The anxiety he already felt over Freddy’s future career was something he sensed he was going to have to learn to live with. But as Freddy took his leave, Henry saw many things in his son that weighed on the other side of the scales: joy, excitement, and that steely determination that was so much a part of Freddy’s character.
Kit was right, he thought. It was Freddy’s life, not Henry's. It had not been fair of him to stand in Freddy’s way. Even if this was a mistake, it was Freddy’s mistake to make.
And hopefully it would not be a mistake. After all, it seemed that Freddy had more kindness and human understanding in him than Henry had ever realised. That made him feel both proud—of Freddy—and ashamed—of himself. He had not judged his son generously.
Well, he would have to do better at that, and at other things too. He had another son to apologise to—which was going necessitate leaving London—and he had a daughter to say farewell to, before he spent the next few months worrying incessantly about her till her baby was born.
His children might be grown and fledged, but they would always occupy every corner of his heart. No matter how old they grew, he would never escape the endless, daily work of worrying about them.
And nor would he want to.
But now—now he had someone else to occupy his heart too. Someone who had never really left, truth to tell.
That was the thing about hearts, Henry reflected. They looked quite small, but they could hold a lot—and all kinds of love at the same time, some of which could not be neatly boxed and labelled.
“I loved your mother. We loved each other. That’s all that matters.”
It was all that mattered, Henry decided. Really, when all was said and done, what else was there?
Kit had said that Henry could return to him at seven o’clock. He glanced at the clock.
Not quite noon.
Hell.
Well, there other things he could do in the meantime—spend some time with Marianne, plan his return to Wiltshire, and of course, come up with some way of persuading Kit to spend the rest of his life with Henry.
23
Kit
“I’m selling the club,” Kit said.
“You never are!” Mabel exclaimed, sitting forward in her chair and making Nell Gwyn—who had been perched on her shoulder—squawk and rise up in fluster of outraged feathers.
“I am,” Kit confirmed.
“To that Sharp fellow?”
Kit nodded. “What do you think?”
“Depends on the price,” Mabel said promptly, canny as ever.
Kit told her the arrangements and was relieved when she nodded her approval.
“You’ve done well, my lad,” she said, and her eyes grew a little misty. “I wish your mother was here to see this. She would be that proud.”
He smiled, touched. Mabel Butcher was a tough woman, but even now, all these years on, she got a tear in her eye when she mentioned his mother. Kit had been thinking of Minnie Redford more often lately, remembering how much fun she had been when he was small, how proud he had been of having a mother so much lovelier than everyone else’s. Remembering too, less happily, the first time he’d seen her with a bruise on her face, and the times he’d seen her sadness, her exhaustion, her worry.
He wished he could have had just one chance to lighten her load, instead of making it always heavier.
“She knows,” a soft voice said, and when Kit looked up, it was to find the usually silent Gracie watching him with a calm expression. “She’s looking down on you from heaven, Mr. Redford.”
Kit was embarrassed to feel a lump rise in his throat at her gentle assurance. He didn’t believe in angels and heaven, but something in Gracie’s certainty made him at least want to do so.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“What will you do with yourself now, then, ducky?” Mabel asked. “A comfortable retirement? Your mother and I always used to say we’d retire to Southend. She fancied the seaside.” She sighed.
“You could still go there,” Kit said, but she waved that off.
“I’d only have been going for Minnie,” she said. “I’m London born and bred, and I plan to die here too.”
“You’ll live forever,” Kit said scornfully. “You and that bloody parrot.”
Nell whistled loudly. “Bloody parrot! Don’t be rude!”
Mabel chuckled, affectionately stroking the parrot’s head with the crook of her finger. “Ah, Nelly, my clever darling.” Then glancing at Kit, she said, “So? Retirement?”
“I’m too young for that,” Kit said, smiling.
“Another business then? Or the country? There’ll always be money in land.”
Kit cleared his throat. “You remember how you said I needed to find someone? For the other side of my fireplace?”
