Her Husband’s Lover

by Madelynne Ellis

  * * *

  Condensation clouded the numerous window panes of the Orangery, obscuring the views of both inside and out. Lyle led the way through the towering foliage to a small stone grotto near the back, which also housed a raised silken divan. Darleston had only a glimpse of its gaudy lamp-lit stripes and then he saw Lyle spread out along it, his dress coat cast aside and his breeches tugged down so that the pale globes of his bottom lay exposed. Though he guessed what Lyle had in mind would involve him being spread out, and while in some ways it would be easy to give in, he’d always enjoyed ruthless self-flagellation.

  ‘This is a bad idea.’

  Articulating the thought failed to destroy the rather lovely image. Instead he saw the scenario developing, himself creeping forward and enjoying the firm expanse of muscle laid out for him. Heat rose off Lyle’s body as he fitted them together in one slow, delicious push. He heard the hitch in Lyle’s breath, the momentary sign of protest. If he said ‘stop’, would he do it? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he could endure such torment. Things always got complicated when his heart said no and his cock said yes.

  He followed Lyle over to the cushioned mattress. Watched him as he kicked off his shoes and perched crossed-legged upon the silk. Lyle wove his fingers together as he settled his elbows upon his knees.

  ‘There’s no pressure, Robert. I understand you’ve had a nasty scare. It’s natural that you’d have reservations. Maybe you think we’ve already stepped too far over the mark.’

  They’d certainly taken more of a risk than he cared for. He’d never given up on loving men, but he’d always taken great pains to keep such doings out of sight. It benefited no one to expose that particular part of his persona. What they’d just done constituted lunacy, and this … this current proposition a spell in the asylum.

  ‘I’m not unaware,’ Lyle continued. His eyes remained fixed upon Darleston’s face. ‘You live in public. I know the company you keep, the clubs you frequent. I’ve seen the criticism levelled at your family ever since the Earl took it upon himself to marry a whore. As for your recent problems with Lady Darleston –’ Lyle raked his hand through the long strands of his fair hair, clearly uncomfortable, finally tugging loose the queue holding it in place. Soft fair curls sprang free and hung just shy of his shoulders. ‘I concede that puts you in a precarious position. I trust she can’t prove anything.’

  The only proof of which Lucy was capable was her own wretchedness, and then only because it was apparent the very moment she opened her mouth. Darleston made an irritated swipe at the leaf of a coconut palm before leaning against the grotto wall. ‘I’m not wholly devoid of sense. I never put anything in writing. Also, I trust that any punks that might be rounded up would have the sense to realise their own necks are at stake.’

  ‘Your word would stand against that of a cooper or butcher.’

  ‘Perhaps. Either way it makes sense to lie low.’

  Lyle cocked his head. ‘This would be why you’re attending a prize fight. Because naturally no one at all will spot you or remark upon your presence.’

  Darleston conceded a grin. The situation wasn’t ideal, but at least he wasn’t flaunting his person around town any more. More importantly, he’d stopped playing unwelcome chaperone to Giles and his new bride. He hadn’t specifically come to Field House to watch the fight. Supporting Neddy, his twin, in his role as Mr Hill’s new trainer had merely provided a reason to be here.

  ‘Neddy’s deeply involved,’ he said to justify his presence.

  Lyle continued to smirk and nod. ‘Is that who Hill has brought in as trainer? Ned must have put on some brawn since the last time I saw him.’ He unwound the length of his cravat, let it hang in a loose loop between his hands.

  Darleston gave a quick shake of his head. ‘Not noticeably so, but he’s a good weave and a sharp right hook. I’m told his footwork is good.’

  ‘That’d make sense. Getting his legs in a tangle is Jack’s main downfall. He has a punch like a ton-weight bull, but the nippier boxers just dance around him.’

  ‘Think he’s a chance?’

  ‘Ned or Jack?’

  ‘My brother had better not be going anywhere near the prize ring.’

  ‘So-so. I don’t know much about his opponent. He’s not local. From Welsh stock, I’m told.’

