His Second Chance

by Stephanie Lake

  Yes, they would do nicely together.

  “…and then, when my aunt careened down the bank, she knocked down two footmen and a speckled hound. I told her the whole scene resembled a game of bowls, and I suggested we all roll down the hill and try to knock down glass bottles; I was only ten at the time. All of us siblings and cousins spent the rest of the day getting grass stains on our best Sunday clothes. But Aunt Celia stopped crying and actually did a few more tumbles down the hill herself.” The perfect light tinkling of laughter came from perfectly tinted lips, with perfect timing.

  An elderly matron, riding in the back of another landau, smiled approvingly at them. Randall’s chest swelled. Yes, Prudence would make him a first-rate viscountess. His aunt had made an excellent recommendation for a wife.

  He could do this. Yes, he could.

  “Oh, Lord Blair. Look.” She pointed toward the crowded park, where dozens of strolling and riding London denizens enjoyed the waning rays of sunshine. “My brother, David.” She turned and looked at him with a radiance he’d never seen in her always perfectly contained features. She was so beautiful at that moment, he almost thought he could love this one woman. Almost.

  “He is my favorite sibling but has been away oh so long.” She half stood and waved at a dark young man dressed in a naval officer’s uniform and riding a smart-looking dappled gray. The young man reined in to trot toward them. Firm, fine thighs controlled the spirited horse while posting. Magnificent.

  Randall swallowed his lust. It would not do to admire men any longer. He was to marry soon. He would simply have to change his tastes.

  Prudence gave a little squeal. She actually squealed with excitement as her brother stopped his horse and reached over to take her hand to his lips.

  He almost laughed at her unexpected giddiness, but then the brother raised his head and pinned him with a glare and… Bloody hell. No!

  Perfect features, so like his sister’s—raven hair, flashing gunmetal-black eyes with lashes too long to believe, angry winged brows, and the only evidence this man was human and not some fallen angel was a slight spattering of freckles across the skin of his straight, flawless nose. Skin he remembered tasting. Warm and salty.

  All the blood fled from his face for lower regions.

  Slight musk that grew stronger the closer his lips had come to… Oh God! Bloody hell. I had Prudence’s brother.

  Bloody damn hell. I had my cock up Prudence’s brother’s arse.

  More than once!

  Hands shaking, sweat beading between shoulder blades and running down his back, his vision of smooth, young, naked skin turned away from an ideal week five years ago and back to harsh reality…to judgmental eyes, the exact shape as Prudence’s. He should have known. No wonder he thought she was beautiful—she looked so much like her brother. A brother he at one time had been half in love with.

  He closed his eyes, unable to bear the condemnation from a face he remembered in the throes of passion—mouth open, sighs and moans issuing from perfect lips. And between the times of passion, a wicked wit.

  He should have known.

  He was doomed.

  He could not force air into burning, constricted lungs.

  His surroundings dimmed.

  The phaeton surged forward. Prudence screamed.

  Just as quickly, the bay horses stopped, tossing their heads and snorting. David had one lead.

  “Release the reins, Lord Blair.” Snapped out like an enemy flag on an angry wind. “Let…the reins…drop!”

  Randall pried his numb fingers away from the tortured leather and felt his future plans die with each extracted digit. He took shallow breaths, trying to feed air-starved lungs. What would David do? What did he want? He knew everything, for God’s sake.

  He had fucked the man.

  Groaning, a torturous sound, he raked his hands over his face. The abrasive pull did not help his composure. This cannot be happening.

  “My lord, are you unwell?”

  He nodded at her concern, thought better of it, then shook his head instead.

  David smoothly tied off the reins and set the brake before Randall had his breathing under control. “A word with you, sir. You placed my sister’s life in danger, and I intend to give you a bit of my mind.”

  “Oh, David, no. Lord Blair is very competent and has never before put me in danger, and I am sure…”

  Snapping ebony eyes stilled her attempt at rescue. Randall was doomed, his future in ruins. He scrubbed his face again, resetting his features, hoping to calm chaotic emotions as well. “He is quite right, my lady. We will be but a moment, I’m sure. And a gentle set-down will likely do my humility good.”

  “Oh, David, don’t.”

  David raised a hand, and it carried as much command as Ol’ George himself.

  Randall slid from the seat and followed two broad and very stiff shoulders. Shoulders he had last seen leaving his bed for an appointment with some solicitor or other. Shoulders on the man who had not, as promised, returned.

  They reached a secluded spot under a large, stately oak and were only thirty feet or so from the phaeton, but there was one thing he had to know and it could wait no longer. “David. You disappeared. I tried to find you. I feared—”

  David spun on his heels, flinging words along with spittle. “What are your intentions for my sister?”

  So much for sentimentality. He straightened his back and stood to his full, intimidating height, which was approximately four inches taller than his accuser. “I have asked her to be my wife, and she accepted. The family is excited, and the banns have been sent, if not yet read. The family is quite thrilled with this match, it would seem.”

  David grabbed Randall’s cravat and tightened his grip, making further comment impossible.

  “You will not marry my sister, you bloody sodomite.”

  He wiped moisture from his face and then applied a warning pressure to the long, elegant fingers cutting off his breath. The constricted cloth eased. “And who is calling me a bloody sodomite, Midshipman David…Smith, was it?”

