His Brother's Viscount

by Stephanie Lake

  Hector stared at the spot where only moments ago Wentworth had reached out to him. He felt the tingle of indignation flow away, diluted with something that would feel like sadness if it didn’t hurt so horribly.

  He didn’t have time to think about Wentworth, however, because Jonathan stood nearby. Jonathan, who was always around these days. Jonathan, who touched his shoulder and turned him around.

  Hector looked at his broad, green-covered chest, to be precise. At the moment, he couldn’t stomach the gloating expression he knew would be on his face.

  With a murmur, warm and deep as a bubbling pot of oxtail soup, Jonathan said, “You see, he doesn’t love you. Not like I do. I can overlook your flaws, your imperfections.” Jonathan ran a sweaty finger over one of Hector’s odd eyebrows.

  He’d never realized his eyebrows were odd until Jonathan commented on them. He’d never realized his hair was too ordinary, either, or that he was too slim and too quiet. Too quiet? Him, quiet? Only around Jonathan, who found fault with everything he said. The touch gave Hector a cold shiver. Not a warm shiver like Wentworth used to elicit.

  Oh God, the shivers Wentworth could elicit…

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  Something was wrong. Definitely wrong.

  Jon glared through Hector’s mullioned study window at Hector. He’d been acting off the past few months. Distracted. No, not distracted—distant. Even before Wentworth’s untimely visit that morning, Hector was losing interest, and his dissatisfaction grew by the day. That was why Jon had been to see Wentworth. Stirring up trouble between those two would only remind Hector how much he hated Wentworth and would keep him away.

  Hector, the young romantic, meandered through the roses in the small park across the street. To a casual observer, he simply appeared to be enjoying the late afternoon sunshine. Jon knew better. He knew he was losing Hector. Their liaison had been intense, but now his affection was waning. He was certain Hector contemplated how to politely break from this alliance. No commitment between the two of them, no snubbing Wentworth where it would hurt most, no keeping them apart.

  He was losing.

  He would lose the gambit and his aristocrat. Again.

  Grabbing a snifter from a small table, he squeezed it instead of punching a fist through the glass panes.

  Hector wouldn’t stay with him much longer. All his plans, his hard work, and his wasted attentions ruined because of Wentworth’s untimely visit.

  No. He refused to lose the gambit.

  Crystal shattered with a shrill snap and tinkle before he registered throwing the snifter across the room.

  Outside, Hector looked up and then at the window. He must have heard the breaking glass. Jon smiled. Hector lifted one side of his mouth. That was all, nothing more, before going back to studying the flower beds.

  Jon tapped a staccato on the window casing. It was time for drastic action. He would not let Hector go back to Wentworth.

  He had lost the viscount, whom he’d set his hat for from the first time they’d come together, but he’d always been out of reach. Despite all his enticement, Wentworth never spent more than a few hours at a time with him. The arrogant bastard.

  Dark thoughts kept Jon company these days, feeding him. An angry hatred gnawed at his gut, keeping him strong and smart. He would obliterate Wentworth’s conceit. After all, Hector was still his, and he would find a way to keep him from anyone else.

  Jon turned and trod out of the room, pulverizing shards of crystal underfoot as he went.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Hector choked on the rotten fish and garbage stench of the Thames as the carriage approached the wharf. Ship masts towered behind warehouses and other buildings.

  This was a monumentally bad idea. Why had he let Jonathan talk him into an outing, especially such an ill-conceived one as this?

  Outside their hired hackney, the wharf teemed with people—mostly men, but with a handful of tough-looking women in the mix. Everyone seemed in a hurry, most of them carrying large loads of goods. He looked across the sea of humanity to the ships. There was frantic activity on board as well.

  Half-dressed men climbed masts and did…What was it exactly they all did? Tying sails, untying ropes and resecuring them someplace else. It was all a mystery to him, though his past two companions had an intimate knowledge of everything nautical. Why had he not taken the time to learn something about their profession?

