Hector finished the last two bites of salmon and whispered, “Shall we go upstairs?”
Wentworth stood. “Retire to the study for a glass of port?” he said loudly for the servants’ ears, then walked into the fire-warmed study, Hector following.
“Secure the door, Hector.”
At the snick of the lock, Wentworth turned slowly. Hector stalked him like a cat with his graceful stride. He was such a gorgeous man. As gorgeous as his brother at the same age—near black curls, full, firm lips, large dark eyes, muscular yet agile.
He and Hector could have made something lasting of their friendship, but Hector already had enough information to realize there was a past love affair with William. It was only a matter of time before all the pieces came together, and then he would leave, not quietly as William had done, but in a ferocious outburst. No, this vibrant soul would sear Wentworth at his exit.
“Port or brandy?”
“Neither. All I want is you.”
A shiver Wentworth tried hard to fight quaked his body. So heady, this attention.
Hector moved close and leaned in, tipping his dark, evening-stubbled chin for a kiss. He showed tenacity, that was for certain.
Turning in pretense of removing his cravat, he was not fast enough to avoid seeing the flicker of hurt in Hector’s eyes. Of course there would be disappointment. He was being a cad, but there was no way around this issue. Kissing was out of the question. He’d tried.
When they were first together, he liked the fact that Hector looked like William. Loved the fact that Hector smelled like William. Adored the fact that Hector tasted like William.
At first, he thought he found a good substitute for the man he could not have, but then he came to care for the boy deeply. At that point, it had been too late to confess everything. Now it was still too late. And kissing him seemed too intimate, a betrayal of sorts.
After all the damage he’d inflicted on the Somervilles, after his duplicity, the shunning, the christening, William’s recent offer—and what the hell had that been an offer of?—it was eons beyond too late. Why had he not confessed when they had first come together? If he had not been a deceitful bastard then, he could kiss Hector now without being reminded of his deceit, and could avoid the fear that once the boy found out…What? What would happen? Would Hector hate him? Yes, most certainly. Would he leave in a fit of temper? Most assuredly. Would he break the boy’s heart?
At this very moment, Wentworth hated his obsidian temperament. How could he harm the two boys he’d made a crusade out of protecting?
Each and every kiss hammered home the knowledge that he was a deceiver. He had ignored that at the beginning of this fortnight, but after Will’s visit, it was too painful. It hurt. It hurt like bloody hell. Every time he caught a whiff of Hector, his emotions boiled up and his stomach clenched.
Now there was an aphrodisiac for you. He nearly laughed at his sorry state—what a disaster he was. Of course, he’d been a disaster ever since falling in love with his best friend at fourteen. Pathetic.
Having Hector, a constant reminder of the man he betrayed, the man who would not speak to him for years, the man he never told Hector he had loved, lit a brimstone fire in his soul. Goddamn, he could not resist the young man’s body, or his enthusiasm, but must do so without tasting or smelling. For some reason those senses were linked to his memories so tightly, they could transport him back to his darkest times.
He poured himself a shot of brandy and downed it, needing the liquid courage. These damnable melancholy thoughts were destructive. He knew Hector was tired of being treated like a whore and would press for more intimacy.
Hector slipped behind him and helped remove his coat and waistcoat.
Turning, he returned the favor, pulling a bit too hard at the crisp white shirt, wanting him naked now. What a lovely body—young, supple—and he wanted to enjoy it. All of it.
He stayed in shirtsleeves and trousers as Hector stepped out of the rest of his clothing. A proud, blushing cock, curved and long, jutted out of a black nest of pubic hair. Wentworth laid him down on the carpet, intending to suck that proud cock. He’d not given him oral pleasure since their reintroduction, though they had not lacked in inventiveness. He ran his tongue from navel to the crease of one firm thigh and caught a whiff of the night he and Will lost their virginity together.
He sat up and swallowed hard.
Hector opened his eyes and writhed. “God, don’t stop. Suck me. I need you to suck me, or I might die of wanting you.”
