And as Chris’ full lips closed around his erection, he was sure it wouldn’t. How could he resist that nimble tongue, the warm caress of that gorgeous mouth?
Ripples of bliss went through Tarquin almost at once and as he moaned and sank his hands into Chris’ hair, the towel tumbled to the floor. His hips moved against Chris, and Tarquin gave himself over to his unslaked desires, sighing Chris’ name ever louder as his pleasure built. In the late summer evening the squire and the captain had become Tarquin and Chris once more, sharing their secret.
Tarquin’s orgasm was so powerful, something so out of place for a man who wore a nice jumper to dinner, yet that somehow amplified its strength. This was forbidden and exciting, and Tarquin laughed softly, his legs as unsteady as if he was drunk. Chris laughed too as he rocked back on his knees. He kissed Tarquin’s cock and told him, “That felt like you enjoyed it.”
“I did—I really, really did.” Tarquin offered Chris his hand. Only when they were standing toe to toe again did he allow himself to remember Petunia and her Pimms. They couldn’t tarry any longer. “Best get that shirt on, Chris. Oh, and perhaps some trousers as well, although I wouldn’t complain!”
And watching Christopher Hardacre dress was unexpectedly hot in itself, because his nudity had been for Tarquin alone. Surely no man ever had a more appreciative audience and bit by bit that wonderful body was concealed beneath fresh clothes and a pink shirt that must meet Petunia’s ironing standards. And of course, he didn’t pay too much heed to the buttons. Just enough to be respectable, few enough to be Chris.
Tarquin kissed him fondly. “Don’t bother with a comb—I like your hair like that. As if you’ve just got out of bed.”
“I’m going to save my gift for tomorrow,” Chris decided. “Just for us.”
Chapter Ten
Tarquin was surprised not to get a pasting from Petunia when he finally arrived with Chris at a quarter to eight. She and Shobna were already sitting at the table outside, the dogs and the pig wisely keeping their distance. But Chris was the special guest, of course, and Petunia was nothing but charming as soon as Chris appeared.
She and Shobna had already had a good go at the Pimm’s, which seemed to have put his fiancée on the path of bonhomie rather than fury, and Chris’ appearance was clearly the cherry atop that for all present.
And his pink shirt was, by coincidence, the same shade as Petunia’s pink dress.
Tarquin poured the wine for everyone and with the butchered camembert in pride of place, garlanded by bread baked in Petunia’s mother’s Aga in Little Plumley, dinner could finally begin.
Shobna moved her chair closer to Chris’. Her gold halterneck dress and dangling earrings meant she was in Seductress Mode, and Tarquin smiled to himself. Poor old thing won’t get very far there!
“So you were drilling,” Petunia said. “I like a man who’s good with his hands.”
“I like to think I’m fairly handy,” Chris replied. “And that house really needed some attention. It’s honest sweat for a guy like me, who sold his soul to the stock exchange.”
“Retiring to the countryside—lucky you!” Shobna said. “We’re very friendly round here, aren’t we, Tarkers?”
Tarquin nodded. “Oh, very friendly indeed.”
“And there was me worried about the stern squire next door.” Chris chuckled. “So what do you farm, Tarks? Great-Uncle B said you had battery hens and unhappy cows crammed into windowless milking sheds, but I’m guessing that wasn’t quite true!”
Tarquin spluttered. “Good God, that man!” He shook his head. “No, I have a small herd of Jerseys, a flock of sheep and some cereal crops as well. There’s a few chickens here and there, and Vulcan, who you’ve met. The dogs, and a temporary pig! I farm in a very small way. I’ve sadly lost both my parents, so I inherited the farm, and other…well…my mother came from a well-to-do family, so…”
Tarquin hated talking about money. He was comfortably off, but that really was no one’s business but his. And had someone said he could have his parents back in the land of the living as a swap for the wealth he’d inherited, he would have said yes in a heartbeat.
“I’m sorry about your folks,” Chris told him gently. “Mine split up when I was at school but…I never saw that much of them anyway. Beardsley was a habitual fibber, he told me that he’d built his fortune on a lie, so Lord knows what he meant by that.”
“Fraud, I expect,” Petunia said, picking up a fresh chunk of bread. “We see it all the time in the antique trade. Publishing is probably no different!”
