Dreamspinner Press Year Five Greatest Hits

by Tinnean

  There was no point in putting this off, I thought impatiently. I detested confrontation, but I would simply have to be firm.

  I swallowed, trying to come up with a graceful turn of phrase that would not make it seem as if I was denying his suit out of hand and because I knew he disliked me.

  The conservatory was toward the rear of the house, and I made my way there, opened the door, and stepped into the room.

  For a moment, I thought the room unoccupied. Had Mr. Stephenson grown impatient and left? The only sign that someone had been there was the Benjamin flung carelessly, almost proprietarily, over the back of the settee.

  A slight sound drew my attention to the French windows. The afternoon sun poured through them, leaving the man who stood before them, gazing out toward the gardens that were Aunt Cecily’s pride and joy, in bas relief.

  I approached him warily. “Mr. Stephenson? Pray forgive me for the delay. I was with my man of business, and I did not want to come to you in my shirtsleeves. I understand you wished to see me?”

  “Lovely view from here.” The unexpected voice, a pleasant baritone, caused me to start. He turned, and I beheld quite the most handsome man I had ever seen.

  “You are not George Stephenson!”

  “I am, actually. However, the George Stephenson with whom you are acquainted is my father. To distinguish between the two of us, I am called Geo by my friends.”

  I felt the queerest sensation in my chest so that I barely paid any heed to the slight emphasis on “friends.” Mr. Stephenson the senior had often spoken of his son, regaling Aunt Cecily with tales of his adventures, and I had been fascinated. I’d hoped he would one day bring the young man with him, but Mr. Stephenson the younger was frequently out of the country, having followed his father into His Majesty’s Civil Service.

  Now he stood here, leaning casually on his walking stick. I let my eyes feather over his elegant figure, then glanced away before he could see my interest. Stephenson was beautiful, with classical features, curly blue-black hair, and a body that looked fit and solid although I knew him to be at least six years my senior. The dark frock coat he wore with fawn trousers was set off by that ivory-headed walking stick.

  My mouth went dry, and I swallowed hard, startled by my reaction.

  In the four years since I had taken John Hood to my bed, there had been no one else. I’d thought, foolishly, as it turned out, that if perhaps he realized how faithful and steadfast I was…. Of course, it was for naught, for he loved his brothers more than ever he would love me.

  I shook myself out of my reverie, fretting that while my trousers were not quite as form-fitting as the current fashion decreed, they were still snug enough so that concealing my interest was somewhat difficult.

  “May I offer you tea?” I went to the bellpull to summon Colling. “Perhaps something stronger?”

  “Thank you, no. Your butler already offered, and I declined.”

  “Very well, then. What may I do for you, Mr. Stephenson?”

  His look was pensive. “You may pay me my money.”

  “Your money?” I repeated stupidly, my body losing all interest. “I beg your pardon?” That was not at all what I’d expected him to say.

  He took a fistful of notes and vowels from his pocket and offered them to me.

  So it began. I sighed and took them from him. They were all signed by my late, unlamented uncle. I tallied them up quickly and felt the blood drain from my face. The total was just under £10,000. No wonder Uncle had been so desperate to sell the Flame. Anger at him roiled in my gut.

  “The estate doesn’t have this much money.” My voice was a tight growl. “Not with the Flame of Diabul gone.”

  Blister it! We’d kept silent about the loss of the ruby, and here I’d gone blabbing it like the veriest nodcock.

  “Perhaps Lady Laytham—”

  “No! She suffered enough at my uncle’s hands. I won’t have her paying for this as well.” I started to scrub my hand over my face, but realized I had a fistful of paper and kept it at my side instead, opening my fingers and letting the vowels fall to the floor. “How much time will you give me?”

  I glanced up in time to catch his expression. It was almost as if my reaction wasn’t what he had expected. I dismissed that foolish notion.

  Stephenson examined his fingernails. “Your uncle used up all the time, I fear. I’ve given you an additional fortnight’s grace due to the unfortunate circumstances of earlier this month, but….” He shrugged.

