His Brother's Viscount

by Stephanie Lake

  “You cannot twiddle with people’s lives as if you are omniscient and know what is best for everyone. You—”

  “Will, be quiet.”

  “I will not.”

  “Please, just listen.” He walked back to the window, needing a lungful of outside air suddenly. The cabin seemed exceedingly constricting. “I sent three of my largest, cruelest crew members dressed as officers, just in case Jonathan does not believe the ruse, but you surmised the rest of my plan. They are waiting until Jonathan leaves Hector’s rooms.

  “I must get him away from Hector, and I know this tactic will work. The man is bad to the marrow and will do nothing but harm your brother. Once he is out of the country, I will apologize to Hector, tell him how important he is to me. He likely will not listen, but he will think Jonathan left him to go on a lark. Even if he does not want me ever again, it will be a sure bet he will not accept Jonathan again either, since it will appear he slipped off without telling Hector he was leaving. And if Jonathan does return and starts sniffing around Hector again, I’ll have him tied and thrown into the bilge water.”

  “When will you carry this plan out?”

  “My men are already watching and waiting for him. Hopefully he will leave Hector’s house alone soon, in time to get him onto the Ariadne before she sails for a three-month patrol duty. If not, they will call at Hector’s rooms tonight and give him his new orders. Granted, that will not be as effective, but if, during Jonathan’s absence, you can offhandedly tell Hector about a man you know called Red Jon who has been acting foolish around whorehouses and molly houses, that will cement an aversion in Hector’s mind. He will agree to never see Jonathan again. It will work. Trust me on this matter.”

  Wentworth turned at Will’s silence.

  “As much as I hate to admit my thoughts, it does seem like a sound strategy. Is there anything else I can do? I feel so useless right now.”

  “Well then, look over the documents I forged for Jonathan’s captain. Let me know if you see anything that will alert the admiralty to the duplicity.”

  They modified the documents and discussed the plan. After deciding they would bid Mary to join in their little deception—surely she would agree to cheer Hector after his second disastrous relationship in one year—he clasped Will’s shoulder. “Come, let me show you the improvements I’ve made to the Dragon since you turned into a landlubber.”

  Hand on Will’s broad back, he ushered him out of the captain’s quarters to the sun-drenched quarterdeck. He would win Hector back. He didn’t want anyone else, and he couldn’t countenance seeing Hector with anyone else. They were meant to be together, he now knew, and he would make it happen.

  With a freedom of spirit he’d not felt in years, he followed Will up smoothly worn steps, not even tempted to ogle his arse.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Jonathan led Hector to the rear of the ship, pointing out things like the main mast and quarterdeck. He stood on a highly polished deck near the rear of the ship, on the side facing the deepest portion of the Thames. the sun warmed his face as a breeze caressed the back of Hector’s head. Strange…Doesn’t the breeze blow inland from the water?

  “Stand right there.” Jonathan leaned in and whispered with unusually moist breath, “You are exceptionally fine-looking today.”

  Hector suppressed the urge to wipe his face. Other than the spittle, he was surprised. Just like that, Jonathan had given him a compliment. A real compliment. No but, no if, nothing other than comforting words meant to uplift. If only this had started weeks ago…months ago.

  He’d almost forgotten how good a compliment could feel. He smiled his first smile in what felt like years.

  Watching the near-perfect form of Jonathan walk away, Hector enjoyed his masculine beauty. Too bad beauty wasn’t enough.

  Hector didn’t love Jonathan. Really, didn’t even respect him. Perhaps if he knew more about the lieutenant’s military accomplishments. Maybe he’d saved countless lives during battle or saved the vessel from colliding with rocks on a foggy night. But he didn’t know any of these things. Jonathan had only told of how many Frogs and French allies he’d killed. It was hard to love, even like, someone who put such value on violence.

