Chasing Benedict (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 5)

by Victoria Vale

  From there, they entered the gallery, which was filled with a history of the Vautrey family told in portraits. The equipment Fisher had brought alone was waiting for them. After wrapping his hands, Fisher assisted him in several stretches. At the taut pull of his tendons, Benedict sought distraction in the art, finding they were near the section of portraits depicting Alex’s immediate family. He found the previous earl’s portrait first, the man resembling Alex with his high forehead, a sweep of dark brown hair speckled with gray, and those calf-like brown eyes. The portrait had been done at least ten years ago, before the decline in his health. Beside the earl was Alex’s mother, who had succumbed to grief not long after her husband's death. Alex’s most recent portrait hung beside his mother’s, portraying him in the most surprising way. Unlike his portrait at twenty-one, showing his sense of humor and playful nature, this one characterized him as somber and stoic. His chin was too firm, his mouth too tight, his brow too heavy. Benedict felt a twisting in his gut as he took in the changes. Was this what people saw when they looked at him—the ravages of betrayal, heartbreak, and torture, aging him, dragging down his brow and curling his lips into a sneer?

  His attention was stolen by the portrait beside Alex’s, an ethereally beautiful woman in a gilt frame. Benedict ceased to feel the painful stretch of his inner thigh as he studied the woman, who could only be Lady Katherine Osborne, Countess of Vautrey. In juxtaposition to Alex’s dour face, Katherine radiated cheer and kindness. She possessed a head full of flaxen curls, her eyes a pale and riveting blue. A soft smile revealed a dimple in one cheek, and her willowy frame was enhanced by the fluid grace of a gown that matched her eyes.

  Being confronted with the specter of the countess reminded Benedict of just where he was and what he’d gotten himself into. In allowing this concession in their arrangement, Benedict had let himself be forced to occupy a space that had been meant for Alex and Katherine. The home of a man and his wife, a place to raise children and fulfill the obligations of their titles. He seethed while Fisher helped him into his practice gloves, as his mind inundated him with unwanted thoughts.

  Had Alex at least consummated the union to ensure its legitimacy? When the loneliness and imposition of hiding his true nature had become too much, had Alex found solace in Katherine’s bed? Had he taken pleasure from lying with a woman—more than he had with Benedict?

  Benedict threw himself into the sparring session with Fisher with every ounce of his envy and frustration. The old man had gotten soft around the middle and was fond of pastries and pies—yet he kept up with Benedict with the sort of strength and endurance only an old champion could possess. He taunted Benedict over his mistakes, circling him and jabbing with fists like hammers. Despite the other man’s gloves, Benedict felt every blow, absorbing the pain and allowing it to build, using it to keep him alert and reflexive. As he battered at his trainer, Benedict reminded himself that he was as in control of this situation as he had been in the beginning.

  Nothing had changed. For the sake of earning the promised twenty-five thousand pounds, he would have to allow Alex to explain himself. Perhaps he could even admit curiosity over the events that had led to him marrying Katherine. Benedict had always assumed cowardice to be the reason. After all, their plans to run away to France together had been enough to frighten even the bravest of men. Benedict’s mistake had been assuming that Alex’s love matched his own, that he was willing to do anything for the desired outcome.

  He would not make that mistake again. Alex had proven himself to be romantic and committed, but only up to a certain point. When the time came again to make that frightening leap of faith, he would surely leave Benedict behind again.

  As he slumped onto a stool, accepting a drink of water from Fisher, Benedict told himself that there would be no second chance. Being stabbed in the back once had been enough, and he wasn’t keen to repeat the experience.

  He sat toweling the sweat from his face and neck, and trying to enjoy the few minutes left of the break Fisher had allowed, when Alex approached from the other end of the gallery. He looked refreshed after the several more hours of sleep he’d had than Benedict, dressed informally in a morning coat and loosely-tied cravat.

  “I see the training is going well,” Alex said as he drew near, glancing over the bits of equipment scattered about the floor.

