by L. V. Lloyd
How much further? He didn’t dare look down and risk losing his balance.
Something cold and wet landed on the back of his hand. He stared blankly as another drop fell and another. It was raining. At last. Thank God! That would do more to quench the fire than all the buckets from the well.
Then the branch in his left hand pulled away from the wall. He grabbed for another, but only caught wet leaves. The next second—he was falling backwards through the air.
He landed in the hay wagon, the air knocked out of him, rain falling on his face. He lay gasping, as hands rushed to help.
“Are you all right, my lord?” That was his butler’s anxious voice.
“Let me through. Don’t move him, until I see whether we need to send for the doctor.” That was Jonathan, taking charge. A second later Jonathan was kneeling beside him in the wagon, gently running his hands over his body, checking to see if anything was broken.
Eventually D’Anvers got his breath back. “I’m fine,” he said, sitting up. Eager hands reached forward to help him out of the wagon.
“Harry?” asked Jonathan, in a low voice. All he had been able to see from the ground was the fact that Harry had suddenly disappeared.
D’Anvers shook his head, his expression bleak.
“Dead.”
Chapter Twelve.
The rain was falling steadily now, extinguishing the flames. The smell of charred wet wood filled the air and everyone was drenched.
Lord D’Anvers looked up at the house, trying to gauge how much damage had been done. The west wing would be uninhabitable, at least until they were able to mount a thorough inspection, but it seemed to him that the east wing was largely undamaged. The rain appeared to have doused the last of the flames but he couldn’t be certain until he went upstairs for a closer look.
Fortunately the kitchen was in the east wing, on the ground floor toward the back of the house.
“Mrs Maitland, please take the womenfolk around the back into the kitchen. Get everyone out of the rain. A mug of warm cider for anyone who’d like one and perhaps a hot chocolate for Master Evelyn? I think you should be safe there for the moment, while I look at the rest of the house. Jonathan, James, the rest of you men, come with me.”
Lord D’Anvers led the way into the house through the front door. Smoke still filled the hallway but the doors leading to the east wing were closed and he was hopeful that the smoke had not penetrated too badly.
He sent the butler, Henshaw, and one of the manservants to check the rooms on the ground floor, and to open as many windows as possible to clear the smoke. Then the rest of them carefully climbed the stairs up to the second floor.
Lord D’Anvers wanted to go higher, to find Harry, or what was left of him, but even he could see that wasn’t going to be possible tonight. Parts of the ceiling, the floor of the third story, had fallen through into the passage, other pieces hung down, threatening to fall at any moment. The heat was still fierce and the smoke hindered their move at every turn.
“We’ll get spades and clear out as much of this as possible,” ordered D’Anvers. “We don’t want the fire flaring up again, especially in the middle of the night.”
Eventually the men managed to clear most of the rubble out of the passage, enough so that they could enter the rooms to check that nothing was burning in there. Jonathan’s room was nearest and he opened the door carefully. To his relief, everything seemed untouched, apart from the smell, but he gathered up all his belongings as a precaution, to carry downstairs.
The schoolroom and Evelyn’s bedroom were also relatively unscathed, but the ceiling had partially collapsed in the two rooms beyond. Once again the men went to work, clearing out the smouldering rubble and carrying out anything of value which might still be salvaged.
By the time they finished, everyone was exhausted but the area was as safe as they could make it. Nothing appeared to be still burning, but D’Anvers decided to leave a man on watch for the rest of the night, just in case.
They had done all they could for the moment. Tomorrow would be soon enough to examine the top floor.
Jonathan followed Lord D’Anvers downstairs, wondering where he was going to sleep that night. Thankfully, the servants’ rooms were in the east wing, surely there would be somewhere spare.
“I told Mrs Maitland to put Evelyn in my bed,” announced D’Anvers. “You can have the room next door, for now.”
