Geoffrey’s face contorted, and he removed Etienne’s hands from him. He stepped away, his voice chilled. “You might refrain from expressing your obvious joy so openly.”
Etienne cocked his head. Hammerstead’s pinched brow and strained expression caused his heart to constrict.
“Forgive me.” Etienne clasped his hand on Geoffrey’s. The man sucked in a breath and shot him a surprised glance, but Etienne lifted his chin and squeezed Geoffrey’s hand. Etienne brushed his fingers against his, enjoying the texture of the dark curls on the man’s warm knuckles. “It’s just,” Etienne tightened his grip, “Some of the guests rather implied you would receive more than a warning.”
Geoffrey frowned, his eyes darting to their joined hands. Etienne’s heart pounded, but finally Geoffrey asked, his voice rough, “What do you know?”
Etienne shrugged. “Nothing at all.”
“I doubt that,” Geoffrey growled.
Etienne’s lips turned up, remembering their first encounter. “Then you do think I possess some intelligence?”
Geoffrey sighed but did not move his hand. In fact, the man squeezed and flexed his fingers against his, as if exploring the new sensation himself. “I never said I didn’t.”
“But you were asking about my schooling . . .” Etienne couldn’t forget the humiliation of that day.
“That has nothing to do with intelligence.”
“Oh.” Etienne gazed at him. “You really do desire to help others, don’t you?”
Geoffrey pulled Etienne back against the maple tree and smirked as he pressed his body against Etienne’s. Geoffrey curled his hand against Etienne’s neck. “It’s a wonder you’re the only person to know it.”
“Well, I do,” Etienne stated, his breath uneven. He paused. “Even though you should improve the accommodations in your cells.”
Geoffrey laughed. “I’ll take it under consideration.”
The skin around his eyes crinkled, and he shook his head, as if that motion would stop the laughter. Birds chirped above, engaged in their courting rituals.
“You shouldn’t be speaking to me,” Geoffrey said finally.
The words smashed against Etienne.
“I see.” Etienne pressed his lips together, his heart falling. He pushed his way past Geoffrey, and headed farther down the path. He lowered his head, pondering which route he should take to best ignore Geoffrey.
“Oh, blast,” Geoffrey said. “You don’t understand.”
Etienne stopped and gazed at him. The man scratched his neck. “I just mean . . . my reputation is in tatters now, and I doubt yours is much better.”
Etienne stiffened. “You don’t want to be seen with me. I understand.”
“No, no. I’m doing a dreadful job of this. I merely mean I’m not improving your reputation any. Not until my uncle arrives back and explains to everyone the mistake and that he is not a criminal mastermind who attempted to murder the new duchess’s brother.”
Geoffrey grimaced as he strode toward him. “The duke claims he witnessed my uncle trying to murder Captain Carlisle and maybe…”
Pain registered on Geoffrey’s face.
“The duke told you,” Etienne said. “Did he mention how your uncle supported Bonaparte, had a large smuggling operation and murdered Captain Carlisle’s parents?”
“I—” Geoffrey stumbled on his words.
“I’m sorry.” Etienne glanced around the garden to ensure they were still alone and grasped Geoffrey’s hand. “Anyway, you needn’t worry about my reputation. I think that’s rather a lost cause.”
Nothing could undo that time.
“But—why are you still talking to me?” Geoffrey narrowed his eyes.
Etienne cocked his head. “I don’t exactly follow society’s rules. I won’t shun you, particularly for something I don’t understand.”
“Oh.” Geoffrey’s voice quieted. “You ran off the last time.”
Etienne’s shoulders sank. “I shouldn’t have tried to barter for my freedom. I just—”
“Don’t like being imprisoned?”
“Yes.” Etienne shrugged. He gazed into Geoffrey’s eyes and saw something softer than just interest, and his heart lightened. He smirked. “It’s a personal flaw.”
Geoffrey grinned, and Etienne warmed, conscious most people did not see the man like this. He reached up and touched his cheeks.
Geoffrey turned to him, and Etienne imagined pressing his lips against his.
Etienne darted his eyes down. “I wouldn’t have bartered for anything else. Only freedom. Not money.”
