Band Sinister

by KJ Charles

  If. They wouldn’t and couldn’t, but he had no intention of thinking about that before he had to. The sun was shining, and he and Guy were making hay.

  And, indeed, making love. Guy had taken his lessons to heart, and was learning to speak his desires in a way that shook Philip to the bone. He’d only wanted to make the man understand that the best way to get what one wanted was to say what it was, and instead Guy was putting his soul on the table, with hesitant confessions of longings that he barely understood himself, yet offered to Philip like a gift. Touch me there. Speak to me like that. This is how I thought of you.

  It was that damned innocence of his. He hadn’t understood the difference between baring the truth of his body and that of his heart, and Philip was finding himself increasingly inclined to beg him to be less trusting, because he couldn’t bear the thought of Guy putting himself in the hands of some ignorant oaf who might respond with scorn or jeers or blows. And it would be all Philip’s fault if that happened because he’d taught Guy to assume his desires and refusals would be respected, when there was no guarantee of that at all.

  Guard your heart, he wanted to say. Not with me, never with me, but don’t trust anyone else. They won’t understand.

  He pushed that impulse down. Guy had let go of so much of his fear, at least when the two of them were alone, as though it had salved something at a deep level to speak his truth and have it embraced and returned. Philip couldn’t bear to take that away, not yet.

  And in the meantime, they were loving more gloriously than Philip could recall, because Guy’s soft voice whispering desire, and the light in his eyes when he looked up, added more than Philip had known possible to any act he could come up with.

  Guy had proved every inch the apt pupil, including when Philip had fucked his mouth as requested, declining the Latin verb in his head for distraction, then aloud for comic effect. And, tentatively but with endearing enthusiasm, Guy was attempting more active roles too. He’d taken to frotting like a duck to water and had fucked Philip that way just this morning, driving between his thighs with impressive strength, after they’d woken up together for the first time.

  That simple thing, a shared bed, was something Philip wouldn’t soon forget. Guy had been understandably nervous, but he’d taken Philip’s word for his safety, and slept by him, breathing steady, warm chest rising and falling under Philip’s arm. In the morning, he’d woken and smiled up at him, and Philip’s lungs had constricted so that he could barely breathe for the loveliness of it. He’d woken with John, Corvin, or both often enough, but that was different. That was a lifetime’s trust and friendship, people who would always be there with him because they had made themselves the family all of them had been denied. They’d had to be there for one another because there had been nobody else.

  But Guy chose to be there. He’d chosen Philip, chosen to let himself be seduced, chosen to trust, and Philip was increasingly aware that he’d plunged into the depths of his lover’s heart with absolutely no idea how far down it went.

  He was sitting in the orchard, thinking about it, when Corvin strolled up.

  “Phil. I am amazed to see you.”

  “In my house?”

  “In your house without your Patroclus. Move up.” Corvin dusted off the bench with his sleeve, sat, and blinked. “This could be more in the shade, you know. You’ll get a sun-burn.”

  “I like the sun.”

  “‘My mistress’ eyes are nothing like the sun.’ Where is your mistress?”

  Philip shot him a look, which was ignored. “If you mean Guy, he and David are managing that bath chair arrangement.”

  “For the irresistible Amanda. She’s a charmer, isn’t she? I’m astonished she hasn’t married.”

  “There was an unfortunate situation when she had her Season. Remember Hugh Peyton?”

  “That prick? Ah. Oh dear.”

  “Mmm. Caught in flagrante at a ball.”

  Corvin raised a weary brow. “What a shit he is. I’m amazed I don’t recall.”

  “It was while we were in Spain.”

  “Ah. That explains her spinsterhood, I suppose, though one might think there’d be a man with the common sense to look past a youthful misstep.”

  “They don’t have any money either.”

  “Makes it more difficult, I grant you.”

  “Not for a rich man.” A thought dawned on Philip. “Christ, you aren’t interested, are you?”

