworth left to confront Will.
He went to the drawing room, wondering how his numb limbs managed to take him down two hallways and a flight of stairs. Seizing a deep breath before opening the door, he readied himself and then entered with all the aristocratic arrogance he could muster.
William Somerville stood at ease, his expression blank, but Wentworth was not fooled. He knew there was a lit fuse under the surface.
“I hope you do not intend to stay overly long. I have a very pleasant guest I desire to return to.” He was not certain why he chose such inflammatory words to greet Will. But after two years of silence…
His words had a predicable outcome. Will tightened his jaws and curled his upper lip. “I am fully aware of your guest, and that is why I’m here.”
He approached Will, who stood tall and proud, just as handsome as he remembered. “Brandy?”
“No.”
“How have you been? Forgive me, but I forgot to ask the past several years in which you have not spoken to me.” He wanted to say the words sarcastically, but their decades-long friendship neutralized them.
“You mean other than worrying about my little brother, who has a sodomite chasing his tail?” He stepped closer to Wentworth and whispered, “How is he, Ty?”
He could see Will’s chest rise and fall rapidly. He assumed the quick breathing was out of anger, but at one time that physical response had been elicited by desire.
Just that thought alone had his prick quickening. Damn fickle organ.
He tried to step away from temptation, but his feet were cemented to the floor. “He is well. Enjoying his holiday with me.”
Will left a gentle caress along Wentworth’s stubbled chin with one strong, calloused finger.
Wentworth closed his eyes and clung to the lingering sensation of that touch, remembering a simpler time. Forcing himself to speak, he said, “Your brother is no longer a boy. He has the right to make his own choices.”
“But, Ty, does he have all the information he needs to make the best decision on who he spends time with?”
His eyes snapped open in time to see Will’s scowl turn into a sour apricot smile. Wentworth moved back a few inches. Will had been as close as a lover preparing for a kiss, and as angry as a viper whose nest was raided by a badger. He could not help the shiver that racked his body. For a few moments he’d been ready to close the distance between them as if their past had never turned bitter. Stepping away was the only way to clear his head.
He walked to the brandy decanter, poured two glasses, and set one down. “It is here if you want it.” He went to the settee and rested his arse on the back. “Let me ask you the same question. Did Mary have all the information she needed to make a decision when she agreed to wed you?”
“Yes, actually. I told her the night of the fight, and she had three months to change her mind if it worried her.”
Wentworth whistled. “My, but I would have loved to have been a portrait on the wall that night.”
“Afraid you would have been disappointed. Mary is very practical. She asked a few questions and then proclaimed she was relieved I didn’t have any female ex-lovers who were still my friends.”
Wentworth was rather taken aback by that. A more likely reaction would be gnashing of teeth and tearing of flesh.
“So, I surmise from your evasion of my question that you have not told Hector about us.” The last word was a lover’s murmur.
Damn, what was Will’s game? Well, whatever his intent, it was making Wentworth feel like a cad. And when he felt worthless, he struck out.
“Yes, well, there is no reason to tell him. As you know, the two of us will never be an us again.” He downed his brandy, enjoying the burn. When he walked to the door, he did not feel completely steady on his feet. “I will have a footman show you out.”
“Ty. I am staying at Stephen’s estate for a day or two. Come for a visit. We need to…talk.”
Wentworth stood with his hand on the door latch, familiar feelings and physical sensations destroying his ability to think. Eventually, he simply left the room.
✥ ✥ ✥
That night, as Wentworth stumbled to Hector’s room, carrying a bottle of superlative brandy and a wagonload of apprehension, he worried over what Will was offering. It had been so long since Will left him, he had trouble believing this visit was only about issuing a proposition. So why did his body and soul feel like that was exactly what his ex-lover had proposed?
Certainly, Will had not tired of his wife. He had been smitten just a few months prior. Could someone fall out of love so quickly? Or was it just that Will missed male affection? If so, why not stray before now? Did Will miss him, his closest friend from childhood, his first lover?
He stopped in his tracks. Would he take Will back? The man he pined for, mourned the loss of for what seemed like centuries?
Was sex even on offer?
If he went to see Will, would he be met with a group of burly footmen and a well-deserved beating? He sighed and rolled his shoulders to lessen the tension gathering there.
God, but his head spun from too much brandy and too many unanswered questions. Perhaps he would simply go to Will and ask his real intentions so he could lift this unease off his shoulders.
He stopped at Hector’s door, which opened immediately.
“I thought you would never arrive. In here. Now!” The boy grabbed him by the dressing gown collar and yanked him inside.
Laughing, he stumbled forward. “Eager, are you?”
“Yes.”
He barely had time to place the brandy on a table before Hector forced their lips together and wrestled them onto the bed with a big flop that made them bounce and that set them off laughing. Minutes later, Hector sat up and reached for his head. “Oh, perhaps I had a dram too much port after dinner. My head is just a smidgen…um…muzzy.”
