The past week they had fucked as regularly as dining, and that’s all it was, fucking. Sex. Nothing softer. Nothing gentler. Not lovemaking. It was not lovemaking.
He could not make love to someone he’d lied to every time they had come together. He could not waste that emotion for a second time on someone who would leave as soon as he learned the truth.
“So, I thought I would take a bite of this tart.” Hector chewed the bite and swallowed. “And let you taste it on me.” He pulled himself up by the chair arms and leaned in for a kiss.
Desire shot through Wentworth’s body to his cock as he watched Hector lick his lips, and he wanted nothing more than to run his tongue across that perfect mouth. He leaned in and touched those flawless lips. He inhaled and smelled springtime. The scent had his alcohol-muddled brain obsessing on thoughts of guilt, sending desperation racing through his brain and blood at nauseating speed. He slammed against the headrest and turned his head.
He had to stop this. He needed time to think. Unfortunately, all his slow brain could conjure was hurtful nonsense. “Stop. I prefer my food whole and on a plate. Plus, what kind of idiot does not take the time to lock a door when planning an act of perversion?”
Hector pulled back as if struck, his eyes wide. A muscle jerked near the right side of his mouth.
Damnation. He did not want to hurt the boy. He really did not. Then why had he brought him here, knowing full well Hector was smitten? He should have realized this situation would be rough waters to navigate, and he not up to the task.
“Here, get up off your knees. Sit over there. I will eat my tart, you can eat yours, and then we will discuss what to do with the rest of the day.”
Sitting across from each other, they ate in silence, the confections nothing more than hardtack in his mouth.
With one eyebrow raised, Hector looked at the shimmering shards of glass on the hardwood floor near the fireplace, looked at him, then looked away, obviously thinking about chastising him for drinking in the morning. Or more likely thinking of asking why he was such an ill-tempered bastard.
Instead, the tactful young man said, “I have a thought. It would be pleasant if we went for a ride this afternoon. Race around the opens. Test the speed on some of the other horses you have in your stables.”
Actually, that was a smashing idea. If he had not woken drunk and continued drinking until he was three sheets to the wind already at…He looked at the clock, but the hands refused to stay still on any one number. If he were not drunk already this morning, he would enjoy a bruising ride.
“I thought I might take the day to see to personal matters, correspondence and the like.” He motioned toward a writing table, its inlaid top covered with papers and sealed letters. Turning back to Hector, he added, “Perhaps catch up on the sleep you have stolen from me the past handful of nights.”
The boy looked right, then left, but nodded with a weak smile.
“Come now, you have to give an old seaman time to recuperate. After all, I am not used to keeping these types of hours. Unless there is a war on, of course.”
Hector’s natural enthusiasm reasserted itself. “How about I keep you company while you work? I can even help. My professors always said I am a genius with numbers.”
“Indeed? I would love a demonstration someday, but not this one. I would get nothing done at all with you in the room.”
“But…I don’t understand.” Hector sighed, shoulders slouching.
Here it comes. Maybe getting the confrontation over with, allaying his guilt early, was what he really wanted anyway. After all, he should have told Hector two years ago.
“Why did you ask me here? I seem to be a bother to you today.”
Wentworth took a deep breath, picked up the brandy glass he couldn’t remember placing on the empty chair by the pastry tray, and downed it in one satisfying gulp. He then looked at Hector.
What could he say to that? He wasn’t completely sure of the answer, so he spouted off some nonsense to buy himself time to think. “I asked you here because you tricked me, made me agree when I was only one stroke away from reaching my climax.”
Hector smiled at that truth.
“I will admit, a holiday full of sex was not terribly difficult to convince me to agree to, of course. You do enjoy the intimacies, do you not?” Wentworth rubbed the front of his trousers in an uncharacteristically vulgar fashion, trying to put distance between him and the boy. In for a shilling… “From all outward appearances, you do enjoy fornicating.”
“Is that the only reason you asked me here?”
