Captured At The Castle (Scandal in Sussex Book 2)

by Alexandra Ainsworth

Everything in his world had changed. And nothing would get better; everything would get worse. Etienne smiled tightly. That was his fate. He had been foolish to imagine his life might ever be any different.

  He was abandoned. Just like his parents had done, abandoning him when he was twelve and spoke no English. They had journeyed with him and his siblings to England to escape from the revolutionaries. Perhaps they considered him old enough to care for himself; in the end he had been. They had other, younger children more in need. Or perhaps it was his fault. He had separated himself from them, and they had no method with which to contact him. It wasn’t like they spoke English and could ask for help. Or maybe something horrible befell them.

  He would never know.

  He shook his head. Despite his anger at having to fend for himself, he didn’t wish them any harm. Etienne’s fist tightened. “What did you tell him?”

  Perhaps his parents’ abandonment would always remain a mystery, but he would not allow Geoffrey to rush from his life with no explanation.

  Lansdowne paled, his hands recoiling. He frowned and rose from his seat. “Everything.”

  The man must think the worst.

  Etienne glared. “I’m through. This was my last mission.”

  He followed Lansdowne out, his feet leaden. There must be a way to make him return.

  *

  Geoffrey rode his horse through Kensington, lost in thought, bundled in his thick, heavy greatcoat, a tall beaver, and a long, warm muffler. London remained the same. Busy and bustling. Ivory buildings with dainty cornices sat on every street. There was some beauty in it, though dirty snow blanketed everything.

  The raw scent of sewage, the scent of the Thames on the chill wind bothered him. The wind tugged at his hat, threatening to sweep it from his head, carrying the pine scent of the countryside and Etienne away with it.

  He sighed. Etienne wasn’t here, and despite the crowd and people jostling each other in the street, the city felt empty. Desperately empty. He attended parties, hoping to distract himself, and then, when he tired of hostesses asking him if he was content, he stayed home. And then finally only his servants asked him the same question, their eyes round with worry.

  I must look a sight. It didn’t help that Christmas was everywhere. Everyone talked about presents. The world seemed entirely composed of images of snowflakes, garlands, and mistletoe. Each item made Geoffrey’s heart twinge and his cheeks burn as he recalled how he had tried to conjure them up for Etienne.

  He dreamed of rushing back to Ashbury Castle, and at the same time, he desired never to return. He would give anything to look at Etienne again, but how could he ever do that when the mere memory of the man tore him apart? His grip tightened on the reins.

  He was hopeless. The poetry he read now made sense. But there was no consolation there. Geoffrey was flawed: his heart beat for a man with the vigor it should for a woman. If Etienne returned his feelings, perhaps then he might be strong enough to accept them. But Etienne had laughed. Naturally he had laughed. Geoffrey had approached him as if Etienne were some damsel in need of enlightenment.

  Geoffrey’s fingers clenched. The horse reared up and jolted him from his thoughts. A hackney driver shouted as the horse threatened to gallop through the streets. He relaxed the reins and hastily leaned forward to soothe the horse, stroking the horse’s neck.

  Blast.

  Had he been careless with Etienne? The man was experienced with men, but that had been for money. Or by force. Yet Geoffrey and he had been intimate, using it to distract Geoffrey from finding out he was the sightless specter. Had that been a form of prostitution as well? This time paid for by the general? Geoffrey’s nostrils flared.

  Etienne had confronted Geoffrey, telling him he knew he preferred men, but had Etienne ever said he preferred the same? His cheeks reddened as he thought about stroking Etienne’s cock. He swallowed, suddenly nauseous at the memory of that pleasure.

  Of course Etienne would have liked those activities, but that had nothing to do with liking Geoffrey. Perhaps even now he was relieved by Geoffrey’s absence and was searching for some woman to keep him company. Well, the man deserved that. He deserved everything.

  The sound of hoofbeats neared him.

  “I doubt a man could look more morose.” A clear voice interrupted his thoughts.

  Geoffrey’s eyes widened at the person cantering up to him. Blond curls peeked out from beneath a tall beaver hat. “Benedict.”

  His old friend smiled at him.

