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“It’s simply a bedroom and a sitting area with a desk.

But you’re on the same side of the house as I am, so we can bother each other as much as we please.

” He held the door open and I stepped inside; even in the summer heat the great hall was nice and cool, two large staircases mimicking the stairs out front and leading to each wing of the house.

The great hall itself was lofty, the ceiling so high that it was difficult to make out the undeniably beautiful details that had been etched into place when the estate had been built centuries before.

Each subsequent room was just as stunning as the great hall; from the dining room to the ballroom to the parlor, everything was impeccably decorated and perfectly maintained.

I do not mean to insinuate that I was raised in a home without means, for even retired my father boasted a fair salary, but our house had been small, and my mother had kept tenants, which made it feel even smaller.

Compared to the wealth of Ashford Hall and the life I knew Charles had been raised in, my upbringing paled.

I could see the ghosts of Ashford men wandering these halls, holding elaborate balls and hosting important members of parliament, and the history of the place captivated me from the first.

Finally, we came to rest on the eastern side of the house, a lavish hall decorated with art that seemed to have been plucked from master studios across Europe, and Charles indicated a beautifully carved door.

“This is yours,” Charles said before pointing down the hallway to another door on the opposite side.

“And those are mine, so if you ever need anything, I’ll be within shouting distance. Come along.”

He pushed into the suites that would be mine for the summer, and despite his modesty at the front steps, I could tell that he was pleased with his choice for where I would be staying.

I couldn’t fault him as our lengthy friendship had ensured that Charles knew my tastes as well as I knew them myself.

The room was light and airy, a balcony overlooking the massive gardens that lay to the east, a pond glimmering just beyond them.

Clearly the maids had been working to air out the room, the linens freshly changed, the curtains pulled back, and the balcony doors flung open. “This is too much, Charles.”

“That is simply not true,” Charles said. “These rooms were where my mother hosted guests when she was still alive. I knew you’d be most comfortable here. The view was always her favorite, and you’ve always reminded me of her.”

“Ah, your fondness for me is finally explained,” I said, and he laughed, that bright clear sound that I had so loved as a boy.

Charles was then, and had always been, the best of friends to me, and if I had known then the sort of peril that summer at Ashford Hall would put that friendship in, I would have turned heel and run back to London at that point.

But I didn’t, and the events of the summer did not, inevitably, tear us apart the way I once fathomed they would.

Then, in that evening light, I believed that the secret I had kept from Charles since we had been boys was a secret that our friendship could not withstand.

“Even if you weren’t like her, you would still be my friend,” Charles said, leading me into a bathroom that led into the actual bedroom, set back away from the door so I would have some privacy.

“Dinner is in an hour, time enough for you to freshen up. I’ve instructed Felix to bring your documents to your parlor here, but if I catch you going through them before the weekend is over, I will be quite disappointed.

Remember, you’ve come here for pleasure as much as anything else. ”

“No law until at least tomorrow morning, I promise. I recall you mentioning a Felix you played with as a boy, but who is he now?”

“My brother’s manservant, but he has temporarily taken over duties of head butler while our butler is visiting his daughter in Essex,” Charles said.

“You’ll meet him soon enough. Don’t be alarmed by his, uh, modern interpretation of his duties.

As you know, Felix was raised alongside myself and Arthur and has always benefited from a rather elevated relationship with us compared to what you may have seen from other servants. ”

I smiled at this, shaking my head. “So you’re warning me he has a penchant for argument? I am not so bothered by that as others in your stratosphere, Charlie. My profession means I frequently cross class lines.”

“I know, I know. I just wanted to warn you. He offended one of Arthur’s friends last time my brother had some lords down. You would have thought he’d called for the assassination of the queen, the way they reacted.”

“Then Felix and I will get along quite well,” I said. “I’ll see you at dinner if I don’t get lost on the way. And Charles, thank you. I can’t imagine spending my time in London after seeing this place.”

“You’re always welcome,” Charles said, pulling me into another brief one-armed hug before leaving me alone in the suite.

As soon as the door snicked shut behind him, I wandered to the balcony, leaned against the railing, and peered out over the gardens.

They were masterfully maintained, a sea of green with flowers and trees visible at intervals, and the fresh smell coming up off the plants was so refreshing I thought I could stay there for hours, simply breathing it in.

I was so taken by the scenery that I did not notice the man walking through the garden until he was nearly beneath my balcony, and when I finally spotted him, I found that I was looking at someone as exceptionally beautiful as Ashford Hall itself.

He was tall, with broad shoulders and dressed in a perfectly tailored shirt and trousers, and I may have mistaken him for a well-dressed guest if not for his more than passing resemblance to Charles.

While Charles was an open book, this man—Arthur Ashford, if my instincts were correct—had his brother’s good looks with none of his easy charm.

Rather, from my perch on the balcony, he seemed to hold himself with a haughtiness that was rather startling.

I had heard of Lord Ashford, of course, and Charles had always sung his praises.

Arthur was said to be kind and effervescent, a sort of quasi-hero to Charles, who was three years younger and who had followed as closely in Arthur’s footsteps as a second son could at that time.

I had anticipated a copy of the younger Ashford, and to find myself now looking down at a man who could have been sculpted by Michaelangelo and easily landed among the most beautiful artwork known at the time was both unnerving and a fright.

Charles had never known the sort of man I was, the sort of man I truly was, the sort of attraction I had always harbored.

There was a reason I was unmarried at my age, despite my profession and my looks, and it had nothing to do with a lack of interested women but everything to do with a lack of interest on my part.

I had realized as a teenager that I had no use for women as anything more than friends, that men held for me the sort of beauty that I assumed I should have found in the fairer sex, and I had hidden this from Charles for good reason, unable to believe that my friend would accept this truth about me.

Seeing Charles’s brother for the first time, I felt that untethered attraction rise like a snake coiling in the pit of my stomach.

It was a moment of unguarded hunger and I paid for it dearly, because just as I became aware of my attraction, Arthur Ashford raised his head and met my eyes.

He was terribly handsome, his face more hawk-like than his brother’s, his eyes a piercing green framed by ash blond curls, everything about him screaming of pride.

It was his expression, however, that sent fear lancing through me.

Arthur studied me for the briefest of moments and seemed to read my mind, his lip curling in the slightest sneer before he turned away and continued on his walk.

I was discovered before I could even properly meet the man, and it was my own damnable fault.