“It was so sad when your mum died, Tarks,” Shobna said. “She was so lovely, then your dad went off to Japan, and…” Shobna pressed her lips together. Tarquin knew she had to be suppressing a grin, and he didn’t blame her. His father’s sudden death hadn’t been a tragedy so much as high farce.
“Yeah, well, it’s what he would’ve wanted!” Tarquin started to laugh. What the hell would Chris think? Whatever he thought, he didn’t ask, perhaps wondering whether he should.
“He certainly died doing what he loved,” Petunia agreed, dipping her bread into the camembert. “And I’m sure your mum had something to say when she met him at the pearly gates!”
Chris picked up his glass and looked around the table. Then he said, “Go on, what?”
Shobna finally gave up holding back her giggles and held herself as her body rocked with mirth. Tarquin sipped his wine to compose himself, but started to laugh halfway through and nearly snorted wine out of his nose. He dabbed his lips with a napkin before speaking.
“Well…he went to Japan on holiday,” Tarquin told Chris, “and he attended a fertility festival, and during the parade, there was a small earthquake. Nothing the good people of Japan would worry about, however. But, oh dear, one of the floats wobbled over and my father was crushed under… Under…” Tarquin guffawed, then reined it in long enough to say, “A giant phallus!”
“A gi—” He grinned and narrowed his eyes. “What’s this? Laugh at the city boy?”
“No!” Petunia put her hand on Chris’ bare forearm and left it there. “It’s true! What a Bough way to meet his maker!”
“I miss the old sod, and I wish he hadn’t gone so early, but…it seems appropriate.” Tarquin grinned. “He always said he hoped his death wouldn’t be boring, and it certainly wasn’t!”
“I’ve never heard anything like it.” Chris chuckled, his gaze lingering on Tarquin. “So is your dad the man behind the collection?”
“Sort of.” Tarquin sat back happily in his chair, more than a little squire uppermost in him at that moment. “I didn’t even know about it until my twenty-second birthday. Dad took me upstairs to this room that I thought was some boring office where he did farm business, and there it was! It used to be a ragbag collection, all started off when a Bough in a ruff was a Groom of the Stool and was given some rather intriguing artifacts by a royal. Grandad added to it, but it was Dad who organized it and grew it, and I’m carrying on the family tradition. I could open a museum!”
“I’d like to see that!” And as Chris spoke, Tarquin felt his lover’s foot brush his own. “I bet he’d be proud of you, squire.”
Tarquin wasn’t sure what his father would make of what Tarquin had been up to, but then, the man had been killed under an enormous cock, so Tarquin told himself that his father might not have thought too badly of him.
“I hope so,” Tarquin said. “I can show you around the collection later, if you’ve time?”
“I’ll make time.” Chris grinned. And Petunia patted his arm, meeting Shobna’s eye with a smile.
“In between waving your hammer about?” Shobna indulged in a fruity giggle.
“And wielding your screwdriver?” Petunia giggled too. She squeezed Chris’ arm and asked Shobna, “Beef time, Shobs?”
Shobna leaned forward and squeezed Chris’ other arm. “Oh, yes! It’s definitely beef time. Do you need a hand dishing up?”
“Come and help me.” She
nodded, and though Chris’ smile remained in place, it looked a little fixed now. Perhaps he was as choosy about who pawed him as Petunia would be.
As Petunia and Shobna headed off to the kitchen, Tarquin picked up the bottle of wine and offered it to Chris.
“Top up?” Then, once he was sure the women wouldn’t be able to see, he mouthed, Sorry.
Chris nodded. “I’m fine really, it’s just… Petunia’s got a hell of a grip on her, hasn’t she?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Tarquin said, as he poured some more wine into Chris’ glass.
Chris picked it up and lowered his voice to ask, “A toast to the squire?”
“And to the captain,” Tarquin whispered, and tapped his glass against Chris’. “To us.”
“To us.” Their glasses clinked. “Am I going to have to let Shobna down gently?”
“I’m afraid so. I think she likes you!” Tarquin bit his lip. “How awkward!”
Chris shrugged. “Should I gay it up a bit?”
