“Fine,” she huffed. “But if I haven’t received the funds within one month, I reserve the right to print whatever I choose.”
“Agreed. And one more thing. I want your word that once you’ve taken the money, you will not breathe or write another word about the Gentleman Courtesans. If you do, I will ensure everyone is made aware of the identity of the London Gossip, as well as the events of that night you climbed into my bed. I won’t do myself any favors revealing that last secret, but I’ll gladly suffer the blow to take you down with me. You’ll never be able to show your face in polite society again.”
Cynthia’s face drew tight, her eyes blazing with malice and disgust. “Very well. I will keep your secrets as long as you pay and keep mine.”
She offered him a hand to shake, but Benedict turned and walked away, refusing to ever let that woman touch him again. His skin crawled with the hazy memories he had of the night she’d taken advantage of him. For a time, he had forgotten the details entirely, remembering only waking next to her and finding specks of blood and semen staining the sheets. His father had pretended to ‘discover’ them, feigning umbrage at the evidence of Cynthia’s ruination and demanding Benedict do what was right.
Now, small snatches of the encounter were coming to light, muddled as they were by his drugged state. Just thinking of it made Benedict want to strangle Cynthia where she stood. Had she touched him, he might have given in to the urge.
Thankfully, he escaped with his sanity intact, and was now positioned to get on with his and Alex’s agreement.
Simmons silently readied him for the trip, sensing Benedict’s mood. Throughout his toilette, Benedict reminded himself that he was still in control. Alex seemed willing to do anything to have the smallest pieces of Benedict, which gave him the advantage.
With that thought fixed firmly in his mind, he descended the stairs behind the footmen carrying his things to Alex’s waiting carriage. Simmons was on his heels, urging the servants to take care with his master's luggage. As they reached the ground floor, the viscount appeared from within the dining room—devoid of his coat, with a napkin dangling from his fingers. Peering through the open front door, Benedict spied Alex approaching from his waiting carriage. Behind him, the coachman assisted the footmen with his baggage.
Recognizing Alex, his father frowned and then turned back to Benedict. “What the devil is this? When did you begin associating with Osborne again?”
Benedict grinned at his father’s expression of consternation. The viscount might have discovered the truth about Benedict years ago, but when it came to Alex, he was left to wonder. His father knew them to be old school friends but had never caught wind of their secret connection. He stared back at Benedict now with suspicion, seeming to silently ask if this was what he assumed it to be.
“Ah, careful,” Benedict murmured under his breath. “He’s Vautrey now. Besides, a man can resume a prior acquaintance with an old friend.”
Alex was upon them now, having declined the butler’s offer to take his coat and hat. “Good morning.”
Benedict offered a bow, as was proper, lips twitching with amusement as his father was forced to do the same. “Vautrey, you remember my father … Viscount Sterling. Father, my good friend, the Earl of Vautrey. He has graciously invited me to enjoy the countryside with him in Kent for a few weeks. You will be glad to have the house to yourself, I’m sure.”
The viscount narrowed his eyes at Benedict, a muscle spasming in his jaw. “I see. How … gracious of him.”
Benedict furrowed his brow as Alex cleared his throat and studied a painting on a nearby wall. Benedict shook his head, certain he only imagined the strain between them. His father was merely being an ass and making Alex uncomfortable. The two had only met a handful of times, when he and Alex had been home from Cambridge. Alex had been as much a fixture in his life back then as Aubrey and Dominick.
“I do believe your baggage is secure,” Alex said to Benedict, still pointedly ignoring the viscount. “Are you ready?”
“Almost,” Benedict said, moving closer to the door and peering out at the street. “I’m waiting for … ah, here he is. Fisher, you’re right on time. Come and meet the earl.”
Benedict couldn’t help another smile as Alex cast a curious glance at the man standing on the front step, a worn and dusty valise held under one arm. John Fisher’s clothes were years out of fashion, his heavy paunch of a belly threatening his waistcoat buttons. But then, the man had been a Corinthian work of art in his days of glory as one of London’s fiercest heavyweight pugilists. He now plied his trade as a boxing master for men like Benedict, who were willing to pay to keep the man at their beck and call.
