Page 16

Fifteen

GRAYSON HOUSE, LONDON - JUNE 17, 1816

XANDER

It was a simple press of the lips. For a long moment, that was all it was. Perfectly lovely with the appropriate fluttering of nerves and excitement in the chest.

Tom was still, allowing me to brush my lips against his once, twice, a third time, but offering no further response. Satisfied with a pleasant enough kiss for our goodbye, I pulled back.

Our lips didn’t have the chance to part. Instead, a desperate sound ripped from the back of his throat. His hand found my neck and yanked me back in.

There was nothing perfectly lovely about the kiss now. Nothing pleasant enough. He surged forward, lips capturing mine, parting them with his tongue. Long, elegant fingers curled around my neck, his palm cradling my face. His other hand slipped inside my coat to catch my waist while he devoured me.

It was awkward; he was still astride the bench while I faced forward. The angle was all wrong. His movements were inelegant and limbs ungainly as he dragged one palm down my chest and carded his fingers through my hair with the other.

Tom was incapable of deciding what he liked. Instead, he seemed to try everything, everywhere, all at once. Every thought he’d ever had about kissing, he experimented with them all. It was entirely obvious that this was his first kiss—at least the first that he’d enjoyed. It should have been wretched.

And I’d never been more aroused. This man, far too young and inexperienced for the likes of me, moved with the wild hunger that only came from years of repressed feelings. And he had my heart ready to break free from my chest and my cock ready to rip a hole in my trousers.

It was impossible to keep up with him, impossible to predict his next movement. I surrendered to the reckless, wanton caresses. And I let him take what he needed as I tried desperately to hang on. The heady fact was, what he wanted—needed—was me .

His frustrated whimper tugged at my heart when his hand tangled in my cravat, unable to undo it one-handed, with his eyes closed. And clearly the other hand was unwilling to abandon the strands of hair it had curled itself into.

I pulled as far away as he would let me, mumbling into his lips, “Sweet— slow down. You’re going to choke me.”

Those words seemed to penetrate the haze of lust and he pulled back. Eyes wide, he stammered, “Fuck, I-I didn’t mean to?—”

“Not that I’m entirely opp—never mind—” Too soon, far too soon.

“I’m sorry. That was… not my first time. But the first one that…”

“—Was with a man? Yes, that was readily apparent.” I fought to keep the smile from overtaking my swollen lips.

“That felt like that ,” he corrected. His expression reflected none of the irritation of his tone. “And yes, with a man. And it certainly… confirmed a few things. One of which is that I should not have encouraged you to learn to tease.”

“Tell me more about this confirmation,” I instructed, my hand reaching for my tangled cravat. His eyes followed my movement as I found one loop and pulled the end through and free. Then they snapped to meet my gaze, heat darkening them to a stormy navy blue—just barely visible in the moonlight. I found where the fabric looped back over and tugged it under still one-handed. His throat bobbed as his attention flitted back to my movements.

With my free hand, I made a go-on gesture.

“Can you repeat the question?” he asked, tongue darting out to taste his lower lip.

He’d managed to knot the cravat quite thoroughly. And perhaps I was drawing this display out—just a little. But I couldn’t recall the last time a man looked at me with such hunger. It was flattering, and more than a little arousing.

“You said our kiss confirmed some things. I want to hear about the things.”

He blinked slowly, still distracted by my hand that was still untangling the last loops of the cravat.

“Why are you undoing your cravat?” he asked, entirely disregarding my question.

“It was in your way. And strangled by my own neckerchief in Grayson’s yard isn’t the way I’d like to go.”

“I don’t—” He cut himself off, straightening. “I’m not entirely clear on what the objection is. Is it the strangulation itself, the object used for it, the location, or the owner of the location that displeases you?”

“All of it, to varying extents. And you’re dodging my question.”

His lips turned down into what should have been a frown but somehow read as a smile. “Until I met you, I had a suspicion or two. But I thought… I wasn’t capable of those feelings, the ones all the poets write about. Or perhaps they were all made up, that… attraction, was just a lie everyone told themselves to get through the day. But when I saw you, I knew that it wasn’t a lie. And just now… I’m positive the rest isn’t a lie either.”