“Could do. See if she takes a hint.” Tarquin frowned as he glanced toward the house. “Maybe Petunia will take a hint too.”
“Sorry.” He chanced a quick squeeze of Tarquin’s hand. “She’s not my type!”
“And who might be? A certain squire, perhaps?” Tarquin returned the squeeze, then drew his hand away.
“This gorgeous guy who lives next door,” he said. “He has the most magnificent cock I’ve ever seen. I get hard just looking at him.”
Tarquin pressed his finger to his lips. “Are you hard even now? This very moment?”
“Desperately.”
“If I come and sit next to you, it’ll look odd, won’t it?” Tarquin looked back at the house again. “Darling, I’m so sorry. Unless I stick my leg out under the table and use my foot, I’m not quite sure what I can do.”
“Come to my place tomorrow,” Chris urged. “I need my squire.”
Did anyone need Tarquin, other than the animals he cared for on the farm? Petunia didn’t, he was certain of it. But Chris? Tarquin gazed across the table at him and those blue eyes, which were so much like the sea, drew Tarquin in until he was helpless and happy in their clear depths.
“Then I will, captain. I need you, too.”
“How do you want me when you arrive?”
“Dressed just as you are now, with not another button fastened or unfastened.” Tarquin tapped his foot against Chris’. “And barefoot. Your feet are gorgeous.”
Chris passed the tip of his tongue over his lower lip. “I’ll be waiting for you, darling. Shoes off.”
“Good.”
He glanced toward the house as Shobna and Petunia emerged, each carrying two steaming plates of food. In a louder voice, Chris asked, “Where’s the Oracle tonight?”
“She’s hanging out with the dogs, I think,” Tarquin said. “Once we’ve moved on to pudding, we could give her a whistle—she likes strawberries! Thing is…” Tarquin watched the plates advancing. “I do feel rather awkward eating meat in front of her.”
“Not that bloody pig again!” Petunia scoffed. “Chris, when your thirty days are up I know a great butcher. I bet you like a tasty sausage, don’t you?”
How right you are.
Shobna shivered. “It’s enough to make you veggie! But I don’t think I’d like a pig living in my house. Does she make a terrible mess?”
“Awful!” Petunia grimaced. “And those dogs are as bad!”
“You can’t live in the countryside and turn your nose up at animals,” Tarquin told her. He winced as he heard the squire in his tone. So he laughed gently, silly old Tarks once again. “You are engaged to a farmer, Tuney!”
“A squire,” Chris added helpfully. “A man of the land!”
“Yes…” Tarquin winced again as he glanced at Petunia. Was she about to bite his head off? But instead she smiled and took her seat in front of her plate. Then she picked up her cutlery and turned to look at Chris again.
“Tarquin isn’t my idea of a squire.” She gave a hoot of mirth. “I think of a squire being all…I don’t know…sexy. Striding about in his jodhpurs, cracking his whip? It’s Jilly Cooper’s fault!”
Just call me Bough, Tarquin Bough—Petunia’s unsexy fiancé.
Under the table, Tarquin stroked his brogue against Chris’ foot. “So what do I do instead, Tuney?”
“You’re a pushover,” she informed him. “I mean, look at the pig—any normal farmer would’ve had her on a full English, but not you, not Tarquin! Obviously the five thousand a month sweetens the pill but… I suppose I’d expect a squire to be a little harder.”
“I bet Squire Tarquin can be hard when he needs to be,” Chris said. “And I’m glad you gave the Oracle a billet rather than a bullet!”
Tarquin speared a potato on his fork and wagged it at Petunia. “I might not’ve seen eye-to-eye with Beardsley Hardacre, but he loved the Oracle, and he treated her like a pet. She was the one who raised the alarm when Beardsley died by squeezing under the fence and running circles around our lawn. And she’s not mine—I’ve been babysitting until her new owner came to take her.” Tarquin nodded toward Chris. “And here he is!”
“Ohh,” Chris murmured thoughtfully. “I feel ashamed to admit that I’ve only just realized why the Oracle took against me on sight. She’s lost her best friend—her dad, really—and I’ve come in and started installing hot tubs and hammering and drilling and— I haven’t once asked her how she’s feeling! Instead I turned her home into a building site!”
