by Merry Farmer
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Niall insisted, peeling his socks off and stepping right up to Blake. “You are your own man. Live your own life.”
“I have a duty to my family.” Blake twisted his head away, unable to look Niall in the eyes as he spoke. “I have a responsibility to the title.”
“Miss Cannon doesn’t love you. I do.” Niall’s voice dropped to a dangerous timbre.
“And I love you,” Blake said weakly, dragging himself to meet Niall’s eyes. The words were ringing hollower and hollower as defeat clouded Blake’s expression.
“You are not some trinket to be bartered on the marriage market, Blake,” Niall growled. “You are a man of strength and talent. You could have whatever life you wanted. The nobility isn’t what it used to be. You could ignore your title and come to London to make a name for yourself on the stage, I know you could.”
Blake shook his head with an agonized half-smile. He blinked, and tears spilled down his cheeks. “No, I can’t. Nobility still means something to those stuck in it. I have no choice in the matter at all. The Cannons have money and our estate is failing. I’m going to be a duke.” He shrugged. Niall had never seen him look or sound so lost. “What would people say if I abandoned everything I am destined for to run away with my male lover?”
“They’d say that you chose love over fortune.” Niall gripped the sides of Blake’s face. “They’d say you are a hero.”
Blake shook and lowered his head, letting out a gasping breath. Tears fell on the doublet of his costume. “They’d say I was a pervert and a disgrace. They would throw me in jail, or worse.”
“Do you really care so much what people say?” Niall asked in a whisper.
Blake peeked up and met his eyes with horrible sheepishness. It shot through Niall’s heart like a poison arrow.
“I love you,” Niall hissed.
He didn’t wait for a reply. He jerked into Blake, grabbing a handful of hair at the back of Blake’s head and slamming his mouth over his, kissing him with all the frustration and anger that boiled within him. He kissed Blake with the fire of love and desperation, forcing Blake’s lips apart and thrusting his tongue as if he could claim what was his through action where words had failed.
Blake whimpered in surrender and threw his arms around Niall. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he panted, leaning his forehead against Niall’s and gulping for breath.
“I don’t accept it,” Niall growled, ripping at the buttons of Blake’s costume. “You don’t want that woman. You don’t want anyone but me.” And he intended to prove it.
He tore through Blake’s buttons and shoved the doublet off his shoulders. He wore nothing underneath, so Niall was able to run his hands freely and possessively across Blake’s chest and sides as soon as they were uncovered. He slammed into Blake with another kiss that pulled a moan of longing from Blake’s lungs. Their affair had gone on long enough that Niall knew exactly where and how to kiss and touch him in a way that would drive him mad. He dug his nails into Blake’s back, causing him to gasp, then drown that gasp with his mouth.
Passion and pain drove him on. He pushed Blake back toward the worn sofa against the wall. Blake moved as though under a spell, tear-reddened eyes half-lidded and mouth open as Niall reached for the fastenings of Blake’s trousers. He made quick work of those, shoving them and Blake’s drawers over his hips and thighs. A rush of victory and fury hit Niall as Blake’s cock sprung to life, proving that even in the middle of a tragedy, he could still make Blake hard.
“I won’t let you give this up,” Niall hissed, pushing Blake onto the sofa when they reached it. He grabbed the fabric of Blake’s trousers and pulled them off. Blake sagged against the sofa with an erotic combination of surrender and need. Niall tore off his drawers, freeing his aching erection, then climbed over Blake. “I won’t let you cast aside everything between us.”
“I can’t—” Blake started.
Niall drowned his protest with a punishing kiss. Blake groaned into his mouth as Niall pressed their bodies together. He jerked his hips against Blake’s, rubbing their hard pricks together. It felt powerful and perfect, and it made Niall’s chest ache with misery.
He shifted his mouth to Blake’s neck, kissing and biting him and doing everything he could to leave a mark. He didn’t care how awkward it would be for Blake to explain to his precious family or his wealthy fiancée what the marks were or how he’d gotten them. If he could have, Niall would have marked Blake permanently as his. He would have marked him as a coward.
