Geoffrey set his jaw. This wasn’t about him. This was about Etienne. Surely Etienne would appreciate getting better. He continued to massage the man’s head, rhythmic motions meant to sweep away all of Etienne’s fear.
The servants eyed him, and heat spread to his face. He gritted his teeth, refusing to stop. He could feel Etienne calming. “Wouldn’t want anything to happen to him,” he said. “Not after the duke personally brought him.”
One of the maids smiled. “You’re a good worker.” She turned to her companion. “Always in the library, and last night . . .”
Geoffrey’s heart thudded strangely. This was good. Having the servants not despise him—that was good. Perhaps he seemed less intimidating working beside them, his frock coat long abandoned and his sleeves rolled up.
He returned his gaze to Etienne and took the glass from the maid. He whispered, “Open up.”
He never realized how much he might long for a man to drink water.
But the man was sweating, was losing liquids, was delirious, and . . .
Geoffrey didn’t want to think about what pain he had been through last night, pondering if some internal, unsolvable illness had occurred. He shot a glance at Barnesley. “Fetch the doctor.”
Barnesley nodded and hurried from the room, his heavy footsteps soon pounding down the stairs.
Geoffrey swallowed hard and held Etienne’s head. He took the glass and thrust it between the man’s dry lips. He forced the water down Etienne’s throat, refusing to lessen his hold when the man shifted.
His jaw was set. He would get Etienne to drink.
And then, incredibly, Etienne finished the glass of water. Geoffrey shut his eyes briefly.
This wouldn’t heal Etienne; he needed more water, more attention, and he tried to force the bloom of hope that Etienne would recover away. He needed to focus, to make sure Etienne’s needs were taken care of, to not think about what might happen after.
Etienne struggled for breath, gasping noisily as if each gulp of air were a battle won. Geoffrey wasn’t sure whether to cheer him for his valiant fight or rage that Etienne needed to fight for his breath.
Etienne fought more for basic things than any man should.
The day ended, the doctor bringing treatments for Etienne, and Geoffrey relaxed as Etienne fell into a calmer sleep.
“He’s a handsome lad,” one of the maids said, eyeing Etienne.
Geoffrey grunted, something like pride rushing forth, and something like jealousy holding it back, and all the time aware of the necessity to keep his emotions secret.
*
“You took care of me,” Etienne said a week later.
The green velvet curtains lay open, the view of the forest exposed. The leaves had all fallen, and the trees stretched out like skeletons.
Like Etienne could have been.
Since that first day, Geoffrey hadn’t been able to resist the urge to visit Etienne’s room. Geoffrey had pushed an armchair to the window and had taken to reading in it. Once Etienne was well enough to speak, he asked Geoffrey to open the curtains. Geoffrey reminded himself the man was only looking outside whenever Etienne’s gaze turned to that side of the room.
Geoffrey’s voice roughened. “Of course I took care of you.”
“I should thank you.”
Geoffrey smirked and glanced at the forest. “I’ll change the subject and save you the embarrassment.”
Etienne’s body shook, as if stifling a laugh.
“I’ll thank you anyway though.”
“Will you?” Geoffrey smiled, warmth filling his body. The letters in the book seemed to smear together, as if he were unable to concentrate on anything else but Etienne’s voice.
Geoffrey shrugged, seeking to appear nonchalant. “Wouldn’t want an angry duke after me.”
“Oh.” Etienne flicked his gaze away from Geoffrey. Away from the window. He likes the outdoors. He’s probably longing to get away. That’s all.
Etienne struggled to lift his torso off the bed. “Should I tell you about who attacked me?”
Geoffrey shrugged again. “You mean the men sitting in the basement?”
Etienne’s eyes widened, and his mouth dropped open slightly. “You caught them?”
“Patterson and a visitor named Preston.” Geoffrey nodded.
“That’s—that’s incredible.” Etienne leaned back, his eyes filled with awe.
“I am good for some things,” Geoffrey said. “I tracked them down.”
“And everyone up still to tell you about it.”