  After Wentworth’s visit yesterday, he had finally made a decision. It should not have been so difficult but took him a sleepless night nonetheless. It was so unlike him to take this long to decide which direction he should go, but his liaison with Jonathan was obviously headed toward disaster. He would not commit to a man he didn’t trust. Hell, he didn’t even like him. He would let him know today so they could both stop this charade.

  Honestly, it wasn’t even a pleasure to be around him anymore. He’d be alone for a while, or who knew, maybe forever, but that was preferable to being unhappy with an ill-tempered, ill-bred, ill-mannered man for whom he had slowly lost all affection.

  So, why had he let Jonathan convince him—no, it was more like coerce him—into coming here today? Here of all places. He needed to grow a backbone and stop letting people walk all over him. He would start that as soon as he was gone from this disagreeably loud, smelly place.

  Even though he’d been assured Wentworth was again at his estate near Kent, he had no desire to view the ship he’d captained and Jonathan had served on years ago. All the gold and blue did nothing but remind him of his viscount, which sank him deeper into melancholy.

  Yet here he was, because Jonathan was exceptionally persuasive.

  “This outing will get you out of the doldrums. Give us back my happy Hector.” Jonathan jumped down from the carriage and held the door open.

  A curse of frustration lodged in the back of his throat. He was wholly sick of being treated like a toy.

  Squinting into the glaring midmorning sun, he stepped out of the carriage and looked up at an enormous sailing vessel. He counted three masts and three rows of gun ports. The lettering on her aft read Neptune.

  “Fought with Lord Nelson at Trafalgar,” said Jonathan. “In port for repairs. God only knows why it’s taken so long to get her shipshape again.”

  They walked down the pier, Jonathan driving him past other vessels with his hand on Hector’s lower back. He wanted to brush off the steering touch, but more importantly, he did not want a public confrontation. Not that anyone would notice with hundreds of dockworkers and military men rushing about and shouting orders.

  He took a deep breath despite the stink, put his shoulders back, and vowed to get this over with. Afterward he’d leave Jonathan and start the beginning of the rest of his life.

  He had additional ideas for his porcelain factory and was looking forward to having more time to implement his concepts. He’d managed to keep Jonathan in the dark about his purchase, wanting to keep that part of his life selfishly to himself. But now he needed to focus on what direction to take the factory to continue their gain in profits and keep the workers safe and productive.

  He was so engrossed with his business designs, he almost missed Jonathan’s nudge to a gangboard leading to the rear end of a warship with three masts and two rows of guns.

  “Here she is,” said Jonathan. “The Dragon. The most fearless vessel to ever sail the seven seas.”

  It was smaller than the Neptune but no less impressive. Hector climbed up the gangboard, wishing for something he could cling to—a railing, a rope, a strong supportive hand.

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  “Look up there.” Jon pointed at a small yellow flag. “That means the captain is not on board.” The lying came so easily to him. “The white one lets the sailors know which way the wind blows.”

  “Really?” Hector stopped and gazed at the tapered pendant, his odd brows pinching together against the sun’s glare. “I would think it ill-advisable to announce to any and all ne’er-do-wells that the ca
ptain is on shore, looking for a whore.”

  Laughing, Jon said, “Ah, but everyone knows what superb first mates the British Admiralty puts in charge when the captains are on shore leave.” He winked at Hector, who wore a jacket that had grown too large for him over the past months. Making an effort, he squeezed one thin shoulder.

  Just a bit more patience. After today, his life would be clear and pleasing forever. He touched Hector’s thin, firm back again and whispered so only he could hear, “Let us go, love. I have something I very much want to show you.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Wentworth returned to his ship to evade maudlin thoughts, but the beauty of hundreds of men—men with balance, grace, some with swaying braids, bared chests and tanned skin, others in officers’ finely tailored blues—only reminded him of what he had lost. His beautiful boy. He should not have come here today.

