His Brother's Viscount

by Stephanie Lake

  Hector turned and blinked at him with big brown eyes, lashes clumped together with moisture. He said nothing, just looked and blinked. Damp hair clung to his skull and cheeks.

  Wentworth unbuttoned Hector’s ruined coat and shirt, stripping them off as someone dropped a dry topcoat over the half-drowned man.

  He found a rapidly growing bruise and a stretch of scraped, bleeding skin. He touched Hector’s ribs, and the boy flinched. “You’re injured,” he said, feeling less than brilliant. “Where else are you hurt?”

  Hector opened his mouth, but instead of words all that came out were racking coughs. He shook his head instead.

  “Do not speak. We will get you to the ship, and Will can attend to you. He shall make you well. We won’t let you die.” Wentworth barely registered how stupid he sounded or the thickness clogging his words. “God. I thought you were gone. Gone before I could convince you I love you.”

  Hector stopped blinking and stared with those big, wide eyes.

  Wentworth pulled him close and kissed warmth into his icy lips. He took a deep breath and registered Hector’s smell, and a slow, deep contentment settled into his bones.

  He pulled away slowly, and for a brief, wonderful moment their lips stuck as if they too never wanted to part. Hector’s eyes slid closed.

  A soft, whistled version of “Paddy, Lay Back” captured his attention. What the hell!

  He turned. Four of his men shared the boat with them, all looking off in different directions. Midshipman Smitty pursed his lips and continued the bawdy melody.

  Will stared right at them, his jaw muscles working. Looking murderous.

  What the bloody hell had he been thinking, jeopardizing not only himself but Hector as well. His self-chastisement was not as scathing as the scornful black glare from Hector’s brother.

  To save face, he said loud enough for all to hear over the slap of water on the side of the boat, “I am just glad he is not dead, is all. And if a kiss was in order for Admiral Nelson, then…”

  Hector croaked. “I’ve had enough water to last me several seasons. Would someone take me to shore?”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Will’s dagger buried deep in his chest, Jonathan had trouble breathing. Before, it had only hurt like hell, but now it was worse than pain. It was like dragging a twenty-one gunner through a canal with a two-ply rope around his torso.

  “Open your eyes.”

  Wentworth’s cherished deep voice pulled him away from his suffering. He obeyed as Wentworth leaned over him, dripping water onto the deck.

  Jonathan pushed back a lock of Wentworth’s wet, black hair with his trembling hand and pulled in another breath. They were harder and harder to take. “Dear one…” The words bubbled out, moist and blood thick. “We can be together now. You are mine. Only mine. Hector can no longer come between us.”

  Wentworth took hold of Jonathan’s hand and rested it on Jonathan’s struggling chest. With a sad smile, Wentworth said, “Yes, well, we can talk about that after you get some sleep.”

  Another breath. “Together?”

  A pause. “Of course. Now rest. You must be tired.”

  Joy filled his heart. “Yes, very tired, mine own.” He closed his eyes.

  ✥ ✥ ✥

  Crouched on the deck near a pool of blood, Wentworth watched Jonathan choke on his last breath.

  Such a waste. At one time, Jonathan had been a fine sailor, a confidant, but through the years, something changed. Had jealousy eaten away his sanity? Had some tropical disease altered his perception of right and wrong to the point where he was capable of murder?

  He looked at the dagger in Jonathan’s chest. Blood covered his once pristine navy coat and strong hands, dried in his beautiful red-blond hair.

  Such a damnable waste.

  He yanked the ebony-and-pearl-handled dagger from the dead man’s chest and slipped it into his waistband.

  He called to the nearest man, unable to see who it was through teary eyes. “Clean him up and prepare him for services. Tomorrow Lieutenant Thompson will take him to sea. Make certain the chaplain is aboard by morning.” He turned toward his cabin for a shirt and coat and then left his Dragon, not even bothering to rub his hands free of blood.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Hector pulled the blanket tighter with one hand and held a hot toddy in the other. The piping-hot bath had stopped the chills, but he still felt gravestone cold. Jonathan had tried to kill him. The frigid Thames water was nothing compared to that realization.