Wentworth looked at the wall, unable to hold his gaze. Not when he thought of…when he smelled the unmistakable scent of William, knowing he would have to confess but being too cowardly to do it today.
He ran a hand across his face. “No. I have something better planned.” What, he did not quite know at the moment, so he gave himself time to think by removing the rest of his clothing. Slowly, an idea came to mind. Not one of his preferred acts, but he had to do something worthwhile for Hector, something better than a suck-off.
“I want you to fuck me.”
“Really?” Hector jerked into a sitting position. “We’ve never…I mean, yes, of course. It would be a great pleasure…if you’re certain.”
“Very certain. Just be careful, it has been years.”
Hector scurried to his trousers for the ointment. “Yes, I will go as slowly as you want. Thank you.”
“Hopefully, it will be my pleasure,” he said as he lay on his side and raised one leg. He always felt degraded taking it on hands and knees like a mare, and since kissing was out of the question, this position would have to do.
Fingering the plush, intricately decorated wool of the dark-red-and-gold Axminster carpet, he jumped when Hector touched his flank. Damnation! Get hold of yourself. He knew this would be good. that it would go as slowly as he needed, but one of the last times he was buggered, his last time with Hector’s brother, came to mind. It had been little more than rape with consent. It had been rough, to say the least, not what he’d wanted or expected, and his arse had burned for days after.
“Relax, my love.”
Love. Love? With that last word, Wentworth remembered their shared companionship and plans two years ago. Hector had proclaimed his undying love, and he had done…What had he done? He did not remember, but he was certain he had not loved him back. Could he have? Yes, maybe he had.
He let the confusing thought slip from his mind when Hector said, “I won’t hurt you. Promise.” Hector kept his promise, starting with a kneading caress along his back, legs, and buttocks.
Wentworth took a deep breath and prepared for penetration.
Once fingers started to slick his passage, his suspicion that Hector had experienced sex outside his bed was confirmed. Even though he enjoyed the educated probing, he was not at all certain he liked the fact that Hector had buggered some other man.
After two fingers massaged and opened him, he gently slipped a third in, and all three digits curved to touch his sweet spot. Wentworth moaned.
“Do you like that?”
He nodded.
“Want more?”
He nodded again.
“Tell me.”
At this, Wentworth balked. It was fine for his lovers to beg, but he was a viscount, for God’s sake—he had never learned how. He shook his head.
Hector’s warm tongue ran from the base of his spine to his shoulder blade. He shivered.
“I shall fuck you, Wentworth. And you will scream for me.”
Again, he shook his head. This time with more emphasis, and then Hector slipped in. A slick rod wrapped in silk. Hard as ice but smooth and hot. Forbidden. Sinful. Necessary.
Wentworth moaned low as Hector penetrated his arse with his smooth shaft. The burn was so much less than the pleasure squeezing up from his balls that the pain simply added to the delight.
“That’s it, love. Moan for me, and soon I will have you screaming.”
“Cocky bastard.”
; Hector laughed, the sound barely audible while sucking on his shoulder with soft lips. Hector then started a slow slide in and out, angled in a way that each stroke rubbed that special spot.
The skin around his hole burned, but he could not stop the cry of desire and want. That spurred Hector to a faster pace. They rocked together, finding a perfect rhythm.
Hector grabbed Wentworth’s cock. The release seemed to rip from his arse to his cock, then through his entire body. He yelled, “Yes. Yes. God, yesss.”
The pumping in his arse intensified, sped to a frenzied pace, prolonging his orgasm. A million sunsets flashed behind his closed eyes, and for a moment he floated. He feared he would never catch a breath, but then Hector shoved in one last time and hissed a strangled oath. Wentworth came again. That had never happened before.
He lay on the carpet, studying the colorful design around and around its intricate pattern. He felt a bit stupefied. He could not remember the last time he felt this completely and totally fulfilled. He was too relaxed to move.