“What?” Mabel shrieked, sending Nell Gwyn squawking yet again. “You’ve finally got yourself a new fancy man?”
Kit shifted uncomfortably. “It depends what you mean by new.”
Mabel’s gaze narrowed speculatively. “Someone you already know…” she mused, tapping her chin. “One of the boys at the club, is it?” But already she was shaking her head. “Is it someone I know? Wait”—she clapped her hands, grinning—“is it Jean-Jacques?”
“No!” Kit exclaimed, offended. “He’s married, and I’m friends with his wife!”
Mabel scowled. “Shame,” she said sourly, and went back to tapping her chin. “Who then? I can’t think of anyone. You’ve never been one for romantic feelings, Kit, despite being so soft-hearted. Not since that bloody duke—” She broke off at the expression on his face, her own transforming into one of pure disbelief. “Oh, no, Kit! Never tell me it’s him after all these years!”
Kit said, “I’m afraid so. Henry found me and—”
“That lying, cheating—”
“And he’s explained what happened in the past,” Kit spoke over her. “He had no idea, Mabel. It was all the fault of his man of business.”
“And you believe this rubbish?” Mabel hissed.
“Just listen,” Kit insisted, and proceeded to tell her the whole story—or at least, most of it.
By the time he was finished, she looked somewhat mollified, though her mouth was still tight with disapproval.
“I can’t believe you wouldn’t let him give you the money!” she exclaimed. “I think you’re touched in your top loft, Kit. He owed you that.”
Kit laughed softly and shook his head.
Nell Gwyn whistled noisily and hopped from Mabel’s shoulder to the arm of her chair.
“Woo-hoo!” she shrieked. “He loves you; he loves you not.”
“You should listen to Nell Gwyn.” Mabel told him sternly. “I swear this old girl’s practically a prophet.”
The parrot launched herself from the chair in a lazy flap of wings, landing on top of her cage.
“He loves you,” she intoned flatly, then hopped from the cage to the top of a wooden glass-fronted cabinet where Mabel kept her best china. “He loves you not.”
Next was the sideboard. “He loves you.”
The mantelpiece. “Woo-hoo! He loves you not.”
She paused on the coal scuttle to whistle tunelessly, then shrieked, “He loves you,” only to hop to the tea table and intone mournfully, “he loves you not.”
Finally, Nell Gwyn did something she had never done before. She landed on Kit’s shoulder and rubbed her feathered head against his hair, whistling again. “He loves you.”
And fell silent.
For a few moments, no one said anything, waiting. Then Nell Gwyn flapped back over to her cage and hopped inside, picking up a nut from the floor of the cage, which she began to tear open.
Kit looked at Mabel, wide-eyed. She had tears in her eyes.
“Well in that case,” she said, “you’d better have your duke, I suppose.”
Henry arrived at five minutes to seven.
“He’s keen,” Tom commented unprofessionally, leaning in the doorway of K
it’s private sitting room. “You should let him kick his heels for a while.”
Kit chuckled. “I’m too old for that sort of nonsense. Show him up.”
“I thought you were having supper with him?” Tom said, surprised.
“I’ll have a supper tray sent up later,” Kit said casually.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Tom crowed.
“Oh, be quiet,” Kit said crossly, but his mouth twitched and Tom was laughing as he left.
A few minutes later, Tom was back, swinging the door open and announcing, “His grace, the—”
“That’s enough, Tom, thank you,” Kit said. “Let Henry in.”
Tom bit his lip, “Very good, sir,” he said, his voice thick with suppressed laughter. He stood aside and Henry passed him, walking into the room.
Kit was already on his feet and walking forward.
They came together in the middle of the little sitting room, both smiling. Kit was vaguely aware of the door closing, but he did not look away from Henry’s dear, smiling face.
“Kit,” Henry murmured, “Christopher. I’ve missed you.”
“It’s only been a few hours,” Kit scoffed, but his tone was fond.