  “Well my arse,” Fisher groused, tying off an enormous sack that he’d had a groom fill with oats. He’d have Benedict lifting it over his shoulders and running the length of the gallery sometime today. “He’s slow and distracted. Too much drink these past months, and who the devil knows what’s diverting his mind during sparring.”

  “It’s only the first day, old man,” Benedict retorted before swigging the last of his water. “I’ll be my old self in a week or less.”

  “Yes, you will,” Fisher agreed. “After a few sweating sessions to leech all that poison out of you.”

  Benedict stifled a groan, in no mood to be punished for a poor attitude. Alex watched, amusement lighting up his eyes.

  Benedict came to his feet, shaking out his arms and cranking his neck left to right. “I’ll be a few hours more, at least. Haven’t you something to occupy yourself with?”

  “Well, I’ve finished answering the correspondence that piled up while I was in London, and met with my steward to discuss estate matters. After a few hours of idleness, I’ve grown bored. I typically take an afternoon ride, but … I’m not feeling up for it today.”

  They traded knowing glances, Benedict understanding right off why Alex wouldn’t want to straddle a horse today. It lay on the tip of his tongue to tell Alex that he likely wouldn’t be able to sit a horse for weeks if he had his way, but Fisher’s presence forced him to hold his tongue.

  “What do you say we give Fisher a break?” Alex suggested, bending down to pick up Benedict’s spare gloves. “I’ll spar with you.”

  Benedict snorted a sarcastic laugh. “Do you have a death wish?”

  Shrugging one arm out of his coat, Alex switched the gloves to his other hands to free the opposite arm. “I think you’ll find me to be a worthy opponent. When one lives in the country, one finds various ways to remain active. There is a boxing master in the county who specializes in training gentlemen in the sport.”

  Benedict raised his gloves, arching an eyebrow at Alex. “I don’t fight like a gentleman.”

  “I wouldn’t expect you to. Mr. Fisher, would you be amenable to the idea?”

  “Fine by me,” Fisher replied, using his teeth to begin unwinding his gloves. “You’d be in his weight class, and you have an impressive wingspan, which means a long reach. I’d be curious to see how you fare.”

  “No,” Benedict interjected. “Leave us alone. I’ll send for you when we’re done.”

  Fisher blustered and complained, but a withering glare from Benedict kept him from protesting further. He helped Alex don the sparring gloves, then took his leave, muttering under his breath and shaking his balding head.

  “Now then,” Alex said, turning back to Benedict. “Are you ready?

  “It’s your funeral,” Benedict muttered.

  Alex returned his sarcasm with a teasing smile but said nothing.

  “I won’t go easy on you,” Benedict warned as they began circling one another, taking each other’s measure.

  “I would never ask you to,” Alex fired back, testing a swift jab with his left.

  Benedict backed away, noting that Fisher had been right about Alex’s reach. Those long arms gave him an advantage, while Benedict had the power of his blows to fall back on.

  “I am surprised to see you wearing gloves,” Alex remarked, grunting as Benedict swooped in with a right cross to his shoulder. “I thought you preferred to pound your opponents with bare knuckles.”

  “If I trained without gloves, Fisher and I would both be muddle-headed and broken. I’d never be able to compete. Civility matters in training, but not in the ring.”

  “Interesting,”
Alex murmured, landing a blow to Benedict’s chest.

  Benedict staggered back, surprised at the force behind it. They had only just begun, but Alex was proving better than Benedict expected.

  Noticing Benedict’s shock, Alex chuckled. “I told you, I’ve been training. Fisher’s right … you’re slower than I know you typically are. Did your disturbed sleep make you tired?”

  Benedict frowned, recalling that he’d slept like the dead all night. “I didn’t awaken once the whole night.”

  Alex’s face drew into a concerned frown as he dodged a blow aimed at his chin, knocking Benedict’s glove aside with his own. “You tossed and turned, and mumbled in your sleep. You seemed to be having a terrible dream, but when I tried to rouse you, you wouldn’t wake.”

