“God,” Alex groaned. “I can’t decide which part of you is my favorite, but this arse is definitely one of the most alluring.”
Benedict gritted his teeth and fought off a sudden climax, wanting the euphoric haze of being pleasured before fully awake to last. “I would have thought my cock was your favorite.”
“It certainly isn’t anything to scoff at,” Alex replied, his hand falling away before returning, a slick finger edging its way between Benedict’s buttocks. “But only I know how this curls your toes.”
Benedict’s cock pulsed in Alex’s hand as the oil-coated finger found the puckered circle of his hole. Part of him rebelled against an intimacy he hadn’t experienced in years—one that only Alex had performed on him. But he was drowning in pleasure and need, the vulnerability of last night following him into the morning. His guard was down, Alex was near, and Benedict didn’t want him to stop.
He groaned when Alex’s finger eased through the tight ring of flesh, his hand still working Benedict’s cock. Alex was slow and gentle, working his second knuckle in before withdrawing and plunging again. Benedict trembled and thrust into Alex’s hand, the probing finger sending ripples of sharp and aching pleasure throughout his entire body. Alex panted against his shoulder, his own cock stone-hard and pressed against the back of Benedict’s thigh. Benedict came within minutes, his seed spilling hot and fast, his arse clenching around Alex’s finger.
Alex eased away, pressing a short kiss to Benedict’s neck before leaving the bed for the washroom.
“Tease!” Benedict called after him, rolling onto his back and cringing at the mess coating his belly.
“We don’t have time for more,” Alex replied, followed by splashing at the washstand. “But if you’re amenable tonight … I’d very much like to pick up where we left off.”
“I’ll consider it,” Benedict said, entering the washroom and nudging Alex aside so he could clean himself up.
When he finished, he turned to find Alex leaning against the door, watching him as if anxious.
Benedict wiped his hands dry on a clean bit of linen. “Please tell me you aren’t going to start treating me like I’m made of glass because of what I told you last night.”
Alex averted his gaze. “We exposed a lot of things last night. I don’t know about you, but I’d never told anyone a word of what I confided in you last night … except Katherine, of course.”
Benedict was surprised that the familiar emotion of jealousy and hatred didn’t come over him as it typically did when Alex mentioned Katherine. After last night, he’d come to see that Katherine had been just as much a pawn in the machinations of his father as Alex had been.
“The air has been cleared,” Benedict insisted, even though he couldn’t predict what might happen from here. “There is nothing else to say.”
Alex met his gaze again, lips twisting as if he were working himself up to something. “Ben, I—”
“It’s time for me to meet Fisher,” Benedict cut in, a surge of resistance rolling through him. He thought he knew very well what Alex meant to say.
The final words spoken last night still echoed through his mind, heavy with meaning and a question that didn’t need to be asked.
I love you, Ben.
“I really need to tell you this,” Alex argued, following Benedict back into the bedroom.
“Can it wait? Fisher is already itching to tear into me after I cut my training short yesterday. Agitating him means I’ll be too stiff and sore to fuck you later.”
Alex perched on the bench at the foot of his bed and watched as Benedict retrieved a clean set of training clothes. “I was led to believe it would be the other way around.”
Benedict smirked as he buttoned his trousers. “I think I’ll keep you in suspense until this evening. We’ll talk then, all right?”
Alex gave him a stern look. “Talking first, then fucking. I won’t let you distract me.”
“Of course you won’t,” Benedict teased, retrieving his worn training boots. “Try not to grow bored in my absence.”
His playful mood faded away once he was out of Alex’s sight, the impending conversation of the evening now occupying the entirety of his thoughts.
I love you, Ben, Alex had said, but what he hadn’t asked was, Do you still love me?
It was a question Benedict was in no way prepared to answer. He had come here thinking to earn the money he needed and leave Alex behind when he was done. But now that he knew the entire truth, how could he turn his back? It seemed that nothing had changed for Alex despite years of separation and the mystery surrounding their parting of ways.
