He drove his finger deeper than ever before and he gasped at the shock of pleasure, his fist instinctively gripping his cock harder. The glove was so slick his hand slid down, bumping hard against the head, and Brett moaned as he pulled his finger back and then shoved it in again at the same time he rubbed his leather-clad thumb over the weeping slit on the head of his cock. “Yes,” he shouted hoarsely, trying desperately to keep his voice down as his cock jerked in his fist and semen jetted out in spurts, covering his hand, his stomach, his thighs. He could feel his passage clenching on his finger and a small cry escaped as he imagined doing that on Freddy’s elegant finger.
When it was over Brett collapsed for a moment. And then the pain hit, clenching his gut and starting a pounding behind his eyes. It wasn’t a physical pain, but an emotional one. He rolled over on his side and pulled his knees up and laid there in a tight ball of anguish for a long time, thinking. He knew he couldn’t have them. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t, couldn’t, do that to Bertie. Bertie had died saving Brett’s life. How could he betray that gift? By stealing his fiancée? Fucking his brother? No, Brett had to leave them alone. He could at least give that to Bertie. He thought about the day he’d spent in Freddy and Anne’s company. Suddenly he knew. He knew what had to be done. Why hadn’t he thought of it before? The solution was so simple it was breathtaking. Freddy must marry Anne. Then they would take care of each other, and Brett would leave them.
The following morning Freddy entered the breakfast room only to find Brett there already. Brett looked as if he hadn’t slept much last night. Well, Freddy hadn’t either. And he’d had to fist his cock again this morning before he could face Brett. It wouldn’t do to show Brett a hard cock first thing in the morning. It made Brett grumpy.
Freddy smiled and looked around the room, noting the three footmen and Reeves in attendance, waiting to serve him. The room was small by Ashton Park standards, enormous by anyone else’s. Yet Freddy liked it. He liked a lot of things about the Park. There were also things he didn’t like.
“Do you like this room?” Freddy asked Brett by way of greeting as a footman held out his chair and he sat down. Reeves unfolded his napkin and placed it across his lap.
“Coffee, Your Grace?” Reeves asked.
“Yes, Reeves, thank you,” Freddy automatically answered. Reeves asked the same thing every morning, and every morning Freddy gave the same answer. For the first time he wondered why they bothered. “Reeves, just give me coffee every morning. You don’t need to ask. If I don’t want any, I promise to speak up.”
Reeves looked taken aback for a moment, and then his face became unreadable again. “Very good, Your Grace.”
Brett hid a grin in his napkin. He cleared his throat. “Yes, I like it. Why?”
Freddy sipped the hot coffee Reeves had set in front of him. A footman placed a plate of breakfast items down on the table and Freddy saw Reeves frown at him. Freddy inwardly sighed. He didn’t even know why Reeves was frowning, so clearly the young man had done nothing wrong. Reeves’ territoriality could be exasperating sometimes. “Thank you…” Freddy had to pause, a little embarrassed.
“James, Your Grace,” the footman supplied, a twinkle in his eye.
Freddy grinned, although he knew Reeves would take the poor man to task later over his familiarity. “James,” Freddy finished. “Would you fetch Mr. Haversham some more sausage?”
“Of course, Your Grace.” James didn’t bat an eye at the request. Whether he was pleased with him this morning or not, Reeves had trained him well.
Brett leaned back in his chair with a small smile. “And if I don’t want any more sausage?”
James’ steps didn’t falter at all. He clearly knew who was in charge. Freddy turned his grin on Brett. “You always want more sausage.”
“Hmm,” was Brett’s reply. When James set the plate in front of him, Brett picked up his knife and Freddy laughed. Brett chuckled as he took a bite.