  “What are you doing here?” Geoffrey asked.

  “I heard you were in need of comforting.”

  “Oh?”

  “My mother,” Benedict said. “You didn’t show up for her yuletime ball.”

  “Oh. Do give her my apologies.” Geoffrey smoothed his breeches.

  “I think she would have liked another eligible man there.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t classify myself as eligible.” Just alone.

  Benedict smiled, but his eyes held a pain in them Geoffrey recognized.

  “How are you?”

  Benedict shrugged. “Apparently, better than you. According to the gossip pages you’re quite a miserable being.”

  “I suppose you think I deserve it.”

  Benedict frowned. “I wouldn’t think that.”

  Geoffrey lowered his voice. “Not even after university?”

  Benedict’s blue eyes seemed to enlarge. “No. We’re—we’re friends now, right?”

  “Despite everything?”

  “Of course. I know you can’t control the way you feel, and well, I don’t think you were quite right for me anyway.”

  Geoffrey attempted to smile, but he rather feared his face only managed to look slightly less like he was frowning. He had treated Benedict appallingly, he realized that now, and the man gave him kindness he didn’t deserve.

  Benedict shook his head. “Oh, you are a miserable beast.”

  “You’re always such an optimist.”

  Benedict smiled. “I wish I felt like one.”

  Geoffrey stared at his friend. “Are you fine? Is your father?”

  “Nothing like that,” Benedict said hastily. “I just worried about you.”

  Their horses neared Sloane Square and Geoffrey’s apartment. “Would you like to come inside?”

  Benedict stiffened.

  “Not like that,” Geoffrey rushed to add. He raked his hand through his hair. “I just thought—”

  “Yes,” Benedict interrupted. “I’ll come in.” He smiled. “Not everything has to be like that. It’s good to have friends.”

  They tied their horses, and Benedict followed Geoffrey into his apartment.

  Benedict smiled at the stack of mail and picked up a glossy envelope. “The Duke of Lansdowne is writing you?”

  Geoffrey glanced at a particularly impressive, glossy envelope. His chest tightened as he tore off the wax seal. “Oh.”

  “Do share.” Benedict peered at him.

  “The duke wants me to visit Somerset Hall.” Geoffrey cleared his throat. “It’s a matter of great urgency.”

  Benedict tilted his head, and the blond strands of his hair glimmered. “Well, that’s good, isn’t it? Will give you an excuse to leave London since you’re so miserable here.”

  Geoffrey swallowed hard and looked away. “I left Sussex because I was miserable there.”

  Well. One miserable night. The rest was glorious. But he couldn’t. He refused to dwell on those good things. Because then he would just be reminded of the pain which followed. And his heart would constrict, as it did now, considering all the marvelous things Etienne had said and done, and Geoffrey would remember that Etienne feigned it all, deceiving him constantly.

  Had Etienne been miserable? Etienne had begged Geoffrey to be allowed to leave, and Geoffrey insisted he remain, conscious of the duke’s orders. He thought Etienne had liked him more, but perhaps he was simply resigning himself to being on another mission. Perhaps Etienne protested because
he knew he would be forced to become intimate with Geoffrey and was repulsed by it. Geoffrey inhaled sharply.

  Benedict coughed. Loudly.

  Geoffrey swiveled.

  “Oh my.” Benedict’s hands fluttered. “You are in a state. That’s it. I’m coming with you.”

  Geoffrey shifted his legs. “You needn’t.”

  “And leave you in that state of misery? I do have a conscience. Terrible burden, you know. But it’s there.”

  “But . . .”

  “And now I’ll get to see your castle too.”

  Geoffrey stiffened. Etienne might be there. “No castle, just Somerset Hall.”

  He nodded for extra emphasis.

  “How decisive.”

  Heat rushed to Geoffrey’s cheeks.

  “Then I’ll just be forced to see a duke and his manor house. Dreadful thing, my conscience.” Benedict shook his head with exasperation.

