Page 9 of Vanquished by a Viscount (Tales from the Brotherhood #3)

Four

H e hated the man. That was all there was to it. The fire that had once burned in Gray’s soul for Charlie had gone from being the flames of passion to the smoldering coals of enmity that ran so deep he did not know its full depths.

He managed to stay far away from Charlie for the rest of the day, predominantly by handling Hawthorne House’s business matters so that Robert could stay by Barbara’s side as more of their guests arrived, and as the ones who had been there at luncheon asked a dozen impertinent questions about why Mr. Grayson Hawthorne and Lord Broxbourne did not like each other.

Gray spent supper deliberately at the opposite end of the table from Charlie, then forewent the usual after-supper brandy and conversation to go straight to bed.

Once in bed, he’d put himself to sleep with visions of wringing Charlie’s neck or strapping him to his own railway tracks so that a locomotive might run right over him.

The thought of Charlie squirming and struggling to break free of those bonds sent Grayson into sleep with a grin on his face.

Once asleep, however, his images of Charlie changed entirely.

Instead of groaning in fear and struggling to save his life, his moans were those of pleasure and the movements of his body were all inclined toward Gray, to bring him pleasure as well.

A hundred actual memories amalgamated into a dream of the two of them wrapped up in each other’s arms, naked and panting, as they kissed and caressed and thrust.

The dreams must have lasted all night. Gray awoke with a low groan as early rays of sunshine split through the curtains. He groaned even louder when he felt how hard his rebellious cock was in response to his dreams.

With an irritated sigh, he flopped to his back and gripped the base of his erection, intending to will it back into passivity.

His dream of Charlie was still too fresh in his mind, though, and instead of calming his body, touching himself only ignited old memories and made something primal within him long for his false former lover.

He jerked his hand away, gripping the bed under him with both hands as he clenched his jaw and stared up at the ceiling.

He would not do this. He would not descend into the madness of desiring a man who had thrown him over in the most callous way possible.

Charlie did not deserve his fantasies or his pleasure.

The man did not even deserve his thoughts, and if Gray could banish Charlie from his heart and brain the way he’d attempted to do with so many men, in England and abroad?—

He stopped those thoughts as swiftly as they’d flown into his brain.

No, he refused to admit that all the hedonistic enjoyment he’d felt entitled to as a younger man was exclusively meant to wash Charlie from his brain and to replace the memories of his touch with those of other men’s hands.

He could barely remember those other men at any rate, whereas Charlie?—

“No,” Gray growled up to the crack in the ceiling near the window. “I will not give that man a moment more of my consideration.”

He moved his hand back to his cock stroking slowly at first, and then with utilitarian speed, intending to bring himself off and relieve the pressure as quickly as he could. He intended to face the day and whatever it held relaxed and unbothered by pent-up desire.

A few strokes later, he changed his mind and pulled his hand away again, then sat up abruptly and threw his bedcovers aside.

No, release was not the answer. There was too much risk that his unruly mind would conjure up images of Charlie in the final moments.

As much as he did not want to spend the day aching with the need to release, he did not want to face his foe with fresh memories of coming while thinking of the bastard.

Gray rushed through washing, then dressed in the simplest clothing he owned, a plain shirt and utilitarian breeches. He had no intention of being seen in company dressed in such a way, and for the activity he had planned for that morning, the less consequential his manner of dress was the better.

Hawthorne House was still quiet with only the first servants of the morning up and about, lighting fires and taking away the detritus of the night before, as Gray made his way down to one of the smaller exits into the garden.

Once outside in the cool, dewy morning, he set off at a jog on the path that would take him farthest away from the house the fastest.

Gray had taken to jogging and running around the estate of Hawthorne House in the mornings since the weather had improved, though Robert and some of his younger siblings, like seventeen-year-old Richmond and fifteen-year-old Ruth, the baby of the family, teased him mercilessly for engaging in such a pedestrian activity.