“You weren’t to know.” Tarquin offered him a smile. “She just needs to spend time with you. She’s anyone’s for piggy pellets and an apple!”
As if on cue, the sound of barking dogs and a squealing pig could be heard, mingled with the roar of a powerful car engine in the driveway. Petunia looked up, annoyance on her face when she said, “Go and see who that is, Tarquin? Of all the times to drop in—chase them away if you can!”
“All right, I’ll go.” Tarquin sighed as he pushed back his chair. Then he paused. “How did they get round the front? I secured the gate.”
“Lucky she didn’t wander into the road,” Petunia called, earning a keen nod of agreement from Shobna that turned into a grimace when the pig squealed again. “Or we’d be a hundred grand richer and Chris’d be homeless!”
Tarquin jogged round to the front of the house, and there before him was Bryan.
Bryan bloody Reeve.
“Caught you in the middle of dinner?” he sneered.
Tarquin wondered what he meant, until he realized he was brandishing his speared potato on his fork.
“As a matter of fact, yes.”
The dogs and the pig dutifully gathered round Tarquin. Bryan turned and pressed his car’s remote, causing the Porsche to lock with an electronic blip, then he grinned, showing his luminous white teeth.
“I haven’t eaten and I’ve been thwacking it on the squash court for the last few hours—got to keep trim for the ladies—how about I pull up a plate and join you?”
“Erm…” Tarquin wasn’t particularly hungry, and he knew it was easier to tolerate Bryan until he inevitably shoved off of his own accord than try to be shot of him at once. “Erm…yes, why not? Although no talking shop with Petunia!”
He took the potato from his fork and lobbed it at the Oracle, who squealed with glee as she munched it.
“Would I do such a thing?” With that he strode off, waking around the side of the house with a cry of, “The party can finally start!”
Behind his back, Tarquin mimed prodding Bryan with his fork. But at least Tarquin could bring the animals with him into the garden. That’d annoy Petunia.
“Look what the dogs and pig dragged in!” Tarquin said, trying to sound jolly as he secured the gate.
And of course, Bryan was already making himself at home. He kissed the ladies on the cheek and shook Chris’ hand. They were both wearing pink shirts, Tarquin noted. Of course, Chris was a far more attractive proposition in his.
The dogs trotted up to the table and Tarquin carefully steered them away to the edge of the veranda.
But the Oracle?
“Chris, would you like the Oracle to come and sit beside you?” Tarquin knew Petunia wouldn’t have allowed him to have the pig at the table, but she seemed to like Chris.
“If she’d like to,” he agreed, and Petunia smiled through thin, set lips. Tough.
“I’ll get you some supper, Bryan.” Petunia pushed back her chair and stood. “Come and see how big a portion you can manage.”
“Tuney, can you bring a carrot for the Oracle?” Tarquin shepherded the pig toward Chris. Bryan trotted after Petunia as she headed for the house, already clutching a glass of wine. “Look, Orry, it’s Uncle Chris. You remember Uncle Chris?”
Remember his lovely singing, but please don’t remember the harness.
The pig blinked up at Uncle Chris, her snout wrinkling as she sniffed.
“Hello, cousin.” Chris left his chair and knelt on the grass, his hands resting atop his knees. Shobna looked at them, a very wistful smile on her lips. “Sorry about all that upheaval to your house—I didn’t know about you then or I would’ve asked if you minded. And sorry you lost your dad. He was a bit of an old bugger, but I bet you miss him, don’t you?”
The Oracle snuffled her snout over Chris’ hands, grunting as if she was replying to him.
“Give her a song, Chris.” Tarquin stood beside the Oracle, stroking her back.
“I don’t think Shobna wants to hear my impression of a strangled cat.” He looked up at her. “Would you mind? I need to convince her I’m all right!”
Politely amused, Shobna raised one perfect eyebrow. “Singing to a pig? Well, it’s not what I’m used to at dinner parties, but…go on, why not?”
“Do you like Cole Porter, Orry?” Chris asked. He lifted his fingers and gently stroked her snout, launching into a dreamy rendition of In the Still of the Night, the melody as soft and smooth as butter. Shobna half-closed her eyes, swinging her foot in time to the music. Tarquin did his best not to melt into a puddle.
The Captain and the Squire Page 11
