Chapter Twenty-Nine
Bobby
Sitting next to Albie as the train sways below them, light flickering through the windows to cast all six of them in swatches
of greens and blues and whites, Bobby can’t figure out what to do with his hands. Because across from him, James Demeroven
is sitting in a most ungentlemanly fashion, leaning across the aisle to chat animatedly with Gwen, filling Beth and Meredith
in on the bets they’ve agreed to make for the week.
He looks fantastic, in a light linen suit with blue accents that bring out the blue of his eyes. His hair is flopping adorably
into his face. And unlike during their horrible standoff in the hallway the week prior, James now looks relaxed and excited.
More importantly, far from ignoring Bobby, he blushed when he and Bobby first locked eyes as they got on the train.
Now Bobby doesn’t know what the hell to do with himself. His conversation with Beth roils in his chest as he listens to Gwen
and James bounce ideas off one another. They could all have what they want, if only Bobby can be brave enough to reach out
and take it—to ask James to marry him. Well, to ask James to marry his cousin, actually, but functionally—
If it were appropriate, he might shout out the request right here, on the train, in their private car, like an undignified schoolboy. But though James blushed, he hasn’t said two words to Bobby so far. Hurt and butterflies war in his stomach, push ing his heart into his throat with a burn that aches. He might combust before they arrive at Southampton.
“I was thinking, if we win all of our bets, we’d at least triple the money your father gave Albert and me, and perhaps we
could put that toward expanding the children’s ward at the Foundling Hospital?”
Bobby blinks and the car goes silent, all of them staring at James, who looks around, flushing.
“That’s a lovely idea,” Beth says softly, glancing over at Bobby. “I’m sure it would be of use.”
James’ smile widens and he sits up a little straighter. “And I had thought perhaps we could start a fund to house the children
separately from the hospital. In a proper orphanage with lots of space and air and grounds. There must be a manor off in the
country we could buy. There’s a... community I could reach out to. Gwen said Lady Ashmond was already working with Thomas
Parker.”
Bobby feels his heart skip. “Thomas Parker?”
James looks over at him, almost conspiratorial. “You don’t think his clientele would have interest in funding an orphanage?”
“I—I do,” Bobby says. “It would be an excellent cause and a good bit of public relations.”
“Wouldn’t it just?” James says, his eyes bright, before he turns back to Gwen, Beth, and Meredith.
His ears are ringing. James just mentioned Thomas Parker, like it was nothing . All the fear and panic that drove him away mere weeks ago, and now he’s mentioning the D’Vere clientele just like that?
What happened ?
“Beth and I will arrange a meeting with Lady Ashmond and Thomas Parker when we’re back,” Gwen says happily. “And we can discuss
your roster of physicians then too.”
“I think we should focus on making sure there’s a few Welsh physicians. And if there are any qualified men from abroad as well, the population at the hospital has a lot of immigrants, and it would be wonderful to have physicians who spoke the language and knew their cultures,” Beth says.
“Sounds like we’ll need to put together an international arm of our research, then,” Albie says, stroking Meredith’s hair
as she begins to doze on his shoulder. “Bobby, you’d be up for a trip to the Continent, wouldn’t you?”
“Of course,” he says. He’s always wanted an excuse to go on a world tour, but his father would never have approved nor funded
such an extravagance. He’s not totally sure where Albie would even get the money, for that matter.
“I bet Cunningham would be willing to join, and I have always wanted a tour year, even if it’s only a few months,” James says,
glancing over at him again.
Bobby holds James’ look, full of promise. There’s hesitation there too, but something has changed. He hopes it’s for the better.
Even as his bruised and broken heart cautions him to be careful, he hopes . God, he needs the next several blasted hours on this train to pass, now.
By the time they reach the Southampton station and make their way to the hotel, he’s nearly vibrating with nerves and exhaustion.
He hasn’t formulated a plan, or a big speech, or anything useful. Instead, all he’s managed to do over the past few hours
is work himself up so badly it feels like his tongue is swelling in his mouth.
He hovers at the edge of the hotel foyer, barely taking in the charming wallpaper, brightly lit lamps, or towering bookshelves.