“Muzzy?”
“Indeed.”
“Too much sugar in port. You need to cut it with something. I have just the thing.”
“What is that?”
“Brandy, of course.” He rearranged the pillows, propped himself against the headboard, and beckoned Hector to do the same as he reached for the bottle.
“I’m not at all certain that is a sound idea.”
“Of course it is.” He managed the cork with some effort and took a mouthful directly from the bottle. The vintage was so smooth, it did not burn going down. “Have a little. You will soon start to feel better.”
Hector looked uncertain as he took a drink, then another. “Mmm, that is good.”
He laid one arm over the young man’s sturdy shoulders and took another drink himself. “Feeling better?”
“Actually, yes. Quite a fast remedy for drinking too much port. May I have more?”
They passed the bottle back and forth a few times as he unfastened Hector’s velvet-lined, blue silk gown. And then no other clothes kept him from touching Hector’s fine skin.
Humming his pleasure, Hector slid farther down the bed an
d tried to pull him along as well.
Wentworth took one more sip and then offered the bottle to the beautiful young man lying prone before him. Hector drank as Wentworth opened his own robe, the tie scarlet red. He chuckled. “This reminds me of the time I stole a red curtain rope and tried to lower myself from my bedroom balcony to an oak branch many feet below.”
“Did you make it to the oak?”
“Not at all. In fact, I hung there screaming for help until a maid rushed in and pulled me up. I thought I would fall to my death.”
Hector snorted.
“You laugh, but imagine my humiliation when grandfather found out I had to be saved by a female, and one in service no less.” They both laughed, and Hector shared an embarrassing story as Wentworth pulled their bodies close and wrapped them both in their robes, warm skin to warm skin. The position was more comforting than arousing, especially as fatigue and a chill started to set into his frame.
As they shared stories and laughed more than he could remember having done in years, Hector found Wentworth’s cock and went to work with an uncoordinated effort that had them both near choking on their mirth.
“My dear, I’m afraid the heart is willing and all, but…”
“I believe the brandy was not such a grand idea after all, Wentworth. My head is spinning.” He giggled.
“You must be in your cups, if you resort to giggling like a girl.” That sent him to giggling as well, and soon they pulled up the bed covers and tittered until they were too exhausted to stay awake.
✥ ✥ ✥
Wentworth slept so late, he would have to sneak into his own room while the servants prowled the living quarters. He slid out of bed and attempted to tie his robe, but a patch of cool air on his right thigh suggested he’d made a hash of that simple task. He grabbed the brandy bottle—there were still a few dregs—and left his rumple-haired lover softly snoring in bed.
He snagged his toe on the hall runner, catching himself awkwardly on the wall before he fell. Shaking his head, he realized his thoughts were still bleary. Damnation, still foxed. Shaking his head again to clear away the fog, he stumbled to his chambers and poured himself the rest of the brandy. Might as well be civilized this early in the morning and drink from a glass.
He would figure out later what to do about the shambles of his life. Currently all he wanted to do was finish his drink, crawl into bed, and forget about everything in the oblivion of sleep.
Chapter Five
Wentworth poured himself another brandy and slid down into his large, plush study chair, legs stretching toward the brass guard of the fireplace. It was the warmest spot in the drafty old manor and his favorite brandy. Today, he needed both.
He’d sent Hector off on some fool’s errand just to get rid of him. What a stupid idea, bringing the boy here. He should have known Will could not leave well enough alone. Hell, he should have stayed in France, but his cock had done the thinking at the time.
Now he was having second thoughts and needed time to think. To decide what to do. What to tell Hector, because it was a bloody certainty that Will would tell him everything once this fortnight was over.
Sating his lust on William’s brother…No, it was more than that. Much more. But he had done so many things to be angry with himself about. It was easiest to concentrate on only one for now. He could castigate himself for the others later.
Fucking Hector was not revenge, but Will would certainly think so.
He did not start the liaison with Hector to punish Will, but the attraction to this boy—was it only due to a resemblance to someone he’d at one time longed to have above all else? He’d never been able to answer that question, and his uncertainty and past actions disgusted him.
For the love of Christ, he’d slept with both brothers, and Hector did not know.
He stood and paced the room, heels resounding on the oak floor. “Damn it all to hell.” He kicked the marble fireplace surround. His boot left a long scuffmark on the white and green stone.
What was he doing, meddling with somebody’s life? A vibrant, charismatic youth’s life? All this just to…To what? To decide if what they had before was real? If these new remembrances slowly creeping into his emotionally sluggish brain were true or simply a shadow of what he’d once wanted?
The past week had been bright conversations and moments of extraordinary passion, sometimes almost beastly copulation, with only a hint of culpability. And now, after Will’s visit, he suddenly felt surrounded by hours and hours that passed like weeks. Hours of guilt, shame, mental self-flagellation, and fear.
