Chapter 3
THREE
So much for Ryan’s fantasies of a hot summer fling with the adorable gardener. Graeme was married, or at least he had been. It was always the beautiful, sweet ones who succumbed to the curse of heterosexuality, ruining things for the rest of them.
It was probably better in the long run. Ryan had his fall collection and the future of his as-yet imaginary fashion house to think about.
As surprisingly nice as it had been to work side by side with Graeme out in the June sun, using his muscles and getting dirty as they dug out the kitchen garden beds, it wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing.
He was supposed to be sketching and thinking and studying the most innovative new designs that were walking the runways of the world.
But he couldn’t stop himself.
“So that’s why we should wait,” Graeme explained to Ryan’s mum and dad, and a few other family members the day after the discovery of the old foundation.
Ryan stood by his side, nodding at everything he’d said like he understood what Graeme was talking about.
“You never know with these old ruins. Sometimes they’re nothing.
Sometimes they hold hidden dangers. And every once in a while, they change history. ”
“Like the discovery of Richard the Third’s tomb under that car park,” Early said, their expression lit with excitement. “You never know who could be buried on the grounds of Hawthorne House.”
“If anyone is buried here,” Robbie said with a smirk, “it’s probably some house party guest who had too much port and wandered off in the dead of night.”
“That could be truer than you think,” Robert said with a laugh. “If I remember rightly, there was a house party here sometime in the late eighteen-thirties, and the gamekeeper’s lodge burned down. I don’t remember how or why exactly.”
“It was lightning, wasn’t it?” Ryan asked.
“Could have been.” Robert nodded.
“Was anyone important staying there at the time?” Early asked.
“I have no idea,” Robert said.
“Whatever the case,” Graeme said, rubbing his stubbly chin, his expression thoughtful, “I’d feel more comfortable continuing with the plan for the walking garden after someone official has taken a look at the area. I can work on all the other parts of the garden in the meantime.”
“Sounds like a good idea,” Robert said.
“I could make a trip into London, to The Chameleon Club, to see if Casper Penhurst is around,” Ryan offered, eager to do whatever he could to help Graeme and make him happy, even though he was straight. “If anyone would know what to do about ruins in the backyard, it would be Casper.”
“That would be great,” Graeme said with a relieved smile.
Ryan didn’t want to think too much about how that soft, slightly adoring smile made him feel.
He didn’t want to think about it in the moment, and he didn’t want to think about it that night, when he was trying to go to sleep.
Reflecting back on the last couple days he’d just spent with Graeme kept him up half the night, in more ways than one.
Ryan had had crushes on straight men before, but it had never ended well.
He needed to take action to end his warm, fuzzy feelings for Graeme before they got the best of him.
The only way to do that was to throw himself into the task of finding someone to take a look at the ruins.
The next morning, he tried to be good and spend a few hours working, but his attempts to sketch out design ideas turned into a silly attempt to draw Graeme’s face from memory.
Fortunately for him, he was terrible at drawing that sort of life detail.
No one who might have found the sketch would have had the first clue who it was supposed to be.
He set out for London with a plan to get to The Chameleon Club in time for lunch.
There was no guarantee Casper would be there, but since the university where he taught was just on the other side of Hyde Park and the food at the club was much better than that in the faculty dining room, or so Casper had said before, there was a fair chance Ryan would run into him.
Ryan was in luck.
“You dug up an old outbuilding in Hawthorne House’s gardens while trying to plant flowers?” Casper asked, all enthusiasm and charm as he pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
“Well, we started to dig things up,” Ryan reported as he ate a particularly good ham sandwich at one of the many large tables scattered through the club’s ballroom-cum-dining room.
“I was driving in a boundary stake, actually. We don’t want to go any further until we have someone take a look at what might be there. ”
“Of course, of course,” Casper said, nodding. “You never know what you’ll find on the grounds of estates as old as yours.”
“That’s what Graeme said.” Ryan smiled for what felt like no reason.
“Graeme?” Casper asked the way someone would dig for gossip.
“He’s the gardener Dad hired to design and execute the new gardens,” Ryan said, and since he still wasn’t comfortable with his feelings for a straight man, he rushed on with, “Do you think you can help us?”