But what of Benedict? He had been changed so deeply by the events following their separation. Aside from the mad-doctor's torture, there had also been the unwelcome development of Cynthia Milbank—which Benedict still hadn’t revealed to Alex. He wanted to and he would, perhaps even tonight. The last of their secrets would be exposed, and even as he wondered what Alex’s final confession might be, Benedict also thought of what might happen next.
He still had the threats of Cynthia and his father hanging over his head, and Benedict couldn’t allow himself to forget that. In a few weeks, he would be prepared to deal with Cynthia and turn his attentions to his father. He would stop at nothing to win in their battle of wills.
As he was greeted on the ground floor landing by Fisher and the footman serving up his gruel, Benedict tried to turn his mind from questions he couldn’t yet answer. But, as he went about his rigorous training routine, a single question reverberated in his mind as he considered finally being free of the two people seeking to ruin him.
What then?
After an exhausting day of training, Benedict left the gallery with sore muscles and a pounding headache. He was tired, starving, and ready for a filling meal. Fisher had promised to subject him to treatments of ice and then heat to soothe his body and prepare him for more training. Benedict didn’t mind being made to sweat under piles of blankets beside a roaring fire. It was the ice that required the full force of his determination and will. Instead of allowing Fisher to lay him in a tub and cover him with ice, Benedict insisted on laying atop a pile of blankets and having the ice packed around him. Fisher had argued this point, but Benedict had insisted until the old man gave in. He had never revealed his aversion to bathtubs—even though Fisher prescribed hot baths every night after training.
He missed his shower-bath and was weary of bathing at the washstand, but had no other option. Incidentally, Benedict found he didn’t miss his townhouse so much as he did the comforts of the familiar. If Alex owned a shower-bath, he might never want to leave.
Benedict nearly stumbled over his own two feet at that thought, chiding himself for being fanciful. He wasn’t a young, romantic idiot and anymore, and had gotten by on stoic pragmatism long enough to know it was easier. It was also cleaner. Romantic notions had led to his downfall.
As he neared the staircase, the sight of Alex made his heart’s rhythm accelerate. He was delectably dressed for dinner, making Benedict desperate to bathe and attempt to match his elegance. It seemed a near impossible feat.
At the sound of his footsteps, Alex turned, a brilliant smile lighting up his face. “Ben, there you are! Dinner will be served shortly.”
“Good,” he replied. “I’m starving. I won’t be long dressing.”
“Before you go, I should tell you … we’re having guests this evening.”
Benedict halted with one foot on the bottom step, and turned just as two people emerged from the nearest salon. Dread overwhelmed him as he recognized Dominick Burke, as well as his newly-wedded wife, Calliope. They both looked sensational after an extended wedding trip, and months spent inspecting the properties Nick had inherited. Benedict was so used to seeing Nick staggering drunk and irreverent that it was difficult to believe this new version of his friend existed. He was immaculately dressed, wearing a genuine smile, and the clarity in his bright green eyes said he was completely sober. His
dark brown hair was trimmed and pushed back from his forehead, his jaw smoothly shaved.
Calliope, who was of both English and Indian ancestry, was startlingly beautiful—with copper-brown skin, inky black hair, and large, dark eyes. She smiled at him as if greeting a long-lost friend. They hadn’t known one another long, but had forged a friendship built on the fact that they both wanted the best for Nick.
“Nick … Calliope,” he managed, while tamping down the panic churning in his gut. “What are you doing here?”
He needed to know. If this concerned Cynthia or another of their friends, Benedict needed to deal with whatever catastrophe had occurred.
“We happened to stop through Kent on our way back to London,” Nick replied, one hand rested casually at Calliope’s waist. “Since I haven’t seen Alex in years, I thought to pay a call and introduce them. An afternoon call turned into a tour of the house and grounds, and an invitation to stay here until we’re ready to continue to London.”
“It was very gracious of you, my lord,” Calliope said to Alex.