The two men ate in companionable silence for several minutes. Finally Freddy set his cutlery down and reached for his coffee. As he sipped he looked around the room again. Yes, this room pleased him. It was bordered in the four corners with screens of beautiful Corinthian columns. The pediments above the two doors carried the same theme, as did the frames, all painted a rich cream. The walls were covered in paisley patterned wallpaper, the design a rich, cabernet red against a cream background. There were elegant fainting couches and chairs lining the south and west walls, all covered in a sumptuous olive green velvet. The table was large and round, one of the few inviting pieces at Ashton Park. The table and its matching chairs were made of a dark, rich walnut. Pictures lined the walls, hung in ornate, gilt frames—all ancient ancestors of one kind or another. If pressed Freddy could name most of them, he’d been drilled in that sort of thing by his mother when he was a lad. The windows along the east wall lit the room in the morning and gave an excellent view of the park outside, and the garden with its elaborate maze and sparkling fountain. The overall effect was elegant yet masculine. Freddy felt utterly at home here, relaxed. He could see a woman being quite happy here as well. Anne would fit this room perfectly.
“Jerome redid this room, didn’t he, Reeves?”
“Yes, Your Grace. Right before his death.” Reeves paused. “I believe the duchess has plans to redecorate it again.”
A ferocious desire to keep the room just the way it was swept over Freddy. “Does she? Well, cancel them, Reeves. I want this room left alone.” He turned and looked hard at the butler, who he knew was unfailingly loyal to the duchess. “Do you understand, Reeves?”
“Of course, Your Grace.”
Freddy looked up at the huge octagonal brass chandelier hanging above the table. “I was thinking of sending to London for a decorator. I believe it is time some changes were made here at the Park.”
At his announcement a plate behind him hit the floor with a resounding crash. Freddy turned startled eyes on Reeves, who looked as if he’d seen a ghost. Reeves cheeks turned bright red. “I’m very sorry, Your Grace.”
“Are you all right, Reeves?” Brett asked quietly. “Did you cut yourself?”
“No, sir, thank you,” Reeves replied with dignity. He gestured at one of the footmen to clean up the mess. The footmen’s faces were carefully blank, but Freddy knew they were as surprised as he.
“Well, don’t worry about it, Reeves,” Freddy said with a nonchalant wave. “I’m sure we have more where that one came from.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” Reeves intoned from behind him.
Brett was biting his upper lip, fighting a grin. The sight of his sharp, white teeth gripping that chiseled lip sent a bolt of pure lust into Freddy’s cock, hardening it immediately. Freddy sighed and uncrossed his legs. Damn if this wasn’t going to be one of those days.
“What kind of changes, Freddy?” Brett asked as he motioned a footman over to refill his and Freddy’s coffee cups.
“I thought I’d start with the green drawing room,” Freddy mused. “I’ve never liked that room.”
“Your Grace!” Reeves exclaimed in horror. “The Prince Regent himself has admired that room.”
Freddy made a face. “Well that decides it. The green drawing room must go.”
Brett laughed. “You are duke now, Freddy.” He leaned over and lightly squeezed Freddy’s forearm. “I think it is high time you made Ashton Park yours.” Brett sat back before Freddy could capture his hand and hold it on his arm, which was his inclination. Brett was oblivious. “What do you plan to do?”
Freddy sighed. “I’m not sure. But I think I would like a little less formality. No matter what my mother thinks, this is not a royal residence.” He gestured around them. “I am quite taken with this scheme here. I shall have a decorator look at this room and then proceed from there.” He turned to Reeves. “Reeves, find out who decorated this room. Perhaps Jerome had more changes in mind and discussed it with the fellow.”
“Shall you make it a bachelor
’s residence?” Brett asked a little too nonchalantly.
Freddy wasn’t sure what Brett wanted to hear. He’d denied Freddy repeatedly. Would he be happy if Freddy wed and left him alone? Or did he want Freddy to say yes, to confirm Brett would always have a place in his home? Freddy answered carefully. “No, I do not think so. There will be women here.” He deliberately didn’t say who they might be, but some devil made him add, “Perhaps even your wife, Brett.”
Brett spun about, startled. “My wife?” He shook his head. “I don’t believe I shall ever marry, Freddy. Don’t plan around that.”
Freddy leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on the table. “Why not?”
Brett raised a sardonic brow. “I simply don’t foresee it. And what about you? Your duchess will certainly have to be taken into account.”
Freddy felt a pit open in his gut. Brett said that without any hesitation. Your duchess. “Yes, I suppose eventually there will have to be one. But I am in no great hurry.” He stood up, and Brett was clearly surprised by the abrupt move. “What would you like to do today?” He paused as he set his napkin on the table. When he continued, he and Brett spoke at the same time.