“The rest?” I pressed. Now finished with the cravat, I left the ends to hang loose around my neck. The better for him to grab onto—at least now that the risk of death by overeager lover was mitigated.

He sighed. “The buttons on my falls are sure to give up their efforts any moment now. Are you happy?”

“Yes, very,” I whispered, closing the gap between us once more. It seemed as though whatever mania had overtaken him before was dimmed. But the enthusiasm was still there.

His lips were soft and gentle against mine, but sweet, pressing back, melting under my tongue. Tom opened for me so beautifully. Meeting my every move with one of his own. A heartbreakingly beautiful dance, at least when I remembered that we would only have tonight to perfect it.

At last, his hand found the loose ends of my cravat, tugging on it with just enough possessiveness to remind me of the wiry strength I’d admired in his forearms.

I could admit it now, if only to myself, I was attracted to Tom Grayson in a way I hadn’t been attracted to anyone in years, perhaps ever. He was too young, too inexperienced, and too male—in every way that could be interpreted—to be appropriate. But my body could not have cared less. Not when my hand raked through coarse, unruly curls.

His chest was firm, not broad but defined under the layers of fabric. And delightfully sensitive if the groan that broke from his chest as my free hand brushed over a nipple beneath the linen was any indication. That sound tasted good on my tongue, warm amber scotch and something sharp and herbal that I couldn’t name.

Tom’s lips slid from mine, tasting along my jaw with something like a whimper.

“What?” I breathed, trying to catch his gaze.

He shook his head, lips finding the hinge of my jaw with a shaking breath. There he worked magic, nipping—just sharp enough to have me gasping—before soothing with lips and tongue. The effort was enough for thought to abandon me, until my entire world became the places we touched. His lips on my neck. Mine on his shoulder through coat and shirt and waistcoat I was too overwrought to pull aside. My hand on his cheek and still trapped in close-cropped curls. His on my jaw. And still I wanted more.

My mind, lost in sensation, took a moment to comprehend the shudders running through Tom’s form.

I pulled away but his fist in my cravat caught me short. With the hand on his cheek, I tugged him from my shoulder. “Tom?”

His shuddering breath was harsh in the night air. “I don’t know.” A pink tongue darted out along swollen lips as he dragged a frustrated hand through tangled curls. “Too much. Not enough. I’m burning. If we keep going, I’m going to combust. But I never, ever want to stop.”

I could recall the feeling of overwhelm, though not as affecting as it seemed to be for Tom. The first quick fumblings that held the possibility of more were long forgotten memories from some hazy Mediterranean night. Surely, I had been physically overwrought, but this… this was something different. Precious.

Something in my gut twisted painfully. Tom was a second son, a second son with a healthy and whole elder brother with an heir of his own. Tom could have his own tour, and there he could find a gentleman who could give him more than a quick fumble outside a party. They could have a precious forever together.

I swallowed the knot in my throat. “We should stop. This isn’t the time or place for this.”

There. I’d said it. And he would never know the cost. My own insides were as tremulous as his hands. My breath, steady on the face of it, ripped a hole in my chest. This man needed me, wanted me. I was important to him. And I was a greedy man, desperate to take whatever precious pieces of himself he wanted to bestow on me. Take them. Keep them. Lock them away to keep me warm during the lonely nights sure to come. But they didn’t belong to me.

His only response to the insistence that cost me everything was a groan as his forehead hit my shoulder.

“There is a ball inside,” I added, strengthening my argument. Whether that was for his benefit or mine was irrelevant.

“Kate is used to me missing the entirety of her parties.”

“Someone could see or hear.”

“They haven’t,” he protested, his hand catching my chin and trying to drag my lips back to his.

“Tom, we can?—”

He won the battle, his mouth claiming mine again before nipping at my lower lip. I wasn’t a saint. Not even close. If he offered me the things I wanted, who was I to say they weren’t mine to take? This time, it was my fingers tangling in his cravat, working at the knot with blunt nails.

“Tom, are you out— Oh…”

Ice filled my veins and my stomach sank at the masculine tone. Tom was frozen as well, too still even for breath.

