The kiss burned through Edward’s mind. “Of course not. The last time I saw him, we were adolescents.”
“Well, that puts my mind at ease. Those famously innocent adolescents.” Bryce folded his arms, sighing grimly. “He shouldn’t leave. Not until your brother arrives to resolve this mess. No doubt he’ll scare him into keeping quiet.”
Edward absent-mindedly bit his thumb. Scaring people was Maurice’s particular talent. Take a seemingly blameless man or woman, introduce them to Maurice and his oversize leather wallet full of mysterious documents—and in no time at all, the subject was found to have committed at least a dozen blackmail-worthy offences.
The idea of Gabriel having sins worthy of concealment was somehow...wrong. “He seems a somewhat unlikely candidate for Maurice’s methods to work.”
Bryce shrugged. “Don’t they all. But at least we can give thanks for small blessings. Unmarried. Only a sister to fob off. I feared I’d be explaining away your boots and coat to eight enquiring children.”
Edward nodded, trying to ignore how personally comforting he found Gabriel’s unmarried state. “How exactly are you planning to explain this, if people do begin to inquire?”
Bryce snorted. “I am Jonathan Williams, butler to the infamous Lord Maurice Stanhope. My master has developed a sudden liking for his family’s long-neglected countryseat, given the scandal currently enveloping the family name in London. Unlike his libertine brother, who is no doubt already happily ensconced in the best molly-house Paris had to offer, Maurice wishes to spend a restorative period here being pastorally dull.”
Edward sighed. The ton would believe the molly-house part, at least. The only odd part was Maurice suddenly developing a longing for Hardcote House. Everyone knew the two brothers were in no way fond of their ancestral home.
Of course, everyone had always been too scared to ask why. That was Maurice for you.
Bryce continued. “Given how particular my master is, I’ve been sent ahead to Hardcote House in order to inspect it. Plump cushions, wardrobe enlargements and so forth. The place has to be fit for a king—fit for worse than a king. Fit for Lord Maurice Stanhope, who will be arriving soon.”
“And the lack of servants in the house? How has that been explained away?”
“My master will be bringing his own staff for the duration of the stay. Country servants unreliable, so on, so forth...not unheard of, as a practice. For all anyone knows, I am here in blessed solitude.” Bryce shrugged. “You see? It works.”
Edward looked bleakly at his empty coffee cup. The plan, such as it was, seemed hung together with gossamer and spit. “I have my doubts.”
“Of all the times to begin second-guessing your actions, this is probably the worst.” Bryce folded his arms, the bruise on his jaw seemingly darkening with his mood. “Don’t make me go over every foolish, cack-handed decision you’ve made that’s brought us to this complete—Sir Gabriel.”
Edward turned. Gabriel was standing in the doorway, an expression of complete confusion on his face.
Chapter Nine
“Sir Gabriel. Please, sit down.” Bryce had magically transformed into a smooth, silver-tongued servant once again. “I have been informing my master of the preserves still to be found in the pantry. There is an astonishing variety.”
“I’ve already told you, Bryce—it’s Mr. Winters. Reverend, if you must. And I won’t sit. I must be leaving. Thank you for the hospitality.” Gabriel nodded pointedly to Bryce, who vanished back into the pantry with a meaningful look at Edward. “And...well. Those appear to be all the pleasantries I’m capable of making.”
“Winters...” Edward knew he had to say something. He had to keep Gabriel here. Hell, a part of him—a part that he certainly wouldn’t be revealing to Bryce—wanted to keep the man here. Wanted to see him, talk to him...remember him.
Work out why the man seemed to despise him so much, if nothing else.
It couldn’t be the letters, could it? It had been so long ago, that bundle tied with ribbon, full of words from Gabriel that he hadn’t dared to read. Had tried to forget, until forgetfulness had become second nature.
He’d deliberately avoided thinking about Gabriel for so many years. But after that kiss...something was flowering, feeding on memory, watered with new experience. A curiosity, one he simply couldn’t ignore.
