by Merry Farmer
He launched into the song, slowing the tempo and filling the flippant words with more meaning than Niall had ever intended when he’d composed the piece. He’d played it so many times over the years, altering the melody and harmonies slightly to give the ditty more depth, and he was proud of the final product. He sang it directly to Niall, in spite of the danger he knew it presented to both of them. He was well aware as he sang that his emotions were on his sleeve and that two dozen sets of eyes were watching, but he counted on the reputation he’d gained as everyone’s friend and no one’s lover but Annamarie’s to hide the truth.
Niall kept his expression carefully blank through the song, but Blake could see the heat in his eyes. Heat of anger, yes, but more than just that. As he finished, smiling modestly for Lady Inglewood’s guests, Niall clapped twice, then narrowed his eyes.
“What a delightful way to end the evening.” Lady Inglewood met Blake as he stood and stepped away from the piano, toward Niall. Niall got up and moved gingerly toward him. “I’m surprised you didn’t attempt a career on the stage yourself, your grace. You certainly could have managed it.” Lady Inglewood laughed at her own joke. Blake knew as well as she did that a career on the stage would have been impossible for the likes of him. But as he glanced to Niall, his heart thrummed as though anything were possible now.
“I think I would have enjoyed a life on the stage,” Blake said, his spirits high. “Don’t you think that life would have suited me?” he asked Niall.
Niall hummed noncommittally, then said, “I think we should be getting back to Selby Manor.”
“I quite agree,” Blake said. Particularly since he had every intention of pushing his luck to the limit that night and attempting to get Niall in bed. He felt drunk with love and with daring.
Niall was on to him before they even left Lady Inglewood’s parlor, though. “No,” he said as they marched into the hall, where Lady Inglewood’s butler and footmen had the guests’ coats waiting. “Don’t even think it, don’t even imagine it. It’s not going to happen. You’re treading on thin ice as it is, and I’ve half a mind to head back to London if you keep grinning at me like that.”
“Was it Shakespeare who said ‘the lady doth protest too much, methinks’?” Blake whispered as they approached a small group of departing guests.
Niall merely scowled at him, jaw clenched, as he took his coat from one of the footmen.
“Mr. Cristofori.” Blake and Niall both turned to see Miss Yates, who had been seated next to Niall at supper, heading down the hall toward him. “If I might have just a moment of your time.”
They had nearly made it out the door and paused for Miss Yates, but another of Lady Inglewood’s guests, Lord Rochester, stopped them. Miss Yates’s shoulders dropped in disappointment, and she fell back, deferring to Lord Rochester.
“I remember that musical,” Rochester said, narrowing his eyes and glancing between Blake and Niall. “I remember a lot of things about that spring.”
“You were in the class below us,” Blake said, remembering himself.
“You were a stagehand for the production,” Niall added in a strained voice.
“For the entire production.” Lord Rochester grinned knowingly. “It was the most fun I had that term. I’ve been telling people for years that I once worked with the great Niall Cristofori.” His grin widened as they all put their coats on and headed out into the cool, autumn evening. “Suddenly, quite a few things make sense.”
“I can’t imagine what you’re talking about,” Blake said, sobering. Rochester knew. Niall had been right about him getting the two of them in trouble. Then again, Blake highly doubted Rochester would whisper a word to anyone.
“Is that your carriage?” Niall asked, marching straight toward where Blake’s driver had pulled up in front of the house.
They climbed into the carriage without another word. Blake’s high spirits were only slightly dented, but he could sense Niall’s annoyance as though it were a strong perfume in the air.
“Rochester doesn’t really know what he thinks he knows,” Blake said as soon as the carriage was in motion and there was no danger of their conversation being overheard.
“Of all the irresponsible, incendiary, block-headed things you could have done,” Niall started, shouting in spite of how close they sat.
“No one suspected a thing,” Blake argued, just as loudly, laughing in spite of himself. “All anyone cared about was throwing their eligible daughters at me. Lady Inglewood’s crowd isn’t the sort to entertain that sort of suspicion anyhow.”