  I sank down onto the settee, sitting upright so my back wouldn’t come into contact with the fabric that covered it. My back was almost completely healed but was still tender to the touch. I removed my spectacles and dug my fingers into my eyes.

  “There is no money,” I repeated. “Oh, a pony or two I can give you on account, and the harvest promises to be a good one, but….”

  “Sell Fayerweather,” he suggested indifferently.

  “I cannot.” I gave a harsh laugh. “Did you not know it is entailed?”

  “Word in Town was that Sir Eustace had managed to break the entail.”

  How had he learned that? “Only insofar as the Flame was concerned. As to the estate itself….” I shook my head.

  “You could always put a bullet in your brain.”

  The callous words hurt, but I would be damned before I allowed him or anyone else to see that.

  “You seem to have got me confused with the Hoods, dear boy,” I drawled. I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and polished the lenses of my spectacles before sliding them back onto the bridge of my nose. When I looked up once more, he had crossed to the Italian marble fireplace and was lounging before it, unconcern in every line of his body. “They are the ones who are so bloody honorable.” Or they were until one of them—not John, I assured myself—had apparently absconded with the Flame of Diabul.

  “Indeed. My father has told me a great deal about the Hoods. And about you as well. Awful Ashton, isn’t that what they call you?”

  I closed my eyes, trying to conceal the pain I knew would be evident in them. When I opened them again, it was to see he had plucked one of Aunt Cecily’s ceramic dogs, a liver and white Spaniel with long floppy ears, from the mantle.

  Did he know they were gifts from his father, that each time he came to visit he would bring her one?

  There were three dogs upon this mantle, although there had once been four. Sir Eustace had smashed one in a fit of pique. I had seen the hurt in Aunt Cecily’s eyes, but before Sir Eustace could, she’d quickly masked it, chatting of inconsequential woman’s things.

  “There may be a solution.” He turned the dog idly in his hands.

  “And what might that be?” My mouth was dry. I found I couldn’t take my eyes from the way Stephenson’s long, elegant fingers caressed the figurine.

  “I am looking for someone to entertain me. In my bed.” He raised his hand. “Before you leap to the very erroneous conclusion that I have designs upon either her Ladyship or the extremely pretty Miss Arabella, let me tell you my preferences run to men.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Stephenson, I’m a bit stupid this afternoon. Explain to me, if you please, in words of single syllables?”

  “It’s quite simple, Sir Ashton. You, in my bed.”

  “I?” I stared at him with shocked eyes.

  He continued as if I hadn’t interrupted him. “My father is very… fond… of your aunt. He would be most unhappy if I were the reason she and her ward took up residence in a sponging-house.” He set the dog back on the mantle and limped to the settee, and I realized the walking stick was not an affectation. Carefully, he eased himself down beside me and ran a finger along my thigh, stopping just short of my groin.

  I couldn’t take my eyes from his finger. I shivered, and in spite of myself started to grow hard once again.

  “If you satisfy me….”

  “But… what makes you think I would agree to such an outrageous proposition?”

  “I don’t be
lieve you have very much choice.”

  “But if I don’t share your preference….”

  He shrugged as if that wasn’t his concern. “As I was saying, if you satisfy me, I’ll consider reducing the extent of your indebtedness to me. Please me enough and I might cancel the debt altogether!”

  “You think I’m worth £10,000? I’m flattered, I suppose.” God damn you, Uncle! In all the years you were alive, you never managed to bugger me. You certainly have now!

  “Perhaps, perhaps not.” His words held indifference, but his eyes, so pale a blue as to be almost grey, belied his words. “Time will tell, I imagine.” He smiled, and for a moment it took my breath away. That was, until I looked past it into his eyes and saw it was not reflected in them.

  “Why would you want me?” I wondered. To punish me for a childhood misspent?

  “Truthfully? I find perfection boring. I listened to all Father’s tales of your brangles with the Hood brothers, and I was… intrigued. Find that surprising, do you? Perhaps one day I shall explain it to you.” Those eyes, nothing like the blue of John’s, bored into mine as if he would plumb all my secrets, and I felt myself getting lost in them. “Of course, nothing of this will be said to the ladies.” His thumb traced the silky hairs of my moustache. “Facial hair is not quite the thing, dear boy.”