  Benedict swore under his breath, annoyed that he couldn’t remember what he’d dreamed about last night. Many mornings, he woke with a heavy weight in his chest and lethargy sapping his strength. Sometimes he remembered the terrors visiting him in the night—being immersed in ice baths and held under until he was choking on frigid water, being covered in leeches, forced to swallow purgatives so that he vomited until feeling as if his organs would be purged along with the meager contents of his stomach. However, most times, he woke only with the lingering fear those memories inspired, aware that he had dreamed but uncertain of what exactly his sleeping mind had conjured.

  “I don’t remember,” Benedict hedged. “I apologize if it bothered you. It would be best for me to sleep alone from now on.”

  “I was only disturbed to see you so distressed.”

  “It was nothing for you to worry over.”

  “Just as that hole in your study wall doesn’t concern me? Or how what happened to you during our separation is also nothing for me to worry over?”

  “Precisely,” Benedict growled, going for a vicious uppercut to Alex’s middle.

  Alex bowed at the waist, staggering away and protecting his stomach with his gloves. Benedict went on the offensive, but Alex recovered, coming to meet him. They locked together, grappling and trying to free themselves while avoiding one another’s swinging fists.

  “How much longer are you going to put yourself through this?” Alex panted, his forehead pressed to Benedict’s shoulder as he squirmed to get free of his hold. “The intense training, the brutal fights? Your face is just healing, and in a few weeks you’ll run out to let someone batter it all over again.”

  “What difference does it make to you?” Benedict challenged, easing a fist between them and bringing it up beneath Alex’s jaw.

  Alex fell away from him, swiping the sleeve of his shirt across his mouth. He glared at Benedict and raised his fists. “You may choose not to believe this, but I care if you go into your twilight years without your teeth, a deformed face, and a punch-drunk mind.”

  They danced around one another, the intensity of their sparring adding a thread of tension to the tapestry already woven between them.

  “My life is my own to do what I please with,” Benedict argued.

  “That may be so, but there are people who would be distraught if you were truly hurt. People who love you, who wouldn’t want to watch you fall apart before their eyes.”

  Benedict threw a jab that Alex side-stepped before delivering his own blow. Benedict registered the hit to his left shoulder, one that had been injured years ago and still pained him on occasion. It was an unpleasant reminder that he wasn’t as young as he once had been.

  “Don’t,” he warned, rolling his shoulders and resuming his stance.

  “I wasn’t only referring to myself. What about Aubrey and Nick? What about the other Gentleman Courtesans you call friends?”

  “They have wives now, and have started making their own families. None of them needs me anymore.”

  “Having wives and children doesn’t change the fact that they need you,” Alex argued. “Do you resent them for it?”

  “Of course not. I’m glad for them.”

  Alex edged too close, and Benedict swept his legs from under him, throwing him onto his back. Before Alex could right himself, Benedict was over him, raining blows on the arms raised to protect his face.

  “If you are lonely, it is by choice,” Alex managed between grunts. “You are surrounded by people who care about you, but you keep them at a distance … even Aubrey.”

  Benedict fell onto his knees over Alex, irritation spurring his actions. There were things Alex simply didn’t know and could never understand.

  “If you have something to say to me, let’s have it,” Benedict growled, batting one of Alex’s arms aside and striking his cheekbone, then his chin. “But you can spare us both this drama of your own making. Our agreement says nothing of you trying to change or manage me.”

  Alex wrapped his legs around Benedict’s waist, and one arm around his neck, leaving him scrambling for freedom. “No one is trying to manage you. I’m trying to love you, you stubborn fool.”

  “Nothing about that in the agreement either,” Benedict huffed, pounding at Alex’s ribs and trying to break his hold. His face was buried in Alex’s neck, giving him a whiff of clean sweat and shaving balm. Benedict’s other senses flared to life, his body responding to Alex’s nearness and the tight constriction of the legs enclosing him. Alex’s breaths came hard and fast, and Benedict knew it wasn’t only due to the strikes he suffered to his torso.

