Alastair kicked the door closed. “Desperate times.” This moment being one of them.
They were in. Unease snaked through his innards as he locked the door and placed the key in his pocket.. Bending, he slipped the hip flask from the top of his Hessian boot and attempted to soothe his nerves with a long swig, before stowing it back betwixt stocking and leather. The alcohol merely excited the snake in his guts. “Shall we survey our domain?” He gestured towards the central chamber. He’d maintain a façade of calm if it killed him.
“A toast first.” Jude drew a bottle from the hamper and raised it high. “To foolish wagers, may we win them and reap the luscious rewards.” He applied his teeth to the cork, and chucked it into a shadowy corner, leaving Alastair with the strange urge to fetch.
Instead, he glanced at his pocket watch. Eight o’clock. Twelve hours to go. It wasn’t as if he were even to gain anything from this little endeavour beyond some minimal respect. He never wagered more than sixpence against a woman.
“So, the purpose of this place? Favourite trysting spot, I’m guessing,” said Jude.
Alastair shook his head. “There isn’t a purpose to it. My great grandfather simply had a fondness for oddities. There are several follies dotted about the estate.”
“I still say he entertained here.”
“I doubt it. His eccentricity ran to the ladies in addition to architecture. He preferred to keep them at a distance. Said one had cost him his leg in Lauffeld, and he wasn’t risking the other. We should probably be grateful Charlotte suggested a night here, and not in the leg’s mausoleum. He brought it back to England and gave it its own burial.”
“It’s cold enough in here to be a mausoleum.” Jude rubbed some warmth into his arms causing the fabric of his coat to bunch around his biceps.
“How’s the wine?” Alastair asked, trying not to stare at his companion. He glanced about at their surroundings, but it was damn difficult to keep his gaze from straying back to Jude.
“Good.” Jude’s hazel-green eyes shone brightly in the gloomy half-light. As he passed the bottle to Alastair their fingers briefly brushed, evoking a jolt of arousal in the pit of Alastair’s stomach.
I can’t do this, he thought as he swallowed. But he had to. There really wasn’t much choice. How pitiful he would seem if he fled the temple now.
Reining in his instincts, he passed the bottle back to Jude then led the way forward, beneath a gothic archway, into the folly’s central chamber. Here, light streamed in from three high-set, stained glass windows. A balcony encircled the wall just below them, providing access to the upper floors of the three strutting towers. The mingled effect of the austere walls and the light created the temple’s grand illusion of majesty. Alastair recalled standing here the first time, peering up at the rainbow of lights and feeling awestruck. The years hadn’t dimmed the effect. He reached out and caught a handful of the whirling dust motes, which spun and flashed in the light. It was all as he remembered. Exactly as he remembered, down to the dust upon the rug and the bloodstain where his sister had fallen.
Alastair turned away from the brown smear. He couldn’t dwell on the past tonight, not if he wanted to get through it.
A huge tapestry encompassing the lower wall of the west tower depicted the fall of man. To its sides lay two iron-pinned doors, which he knew led one to the privy and the other to the stairs. “That way is up.” He pointed to the east tower and let Jude lead the way.
“Which way?” Jude asked as they emerged from the top of the spiral staircase onto the balcony. The tower itself continued up into spiked obscurity.
“Sinister, of course.”
Jude’s voice rang with laughter. “I’ve long had my suspicions about you, de Vere. That sort of statement isn’t doing anything to quell them.”
“What suspicions?” Alastair frowned.
Jude laughter merely subsided to a wide grin. “I think you know.” He jolted forward into the stream of light pouring through the stained glass.
Alastair rested his back against the iron railing, the unease in his guts further stirred by Jude’s words. He thought he’d been discreet, but if the other man was beginning to suspect…
Jude stood bathed in ocean-blue light, basking, his head tilted towards the sun’s slowly fading radiance. Alastair inwardly groaned. This was torture already, how was he supposed to endure a whole night of it with no means of escape?
The rich light bounced off Jude’s wild curls, streaking the dusky blond with gleaming shades of ruby and hyacinth. Jude, typically unable to keep his coat on for more than a moment outside of a formal engagement, had already shrugged it off. It swung now from his fingertip, while the maroon back of his waistcoat pulled taut across his back, emphasising his broad shoulders and the ridiculous perfection of his arse.
Twice now, Alastair had run his hands over that muscled rear, the first, as he’d helped Jude drunkenly mount his horse, the second after a hay-fight. Both incidents had left his pulse racing and his cock hard. He had yet to savour the full delight of having his palms curved to Jude’s cheeks, or of feeling him tremble with passion as he held him, although nightly, for months now, he’d promised himself both.
Such desires were merely a dream. He knew his unnatural feelings of desire for the other man weren’t reciprocated.
Fate was so damned cruel. He still remembered the thrill he’d felt when their eyes had first met across the village assembly room. Most of the evenings he’d spent there had rolled into gregarious monotony. But not that night. Jude’s arrival, eight months ago, had changed everything.
Alastair had staggered from that place like a drunkard, despite no more than a single glass of wine having passed his lips. He’d been undone by Jude’s charm, the laconic warmth of his smile, and he’d allowed the possibility of affection to take root in his belly, in his heart. From that moment onward, he’d repeatedly sinned, rubbing himself into a frenzy of desire and shame over thoughts of the other man.
They’d become friends, sharing both a love of dancing and steeple chasing.
A shame then that all Jude’s conviviality had been focused upon Charlotte. He’d openly courted her from that point forth, and all Alastair could do was to stand by and watch while his heart ached.
“It must be some powerful ghost to keep you from here. It’s beautiful.” Jude remarked, turning amid the slanting light. “What is it, a headless monk, a white lady?” He joined Alastair by the railing, and cast his coat over the balustrade.
