by Sue Brown
Dale decided to go for a run instead and explore the local area. Since he had arrived, Dale had either worked or slept. His shifts weren’t conducive to a social life. It had never mattered that much when he lived with Baz, but now the loneliness was beginning to eat at his soul.
The weather was still cool enough to make running pleasurable at that time in the morning, and Dale set off toward the village green. Okay, he admitted to himself, maybe he ran in that direction in the hope of bumping into the lord of the manor. He had heard that Ben worked long hours and was seldom seen in the village. Still, one could hope, and Dale was nothing if not optimistic.
Dale felt a twinge in his right calf, and he realized he had not spent enough time warming up. He decided to take things slowly rather than risk doing more damage. As he approached the village green, he could see the maypole, with the bound ribbons fluttering slightly in the breeze. He pulled a face, thinking about the grief he had received since knocking the pole to the ground. His crew hadn’t let him forget it, and even in the village shops, it was still mentioned every time he walked in. Dale took it all in good spirits, but he would be glad when life quieted down a bit. He decided to run around the green, knowing what he really meant was he hoped he would see Ben.
The good spirits were obviously listening, because he had only made half a circuit when Ben almost bumped into him as he emerged from the trees. Dale stopped suddenly, catching Ben by the arms before he crashed to the ground.
“Can’t you look where you’re going?” Ben snapped as he recovered his balance. His scowl was so fierce, Dale stepped back.
“You stepped out on me. I stopped just in time, otherwise you’d be on your arse,” Dale pointed out as mildly as he could. Ben glared, then pushed past without another word. Dale felt his hackles rise and couldn’t resist yelling “You’re welcome” after him.
Ben’s back radiated anger as he made his way across the green toward the village and Dale sighed. Their meeting hadn’t been the one he’d been hoping for. He knew there was a sparkle of electricity between them, but Ben seemed in a permanently bad mood. Then he noticed Ben had turned on his heel and was walking back toward him, still with the scowl plastered to his face. Dale was tempted to run on, but he waited for Ben to join him.
“I’m sorry,” Ben said as soon as he was in hearing range. “I’ve had a bad morning, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” His apology was sincere, even if his tone was short.
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Dale asked.
“I wish.” Ben sounded rueful rather than angry. “Got any suggestions for dealing with a business shark?”
Business and sharks were outside of Dale’s remit, but he studied the slump in Ben’s shoulders and decided to take a chance. “Where were you going before we crashed into each other?”
“To get some chocolate,” Ben said.
“Do you have time for a cup of coffee?”
Ben seemed surprised by the offer. “Not long, because I’ve got a meeting.”
“Have you got half an hour?”
“I can do that.”
Dale beamed at him, and Ben blinked as if he were dazzled. “Where’re your dogs?”
“Gone for a long run with one of the gardeners.” Ben smiled at him. “Tim loves dogs but his mum won’t let him have one, so he borrows mine.”
As they walked toward the coffee shop, Dale suddenly remembered he didn’t have any money on him. “Damn!”
“What’s wrong?”
“I wasn’t expecting to do anything like this,” Dale said. “I left my wallet at home. Can we swing by the cottage to pick it up?”
“I think I can pay for a cup of coffee,” Ben said.
Knowing Ben had limited time, Dale said, “Okay, you buy this time, and I’ll buy the next one.”
“You seem so sure there’ll be a next one.”
Dale was kind of shocked by Ben’s teasing tone, but he waggled his eyebrows. “You mean there won’t be?”
“I think we’ll see how this one goes,” Ben said quietly.
Dale winked at him and smirked at the flush on Ben’s cheeks. The chatter in the café ceased as they walked in, and Dale was conscious of the surprised and speculative glances from everyone. Except the old man in the corner. He didn’t raise his head from the racing pages of his newspaper. One of the women hurried around to greet them.
“Lord Calminster, good morning. How are you?”
Ben shook her hand. “Morning, Mrs. Rollins. We’re just stopping for a cup of tea.”