  “Oh, she would have none of me, Phil. I’m far too frivolous. That laughing young lady will choose a serious man.”

  Philip didn’t argue. He had no idea how Corvin could be so definite on the subject of other people’s desires, but he had never known him be wrong, and would not in any case have wanted to present him to Guy as a candidate for his sister’s hand. “I hope she has the chance.”

  Corvin leaned back. “Indeed. Yes, she’s delightful. The brother’s charms are somewhat less evident to the untrained eye.”

  “Is there something you’d like to say to me that isn’t sarcastically allusive?”

  “No. Sarcastic allusion is my preferred mode of speech.”

  Philip turned to look at him. “Let me rephrase that. If there’s something you’d like to say to me, spit it out. If not, shut up. I don’t know what the devil you have against Guy—”

  “Nothing. Well, there wouldn’t be any space, would there, with you so close.”

  “Sorry?” Philip said. “Are you jealous?”

  “Of course I bloody am,” Corvin said testily. “Keep up.”

  “If I could just tot up the number of lovers you’ve had in the past year—”

  “It would be entirely irrelevant arithmetic. This isn’t about fucking. If it was about fucking I shouldn’t care in the least. No, I should be thrilled if you’d finally found someone you wanted to fuck.”

  “I have.”

  “That isn’t what you’re doing and you know it. Are we losing you, Phil?”

  “Of course not, you bloody idiot.”

  “Really? Want to fuck?”

  “I wouldn’t have the strength.”

  “And seriously?” Corvin asked. “Without the shield of flippancy? Now, or later, back in London, which is where you live, are you still with us?”

  Philip stared ahead. He hadn’t yet let himself give serious consideration to afterwards, when he left for a place he could live in, and Guy stayed here, and his normal life began again. He hadn’t fully thought about a practical way that Guy, or the absence of Guy, could fit into his comfortable, established situation. “I don’t entirely know. I—don’t know.”

  “You don’t know if you’ll want to be with us? Or you don’t know if your green-eyed innocent would like it if you were?”

  “I haven’t discussed any of this with him, still less made any promises.” Not out loud, at least. “I don’t know, V. Do you have to ask me now?”

  “Yes,” Corvin said. “This feels very like when John married, and that wasn’t good.”

  “I’m not getting married.”

  “Would you be, given the choice?”

  “For God’s sake. I’ve known him a few weeks.”

  “You’ve known everyone else for the best part of twenty years, and you haven’t fallen in love with any of them.”

  “That doesn’t even make sense,” Philip snapped. “And it’s—”

  “Don’t say none of my business, Phil.” There was a very gentle warning in Corvin’s voice.

  “I wasn’t going to.” He had been about to say exactly that, like a shit, and was deeply grateful he’d been prevented. “It’s your and John’s right to know what I’m about, yes, but anything between me and Guy is his right. I’m not making a declaration to you that ought to be to him. And I haven’t spoken about this to him anyway. For all I know he’ll be glad to see the back of me.”

  “I doubt that. I repeat, this feels like when John married, and you know how that changed things. Unbalanced them. We’re not the same two as three
.”

  Philip wanted to protest, but it was true. John’s absence from their circle, or triangle, had been difficult for them all. Philip and Corvin had barely seen him in two years, and it had been a guilty relief when the marriage had reached its abrupt and catastrophic end. Philip truly hadn’t wished it to fail, for John’s sake, but when it had done so, he hadn’t regretted the fact nearly as much as he should have.

  “No,” he said. “I grant you that. But John didn’t tell his wife about us. And he made vows.”

  “To forsake all others. Will you be forsaking all others for your country boy, Phil? Will he want that, or need it? Will you resent it, or not miss us at all?”

  “His name is Guy,” Philip said. “It’s neither long nor difficult. Use it. And I don’t know. I’ve no idea what he thinks on the matter and I don’t even know if I’ll see him again after we leave.”