Niall gaped at him in the near darkness of the carriage. “How can you say that when Rochester more or less accused us of buggery on the front steps?”
“It was a harmless bit of fun,” Blake argued. The first harmless bit of fun he’d had in as long as he could remember. At least, fun that hadn’t involved his children.
Thoughts of them dampened his spirit a bit. He shouldn’t even consider having fun when he still didn’t know where his children were. But Goddammit, he felt like a man who had dragged himself through a desert and sighted an oasis. He hadn’t known a single moment of grown-up happiness since the day Niall left him. It didn’t matter that his life had effectively fallen apart, all he saw in front of him was one chance for happiness, even if it was fleeting, and by God, he was going to grab it.
He brushed his foot against Niall’s leg the way he had under the table at supper.
“Don’t you start,” Niall barked, flinching away from him.
“Why?” Blake demanded. “Are you scared?”
“What?” Niall’s voice rose an octave. “No! Of course not.”
He was terrified, and Blake knew why. It was for the same reason that his heart was spinning wildly out of control. Once they started, they wouldn’t be able to stop. And even though he was well aware that the prospect filled Niall with dread, it made Blake want to run and sing and rejoice at his resurrection.
His estate was only a handful of miles from Lady Inglewood’s, and the carriage rolled up to the front door before Niall could do more than pout sullenly for a few minutes.
“Come on,” Blake teased him as they climbed down from the carriage and marched into the house. “Surely you must see the humorous side to this whole thing.”
“Humorous side?” Niall whipped back to face him after Dobson took their coats. Niall eyed Blake’s butler warily, cleared his throat, then marched into the parlor Dobson must have prepared for them in anticipation of their arrival. It held a tray with various sparkling decanters of liquor and some of the biscuits Blake liked. “Humorous side?” Niall hissed more quietly once they were alone in the room. He paced toward the fireplace. “You clearly need to spend more time in London to see what our sort are up against if you think flirting so outrageously that an old schoolmate remembers things is humorous.”
“You just told me that London is swimming with our sort and that it is safer and I’m not alone,” Blake said with an impatient laugh as he followed Niall in his pacing. “You’ve no idea how much it lifted my spirits to find out that I’m not one in a million.”
“Oh, you’re one in a million, all right.” Niall sent him a wary look, but one that was brimming with life and fire.
“Niall, you have no idea how happy I’ve been these last twenty-four hours.” Blake pursued him across the room. “You can’t imagine what having you back in my life means to me.”
“Am I back in your life?” Niall stopped abruptly near the table laid out with their snack.
“Don’t you dare tell me you’re just passing through.” Blake grew serious as he marched up to him. “I let you leave once and it wrecked me. I’m not letting you leave again.”
“I only came here because your letter was pathetic,” Niall argued, pouring himself a whiskey.
“No, you didn’t.” Blake rested his hands on his hips and stared at him. “You came here because I asked you to.”
“That’s what I just said.” Niall took a long sw
ig of his drink and looked away.
“They’re not the same thing and you know it.”
“Don’t go making more out of things than they deserve,” Niall said in a hoarse voice, then finished the rest of what he’d poured for himself. He set the tumbler down, but looked like he might pour a second drink.
“Don’t go brushing the best thing that ever happened to either of us under the carpet because you’re still angry with me,” Blake countered.
Niall snapped his eyes up to glare at him. “Is this what getting enough sleep and a decent meal or two does to you? Turns you into a deluded fool?”
“You turn me into a deluded fool,” Blake insisted, grabbing Niall’s arms. “You always have and you always will.”
He leaned into Niall, slanting his mouth over his and kissing him hard before Niall could react. One kiss wasn’t enough, so he wrapped his arm around Niall’s waist, tugging their bodies flush against each other, and kissed him again, thrusting his tongue into Niall’s mouth. He tasted of whiskey and passion and everything Blake had only dreamed about for years. It was so good that he groaned with abandon into Niall’s mouth, pressing his growing erection against Niall’s hip.