  Lyle cast his cravat aside and undid the ribbon fastening of his shirt. Pale blond hairs pecked provocatively through the opening. The yellow glow of the lamp warmed his skin, giving it a sun-kissed hue. Something about seeing a teasing glimpse of chest hair like that grabbed Darleston straight in the groin. Maybe it was the hint of masculinity or the exposure of all that was wild and was customarily hidden by clothing. They were all beasts when it came down to it. No one remained a gentleman in the heat of passion.

  The bottom of Lyle’s shirt still hung over the top of his breeches from their earlier sport so it was simply a matter of unbuttoning his waistcoat and peeling the layers off to expose him completely.

  ‘Join me.’

  Darleston slipped the top button of his own waistcoat, but paused before unfastening the second. Somehow they’d ventured into territory he was reluctant to retread. There was no question about whether he desired Lyle. He’d always done that. Rather, the problem was Mrs Langley. He saw her pale oval face staring up at him again as the teacup she offered rattled alarmingly upon its saucer. It would destroy her to learn what sort of man her husband truly was – what sort of man he was.

  ‘I can’t do it, Lyle. I just can’t. I’m sorry if I’ve led you on.’ He refastened the button, then bit his lips, wanting to say more, but unable to form the words to make sense of his emotions. It wasn’t only Emma he was trying to protect, but all of them. He’d been hurt too recently to stomach any more pain. The ache of losing Giles was too raw. Lucy and her libellous innuendos had provided a perfect excuse to leave London. But they’d never been his main issue. Besides, she’d stopped making them as soon as she’d realised that the chastisement he chose to dole out wasn’t to her taste. She’d deserved a hiding, but cutting her allowance had silenced her rather more effectively. No, really he was taking in the country air to mend the ache in his chest. He thought he’d understood loneliness before, but not like this. He’d never felt so bereft of friendship as well as love. All his other cronies, the ones he’d hoped to turn to in order to escape the emptiness inside, seemed to be entangled in bereavements of their own

  Of course that was the dilemma of his current situation. Love, of sorts, was exactly what Lyle sat offering. Still, he couldn’t sacrifice Emma Langley’s happiness for his own. There existed hurt enough in her watery blue eyes.

  He hid his face, turning into the shadow. He wasn’t going to compete with a woman for a man’s affections ever again.

  ‘Long term, it’ll never work, and that’s what I’m looking for.’

  Lyle came up behind him. Strong arms encircled his waist, and Lyle’s head rested between his shoulder blades. ‘I never once stopped wanting you. You have to understand that Emma and I, we’re not exactly compatible. We swore to be friends, not lovers.’

  ‘That doesn’t make this right.’

  ‘When were you such a moralist?’ Lyle’s lips brushed the back of his neck, raising shivers. Darleston leaned into the caress, craving more, yet adamant that he wouldn’t capitulate.

  ‘I can feel your pulse, your tension, smell your desire. Why resist, Robert? No one’s going to know. Don’t think so hard about the future.’

  ‘I can’t risk hurting her like that.’

  ‘My wife? Why does she matter to you? Why so concerned about her and not your own?’

  He shook Lyle off. ‘To hell with Lucy! Because Emma has done nothing to hurt me. She’s been a kind and gracious hostess.’ And he didn’t want to compete with a woman. Not again. Not after he’d lost so spectacularly. Not that he’d ever had a chance with Giles. His friend simply wasn’t constructed that way.

  ‘We’ve never …’ Lyle hesit
ated. His teeth dug into his lower lip. ‘Our marriage, it’s never been consummated.’ He retreated into the deeper darkness of the grotto, leaving Darleston staring at his back in confusion.

  ‘How is that? Do you mean you’ve never been to her bed? Lyle, how is that even possible? Aren’t you sharing a room in this house? I don’t understand.’ He’d never wanted Lucy, but he’d visited her bed once a month for the last nine years. Give or take. One had to make the pretence of wanting issue, regardless of his actual wishes. The fact that he’d sometimes paid his twin to go in his stead wasn’t something he liked to make public.

  ‘I’ve no wish to embarrass myself,’ Lyle confessed, his voice muted and hesitant. ‘Nor have I any wish to engage in such an act. I’ve no desire in that regard. Women are rather like porcelain dolls. I can admire their crafting, but I have no desire to possess such a thing. There was mutual benefit to be had from the arrangement. I’m hardly the first man to seek the security of marriage as a mask for my proclivities. Society asks fewer questions if you offer them the illusion of normality.’