He didn’t necessarily consider himself a good man, but he certainly did not make a habit of constant deceit that rose to the level of betrayal. Trying to remember his many lies of omission, keeping up with the heavy energy of deception while entertaining someone as lively as Hector, was near impossible.
He took a sip of oaky liquid. The liquor slid down his throat, smooth as fresh spring water. The lack of burn meant he was already drunk. He took another sip.
“For God’s every loving blasphemy, Gabriel, what would you do?” He glared at the portrait of his older brother, the Wentworth heir, dead these past seven years. “Nothing to say? Yes, well, you were not very helpful in these matters before, so I am not surprised.” He raised his glass to the portrait of a tall, lean, dark-haired young man of whom Wentworth was starting to lose memory. Quiet and studious, Gabriel would have made a much better viscount than the current sham. “I will have to make my own decisions, then. Not that I have a tried and true record for this sort of thing.”
Best to send Hector home, where his family could take care of his soon-to-be-broken heart. What would he tell the boy? Not the truth, certainly. The truth would be too painful for everyone. So what would be his excuse?
Hell, was Hector really only two-and-twenty? God, it should be a crime what he did with that boy’s body. He laughed, the sound like cannon blasts in the quiet room. What was he thinking? It was a crime. Screwing the lad the way he did was sodomy.
He, an officer in His Majesty’s Royal Navy, committing a hangable offense on a man barely out of school.
He laughed again, the sound dark and flat.
What he really wanted was to enjoy Hector’s fine body until they were both too exhausted to move or even think, for that matter. Except after Will had reminded him he was scum, thoughts of screwing Hector instigated maudlin judgments about his deception. He leaned a forearm on the chimneypiece, contemplating the charred bricks surrounding the fire.
He closed his eyes, unwanted memories pouring into his mind.
A sunny day. A christening. A beautiful, happy family. A precious bundle of joy. Then there was William, handsome, perfect William, glowing with an ecstasy for life. Glowing with love. Glowing with all these wonderful, lovely things Wentworth would never be part of because he’d cheated a friend.
He flung his glass into the fireplace. It shattered, some of the glass flying out and tinkling on the hardwood floor. The shards of crystal crunched under his boots as he staggered to the sideboard for another glass and a splash of brandy. He took the amber liquid back to his chair.
“Bloody brilliant, Wentworth. Damned bloody brilliant bastard you are. What do you have planned next? Flinging not-quite-innocent young men off the ramparts?”
God, his thinking was muddled from the drink. Not that his thinking was sound these past few years even without spirits, but this morning…
Approaching footsteps sounded staccato-like on the parquet teak floor outside his study. The door burst open, and he turned to bark at the intruder but stopped the retort before he shriveled a young man’s enthusiasm. At least, before he could shrivel Hector’s self-esteem beyond what he had these past two years.
“Wentworth,” Hector called jovially, carrying a silver tray full of fresh treats and a newspaper stuffed under one arm. “I have the Times for you. I would wager you didn’t think I could find one and return so soon.” He closed the door with a heel. “T
urns out Stephen’s subscription has not yet been transferred to London.”
For a moment his heart stopped, then beat double-time. Hector might have met Will at their brother’s home, but if that had been the case, the boy would no longer be flirtatious.
“I also stopped by the kitchen and brought some delicacies I’m certain must be your favorites, since cook nearly forced me to take one of each. Damn, but you do have fast horses.” He lowered his voice and switched topics once again, sending Wentworth’s inebriated brain swirling. “I plan to feed these treats to you, piece by piece, with my own hands.” Hector laughed, free and radiant, his cheeks pink from sunshine and his hair ruffled from fresh air. He wore a rather flattering forest green riding suit that highlighted his sun-tinted skin and dark eyes.
How could anyone be so luminous after Wentworth’s mismanagement of their affair, after he had overnight turned into such a moody bastard? “Oh,” he said, trying to sound intrigued, but instead, the word held the enthusiasm of a well-used whore on her eighth tup of the day.
Undaunted, the boy placed the silver salver on an empty chair and knelt in front of him, shimmying his way between his legs, crowding his intimate space. His very intimate, brandy-dampened space.
He looked to the door. The boy had let loose of his senses, forgetting to throw the latch.
“I brought strawberry tarts, spotted dick, and berry trifle sweetened with honey. One of them surely is your favorite. All of them are some of my preferred confections.” He pointed to the tray. “Which do you want me to lick off your chest, arms, thighs…?” His enticing finger burned a trail of desire from his chest to the fastening of his trousers.
Hector looked up with big, happy eyes. They were the most unusual shade, like sun shining through a crystal decanter full of fresh, strong tea. They almost glowed when not shadowed by those sinfully long eyelashes.
God, the lad was beautiful. Wentworth’s cock stirred even through the haze of brandy.
His Brother's Viscount Page 4