  “Very well,” Geoffrey grumbled, though his shoulders relaxed.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Whoever thought it a good idea to have animals drag a practical box on wheels through winding roads had not considered the resulting discomfit. The carriage jostled over the bumpy lane. Geoffrey huddled into the corner of the coach and pressed his body against the silk and velvet pillows Sir Ambrose had ordered in a moment of extravagance. Benedict sat in the seat opposite; Barnesley sat outside with the driver. Despite this supposed indulgence, Geoffrey remained uncomfortable, though that misfortune could be attributed to his dread of returning to Sussex so soon.

  The duke had insisted, and Geoffrey couldn’t argue with that. Not when Benedict so clearly required a distraction as well. In some respects, Geoffrey hadn’t minded that the duke dragged him away from London society. Everyone chatted about Christmas, and dark green garlands tied with deep red bows greeted him everywhere. Each mantel glimmered with gold and silver ornaments in the form of trumpets and angels, and embellished wreaths that reminded him of Etienne hung on every door.

  Shame still rattled through him whenever he recalled Etienne’s laughter. The man spent every night with Geoffrey, but on Geoffrey’s final night at the castle, Etienne never appeared. And why should he? Etienne’s mission had ended, and he no longer needed to spend time with Geoffrey in the hope of gaining his trust.

  Geoffrey had spent hours staring at his grandfather clock before rushing down the stairs at dawn to insist his groom prepare a carriage for London.

  He rubbed his chest. Benedict frowned on the seat opposite him, and Geoffrey shut his eyes.

  Everyone, it seemed, wanted to celebrate Christmas, to decorate their homes in the colors of the season and cozy up in front of crackling fires. Everyone wanted Christmas except Etienne, just like Etienne hadn’t wanted him.

  And the mistletoe. The mistletoe lay everywhere. Geoffrey could hardly enter a room without some coy maiden glancing up at some man under mistletoe, watching their lips come together.

  Geoffrey took care to direct his gait to follow the walls lest somebody declare him positioned in the perfect place for a kiss.

  Geoffrey was having nothing of that.

  Geoffrey had experienced kisses. Deep kisses, long kisses, breathless kisses. And what had that achieved? Sleepless nights and an aching heart.

  With great effort he spoke with anyone, much less conversed about Sussex. Everything reminded him of Etienne.

  Energy filled him, as if his body was prepared to run through the fields to Etienne, leaping over rabbit holes and hedges with ease. Geoffrey shuffled his feet, constrained by the dark glossy walls of the carriage. He drummed his fingers against his seat, as if tapping to the rhythm of his hammering heart.

  “You should at least be relieved to be leaving the ton,” Benedict said.

  Geoffrey smoothed over his breeches. Benedict appraised him with concern, his blue eyes wide.

  Geoffrey averted his eyes. The curtains were drawn, and Geoffrey pushed them aside. Darkness surrounded them, broken only by the lantern on the carriage, illuminating cloudy silhouettes of trees and bushes. “You didn’t need to come with me.”

  “And leave you to your misery? I can attempt to be heroic now.”

  Geoffrey’s lips tilted upward despite himself. He coughed. “Are you considering your company on par with heroism?”

  “Oh yes. Most obviously. My company just about equals—if not exceeds—Nelson’s and Wellesley’s commanding skills.” Benedict winked.

  A warmth began to fill Geoffrey’s heart. “I’m fortunate to have your friendship.”

  And he was. So much good existed in this world. How had he never realized before? He had been so intent on ridding his environment of evil he never noticed the good. Good that Benedict and Etienne both radiated despite their upbringings.

  “You never have to doubt that you have my friendship,” Benedict said.

  Geoffrey smiled, though it wasn’t Benedict’s kind words he longed for in the night.

  Benedict ran a finger around his top hat, but his eyes remained focused on Geoffrey. “Are you going to tell me who he is?”

  Geoffrey stiffened and drew his feet closer to him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Benedict placed his top hat on the seat next to him and lifted his gaze. “We have all the privacy in the world here. And I cannot abide the manner in which your face seems to alternate between pure wonder and utter sorrow, as if remembering something wonderful and realizing you no longer have it.”

  “It’s not important.”

  “Of course it’s important.” Benedict frowned. “You’re important.”

  “It’s like you said—I don’t have it,” Geoffrey said. “So we don’t need to speak about it. Dwell on it.”