  “If you don’t, you’re a fucking fool,” Corvin said. “I haven’t seen you like this in your life. You can’t seriously intend to wander away.”

  Philip blinked. “What? You’ve just spent five minutes arguing me out of it!”

  “I have not. Philip, you stupid illegitimate sod, you’re in love, and the—Guy has handed you his heart on a platter, with garnishes. That much is entirely obvious. And I am truly glad for you, deep down, although if you imagine for a second I won’t be an arsehole about it, you’re optimistic.”

  “How deep down?”

  “So far we might have to send Harry to dig it up. But I want you to be happy slightly—very slightly—more than I fear losing you.”

  “You won’t lose me, you fool,” Philip said. “John felt he had to stay away from us altogether when he married, but I’m not remotely in his situation. I don’t know what might change, or how Guy might feel about any one of a dozen aspects, but if my prick dropped off tomorrow—”

  “Through overuse?”

  “Shut up. —I shouldn’t love you and John the less. There is more between us all than just fucking, as you are well aware.”

  “Yes, but I’m good at fucking,” Corvin said plaintively.

  “You might consider being good at something else one day. Is John worried too?”

  “Yes. Although he told me to let you alone and not be a prick.”

  “I see you took his advice.”

  “As ever. Promise me something, Phil?”

  “What?”

  “Promise me you won’t trap yourself between lives,” Corvin said. “Promise me that you won’t find yourself as John did, resenting what you lost to someone who might not, if consulted, have asked you to give it away in the first place. We won’t ask you to choose, or insist on a damn thing, but if it comes to a choice— Oh, I don’t know. Honestly, if you want to bring him in, I’ll welcome him. He’s pretty.”

  “Keep your excessively fingered hands to yourself. Are you seriously suggesting—”

  Corvin held up a hand. “I am open to anything that doesn’t divide us, in whatever form works. If that means you don’t want to fuck any more—well, I like your prick, but I can do without it. I need your friendship.”

  “I need you too, V. You know that.”

  “I do. Please don’t cut us off, my best bastard, I don’t think any of us could bear it again. John and I want you happy, and we’ll do what we need to that end. Whether that means being a four-sided triangle, or anything else.”

  “So will I, for us all. But I don’t think— Did you just say a four-sided triangle?”

  “Exactly that.”

  “That’s a square. Triangles don’t have four sides. The clue is in the name.”

  “Pyramids do, and they’re triangular,” Corvin said triumphantly.

  “That is not how it works!” Philip said, and let himself be drawn into the subsequent argument with a profound sense of the world steadying itself once more.

  CORVIN’S WORDS WEREN’T the only problem. The Murder had been at Rookwood Hall for weeks, and the planned visit was coming to an end. John and Corvin intended to return to London, in John’s case extremely discreetly, before heading up to Wrayton Harcourt, accompanied by the Street-Salcombes, who were excavating on his land. The musicians had engagements to fulfil. David Martelo had a practice to which he needed to return, but that at least Philip could stave off.

  “Can you leave your patients to survive without you another week?” he asked, having tracked David down that afternoon while Guy and Amanda were having a quiet hour. “At my cost, of course. I’d prefer it if you could see Amanda walking again.”

  “So should I. What’s your intention, Phil?”

  “Well, we can’t evict the Frisbys until you’ve given your professional approval, and I can’t leave my guests here. I thought you and I might stay until they can return home, whenever that may be.”

  David gave him a look. “Would you like it to be a little longer?”

  “Given the choice, yes. Wouldn’t you?”

  David grimaced in lieu of answer. “You’re very taken with Guy, yes?”

  “Apparently that is obvious to everyone.”

  “Including Amanda.”

  “Shit. Are you sure?”

  “As sure as I can be without having a direct conversation on the subject. She’s mentioned how clearly he adores you; I don’t know if she realises you’ve taken him to bed, or what she understands to be possible. I wouldn’t swear she’s unaware.”