“I would like to go see Anne.”
“Let’s go and see Anne.”
The two men shared a smile and Brett stood and followed Freddy from the room.
Chapter Six
November 1810
Anne,
I have held my thoughts inside like a prayer, or a curse. I can do so no longer. This place, this time, this war—they have worn me down. There is little of Brett left here. Who am I then? I see myself in Bertie’s eyes, and that reflection is the only thing that reassures me I am still here at all.
What utter rubbish. I shall certainly never send this letter. It is this damned arm. I tell everyone it is all right, but the truth is it is festering. That bloody French bayonet was poison. Knightly, a damned ingenious bully, told me to douse it with whiskey. He is the only one who realizes that it pains me still. I won’t bother the doctor with it. He is busy enough with the truly injured. I took Knightly’s advice and nearly screamed like a young girl. But it does look better today.
Bertie is worried about his little brother. He hasn’t heard from him since his arrival. Bloody little bastard. Bertie writes him constantly, begging for a letter. I shall be hard pressed not to plant him a facer when I see him.
Listen to me, I act as if I shall just return and blend into Bertie’s life. But I know that won’t happen. Bertie will return to you, and to that rotten little brother, and I will return to…nothing. Perhaps I am preparing for that? I shall just fade away here before I fade away in England. I am fading fast, Anne. I only hold tight for Bertie’s sake. Who else would watch his back? Trouble is attracted to him like a magnet. I didn’t tell him that bayonet was meant for him. Bloody fool. Hell, Anne, we’re a lot of bloody fools.
That is enough, I think. Even I tire of my endless complaints. I wrote you because Bertie received another letter today. It smelled so strongly of lilacs even the campfire couldn’t disguise the sweet scent. He passed it around and every man got two minutes to sniff it, with Bertie standing guard behind them to make sure they didn’t try to steal it. I wonder if you know that we are all in love with you?
Brett
* * * * *
Anne had been anxious all morning. She hadn’t slept well last night, kept awake by visions of Brett and Freddy and all the deliciously naughty things she’d like to do with them, some she wasn’t even sure were possible but she was willing to try. Would they come to see her today? If they didn’t, she wasn’t sure what she would do. She couldn’t very well waltz up to the door at the Park and expect to be welcomed inside with open arms. As soon as Bertie had left England she’d been barred. It was simply habit now to avoid the Park. The only time she’d been there had been to try to deliver Bertie’s letters. Although with Freddy in residence perhaps things would be different.
Anne was sitting by herself in the small dining room, drinking tepid tea again and nibbling on a day-old biscuit. If she didn’t hear from them in the next two, no, three days perhaps she’d go to the Park and inquire about…her mind was blank. Well, she’d think of something to inquire about besides whether the duke and Mr. Haversham were still in residence, and if they might like to fuck her silly, perhaps? Anne snorted at her musings. She could just see Reeves’ face at her question.
She sighed. Breakfast was long over, and there were all the minutia and endless, mind-numbing chores living in a small cottage on an even smaller income required. Soon her mother would be coming in to check on her. She tried to give Anne as much time and space as she thought an independent twenty-six-year-old woman required, but she was still a mother at heart. A mother who carried around an endless list of things that needed to be done.
Anne grudgingly stood up, prepared to martyr herself like a responsible, independent twenty-six-year-old woman should. Her mother still handled many of the duties normally assumed by the wife of the vicar. Mr. Matthews was as yet unmarried, and he appreciated Mrs. Goode’s help. Anne could hardly complain about doing some weeding when her mother was tending a houseful of sick children and their mother over at the Ferstons. It would also mean that they’d be paid in chickens and eggs by the Ferstons, and the parsonage would send over some much needed staples as well. Anne smiled as she remembered they didn’t need so much now, not after Freddy had taken care of them yesterday.
Her heart lightened considerably when she remembered Freddy’s kindnesses yesterday. With a sigh she relived the day, pausing on the vision of Brett’s tender look as he’d begged her to accept the new gloves he purchased for her. Of course, the thought of the new gloves made her think of the old ones and Brett’s hand working its way inside, and she got that marvelous shivery feeling all over and she was back at the start again. Would they come today?