  He sipped the steaming, bittersweet liquid and watched Will pace, but tried to ignore his ranting.

  “I cannot believe he did that in plain view of probably one hundred men.” Will crossed to the burgundy wall of his town house guest room, turned on his heel, then went back to the other wall. “Kissing you. God!”

  Hector closed his eyes. The memory of Wentworth’s lips on his warmed him better than the blanket and the toddy.

  Turn. Pace. “Of all the ill-conceived notions that man has come up with over the years, that is without doubt the most idiotic and dangerous.” Turn. Pace.

  He stopped. “And then making that damning declaration, saying he loves you, within mere feet from four of his men.”

  Hector almost dropped the whisky-laced coffee. “What did you say?”

  Will didn’t answer, just continued to pace and grouse.

  Love? Hector had convinced himself that his imagination and the dreadful cold had conjured up that declaration. Suddenly he felt warmed throughout. Almost hot, in fact.

  Wentworth loved him? When had that happened? He shook his head but smiled. He couldn’t help it. The muscles of his face took over, and with the stretch of lips came a lifting of his spirits. He drained the cup.

  “I cannot believe the risk he took. Put you both in danger, he did. Good thing his crew will do anything for him. Damnedest thing. They treat him like a revered father, even though he is younger than many of them.”

  Standing up, Hector winced at the pain. Even with his chest wrapped tightly, Will said he would be in pain for months. Since his ribs did not seem broken, just badly bruised, he ignored the ache. He had things to do, so he would not sit about like an invalid.

  He was strong and capable and in control of his life, just like his two older brothers. He could do anything he set his mind to. And right now, he had a mind to kiss one very difficult viscount.

  “Good thing he will have to go to headquarters and deal with reporting what that murdering bastard Jonathan tried to pull today. Never did trust that man. If Wentworth were here, I would have a month-old ration of shit to give him. I want you to stay away from him, Hector. He almost got you killed today because of his relationship with Jonathan, and then to…” Will threw his hands up in the air.

  Hector smiled like a simpleton. “No. No, actually, I have a feeling I will see quite a lot of Wentworth from here on out.” He turned away from Will’s gaping expression and went to the wardrobe to find clothes. Fortunately, Mary had seen fit to send a servant around to his rooms to collect things he would need.

  He suspected he would see Wentworth very soon, in fact, and he needed to look his best for the questioning he planned to give him. He was infuriating but desirable as hell, even when dripping wet and stinking of the Thames.

  He dressed, slowly and painfully, while Will continued his tirade.

  Hector still wanted commitment. But even if Wentworth would not give him that, he might still have an affair with the man. After all—he smiled to himself—he does claim to love me.

  He left the room.

  “Hector, have you heard anything I’ve just said? Hector? Damn it, Heckie.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “His record lists increasing signs of destructive behavior over the past five years. Seems it was only a matter of time before he did something to hurt himself or someone else,” Admiral Chambers said.

  Wentworth listened and ground his teeth. Knowing Jonathan had grown increasingly
unstable should have relieved some of the remorse twisting his gut. It did not.

  “Did you know he was on forced leave this past year?”

  Wentworth shook his head.

  “Captain Hodges reported Lieutenant Baker was not to return to duty until he could treat his fellow officers with respect and decency. No specifics noted, however.”

  “When we were midshipmen together, he was a fine officer candidate.”

  “Not everyone improves with age as you and I have.” Admiral Chambers chuckled, the sound like glass shards on Wentworth’s frayed sentiments. “As I see it, your report is sufficient. No need for a formal investigation. You are free to go. Will you remain on the Dragon to ensure your men are calm and orderly after this event?”