“Winters.” He took a long, slow breath, aware of Gabriel’s dark eyes on him. “I... I am exhausted. I apologise for my tone, before. I am prickly at the best of times, but I’m not usually cruel. Especially to a friend of long acquaintance. I’m... I’m sorry.”
Was it Edward’s imagination, or did Gabriel’s eyes shine a little brighter? “Thank you. I... I apologise for my tone.” He looked at the pantry, then back to Edward. “And my assumptions.”
“Your assumptions were indeed incorrect. I am merely an atrocious disciplinarian with my servants.” Edward looked pointedly into the darkness of the pantry, sure that Bryce was glaring back. “Overfamiliarity is a disease I’ve always suffered from. But Bryce and I... Well, there are limits to even my debauchery.”
Gabriel’s cheeks flushed. Edward hurriedly turned away, studying the kitchen shelves until the moment had passed.
“As I said. I... I should be going. There is much to do.” Gabriel’s voice had a note of regret in it now, though; Edward sensed it. He stood, almost knocking over his chair in his haste to rise.
“Stay.” The word came out louder than he’d intended. “It’s been so long, and you are tired, and I—well, I have need of company. First food, of course, food above all.” Edward looked at the jar, wondering how much coffee he would need to be articulate. “And then...shall we take a tour of the house? The grounds?”
Gabriel paused, clearly unsure. Edward stared, biting his lip, wondering why this suddenly seemed so utterly personal. Bryce had told him to keep the man here. It was practically the same as an errand...
Then Gabriel smiled, a small, reticent smile like light through leaves, and Edward felt it pierce his heart.
“As you wish, Caddonfell.” His smile grew wider. “But eat first. And dress. I will rest in the meantime.”
Edward nodded. If Gabriel smiled like that—why, he would do anything the man wanted.
As he watched Gabriel leave, Bryce emerged silently from the pantry. He looked at Edward, brow furrowed. “Innocent adolescents, yes?”
“Apparently.” Edward sighed, almost forgetting Bryce’s presence. “Lord knows what I was thinking.”
* * *
Breakfast was the work of a minute; dressing, considerably longer. Edward sat tensely in his chair, retying a cravat as he watched the kitten, newly washed and collared with a small blue ribbon, sleeping on a nearby cushion. The creature lay curled in a perfect sphere, one ear occasionally twitching, small paws tucked under his chin.
Were cats really this low maintenance? All the Hardcote cats of his childhood had been starving, feral things, ready to attack out of sheer desperation. Even the kittens had hissed at every outstretched hand...but this one, apparently, required only food and sleep.
The kitten shifted, letting out a small, troubled mew. Edward leaned over without thinking, reaching out and stroking the animal’s soft fur until it purred again.
Food, sleep and frequent caresses. Perhaps, Edward considered as he sat back in his chair, cats were more intelligent than they let on.
He eyed the creature with something akin to jealousy. Cats apparently had no problem passively accepting whatever life threw at them. He, on the other hand, was beginning to come apart at the seams.
What exactly had he imagined he’d do, here, waiting for his fate to be decided? Catch up on some salacious novel reading, laugh at his old waistcoat choices...burn things that had belonged to his father. Breathe some fresh country air. Sleep, as everyone else in his life solved his problems for him—but that brou
ght on a line of self-questioning that it was best to avoid.
He shook his head, sighing loudly enough for the kitten to twitch an ear. All of his foolish leisure plans seemed as distant as the stars, now, at any rate—and God help him, he knew why.
Sir Gabriel Winters. A fully formed piece of his past, here in his childhood home. The crest of a wave of deeply adult feeling that continued to startle him. A boy who’d grown into a man—a man he should not take any notice of, not under any circumstances.
But after that kiss? After feeling the need coming off him in waves, a fierce, urgent force that had threatened to overwhelm them both?
Reading was not going to cut it. Neither was sitting in splendid isolation, staring at a cat, trying not to remember the way Gabriel’s mouth felt against his own. It was as if part of his body was still there, lost in that kiss, moving with it like a tide...
What if Maurice wouldn’t let him go? What if he was trapped here, with Gabriel, a living piece of a history he’d tried so very hard to forget?