  The HBMS Dragon was docked for small repairs and refitting as needed. When everything was shipshape, she would serve as a training vessel and patrol the channel until something exciting happened with the French. He hoped that was sooner rather than later. A good battle would put his mood back to rights.

  Until then, he had a competent crew who could see to everything. There was no need to be here. He was there nonetheless, waiting for his three midshipmen to return with news.

  The creak of wood and the sway underfoot gave him a sense of being home, but the rough timbre of William’s warm tenor behind him no longer elicited the same effect.

  At one time Wentworth would have given one hundred pounds just to hear William’s voice in the captain’s cabin. He looked out the open window to the Thames, choppy in the receding tide.

  “Ty, did you hear me?” Will had carried on a bland dissertation on the merits of doubling the number of backstays for the mast. Normally the conversation would have entertained him and he would have started a rigorous debate. Normally. Not today.

  Today that voice was just a little deeper and a little rougher than the one he longed to hear. Since the cadence and word choice was similar to Hector’s, Wentworth could imagine him standing in his cabin instead of Will, lying in his bed naked, arms and legs open, inviting.

  He swallowed the lump rising from the depths of his gut. “I…” He cleared his throat. “I agree. Some extra ropes could be advantageous.”

  “What? You agree?”

  “Of course.”

  “You never agree.”

  “Will, I find myself asking you the same question every time I see you. But at the risk of being redundant, I must ask again. Why are you here?”

  No response. He looked over his shoulder. Head bent, Will ran a hand through his chronically disheveled hair. It did not lie in naturally neat, alluring curls like Hector’s. “Will?”

  “Actually, I went to your town house first.”

  “William!”

  “Mary said I should come.”

  “You came because Mary said so?”

  “Well, truth be told, she convinced me you could help us set Hector back to rights.”

  “How insightful of her. As it turns out, I agree.”

  Will looked at his shoes. “Mary is a very perceptive person, Ty. She also convinced me that I missed your friendship.” Will snorted, shot out of his chair, and paced to the door, his limp marring what used to be the flawless, graceful stride Hector shared.

  “I see. Your wife is an amazing woman, Will. Suggesting we rekindle our friendship after what I did to her—what you and I did…together.”

  Will shoved his fists into his coat pockets and slowly turned around. “I’m not certain ‘rekindle’ is what she has in mind, but she cares about her family, and for some reason, she thinks I believe you should still be part of the fold.” He laughed, but it sounded more sad than humorous. “As many times as you protected us from Father, I felt sometimes I should have given you a chance to explain. She must have surmised I miss the friendship we once had when I mentioned the thrashing we received after the rabbit, Indian headdress, and gooseberry pie incident.”

  “Bloody hell, Will. That was the most humiliating day of my life. I never tell anyone else about that. Well, perhaps I did once. But I will point out the fact that your participation did not sit well with the adults either. I’m surprised you shared that tale with your wife. God, to this day I still hate gooseberries.”

  “Well, I might have left out some of the facts. So, are you willing to work with me to help Hector out of the doldrums?”

  His stomach felt very peculiar. He had the chance to get back what he had thought was the most important relationship in his life, and it was offered so casually, as if it were no more important than what to have for supper.

  “Damn it, Ty, do you have to make this difficult for me?”

  Despite his glum mood, he felt a surge of smug satisfaction. He’d suffered more than two years of hell when Will cut him out of his life, so he planned to enjoy this. He fought to keep the twitching corners of his mouth from turning up. He was only marginally successful. “Must admit there is a certain gratification in the event, but I will take you back without making you grovel.”

  Will’s face went from contrite to pinched in the time it would have taken a cannonball to clear the main deck, so Wentworth decided to end his friend’s misery. “There was a time when you recognized my humor.”

  “Damn it.” Will plunged his hand through his hair again. “This is difficult for me. You’re right. I need to take my ease.”

  “I agree with you there.”

  Will’s shoulders stiffened.

