Etienne shook his head, rose to his feet, and frowned. He wasn’t going to permit the general to assume those sorts of things about Geoffrey. His chest puffed out, and he was glad that he was the same height as the other man. “He wouldn’t be interested.”
The general tilted his head. “Already tried, then? Well, well. Tell him you still feel unwell. The main thing is we need you here. We haven’t found Sir Ambrose yet. And he might try to contact Geoffrey. You know about the note, right?”
Etienne nodded and tightened his lips.
“We still think Geoffrey may have brought it to the ball, though we don’t have any proof.” The general fixed his eyes on Etienne. “But you can find the proof. We’ve been intercepting a series of notes. There’s reason to believe the duke and his duchess may be in danger. We need to know if the duke’s own magistrate is involved.”
Etienne’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t think I can do it and be his guest.”
The general scowled. “You owe us, don’t forget that.”
Etienne stiffened.
The general continued, “Just search his library—maybe there’s a secret passageway—his bedroom, keep him company, maybe he’ll confide in you . . .”
“I understand.”
“Good.”
“But,” Etienne inhaled, “This is the end of it. After this, I’m done with you and the whole thing.”
“Damned lack of ambition. Most spies would love a mission like this.”
Etienne pressed his lips together. “Then send them.”
“You speak French well enough to speak to an actual frog.” A smile played on the general’s face. “And you look like one too.”
Etienne set his jaw.
“And it’s easier for you to blend in than all those spies from fancy universities with their aristocratic accents and thin lips. They’re just suited for dinner parties and costume balls.”
Etienne’s hand jerked, as if it sought to clasp the freedom he dreamed of. He squared his shoulders, refusing to be sent to goodness knows where by the general. Sweat trailed down his neck, and he shook his head. The spy system had forced Lansdowne to pretend to be dead, making Etienne his courier, claiming it planned to relax its hold on him only on the eve of his former fiancé’s wedding to the man who thought he was Lansdowne’s replacement. His heart constricted inside in his chest.
“Oh.” The general paused. “And one more thing.”
Etienne swallowed, his throat dry. He widened his stance and gritted his teeth, forcing his gaze onto the general.
“The ghost. You’ll still need to be him.”
Etienne’s mouth dropped open. He had pretended to be the ghost for Sir Ambrose. He had ridden on horseback in disguise and kept the villagers from straying too near the smuggling operation. He had reported back on Sir Ambrose’s illegal deeds to the general. “But Sir Ambrose is gone. He tumbled off that cliff.”
“Yet he’s still sending notes somehow.”
Etienne shrugged. “Somebody may be forging his writing.”
“Who? And why would they want to antagonize the duke and duchess?”
Etienne lowered his gaze.
The general sighed. “If you still pretend to be the ghost, we may be able to draw his curiosity.”
“So he’ll . . . attack?”
The general smiled. “All the better for you to stay at the magistrate’s, then. Unless he’s involved, of course.”
“He isn’t.” The words sounded less sure in Etienne’s mouth. Is Geoffrey involved?
The general looked around. “Then I should be off. You remember which nights the ghost is out, right?”
Etienne nodded, his heart hammering, conscious his past was not as removed as he would have preferred. Etienne turned to search for Geoffrey, his legs heavier than they were before as he moved through the field to the castle.
He kicked a pile of leaves, flipping them into the air before they toppled to the ground. He blinked hard. He’d told Geoffrey things he hadn’t told anyone else, and he was quite sure Geoffrey had also confided in him. His fingers trembled, and he made his way unsteadily to the man who seemed to value him, to the man who didn’t want him to leave, so that he might lie to him, shattering any remaining trust.
Chapter Eleven
Pages melded together as Geoffrey read, and he shoved the book aside. His hands clenched and unclenched, anxious for something to do, something to distract him from Etienne’s impending departure. It was foolish. He should be happy at the man’s return to health, even if he had the impression the man had only partly healed and was eager to regain his independence.
Somebody knocked on his door. Geoffrey frowned. Barnesley had been acting erratically, and he braced himself for another awkward meeting with him. It was a Sunday; he had hoped to have fewer meetings.