Niall made a helpless sound as tension coursed through his body. He swayed away slightly, but as soon as their mouths parted and he gasped for breath, a bereft look flashed to his eyes. He grabbed the sides of Blake’s face and slammed into him, kissing Blake so hard that he stumbled backward.
Niall moved with him, devouring his mouth with desperate pants. “We. Can. Not. Do. This,” he gasped even as Blake tore at his jacket and fumbled to pull Niall’s shirt out of the waist of his trousers.
Blake moaned with pleasure as he stroked his hands along Niall’s bare sides, feeling his flesh for the first time in what felt like a lifetime. “I want you,” he sighed, trying to feel all of Niall at once. “I never stopped wanting you, not for a moment. I’ve dreamed of you every night. I’ve ached for you. I—”
His words were cut short as they slammed into one of the sofas in the room and nearly tumbled across it. The shock was enough to knock them apart for a moment, and as it turned out, that was exactly the right moment.
“Your grace.” Dobson cleared his throat in the parlor’s doorway.
Blake swore under his breath, turning to face Dobson. He couldn’t catch his breath and had to hide his mouth with the back of his hand, knowing how swollen and red his lips probably were from Niall’s punishing kisses. Whether or not Dobson had ever suspected things about him, there was no doubt at all that the man knew now. Judging by the way he stood, he’d seen the way he and Niall had gone at each other.
“What is it, Dobson?” Blake stood straight and forced himself to face Dobson like a man. He tugged at the hem of his jacket in the hopes that it would hide the bulge in his trousers.
Dobson cleared his throat again, not looking directly at Blake as he said, “A Miss Yates is here to speak with you and Mr. Cristofori.” Dobson spared a millisecond’s glance for Niall—who had walked to the corner and was busy stuffing his shirt back into his trousers, back to Blake—before assuming his carefully unfocused look again. “Should I send her away, your grace?”
Blake was about to answer that yes, he most certainly should, when Niall pivoted to say, “She had something to say about Annamarie’s lover, I think,” with a startled look, as though he’d only just remembered it. Then again, he’d had plenty to distract him just moments before.
Dobson checked with Blake, who nodded. “Send her in.”
As soon as Dobson moved out of the doorway, Blake twisted and nearly leapt across the room toward Niall. “This isn’t over,” he whispered, veering to the side to pour himself a quick drink. “This has barely just begun.”
Niall didn’t answer him. His face was bright red and his blue eyes glowed with ardor and anxiety. He, too, hastily poured another glass of whiskey and downed half of it as Dobson showed Miss Yates into the room.
“Miss Yates, your grace,” Dobson announced her.
Blake summoned every bit of acting ability he possessed to smile and greet Miss Yates, pretending that nothing at all was out of the ordinary and he hadn’t been about to throw the only man he’d ever loved, the man he still loved with every fiber of his body, over the back of the sofa so he could have his sinful way with him. “Miss Yates, this is a surprise.”
“I’m so sorry to bother you at such a late hour, your grace,” Miss Yates said, hesitating in the doorway, as though she knew she shouldn’t be there.
“Not at all,” Blake smiled like the perfect host, gesturing for her to come deeper into the room. “Mr. Cristofori and I were just having a drink and reliving old times.”
Niall sent him a look as though he’d lost his mind and had dragged him along for the ride.
“What can we do for you this evening?” Blake asked, tempted to offer the woman a drink, though that would have been wildly inappropriate.
“I won’t take up much of your time, your grace,” Miss Yates said. “It’s just that I was seated next to Mr. Cristofori at supper, and something he said struck me.”
It took a supreme act of patience for Blake to keep his smile in place. The woman had interrupted what had been about to turn into the sort of passion he’d waited ten years for because Niall had said something interesting at supper?