  While Darleston’s own preference was for men, he’d spent many evenings equally at home between a woman’s thighs. At least there seemed to be some degree of affection in Lyle’s marriage, which was more than he could claim in his own. ‘And does Hill know about your lack of desire?’ Darleston asked.

  ‘He sees that Emma is well settled and contented. That’s all that matters to him. Of course he doesn’t know of my preferences. He’s a good man, not an overly enlightened one.’

  ‘What about Emma? How does she take your lack of affection? I can’t imagine she’s content to be left virginal, or do you allow her trysts as well?’

  Lyle shook his head.

  Darleston ground his teeth and found his lips were pursed into a tight moue when he tried to form his next word. ‘So you sleep with whom you please but deny her any affection. Lyle, I thought better of you, I truly did.’

  The other man turned to face him once more. Eerie shadows swam in the depths of his hazel eyes. ‘You don’t understand. I haven’t denied her anything. She wouldn’t let me touch her even if I desired to.’ Lyle’s sibilant whisper bled into the darkness. ‘She’s frigid, Robert. Colder than the hoar frost. She doesn’t let anyone touch her.’

  ‘So she’s nervous. But with coaxing …’ Darleston curled his fingers, imagining pressing them to Emma’s prettily flushed cheek. Every woman he’d ever known had warmed to sweet talk and a little charm.

  ‘No. You’re not hearing me. She’s not skittish. She doesn’t let anyone near her. Nobody touches her, not even her maid or her sister. We’ve been married over two years and the only time I’ve held her hand was in church as I slid the wedding band upon her finger. Believe me, she trembled enough through that. If she could have avoided it …’

  ‘That’s common enough.’ He’d quaked too. Although in his case it may have been down to how much drink he’d consumed.

  ‘This affliction goes way beyond that. Watch her tomorrow, and then you’ll understand. It’s not coitus she’s afraid of, Robert. It’s physical contact of any sort.’

  Darleston’s brows furrowed. ‘Have you tried to discern why?’ How could a human being survive in such a way?

  Lyle half-nodded, half-shook his head. ‘She won’t discuss it with me. Believe me, I’ve tried and never made the slightest bit of headway. She just brushes me off. It doesn’t help that she knows I like men. So talk of physical affection between us is pointless. It’s why she was so keen on the arrangement in the first place. She knew I’d make no demands upon her.’

  ‘How the devil did she know? Did she see you?’ Incredulous now, Darleston’s mouth hung open. Gentle-born women didn’t knowingly marry men whose preferences ran to other men. No one wanted to be wed to that sort of scandal.

  Lyle nervously wetted his lips. ‘I’ve never asked and she’s never ventured the details. But now you see there’s no impediment to us.’

  Darleston began to pace in and out of the grotto’s mouth, worrying his fingernails as he moved. Did this change anything? Superficially, perhaps. Deep down, he wasn’t so sure. Emma might still fight for her husband. She could still be hurt by the scandal.

  The humidity was starting to wear him down. Sweat beaded his back and trickled down his spine in much the same way as it ran down the window panes. He still wasn’t sure. When had he become so cautious? Not so very long ago he’d made a jape of danger and desecrated a grave to settle a score. Now he was hesitating over fucking a man who was actually prepared to give him more than one night of his life. He couldn’t in all honesty use Emma as an excuse for rejecting that. If their marriage was truly as platonic as Lyle described, then he wasn’t about to lose Lyle to his wife in the way that he’d lost Giles to Fortuna.

  Emma knew the risks. She’d made her choices in full knowledge of what might come.

  Lyle smacked him across the arse. The impact jerked him forward and out of his emotional stupor. God help him, but he was going to do this. But on his terms. No more being dictated to by Lyle, and no more pansying around playing go-lightly. If they were going to fuck … well, they were going to fuck.

  ‘Take off your breeches too.’

  Lyle’s head twitched, bird-like, in surprise. Then he settled his ruffled feathers and did exactly as he’d been told. Naked he really was a marvel. He had an arse to rival that of a Roman god, though not quite as pale as alabaster. Thighs that were feathered with soft golden hairs, and loins … there was no denying that’s where Darleston was primarily looking. Lyle’s prick stood proud. Long and uncut, it reached halfway to his navel. It was striped with pale-blue veins, like some Oriental piece of china. Thankfully, it wasn’t quite as fragile as a vase.

