Chapter 36
JACK
At the sound of Ginny’s hooves striking the cobbles in the yard, a lad jogged out of the warmly lit stable block.
“Your Grace!” he called. “Welcome home.”
Jack nodded. “Narin. Good evening.” He slung his leg over the pommel and jumped down from the saddle, filled with energy that he shouldn’t have at the end of such a long day.
Ginny turned her head and gave him a sour look. First he pushed her hard, and then, instead of dismounting properly, he was hopping about like one of the lads. She blew a gusty breath.
She was going to be snippy with him for some time after this.
Jack rubbed her nose affectionately.
Narin hurried over to take her reins. “Didn’t know we was expecting you today.” Ginny nudged his chest and he rocked easily back on a foot. “His Grace will be happy to see you. Won’t be the only one, neither.” He shot Jack a sly grin.
Jack huffed a small laugh. “Give her a special treat for me, would you?” He unbuckled the saddlebag. “She’s earned it.”
“Of course, Your Grace. Come on, then, Gin,” Narin said, clucking softly at her. She trudged after him, head hooked over his shoulder. She didn’t even glance back at Jack.
He strode for the kitchen door, snatching it open and startling a maid who was on her way out. She scuttled out of his path and dropped a polite curtsy.
Cook, as always, was less polite.
She looked up from where she was pummelling the dough for tomorrow’s bread and glared at him. “Got your doors mixed up again,” she said. “Supposed to come in the front, you are, not burst in here all unannounced, scaring my staff.”
Cook, along with Mrs Foley and Marl, had watched Jack grow from infant to child to master of his domain.
Cook was about as impressed with him as Mrs Foley and Marl were: not very.
It must be difficult, he thought, to take seriously the man who was once a boy you’d had to chase around to get him to eat, get out of your kitchen, stop picking his nose, stop stealing your apple turnovers, leave the dried fruit alone, put that pot down, and do not touch the stove!
He stripped off his gloves and stuffed them in his greatcoat pocket. “My duch?” he said.
“This time o’ night? Library. Be ringing for the supper tray for him and the lad any minute.”
The lad. Beckett.
“Would you add an extra cup for me, please?”
“As if he needs to ask.” Cook sniffed.
Jack took it as an affirmative.
He shrugged out of his coat and lifted his brows at the small, gawking maid he’d nearly bowled over on his way in.
She stood staring at him, her eyes running up and down his body as if she’d never seen a man in shirtsleeves before.
“His coat, girl,” Cook snapped.
The maid darted over.
“Thank you.” Jack passed over the voluminous coat which all but engulfed her, snitched an apple from the bowl on the table, and winked at Cook as he bit into it.
She flapped her hands at him, shooing him away.
He strode out of the kitchen and wended his way through the maze of the servants’ passages.
It was the quickest route to the library, after all.
He should probably go to his room and refresh himself after his journey first, but he couldn’t wait.
He needed to see them. He’d thought of nothing else from the moment… well.
From the moment he’d watched Beckett ride away from Sevennis, leaving Jack behind.
He kept his steps deliberately light over the marble floor of the Great Hall as he approached the tall double doors of the library. He slipped inside, easing the door shut soundlessly behind him.
He wasn’t trying to sneak up on them. That behaviour was no more befitting a sober and mature alpha duke than swinging off his horse or coming into the house through the kitchen. He wanted to catch an unguarded moment, that was all. To see how they were together without him.
He pressed his back to the solid door and looked his fill.
It was full night outside, and Beckett was in the process of drawing the long, forest-green curtains. Arden lay before the fire on his stomach, his lower legs cocked, ankles crossed, and his chin resting on his hands as he watched Beckett admiringly.
From here, no one would think Beckett the younger man. He looked what he was—a large, powerful alpha on the very cusp of his prime.
Jack tilted his head. No. Beckett was in his prime, now.
Arden, on the other hand, looked like a sweet, innocent young omega. The exact sort of man who had never once drawn Jack’s attention or interest. Perhaps because Arden himself had always held it, so completely.
Even sprawled on the rich hearthrug, there was an arousing, loose-limbed grace to the way he disposed of his body.
It suggested flexibility, a quicksilver potential.
It gave him an air of skittishness, even when he was most settled; the suggestion that he’d run through your fingers like water, no matter how tightly you tried to hold onto him.
Jack took a deep breath, hungrily watching the two men who owned his heart. Who owned him. Completely.
At the thought, Beckett turned and looked directly over at Jack.