“I was just attempting to offer you a job.” The words came out tersely.
Etienne stiffened. He lowered his eyes, and heat flamed on his cheeks. He felt foolish for tangling Geoffrey’s hand with his, for pretending an emotion existed between them. All Geoffrey wanted was a transaction. Just like all the other men. A simple exchange for a release of tension. No doubt he actually favors a woman’s body. And I’m just making myself available.
Etienne’s chest tightened. He fiddled with his coat sleeve. “I’m not going to be there for the depravities of a despised man.”
Geoffrey’s eyes widened, and he raked his hand through his hair. “Not—not that kind of job. This is about your safety. And not being a criminal.”
“Oh.” Etienne cocked his head, still frowning. “What kind of job?”
Geoffrey shrugged. “A great portion of my uncle’s staff disappeared with him.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“Think about it. It’s a wonderful opportunity.” Geoffrey crossed his arms and practically glowered.
Etienne nodded and moved away. Large trees became more frequent as they exited the formal rows of rosebushes and hedges. The scent of trees and moss filled the air. Footsteps followed him, and he lengthened his stride. He shivered, as if his body demanded to return to the man’s arms. “I don’t want to discuss jobs with you.”
“No?” Geoffrey’s brow furrowed. “Then what did you want to talk about?”
Etienne moved his head to ascertain nobody was about. Thank goodness for weddings to keep people inside. He stepped nearer to Geoffrey and smiled; the man was oblivious to his intentions. And then, before he could ponder the consequences too much, he grabbed the man’s chin and held him for a kiss. No space between them, only this, his lips on Geoffrey’s. His cock sprang to life, and he grinned, pressing his length against Geoffrey’s.
He was demanding—hard and forceful. He flung his arms around the man and ran his fingers along his body, over the gold buttons on his coat, and deepened the kiss. This. This is what I wanted to do.
Geoffrey tasted delicious, and Etienne nibbled on the man’s succulent lips, moaning as the man’s mouth opened to let him in.
“I shouldn’t,” Geoffrey said weakly.
“You should,” Etienne responded, wondering why the man even thought about speaking when they could be doing this. Didn’t the man realize how wonderful this was? He relished it all. Simply running his fingers along Geoffrey’s clothed body was enjoyable. He pressed his groin against him again and smiled as Geoffrey groaned. Just the sort of sound he had craved hearing from Geoffrey.
He pulled Geoffrey to the ground, on the thick blanket of grass and wildflowers heated by the Sussex sun. Geoffrey’s stubble brushed against his cheeks, and his good arm pulled Etienne closer to him. Their bodies molded together, and warmth coursed through them.
Geoffrey’s tongue swirled lightly over Etienne’s, and Etienne thrust his hands under Geoffrey’s frockcoat, untucked the man’s linen shirt, so he could explore. His hands roved over the broad expanse of chest, pressing against the hair roughened skin and muscular planes.
Geoffrey’s kiss grew more forceful, more demanding, more devastating.
Etienne’s heart thundered in his chest, galloping like Sir Ambrose’s white stallion. He moved against Geoffrey’s, anxious to feel as much of the man as he could.
Embracing never felt this way be
fore.
His cock strained against his breeches, and he smiled as something similarly powerful pressed against his. His hand brushed over Geoffrey’s hardness, and he stroked it through Geoffrey’s clothes. Geoffrey moaned and panted beneath him, and Etienne moved his hand underneath the man’s breeches, anxious to feel the velvety hard length. He smiled, conscious he could please Geoffrey, aware this was something he excelled at. “You must—you must stop,” Geoffrey said, breaking from the kiss.
Geoffrey rolled away, pushing Etienne’s hand from him, so Etienne grasped nothing but air.
Etienne stilled. His eyes were still glazed, and he fought to prevent himself from reaching for Geoffrey, leaping into the man’s arms. He averted his eyes, blinking as heat filled them, not desiring the magistrate to know just how much he yearned for the man’s warmth.
“I—we cannot do this,” Geoffrey said, his voice rough.