“Thank you, my lord.” Jonathan felt as if he could sleep for a week. The adrenaline which had kept him going all night was fading fast.
The room next to Lord D’Anvers was small, evidently intended for a valet in the past, with two doors, one into D’Anvers’ room, the other into the servants’ passage. Jonathan was too tired to care. He undressed down to his night shirt, which he was still wearing, tucked uncomfortably into his breeches, and climbed into bed.
For a few minutes, he listened to the muffled sounds of his lordship preparing for bed next door, then sleep claimed him.
Lord D’Anvers got in next to Evelyn, who was fast asleep in the middle of his bed. He lay on his back, staring open-eyed at the ceiling, without seeing it. Helping to clear the west wing had kept him busy for the last couple of hours; kept him from dwelling on the horror of Harry’s death, the frightening damage to his house, but now there was nothing to distract him.
Harry was dead.
Much as D’Anvers grieved, a small part of him felt relief; relief that Harry wouldn’t have to suffer any more through those last few months of an increasingly distressing illness. If he was honest, the Harry he had known had died months ago, leaving a twisted shadow of himself behind.
They had been lovers for half a year before Harry became ill. Although that aspect of the relationship had come to an abrupt end with his illness, D’Anvers had still cared for Harry, though as someone who depended on him rather than as a lover. He knew he would never forget the image of Harry stepping into the flames for as long as he lived.
An hour later, D’Anvers was still awake. He felt restless, unable to clear his mind of the evening’s events. He tried to keep still, fearful that his tossing and turning would wake Evelyn, but despite his exhaustion, sleep eluded him. As a grown man in the nineteenth century, the relief of crying was denied him, but he felt a sudden, desperate need for comfort.
In the small room next door, Jonathan was sound asleep. He didn’t stir when someone crept into his room in the dark and slipped into bed beside him.
Jonathan slept solidly, right through until daybreak. When he awoke, it took him a few moments to remember where he was, what had happened. That was the reason, he told himself, that he hadn’t noticed immediately that someone’s hand was resting possessively on his hip. His bare hip. His nightshirt was rucked up around his waist and he wasn’t alone. Someone was breathing softly and evenly into his ear, spooned cosily against his back in the narrow bed.
Chapter Thirteen
Gingerly, Jonathan tried to remove the hand without waking Lord D’Anvers. How long had he been there? What had—? The next instant, he found his own hand taken and trapped beneath that of his lordship, both of them now pressing down against his hip.
“What are you doing, my lord?” he whispered, as firmly as he could.
“What would you like me to do?” came the husky reply. The voice held just the hint of a smile.
“You gave me your word!” insisted Jonathan, trying to ignore the warmth of D’Anvers’ palm, the pressure of the long slender fingers gripping his own hand. The weight of both hands on his naked hip.
“You could give it back to me,” suggested D’Anvers. “I could show you pleasures beyond your wildest dreams.” Very gently he began to move Jonathan’s hand, in a long slow caress, down his thigh, then back over his hip, just skirting the edge of his bottom before moving up to his waist. “May I ask, have you lain with a woman yet?”
Jonathan swallowed and shook his head.
“Ah. Then lie with me instead,” the other man in
vited. “Let me introduce you to the pleasures of the bed. Give me back my word.”
His mouth was only an inch from his ear, Jonathan could feel the gentle heat of his breath, the solidness of his body pressing against his back. All his hairs stood on end.
A wild part of Jonathan he hadn’t known existed till that moment, didn’t want D’Anvers to stop. It wanted rather desperately to see what D’Anvers would do next. He could feel his erection stiffening between his legs—was D’Anvers going to touch him there? He held his breath, waiting.
But D’Anvers was waiting for his answer, his hand still.
That short pause was enough to bring Jonathan to his senses. Good God, what was he doing?
Horrified by his own reaction as much as anything, Jonathan leapt out of bed like a scalded cat, his hands tugging at his nightshirt to cover himself.