  No! It would be days, if not weeks, before he could stomach climbing aboard his beloved girl again. “No, the crew is in good hands, and I need to wash and change before seeing to an errand. Then I will check on the health of young Somerville. I imagine Dr. Somerville will have me strung up if his little brother does not recover from his mishap on the Dragon.”

  That glass-grating chuckle again. Wentworth would not make it through this interview without demotion unless he left soon.

  “That Dr. Somerville does have a soft spot for family, does he not? We lost a good officer when he married and left the navy.”

  Wentworth smiled for the benefit of his superior. “Yes, but he can be downright annoying at times.” He turned to leave, thinking Will’s soft spot for family just might allow Hector the freedom to love whom he wished and still be accepted into the fold.

  “And do make good on your wish to get clean before you go anywhere else, Captain. Bathe away that unsightly blood. It’s not the image the Admiralty wants to portray.”

  He looked down. There was lots of blood, dried and browning. Ignoring the painful memories of watching a man die, he rubbed Jonathan’s life force off his hands, onto his coat.

  Just like that, evidence of a once-vibrant man could be wiped away.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Stepping into Will’s house after all these years, all these events, all the hatred, would have been impossible, but he had to see Hector and ensure he was indeed well. The foyer looked the same, but the place felt larger, more intimidating.

  “You!” Just one word, spat out as if rancid.

  He turned slowly but ducked before Will’s blow could land true, taking a clip on his ear instead of a facer.

  Will readied to deliver the next, but Wentworth yelled, “Stop!” and held up the blood-crusted dagger.

  Will sneered at him. “He set the scene. Purposely tried to kill Hector because of your liaison with both of them. You toy with people. You toyed with them. Boys. Men. And then you made a public declaration of love to my—”

  “I am no saint, Will, but are my actions worse than yours? You killed a man today. You killed Lieutenant Jonathan Baker, after he acted. Who of us is the least moral man standing here?”

  Will snatched his dagger. “I acted in the heat of battle, trying to save lives. I did not know what other dangers the man intended.”

  “And I acted out of love. I think you know that emotion. You would behave the same way if Mary were raised from a watery grave alive.”

  Will had always been a fair man, ruthless in battle and quick to judge but fair when the situation lay in front of him. He nodded, turned, and looked up the stairwell.

  Hector stood fifteen feet above them. The energetic boy was strangely still, but beautiful, alive, vibrant despite the total lack of motion.

  Suddenly the house was as it should be, warm and inviting. Cozy.

  Hector’s wet hair was slicked back and clean. He almost glowed with vitality, better than the last few times Wentworth had seen him. Hell, better than he had ever seen him. The skin around his mouth lay smooth, not pinched, and the hollows under his eyes were gone. A slight, hesitant smile—beautiful. Alive, for God’s sake. Alive.

  Wentworth took a step forward. His heart filled with a painful swell of hope before his stomach knotted and he realized what the sad smile must mean. This was it. The end.

  Even though it would almost kill him, he hoped Hector would make good decisions from now on. Find someone worthy of his love who would love him back, without baggage and conditions. Someone who would realize they loved him before losing him. Someone who would freely offer him forever.

  “Are you well?”

  “Well enough.” His voice was rough and raspy.

  “You were so strong, so brave.” Wentworth swallowed the lump thickening his voice. “I have never seen anyone else survive a similar fate. You saved yourself.”

  “I did, didn’t I?” Hector’s smile grew almost to his typical gaiety. “With a little help, it seems.” He walked slowly but seductively down the stairs. The seductive part came naturally for him. The imp could not help his sensual nature.

  Wentworth decided to open the cauldron and let everything out. He was tired of the constant fight within his head. “I thought I lost you before I could tell you I love you.”

  Hector stopped on the last step.

  Rubbing a hand over his aching chest, Wentworth licked his lips. “I want to be honest with you. Hell, I need to be honest with myself too. I have always wanted to be normal. I never truly believed two men”—he looked around; Will had left them alone—“could have what you reached for. Your devotion, freely given, was quite petrifying.”