Anne finally managed to make it out of the dining room. She found her gardening gloves by the kitchen door. “Mrs. Tilton,” she told the older woman, who was happily mixing shortbread and humming as she worked, “I shall be in the garden if you happen to see Mother.” She wasn’t truly worried about her mother’s ability to track her down. She was thinking of other potential guests. Just then there was a firm knock at the cottage door. Anne spun about and, lifting her skirt indecorously, took off running for the front of the cottage. “I’ll get it,” she hollered back at a surprised Mrs. Tilton.
Without pausing Anne breathlessly yanked open the door at the same time she came to a teetering halt. Freddy and Brett were standing on the other side, grinning widely from surprised faces. “Hello,” Anne said breathlessly with a huge smile.
“Good morning, Miss Goode,” Freddy said, clearly amused.
He reached for her hand and she stuck it out only to realize she still had on her gardening gloves. “Oh bother,” she muttered as she yanked them off.
Freddy couldn’t contain his laughter, and Anne saw Brett rub his upper lip in the way she’d noticed yesterday when he was trying to hide a smile. “You seem to have a great deal of trouble with gloves,” Freddy drawled as he took her naked hand in his. He was still wearing his expensive gloves, and Anne’s knees literally got weak at the feel of the leather against her palm. Her breathing hitched and Freddy’s gaze held hers knowingly as he kissed the back of her hand. Oh my God, was that his tongue? Anne thought in shock, feeling the soft, warm, wet tip tracing a little pattern along the vein in the back of her hand.
“I’m becoming obsessed with them.” Anne’s voice was shaky. Freddy pulled away with a puzzled look. “Gloves, I mean.”
Freddy’s look darted to Brett, who was watching them with an odd look. “Yes,” Freddy said quite clearly, “I myself have had one or two thoughts about gloves since yesterday.”
Brett blinked and looked at the two of them. His cheeks turned pink as he realized what they were referring to. “I am sorry I ruined your gloves, Anne,” he apologized again.
“I’m not,
” Anne told him, and she put every ounce of longing and desire she’d been feeling into the words. Freddy still held her hand and his grip tightened.
Clearly Brett didn’t know what to say. His face reflected her own desire, but it was as if something prevented him from forming the words. Silently Freddy passed Anne’s hand to Brett, and he took it in his and turned it over before he pressed a lingering kiss on her palm. Anne’s heart flipped over.
“Oh Your Grace, Mr. Haversham,” Mrs. Goode said warmly from behind Anne. “Back so soon? Thank you so much for escorting Anne to the village yesterday.” She stopped next to Anne at the door, and Brett released her hand and stepped back. Mrs. Goode turned to Freddy. “Thank you also, Your Grace, for your generosity. There is no need for you to pay for your own shortbread.” She smiled wryly. “But I thank you for the sentiment as well as the provisions.”
Freddy bowed over her offered hand. “It was my sincere pleasure, ma’am.” His eyes twinkled. “I do love Mrs. Tilton’s shortbread.”
Mrs. Goode laughed. “Everyone loves Mrs. Tilton’s shortbread, and it’s been a very long time since we’ve had it.” Mrs. Goode stood back and gestured them into the house. “I daresay half the village will make an excuse to stop by the cottage today in hopes of getting a taste.”
Freddy and Brett entered, Brett bowing over Mrs. Goode’s hand as he passed. “Well then, I shall have Mr. Howard send some more of whatever you need,” Freddy offered. “That is, if Mrs. Tilton doesn’t mind baking all day.”
Mrs. Goode led them into the same drawing room where they’d had tea yesterday. She laughed at Freddy’s remark. “No, I don’t think she’d mind at all.”
Anne trailed after them. She knew she shouldn’t resent her mother’s presence, but she did. She wanted to be alone with them. It was probably better this way, because if they were alone she’d just embarrass herself by throwing herself at them shamelessly. Of course, they might catch her just as shamelessly, and wouldn’t that be fun?
Brothers In Arms 05: Retreat From Love Page 8