Geoffrey’s heart lurched as Etienne swung the door of the library open and stepped into the room. Light from the corridor illuminated him, contrasting with the darkness of the library, shrouded in thick curtains to defend the books from the infrequent bursts of sunshine.
Geoffrey schooled his eyes away, refusing to permit them to linger on the way the light swayed on the man’s silken skin, and he struggled to avoid contemplating what his lips might feel against Etienne’s soft, enticing ones. Etienne was his guest. His injured guest. Geoffrey pulled the thick, discarded tome toward him, opened it at random, and furrowed his brows in something he hoped resembled concentration. “Are you in pain?”
Etienne shook his head and eased his way to Geoffrey’s desk, his expression strained.
Not for the first time Geoffrey deliberated the correctness of declining the man’s embrace.
“It’s just . . . I was considering what you said, and . . .” Etienne’s fingers traced the edge of one of the bookshelves.
“Yes?”
“And I thought maybe it’s best if I don’t leave so quickly after all. If the offer still stands. I’ll understand if it doesn’t, but,” Etienne positioned his fingers to his chest, “My wound concerns me.”
Relief flew through Geoffrey, and he sagged into his chair. “Thank goodness.”
“Oh?” Etienne’s lips soared, and his eyes melted.
“You’ve come to your senses. I would hate to imagine you doing all sorts of dubious activities.”
Etienne’s smile faltered.
“Much nicer this way,” Geoffrey continued, beaming.
“Yes.”
Geoffrey kept smiling. His heart warmed in a way it probably shouldn’t, but at the moment he didn’t care. He was simply content—more than content—that Etienne would remain longer. He could enjoy the man’s company further. Talk with him. Laugh with him. Geoffrey crossed his legs as he imagined other things he might do with the man. He stood up hastily. He needed distraction from that thought.
Etienne’s eyes flickered around the library, and Geoffrey smiled. The man seemed to find the books in the library interesting, more than he would have expected for a man whose education halted in his twelfth year.
“Perhaps we might explore the castle,” Geoffrey said. “Now that you’re going to be here longer.”
Etienne touched his throat. “Does it have secrets?” He swallowed hard. “Hidden passageways?”
Geoffrey grinned. “Not that I know about.”
“And we’re going to search for them now?”
“Well, perhaps explore was the wrong word. But I thought I might show you around.
“Oh.” The corners of Etienne’s lips rose in the way Geoffrey adored. “That—that would be wonderful.”
“Then let’s go now.” Geoffrey needed to be striding next to Etienne and not staring at him. Perhaps if they spoke more, if he got to know him more, he would spend less time contemplating how the light shone against the man’s muscles and wondering what the edge of his jaw might taste like beneath his lips. Geoffrey closed his eyes, forcing other, even more enticing images from his mind.
Geoffrey grabbed a heavy set of keys
from his desk drawer. “Let’s go.”
Etienne smiled briefly and followed him out.
Geoffrey opened the doors to the various guest rooms. “My uncle never held a ball here. He preferred attending balls hosted by others, and no one has really stayed in these rooms.”
“With the exception of me,” Etienne reminded him.
Geoffrey grinned. “You’re the exception.”
A flush rose on Etienne’s cheeks, and Geoffrey forced his gaze down. His heart tumbled in his chest.
“Should we go for a walk in the woods?” Etienne asked.
Geoffrey swallowed, the memories of that area still not vanished from his experience with the trap. “What if we both fall in?”
Etienne swung his head to Geoffrey. “Into what?”
Heat burned Geoffrey’s cheeks, and he averted his eyes.
“Oh.” Etienne’s eyes glittered. “You mean a trap? That won’t happen.”
“Why ever not?” Geoffrey asked.
Etienne smirked. “Because I like to watch where I’m going. Falling into a trap indeed.”
Etienne stepped closer, so close that Geoffrey could inhale the scent of grass on him. Geoffrey’s eyes fluttered down.
“It looked just like normal ground.” Geoffrey said. “Just looser somehow.”