“Has it? I’ve been wretched without you,” Henry said. He set his hand against Kit’s cheek and tilted his face up, his expression soft with affection. “I have things to tell you,” he said.
“And I you,” Kit replied. “But you go first.”
“All right,” Henry said. “May I kiss you before I begin?”
Kit grinned. “You may.”
Henry grinned back and bent his head, capturing Kit’s lips in a warm, soft kiss that made Kit’s legs go weak.
When they broke apart, Henry said happily, “I told Freddy about you.”
“What?” Kit exclaimed, shocked.
“In fairness, he had guessed,” Henry said. He was smiling.
He was happy.
“Now you,” he said.
Kit shook his head. “No, wait. What did you tell him about me exactly?”
Henry smoothed his big hand over Kit’s hair, his expression fond. “That I love you.”
Kit stared at him, amazed. “He must have been shocked.”
“He… surprised me,” Henry said. “Turns out that Freddy knows more than I could ever have guessed.” He smiled. “Now tell me your news.”
Kit gazed at him, staring at those familiar grey eyes, loving the happiness he saw there. “I’m selling Redford’s,” he said simply.
“What?” Henry exclaimed. “But you—wait—you’ll be free, and financially independent?”
Kit grinned. “I will.”
“And does that mean that you’re willing to consider some other changes in your life? So that we can be together?” Henry said breathlessly.
Kit nodded, his smile feeling irrepressible. “I want to be with you too, Henry.”
“Bloody hell!” Henry whispered. He blinked hard, then dropped to his knees and pressed his face against Kit’s stomach, clutching him close, his arms strong bands around Kit’s waist.
Kit’s stared down at him, stupefied. Slowly, carefully, he stroked Henry’s dark, silvered hair with gentle, careful touches.
At length, Henry raised his head, meeting Kit’s worried gaze with damp eyes. “I was afraid,” he said hoarsely. “I thought you might palm me off with some kindly nonsense about seeing me every once in a while when you had time.” He shook his head. “You seemed so uncertain this morning.”
“I had some sense talked into me by a parrot,” Kit said, laughing when Henry blinked. He stroked Henry’s hair again, and said gently, “I don’t quite know what our future will look like. We need to think about that. I want to see Clara and Peter well settled, and I have to make sure the sale is properly taken care of and all my staff are provided for—including my over-familiar footman who just isn’t cut out for that sort of work.” He paused. “And then we have your family to consider.”
“My family will be—”
“Given all due consideration,” Kit interrupted.
Henry opened his mouth and closed it again.
“We don’t need to rush anything,” Kit said softly. “We have time to plan our future.”
“But you do want a future with me,” Henry said urgently.
Kit smiled. “I do. More than anything.”
“Then the rest can wait,” Henry said.
“You should get up,” Kit said. “Before your knee starts playing up.”
Henry grinned. “Chaise longue?” he suggested, clambering back to his feet.
When Kit nodded, he pulled him over the long sofa, pressed him down, and settled his big body down next to Kit’s.
“I like this sofa.” he said. “It’s easily big enough for both of us.”
“Believe it or not, I’ve seen bigger,” Kit said idly.
“Have you?”
“Jake Sharp has an absolutely enormous one.”
Henry scowled, “How do you know that?”
Kit just laughed. Maybe one day he’d tell Henry how often Sharp had tried to get him into bed—but not tonight. “Size isn’t everything,” he said sweetly instead.
“I hear it’s what you do with it that counts,” Henry replied, beginning to shuffle his way down the length of the sofa.
“What are you going to do with it?” Kit asked breathlessly as Henry rubbed his cheek against Kit’s crotch, making his already semi-hard cock stiffen to full hardness in his breeches.
“I scarcely know,” Henry whispered, rubbing his face back and forth. “Tell me what you want.”
“Take my cock out,” Kit breathed. “Suck it.”
Henry did as he was bid, his fingers working frantically to open Kit’s breeches and gently extract his painfully hard cock.
He licked a stripe up the shaft, from balls to tip, then swallowed Kit down, taking in his whole length.