“Good to see you. Come and sit over here.”
She led Ben to the table in the window. From the way she fussed over him, Ben was obviously a celebrity in the village.
“Do you get this attention outside of Calminster?” Dale asked once they’d sat down and she’d left them alone. He was conscious of the constant glances their way, even if the conversation had started again.
“Only when I start flashing my Lord Muckety-Muck title around,” Ben teased, reminding Dale of their first conversation.
“I get the same thing when I tell people I’m a firefighter,” Dale said.
Ben’s eyes opened wide, and then he realized Dale was joking. “It’s the uniform, isn’t it? It has that effect on women.”
“And men too.” Dale decided if Ben was fishing, Dale might as well give him the answer he was fishing for.
Ben didn’t raise his eyes from the menu, but Dale knew he had got the message by the way his hands shook.
Dale studied Ben’s hands. Nice, strong, masculine hands, with long fingers. Good hands. He suddenly had visions of those hands wrapped around his cock. Dale knew he had to put those thoughts well away from his head while he was wearing shorts that hid nothing. He recited the seven-times table in his head to calm things down, but when he saw Ben was discreetly studying him, the numbers flew out of his head. They locked gazes on each other for a long moment, and Dale wondered how they didn’t set the chintz tablecloth on fire.
A cough interrupted them, and Dale glanced up to see a young lad with bad acne holding a notebook and blushing wildly.
“Um… I’m sorry, but do you know what you want to order?”
Ben smiled at the lad, who, to Dale’s amusement, blushed even deeper. “I would like… er… a pot of Earl Grey tea and two slices of toast—granary bread, I think. Thanks, Patrick.” He smiled at Dale. “What would you like?”
“I’ll have a pot of normal tea and toast. Make it white bread, please.” Dale stuffed the menu in its holder and waited until Patrick had gone before he said, “Do you know our waiter?”
“Patrick’s worked on the estate before. I take on a lot of local teenagers over the summer to give them something to do. It helps their parents who have to go out to work.” Dale shook his head, and Ben said, “What’s the matter?”
“You have a big heart.”
Ben reddened, obviously embarrassed by Dale’s declaration. “Not really. It’s a practical thing to do. Otherwise they’d be roaming around in packs, seeking out trouble. It’s not like any of them want to work on the estate. They’d rather be on their computers or iPads. Their parents give them no choice.”
Dale rumbled a laugh, and a few people from the other tables glanced over, bright curiosity in their eyes. They averted their gaze when Dale stared at them. “I like that.” He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I like you.”
And that had to be the time Patrick returned with their tea and toast. This time all three of them had wildly flushing cheeks. They said nothing until Patrick poured the tea and left them alone.
Ben lifted his cup and paused. “I like you too.”
“Even if I did demolish part of your history?” Dale smirked at him before he took a sip, trying to hold back a grimace. The tea could have done with a lot longer in the pot.
“My great-grandfather would be turning in his grave,” Ben said solemnly. “He erected that pole with his own two hands.”
“Really?”
“And now you.”
Ben furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?”
“From what I hear, you’ve doubled the income on the estate.”
“I think we’ll find I’ve quadrupled the income.”
Dale shook his head. “I can’t imagine the amount of work it must take to run a place like Calminster Hall and make money. Aren’t most stately homes given to the National Trust these days?”
“It’s just one of those things. What we did worked, and because of it, we can employ a lot of people.”
Patrick approached them again. “Would you like a refill of tea?”
Ben glanced at his watch. Dale inwardly drooled at the fine hair curling around the black face. He had it so bad.
“I think I’d better get back home,” Ben said. “Otherwise my estate manager will be sending out a search party.”
Patrick retreated, and Dale stuffed the last bit of toast into his mouth, washing it down with tea. “Thank you for my breakfast.”
“It was my pleasure,” Ben said, and he really sounded as if he meant it, which made Dale feel better for having to mooch off him.