“Think nothing of it,” Alex replied, turning his winning smile onto Nick’s wife. “And please, there need be no formalities between us. I’d like you to call me Alex.”
“And you may call me Calliope … or Callie.”
“I didn’t expect to find you here, Ben,” Nick remarked, giving Benedict a pointed look.
There was a silent accusation in his eyes, and Benedict knew the cause. When last they had spoken of Alex, Benedict made it clear that he wanted nothing to do with their former friend. Of course, Nick didn’t know the reasons behind Benedict’s ambivalence, and had erroneously supposed that the reason was Katherine. He had accused Benedict of wanting Katherine and hating Alex for stealing her away.
“Alex and I have made amends,” Benedict replied. “While he was in London for a brief visit, I mentioned that I needed a spacious, quiet place to train for my next match. He offered to bring me to Kent and allow me to use his home. We’ve only been here a few days.”
Alex shifted from one foot to the other, looking away from the tense exchange as Nick eyed Benedict with suspicion. Their friend had often acted the fool in his youth, but they both knew him to be more perceptive than he let on. It would seem Benedict’s paltry explanation wasn’t good enough to appease his curiosity.
“I see,” Nick murmured. “I seem to recall inviting you to use any one of my homes.”
“Yes,” Benedict said. “But I knew you and Calliope had been traveling and had no idea where you were.”
Nick offered no response, and Calliope looked on with anxiety marring her features. Alex went on staring down the corridor in strained silence, seeming uncertain how to inject his customary charm into this situation.
Clearing his throat, Benedict returned to the stairs. “I will join you all shortly. I cannot subject Calliope to the sight of me after training while she eats her dinner.”
Calliope giggled and called after him. “You’re as devilishly handsome as always!”
Benedict trotted up the stairs, his mind racing as he thought over a plan for getting through Nick and Calliope’s visit. Their presence meant he and Alex would have to practice vigilance to avoid being found out. He had no idea how Nick would react to the news that he and Alex were lovers and didn’t care to find out. It would be just another thing complicating a situation that was convoluted enough.
He rushed Simmons through his toilette, frowning at himself in the mirror once he was dressed. Benedict hadn’t been paying attention to the items his valet had chosen, and had only just noticed the waistcoat he’d been buttoned into. The garment was a deep purple silk, enhanced by silver threads in a floral pattern. The buttons matched the silver threads, and the cut of the collar framed his stark white cravat and jaw to perfection.
“Simmons, this isn’t my waistcoat,” he said, despite noting that it fit as if it had been made for him.
“Of course it is, sir.”
Benedict narrowed his eyes at Simmons, who had begun gathering his training clothes and boots. “I’ve never seen it before, and you’ve never purchased fabric like this for me.”
Simmons’s lips twitched as he straightened and looked Benedict in the eye. “I have not, sir. The fabric was a gift. I was instructed to visit a tailor in Canterbury to have the waistcoat made for you. It was a rush order … arrived just this afternoon.”
“Alex,” Benedict grumbled, running a hand over the waistcoat and noting the fine delicacy of the fabric combined with the sturdiness of the lining. “He’s behind this.”
Simmons smiled. “Indeed, sir. And might I add that he was right … you do look splendid in purple.”
Once Simmons had retreated, Benedict was left with nothing to do but go down to dinner. The butler announced the meal just as Benedict reached the ground floor, and he joined the others on the short trek to the dining room. Alex and Nick were engaged in animated conversation, years of separation giving them much to catch up on.
Calliope linked her arm with his and gave him a smile. “You’re looking well, Benedict. Better than I’ve ever seen you.”
“The pure country air and my training regimen have been good for me.”
“I think the company of a long-lost friend might have something to do with it, as well.”
The comment was innocent enough, but it still made Benedict stiffen, his senses on high alert. Still, he had to admit—at least to himself—that Calliope was right. He had tried to fight it, but being in Alex’s presence had offered him the kind of comfort and ease Benedict hadn’t felt in years. Now that matters between them were better settled, Benedict supposed there was no harm in enjoying what time they had left.
