Chapter Nineteen
LYNDON SLEPT FOR the first part the homewards journey, drained of everything he had, with his head resting on his young lover’s shoulder and Rollo’s hand warming in his lap. When he woke, two anxious blue eyes latched onto his.
“Did he accept your apology?”
Lyndon brought Rollo’s hand to his dry lips. “Yes. Of course.”
That Benedict would be gracious was never in question, no matter how clumsily Lyndon delivered his apology.
And God knew it had been. His feet had shuffled as if he were kicking up dirt in the stable yard.
His eyes had insisted upon counting every book on the shelves behind where Benedict sat, and his mouth had stumbled over the words as if stuffed with his pocket square.
And patiently, Benedict listened and then forgave him.
His inherent kindliness would forgive Lyndon thrusting a dagger through his heart if it gave his twin peace of mind.
Lyndon didn’t believe he’d ever achieve or deserve that.
But when Benedict’s familiar arms wrapped around him, folding him back into the Fitzsimmons family, it had given his mind enough of something not too many steps removed.
At the least, Lyndon liked himself a little more than he had yesterday.
“So it’s over. Done.”
“Yes,” Lyndon repeated. And he’d managed to keep his chin held high and hold back his tears, though they threatened to breach the barrier now.
“You showed him your new venture?”
“Yes. He thought it was splendid. He agrees we should join forces and build several more in a similar style.” And Lyndon had cringed at the praise. “He’s a good man,” he added, abstractedly toying with his lover’s hand. “To think I once fancied myself as a better duke.”
“You would be just as fine,” insisted Rollo, making Lyndon smile.
He didn’t bother contradicting him. Not even Rollo’s dogged determination to see the good in him would change the essence of Lyndon’s nature.
His jealousy would never leave him, nor would his orneriness and his penchant for brandy.
Nothing and no one could rearrange the essential elements of his soul and transform him into a benevolent, thoughtful, God-fearing duke.
He could continue to strive to be a decent lord and lover though.
“Whilst you two were putting the world to rights, Tommy and I had a fine old time at that tavern. I had no idea he and your brother were so close. Tommy has a…um…chequered past.”
“He does,” agreed Lyndon. “And some brutish, chequered friends. I suggest you never find yourself on the wrong side of them.”
“I can’t believe he had you thrown down the back steps of Squire’s. The brother of a respected duke.”
“He told you why?”
“Yes.”
Lyndon experienced a rush of shame. “At the time, I didn’t understand why he was so…protective of Benedict.”
“Well, now you do. And Tommy is an excellent chap. One of the best.”
Lyndon laughed mirthlessly. “Apparently so. I don’t expect we’ll become bosom chums any time soon.”
“Yes, you will,” promised Rollo. “I shall work on you both.”
“Your diplomacy skills may be required sooner rather than later. I’ve…um…invited Benedict to spend some time at Goule in the early autumn. I suggested we could try our hand at fishing, as we did with our father when we were boys.”
Through gritted teeth, Lyndon had extended the invite to Squire.
He wondered what Berridge would make of it, deciding he’d assign them the green and blue bedchambers in the east wing.
The old butler hated climbing up that rickety staircase, and in any case, Benedict would bring his own retinue of staff.
Lyndon’s reward for such generous behaviour was an open-mouthed, sloppy kiss, tasting of cheap ale and something indefinable that melted his insides and stopped the world from turning, if only for a minute or so.
Such was Rollo’s delight that Benedict and he had rebuilt their bridges that for the rest of the journey, Lyndon allowed himself to be petted and stroked like a rich widow’s bloody lap dog.
If there were finer ways to travel, he had yet to discover them.
Goule Hall came into view as the carriage rattled through the gates, low lamplight burning in several of the narrow windows.
A peculiar place, Lyndon thought fondly.
Shunned by most, it never looked quite at ease in its habitat.
And as the forbidding front aspect loomed closer, it held an imposing stature and a questionable interior.
Lyndon allowed himself a private smile. Not too dissimilar to himself.
In his arms, Rollo yawned widely, making no attempt to hide it.
“Count Rodolfo will have to fight his dastardly duels without me tonight,” Rollo declared. “I’m fit for nothing but a hot bath and a warm bed. All this renewed brotherly affection is quite wearing.”
“My bed,” stated Lyndon, putting his woeful seductive skills to use.
But the quickest distance between two points was a straight line, and he wasn’t yet ready to release his lover.
Just because Lyndon didn’t look fragile, didn’t mean the day hadn’t broken parts of him.
And Rollo Duchamps-Avery was the best repairer of souls he knew.