“I love you,” he growled, shifting lower and teasing one of Blake’s nipples with his tongue. He gripped Blake’s hip hard with one hand while balancing himself with the other. “You can’t tell me you don’t want this, you don’t want me.”
“I want you,” Blake groaned, then gasped as Niall reached between his spread legs to grip his balls possessively. The sound Blake made was half pain, half pleasure, but Niall couldn’t bring himself to feel a shred of remorse for being too rough. He wanted Blake to feel him in a way he would never forget.
There was no way it could be entirely adequate, but Niall spit on his hand, slicking himself as best he could, then grabbed Blake’s hips and tilted them up. He thrust into Blake’s arse, wincing at the resistance and at the cry that ripped from Blake.
“You’re mine,” he hissed, panting with frustration and pleasure as he fucked Blake hard and fast. “You will always be mine.”
Blake answered with a sound of pleasure that was so erotic Niall nearly came right then and there. He forced himself not to and slowed down, intent on enjoying the bittersweet, painful moment for as long as he could. It was the last time he would ever feel Blake’s skin against his, after all, the last time he would ever hear his lover’s sensual cries as their bodies joined. In spite of everything, in spite of what Niall knew full well was cruelty on his part, Blake was clearly consumed with pleasure as they rocked together, tangled and twisted. His cock was hot in Niall’s hand when he reached for it, in spite of the awkward angle of their joining. Blake’s desperate sounds reached a higher and higher pitch until he erupted in Niall’s hand, the jolt in his body throbbing through Niall.
Niall couldn’t hold out any longer. With a guttural cry of his own, he came hard, deep inside of Blake. It was a victory that faded much too fast as the passion of the moment waned and he sagged over Blake. He wanted to stay inside of Blake forever, but it was too much, too awkward. He shifted so that he covered Blake’s overheated, sweating body with his own, and they lay in each other’s arms, catching their breaths, until the hopelessness of the situation settled over them like a shroud.
“I love you,” Niall panted, all energy leaving him. Tears stung his eyes. He nestled his forehead against the side of Blake’s head.
“God, I love you,” Blake echoed with a sob. His arms closed around Niall’s damp back.
Niall lifted himself with the last of his energy to gaze down at Blake. “Then run away with me.”
Blake’s face twisted with guilt and grief, and he turned his head to the side. Tears squeezed out of his eyes when he closed them.
Niall pushed back farther. “You won’t,” he said, then sat up between Blake’s spread legs. “You won’t give up your so-called destiny for me.”
“I can’t,” Blake wept. He covered his face with his hands for a moment as his shoulders shook. Then he took a deep, sharp breath and moved his hands away, staring up at Niall with a new spark of bitterness. “You don’t understand what it’s like. You’ve never had this kind of responsibility on your shoulders.”
“You have a brother,” Niall argued, though his heart wasn’t in it anymore. “If it’s the Cannon money you need, let Montague marry her.”
“I can’t abide what people would think of me, Niall. I’m not as strong as you are.”
Blake’s words left a bitter taste in Niall’s mouth. He jerked away, swallowing hard. “I love you,” he growled, as if it were a curse, and sto
od. Every part of him felt as though it were turning to cold stone as he stared down at Blake, splayed, naked and defenseless, slick with sweat and sex. “I will never love anyone other than you,” he managed to choke out.
“Niall, I—”
“But I will never forgive you for this,” Niall cut him off.
He turned away before Blake could say anything else, retreating to the far end of the room to dress in the ordinary clothes of his ordinary life. Nothing would ever feel extraordinary for him again.
Chapter 10
The deep, bitter gloom that settled over Niall as soon as he cleaned up, dressed, and fled the dressing room, leaving Blake behind without a word as he, too, cleaned up, stayed with him through the night. Once the heat of passion cooled and the sting of surprise faded, he was left with nothing but a gaping hole in his chest where Blake had been ripped out of his heart.