Geoffrey shrugged. “Perhaps Bonfire Night has some benefits.” He turned to Etienne, his expression serious. “But I would have caught them anyway. Or done my very best. You do know that?”
“Oh.” Etienne averted his eyes.
“I wish you wouldn’t seem so astounded.” Geoffrey smiled. “Rather insulting to me.”
Etienne swung his head to him. “No, no. I didn’t want to insult—”
Geoffrey grinned. “I wager you’ll regret having me improve the cells.”
“You did?” Etienne blinked at him.
“They don’t deserve it. And, well they’re hardly nice now. But at least the flooding should be stopped. And I check down their more often too.”
Etienne’s head sank into his pillow, and his eyelids fluttered down. “It was the right thing.”
Geoffrey rather suspected he failed to hide his delight at Etienne’s approval.
Chapter Ten
Etienne was not supposed to be there.
Men like Etienne were not supposed to lie on fluffy beds, satin pillows piled high, and have servants bring trays of steaming soup and warm pies, light a fire in the ornate hearth, and inquire about his health.
A shiver of excitement shot through him as he made his way outside. If he ignored the imposing structure of the castle and the warmth of the thick overcoat and scarf Geoffrey forced on him when he first mentioned venturing from the castle walls, he might almost imagine some normalcy to be restored. Etienne swung the iron gate to the garden open, and his lips turned up as the gate creaked, grunting at the prospect of letting someone in. Somebody needed to start visiting besides him.
He tugged his coat tighter around him and strolled through. Even in summer, the place seemed lonely. Trees and plants competed with one another for space, vines covered one another, and weeds grew tall between once expensive flowers. Perhaps most visitors might consider it horrendous, but Etienne still adored it.
Subdued colors covered the garden now: muted greens and oranges, reminders of the past. Some buds still lingered on bushes, lavender mixed with an ever-growing brown, as if refusing to give into their fate.
When he closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of grass and bark, he could imagine Geoffrey pressing his body against him at Somerset Place.
A familiar burly figure appeared at the gate.
Etienne smiled, his heart quivering in a way it certainly wasn’t supposed to quiver. The man was surly, gruff, and far above Etienne. Yet Etienne contemplated their conversations far more than he should, and when alone, he caught himself imagining continuing those conversations with him.
“My magistrate.” Etienne smiled.
Geoffrey nodded, and his gray eyes softened. “I found you.”
“Yes.”
“Amidst the flowers . . .” Geoffrey’s deep voice thickened.
Something warmed in Etienne’s chest, and energy soared through him. Words from his first night at Ashbury Castle—first night when not imprisoned—lingered in his mind. You are beautiful. He shook his head, unaccustomed to the sensation of floating. The corner of his lips turned up. “You do realize all the flowers are dead.”
Heat reddened the normally impassive features of the magistrate.
Etienne stepped toward him and arched an eyebrow. “Was that an insult?”
Geoffrey shook his head in a violent gesture. “I—”
“Wasn’t paying attention,” Etienne said.
�
�I was to you.” Geoffrey sounded affronted. He coughed and averted his eyes. “I meant I wanted to see you.”
Etienne gazed at him.
“And surely not everything is dead.” Geoffrey tore through the garden and pointed out plants and trees that were, in fact, very much alive.
Etienne followed him, his heart threatening to skip away as Geoffrey exclaimed over the garden and Etienne told him the names of the plants. Some knowledge Etienne made a point of acquiring.
“And that, that is alive.” Geoffrey’s eyes gleamed, and he gave a satisfied smile. He pointed his hand to a corner of a garden, his sleeve exposing the bronzed skin on his arm.
Etienne swallowed hard, forcing his eyes from the tantalizing bareness and the memories of a muscular arm exploring him. He followed Geoffrey’s gesture. A holly plant burst with a rich shade of green, its berries bright red. Most alive. “Yes.”
“I like them for Christmas.” Geoffrey stared at the leaves, and Etienne pondered the plant’s vibrancy, even now, in the subdued garden, where everything else had died, now only memories of spring and summer. “My mother . . . never mind.”