  Wentworth held out a hand to stop the brewing firestorm. “I gave you good reason to end the friendship. Believe me, I have regretted my actions every day since then.” He walked over to Will. “Friends?”

  Will shook Wentworth’s proffered hand longer and more vigorously than needed. The hand was firm, calloused, with a broad palm and fingers. Not strong and elegant like Hector’s. “I will let you ask me again when this is all over, and we shall decide then.”

  “Understood.” He added, “I did not know. That Greig was insane. I did not know.”

  Will’s sad smile was crooked, the scar across his cheek pulling the skin just so.

  Unlike his brother, Will was not radiant and full of excitement to see the world and experience new things. His touch no longer elicited a surge of arousal, no longer provoked a need to possess.

  Wentworth had failed with Hector, but he planned to make it up to him, to try and make Hector his once more even though he knew he did not deserve this pure, sweet soul with appalling taste in men.

  Figuring out how to win him back was the difficult part. Getting Jonathan away from him was the easy role in this duplicity.

  “Now, back to the topic that brought you here. As I mentioned, I was a prick to Hector. However, I do not think that is why he is beaten down.” He turned and looked at Will, who stood, feet apart, head tilted to the right just enough that Wentworth knew his full, potent attention was on the problem. “I received a letter from Jonathan that disturbed me. He sounded…well, not fully in control. I went to see Hector after you left yesterday.”

  “Of all the—”

  “Just listen, Will. You should realize by now I seldom do what people command of me.”

  Will pursed his lips but remained quiet.

  “Lieutenant Jonathan Baker was at Hector’s rooms. The visit did not go well. In fact, Hector told me to leave.”

  “And you did?”

  “Yes. I saw no good coming of my staying. Yesterday an anonymous letter waited for me, but I know it was from Jonathan. He gloated about his conquest of Hector. Talked about the things he’d done to him. Described the things he would do soon. He detailed things that no sane person could tolerate—pain, desecration, demoralizations.” Bloody damn hell! His insides cramped, and he thought he might cry for the first time in decades. “I think most of the letter was lies, but…”

  Will clenched his fists. “Why would he send you a letter about hi
s involvement with Hector?”

  “You will not like the answer to that question. God knows I have fretted over it since receiving the missive.”

  “Just tell me.”

  “Jonathan and I had an on-and-off affair. He was more interested than I. Since I found him convenient, I kept the door open to him.”

  “I expected as much.” Will sighed. “You are intent on self-destruction, aren’t you? That man is meaner than a caged tiger.”

  “Yes, well, that was part of the draw, I suppose.”

  “Bloody hell, Ty.”

  “Will, my past is immaterial right now. What is important is Hector’s health. As I said, I came to London to set the matter straight, and I know how to do that.” Taking a deep breath, he ignored the feeling of inadequacy. “If I confront Jonathan, he will dig in his heels because he knows he is disturbing me. Why that gives him pleasure I do not know. The man is quite confounding. And since I imagine Hector still will not talk to me at this point, I must take action.”

  Will paced. “I will talk with Hector and demand he stop seeing that shit for an excuse of a navy officer.”

  “That is about as likely to work as if I talk with Jonathan. No, something more forceful is needed, and I set things in motion. Trust me on this and drop the matter for now.”

  “Zero chance of that happening, Ty. Might as well tell me, or I’ll be your shadow for the next week. You won’t be able to piss without wetting my shoes.”

  Wentworth sighed, knowing Will’s loyalty to his family would ensure he kept that threat. “If I tell you, do not try to convince me this is a bad idea. Do not try to involve yourself, and do not get upset because it reminds you of something I did in the past.”

  Will laughed, an irony-filled sound. “What, you talked some officers into serving him fake papers to get him on a ship immediately and out of the country as soon as the tide rises, so you can work on Hector?”

  Wentworth’s blood ran cold. He stood very still, waiting for the cannon explosion.

  “Bloody hell, Ty. You never learn.”

  “It works. Why struggle to invent a new technique that has yet to be tested?”