Enough. He rose slowly, making sure the kitten remained undisturbed, quietly closing his bedroom door as he left the room.
Perhaps a tour was a bad idea. Nothing but silence came from the study; Gabriel had to be sleeping, or simply resting.
There had to be something to do around the house in the meantime, hadn’t there? Never mind that he was ill-equipped for most of the domestic arts—he was strong, wasn’t he? Perhaps there’d be something to lift.
A series of increasingly pathetic mews sounded from the other side of the bedroom door. Edward opened it again, finding the kitten sitting alertly on the threshold.
“Weren’t you sleeping a moment ago?” He looked sternly at the creature, who responded with a mew so tiny Edward barely heard it. “How on earth did you move so quickly?”
The kitten blinked slowly, presumably the feline equivalent of a shrug. Edward, raising his eyes briefly to the heavens, scooped the small bundle of fur into his waistcoat.
“Can the cat not walk?”
Edward turned, staring straight into Gabriel’s faintly amused eyes. Tall, broad-shouldered, dark curls tucked behind his ears... God, the man didn’t even have the decency to look less attractive when required.
The kitten poked his head out of his waistcoat, giving a curious mew.
“He seems to prefer not to walk. Much like me, really.” He shrugged, acutely aware that his London self-deprecation came off as sheer laziness. “I may as well accommodate him.”
“You never held that much affection for animals. Not—not before.” The faintest tinge of a blush appeared on Gabriel’s cheeks, like ripening fruit. “I remember you shooing away any beast that dared to approach.”
Of course I did. It hurt to kneel, to caress, with welts on my back. “What can I say?” Edward shrugged, hoping his practised diffidence would work. “I’ve discovered I have as-yet-unexplored depths of compassion.”
“And a sudden desire to return to Hardcote.” An edge of knowing curiosity had crept into Gabriel’s voice. “For the first time in ten years.”
“Yes.” A sudden burst of honesty rose in Edward. “Although it doesn’t feel like it. Talking to you.”
“Really?” Gabriel shifted. “I feel as if it has been twenty years. Fifty. Maybe more.”
“Then come and see the house.” Edward knew he was going back on his previous resolution. Anything, anything to have him smile again. “Come and see, and remember.”
Chapter Ten
“Do you remember this room? I think we must have played in here at least once.” Edward opened the door to the drawing room, his blond hair glowing in the warm daylight that streamed in through the windows. He set the kitten down with a flourish, watching it scamper among the furniture with a look of pure mischief. “Probably something involving mice or explosives, given how much I remember Mother screaming.”
“It was mice.” Gabriel looked at the large, richly decorated room, memories crowding his mind with a pleasure so concentrated it almost felt like pain. “Seven little mice. You’d collected them from the woods in your father’s snuffboxes. You were going to leave them running free, until I insisted you find them all after the ladies had fled.”
“You have an astonishing memory.” Edward looked at him with an expression that Gabriel couldn’t read. “You remember everything about this place. About what we did here.”
“Of course I do.” Gabriel shrugged, trying to conceal his irritation. “Don’t you?”
It had been this way in every room of the house. Edward would open the door, rattle off a careless description of some half-formed memory, leaving Gabriel to fill in the blanks. It was almost as if it were Gabriel’s house, and Edward a bored guest who couldn’t wait to leave.
Why did Edward remember so little of their past? Had their shared boyhood been merely a shroud, to be cast off in favour of London’s brighter pleasures? Had it really been so...dull for him?
It was as if Edward had exorcised him. Cut him completely out of his past, treating him with a strange, guarded indifference that confused him utterly. But that didn’t confuse him as much as the energy crackling between them, vivid as a forest fire, beckoning fingers of flame drawing him to constant study of Edward’s face and figure.
His body remembered Edward with a constancy that his mind could barely countenance. Perhaps it was always like this for old friends, meeting after so long...but he couldn’t be sure.
Or he was sure, and simply didn’t want to admit it.