“Are you sure it wasn’t covered with big leaves and branches?”
“No.”
Etienne’s smile wavered. “You’re actually right. I didn’t see any either.” He bit his lip. “Perhaps we should stay indoors. Are you sure there isn’t anything I haven’t seen? Where does that door lead to? He stepped forward, and his fingers brushed against the heavy iron that strengthened the oak. “Double bolted too. Is that where you’re hiding the secret passageways?”
Geoffrey grimaced, and Etienne’s gaze fell away. He glanced at the door again and then turned, his shoulders less square than before, his hair dangling in his eyes. “Never mind.”
Geoffrey smoothed away Etienne’s hair and offered what he worried was only a weak smile.
“That door leads to the dungeon, doesn’t it?” Etienne asked.
Geoffrey nodded. “I didn’t think you would want to see that again. I didn’t think you would be ready for that.”
“And they’re down there now.”
Geoffrey nodded. “But I’ll need to release them soon. I’m sure you must have something else to share.”
“No.” Etienne leaned against the brick wall, his legs unsteady. He cast a haunted glance at Geoffrey. “You should return to work.”
“That can wait.” Geoffrey strode to Etienne. He clasped the man’s face in his hands. There was too much nearness, but he couldn’t abide the sight of the man’s pain. He wished to bury it away, so Etienne would never be disturbed again. “I didn’t want to make you relive any of that. I wanted to show you the castle so it wouldn’t be so intimidating. So you would know what’s behind the doors.” So you won’t leave.
Geoffrey averted his head, recognizing the ridiculousness of the thought. Etienne had to leave. That was the only way Geoffrey could do his duty.
Etienne’s eyes squeezed shut, and Geoffrey’s heart twisted. He heard his voice say, “Come.”
Etienne shook his head. “I think I should retire now.”
Geoffrey wavered, wondering if that really would be best for the man. But he couldn’t leave him like that, with his last thought of the day on the dungeon, on those vile men. He inhaled. “Trust me.”
He strode purposefully through the corridor and unlocked a door that looked much like the door to the dungeon.
Etienne drew in a thick breath. “I don’t think . . .”
Geoffrey grimaced at the sight of the man’s fear and grabbed hold of his hand, dragging him after. Etienne’s hand felt good against his own, and a jolt of something warm and wonderful moved through him. Something completely wrong and worrisome.
Geoffrey dropped his hand and ascended the stairs, pleased to hear Etienne’s footsteps following him. The stairs wound up, and thick bricks lined the curved walls. He allowed himself to dart his eyes at Etienne. The man’s hand trailed against the bricks, as if intrigued by the actual structure of the building. Geoffrey beamed to have found a successful distraction and once again wondered at how much interest Etienne showed in the castle.
They reached the top of the stairs, and Geoffrey’s breath came in unsteady spurts as Etienne neared him. He could smell the man. He smelled like fresh grass and wildflowers, the enclosed space making this more noticeable. Geoffrey’s hands shook as he struggled to find the correct key.
He had only been here once before, but Etienne needed to see it.
Finally, he pushed the wooden door open, and a fresh breeze of cold air rushed against them, lifting their clothes up.
“You first.”
His body tensed as Etienne pushed past him, a smile fixed on his face. The sun illuminated Etienne’s skin, reminding him of what it tasted like. He slammed the door shut after them both, refusing to contemplate that experience.
He was simply showing Etienne around the castle.
He was simply being a good host.
Like the duke requested.
Nothing extraordinary.
“The battlements,” Etienne gasped.
Geoffrey smirked. “Exactly.”
Etienne’s gaze flickered to the red brick towers that sat on the roof of the castle. Tiny dark doors led into each tower, space for archers to safely shoot arrows at any evil venturing too close. His fingers trailed along the bricks, shipped from France in the middle ages, neatly stacked in perfect rows. “How amazing.”
Only slightly extraordinary.
Geoffrey followed Etienne, the path above the castle too narrow to walk anything but single file. Etienne’s tousled hair blew in the breeze, waving glossy strands Geoffrey ached to plunge his hands into. The hair parted to reveal the nape of Etienne’s neck, and Geoffrey contemplated what the smooth skin might taste like. His eyes dropped to the smooth curve of Etienne’s arse, and he lifted his eyes with great haste.