It’s a lovely inn, but his stomach is all knots and he’s sweating.
“All right?”
Bobby jumps, turning to find James staring up at him, looking calm and collected, and how is that fair?
“Fine,” he lies.
James starts to say something else, but Meredith approaches them and presses a key into Bobby’s hand. “The porter’s already
bringing up your trunks. The two of you are in room seven.”
Bobby blinks, his heart pounding in his chest. “What, both of us?”
“Uncle Dashiell only booked three rooms, what can you do?” Meredith says, eyes twinkling. “Have a good night.”
She turns and saunters away, glancing over her shoulder to wink at them before she joins Albie and follows him upstairs, Beth
and Gwen giggling in front of them.
Bobby and James stand there, not looking at each other. He can feel heat creeping up his cheeks as he watches the porters
bring their trunks up behind the other four. He— Something changed, but he wasn’t ready to— He thought he’d have the night
to talk himself up.
“I suppose we should...” James starts, his voice tight.
“Right. I’ve got the key, so,” Bobby manages, glancing at him before turning to face straight ahead and follow the porters
up the stairs, his shoulders tense.
James bumps up behind him when they reach the top of the narrow, sagging staircase, and it’s like a bolt of lightning zips
through Bobby’s whole body. He nearly stumbles up the last step, but James catches him, his broad hand at the small of Bobby’s
back.
Bobby withholds a whimper of anxiety and lust and confusion as they follow the porters down the top-floor hall they’re sharing with just Gwen, Beth, Albie, and Meredith. The porters traipse into the room to leave their trunks, and neither man so much as glances at them when they come back out, uninterested in two traveling companions sharing a room. They have no way of knowing how complicated this little inn stay has just become.
Bobby stares at the cracked-open door of their suite. If they go inside—
But then again, if they don’t go inside, he might spontaneously combust.
“Right, well,” James says, nudging Bobby’s back, where his blasted hand is still resting, calm and sure.
Bobby lurches into motion, leading them both inside, step after faltering step. He closes the door behind them and then the
two of them stand at the threshold of the room. It’s little more than a double bed, their trunks, a single chair, and the
dark wood walls.
He glances at James, who’s staring at the bed with its questionably brown duvet, his kissable, plump bottom lip between his
teeth. Flashes of their week at his country estate flit before Bobby’s eyes. If he could just unglue his tongue from the parched
roof of his mouth, they could fix things, and then they could—
Or James could say no.
Even after his playful looks on the train, James could still say no. The marriage idea could be a bust; sometimes he, Beth,
and Gwen do get carried away. James needs something concrete, something real, and maybe this won’t be enough.
Now that they’re standing side by side, arms brushing, Bobby doesn’t know if he could bear to have James reject him, again.
It might be less painful just to hover here all night—stay in the maybe, and the possible, for the rest of their lives.
James finally rips his gaze from the bed and turns to look up at Bobby. They stare at each other for a moment, all the tension of the past few hours—the past few weeks, really—hanging be tween them. Bobby parts his lips, and James reaches up, hesitant, his hands brushing along Bobby’s cheeks.
He pauses, staring into Bobby’s eyes, his palms warm against Bobby’s jaw. Bobby swallows, questions pushing against his teeth,
crackling along his skin. But they can wait. First, he needs to let James draw him down into a heady, desperate kiss.
His brain doesn’t know what to do, his heart thudding loudly. But his hands seem perfectly fine. They slide around James’
waist, curling upward to cradle his back, and Bobby leans into his kiss. The feel of his lips, the pressure of his tongue,
the gentle caress of his fingers on Bobby’s cheeks—perhaps he’s fallen asleep on the train and is simply having another one
of his wonderful dreams.
Then James pulls back, keeping hold of Bobby’s jaw. Bobby blinks down at him, holding tight to his back, worried if he moves,
he’ll wake up. He didn’t think—he didn’t dare hope—he doesn’t know what this means, or how to react, other than to cling to
James for as long as possible before this inevitably ends, again.
But James just stares up at him, eyes wide and searching. Bobby wishes he could get his brain to form words, to ask, to understand—
“I’m so sorry,” James whispers.