  “Jesus Christ,” Philip muttered. How much damage could he possibly do Guy? “Shit.”

  “She loves him very much. But still.”

  “Yes. What the devil am I going to do?”

  “I had assumed you intended simply to go back to London, having had your fun,” David said. “I see I was wrong. How wrong?”

  “Entirely wrong.”

  “Then you should speak to him. See if you can discover how he might feel about his sister marrying a Jew while you’re at it.”

  Philip blinked. “It’s that serious?”

  “On my part, I’d propose tomorrow and take my chances,” David said. “I’ve no idea about her part, because I can’t damned well say anything to her while I’m constantly poring over her thigh. Femur. And for heaven’s sake don’t say anything to him, that was a joke. This is trying my nerves, Phil.”

  “I don’t see what you have to worry about. Her leg will mend.”

  “And she’ll still be a Christian.”

  “Granted, but would that stop you?”

  “It might well stop her. I couldn’t convert, not to save my own life. My family... It matters. I don’t make any claim to devotion, I’m not particularly observant of my faith but—no. I could not do it. I’d resent it, resent the need for it. And I have to assume she would feel much the same, and why should she bow to a compromise I’m not prepared to make myself? What do I have to offer? ‘Please accept my hand in marriage, offered with the condition you convert to a despised religion, and resign yourself to an existence scraping pennies as a doctor’s wife’? It’s scarcely the stuff of dreams, is it?”

  “That’s unusually humble of you. Have you spoken to her on the subject?”

  “Of course not,” David snapped. “I’m her doctor. I can’t make a declaration—one which she might well decline—and then go back to examining her person. It would be grossly wrong of me and deprive her of the treatment she needs. If she had a doctor here I could trust, I could withdraw, but damned if I’m abandoning her care to that old fool who turned up to bleed her dry. Could they not come to London?”

  “It’s not likely,” Philip said. “Financial issues. I...might ask.”

  “Do that. And in the meantime, you would do me a service if you found a decent doctor to replace me and then I could at least speak.”

  Philip went. He wasn’t sure if Yarlcote could provide such a doctor, but he wrote a note to his steward, cursing that David hadn’t spelled out his need before. He’d assumed the man wanted the excuse to be close to Amanda and hadn’t really considered the ethical or professiona
l issues it might create. He hadn’t considered much, in fact, except that he wanted Guy, and he’d let that wanting blind him to the mounting problems it would cause to the people he loved best.

  No, that wasn’t right either. He’d deliberately chosen not to consider the consequences. He’d spent a lifetime not considering consequences because he didn’t care about them, picking the most desirable or entertaining option because he could. He hadn’t hurt anyone, much, until now, but it seemed he was about to make up for lost time in a spectacular way.

  He didn’t think he wanted to encounter Guy under Amanda’s too-sharp eye, which meant waiting until past five in the afternoon, till Guy emerged from the sickroom, rolling his shoulders. He saw Philip in the corridor, and smiled, and Philip wanted to bang his own head against the wall.

  “Come with me?” he said instead and led the way to the roof. It was private, and he could always jump if the conversation went badly.

  Guy followed obediently and settled where they’d sat before with a pleased sigh. “This is lovely. It’s such a beautiful house.”

  “It’s a beautiful view. The house is ghastly, but at least from this vantage point one can’t see it.”

  “It is not ghastly, though I’m sure it’s cold in winter. I don’t know why you dislike it so much.”

  “Because it’s not mine,” Philip said. “Because every square inch of Rookwood Hall, ancestral home of the Rookwoods, filled with Rookwood portraits and possessions, reminds me I am not one, and that my nominal father would have cut off his hand to prevent it coming to me. I didn’t set foot here till after James died, did I tell you that? I wasn’t permitted to soil the land with my presence, even as a small child. I wasn’t wanted here, and I’m bloody not now. In the neighbourhood, I mean.”