Edward’s laugh had a strange, bitter ring to it. “Oh, I’m sure I’ve left most of my memories at the bottom of very expensive wine bottles.” He leaned idly against the wall, surveying the splendid room with a remote coolness that made Gabriel shiver. “I’ve left pieces of my childhood everywhere.”
Gabriel shifted a little on his feet, flooded with a wave of sudden weakness. His head still spun from the fever; his body still rebelled, despite his best efforts. “It was an astonishing childhood. We had everything we wanted. More than that.”
Edward shrugged with a carelessness that shocked him. “I’m sure you did.”
Gabriel blinked. God, the arrogance of the man. The casual acceptance that their friendship had been the highlight of Gabriel’s life—and the inference that to Edward, it had been nothing at all.
He bent his head, fighting a stab of nausea that he wasn’t sure was entirely connected to fever. As he leaned against the doorpost, holding his breath, Edward’s hand on his arm startled him.
“Reminiscing is going to tire you. As is all this walking.” The sudden concern in Edward’s voice thrilled through him like a bass note. “Illness needs rest. We’ll need to make up a bed. Now that you’re not completely insensible, you’ll probably find the chaise longue torturous.”
“I don’t need a bed.” He shouldn’t stay here any longer than politeness compelled. “I’ll make my way home. I’m needed in the village—Caroline will be worrying.”
“Oh yes. Lady Ploverdale.” Was that guilt, in Edward’s voice? “The doctor informed her you were here. She sent a letter.” He reached into his waistcoat and pulled out an envelope addressed in Caroline’s familiar hand. “Read it. Don’t—don’t go. Not just yet. There are more rooms to see, after all.”
Gabriel pushed the letter into his pocket, fighting his growing irritation. “More rooms to see that you don’t remember living in? It seems somewhat pointless as a pastime. Especially as you don’t seem to be enjoying a single moment of it.”
Edward’s look of exasperated calm seemed designed to anger him further. “As I explained—I am exhausted. I’m unused to being a nursemaid. Forgive me if my manners are lacking.”
“Leaving seems a more productive solution than forgiving. Then I can leave you to your impromptu countryside holiday, with no staff apart from a single servant who appears to have two names.”
Gabriel raised an eyebrow, enjoying Edward’s start of surprise. “Is it Williams, or Bryce? I’ve heard both. I have the impression that any answer you give me will be fit for nothing but the stage. Something is happening here, and you are obscuring the truth of it.”
Edward stared at him for a long, slow moment. Gabriel found himself captured by the icy gaze he remembered so well—the eerie sparkling blue that seemed to promise so very much, so very, very much, to the person who could penetrate all that ice.
“Fine.” His voice was soft now, too quiet. The voice of secrets, of intimacy. “I’ll tell you why I’m here—but later. Tonight. You have been sick, and no doubt are sickening still.” He moved closer to Gabriel, his arrogant, careless stance impossibly compelling. “That’s my condition. If you want to know the truth, you have to stay until tonight.”
“I have already told you that I’m not staying.”
“Yes. You have.” Edward moved closer still. “And I’m asking you to stay. Consider it...consider it an apology.”
His hand came to rest against Gabriel’s broad chest. As his palm touched the linen of Gabriel’s shirt, Gabriel shivered; there it was, that strange, luminous thrill that came from doing something that should be innocent.
“I’d recommend a bath, too. I don’t know how the fair maidens of Hardcote will react to the sight of you dishevelled and unshaven.” Edward’s curling smile was absolutely, definitely dangerous, but Gabriel was damned if he knew how to stop it. All of his questions, his doubts, his suspicions as to exactly why Edward was here, were rapidly vanishing into the thick, intoxicating fog of memory and need that came with the man’s presence...
No. This was temptation. Straying from the path. Away from the path, there were wolves—wolves with white smiles and delicious blue eyes.
Before Edward could try to speak again, Gabriel turned. Hooking one arm around Edward’s shoulders, he pushed him against the door of the drawing room with barely concealed violence. The click of the closing door thudded through his body as he held Edward fast, all too aware of the man’s proximity.
The Vicar and the Rake (Society of Beasts) Page 4