“I hope you don’t mind,” Benedict said, casting Alex a smug look. “I have a match next month to train for and can’t allow myself to grow lazy and soft while we’re in Kent.”
“My Lord,” Fisher drawled with a graceless bow.
Alex’s nostrils flared as he eyed Fisher. Benedict’s jaw ached from a smile that wouldn’t abate as he watched Alex struggle with his tongue. He had no choice but to let Benedict have his way, and they both knew it.
“Of course,” Alex relented. “Mr. Fisher, you can share the second carriage with my valet and Mr. Sterling’s man.”
“I’m that grateful, my lord,” Fisher said before glowering at Benedict. “You’ve been brawling behind my back.”
Benedict shrugged as Fisher took in the faded bruises along his jaw and under his eye. “Fish must swim, Fisher.”
“Hmph,” Fisher muttered. “You’ll pay for it, mark my words.”
“Looking forward to it,” Benedict called at the man’s retreating back. Then, Benedict waved a hand toward the open door. “Shall we, Vautrey?”
Without another word, Alex preceded him to the door.
The viscount took hold of Benedict’s arm before he could follow, his lips twisted into a hard sneer. “Have you forgotten my ultimatum?”
Benedict feigned surprise. “Of course I haven’t forgotten. I thought we had settled the matter to both our satisfaction. You ordered me to find a wife, and I told you to go fuck yourself.”
His father’s grip tightened, his face flushing a furious shade of red. “You insolent little—”
“Yes, yes,” Benedict said, snatching his arm free. “We both know you despise me and hate that I will be your heir. I’m a twisted, broken sodomite, and you will expose me as such if I don’t comply. Except … I don’t think you will. You see, I think you’ve run out of tricks to use in bringing me to heel and are bluffing. Exposing me destroys your precious legacy, and we both know you love that more than you’ve ever loved me or anyone else in your life.”
In all actuality, Benedict knew very well that the viscount wasn’t bluffing. However, Cynthia currently posed the greatest danger to not only him, but those closest to him. By placing a few hundred miles between himself and his father, Benedict could buy himself more time to distinguish the second most pressing threat.
The viscount looked as if he might grind his teeth into dust or suffer an apoplexy. For a long moment, he and Benedict merely stared at one another, neither willing to back down and both taking the measure of the other.
“This isn’t over,” the viscount whispered, a steely edge to his words. “I will still be here when you return, and Dr. Pruett remains at my beck and call. I warn you not to challenge me in this. You cannot win.”
Benedict offered a derisive smirk to hide the trickle of dread threading through him. He could win, but only if he managed to outwit his father.
“I suppose we’ll see,” he replied before donning his hat and going after Alex.
The viscount remained where Benedict left him, glaring daggers at his back. Once free of the house, Benedict pushed his father from his mind. The viscount couldn’t touch him in Kent, which meant he would be safe enough for now. Everything was still under his carefully planned control.
Alex awaited in the first carriage, so Benedict hauled
himself in and took the squabs opposite him. Within seconds they were on their way, the curtains parted to allow in the glow of the afternoon sun. Benedict laid his hat beside him and watched the scenery of London pass them by.
It took ten minutes for Alex to speak, almost as if he wanted to be as far from the Sterling townhouse as possible before saying a word.
“He knows,” he said, voice low and strained. “Your father … he knows about us.”
Benedict frowned at Alex. He had taken great pains to ensure his father never discovered the truth of his association with Alex. Benedict had never wanted his lover to stand on the other end of the viscount’s machinations. “Of course he doesn’t. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Didn’t you notice the way he looked at us?”
Benedict snorted a dry laugh. “He always looks at me like that. He hates me … you know that.”