There was the rub. He, Viscount Wentworth, captain of the HBMS Dragon, always knew what he was about, never dithered over an action or a decision. However, this situation and this slip of a boy jumbled his thinking.
Hector’s handsome face hardened. “Before you left the country, before…Grantham, I thought it was more than sex. I thought you cared for me. You said as much at the time.”
Had he? He did not wholly recall. That time of his life, the worst time of his existence, was now only a handful of blurry, painful memories. Memories that were slowly, agonizingly, resurfacing and sneaking back into his sleeping and waking mind.
The silence went on far too long before Hector continued, “Well then, good to know where I stand. I’m a diversion during your two weeks in the country, while you take care of affairs. I’m here to keep your dick oiled and your arrogance stroked.” He perked one infernal eyebrow over a tea brown eye, the act so much like his brother’s.
Good God, everything about Hector reminded him of William, of his guilt.
His presence reminded him of bad decisions concerning Hector and Lieutenant—now Doctor—William Somerville, self-proclaimed research physician, who had served under Wentworth for thirteen years.
His best friend. The man he had always loved. Would always love in some fashion.
The man he had worshipped for twenty goddamn bloody years and then betrayed. After deceiving Will, how could he countenance loving another? He was not good enough for any man.
He clutched the empty glass and, after two tries, stood.
Hector also stood, his stance stiff and straight. “I’m sorry. Well…Damn. No, I’m not sorry. I have been nothing if not a good guest. Therefore, I will not apologize for anything. If you want me to leave, I will.” The boy stood facing him with the courage of a tiger. It was a good look on him.
Did he want the boy to go? Wentworth walked to the window, unable to hold Hector’s steady brown gaze. He parted the curtains and looked out through distorted glass. The day was beautiful and sunny. He should be out riding, this boy beside him. Instead, he picked up the decanter and poured another glass, trying to incinerate the loathsome feeling in his gut.
Hector came up beside him and touched his shoulder. “Please, tell me what is wrong. I…I know I talk too much. Especially when I’m nervous.”
Heat from Hector’s grasp seeped through the superfine cloth. A strange churning in his stomach had him worrying he might lose all the fine brandy he had enjoyed.
“I am a good listener. Tell me if you will, and I can help you through your turmoil.” He ran his fingers along the fine hairs at Wentworth’s neck.
He closed his eyes. His heart flipped, then flipped again as if turning somersaults in his chest. The touch felt so good, so damned good.
The past week with the boy had been stimulating, but every time he smelled Hector or kissed him, the flavor reminded him of William.
Reminded him of his guilt, of his treachery. Reminded him of rejection.
You are a sad case, Wentworth. It was so long ago, and it would never happen again. The man he loved back then was no longer; the man he dreamed about every night for years had refused him, had broken his heart, and was now married with a baby girl. Despite Wentworth’s duplicity, Will had formed a normal, happy life. The knowledge of what he did to wreck that happiness crushed him day by day, hour by hour, grinding him to dust. It did not matter if most of t
he skullduggery happened before he and Hector came together the first time around.
He squeezed Hector’s hand, then walked back to the plush chair but did not sit. “I am just in the blue doldrums. I will be fine tomorrow.”
Hector did not turn from the window. “How is your wound?”
“Fine.” He raised the hand and wiggled his fingers, studying the scab across the thick part of his thumb. “Go enjoy the sun. I will entertain you tomorrow.”
“All right, then, but if you are not better tomorrow, I’m sending for a doctor.” Hector walked over stiffly. Standing toe to toe, he smoothed the hair off Wentworth’s forehead.
He closed his eyes and enjoyed the light caress, then opened his eyes, and there was Hector, a gorgeous man in his own right. A man too good for him.
Grabbing Hector’s hand, he kissed his long, elegant fingers. “Tomorrow.”
Hector nodded, gave him a brilliant smile that showed perfect white teeth, and left him alone with his thoughts.
Alone with his regrets.