He wasn’t surprised to see him. He’d probably sensed him standing there in the shadows.
Beckett’s mere presence had often enough lifted the hairs on Jack’s body, after all, awareness shivering over his skin like a warning breeze rippling through summer-long grass before a storm.
Their eyes locked and for a long, charged moment, they stared at each other.
Beckett’s expression slowly changed. The naked flare of love that Jack would never cease to be humbled by was taken over by something mischievous, which was in turn taken over by a heavy sultriness.
Beckett continued to stare at him boldly. Invitingly.
Come and get it.
“Oh.” Arden’s soft exclamation drew their attention. “You’re here!” He shifted to sit up crosslegged, and sent a conspiratorial smile Beckett’s way.
Beckett snorted a laugh as he finished drawing the curtains and went over to join Arden by the fire.
“Your plan to lure me here, was it?” Jack asked as he strolled down the length of the room. Beckett flung himself into one of the chairs that were set across from each other either side of the hearth, lounging comfortably.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Arden said, beaming up at him. His large eyes glittered in the dancing firelight, bright and happy.
Jack didn’t stop until he was practically on top of Arden. He reached down and gently lifted Arden’s face to his. His cheeks were warm from the fire. Under Jack’s regard and touch his skin heated further, until it felt like hot silk against his palms. His lashes fluttered and he looked away.
He looked to Beckett.
Good, Jack thought fiercely. That was good.
Arden’s gaze bounced back to Jack’s, and he slowly moved to his knees.
Another quick check at Beckett, who nodded at him, and Arden placed his hands on Jack’s thighs, sliding them up as he stretched to a high kneel.
“Kiss me hello,” he said, and scowled when it came out as a questioning warble rather than the teasing demand Jack suspected he’d intended.
Bending down, holding Arden in place, Jack dusted his mouth with a soft kiss. He went back for another, and when he lifted away, their lips clung.
Jack traced a thumb under Arden’s eye, following the delicate shape of it. Arden did his very best to return Jack’s hungry stare but it was a matter of mere seconds before his lashes fluttered and he glanced away.
Jack didn’t mind. He continued to stroke the sweet face tipped up to his, rosy in the firelight.
The hands on Jack’s thighs turned into little claws, fingers digging in. A shadow fell over Arden’s face.
Beckett.
He stood behind Arden, sandwiching him between them.
A position Arden would find himself in many, many times in the future.
Beckett slid his hands under Arden’s arms and lifted him to his feet.
Dark eyes watched Jack over Arden’s head as Beckett slid an arm around Arden’s waist and tightened. He slipped a hand up to collar Arden’s throat firmly.
Arden lifted up onto his toes.
“Kiss him properly,” Beckett said.
“I did,” Arden said with a hint of indignation. His protest turned into an undignified squawk when Beckett’s big hand covered Arden’s mouth as he nipped at Arden’s ear and said. “Shh. Not talking to you.”
Arden batted at his forearm and when that didn’t help, he pinched the back of Beckett’s wrist.
Jack grinned when Arden immediately mumbled something that sounded like “Sorry, sorry,” and rubbed the spot he’d pinched.
Beckett grinned back at him. He moved his hand from Arden’s mouth to his chin, and tipped it up for Jack.
Arden’s lips parted and his breathing picked up.
“Hush,” Beckett murmured, resting a cheek to the top of Arden’s head. “It’s all right.”
“I know,” Arden said. “I know, I—oh. Mmm.”
Jack ducked down and kissed him.
He didn’t keep it light and sweet. He didn’t show Arden the depth of his hunger and need either, of course. He’d only been here in the room with them a few minutes. He didn’t want to pounce on him like an animal the moment he walked through the door.
But he drew back the shadows just a little, licking Arden’s pretty mouth open and taking possession with one deep glide.
It was a good thing that Beckett was there. Arden almost fell over.
When Jack lifted away, Arden’s cheeks were scarlet and his pupils had engulfed the grey. He patted blindly at Beckett’s arm with one hand and at Jack’s chest with the other. Beckett released him, and Arden startled the pair of them by twisting suddenly out from between them.
He couldn’t know the danger in it. Beckett did—he reached out and grabbed Jack by the shoulders an instant before Jack could lunge after Arden.
They stared at each other. Beckett smirked.
Arden, oblivious to the byplay, said, “Now you. Please.”
Beckett aimed that cocky smile at Arden. “Yeah?” he said.
Arden nodded emphatically.
“As our duch commands,” Jack said. He tugged Beckett against his body and gave him a noisy, sucking kiss.