  Never having been on a boat before, he was rather surprised at the clutter and frenzied activity. Sailors ran this way carrying ropes and that way carrying piles of cloth. Looking up at the top of the masts gave him a sense of vertigo that made him want to laugh like a child on his birthday. He wouldn’t mind spending a few days at sea. It must be amazing to be on the ocean with the wind brushing your face and propelling you to a distant land.

  He wanted to explore the deck but decided to wait by the railing and see whatever Jonathan was so immensely proud of. Tomorrow he would gently break off the relationship. A clean break. Better that way. Like removing a splinter.

  In public would be best, given Jonathan’s temper. What exactly to say? He’d figure that out tonight, probably in the wee hours of the morning, since he couldn’t get any rest with this task weighing on his mind.

  Why couldn’t Jonathan have been as beautiful on the inside as on the outside? Then he could have settled down with him and been content, if not completely happy. He would always miss Wentworth, even if he found someone else to love. Wentworth possessed everything he had ever wanted in a man and in a lover. He was the only man Hector had ever fallen in love with, but the arse could not be trusted.

  Jonathan was scurrying along a wide, horizontal pole, and Hector, unable to look at him while unfaithful thoughts ran through his mind, looked away and saw something that made the world seem to drop from beneath his feet.

  A few seconds later, half-recovered from the shock, he felt the wooden planking keeping him aloft, but he could no longer feel himself breathe. He gulped in air.

  Twenty feet away on the quarterdeck stood the captain, staring right at him. Wentworth’s fists clenched, knuckles white with strain, lips moving to form Hector’s name.

  Remembering all the pain Wentworth caused him, he renewed his resolve to stand firm, to not swallow his pride and try again to capture and keep this beast’s heart. His smile faltered, and he started to turn away from the railing.

  He only had a brief moment to notice Wentworth’s features falling into a mask of pure horror as he yelled, “No!”

  What the—

  A beam struck Hector in the chest. Air rushed out of his lungs in an excruciating gush. His lower back hit the railing, and then there was nothing below or above him but air before he plunged into the muddy Thames.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Angels above, Hector was handsome, Wentworth thought. The harsh sun picked out the red-brown in his dark hair. He was not just handsome, he was perfect—exactly like Wentworth remembered him the past lonely months. Ever since awakening from his fog about the events that happened almost two years ago, he realized how completely desirable Hector was in his own right, not at all a pale substitute for William.

  Hector stood on the gun deck of his Dragon, his hair rumpled from the wind. He’d lost weight, but he still looked tall and strong and perfect.

  He is here. He came. Why? Did he come to find me, to talk to me? Did he come to say he was free and wanted to try again? Hector did not look overly happy, however. His dark brows, drawn together, gave him a pensive air.

  Wentworth prayed to a god he’d ignored for twenty years. Let him be free. Let him be here for me.

  At that moment, Hector noticed him and smiled…no, he radiated happiness. Wentworth’s heart swelled to near bursting and beat out a call to arms. He smiled back, not even caring if rekindling his relationship with Hector would ruin his new, tentative friendship with Will.

  Three men in officers’ uniforms clambered onto the Dragon. Why the hell were his henchmen back? They should have been shadowing Jonathan.

  Wentworth heard a chopping sound, followed by a creak and a groan that should not occur on a docked ship. The stern boom, its sail unfurled, snapped towa
rd starboard. He did not even have to look; he knew instinctively where it would swing. He yelled, but deep inside, he knew it was too late. He bounded up the stairs to the quarterdeck, his feet still on the stairs as Hector’s body tumbled overboard.

  He’d seen this happen twice before, and both seamen had died. The same would not happen to Hector. He would not let it. His feet hit the deck, and in two bounds, he dived over the side into the deadly black Thames.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Will saw Jonathan sneering by the foremast, but it took him critical seconds to understand what he saw. He let his dagger fly, but he reacted two seconds too late.

  Mayhem ensued.

  Will turned at Ty’s yell just in time to see Hector tossed overboard. What the hell was he doing here anyway? Ty, defying gravity while kicking off shoes, flew to the point where Hector had tipped into the river, struggling out of his jacket. Then he dived overboard. Four other seamen heeded his command to follow and dived in right behind him.