Etienne’s shoulders sagged. Of course. Etienne was a thief, and even if the duke belittled the magistrate, that didn’t make the magistrate suddenly equal to him. He was a fool to think he could have any part in comforting the man.
“Forgive me.” Etienne rose, his legs stiff and unsteady. His head ached, and dizziness threatened to pull him back to the ground. He bowed, his face heated, and he staggered as he turned away. And this time he turned and ran, conscious that this was the second time he had run from the man, and wondering why he ever bothered talking to him at all.
Etienne hastened through the fields and continued into the forest, his feet pounding on grass and soft soil. He panted, exhaustion finally overcoming him.
He was worthless, attending the wedding and thrusting himself on one of the guests when all along he belonged here, in the woods, all alone.
With the exception of his pounding heart, everything was still. Certainly, Geoffrey was not following him. Perhaps other people deserved to be followed, but not Etienne.
Chapter Seven
November 5, 1804
Lyngate
Over the past months, the chestnut and oak trees had burst into vivid shades of red and orange, blasts of intensity which seemed to echo Etienne’s emotions. The wildflowers on the meadow he and Geoffrey had lingered on had long perished, and even the grass itself dried up, its dull blades rough to the touch. Etienne’s moments of true bliss, warm embraces with a man not paying for the pleasure, had ended too abruptly. Murky orange and brown tints now lined the trees, the leaves sliding onto the cold, dark ground. Next month, winter would begin, but to Etienne it seemed the season started the moment Geoffrey trampled upon the desires he never should have longed for.
He moved to Lyngate, the larger town on the coast. The streets lay on a steep hill, so even the process of walking became something less easy than before. Many people lived here, and stenches filled the narrow streets.
Etienne had resisted the move before, too wary of encountering a certain person forever best avoided. But Etienne understood the ridiculousness of that sentiment now. Geoffrey was correct; he needed a job. He could not continue to live off the land, and he accepted the general’s offer. At least he might be useful.
Smoke pervaded the town, stinging his eyes and making it impossible to view very far. Every corner seemed to possess its own bonfire, and the shouts and cries that clamored throughout the town bellowed and blasted in his ears. Large orange flames hissed as they ravaged and razed the wooden items the townspeople had brought. Bloody Bonfire Night. The townspeople diverted themselves with burning effigies in the streets, and their voices rose as they chanted familiar insults taunting Catholics.
The hairs on Etienne’s skin rose, and coldness drummed against his spine. He pulled his cloak more tightly around him, though it was not cold he feared.
Etienne wasn’t Catholic, wasn’t anything; no one forced Etienne to Sunday services, and Etienne never saw the need to go in either.
But dread still rattled through him.
Etienne was French, and all Englishman considered French people to be Catholics. He pressed his lips together, hating the general had sent him on a mission this night.
No helping that. A barrel-chested man started decrying Catholics. Etienne’s chest tightened, and his eyes flickered shut for a moment, smarting from the smoke and ashes the wind pushed through.
Heaving a sigh, Etienne grasped the thick iron handle of a pub door. The dimly lit rooms, dark timbers drooping from the low ceiling, might not normally seem like a refuge, but tonight it would have to be.
His mind flickered to Geoffrey’s sturdy arms, and he scowled. He raked his hand through his hair. He needed a drink. He didn’t want to think about Geoffrey. Didn’t want to recall his foolishness. He had been fortunate to escape without harm considering how he had pounced upon the man.
Etienne found an isolated table nestled in a corner that spoke of coziness, a haven from the shouts of obscenities outside. Flames swayed and twirled in the oversized stone hearth, and Etienne ordered a mulled wine.
He allowed his shoulders to relax into the wooden bench, and his tension eased, the soft murmur of people in the pub gradually lulling his mind. He devoted so much time to exploring the countryside by himself, the rest of the time couriering messages for the general, and a certain pleasure existed in being surrounded by people again.
“Perfect autumn drink.” The waitress placed a steaming tankard of mulled wine on the table.
Etienne smiled and wrapped his hands around it, inhaling the scent of cinnamon, cloves, oranges, and warm wine.
Raucous laughter entered the pub. A middle-aged man dressed in the rumpled uniform of a merchant swerved on unsteady feet over the wooden floorboards and plopped down on a chair by a table near Etienne. For a moment, the man stared at him, his tongue darting over thin lips.