What in the hell is happening? James’ thumb brushes at his cheek, stealing his breath with tenderness.
“I did a poor job of explaining before. And I know I hurt you, horribly. And I am so, so very sorry,” he says, his voice brittle
but sure. “I shouldn’t have for a second made you think that you were something shameful, or that our... love was ever
the problem.”
Bobby thinks maybe he’s had a stroke. “Our...”
“Your brother is right,” James continues, smiling up at him.
Okay, he’s absolutely had a stroke. “What does Albie have to—”
“It’s the world that’s wrong, not us.”
Bobby blinks, shuddering as James’ thumb brushes at his cheek again. Oh, he’s crying, how mortifying. Or maybe, as James rises
on his tiptoes to kiss the tears away, maybe it’s beautiful. Maybe the two of them against the world is real, and right, and
everything he’s wanted.
“James,” he whispers, trying to summon words—the right words— any words—through the surge of feeling and love and overwhelm that’s coursing through him.
“I have to tell you something,” James adds, pulling back, his hands falling from Bobby’s face. He wants to chase after them.
Instead, James links their fingers together and looks up at him seriously. “Raverson’s coming for us, after Cowes. He wants
a thousand pounds each from you and me, or he’s going to the papers.”
“Shit,” Bobby says, the absolute least elegant thing he could possibly utter.
“Albert is planning to convene the whole group tomorrow and we’ll figure something out. But I wanted to be the one to tell
you.”
Bobby feels it bubbling up in him, the urge to solve the problem—to present their wild plan to end Raverson for good. “And
you’re still here?” comes out instead.
Because Raverson—and all that he represents—was the fear, the very reason James ran away. And now he’s holding Bobby like
he’s something precious.
James nods slowly, looking vulnerable and scared, and yet still here, still here, still here. “Raverson is going to come after
us whether we stay apart or not. The world is going to tell us we’re sick and wrong and perverted whether we’re together or not. And I’m—I’m tired of doing this alone. Better we face the wretched world together than apart... right?”
Joy and surprise and sorrow war in his chest, but the answer is immediate. “Yes,” he breathes out. “Yes, better together,
I think.”
James’ smile stretches into a grin as he rises on his toes to pull Bobby into another fabulous kiss—this one tinged with laughter
and glory. But Bobby still has something he needs to say, now that James has bared his soul. He can be the one to fix things—really
fix things. He can be the one to solve this problem.
“What if it wasn’t a problem anymore?” he asks, squeezing James’ waist.
“What?”
“What if we could prove to Raverson that there isn’t a scandal to expose at all—that there’s nothing to blackmail.”
James stills, his hands going slack at Bobby’s cheeks. “I told you, he’ll stop at nothing. Pretending we’re not... it doesn’t
matter to him.”
Bobby shakes his head, pulling back to hold James by his biceps, stroking at the defined muscles still hidden under his frock
coat. “I don’t mean we keep hiding. Beth and I—well, actually, Gwen and Beth had a plan, and I think it’s a good plan, so
I’ll say it’s our plan.”
“A... plan,” James repeats warily.
“A way to give all of us a permanent happy ending,” Bobby continues.
“A permanent happy ending? That sounds rather ominous—”
Bobby laughs, startled. “No. No, it’s good—I want to marry you,” he spits out, inelegant and impatient and imperfect.
James just blinks at him. “Excuse me?”
“That’s our plan. I get to marry you; Beth gets to marry Gwen. If—if you’ll have me, of course.”
“Marry you?” James says. “But—”
“Well, marry me through Gwen. God, I’m butchering this, aren’t I?” he asks, watching James’ bemusement grow. He laughs a little
nervously, but James hasn’t pulled away. His hands are on Bobby’s chest, fingers curled into his lapels.
“The plan was that I would marry Beth, and you would marry Gwen, and then the four of us would go up and live in the country
and it would be like it was at my manor, but... forever,” he says, his voice going tight as he speaks it into existence.
“And then we’d have partners for everything social, and we could all live close together, and it was... just an idea.”