  Benedict shrugged.

  “Anyway . . . I’m planning to move to London permanently,” Geoffrey continued.

  “Oh?”

  “Ashbury Castle holds too many memories.”

  “I see.” Benedict shifted. “You know the ton is chattering about your uncle.”

  Geoffrey’s throat dried, and he fought to maintain nonchalance. “He always sought notoriety. He would like to be spoken about by all of London’s important people.”

  The carriage creaked as it swerved around a corner.

  “I despise these carriage journeys,” Benedict said.

  “I’m glad your optimism doesn’t extend to all things.”

  “Oh, I’m still optimistic,” Benedict said cheerfully. “I’m optimistic we will stop soon.”

  The horses neighed, and the carriage slowed.

  “See? The carriage stopped. I was correct.” Benedict sat back into the pillows with a triumphant nod.

  Geoffrey frowned and glanced out the window. The carriage was nowhere near Somerset Hall. Wasn’t there an incline beforehand? Had they experienced it? Or had Benedict distracted him so thoroughly? Or perhaps his lack of sleep had hampered his senses?

  He reached for his pistol, tucked under his seat. “Stay there.”

  “Not so fast.” A deep voice growled, and a masked man swung open the carriage door. Benedict jumped.

  Geoffrey sighed. This is why I need to stay in Sussex.

  “You,” the strange man pointed at Geoffrey, “Out of the carriage now.”

  Geoffrey frowned. “You must be mad.”

  A wide sneer transformed the man’s face.

  Benedict fluttered his hands, and his voice became higher-pitched. “Oh, this is terrible.”

  The man stared at Benedict.

  Geoffrey jolted up and clenched his fists. No one would harm Benedict. He kicked the man. Hard.

  “Ow!” The man’s scream was sudden, and he toppled over into the coach.

  “Oh, you’ve hurt him.” Benedict scowled and crouched on the floor.

  “Don’t go near him,” Geoffrey growled. He patted the man’s chest and found a pistol. Unloaded. He frowned and flung it onto the floor and swung open the door to investigate outside.

  “Back inside.” A hand
clutched his arm. A hand that made his body heat, that made his body lose its breath. The person maneuvered him inside and, disoriented, he obeyed. I’m imagining him everywhere. Anyway, it was better to remain in the coach in situations like this.

  The door slammed and locked behind him, the stranger vanishing. The coach jostled to a start, and Geoffrey closed his eyes, conscious he may just have committed a colossal error. Low murmurs sounded outside, and he strained to hear the coach driver. He frowned. He would have supposed Barnesley would put up more of a resistance.

  The coach barreled along the road as if someone was urging the horses to greater speed.

  The masked man on the floor moaned, and Geoffrey kicked him again with his booted foot.

  “Must you really do that?” Benedict asked, biting a rosy lip.

  Geoffrey glanced at him. His ears pounded, and his muscles twitched. “Yes.”

  Benedict took one of the satin pillows from the seat and tucked it under the man’s head.

  “He doesn’t deserve that,” Geoffrey growled.

  “It’s Christmas tomorrow,” Benedict replied.

  Geoffrey frowned. “You should never have come here with me.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” Benedict said cheerfully, leaning back into the cushions. “It’s already less dull than you promised.”

  “That’s not a good thing.”

  The coach halted. Geoffrey frowned, and Benedict poked his head out the window.

  “Benedict, I don’t think you should move now.” Geoffrey removed his pistol, prepared to meet whoever came.

  “I say, isn’t that your castle?” Benedict grinned at him and lanced his fingers behind his head.

  Geoffrey stiffened, and his muscles tensed. “Impossible. Kidnappers don’t drive one home.”

  “Well this one didn’t seem so bad,” Benedict said, glancing at the man huddled on the floor.

  “Only because he’s unconscious,” Geoffrey said.

  “Anyway, this has turrets and it’s made of brick and there’s a little moat . . .”

  Geoffrey shoved his head out the window. He blinked. “Damnation.”

  “Is it?” Benedict asked, returning to his seat with a satisfied stretch. “I did want to see it.”