  Some or all of them would need help getting out of the water, especially with the retreating tide. Will began barking orders as if he were still a naval man. Men grabbed hooks to drape over the side, but the tide carried everyone out of reach too fast to be hooked from on deck.

  Dinghies dropped from their ropes into the water only moments after Will’s order. Time being critical, they couldn’t afford to slowly lower the first few, so he hoped at least some would land topside up. He scrambled down a ladder, more slide and fall than ordered descent.

  Good God. They had to live. Hector, his beloved little brother, and Ty, the man who as a boy protected him and Hector from a drunken father. They both had to live.

  He jumped into the closest dinghy.

  He would not let them die.

  Taking up oars, he scanned the surface for heads, cloth, air bubbles, bodies.

  God, they could not die!

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  Hector’s bones ached from the cold.

  He felt cold but snuggled into blankets so fine, they conformed to every inch of his skin. Hector blinked. It was so dark and cold and somehow strangely comfortable. He closed his eyes, enjoying the lack of pain. He’d been in pain recently, desperate, consuming pain from a hurt that lived in his heart, not his body. So he embraced the cold numbness, treasured it, reached for and welcomed oblivion.

  Slowly, a burning in his lungs grew bonfire hot. The burning was relentless. He reached for the sensation, but his fingers tangled in wet cloth. He was underwater. What the…?

  Instinctual need expanded his lungs, but the flood of water set him to coughing, and he inhaled more water. His only hope was to make the surface. He kicked and pushed toward the light glowing overhead as his body jerked and spasmed, fighting for air.

  But the light only grew dimmer. He sank and sank to a lonely, cold depth away from any warmth.

  Away from any hope of love.

  Away from Wentworth.

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  Wentworth could see nothing. Damnation, damn it all!

  The bloody Thames was too murky this time of year to see anything, and his damnably wet clothes kept dragging at him, slowing him down. He desperately ripped at his shirt. The fight to free himself from his clothes kept him from concentrating on swimming. He sank farther, drawn down by cold, unforgiving water. He did not fight to surface for breath. He had to be able to swim unhampered or he would never find Hector, so he kept ripping and pulling until the clinging cloth surged away with the tide. He kicked to the surface and scanned the area even while he pulled air into his starved lungs.

  A handful of his sailors bobbed up and down on the waves. A few buoys bounced across the surface in different directions. No Hector.

  Fear sawed at his gut, and he almost doubled over from the instant pain. Hector could not be dead. With renewed desperation, Wentworth dived under, using all his senses to detect movement, warmth, anything. This got him no closer to finding the man he loved.

  He had to consider the current. Kicking to the surface, he judged where Hector fell in and approximated by the tug on his legs how far the current would have pulled an unconscious, fully clothed body. He swam with the current and renewed his search.

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  Will’s voice cracked from issuing order after order across noisy waves. He’d sent the dinghies downriver, knowing Hector would be pulled along at several knots with the receding tide.

  Four sailors’ heads bobbed to the surface for air, and then each dived again, all of them looking for Will’s little brother.

  They had about as much chance of finding a diamond in a coal mine.

  The last time Will had seen Hector, they had argued. Will had dug for reasons, but Hector refused to tell him anything. Will had let his temper get the better of him, and he realized they both needed time to cool off before addressing the topic again, so Will eventually stormed away.

  Now he might never have the chance to apologize.

  He scrubbed the blur from his eyes and finally located Ty, who was swimming downriver like a man possessed.

  Will ordered the men in his boat to redirect and follow.

  Chapter Twenty

  With renewed strength, Hector drove his legs. Now they burned as badly as his water-filled lungs. His whole body burned from lack of air, but he would not give up until all his muscles failed. He would not leave this earth until he found out what that last smile on Wentworth’s face had promised.

  The dinghy’s sallow brown light came slowly closer. He pulled toward it with arms that felt like logs.