From the battlements the valley lay before them. Somerset Hall lay to the east, separated by a strip of forest, the white-columned manor house placed proudly on a neighboring hill. Before them was the Channel, a blue strip of sea, recognizable only for being darker than the cloudless sky.
“Normally the leaves on the trees obscure it, but . . .”
“This is wonderful.” Etienne smiled again, his enthusiasm apparent.
“I wanted you to be able to know you’re not trapped. The duke is there, and . . .”
Etienne swiveled his head to him. “This is perfect. Thank you.”
Something fluttered in Geoffrey’s chest, and he forced his gaze away. Geoffrey’s voice was rough as he answered, “It’s nothing.”
The wind brushed against Etienne, pressing Etienne’s ivory shirt against his perfect chest.
Etienne climbed up narrow steps that led to the top of a tower, and Geoffrey swallowed, his throat dry. “What—what are you doing?”
“Walking.”
“But there? Is that safe?”
Etienne cocked his head. “Are you urging safety?”
“Of course.”
“I just wanted to explore the full length.” Etienne resumed climbing.
Geoffrey wanted to trace his finger down the ridge of Etienne’s back. Lord, he longed to do many things where Etienne was concerned.
Geoffrey swallowed, averting his head.
Etienne stretched when he reached the top of the tower, raising his hands above his head.
Geoffrey burned to touch the sculpted muscle beneath his shirt. He swallowed and glanced at Etienne, wishing he might join him. And yet… The steep drop down did not escape his notice.
Etienne caught his eye. For a moment, the man held his gaze, understanding of Geoffrey’s predicament seeming to dawn on him. He seemed to hesitate, but then he jutted out his jaw.
“You needn’t look so nervous.” Etienne
smiled and stepped down. He strode to him. “Come, I’ll show you.”
Geoffrey’s eyes wandered everywhere, determined not to inspect Etienne’s lower region. He wanted the man to feel safe with him, and here he was, leering at him, every bit as bad as the man’s former clients.
“It’s just a bit of climbing.” Etienne smiled. “What if you need to catch a criminal at the top of a tower?”
Etienne grinned, and grabbed hold of Geoffrey’s arm, pulling him toward the top of the tower.
And then suddenly Geoffrey was climbing, and wind brushed against his back. His breath quickened.
“You really despise heights, don’t you?” Etienne murmured into his ear.
Geoffrey shook his head as heat rushed into his face.
“Well, you are brave, I’ll give you that,” Etienne said, his voice rumbling in Geoffrey’s ear.
He could smell him. Smell his unique musk. He inhaled and closed his eyes.
Etienne laughed, and Geoffrey’s eyes opened. He gazed down, dizzy at the sight of the now even smaller livestock and trees below. He turned around and rubbed his hand against his cheek, hoping the heat would disappear.
Etienne sat on the floor of the tower, and Geoffrey followed. Servants scurried below in the courtyard, but here, on the top of the castle, no one could see them. The wall protected them from curious eyes. Geoffrey and Etienne might embrace, and no one would know.
“You want to, Geoffrey?” Etienne’s voice was low and gravelly.
Geoffrey flicked his eyes down on the brick floor. “I—we mustn’t.”
Etienne’s smile was bitter. “And intelligence. You have that too, my magistrate.”
Geoffrey stared at Etienne until the man looked away.
Etienne shrugged. “Intelligence is good. It will make it easier for me to teach you. Let me explain climbing . . .”
Geoffrey’s stomach fluttered, and heat burst through him each time Etienne touched him to explain the finer concepts of climbing. But he was happy. He was sure of it. And the sensation threatened to overwhelm him.
Chapter Twelve
The floorboards groaned beneath Etienne as he padded through the corridor, as if to urge Geoffrey and the servants to investigate the intruder. Etienne held his breath, but no thundering footsteps followed him.
Captured At The Castle (Scandal in Sussex Book 2) Page 11