“What?” Rollo gathered his things as the carriage drew to a halt.
“My bed. With me.”
Rollo hesitated. “Are you sure?”
Lyndon had never been surer of anything in his life. Especially tonight. “Yes. It has been a tiring day. Join me. I’d like another one of those silly, pointless hugging things.”
*
HE CAME ON bare, silent feet, dressed in the playful yellow banyan and very little else. His hand hesitated on the door key as he looked to where Lyndon lay, already under the covers. God knew Rollo was no blushing virgin, but he seemed uncharacteristically nervous.
“Lock it if you wish. But we will not be disturbed. The servants only enter my bedchamber when I am not in it. And unless I request otherwise, I dress myself in the mornings.”
Lyndon’s intent was clear. That embrace, the kissing, the fellatio—aye, even the fellatio—were not enough. He wanted it all and more tonight. All night, and again in the morning.
Without fuss, Rollo slipped into the bed. His silk-covered arm immediately snaked around Lyndon’s bare middle. A blond head tucked under his chin, and Lyndon pressed his lips against the top of it. Fine blond strands tickled his nose.
“Your hair is as aggravating as dandelion fluff. It makes me sneeze.”
Rollo snorted. “Shall I compare thee to pollen? Your words have the allure of a siren, my lord.”
“I fear I am a lost cause,” Lyndon agreed and kissed him again. God, he smelled divine. “In the drawer next to this bed, you’ll find a jar of almond oil. I do not intend to use it to aid my sleep.”
Rollo snorted again. “I don’t recall ever learning that sonnet.” He tipped his head up, seemingly surprised. “How is it that you are familiar with the alternative uses for almond oil?”
“I said I’d never partaken in sodomy. I didn’t say I’d never given it thought.”
Lyndon wormed his hand under the banyan to run his fingers lightly down the smooth curve of Rollo’s back. He continued lower, probing a little. Rollo gave an appreciative hum, the sound settling in Lyndon’s groin like a caress. “You like me touching you there.”
Shamelessly, Rollo hitched his thigh higher. He rolled his hips. “Like you wouldn’t believe.”
Almond oil was a marvellous invention, Lyndon discovered.
Fingers weren’t too terrible either, not when they elicited those sorts of breathless pleas and whimpers.
When Lyndon pressed deeper, Rollo ground his hips, his cockstand already rubbing damply against Lyndon’s hip.
One finger became two; Rollo’s breathy sighs muffled against Lyndon’s neck.
Lyndon’s own erection ached for attention.
Slow seduction and pretty sonnets were overrated.
“Get on all fours, pup.”
Rollo’s head shot up, his dark pupils big and round, thinning the silver-blue of his eyes. “But this feels so good. I’m reluctant to move.” His sultry gaze danced over Lyndon. “You might have to make me, my lord,” he said in a whisper.
Fitz gave a throaty chuckle, pinching one of the delectable buttocks sharply. “I fully intend to. But, fair warning, you might moan a little.”
Driven by instinct, as if born to know how to please his lover, Lyndon flipped Rollo over. He grinned at Rollo’s feeble protest. “Up,” he chided, lifting his lover’s hips. “And spread your thighs wider.” Roughly, he nudged them apart. “This skinny arse is mine to do with as I please.”
“So bossy,” gasped Rollo.
“Not bossy.” Lyndon ran a firm hand down Rollo’s smooth, oiled divide. Rollo arched up to meet him. How willingly he yielded under Lyndon’s hands.
“You are so. And I Iove it.” As Rollo twisted his head around for a kiss, Lyndon stroked himself—showing off his size and his desire.
“I simply know what I want,” Lyndon stated.
“You want to be my captain,” Rollo responded around Lyndon’s mouth. “And I want that too.”
When their lips parted, Rollo’s eyes fixed on Lyndon’s engorged member. He swallowed once, and then his words came out in a rush.
“I liked it when you smacked me. I…I have not experienced that before. It…I liked it. Please.”
That please. Desperate, self-conscious. A little uncertain, a half question. Lyndon might not have invited a man to his bed before, he might not have a silken tongue, but he knew neediness when he saw it. “What? You mean like this?”
Before his pup had time to think, Lyndon delivered a sharp smack to his rump. And then another to the other cheek as Rollo yelped. And then a third when he begged for more. Then Lyndon soothed the red welts with his palm as his finger strayed back to Rollo’s hole.
“You want me inside you now, my precious?”
Rollo pushed up against his fingering, sucking him in farther, writhing on him, unashamedly pleasuring himself. “Please, my lord,” he whimpered and looked back, his pupils blown wide. “Please.”