Chapter Six
The next day dawned bright and beautiful with the occasional white cloud drifting slowly across a deep blue sky. Hector resolved not to let Wentworth waste the rare sunshine like he had yesterday by sitting in his study, curtains drawn, drinking himself into a stupor. The weather was too perfect, and one week of his fortnight with the handsome viscount had already come and gone. He would not waste any more time.
That was what led to them trotting down a narrow country lane atop prime horseflesh.
Wentworth guided a very large gray mare. The horse was strong and bold like her rider. With shining ebony hair tousled by the breeze, he was so handsome, it almost hurt to look at him. Gone were the pinched lines of tension around his mouth and eyes, but Hector wanted more. He wanted to see the man smile.
So he put on his most innocent expression and offered a challenge. “Such a beautiful stretch of road, why don’t we—”
Apparently, he had tried his innocent guise too many times because Wentworth immediately leaned over the mare’s neck and spurred her on. Ready for an excuse to run, she launched forward, her first step a bounding leap.
It took a few seconds to spur his horse into action, and seconds equaled five horse lengths. Hector would never catch up, but he didn’t mind having the chance to watch Wentworth, an excellent horseman. Actually, he was excellent at everything. The man emanated grace, power, elegance.
The long-backed bay gelding between his legs gathered and lengthened. Hector had chosen the horse because he looked bred for speed—long, lean, and twitchy. And damn, the horse was fast. They were gradually closing the distance to the gray mare but would arrive at a fork in the lane about a half mile ahead before catching her, unless he coaxed more speed out of the gelding. He kicked its flanks and felt a slight shift in gait, a sudden surge of power, and then the race was truly on.
He gained another length, and then another and another. The horses now galloped side by side. Wentworth glanced over, and his eyebrows shot up. Aha! He had not expected to be bested. Especially after rushing the start before the challenge had been issued.
Hector laughed, and the wind filled his lungs. He closed his mouth to the sudden rush of air and concentrated on the speed and his horse. They reached the fork in the road less than a foot before Wentworth’s beast.
He reined in, hooting in triumph, and then turned. The two horses circled each other, their satisfaction showing in high, swishing tails and bobbing heads. He and Wentworth stared at one another, breathing fast and deep as if they had just finished a rousing romp in bed. Hector’s heart pounded. Lust rushed through his veins.
Wentworth gave him a slanted smile.
At last. The race had been a good idea.
Hector laughed. “You cheated, my lord.”
“There was no cheating involved. I simply maximized my chances by anticipating your actions. Besides, I had to take the advantage. You picked the best horse in my stables.” A mere whisper of a smile played over his sensuous lips, and Wentworth went from sinfully handsome to young and carefree. In a word—well, two words, because one word simply was not enough to describe his lover—wickedly gorgeous.
Hector, needing a distraction to get his lust under control, patted the gelding’s sleek brown neck and looked at him with pride. The horse snorted, likely commenting on his exemplary performance. “He is probably the best horse in this county, Wentworth. Prime horseflesh. His stride is long and strong as if he were born to race.”
“Indeed he was.”
“Really?”
“Hmm. His sister did a stint at the courses in Ascot. Went lame and never proved herself, but I think she could have done so, judging by this big fellow.” He reached over and patted the horse. “Has speed, stamina, and heart.”
Horses side by side, nose to tail, his knee only inches from his heart’s wish, Hector took one step toward claiming his desire. Laying a hand on Wentworth’s thigh, he felt the tight muscles under cream-colored wool, then leaned closer.
Wentworth leaned away, looked down at their contact, his breath labored, pupils dilated. He ever so slowly released one rein and placed his hand over Hector’s. He squeezed and closed his eyes.
The warmth he felt through two layers of kidskin must have been imagined, but it slipped all the damn way down to his cock. He wanted, needed, to catch Wentworth’s gaze, but he looked around and then released Hector’s hand, leaving an ache where moments ago lay contentment.
Wentworth nodded in the direction they traveled. “Come, we need to walk the horses.”
Head still hazy with lust and disappointment at the loss of contact, he turned his mount and lined up alongside the other. They walked the horses for about a half mile in silence, swaying slightly in their saddles. Eventually, Wentworth veered the mare onto a weedy trail.