I pulled back slowly, willing this to be a hallucination, a dream, anything but the irate viscount I was sure to find when I turned.

But it wasn’t a figment, it wasn’t a premonition, it was Lord Grayson standing before us. His mouth twisted in such a way that it would’ve been amusing in another situation, like he’d swallowed a frog.

“Lord Grayson,” I croaked out. Perhaps I was the one who’d gnawed on a frog.

“Your Grace.” His voice was dead, leaving nothing to indicate his thoughts on the situation he’d stumbled on.

“Hugh!” A feminine voice cried from the door. Juliet raced around the corner, slipping on the grass as she rounded it. It was the least graceful maneuver she’d ever made, at least in my presence.

He spun to face her, moving to cover her eyes with a hand. “Inside, Juliet,” he commanded.

“But…”

“Inside. Keep everyone inside.”

“Perhaps Michael?—”

“No. Inside. Now.”

She turned to head back with a sag in her shoulders, but flashed an expression of sympathy in our direction before she rounded the corner. Something about her movement must have jolted Tom out of his shock. He snapped to his feet, throwing his leg back over the bench and striding forward, hands outstretched. An attempt to placate the viscount.

It took a moment to comprehend, to recognize. But he’d thrown himself between me and his brother. And though it was an entirely inappropriate thought, I rather wanted to kiss him again for the effort.

“Hugh…” he began. Seemingly, it was all he’d managed to plan out because he hung on the name, dragging it out.

“Sit, Tom,” he said, crossing his arms.

“No, Hugh. Please… It’s not?—”

“What I think? Please, enlighten me, Tom. Because I’d love an explanation beyond the obvious.”

“I…”

There was something about the single letter, barely a word. The desperation, the hurt, the fear, all wrapped in that syllable that cracked my heart, the fissure creeping along until the greedy, underused, muscle gave way. It broke, leaving that same, ill-considered noble sentiment that had been quelled by Tom’s lips, tongue, teeth.

I clambered to my feet. “It was me.”

Hugh’s only response to my outburst was a raised brow.

“I seduced him,” I added.

“What! No! He—I—no!”

“I did. I seduced him,” I insisted. Tom turned back to me, eyes full of something distressingly close to betrayal. I swallowed the instinctive guilt. Someday he would thank me. When the day came that he was grateful for the love of his family.

“Explain,” the viscount demanded.

“Hugh, he didn?—”

“Damn it all to hell and back, Tom. Inside. I can’t even look at you right now,” Lord Grayson hissed.

Silence crashed over us. The naked anguish on Tom’s face splintered whatever was left of my heart.

“Go,” I whispered.

Wordlessly, he turned back toward the house.

“The back steps, Tom,” Lord Grayson added.

His retreating form shrank still further, as though he’d been crushed under the weight of his brother’s disapproval and my confession.

Turning back to Lord Grayson, I steeled myself for the inevitable fist.

Instead, I was met with a stern slash of a mouth and inscrutable grey eyes, but his fists remained clenched, stacked underneath crossed arms.

“Are you trying to get him killed?” He laid the horrifying question between us with an eerie calm.

“No! Of course not.”

“Really, because your complete lack of discretion indicates otherwise. How long has this been going on?”

“Tonight. Just tonight.”

“Do not lie to me,” he said, tone blade-sharp.

“I’m not lying.”

“I saw—we saw—you at White’s the other day. And, in retrospect, his reaction was not that of an unaffected bystander.”

My instinctive wince did nothing to soften what I now knew as icy rage in his furrowed brow and slate gaze.

“It was tonight, truly. We’d spoken before, but nothing more.”

“And tonight you decided to seduce him.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I hadn’t considered this part. The part where I would need to play the merry rake. The part where I would have to cheapen a moment that had been sweet. Precious. I called forth the memories of Gabriel’s misspent youth, rocking back on my heels. “I’m leaving town. It seemed like an entertaining way to spend an evening.”

Lord Grayson’s jaw clenched but he said nothing.

“I was tired of footmen and valets. In the mood for a challenge.”

He sighed, dragging one hand through his hair before nodding to the bench behind me. “Sit.”

My body obeyed the command instinctively and plopped back on the bench with no grace.