“I hold you to your word, my lord. Please leave me alone!”
D’Anvers’ eyes flared for a moment before he smiled. Damnit, he had been so close!
“Of course. If that’s what you want.” Deliberately, he threw back the covers, allowing Jonathan a clear view of his nakedness, his erection full and heavy between muscular thighs, before he stood up and reached for the robe he had dropped at the end of the bed.
Jonathan stared, he couldn’t help himself.
“Let me know when you change your mind.” Lord D’Anvers tossed the words over his shoulder as he left.
Chapter Fourteen
“Let me know when you change your mind.” What on earth had his lordship meant by saying that? As if Jonathan was ever going to allow D’Anvers to touch him again, let alone make any sort of approach himself. Ha! Hell would freeze over first.
Despite his best endeavours to stop thinking about it, his brain kept living and reliving the entire episode from the moment he had wakened to the moment he had leapt out of bed. How long had D’Anvers been in bed with him? How had his nightgown gotten to be around his waist? Had D’Anvers done... anything... while he was asleep? Touched him? His body burned at the thought. His mind tried unsuccessfully to slide away from the memory. He hadn’t really wanted his lordship to touch him, of course he hadn’t, he had just been feeling... confused. Yes, that was it, confused, confused at finding him in his bed, right behind him. His hand on his hip, talking about sex... Jonathan swallowed, wishing, not for the first time, that he could control his wretched blushes.
By the time he was dressed and seated at the breakfast table, Jonathan had yet to decide whether that morning’s episode constituted a breach of his agreement with Lord D’Anvers. One thing was certain, he was going to insist on moving to another room.
Before he could bring up the subject however, Lord D’Anvers was already making other arrangements.
“Jonathan, I’d like you to take Evelyn down to London for a week or two,” he announced.
“London? My lord?” It was certainly the last thing he had expected.
Evelyn was staring, open mouthed, his eyes filling with excitement.
“Yes. I’ve arranged for a stonemason to come out from Yorktown to have a look at the building, see what can be saved of the west wing, if anything. In any case, we’ll have to clear out what is left of the top floor and there will be bound to be dust and noise everywhere. It will be best if Evelyn is not here.” He gave Jonathan a pointed look, confusing him for a moment. Of course, Jonathan realised, they would be looking to recover Harry’s body from the wreckage. It would certainly be best if Evelyn was not there when they found the remains.
The prospect must be a painful one for Lord D’Anvers, but if his lordship was dreading the event, he showed no sign of it. He continued speaking in a matter of fact tone, as if he were talking about the weather.
“It will be a good opportunity for you both to do some sightseeing. You can visit St Paul’s and the Abbey. I’m sure it will be very educational.”
Evelyn’s face fell. “I don’t want to see a lot of musty old churches!” he protested.
Lord D’Anvers’ brows lowered in a frown of displeasure and Jonathan kicked Evelyn’s ankle under the table.
“I-I’m sorry, father. Naturally I will go and see them, if you think I should.”
“Indeed!” D’Anvers was still frowning.
“Of course, my lord. It will be a wonderful opportunity for Evelyn,” interposed Jonathan, swiftly. “When do we leave?”
“Today. As soon as you are both packed, Jenkins will take you into Yorktown in the trap and you can take the two o’clock stage. I’ll give you a letter of authority to draw on my account at the Clarendon.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
The next day found Jonathan and Evelyn, weary but excited, in London. They had a luxurious suite at the Clarendon but Evelyn at least was hoping they wouldn’t be spending much time in it. There were so many places in London that he wanted to visit; the wild animals in the Royal Menagerie at the Exeter Exchange, and a firework display at the Vauxhall Gardens, being at the top of his list.
In sympathy with these plans, Jonathan made sure they visited Westminster Abbey and St Paul’s Cathedral first, so that Evelyn could write a polite thank you letter to his father that evening. To Evelyn’s surprise, he found he actually enjoyed parts of the Abbey, especially the elaborate royal tombs tucked away in dark alcoves.