Etienne forced his gaze away. His breath hitched, and he concentrated on the deep red drink before him, lifting it to his mouth.
“Enjoying yourself?” A dark shadow towered over him as a raspy voice spoke. Etienne froze as he recognized the voice that tormented his youth and still haunted his nightmares. Patterson. His fingers wobbled and slipped from the handle. His heart thudded, and he slammed his fingers against the hot edge of the tankard to tighten his grip, biting his lip against the sudden burn.
The red glow of the fireplace he once deemed cozy darkened, the flames sauntering and swirling with the same vigor as they might in hell. The mixed scent of mince pies and roast pork nauseated him. He forced his eyes down, focusing on the pattern of grooves in the table.
Every muscle tensed, and he calculated whether he might be able to flee. Relief flooded through him as the man settled beside the thin-lipped man. The words were not directed at him. I’m safe.
“I need some entertainment,” the first man said.
Low murmurs broken by fierce laughs stemmed from the table. If he left now, he would have to pass directly by their table. He could wait for them to stagger out, seeking sordid pleasures. He could wait forever to avoid them.
He shrank into the corner, hoping the noisiness around him might deafen the furious beats of his heart. Images of chains and a windowless room filled him, and he willed himself to push the memories aside.
He sipped his drink, reminding himself as the warm liquid flowed down his throat that he was fine.
Fine. Fine. Fine.
A scraping sound interrupted his thoughts, and the thin-lipped man plopped onto the seat opposite, the wooden chair creaking in protest against the unexpected weight.
The man’s stomach spilled over his breeches, and his neckcloth was wound tightly around his neck as if in a paragon of respectability. “Hello, sweet boy.”
Etienne stilled. A fierce wave of coldness jolted through him that the fire could never warm.
The man’s lips ascended. “Appearing so innocent . . . I know all about you. Want to make some money?”
Etienne recoiled, his heart thumping against his ribs. “No, thank you.”
The man chortled and he leered, his
gaze trampling over Etienne’s body, like a wild boar loose in a field. He leaned toward him, his breath hot and reeking of ale and meat. “Don’t worry. You won’t need to get your pretty hands dirty. You’ll want this. It will be a method of earning money that is most pleasurable to you.”
Etienne shook his head.
The man’s jovial expression soured, and he slammed stubby fingers on the table so hard that Etienne’s tankard spilled, the red liquid flowing over the table like the fresh blood of a slaughtered animal. The man cast his eyes around, but nobody observed them. Except Patterson. Except Etienne’s greatest enemy, the man casually sitting at the next table, smiling at the exchange. Etienne cursed his selection of this removed nook in which to sit, and cursed his desire to enjoy mulled wine like a normal person, forgetting that danger lay everywhere.
The man sneered, his chapped lips cracking farther open, revealing yellow teeth. The man’s eyebrows furrowed together. “I’m talking about cocksucking, boy.”
Etienne clenched his teeth. “I’m not your boy.”
The man scowled, as if Etienne had had the audacity to ruin a fantasy.
Etienne’s eyes drifted to the next table. To him. Patterson’s chair was abandoned, and Etienne wasn’t sure whether to feel relief they were alone, or to worry where he was.
The thin-lipped man continued to glare at Etienne, the lustful expression soon shifting to loathing. Etienne was all too familiar with the type, having first taken advantage of these men’s desires at fourteen, scrounging money in exchange for quick fumbles in alleyways and fields, a way to earn money he found more honorable than simple stealing, and more consistent than the odd fieldwork he tried to procure otherwise.
Patterson had offered him a break from all that, shifting from one of his regulars to moving him into his cottage.
I should have known better.
His life had become a cold cell with a locked door, a constant hopelessness that churned around him. More men, thrusting inside him, grunting different names. One day he had managed to escape. Perhaps Patterson believed Etienne’s spirit to be too broken to require the careful vigilance of locks as at the beginning; perhaps Etienne had simply been extraordinarily lucky.
Captured At The Castle (Scandal in Sussex Book 2) Page 7