“Oh God!” Kit groaned, palming the back of Henry’s head. “Yes, like that.”
He let Henry suck him for several minutes, then grabbed a handful of Henry's hair and pulled him off.
“Such a good boy,” he breathed. “Will you serve me tonight with your cock?”
Henry seemed to shudder all over.
“I want it inside me,” Kit added lewdly. “So get your clothes off.”
Henry’s cheeks flushed, grey eyes glittering with pleasure as he clambered to his feet.
Kit rose too, and they both quickly undressed.
“Lovely,” Kit said, walking around Henry once he was naked, admiring the powerful planes of his body. “Are you ready to serve me?”
“Yes,” Henry whispered.
“Good,” Kit said, smiling. “That’s what I like to hear.” He strolled over to the bureau and removed the bottle of oil from the top drawer that he’d stashed there earlier.
On his way back to the chaise longue, he picked up Henry’s shirt, tossing the linen down on the sofa before he laid himself down on top of it. “You can wear this tomorrow,” he said. You’ll smell of my spend.”
Henry moaned and Kit laughed softly. “Come here. I want your tongue on my hole.”
Eyes shining with lust, Henry dropped to his knees and moved closer.
“Hands behind your head,” Kit said lightly. “I want to see you work for this.”
Henry groaned again but he did as he was bid, clasping his hands at the back of his neck as he inched forward.
At the first touch of his tongue, Kit sighed with pleasure and spread his thighs further apart. “Yes,” he moaned. “Just. Like. That.” He dropped a hand to his cock and began to lazily tease it, rubbing the head with his thumb, then stroking the length.
Henry’s eager tongue was exquisite against his sensitive rim, dipping inside, hot and squirming.
Ah fuck.
After a while, Kit tugged at his hair.
“All right you lovely beast,” he said hoarsely. “I want you inside me now.”
Henry let out a groan that was abjectly gr
ateful and clambered up onto the chaise longue while Kit opened the oil and covered his fingers, liberally spreading the warm, viscous liquid over his already quivering, desperate hole.
“You too,” Kit breathed, reaching for Henry. He loved the easy glide of his oiled hand over Henry’s desperately hard shaft, and Henry’s gasp of pleasure at his touch.
“Come on, then,” Kit said when he was done. “Let’s get that lovely big prick inside me.”
But when Henry reached for his hips, Kit gave him a quelling look.
“Ah-ah,” he admonished. “Let’s keep those hands out of the way.”
“No, Kit, please,” Henry begged.
“Oh, but yes,” Kit said. “It will help you concentrate on my pleasure rather than your own. Come on. Hands behind your head again. I’ll help you get in.”
Henry groaned almost painfully this time, but he did as he was told, linking his hands at the back of his neck while Kit took hold of his shaft and lined him up perfectly to sink deeply into Kit’s warm, welcome heat.
“Yes,” Kit hissed, throwing his head back as Henry sank inside him. “God, yes, like that. Fuck me.”
Henry did his best.
Without his hands for purchase, he was all at sea, trying to give Kit what he wanted with powerful punches of his hips, his expression hazy with lust.
Kit lifted his legs, pulling his thighs back with his own hands, splayed and open and needful.
“Yes, right there,” he panted. “Pound me hard, Henry.”
And Christ, but Henry did, as best as any man could with his hands out of the way.
“Good boy,” Kit gasped, insinuating a hand between them to grasp his own cock and begin stroking it in time with Henry’s thrusts. “Fuck me, Henry. Make me spend.”
Henry redoubled his efforts, hips snapping, chest heaving, eyes glittering—and Kit came like a fountain, his eyes rolling back in his head as the world went grey for long, blissful moments.
When he opened his eyes, he smiled, taking in Henry’s flushed, desperate face, hard, bobbing cock, and the hands that were still clutched behind his neck.
He opened his arms and smiled. “Time for your reward. Come here.”
Restored (Enlightenment Book 5) Page 24