He was grateful that he’d managed to secure a single room in his dormitory. With the door locked tight, no one could see him weep his way through the night, curled into a ball on his bed, not even bothering to change out of his rumpled and messy clothes. The scent of Blake and sex lingered on him, and he was loath to let it go. He wanted to smell Blake on him always, to feel the heat of his body and taste the salt of his skin against his tongue for as long as he could. He wanted to hear the sound of Blake’s laughter and his singing in everything around him. He wanted his prick to throb with Blake’s touch for the rest of his life, even if that meant he had to walk around in a state of arousal every day. He didn’t think he could bear it if his sensual memories of Blake faded into hazy nostalgia, like he knew they were destined to.
By morning, after barely any sleep, his head pounding, his eyes sore, and his mouth dry, Niall was beginning to have second thoughts. The pain was too acute. The rage at having the most precious thing he’d ever known ripped away from him—and by Blake’s own hands—was too much. He wanted nothing to do with a man who could toss aside love so cavalierly, without even trying to find an alternative way to be together. He wanted Blake erased from his memory forever.
He pushed himself out of bed, lurching toward his desk and throwing open the top drawer. The letters he’d received from Blake were all there, tied with a sentimental pink ribbon. He yanked the bundle out of the drawer and stumbled over to the fireplace. The fire had gone out during the night, so he poked at the embers, added kindling and coals to the heap, then went to work with a tinder box, relighting the flames.
The task took long enough that by the time he snatched up the bundle of Blake’s letters again, he was having second thoughts. He stared at the bundle, his throat squeezing and tears threatening to fall all over again. For all he knew, the lurid scene in the dressing room the night before was the last time he would ever speak to Blake, ever see him, even. Did he really want to destroy every beautiful thing his lover had ever written to him, now that things had ended?
He sat there, glaring at the bundle of letters until he lost track of time. The fire heated the room to a sweltering degree, but the sweat that dripped down Niall’s back seemed only fitting.
When a knock sounded at his door, Niall jumped.
“Cristofori, get up,” John’s voice sounded through the barrier. “You’re going to be late for commencement.”
Niall dragged himself to his feet when John knocked again instead just going away. With a deep scowl, he opened the door.
John didn’t seem at all surprised to see him in a terrible state. His friend sighed sympathetically, pity in his eyes. “You owe me and David a favor,” he said.
Niall’s frown turned to confusion. “What? Why?” His words came out rough and weak.
“That little scene you played out with Blake in the dressing room last night.” John lowered his voice and glanced up and down the hall to make sure they weren’t being observed. “You were loud as fuck. Lord Selby came looking for his son, and it was everything David and I could do to get rid of him and keep the hall clear until the two of you had it out.”
Niall’s face burned hot and he glanced away, too embarrassed to meet John’s eyes.
John surprised him by clapping a hand to his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t realize you thought there could actually be something more. I thought you knew it was futile.”
Niall swallowed hard and forced himself to meet John’s eyes. “I was a fool,” he croaked.
“Aren’t we all?” John squeezed his shoulder, then reached into the inside pocket of his jacket. “If it makes you feel any better, he asked me to give you this.”
Niall’s chest squeezed as John handed him a letter addressed in Blake’s neat hand. He took it, staring dumbly at it.
“Read it and hurry along,” John said, backing away. “You really are going to be late for the commencement ceremony.” He paused, sending Niall another deeply sympathetic look. “Go to the ceremony, get your degree, then get the hell out of here. London and greatness are waiting for you, me, and David. You don’t need all this holding you back.”
“No,” Niall said, though whether in agreement or in protest, he couldn’t tell.
He shut the door and leaned against it, staring at Blake’s letter. Part of him wanted to throw it into the fire without reading it. It could only contain an apology, and Niall didn’t want to hear it. His heart wasn’t just broken, it was obliterated. He’d never thought he would love anyone the way he loved Blake, and he knew he would never love anyone like that again. What apology could possibly make up for that sort of devastation?
Time truly was wasting, though, and as he crossed to pour water from the pitcher on his wash table into a basin to bathe, he broke down and opened the letter.