Alastair shuffled to the right so they weren’t standing so close. “I’ve heard about fifty different stories.” None of which aligned with his experiences.
Jude plucked a blue silk kerchief from his waistcoat pocket, which he unfolded to reveal an eternity ring. “I had intended to propose to Charlotte tonight. This jape’s a darned nuisance. I hope none of her other suitors get wind of it and race over to claim her first.”
“I think that’s unlikely.” Was it wrong of him to wish for every man who’d ever shown the faintest spark of interest in Charlotte to show up at the de Vere estate tonight? Tremulously, Alastair took the ring and slipped it onto the tip of his finger. It would make a curiously perfect fit around the slender digit. “I don’t believe she has any other remaining suitors.” Maybe she had once, but not anymore. Jude was all any woman would desire. His cousin’s hold was firmly set.
Nausea swelled in Alastair’s belly at the thought of the pair together. He’d have to take himself off somewhere, perhaps as far as India. He knew he couldn’t stand to be around them, knowing they were sharing a bed. Unconsciously, he rotated the golden band with his thumb, counting the embedded sapphires. Eight, one for each month of their friendship. Their blue a perfect match for his cousin’s eyes.
“Do you love her, Jude?” He had to know the truth.
Jude curled his hand over the top of Alastair’s fingers and reclaimed the ring. “Is that a prerequisite to your approval? You’re a hopeless romantic, de Vere. It’s all that
gothic nonsense you read. I’ll wager you believe in love at first sight and happily ever after too.”
“Maybe.”
His companion laughed. “Love grows, what you experience first is lust. Sticky, sensual, all-consuming lust. No wonder your mama despairs over you ever finding a bride.” He clapped Alastair upon the shoulder and squeezed.
“It’s hardly imperative that I marry. The burden of inheritance lies with Alexander.” Alastair turned away, feeling distinctly peaky and unable to mask the emotion. He did believe in love in first sight, had done so from the very first moment he’d stared into Jude’s hazel-green eyes and felt his world shift. Perhaps that’s why the dismissal hurt so much, nothing to do with Charlotte.
“You don’t require my approval, Jude. Just my uncle’s.” Which was probably just as well, as he’d never be able to give his. He couldn’t pretend he wanted to see his friend wed.
Charlotte was as delightful as she was fair. And with her broad hips would likely produce scores of hearty babes to delight the de Vere and Leveson mamas. But he wanted Jude for himself. All to himself.
“It’d be nice to think you at least wished us well.” Jude’s hand pressed against the front of Alastair’s coat.
The touch ignited sparks. Nerve bundles fired together and stoked a fire in his groin. Each and every contact with Jude was both unbearable agony and unparalleled bliss. His body screamed for more, even as his head told him flee, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to break free. For a few fleeting moments, he imagined instead, the feel of Jude’s arms around him, holding him. He pictured them both stretched upon the carpet below, Jude upon his back with the neck of his shirt open so that a tempting sliver of skin showed. He didn’t resist as Alastair pushed his hand inside the narrow opening and spread his fingers possessively wide, although he jerked upwards releasing a sharp gasp as the caress encroached upon one nipple.
“Alastair.” Jude’s hand remained pressed against his coat. “You do wish us well, don’t you?” He let his palm drift uncertainly downward.
“Of course.” Alastair summoned a grin. “Of course.” You godawful liar, he cursed himself.
Just shy of the west tower door, Jude cast a wary glance over his shoulder at Alastair’s drawn face. So much for a night of fun and laughter! His friend was typically as stiff as a parson in a buttonhole factory, and getting him to relax always took a great deal of port and effort, but this evening he was wound tighter than usual. What should have been a night of ghoulish idiocy was going to be darned long and painful if he didn’t settle himself soon.
Jude twisted the tower door ring, but the latch still didn’t budge. God help them, maybe Alastair would be less spooked once they were comfortably settled and had cracked a few more bottles of that excellent elderberry wine. He gave the catch another wrench, this time putting his shoulder to the door. Finally, the rusty latch gave, sending him swinging into the room.
Somebody really needed to spruce this old place up a bit. It was downright shameful to let it rot. But the rest of the family seemed to have the same reserve towards the place as Alastair. Maybe he could stipulate something in the marriage negotiations to help see the place opened up again.
“Maybe we could hold the wedding breakfast in here,” he mused aloud. The remark only intensified Alastair’s scowl. Still swinging with the natural rhythm of the door, Jude surveyed the dingy surroundings. Splintered shutters covered all three windows, blocking out most of the fading daylight, although enough red pierced the gloom to allow him to discern what few furnishings remained.
Dresser, wormy sea chest, bed. That was it. There weren’t even any curtains left on the bed, just more tattered cobwebs. Weirdly, he hadn’t spied any spiders yet, though they’d certainly been busy about the place.
“Shall we take this one, or progress to the next?” he asked. He couldn’t honestly say he wished to sleep here, considering the fusty miasma rising from the bed.
Alastair stuck his head over the threshold and shook his head. “I’d rather take the downstairs carpet. It reeks of mildew in here.”
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About the Author
Madelynne Ellis is a multi-published British author of erotic romance. Her novels and short stories have been published by a variety of houses both in the UK and US, and have been translated into German, Spanish and Norwegian. She is best known for her Regency set novels for pioneering British erotica publisher Black Lace, but also enjoys writing contemporary and paranormal settings. Her aim is to deliver scorching, character-driven stories that enchant, torment and don’t shy from darker aspects of life.
Madelynne lives in the UK with her partner of 20 years, their two adorable children and a chocoholic rabbit. When not writing she enjoys live role-playing, solving puzzles and hanging out online.
Email: [email protected]
Madelynne loves to hear from readers. You can find her contact information, website and author biography at http://www.total-e-bound.com.
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