Ben paid the bill with a healthy tip for Patrick, and then they both left, blinking in the morning sunshine. Dale was a little cold, as he hadn’t cooled down properly after his run.
They stood staring awkwardly at each other, and then Ben said, “I really have to go.”
“Well,” Dale said, “thanks again for breakfast, and I’ll see you around.”
Because the awkwardness was getting difficult, Dale turned and started to walk away, and then Ben said, “Stop!”
Dale glanced over his shoulder to see Ben jogging up to him. “Is everything okay?”
“Are you doing anything this afternoon?” Ben sounded breathless and a little unsure of what Dale’s reaction would be to his offer.
“Not really. Maybe unpacking a little more, but aside from that, I haven’t got anything planned.”
“Would you like come to dinner?” The words came out in a rush.
“I thought Mrs. Wilson was still in hospital?” Dale said.
“She is, but I’m sure I can open a tin of beans.”
“I love baked beans on toast,” Dale said immediately and so enthusiastically that Ben smiled. “Especially with cheese on top.”
“Great. Come over about three o’clock, and you can have a grand tour before dinner. I’ll see if we’ve got any cheese.”
“Three o’clock. See you then.” Dale watched Ben walk away, and then he turned to run back to his house, albeit slowly. He didn’t want to throw up after his breakfast.
Now he just had to decide what to do with himself until three o’clock that didn’t involve working out what to wear.
Chapter Six
“NICE view!”
Ben sat up so sharply he banged his head on the desk, yelping loudly. “Ouch! Hell!” He backed out and turned on Dale. “What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Colson?” He rubbed his head, his mood not improved by the smirk on Dale’s face.
Dale’s response was delayed by the dogs rushing him and demanding his attention, but when they stopped barking and licking him, he said, “You invited me, remember? Mr. Colson has gone to fetch afternoon tea. Seriously, you have afternoon tea? Mind my eye, mutt!” The last was a yelp as one of the larger dogs enthusiastically stuck a wet nose in his eye.
Ben scowled at Dale’s open amusement. “Fluffy—careful. I always have afternoon tea. I did?”
“You don’t remember inviting me to dinner? I’m wounded.” He clutched a hand over his heart in an overly dramatic fashion.
“Arse! Dinner—yes. It’s”—Ben squinted at the clock—“three. Shit, I said three, didn’t I?”
“Sorry.” Dale made an apologetic grimace. “Is it inconvenient? I can bugger off and come back later.”
Ben huffed and rubbed at the bump on his head. “You don’t have to do that. I’ve got an hour’s paperwork left, but I’m sure I can find something for you to do after we have tea.”
“Is this one really called Fluffy?” Dale scratched behind Fluffy’s ears and he wriggled in ecstasy.
Ben sighed as Fluffy licked Dale’s hand. Fluffy was almost the size of a Shetland pony. He was huge and hairy. “Blame the name on my sister. Fluffy was very, well, fluffy as a puppy. We had no idea he was going to grow so large. The Yorkie is called Frankie, and the other dog is Fern. Fluffy is Fern and Frankie’s puppy.”
Dale stared at little Frankie and then at Fluffy. “No fucking way.”
“Believe me. We have no idea what happened there. Is Colson bringing tea?”
“Ah yes, Mr. Colson.” Dale drawled out his name. “Your butler is a hottie.”
“He is?” Ben asked, as if the thought had never occurred to him. “I don’t really notice it. He’s been here since I was a child, and his father was a butler before that.”
“You really don’t think your Mr. Colson’s the hottest thing on two legs?”
Ben narrowed his eyes and glared at Dale. “You think Colson is the hottest thing on two legs?”
“Don’t you?” Dale challenged, going on the offensive.
“He’s my butler. Besides, he’s not my type.”
Dale stepped closer to Ben and ran a fingertip along Ben’s jaw. “Who is your type?”
Ben swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “You are,” Ben admitted hoarsely.