“Thank you. Thank you for that. God, Wentworth…That was the most…mmm.” His member slipped out slowly, causing a deliciously pleasant burn, and Wentworth’s arse contracted again, sending an orgasmic aftershock through his body.
“Damnation, Hector, seems you took something integral to my survival just then,” he slurred, having trouble forming words.
Hector kissed his flank. “Never fear, you may have it back anytime you wish. Here, let me clean us up.”
He smiled and stretched, then allowed Hector to wipe him clean with a handkerchief.
The bliss lasted only a few moments until the familiar disgust seeped in. How could he share this act when he held such a damning secret?
Carefully, he levered himself on one elbow, allowing his body to adjust after being plowed.
Hector knelt and handed over his clothing. “Shall we continue upstairs and make a full night of this?” He admired Wentworth’s naked body with a slow, warm slide of his palm on his arse and thigh.
Even disgusted with himself, he could not resist the temptation. He grabbed his shirt and said, “Yes, come to my rooms after eleven. I will dismiss my valet early. We will have the whole night to do as we please.”
When he looked up, Hector was too close to avoid. He’d made a tactical advance and forced their mouths together.
The feel of firm masculine lips was delightful and fulfilled a long-held emptiness, until his starved lungs forced him to breathe, and he caught the scent of his first love. It was like kissing a man long dead. He exhaled quickly and tried to continue without breathing, but eventually he had to. He turned his head, but Hector forced their lips together once more. Guilt swamped his senses, and he pushed up from the floor and grabbed the back of a chair. He swallowed, took a deep breath, then swallowed again and again.
Hector’s voice slipped up his back like a tentacle from cold Windermere Lake. “Are my kisses so disgusting that they make you ill? You used to kiss me.” He said the last quietly, with no heat.
Not at all sure what to say, Wentworth shoved his arms into his shirt.
“I’m good enough to fuck, and finally you allowed me to fuck you, but my kisses make you gag as if you’d just tasted carrion?”
Ignoring the question, he struggled into his trousers, small clothes be damned. “That is ridiculous. You misunderstand.”
Hector had obviously reached his limit. “Goddamn you, why won’t you kiss me?”
There was no avoiding this. He’d done so for two years, and it was past time, but God, he did not want to face this. He would rather be in front of an angry mob of marines. If he could only think of a way to once again postpone the inevitable. Nothing came to mind, so he turned and shrugged. “I cannot. I just…cannot.”
“And why is that?”
Tucking in his shirttails, he admired Hector, still gloriously naked and proud, one leg bent under him, the other crocked up, an arm wrapped around his knee. “Why not, Wentworth?”
He continued dressing.
“Talk to me.” The request was soft and quiet, enticing him to stop fighting, to share the truth. He knew this was a very, very bad idea, but Hector deserved to know.
“It is just…just that…you taste like him. You smell like him. God, I cannot separate the two of you with my eyes closed or even half closed, and I did not tell you. I could never figure out how to tell you.” He rubbed his gut. Suddenly a hollow, sucking feeling swamped his insides.
“William.”
“Yes,” he said under his breath, confirming the damning statement, but he was certain Hector already knew the truth.
“You still love him.”
He nodded. Of course he still loved Will. They’d been more than lovers; they’d been best friends for years. He would always love Will, but that did not mean—
“And when he wouldn’t have you any longer, you took second best. You took me.”
Was that what he had done? He said nothing while he wrestled with his thoughts and tried to remember memories long buried.
“Damn. Damn, damn, damn.” On his feet faster than Wentworth could blink, Hector said, “I’ve lived in my brothers’ shadows my entire life. I was ever such a smug bastard thinking I’d achieved something Will never could. And now you do this to me?” The look on his face was murderous.
He prepared for the blow as Hector stalked up to him. He closed his eyes and waited. He knew he deserved a good thrashing, but no punches were delivered.
Opening one eye just a slit, he saw Hector’s face distorted with rage.