Geoffrey pulled his hands behind him. “Do you like them for Christmas too?”
“I—” Heat crept to Etienne’s face. “I don’t remember.”
Geoffrey thrust up his eyebrows.
“I suppose I must have, back then…” Etienne bit his lip.
“You haven’t had a Christmas since you came to England?” Geoffrey’s soft voice murmured in Etienne’s ear.
Etienne pressed his lips together and shook his head.
“Ah.” Geoffrey squeezed Etienne’s shoulder and returned his gaze to the holly.
“But that’s not what you came to talk to me about.” Etienne’s voice rose higher than his usual pitch.
Geoffrey pulled his gaze back to Etienne. He strolled away from the holly and paused as Etienne caught up with him. He shifted his feet on the ground, his boots crunching against the fallen leaves. Etienne wondered whether it would be improper if he asked Geoffrey for a rake.
“Is there anything else you would like to tell me about the night you came here?”
“Oh.” Etienne watched as leaves swirled against Geoffrey’s boots and brushed against them, as if trying to topple him. He lifted his head, a faint smile on his face. The leaves were no match for Geoffrey.
“They injured you . . . because you are French. They weren’t . . . were they clients?” Geoffrey’s face reddened, as if Etienne’s very life embarrassed him.
Etienne’s face tightened, and he frowned, averting his eyes. “Because I’m French. I mean, because I was French.”
He lifted his chest. At least, they were not clients.
This time.
Etienne swung his head, wondering if Geoffrey might find other plants interesting.
“I see.”
“I’ve been here for a long time,” Etienne said, desperate for Geoffrey not to ponder when Etienne propositioned him in prison.
“Your English is excellent.”
Etienne relaxed and lifted his head to the sky. “And all without schooling.”
“No schooling?” Geoffrey darted his gaze at him, and Etienne paled.
“School in France, of course.”
“Until you were thirteen?” Geoffrey lifted an eyebrow.
Etienne kicked the leaves away, tired of being in the garden. “Twelve.”
Geoffrey nodded, silent.
“And that’s really quite a lot of schooling,” Etienne said. “When you think about it.”
Warmth spread to his cheeks as he remembered Geoffrey had attended Cambridge. And he probably attended when he was older than twelve too.
“What made you come here?” Geoffrey’s tone hummed in his ear, but the question unsettled Etienne. His parents had wanted to escape, and of course he accompanied them.
Though I’m more unsuccessful. Lyngate had been an adventure, a failure, for him.
Etienne’s voice was hoarse as he said, “The revolutionaries . . . my family thought it was best.”
He hadn’t intended to share all this with Geoffrey. But perhaps if he told him this, Geoffrey would forget about Etienne’s attack and the men sitting in the prison. Or perhaps I just want to tell him. Perhaps I’m tired of secrets.
“And where are they now?”
Etienne shrugged, returning his attention to the holly plant.
“If you have nothing to tell me about your attack, then they’ll need to be released.”
Etienne stumbled over the twig- and leave-strewn ground. “Oh.”
“Unless you have anything else to add . . .”
It was tempting to tell Geoffrey everything. He would be calm and gentle and tell him he didn’t care that Patterson had lured him to his home one evening, assuring him he was special, and then arranged it so all of Patterson’s friends—or rather the oily, horrible ones—would go visit Etienne and discover just how special he was as well.
Patterson would be angry if Etienne told Geoffrey that. No point in bringing up the past. That was why it lay in the past. To be forgotten.
And this was safer. Patterson wouldn’t like that Geoffrey imprisoned him, and Etienne didn’t want to imagine the man any angrier.
And this way Etienne didn’t need Geoffrey to envision him even weaker. The man already saw him as injured and helpless—two things Etienne strove never to appear to be. Etienne had taken care of himself since he was twelve, and Geoffrey just happened to appear at the one time he was struggling. Since then.
He straightened his back. “I need to leave the castle.”