  Hours seemed to pass before his head breached the surface. He gasped in air and coughed it out. Panic set in, and he lost conscious control over his arms and legs, managing to grab one half-breath before sinking beneath the surface. His limbs lost strength; his starved lungs were still waterlogged. He coughed and breathed in the thick, muddy water.

  Trashing about from the raw pain of wet lungs, his body refused the command to swim. He took another, then another breath of water. His muscles calmed. He felt the cold.

  He sank.

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  Wentworth rapidly lost hope. Even with his expert understanding of currents, it was next to impossible to determine where to look for Hector. His chest hurt. Was this what it felt like to have a heart seizure?

  Swiveling around, he looked for anything to hint at Hector’s location. A ripple that went against the river waves, bubbles, anything.

  Finally, about ten yards away, a bedraggled head surfaced—Hector gasping, choking, flailing. The stringy wet-haired head was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He swam as fast as a porpoise, the current giving him speed, but the boy slipped under. He dived, the muddy witch’s brew churning with the current change, making it impossible to see.

  Long ago, Wentworth stopped believing in God, but just then there must have been a divine intervention, for he felt a subtle warmth to his right. He grasped in desperation and clutched on to cloth.

  Heart about to burst from exertion, he gathered his remaining strength and pulled the limp form close. He clung to it with desperation, clutching at Hector’s cold body. Fear gripped him, giving him a last bit of strength to surface, but he squeezed Hector harder than intended, causing the boy to spasm.

  He would hold on to his love forever, never letting go. If he never let go, then Hector could not die.

  Or they would die together.

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  Strong, warm arms held him. Such a pleasant feeling…floating…sheltered. Hector smiled, or at least he thought he smiled.

  But then the arms squeezed too hard, and acid hot water rushed from his lungs and he coughed and then dragged in air that felt like fire. Choking, fighting the pain, he almost went under again, but those strong arms held his mouth mere inches above the surface, keeping him from breathing in more water.

  People yelled all around. He tried to open his eyes, but all he could do was cough and spit up water. Something tried to pull him away from his war
m, safe refuge. He fought, tried to scream stop, but all he could do was cough. With lots of pulling, ripping, and angling, he lost the strong arms from around his waist and was lifted out of the water.

  He tried to complain, but instead he choked on waterless air before vomiting on someone’s shoe.

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  “Ty! Let him go,” Will yelled, his voice rough.

  Wentworth held on to the struggling form in his arms. He would not let go and take the chance that Hector would slip back under the cold, dark water.

  Then arms like steel grasped him, and someone else pulled Hector away. They stole his young lover. Wentworth clung to Hector’s trouser leg with all his strength and shouted like a wild beast scaring away death.

  “Ty, you idiot. Get in the dinghy before you both drown,” yelled William. “Ty! I have him. I will keep him safe.”

  He almost did not let go, but some thread of rational thought surfaced, and he allowed them to pull Hector the rest of the way into the tiny rocking craft.

  When all sound died save waves against wood, he bellowed and grabbed for anything he could reach to pull himself out of the river. Others pulled, and he was unceremoniously dumped into the dinghy, his nose an inch away from sloshing water.

  He pushed up, looking for Hector. He lay over Will’s legs, his white fingers balled into fists as Will worked to clear all the water from Hector’s lungs and stomach.

  On shaking arms and legs, Wentworth half crawled, half climbed over planks so he could pull him back into his arms, when he heard the most welcome sound in the world, the sound of Hector gasping in a breath.

  “Hooray,” he yelled as Hector, who was beautifully, amazingly alive, hacked up Thames water all over Will’s shoe. He was so pale and vulnerable, limp in the belly of the craft, his head resting on Will’s arm, his chest slumped across Will’s legs, panting.

  Wentworth knelt by Hector and rubbed his cold, wet form. When Hector was able to sit up, Wentworth shoved Will away and worked off Hector’s sodden cravat, hoping that would help the boy get air.