Always one for adventure, Hector followed, his curiosity piqued. Where were they going?
They arrived at a small grassy clearing. Wentworth stopped and dismounted into lush, calf-high grass.
Hector followed suit, and after letting the horses have a drink, they tethered them to a tree. He stretched, first one side, then the other. It felt good to ride, to feel as if he were flying across the countryside. But he was always glad to get his feet back on solid ground again in control of his motions.
He saw Wentworth looking at him as he twisted out a kink in his side. The man did not smile. In fact, he did not move. Just stared. But when Hector twisted back, Wentworth was headed toward a stream. He knelt and took a sip. “Mmm. Try this. It is the sweetest water in the surrounding five counties.”
Dry as a sunbaked trout, Hector squatted and drank. “The water is good. Spring fed?” He wiped the drips of cool water from his chin with his sleeve.
“Yes.” Wentworth leaned back on both elbows in the grass, staring at him, one leg crooked up.
Never had Hector seen a more inviting pose, and he was smart enough to seize the opportunity. He crawled the two feet between them and then crept up one muscular thigh as Wentworth lowered his other leg, sat up, and reached out to Hector.
The feeling of Wentworth’s seaman-roughened hands, strong, warm on his cheek, one thumb rubbing across his upper lip, was carnal heaven. He wanted to close his eyes so the only sensation was the caress, but he’d been starving for this intimacy too long. He would not deprive himself of any vision of his lover. Remembering the irresistible flavor of Wentworth’s kisses, he longed to taste his uniqueness again. But he had not deeply tasted him for what felt like days.
For some obscure reason, aside from a peck or two, Wentworth had not yet returned his kiss since yesterday, when he was deep in his cups. Their reunion trip should be full of kisses, and now was the time. He would wait no longer.
Wentworth leaned back into the grass and gently pushed Hector’s head toward his crotch. His disappointment lasted but a trice. Right under his nose stood a raging cock straining against the cream-colored fabric.
He sat b
ack on his heels and made quick work of opening Wentworth’s breeches. That glorious cock, so big, so thick, with one vein running up along the underside, bounced up at him, inviting, standing proud from a bush of glossy ebony hair. He laid his head on Wentworth’s thigh and stroked his lower abdomen. Lazing there a moment, he just breathed him in. Musky male and wool. Mmm.
His own cock strained against his trouser flaps, so hard it hurt. Ready for this, needing this, he rubbed his nose in the crook of the other man’s thigh and breathed deeply.
Wentworth moaned.
He licked one ball, running his tongue around it, then the other, relishing the faint, salty taste.
Wentworth grabbed Hector’s hair in his fist, pulling until it tugged at the roots.
Moving his lips slowly up the engorged member, he worshipped and caressed that blue vein all the way up, relishing the sparkling, briny dew at the tip. Then he swallowed his cock in a long, slow glide.
Wentworth hitched up and shoved Hector’s head down, almost gagging him before Hector relaxed and enjoyed the hard knock at the back of his throat. Once, twice, three times. Then Hector slowed. He did not want Wentworth to come this way. He teased his cock for several minutes, making Wentworth squirm before releasing him. No need for anyone to come yet.
“I need…Hector, I want you. Now.”
He only smiled at the demand.
“Do something, damn the world to hell, before I combust.”
He laughed and reached into his coat pocket. He’d prepared for any and all possibilities since setting out on this holiday, and what he wanted now was to be fucked senseless. Penetrated by the man he’d worshipped for more than a decade and had loved since the birthday he turned twelve, and Wentworth, newly home from sea, looked so important and invincible in his blue uniform.
Now no longer a lad, Hector was a man with adult needs, who wanted to be fucked by Wentworth more than he wanted air. He handed off the jar of unguent and removed the trousers he’d donned instead of breeches just for such hoped-for activities.
Positioning himself above his lover, Hector almost laughed at Wentworth, who stared at the jar, mouth partially open.
His Brother's Viscount Page 5