“If you were not such a terrible liar, I would be calling for my small sword.”

“But—”

“You have induced my brother to disregard his safety and potentially his life. Convinced him to forsake, not only his reputation, but mine, my wife’s, my son’s as well. And then you try to claim blame for what was clearly a very consensual seduction, if a seduction at all. I am going to need you to explain this to me. Because I do not understand it.” The viscount paced through his speech, pausing to stare at me briefly before resuming his efficient, practiced strides.

The moonlight glinted off my hessians as they swished back and forth, cutting divots through the grass.

“Do you love your wife?” I asked.

“What has that to do with anything?”

“Just… do you love her?”

“Of course. My love for her… the risks you have taken with her reputation. It is one of the reasons I am so tempted to run you through. But if I did that, I would certainly have to abandon her in exile. And thus she is also one of the reasons that I have refrained.”

I swallowed the knot.

“And before her? Women in general, you appreciated their form? Enjoyed their flirtations?”

He shrugged a single shoulder, then settled his arms back across his chest.

“I don’t… When a woman flirts with me… I don’t feel that.”

“I did not either. Not until Kate. Perhaps Tom just has not met the right lady.”

“It’s not like that. Not for me. I don’t know about To—Mr. Grayson.” A sharp glare had me retreating to formality. “All the pleasant things the poets write about. I feel them when I look at men—some not all.”

“So, when you look at me, you feel…”

This conversation could not possibly be going more poorly. Although it could involve more weapons. “You’re a handsome man. In general, I don’t allow myself to consider such things. But if I did…”

He shifted back a half step.

“I’m not going to seduce you. Christ, I’m not explaining this well. You, presumably, find many ladies handsome. But you do not desire them the way you do your wife? It is the same for me.”

“But you desire Tom. In that way.”

Did I? I wasn’t entirely sure how Lord Grayson felt about his wife. But I’d made a mockery of this conversation thus far. I couldn’t very well question him further on his sentiments toward his wife. “Yes,” I settled on.

“And he… desires you in the same way.”

“You would have to ask him.”

“And these desires are strong enough to risk your reputation, your family’s reputation, your title, your life?”

“Not historically, no. Tom is very... Imagine, for a moment, that you weren’t married to Lady Grayson. That you could never marry her. Ever. That you could never share a life with her. That you couldn’t offer her the protection of your name and your body. That you would have to spend every day for the rest of your life dreaming of what it would be like if only you could press your lips against hers. And you would know that nothing would change. Every day would be the same torture, until the day you die. That even wanting to touch her would lead to your ruin, your family’s ruin, her ruin. And you knew she felt the same, that being apart from you was causing her the same anguish it was causing you.”

He swallowed, jaw flexing. With no response forthcoming, I continued. “Now, swear to me that you wouldn’t slip up. Ever. That your eyes wouldn’t meet across a crowded room and cause your will to break.”

For a long moment, he considered me, silent and still. Without warning he jolted forward, turning to sit beside me. His elbows met knees with his head bowed.

“I… That must be difficult,” he said to his shoes. “But you must know I cannot allow this. We—I am not a duke. I have nothing like your wealth. There are things that the ton might be willing to overlook from you that they will not forgive Tom for. And I cannot allow that to happen to him.”

“I am leaving. Truly. I am bound for Scotland and I do not anticipate a return. I’ll leave. And he will forget me. He’s young.”

“He is the same age I was when I wed Kate.”

“Precisely, far too young,” I teased gently.

“I think you should go. There is a back gate through there,” he added, gesturing toward the other side of the house. “I will make your excuses if anyone asks after you.”

“All right. Would you, can you pass a message on to T—Mr. Grayson for me?”

His gaze met mine for the first time in several minutes. There was a sorrow to his molten silver eyes. “I do not think that would be wise. A clean break, I think, would be best.”

My stomach sank but I nodded. “Very well.”

I stood and made my way to the indicated gate, legs heavy with pooled blood.

“Good luck in Scotland,” Lord Grayson whispered behind me.

I nodded, not bothering to face him, as I slipped the rusted latch free. The gate didn’t swing open; instead, it groaned with disuse both opening and closing. My heart joined in its protest.