“Oh.” Geoffrey frowned and averted his eyes, blinking.
“I’m all healed.” Etienne tossed his head to the side.
An uncertain smile wobbled on Geoffrey’s face. “I can still see some bruises.”
“Just memories.” Etienne drummed his fingers against the bark of a chestnut tree and relaxed his muscles, breathing in the scent of chestnuts.
Geoffrey’s eyes darkened, and he turned away. “You are welcome to stay longer.”
Etienne fell silent.
“If you need to, of course,” Geoffrey hastened to say. “Which you might not. But,” Geoffrey frowned at him, “You must promise me—”
“I won’t promise anyone anything,” Etienne said. The words were automatic, but he recoiled as Geoffrey flushed. He hadn’t meant to be insulting.
“Well. Perhaps you can make an exception with this. Or strongly consider it. Or whatever you do when thinking about dangerous things. Or actually . . . don’t think about it in that manner.”
“What do you want me to promise?”
“Stop breaking the law.”
“Oh.” Etienne tilted his head and smiled. “Even though it would be an excuse for you to see me again?”
Geoffrey scratched his neck, and Etienne laughed. “I’ll let you ponder that.”
Geoffrey straightened. “Yes.”
“I’ll consider it. Strongly.” Etienne smiled and closed his eyes, relieved to be free of that world, happy to not be twelve and set loose on his own, scrambling to find his own means to live since no one else might help him. At least after the attack the general no longer expected his help. The spying, the sneaking, all of it. Perhaps the tasks sounded glamorous to some people, and really, Etienne took pride in knowing he had helped in some small manner, in defending the country, but he was glad to be rid of it all the same.
“Well.” Geoffrey shifted his legs. “That’s good. I’ll leave you to your wanderings, then.”
Etienne nodded. He settled on the grass, and Geoffrey’s silhouette disappeared through the trees in the distance.
The idea of staying longer with Geoffrey was ludicrous, but he had been asked. Etienne stretched his legs and lay on the blanket of grass, the sky bright with sunshine even in the crisp air. The garden beckoned to him, as it always did. This time he did not feel guilty succumbing to its charm.
Wind brushed over him, an
d leaves swirled above. For this one moment, he was sinking into the earth, all his past experiences draining from him.
*
“Etienne Rivaud.” A deep voice spoke, and two glossy boots appeared upside down before him. “You look content. Before I startled you, of course.” The general laughed, and Etienne smiled back.
“Can I assist you?” Etienne shifted his legs.
The general smiled, his reddened face beaming against the pale plants behind him. “I was hoping you would say that.”
“Oh.” Etienne rolled to a sitting position and flicked loose grass from his clothes.
The general tilted his head. “So relaxed. Doesn’t Hammerstead mind you wandering in his garden?”
Etienne shook his head. “He’s been quite nice.”
The general lifted his eyebrows. “Well then, you’re the only person in all of Sussex to think it.”
Etienne frowned. “I like being the exception.” He wanted to add that he didn’t think the general was correct. Geoffrey could be intimidating, but surely everybody didn’t dislike him?
The general laughed and peered around. “You just like being in his garden. You always did like flowers. Not the manliest pursuit, though I wouldn’t say masculinity is exactly what I associate you with. And it makes it easy to find you.”
Etienne stiffened. “I’m leaving soon.”
The general eyed him. “Your injuries have healed?”
Etienne nodded.
“Pity.” The general frowned.
Etienne stiffened and averted his eyes.
“We need you here.”
“I already told the magistrate . . .”
The general relaxed his shoulders, his voice soothing. “Then tell him you changed your mind. Or offer him something special.”
“I—”
The general fixed hard eyes on him, the pleasantness replaced with something frostier and more conniving. “Don’t think I don’t know all about you.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting anything illegal, General.” Heat flamed on Etienne’s face.
“If no one knows about it, it’s fine.” He narrowed appraising eyes. “Just make sure no one knows about it.”
Captured At The Castle (Scandal in Sussex Book 2) Page 10