Gray had always found that using his body and testing his muscles was a glorious distraction from his cares, and several lovers in the past had noted the positive effect running for sport had on his physique as well.

He had almost released the bulk of the tension that his unsettled dreams had left him with and had even managed a smile for the fresh, morning light when the sound of footsteps on the gravel path that ran parallel to the river as he made the approach startled him.

Worse still, when he turned the corner and came around the stand of bushes and trees that had blocked his view of the path at first, he nearly ran headlong into Charlie.

“Bloody hell, man!” Charlie shouted as the two of them came perilously close to slamming directly into each other. “What in blazes are you doing?”

Gray only just managed to dodge to the side, stumbling gracelessly and almost tumbling down the short, sloped bank and into the river. He might have taken a dive if Charlie had not grabbed his arm and yanked him back.

Gray immediately shook out of Charlie’s grip and fired back, “This is my home. I can take my morning exercise however I like. What are you doing?”

One quick glance at how Charlie was dressed and Gray could have answered his own question.

Charlie was dressed in the same simple manner that he was.

Judging by the slight flush on Charlie’s all-too handsome face and the dampness around his hairline, his horrible former paramour had been engaged in exactly the same activity Gray was.

Indeed, as Gray remembered, the two of them used to wake early to run along the River Cam together at university.

“I believe that the morning sunlight belongs to nobody.” Charlie answered peevishly. “This may be your home, but my sister is mistress of it now. I have as much of a right to enjoy a morning run as you do.”

“Please,” Gray said flatly. “Do not let me stop you.”

“I have never let you stop me before and I will not now,” Charlie said.

Gray stood with his hands on his hips for a moment, debating the best way to cut Charlie down to size. Words failed him for a change, and his gaze insisted on dropping to the vee of bare, damp skin visible between the open neck of Charlie’s shirt. He remembered well what that skin tasted like.

“I doubt you can keep up at any rate,” he said at last as dismissively as possible, then turned and jogged off down the river path.

Charlie followed him, which sent a wave of feeling that Gray had no wish to analyze through him.

He could not have cared less what Charlie wished to do with his morning.

There was no law or protocol that said he had to give the man so much as a sliver of his attention simply because he chose to jog the same path that Gray did.

“You looked a fool discussing railways with the ladies yesterday,” he said, sending Charlie a momentary sideways glance.

“Did I?” Charlie asked as bristly as possible. “More of a fool than a man openly discussing his foreign conquests with women present?”

Heat pulsed through Gray that had nothing to do with the exertion of his activities, though he picked up his pace as if he and Charlie were involved in a race. “At least I have foreign conquests,” he snapped, beginning to grow breathless.

“At least I have railway interests,” Charlie fired back.

Gray grimaced, pretending it was the strain of his jog.

There had been a time when interest in the coming railroads and the advancement of the science behind it had been something the two of them shared.

Granted, there had been a time when hedonistic pleasure was something they shared as well, but those times were long gone.

“Or perhaps it is the way I discussed such intricate subjects with my sister’s female friends that you object to,” Charlie went on when Gray failed to make a reply.

“I am not the sort of man to deny women knowledge of any sort,” Gray huffed in return. “I believe women should be included in important discussions more instead of less.”

“Important discussions of time spent in Spain and Italy?” Charlie asked as they took a side path that led away from the river and wound back toward the house.

“And why should ladies not be educated about foreign shores?” Gray demanded, his heart pounding for more reasons than exertion. He wondered where Charlie intended his line of questioning to go. There was something a bit too serious in his expression for his questions to be insults.

“I believe women should be educated about everything,” Charlie said, more than a little breathless as they had not slowed down, despite the path gradually going uphill. “Including railroads.”

“Will there truly be a spur line to Maidstone?” Gray asked with a bit too much sincerity before he could stop himself.

“There will, though it may be years before planning permission and the necessary land sales are completed to construct it,” Charlie answered with equal sincerity.