Alex shook his head, staring down at his hands. “Ben—”
“Calm down,” Benedict interjected. “He is suspicious, but it would be no different if you were some other man. He knows I have no interest in women, but seems to have learned that I’m capable of being friends with other men without wanting to debauch them all. It has everything to do with me and nothing to do with you. Don’t tell me you’ve become paranoid.”
That seemed to help a bit, and Alex slumped against his seat with a sigh. “When did he find out about … you?”
Benedict propped his feet up beside Alex. “Years ago … after university. He found your letters hidden in my bedchamber. We were smart not to use our names. He knew they were from another man, but I refused to name you when he confronted me. The bastard gave me such a thrashing.”
He had made that last remark without second thought, only realizing the weight of it when Alex reacted—drawing in a sharp breath and going preternaturally still.
“He beat you because of me?”
Benedict waved a dismissive hand. “He has beaten me in the past for far less. You should know it was the last time he ever raised a hand to me. I’d grown too old and too big to be anyone’s whipping boy.”
Those words had done nothing to comfort Alex, who was still watching Benedict with mournful eyes. “You should have told me.”
“It’s water under the bridge now,” Benedict said.
Alex looked as if he wanted to protest but snapped his mouth closed. They sat in the rocking carriage in silence for a while before he spoke again, his voice low and hoarse.
“My father knew. Not just about me, but about us … together.”
Benedict hadn’t known that, but was hardly surprised. He would never spend much time at home between terms if he could help it. The company of men like Alex, Aubrey, and Dominick had offered him a haven away from the tyrannical rule of his father. His constant presence at the earl’s London residence had to have made the man suspicious.
“He was a good man,” Benedict murmured. “Far kinder to me than my father ever was.”
“Yes,” Alex agreed.
“But he and my father did have one thing in common. Both are and were determined to do whatever it took to preserve their names and their legacies.”
“Yes,” Alex said again, his gaze unfocused and detached. “Do you remember how we always vowed to never become like them?”
Benedict stared at Alex’s profile, sharp and smooth along the jaw, strong and stubborn through the chin. His dark brows shadowed eyes that betrayed nothing, though Benedict could feel the disquiet emanating from him. The concern that rose in Benedict was uncontrolled and unwelcome. Shoving it aside, he tore his gaze away, arms folded over his chest.
“Yes, well, one of us held true to that promise,” he said, ignoring how words meant to hurt Alex also made his chest ache. Was he really so different from Alex? He might not have made the same choices as the man he’d once loved, but Benedict never passed a day unencumbered by bitter rage. He looked and sounded more like the viscount every day, as the people he relied on to keep him out of the darkness faded away one by one.
But then, he couldn’t be angry at his friends for taking wives and being happy. Such was expected for men who craved the companionship of women and the pride of a growing family.
It was Alex who had truly abandoned him, leaving Benedict to carry on alone and misunderstood. Yet, as he leveled an accusing look at Alex, needing some outlet for the turmoil welling within him, his heart sank.
Alex stared morosely out of the window, a forgotten peppermint stick hanging from his limp hand. His brow was pulled down, his lips pressed together, and he looked as if someone had just punched him in the gut.
For reasons Benedict didn’t want to examine, pity and curiosity afflicted him as he wondered what Alex might be thinking. The mention of their fathers and the unresolved questions of the past floated on the air between them, heavy and oppressive.
But, Benedict couldn’t allow himself to deal with them, so he went on pretending they didn’t exist. Alex wouldn’t be part of Benedict’s life long enough for the resolution of their past to matter, so it was better to leave things as they were.
With all he had lived through already, Benedict knew he wouldn’t survive another loss. If he never allowed Alex to get too close again, he wouldn’t feel anything when it came time to walk away. He was different now, fundamentally changed. There could be no going back.