  “Love in any form cannot be wrong,” Hector whispered. “You and I just love differently than some.”

  “I have learned the truth of that, Hector. When you and I were first together, you were so accepting of our liaison, so engaging and beautiful, it was no time at all before I was in love. But I fought the emotion. I never wanted to be hurt again, and you were so much like your brother, who hurt me to the quick. I was afraid history would repeat itself. Every time you reminded me of Will, I was reminded of the rejection and the pain it caused.” He laughed at his pathetic history and illogical emotions. “It makes no sense, I know. I suppose emotions and desires do not make sense most of the time. My fear, on top of, well, guilt, was unbearable. I wanted to forget. Most of the time I did forget, but in so doing, I also forgot what you meant to me. I had loved you beyond anything once. Finally, I remember.”

  “And now?”

  A slow, warm fire built in his belly. Why had it taken him so long to be able to admit how he felt? What an asinine idiot he had been all his life. “Now I again love you beyond anything.” He shook his head. “So much time wasted.”

  “Well, I am afraid we will waste more time, since I need convincing you truly know what you want. Come, I will order tea and you will pour.” Hector strolled past very close, his shirt sleeve almost rubbing Wentworth’s chest as he walked down the corridor and left Wentworth standing in the entryway.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Early summer 1809, London

  Will chuckled to himself and watched Mary put little Margaret down for the night. “Come down to the drawing room when you’re done there, my love.”

  She looked up with those large, light brown eyes he loved so dearly, a small contented smile brightening her heart-shaped face.

  Earlier that week he’d smuggled in a bottle of her favorite tawny port and planned to put it to good use. They’d been too busy of late, dealing with their toddler, setting up a laboratory for Mary’s mathematical studies, and watching Hector closely to make certain he fully recovered from his ordeals. He was past the dangerous stage of near drowning, and he never developed a fever or a worsening cough.

  Now that Hector was safe, he felt the need to celebrate his happiness with Mary. As soon as she came downstairs for afternoon tea, he planned to seduce her. The port was an added measure to help her relax. Several days had passed since they’d made love, and he planned to end their dry spell within the hour.

  Opening the door to the drawing room proved challenging with port, stemware, blanket, and the wrapped silver
necklace he had purchased on a whim a few days ago. The glasses clinked when he reached for the slipping blanket and stepped inside.

  “Damnation,” Wentworth said as Hector laughed. “Forgot to lock the door.” They were lying on the carpet near the hearth, both bare to the waist. Hector’s trousers were loose, as though they’d been pulled shut in a hurry.

  “Ty,” Will said, surprised. “I thought you two left an hour ago. What the hell are you still…? Are you fucking?”

  “No. Not fucking yet, Will, but soon. Very, very soon.”

  Hector’s chuckle was almost a snort, of all things. The little bugger at least had the decency to duck his head behind Ty’s shoulder. But Ty, just as bold as a sultan in his harem, smiled up at Will, showing his white teeth.

  “Damn it, Ty, when will you stop putting Hector at risk of discovery? What are you thinking?”

  “I admit to not thinking today, just feeling.”

  “You should be ashamed of your recklessness. Both of you.”

  Ty touched his forehead to Hector’s. “No. I am not ashamed. I am in love.”

  Hector opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out.

  “But the danger?” Will said.

  Ty turned to look at him, stroking Hector’s cheek with one hand. “I will be careful, of that you can be assured, but I am not ashamed, Will.” He leaned down and kissed Hector, as bold as you please.

  “Good God. Not in my house. Take it somewhere else if you can’t keep your hands off each other.” But he realized he was only half scolding. He’d known Ty most of his life, and he’d only been in love one time. Seeing his affection for Hector should have made Will exultant, except Hector was his little brother, which ripped at his guts even though he’d had months to prepare for this. Was that feeling fear and worry or something else Will was unwilling to decipher?