It began without an introduction. “I love you. I don’t know what else I can say. I love you and I’m sorry. But mostly, I love you. I always will. Nothing and no one can change that. I love you.”
A large, empty space took up the bottom half of the page, like a long, ponderous pause. Then, written at the very bottom of the page in a ragged hand, ink smeared, was, “I love you.”
Niall sobbed as he folded the letter and stuffed it back in its envelope. With shaking hands, he untied the bundle and rested Blake’s final letter on top of the others before retying the ribbon. With that done, he dragged himself to his wardrobe and fetched his traveling bag from the top. He took the case to the bed and opened it, then tossed the bundle of letters inside. There would be time to pack for London later, but it felt achingly poignant and fitting to slam the case shut with the letters inside.
He shaved and dressed as quickly as he could, not caring what he looked like. If anyone noted how ragged he looked, he could blame it on a late night after the play. No one would question him. No one would possibly guess at the reason for his bloodshot eyes or the circles under them. He could say he’d been out carousing with the theater people from London. He could tell them he’d gone drinking and whoring with his cast mates. He could tell anyone anything, and they would likely believe him. Only he and Blake would ever know the truth.
The commencement ceremony was already underway by the time he made it to the auditorium. He was forced to slip in through the back door as the underclassmen serving as ushers glared at him. His graduating class sat to one side of the room, and there was no way for him not to draw attention to himself as he hurried down the aisle to take a seat with them. John and David craned their necks to watch him, nodding when their eyes met. As soon as he was settled, he hunched into his seat and prayed for the ceremony to be over. For once in his life, he was grateful that he wouldn’t be called up on stage. It was bad enough when his name was called out as a graduate, along with the rest of his class.
When Blake’s name was announced, agony seized him. Blake sat several rows in front of him and looked straight forward. The bastard smiled as jovially as he always did. He sat straight and wore his graduation gown as though it were royal vestments. Niall could just make out his profile. He knew every curve and every line of Blake’s fac
e. He knew the way Blake’s jaw felt in his hand, knew the shape of his lips against his own. He knew the tiny lines that formed around Blake’s eyes when he smiled from his heart and knew the way his nostrils flared when he was about to come. It was clear as day to him that, underneath the bright smile, Blake was miserable. But that only made Niall’s heart break more.
“And now to announce the winners of this semester’s academic competitions,” the dean said from the podium on the stage. “We’ll begin with the Classics exam. Professor Carroll.” The dean turned to the row of faculty sitting behind him and gestured for Professor Carroll to come forward.
Niall had forgotten about the exam. It seemed like ages ago that he’d suffered his way through it, daydreaming and unable to concentrate.
A ripple of excitement ran through the graduating students as Professor Carroll reached the podium and cleared his throat. An underclassman brought him a long, flat case.
“Gentlemen, I was pleased with the marks you all earned on this exam,” Professor Carroll began. “There were many valiant efforts in the essay portion especially, and it was difficult for me to choose from among the top scorers. But in the end, one student rose above the rest.” He paused, and several of the graduating students leaned forward. “And that student is Blake Williamson, Lord Stanley.”
The auditorium burst into applause. On the other side, a woman’s cheer stood out above the others, and Annamarie Cannon leapt out of her chair enthusiastically as the audience, including Niall, rose to their feet for a standing ovation. Somewhere in front of him, Niall could have sworn he heard Ian cry, “No!” Blake rose and stepped forward as their classmates congratulated him and thumped him on the back. He was delayed in his progress toward the stage to accept his award as more of his friends stepped up to shake his hand.
“That man is blessed,” the student sitting next to Niall laughed as Blake crossed the stage to Professor Carroll. Blake’s face was pale and drawn, even though he smiled and nodded to the audience. When Niall turned to the man next to him, he went on with, “He scores the lead role in your play, graduates with top honors, wins the Classics prize, takes home the football trophy, and ends up engaged to an American millioniaress. And he’s handsome and charming on top of all that. I’ve never known anyone whose life is so blessed.”