He peters off as James’ eyes remain wide, his mouth still open.
Bobby feels his assurance fading in his chest. His fingertips go cold, worry creeping over him. What if this wasn’t what James
wanted? What if he doesn’t actually want to be together , really? What if he was still thinking he’d marry, really marry, in five years or so, to produce an heir? What if—
“You want to spend forever with me?” James whispers.
Bobby’s breath leaves him in a great whoosh. His heart pounds in his chest, but this part is easy. “Of course! I’m asking
you to marry me. Well, marry me through our cousi—”
James suddenly drops and Bobby stumbles back, reaching out for him, only to realize James hasn’t fallen or fainted. Instead,
he’s knelt on the ground. Kneeling like... oh .
Bobby collapses to the floor with him, his knees straddling James’ forward one, hands cradling his jaw to pull him into a
kiss. James laughs against his lips, his hands smoothing over Bobby’s back.
“I don’t have a ring,” James mumbles against his mouth.
“How could you possibly have a ring? I don’t even have a ring,” Bobby says. Then it hits him, and he rears back. “So you—you want to marry me?”
“I thought the getting down on one knee was obvious,” James says brightly.
Bobby drags another kiss from his lips and then leans back again. “Through Gwen, though. I would marry you directly if we
could. Very proudly, just so you know,” he says.
James’ smile widens and he reaches up to brush the hair out of Bobby’s eyes. “I’d marry you too. And I’ll happily marry you
through Gwen. We’re going to kick your and Beth’s arses at everything, forever.”
Bobby laughs, leaning into James’ hand. “We’ll beat you one day.”
“You can try,” James says.
Bobby can’t help but scoot forward into another heady kiss. And then they’re half-mauling each other, Bobby grinding down
on James’ thigh as James works Bobby’s frock coat off his shoulders. He gasps against James’ lips, James’ fingers tugging
his shirttails out of his trousers.
He breaks from James’ mouth and shifts on his thigh. They both groan, James pressed up against Bobby’s hips. There’s a brief
moment where Bobby considers simply rutting against James until they’re spent, still in their trousers. But then James tugs
his shirt off and Bobby decides tonight is not for fast and hot and hard. Tonight they’re... engaged?
They’re engaged. So it should be slow. And tender. And actually on the bed.
“Up,” he mumbles, standing on shaking legs.
James moans, a wonderfully rumbly sound, and Bobby reaches down to pull him up to standing. He wastes no time in divesting James of his shirt and then hauls him forward, wrapping his arms around James and leaning down to skate his lips up James’ jaw. The light stubble on his face rasps at Bobby’s lips and he hums.
James shivers and Bobby smiles against his cheek, and then jolts. James’ tricky fingers have already worked the buttons open
on his trousers, his warm palm sliding inside to—
“Off,” Bobby mumbles, fumbling between them to get at James’ trousers too.
James laughs and Bobby meets his eyes as he slips his hand into James’ pants, the two of them beaming and panting and happy.
He’s so very happy .
“We have all night,” James says softly. “Once hard and fast, and then—”
“You’ll let me run my tongue over every single inch of you?” Bobby suggests.
James bucks in his hand, his own fingers curling around Bobby, who groans in reply. “Deal.”
And then they’re on the bed, trousers halfway down their thighs, moving together, all hands and skin and hot and pulsing.
It’s fast, and silly, and when they’re through, they wiggle out of the remainder of their clothes and flop back onto the slightly
scratchy duvet together, hands entwined. Bobby stares up at the wood-beam ceiling, unable to stop smiling.
“Do you have your own room in Cowes?” he wonders idly.
“I do, but I would think we can arrange with the girls to find a pair with an adjoining door,” James says lazily, his thumb
stroking the back of Bobby’s hand.
“We could do that on every trip once we’re married.”
“Have adjoining rooms?”
“As two couples, and then we just... swap beds,” Bobby says, envisioning romping through Europe with James, Beth, and Gwen, sleeping beside James every night.
“That sounds divine,” James says, his voice relaxed and a little blissed out.
Bobby turns his head to stare at his lover, his smile reaching epic proportions. “It does, doesn’t it?”