  ‘So you’ve missed me,’ Darleston remarked. ‘In all these years there’s never been anyone else that turned your head in the same way? No one who’s fucked you halfway to the moon and back? No one who crept inside your head and steamed up all those naughty fantasies you concoct while you date Miss Nancy and her four sisters?’

  ‘Robert, when I toss myself the only pictures in my head are of you … and the adorable little vadelect I had in Bangalore.’ Lyle’s grin stretched wide, growing infectious the further it spread. Darleston smiled along with him. Bangalore? He wanted to ask, but the story could wait for another night. Instead, he perched on the end of the divan and tapped his middle finger against his lips. Slowly he wetted its tip.

  ‘Know where this is going?’

  ‘I know where I hope it’s going.’ Lyle rolled onto all fours.

  ‘Uh-uh! Face to face. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it properly. I want to see you come and know that you’re mine. And if I so much as think your thoughts are straying towards Emma then it’s over. Truly over. I can’t go through that again.’

  He could see a myriad questions racing through Lyle’s mind, but his lover seemed to sense that this wasn’t the time. Lyle turned and lay flat upon his back.

  ‘I think you’re more likely to think of her than I.’

  ‘Maybe.’ Darleston covered him, still fully clothed. He didn’t intend to remove a stitch. Instead, he pinned Lyle down and kissed him, revelling in the heat and the clash of their tongues. As their lips made merry, his hands were at work, brushing lightly over Lyle’s arms and torso. When they parted, it was only so that he could take a breath and turn his attention to Lyle’s flat, penny-shaped nipples instead. He sucked hard, drawing the little teat into a point. He palmed Lyle’s cock at the same time, working it up and down until Lyle’s contented groans had lapsed into euphoric silence. Only then did he tease the entrance to Lyle’s arse with his wetted digit.

  Fiercely hot, but eager and willing in his acceptance, Lyle writhed beneath him, lifting up his hips to allow for a deep penetration. One finger soon became two, then three. Finally, Darleston accepted Lyle’s hands fumbling at his waistband and feeling their way inside his frontfall. His cock bucked in appreciation of the touch. He let Lyl
e guide him home. Butted up against him, and slid deep.

  It really was that smooth and that quick.

  Too perfect, really. He did so like a bit of torment.

  He pulled Lyle’s hair, raked his teeth along his jaw and began to fuck like he truly meant it. The little yelp of pain Lyle gave in response fired Darleston’s senses. So too did his lover’s retaliation, right down to adding more bruises to his already marked rear.

  ‘Bite me again,’ Lyle hissed into his ear as they were rocking smoothly together with the whole universe collapsed in upon itself and centred on the tip of his cock.

  Lyle guided him over towards his throat. Darleston sucked hard. He nipped a little but didn’t let his teeth break the flesh. He left a mark though, a deep-purple bruise like a stamp of ownership. He’d known lovers who gave one another love-bites in lieu of wedding rings they couldn’t legitimately wear. He didn’t want to wed Lyle, he just wanted to sink deeper inside him, until he was no longer sure where their bodies met, or what part of this pleasure was his and what was Lyle’s.

  He added another mark to Lyle’s throat. Let him cover it with his cravat tomorrow. He’d still know it was there.

  Darleston’s temperature reached fever point just before his body gave in to the little death. Sweat coated every inch of his skin. His clothing stuck to him. Only in the areas where their bodies met skin to skin did he feel true contentment. Next time, maybe he would take his clothes off. Then again the discomfort added something, and he liked that it was only Lyle who was exposed.

  He looked down into his lover’s eyes as his nerve endings began to sing. His orgasm knocked him about like one of Hill’s champion boxers, leaving him punchdrunk and dizzy, full of light and air. He collapsed against Lyle, aftershocks still racing along his shaft, each one provoking a sigh of pleasure.

  ‘That’s right, Robert. Give it to me. Let go now.’ Lyle’s hands kneaded the tension from his shoulders. Darleston floated, acutely aware of the feeling that he’d somehow returned home.