“What about before?”
Wentworth knew what that cryptic question meant. As much as he hated to hurt Hector further, it was time to stop hiding the truth from him as well as from himself.
“Before, I planned to tell you, but I could not determine how to do so. I loved him for years, while you were just a child. He was my world. Then I lost him. He left me.” I lost the one thing that meant most in the world to me, and it crushed me. “I cared for no one else until…I fear that you will…Bloody hell.” He jabbed fingers through his hair and shook his head.
“I. Love. You.” Hector’s face contorted into fury, belying the words, but Wentworth knew he spoke true. “I love you, and he never will. He cannot.”
He had once. Now Wentworth pushed that thought away because it no longer mattered. With an ache in his heart, he remembered something long buried. He remembered the first time he lost a lover and his life changed forever.
✥ ✥ ✥
Winter 1797, Kent
“Ty?” His name was so softly spoken.
Tyler jumped at the light touch on his shoulder, though he had expected it. Even so, the contact made his heart race.
They might have time to sneak up to the small bedroom for a hearty goodbye before Will returned to school and he went back to the navy. No one would know.
He would know, and he already had trouble sleeping at night, reliving the wonderful things they did in warm, sweaty darkness. He wanted one more memory to add to his collection before he shipped out again.
He pulled his coat tight against the icy northern breeze and turned toward Will. The idiot was out in this weather without an overcoat. “You must be freezing out here. How long have you been standing there? It is so blasted dark, it is a wonder neither of us fell in the pond. Cannot see a bloody thing.”
He leaned into Will, warm breath tickled his ear, and he took advantage of the light clothing to caress Will’s arms slowly. Shivers coursed through his frame.
Forcing himself to act rationally, he ignored his urge to take him right there in the frosted park. “Come upstairs to your room with me, and I shall warm you. We have time before the moon rises and I have to leave.”
He slid fingers into Will’s hair. Will tilted his head and quietly moaned. A hot surge of lust renewed his temptations. He shook off the lurid thoughts and pulled Will toward the manor.
“I cannot. Not again.”
“Oh, playing co
y, Will? We had grand fun last night. Did we not?” Grand fun was an understatement. Last night had been heaven, except for some reason, Will kept his eyes tightly closed for the first time, even as his body responded with enthusiasm.
“Last night I was in my cups and lost my better judgment. I made a decision but was too weak to tell you. It cannot happen again.” Will cleared his throat and pulled his arms away, leaving a cold, empty void where Will’s warm body had recently been fitted against his.
Will leaned against the short granite garden wall and looked toward the distant lights of crofters in the valley below the estate grounds.
Tyler did not, would not, give up something this important to his existence. He closed in and stepped into Will’s warmth, his chest and thighs pressing gently against back and legs. He wrapped his arms around Will’s firm waist and leaned his head on his broad shoulder. “Do not be silly. You were in your cups last night, but not all the nights prior. We have played for years. You know I can make you feel good.” He demonstrated with hands that knew Will’s body as well as he knew his own, sliding a gentle touch up and under Will’s dinner jacket.
Will shivered but turned and grabbed Ty’s wrists firmly, turning their intimate contact aggressive.
“This will hurt us both, but it has to be done. I do care for you, Ty. I love you in some kind of fashion, just not enough. And damn it, this must stop. At some point we will get caught, and then there will be hell to pay. What we had was fun. We were friends who were too young to know better, then old enough to know better but too young to attract women. I’ve grown out of that youthful phase where I need to experiment, and we both need to go and find more out of life.”
Tyler started to tremble. His knees barely supported him. “You are all I want out of life, Will.”
“Damn it, Ty. I’m only eighteen. I want a normal existence, pursuing research as a physician into the causes and cures of disease, an appointment to the Royal Society as a scientist, a marriage my family will be proud of, and children.”
“We could be together and—”
“No, we cannot be together, and you know it. Stop deluding yourself.”
His Brother's Viscount Page 7