“I could,” Casper said hesitatingly. “But I know someone who could help you better than I could.” He twisted in his chair, glanced back to the buffet table, where a pair of men were chatting, and called out, “Art! We need you!”
Ryan was in no way prepared for the burst of heat that hit him when the man who he assumed was Art turned away from his conversation at the buffet table to answer Casper’s call.
He was stunning, with dark hair, fine features, and an instant smile that had the blood pumping faster through Ryan’s body. All of Ryan’s body.
Art said goodbye to the man he’d been chatting with and strode over to Ryan and Casper’s table.
He had the long stride and easy gait of someone who was deeply confident.
More than that, before he was halfway across the space, he met Ryan’s eyes, his smile widened, and his steps slowed into an entirely different stride, like a predator stalking his prey.
“Well, hello,” he said once he reached the table. “How is everyone doing today?”
The man was sex in khaki trousers, and Ryan reacted to him instantly.
Which caused a serious clash of morals and interests, considering Graeme was still very much at the front of his thoughts. Straight Graeme.
There was no rule saying he couldn’t be attracted to more than one man at a time, though. Attraction just happened, especially when someone who was one hundred percent his type walked up to him.
“Ryan Hawthorne, I’d like you to meet Arthur Johnson,” Casper introduced them. “Art is a fellow professor at the Royal College of London. He teaches Archeology, but he’s also an experienced archeologist who has assisted on plenty of digs in the UK and around the world.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Art said in a honeyed voice, offering his hand to Ryan, and much more, if the vibe he exuded was anything to go by.
“Ryan is one of the famous Hawthorne family and an up-and-coming fashion designer,” Casper continued his introductions. “And he and his family have just discovered some sort of ruins on their property as they were installing a new garden.”
“Really?” Art asked, his manner changing to genuine interest just as Ryan took his hand to shake it.
“We think we found the foundation of the old gamekeeper’s lodge that burned down in the eighteen-thirties, but we want someone to come take a look at it before we do anything more,” Ryan said, feeling unusually flustered.
“Darling, I will take a look at anything you want me to see,” Art said, sinking gracefully into the chair next to Ryan’s once he let go of his hand, his gaze dropping below the level of Ryan’s waist for a moment.
Under any other circumstances, Ryan would have jumped gleefully into flirting with the man.
He was getting clear fun vibes from the gorgeous archeologist. He wanted to lean closer to the man, breathe in whatever amazing cologne he was wearing, and make some sort of quip about letting Art explore his cave all he wanted.
But the sweet, innocent picture of Graeme was still lodged firmly in his mind, keeping him on his best behavior.
“I don’t know how much you know about Hawthorne House,” he said, clearing his throat and fiddling with one of the unused spoons on the table in front of him to stop himself from coming up with a way to touch Art.
“It’s one of the preeminent early-Georgian estates in Kent, isn’t it?” Art asked, suddenly entirely professional.
The switch to business left Ryan feeling like he was the one trying to flirt. Arthur Johnson messed with his mind.
“Yes,” he said, forcing himself to concentrate. “Although parts of the original structure were built in the Jacobean era, and several of the outbuildings have existed back into the Middle Ages, when the previous, smaller house stood on the property.”
“Your family has turned it into an arts center and you have a Medieval festival on the grounds every year, right?” Art asked.
“I’m surprised you know about that,” Ryan said, scooting closer to him.
Art’s answering smile turned up the heat all over again. “I’m the gay, British Indiana Jones,” he said with a self-effacing shrug. “It’s my job to know about all the old estates and historical sites on these sceptered isles.”
Ryan couldn’t help but grin broadly in return. Fuck, Art was charming.
“I only know about Hawthorne House,” he said. “And apparently, there are things I don’t even know about the house I grew up in.”
“And you want me to uncover everything for you?” Art asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
Yes. Yes, Ryan wanted the man to uncover everything. He could tell from the way Art’s clothes fit him that his body was exceptional.
“If you have some time,” he said, the internal wrenching as part of him tried to keep Graeme at the forefront of his thoughts tugging. But why? Graeme was out of reach and Art wasn’t.