  “If you loved me, you would have never left,” Benedict added. “Your words mean nothing after what you did.”

  “For the love of …”

  Alex turned them so he straddled Benedict, putting him in the position of power. Benedict tried to buck him off, but was subjected to several teeth-rattling blows to his face.

  “I have tried and tried to tell you why I had to do it,” Alex exclaimed. “I’m done with this game, Ben. If you’re going to be angry with me, you will at least do so with full knowledge of what happened.”

  “I have no interest—”

  “Your father knew, Ben! That’s what I was trying to tell you when we left London. I wasn’t referring to him knowing that we are lovers now … but that he knew back then. He knew, and he went to my father to expose us.”

  They both went deathly still, Alex staring down at him while Benedict wrestled with what he’d just heard. The convergence of shock, confusion, and rage sent heat spiraling through him, and Benedict threw a vicious punch that sent Alex rolling from on top of him, one glove pressed to his eye.

  Benedict came to his feet, tearing at one glove with his teeth and then shaking it off with jerky motions. “My father … he found out about us.”

  “Yes,” Alex said. “He had known for some time, I think.”

  After working off his first glove, Benedict yanked off the other before stepping forward to help Alex with his. Once done, he motioned toward a cushioned chair flanked by small, decorative statues. Alex took the chair while Benedict lowered himself onto the stool.

  “Tell me everything.”

  Chapter 9

  “With the recent arrival of Viscount S in London, this author had hope that His Lordship might finally take his wayward son in hand. But, alas, the Hon. Mr. S has eluded his sire once again, vacating London within days of his arrival.”

  -The London Gossip, 31 January 1812

  London, 1816

  Alex dropped the last of his books into the open trunk inside his dressing room, before promptly closing it. All around him were the few possessions he would carry with him to France. He was due to depart for Dover the moment the entire house had gone quiet for the night. Once there, he would meet Ben at the docks, where they planned to board a packet and cross the channel to Calais. They had talked of settling in Paris, but wished to tour other places before making a final decision.

  All of Alex’s things were packed, his passport secured inside the leather case inside his valise. He had paid his valet to keep silent, and written a sterling character letter for the man to find himself another post. Alex wanted nothing more
than to be free of anything that kept him from Ben, but he didn’t want to worry his family or leave his servant without a position in the process. Hamond had begged to be allowed to come along, but Alex had refused. Leaving the employ of Alex’s father without a moment’s notice, even if it was to follow his master to France, would besmirch his reputation as a valet beyond compare. Besides, his father paid Hamond’s salary, and while Alex had money of his own, he would need it for settling in France.

  After writing the character for Hamond, Alex had penned a short note to his parents. Instead of telling them that he was running away for the sake of love, Alex informed them that he didn’t feel as if he were adequate enough to take his place as the earl. It pained him to lie when the formative years of his life had been spent preparing him for a responsibility he knew himself capable of carrying. However, he couldn’t remain in England, where men who loved other men could lose everything, shame their families, and be brutalized in the pillory or hanged. Rather than risk putting his family through such disgrace, Alex had chosen the man he loved and the freedom of being who he truly was over upholding the Vautrey legacy. Imploring his father to turn his attentions to preparing his brother and nephew to inherit, Alex apologized for disappointing him. He had begged his mother’s forgiveness and told her how much he loved her.

  After that, there had been nothing left to say. Ben would meet him in Dover, the risk of them being found together driving them to travel separately. However, once aboard the packet, they would never be separated again. Traveling under the guise of being cousins, they would garner little or no suspicion. Two bachelors living and traveling together wouldn’t draw notice, and France had done away with punishments for sodomy. Alex and Ben couldn’t be too free and open with their affections, but the threat of exposure and disgrace was far greater in England than in France.