Then again, he wasn’t sure how much time that might be. Their arrangement was set to end in a few weeks, at which time Benedict had an important decision to make. He would need to decide what the future might hold for him, and whether that future would include Alex. After the revelations of the past few days, Benedict found it difficult to imagine that he could return to his solitary life without a look back.
As they reached the dining room, he pushed that matter to the back of his mind. There was nothing to be done about any of it now, and Benedict needed to keep his head while interacting with Alex in front of people who had no idea what they shared.
Small talk continued over the fish course. Fisher’s absence from the table freed Benedict to eat and drink as he pleased, so he enjoyed his first taste of wine all week. Alex watched him with amusement in his eyes while sipping from his own goblet.
Clearing his throat, Ben sought Nick’s gaze. “Did you receive Aubrey’s letter?”
Nick choked on a mouthful of food, eyes watering as he followed it with a healthy swallow of wine. He looked at Benedict as if certain he’d lost his mind.
“He knows, Nick,” Benedict said. “We can speak freely in front of Alex.”
Nick’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Alex … knows. All the secrecy and sneaking about these last few years, and you see nothing wrong with letting someone else in on our secret?”
Benedict could have kicked himself for revealing the Alex knew. It was easy to forget how ambivalent he’d been when speaking of Alex in the recent past.
“He was already suspicious,” Benedict hedged. “Besides, he’s friend with three of us. Did you really think we could keep it hidden from him forever?”
Nick narrowed his eyes. “Indeed. And how are matters being settled with the Gossip?”
“I’ve uncovered her identity, if that’s what you want to know. The name will be familiar to you … Cynthia Milbank.”
“Cynthia … you mean …” Nick followed his stammering with a gulp of wine, looking again to Alex.
Aubrey and Nick were the only ones who had known about Benedict’s brief, forced engagement. Benedict gave a brief shake of his head to discourage Nick from revealing what he wanted to divulge. With Nick here, he didn’t seem to have a choice. His presence would force Benedict t
o tell Alex the rest of what he’d been hiding
“I see,” Nick said. “I assume you have a plan. You always do.”
“Yes,” Benedict replied.
Nick leaned in as if waiting for more, but sighed when Benedict offered nothing. “Right. I forgot. Only Aubrey is ever good enough to know what’s going on in that head of yours.”
Benedict’s head snapped up, but Nick had busied himself with the soup course. “What was that?”
Nick shrugged. “Oh, nothing. It’s just that I’ve finally figured out why I’ve been so annoyed with you these past months.”
“Nick,” Calliope whispered. “Now is not the time.”
Benedict dropped his spoon into his bowl and sat back in his chair. “Oh, are you annoyed with me? I hadn’t noticed.”
Nick glowered at him, soup forgotten. “With all that has happened, you’ve kept almost everything close to your chest. I thought I understood it. I thought I understood you. Except, you don’t keep it all to yourself, do you? Aubrey knows everything, and the two of you have become quite adept at shutting me out.”
Alex cleared his throat. “Perhaps the two of you might want to make use of a drawing room to continue this conversation.”
“Nick is the one who felt he could pick a fight with me over dinner,” Benedict retorted. “Well? Go on, Nick. You are never short on things to say.”
“I’ve said far less than I’ve wanted to,” Nick said. “Do you think me a child, that you must coddle me and protect me from the truth? I could understand why you wouldn’t want to worry Hugh or David … but me? I’ve known you longer than any of them, yet you treat me like an outsider.”
Benedict came to his feet, hands braced on the table. “Perhaps if you didn’t act like a child, I wouldn’t have to treat you like one. Do you want to know why I don’t tell you everything? It’s because I am too busy cleaning up your messes and wiping your nose like a goddamn nursemaid! Your gambling, your drinking, your lack of care for your own well-being … I’ve come behind you, fixing the things you’ve broken as you traipse about without considering how your actions affect us all!”
Chasing Benedict (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 5) Page 20