Alex breathed a sigh of relief as his carriage entered the gates leading into his estate. The slow, two-day journey from London had worn him thin, with tense silence between Alex and Ben punctuating the long hours. Alex’s attempts at small talk had been met with half-hearted responses, in a clear attempt at discouraging him from making conversation. When Ben wasn’t reading or sleeping, he was staring out the window, outright refusing to meet Alex’s gaze. No attempts at seduction were forthcoming, and it felt as if their night at Mother Morton’s had become nothing more than a distant memory—one as cloudy and far away as their past encounters.
But he was home now. Despite the longing, perpetual ache he’d suffered, his years at Vautrey Park with Katherine had also offered solace. His childhood home, the place that had always kept him safe from the world, opened its arms and accepted Alex into its warm embrace. That Ben seemed determined to hang over their time like a dark storm cloud didn’t ruin Alex’s happiness at being here. With distance between them and other distractions, there was nothing to do but face one another. Ben would resist, but Alex was more determined now than ever.
Ben had perked up the moment they’d reached Vautrey lands, gaze sharp as he took in the scenery. The weather was pleasant, fluffy clouds and a beaming sun illuminating the splendor of the ancestral seat. The weight of being responsible for so much land and the people depending on it for their livelihood never eased. Alex had been made aware of what his inheritance meant from the time he was old enough to understand. Once he’d come to recognize his preference for men over women, Alex had shunned the expectation of marriage and children. He’d never wished to subject a lady to life with a man who couldn’t truly love or appreciate her as she deserved.
Alex had been content to be as good an earl as he could, managing his holdings so that his uncle or cousin would come into a prosperous inheritance. Having a legacy to pass down to a son hadn’t been important to him. Even taking his place as the rightful earl had paled in comparison to his true aspirations.
Glancing to the other side of the carriage, Alex was startled to find Ben looking at him for what felt like the first time this entire trip.
“It’s beautiful,” Ben said. “And enormous. I can see why it was so important to you.”
Alex winced at the unspoken taunt threaded through Ben’s words. It was important enough for you to give me up. Alex glimpsed the house as the carriage rounded the circular drive—perfect and secure, his haven in a world that forced him to make impossible choices.
“It wasn’t important to me,” he whispered, pangs of regret making his chest echo with a pulsing ache. “The house, the title,
the money … I was prepared to give it all up for you.”
“But you didn’t,” Ben reminded him tersely.
The door swung open to reveal the waiting footman, and Alex’s butler hovering in the opening of the front door.
“No,” Alex murmured just before stepping down. “I didn’t.”
He wanted to add that he regretted it but stopped short, knowing it to be a lie. Alex still believed he had made the best decision he could have at the time. Reminding himself of what had been at stake, he took solace in knowing that his decision hadn’t been selfish or even self-preserving. Soon, Ben would be made to understand that.
They were greeted by Hodge the butler, who offered a crisp bow as Alex and Ben ascended the white front steps. “Welcome home, my lord. All is prepared for you and your guest, as requested in the note you sent ahead.”
“Very good, Hodge. This is Mr. Sterling, and he will be in residence for several weeks. I did not realize we’d have an additional guest, but please ensure that accommodations are made for Mr. Fisher.”
Hodge followed Alex’s gaze to the pudgy man heaving himself out of the second carriage. He emitted a sharp whistle while slapping a dusty hat onto his head, gazing around in wonderment. Hodge’s face didn’t shift a bit, but Alex was familiar with his moods. The slight tick of his left cheek always gave him away, and he clearly found this new guest to be beneath his distinguished master.
Ever the consummate professional, Hodge gave an acquiescing nod. “Of course, my lord.”
“I’ll need a place to train,” Ben put in. “A large room with a lot of open space. Preferably without a collection of precious knickknacks that run the risk of being broken. Fisher has trunks of equipment to store as well.”
“Of course,” Alex replied before turning back to Hodge. “Ensure that the designated trunks are taken to the gallery. The maids will clean it early and leave the space available for Mr. Sterling’s particular use.”
“I train at sunrise,” Ben argued. “Have your maids clean at their usual time.”
Chasing Benedict (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 5) Page 14