Their duty done, as Jonathan saw it, the next few days were spent in a whirl of pleasurable activities, visiting all those places which Evelyn had heard about and which were what Jonathan considered suitable for a boy of his age. He refused firmly to take Evelyn to a cock fight nor to a boxing match, despite his earnest pleading.
“You need to ask your father about those,” suggested Jonathan.
“Yes, sir.” A mask came down over Evelyn’s face.
“Perhaps when you’re older.”
Evelyn hunched a shoulder. “He never takes me anywhere.”
“Nowhere?” asked Jonathan, disbelieving.
“Well, church of course, but that hardly counts!”
Jonathan knew Lord D’Anvers was not a warm man, at least not toward his son, but surely he must have taken him somewhere. Shared some activity as a father and son.
“I know I can’t play sports like other boys,” Evelyn gave him a look of mingled shame and defiance, “but we’ve never done anything, not even played a game of chess together. That time, when he came swimming with us, that was the first I can remember. It’s as if he can’t bear to be near me!”
Evelyn looked on the verge of tears.
Horrified, Jonathan tried to reassure him. “You are his son, I’m sure he cares about you! It’s just that he is not a—a very demonstrative man.”
Inside, he frowned. Whatever the reason for his lordship’s coolness, whether it was disappointment over Evelyn’s poor health, or grief over the death of his wife, unlikely as that seemed given his recent behaviour, it was surely time to put it behind him.
“Some men are not good with children,” he offered. “Now you are growing up, maybe things will change.”
Jonathan saw the flash of hope light Evelyn’s face, and made a promise to himself. He would take the bull by the horns and raise the issue with Lord D’Anvers the very next time he saw him.
In the event, that turned out to be rather sooner than he expected. When Jonathan and Evelyn returned to their rooms that evening, Lord D’Anvers was there, making himself at home in the master bedroom.
Chapter Fifteen
Jonathan and Evelyn stood stock still in surprise, just failing to cover the flash of dismay that crossed their faces. It seemed their little holiday was over.
Lord D’Anvers greeted them both with a knowing smile. “Ah, there you are. I thought I’d come up and join you for a few days, the dust and noise were simply unbearable. I’ve given most of the servants leave to return home while the house is in such disrepair. The stonemason says the top storey will have to go, but he thinks we can save the bottom two floors. He’ll have a better idea once the ruined part is co
mpletely demolished.”
He turned to his son. “Evelyn, I’ve ordered an early supper for you. It’s waiting for you in your room if you’d like to go ahead.” Evelyn’s hunger after a day’s sightseeing made it easy for him to accept the dismissal without arguing, and he disappeared quickly into his room.
A quick glance around, showed Jonathan that his lordship had made himself at home in their absence. His toiletries were on the dressing table and Jonathan’s own things had been moved to the dressing room next door. A small truckle bed had been set up inside with his bag at the foot.
“I knew you wouldn’t mind, Jonathan,” smiled Lord D’Anvers. “It’s just for a few nights. I thought you’d prefer that, to sharing with... Evelyn.” His eyes danced.
Jonathan pressed his lips together. “Of course, my lord.”
D’Anvers was still speaking, “I’ve ordered dinner for us to be brought up at eight o’clock. After that, I’ll be going out for the evening, I’ve got a masquerade ball to attend.” He dropped his eyes for a second as he slipped the driving cape from his shoulders, then added casually, “Perhaps you’d care to accompany me, Jonathan? Jenkins came up with me in the coach. He could keep an eye on Evelyn tonight if needs be, not that the boy really requires it at his age.”
A masquerade ball! Jonathan had never been to a ball. The only dances he’d attended were small country affairs. Jonathan knew he should decline politely, but instead, found himself spluttering, “I couldn’t. I don’t have a costume, my lord.”