Dale licked his lips and seemed about to get up close and personal, when someone knocked on the door. Dale barely had a moment to step back before the door opened and Colson came in, pushing a trolley. Ben didn’t know whether to banish Colson or hug him for the interruption.
Ben led Dale to the armchairs by one of the open doors, where Colson was pouring the tea. He was pleased when Dale thanked Colson rather than ignoring him as some of Ben’s friends were wont to do.
Dale waited until the butler had left and then grinned at him. “My mum will be so jealous when I tell her about this. Look at these sandwiches!”
As usual, the kitchen had provided them with small sandwiches with the crusts removed and cut into a triangle shape, and tiny cakes no more than a mouthful. Ben didn’t like to tell Dale it was a joke between him and his staff. He didn’t want to pop the bubble of enthusiasm. Although seeing the huge fireman holding a tiny sandwich between two fingers was kind of funny.
Ben damped down his smirk and asked, “Why would your mum be jealous?”
“She loves country houses. She dragged me around National Trust homes when I was a kid. I was bored witless and she had to bribe me with the promise of cake in the café.”
“You’ll have to bring her here. I’d be happy to take your mother on a tour.” The delighted expression on Dale’s face was enough for Ben’s irritation at being caught head down and arse up to fade away.
“I’ll be the favorite son forever! I’m the only son, but now I’ll be the favorite only son.” Dale was babbling, but Ben just raised an eyebrow and drank his tea. Dale sought for another topic of conversation. “I’d like to explore the gardens while you work. I only got as far as the green last time.”
“As long as you don’t decide to knock anything else down, you’re welcome. I can get one of the grounds staff to show you around.”
“I promise not to destroy anything else,” Dale said. “I can explore by myself. I don’t need the formal tour.”
“All right, but I’ll let them know you’re here. Otherwise they’ll call security.” He saw the hint of surprise in Dale’s eyes. “We have two security guards here and a professional security firm on standby. There are a lot of valuable items in the house.”
Dale refused to meet his gaze. “I forget you
’re aristocracy.”
Ben snorted. “Minor nobility at the most. It’s just stuff, Dale.”
“I was brought up on a council estate in south London.” Dale waved his arm around the room. “This isn’t stuff. The ornaments from Woolworths that I bought for Mum with my pocket money is stuff.”
“I bet your mum loved the ornaments you bought her,” Ben said.
“She said it was stuff she had to dust.”
“All of this needs dusting too, and I have to pay people to do it.”
“But—”
Ben hated the sudden inadequacy on Dale’s face. It was an expression he’d seen his whole life. “Come with me. You guys stay here.” He led Dale out of the study, shutting the door on the disappointed dogs. They went through the main hall and into a small room in the west wing. “This is my personal study. No one’s allowed in here without my permission.” Suppressing a sigh at Dale’s intimidated expression, Ben pointed to a walnut-and-glass-fronted cabinet at the end of the room. “What do you see in there?”
Dale blinked, but he did what he was told. Ben watched him—okay, watched his arse—as Dale peered into the cabinet. Then Dale glanced over his shoulder, and Ben blushed at having been caught staring.
Dale smirked, but he said, “These are just like things I made as a kid.”
“I made them, and so did my sister.” He joined Dale at the cabinet and smiled fondly, remembering the hours he’d spent creating masterpieces out of clay, paper, and paint. “My mum kept all these.”
“But you’ve got a house full of valuable antiques. Why on earth would your mum keep these?”
“Because the antiques meant nothing to her. They are heirlooms from my father’s family. But these, these were made by her kids, and she loved them.”
Dale stared at them a moment longer and then at Ben. “I think I would’ve liked your mum.”
Ben blinked rapidly to hold back tears that threatened to spill over. “She would’ve liked you too.” He found himself being enfolded in a one-armed hug by Dale, who said nothing but just held him for a moment. It was comforting; Dale smelled really nice—spicy and musky—and Ben had no desire to move.