Niall seemed far more interested. “This is about the question I asked that dowager, isn’t it?” he asked, striding across the room to Miss Yates. “When I asked her if she knew who Annamarie’s lover is?”
“It is, sir,” Miss Yates admitted reluctantly. She fidgeted with the lace on the front of her supper gown and looked warily at Blake. “You see, I believe I know who he is.”
Someone could have fired a cannon in the room and Blake wouldn’t have heard it. His knees suddenly went weak, and he had to grip the back of the sofa to keep from falling over. The worst part of it was that his shock was not joy at finding Annamarie out at last, it was dread that they might actually locate her and that she might want to come home and resume the horrific life they’d been living.
“Tell us what you know,” Niall said with surprising gentleness, gesturing for her to have a seat.
Miss Yates held up a hand as she refused. “I will just say what I have to and be gone, if it’s all the same to you. My mother will be beside herself as it is over the way I ran out of Lady Inglewood’s party in pursuit of you.”
“Understandable,” Niall said.
“You know who Annamarie’s lover is?” Blake asked, feeling about five steps behind.
Miss Yates blushed deeply. “I believe I do. In fact, I believe I know where she and her lover and your children are.”
Blake’s knees gave out in earnest. He sat heavily on the arm of the sofa. “Please tell me,” he said, suddenly overwhelmed by longing for his children and guilt that he’d taken his eyes off of that prize for even a second.
“You see, I’m good friends with a Miss Mary Archibald. We were in school together, but she has since moved with her parents to Blackpool. She wrote to me just yesterday to tell me the odd story of her brother arriving in Blackpool with a duchess and three children. She refused to say who the duchess was, as she’d promised her brother she wouldn’t tell, but she is aware of the events of your marriage.” Miss Yates swallowed and pressed a hand to her stomach. “I believe the woman and children Mary was talking about are your wife and your children. And the man I am almost certain is her lover is Mary’s brother, Ian Archibald.”
Chapter 15
Niall felt the news of Annamarie’s whereabouts and her connection to Ian like a punch in the gut. Somehow, it didn’t surprise him at all that their old school chum would be involved in the sordid mess of the present. Ian had claimed to love Annamarie ten years ago, but whether he did or not, he had certainly vowed revenge on Blake for all the frivolous and imagined insults of youth.
That wasn’t what Niall cared about, though. What made his insides twist with anger and
had his heart racing was the way all color had drained from Blake’s face during Miss Yates’s explanation and how he gripped the sofa until his knuckles went white. Niall could feel the pain and the rage he saw in Blake’s expression as though they were his own feelings.
“My children,” Blake said, voice wavering. “Are they well? Are they safe?” He rose shakily, but seemed to gain strength with every passing second.
“As far as I know, your grace.” Miss Yates took a frightened step back, seeming to shrink in on herself. “Mary didn’t say except that her mother found that caring for three restless children was an imposition, and she planned to demand Ian take his guests elsewhere.”
“Elsewhere?” Blake’s voice rose in tone and volume as he stepped toward Miss Yates.
Niall lunged forward to put a hand on Blake’s arm, holding him back from harming the messenger. “Do you know if they have plans to depart for America?” he asked the question he was certain Blake would ask, were he in a better frame of mind.
“I don’t know,” Miss Yates said, growing more upset by the moment. “I’ve told you all that I do know, really. Mary’s letter reached me yesterday, so she must have written it only a few days ago. They’re all probably still in Blackpool.”
“Then we must go to Blackpool as well,” Niall said, speaking as the voice of reason. He tightened his grip on Blake’s arm until Blake dragged his eyes away from Miss Yates to stare at him.
Blake’s chest rose and fell in short gasps, hinting to Niall that he was falling into a state of distress of the sort he’d been in when Niall had first arrived the day before. Niall’s heart went out to him. He’d known people who had fits like that before, and they were never easy for those who suffered. All he could do was to keep his hand firmly on Blake’s arm and take charge of the situation.