  I did not tell him that I had first grown the moustache in an effort to conceal an upper lip that John had mocked as being too feminine.

  “However, I am curious. I believe I should like to feel it against my skin.”

  A flush mounted my cheeks, and once again I shivered, but I did not draw away.

  “Ten thousand pounds is a great deal of money. May I ask how you happened to have such a sum by you?”

  “I invested wisely.”

  “Buying Sir Eustace’s vowels was hardly wise.”

  “Perhaps. Perhaps not. However, how I came by the funds is not your concern.”

  “No, I imagine it is not.”

  “May I assume we have an agreement?”

  Did I have any choice? This was my land. These were my people. “I will do my best to see you do not have cause to regret this.” I extended my hand, and was surprised when Stephenson took it in his strong fingers. I had been uncertain if he would be willing to shake with me on our devil’s bargain.

  He turned my hand over, his eyebrow rising as he noted the calloused flesh of my palm, and then he brought it to his mouth in a carnal caress.

  I tried to keep my breathing even as his tongue traced the line that deeply scored my palm, my lifeline, a gypsy had once told me. I shivered again, and felt his smile against my palm. He drew his hand away slowly, his fingertips lingering enticingly on the back of my fingers.

  I rose, closing my fingers over the dampness of my palm. He was allowing me to put some distance between us, but it took all my resolve to make that move.

  “I look forward to our first encounter—”

  “Please,” I interrupted, sure he was about to call me “Awful.” I would no more permit him to call me that than I would John Hood.

  His eyes hardened, and I had to moisten my lips. Did he think I was about to plead to be released from our bargain?

  “I will do what you desire of me, but please do not call me ‘Awful’.”

  “That was never my intention.” My expression must have revealed my surprise; he smiled. “And you will call me Geo.” He waited a moment, but when I did nothing more than nod, he raised an eyebrow. “Is it your wish that I call you Sir Ashton?”

  I flushed. “You must forgive me, sir. I am but newly come to the title, and am unused to being called anything but Ashton.” Except for those outside the Hall, who called me Ash. “If it pleases you, call me Ashton.”

  “It pleases me. Until this evening, then, Ashton.” His voice held dark, velvet promises.

  Of course. It was too late in the day for him to return to Town. Tonight… tonight he would have me. I had not had a prick in my back passage since my days at Eton. Would he hurt me? Nothing Mr. Stephenson had told us of his son gave rise to the thought that he took enjoyment from hurting those under him.

  The thought of being under him made me flush, but it also made me hard. Truth to tell, I preferred being ridden, but had not had that choice with John, who also seemed to prefer that. I turned and went to the bellpull, grateful for the action that concealed my arousal.

  Colling answered my summons so quickly I knew he had to have been lurking in the hall. “Colling, Mr. Stephenson will be staying with us for….”

  “For a few days,” he interjected.

  I glanced fleetingly into his blue eyes and nodded. “For a few days. Please see that Mrs. Walker has a room prepared for him, and see that he has everything he wants.” Mr. Stephenson’s eyes glittered at my words, and I colored up at my unwitting double entendre.

  “Very good, Sir Ashton. If you’ll come this way, Mr. Stephenson?” Colling ushered him out. “Your luggage, sir?”

  “In my curricle.”

  Their voices grew fainter as they drew further away, and I closed the door and crossed to the mantle, where the dog with which he’d been toying stood. I picked it up, running my fingertips over it.

  There was no need for me to invent some Banbury tale to persuade Aunt Cecily to allow Mr. Geo Stephenson to stay with us. Once she was informed that the son of her old friend had come to pay a condolence visit, she would insist he stay with us for however long he chose, and perhaps she wouldn’t think to question me about what time we might spend together.

  I set the figurine down and went in search of Aunt Cecily.

  I WAS uncertain what to expect when we came down to dinner.

  Mr. Stephenson was dressed with propriety, but not in the formal attire Aunt Cecily preferred.

  “I do beg your pardon, Lady Laytham.” His smile was charming, and I regretted that it wasn’t sent in my direction. “Had I known….”

  “Not at all, my dear sir.”

  “Nevertheless, I’ll send to Town for my man to return with my evening rig.”

  “Oh yes, please do! Ashton, you’ll see to it, won’t you?”

  His man? His evening rig? How long was he planning on staying? “Of course, Aunt. I’ll send someone in the morning.”

  A smile played over Mr. Stephenson’s mouth. Distracted, I found myself wondering what it would feel like if perhaps he should chance to kiss me. No, I must stop thinking in that fashion. John never showed the least desire to kiss me. Why should Mr. Stephenson?

  “May I escort you in, Lady Laytham?”

  Aunt Cecily smiled and took his arm. Usually Robert performed that small service for her, but of course, he was gone.

  I offered my arm to Arabella, and she took it with obvious reluctance. I was in such a brown study that after I seated her, I committed a faux pas: I sat at my usual place, which was at Sir Eustace’s right hand. Aunt Cecily cleared her throat, and recalling that I was now head of the family, I blushed and rose to take my proper seat.

  Arabella frowned at the sight of me at the head of the table, but beyond that, she ignored me much as she had when William was at the table with us. She was brooding over being forsaken by him, having gone from vowing to never forget him to vowing she would never forgive him. I could have told her that no matter for whom the brothers might care, they loved none so well as each other.

  David, the young footman who was in training to assist Colling, served the first course, and I listened in silence, barely tasting the soup as the others conversed.

  “Lady Cecily,” Mr. Stephenson said, “I can’t tell you how grateful I am for your very kind invitation to break my journey here at Laytham Hall.”

  “Oh, my dear George, it’s the very least I could do after you came so far out of your way to tender your condolences. Oh, dear. Perhaps I should call you something else? It would be too confusing otherwise, one should think.”

  “I should be delighted if you would call me Geo, Lady Cecily.” Mr. Stephenson took a
sip of his wine. “This is a very lovely home. Father”—his mouth appeared to tighten—“has often spoken of your hospitality.” He smiled easily, and I realized I’d been in error thinking he might be less than pleased to mention his father’s familiarity with Laytham Hall.

  “I do hope that you and Ashton have the opportunity to become friends. I would like nothing better….”

  Would she? I would have thought she’d have rather I never got within ames-ace of her friend’s son. Mr. Stephenson read the confusion on my face, and his lips curled into an amused smile.

  Aunt Cecily must have seen it also, for she cleared her throat. “It’s such a shame your dear father is stationed in the Americas. I declare, it’s been an age since we’ve had the pleasure of his company.”

  “One can imagine.” Was I the only one to notice the mockery in those words? He contemplated the ruby hues of the liquid in his glass. “Unfortunately, he was stricken with ague. Oh, he’s much better now, Lady Cecily,” he hastened to reassure her at her cry of distress. “Were you not aware? I felt sure…. However, I expect he’ll be returning home to England before the year is out.”

  “How… how splendid!” Her fingers tightened on the stem of her glass. No, I was not the only one to notice. “I do hope he’ll be well enough to pay us an extended visit.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  Aunt Cecily’s lips were pressed in a thin line, but she did not point out his sardonic tone or take umbrage at it. “I noticed you were limping, dear Geo. Nothing serious, I trust?” She was determined to keep the conversation going.

  “My men and I had a trifling run-in with a Bedouin tribe in the Levant, milady.”

  “Ah. I see.” Perhaps she assumed his abruptness was due to his injury.

  “How gallant of you to make light of it when I’m sure the encounter must have been quite desperately desperate!” Arabella gushed. “Pray tell us about it!”

  “We both wanted a specific oasis, you see.” He told the tale, speaking of the scorching sun and hot desert sands, of advance and retreat, attack and counterattack, making light of what had obviously been a dire situation, and I found myself drawn to his every word.