  David let go and shook his head. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed about using a fake name five years ago, but his expression was no less murderous. “There is a difference in that I am not trying to force my unnatural proclivities on an unsuspecting lady. I will not let you ruin her life.”

  “Ruin? She will be a viscountess. She and I get along smashingly. How will that—”

  “And do you plan to fuck every young military man on leave? Break her heart? Give her nothing of yourself? Pass on some disease?”

  Randall turned away from the accusation that hit a little too close to home. But the new perspective was just as disconcerting—instead of an irate protective brother, there was lovely Prudence leaning half off her perch, taking in everything. Fortunately, they were too far away for her to hear. He turned back to the irate brother.

  “I will not let you destroy her with your unnatural appetites.”

  “And what will you do to stop me? Call me out? Under what pretense, pray tell? That I’m queer? And what evidence will you use?” He chanced much when he leaned in and ran a finger down David’s smooth, freshly shaven cheek. “That you know firsthand since you enjoyed my cock in this pretty little mouth…” He ran his finger to David’s full wide lips. “And in your—”

  David flung off the offending caress. “You son of a… I will not let you do this. There is no way you can make her happy.”

  “She seems quite happy to have me as husband. Likes my fair hair, she says. Says we will make pretty babies. And maybe, with a little convincing, you and I could—” He knew he’d pushed too far. He expected the punch. However, he prepared for a facer. One short punch to the gut, a lightning bolt to his jaw, and the conversation was over.

  The world spun for a few seconds.

  “David!” Prudence yelled.

  “Leave my sister alone. Tell everyone you made a mistake. That the two of you will not suit. I will co
nsole the family.”

  Randall shook his head. Damn. David had grown into a fine, strong, sneaky bastard in the past five years. Pain throbbed in his ears as he rubbed his jaw. No blood, nothing broken. And fortunately, his stomach only received a glancing blow.

  The swish of silk stopped Randall’s retort.

  “Oh, my dear, sweet Lord Blair.” Featherlight touches assessed his wholeness. Then she glared at her brother. “David, what are you about? This is my betrothed. He did nothing untoward and does not deserve this treatment.”

  Randall grinned over Prudence’s shoulder, knowing he had just gained martyr status.

  David turned a sickly color of purple, then grabbed Prudence’s arm and dragged her, protesting all the way, to the phaeton and the gray tethered behind.

  He let them go; it was almost worth having to walk back home, watching Prudence attempt to scramble out of the vehicle, and David repeatedly pulling her back in as he drove away.

  Almost worth walking. He stopped to pry a stone out of his soft leather sole. Unfortunately, strolling would give him too much time to think, and his current disposition was more suited to February’s perpetual haze than today’s perfect sunny weather.

  Yes, the walk would take too long, too long indeed. His thoughts turned to the flashing black eyes of the man who had lied, loved, and then disappeared.

  Chapter Two

  “Stop hauling on me as though I were a sack of onions.” Prudence yanked, but David refused to let go of her arm.

  They entered the wide foyer of Berk House with her squirming in his grasp.

  The butler, stiff and proper, eyed them as if they were flotsam.

  Prudence, never one to accept defeat demurely, commanded, “Bentley, send Lord Blair’s carriage back to Hyde Park and rescue the poor man. He should be somewhere around Rotten Row. And do send bandages; he is probably bleeding to death.”

  “Belay that order, Bentley. There is no need.” He glared at Pru.

  “How can you be so heartless? How will he get home?”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. He is in the middle of a swarm of ton; he probably obtained a ride before we were out of his sight.” David hoped so at any rate. Fighting back a sliver of regret, he headed for the parlor, tugging Prudence to the curved oak staircase.

  Giving a sudden jerk, she freed her arm. She windmilled back a step, and he reached to steady her before she fell, but she evaded his touch and righted herself. She had always been an athletic and graceful girl. “Don’t touch me.” She narrowed her eyes. “What has the navy done to you? Before you left, you were never barbaric.”

  He turned toward the wall, unable to face her question, but also unable to avoid it. What had the navy done to him? Three months ago, he would have said the military had made him into a man. Now, after they killed Adam… Poor naive, stupid, cheating Midshipman Adam Spencer. A midshipman of six years’ standing and bitter.

  Barely escaping the noose himself, by lying about not having relations with Spencer, he didn’t really know what he was anymore. But today, he knew he had acted like a hypocritical monster.

  “And what if you maimed him? Perhaps he is unconscious on the path you deserted him on. Bentley, send the carriage to look for Lord Blair.”

  Bentley looked to David for direction.

  He nodded assent, and the butler left to set the rescue in motion. God, what if he had hurt Randall? What if he was bleeding to death? No, that was impossible. He only…only hit the man out of what? Anger? Or was it jealousy?

  All he knew was when he saw those lips sneering at him—Randall flaunting his engagement to Prudence—he’d snapped. At the time, he’d wanted nothing more than to wipe that satisfied smirk off those beautiful lips. The lips that had once, for a blissful week, been his and only his.

  The best week of his life.

  “Good, I’m glad you have come to your senses. Now, what the…” She looked around, then whispered, “…hell, was that display of manly posturing about in the park?”

  He reached for her arm, but she sidestepped and glared at him.

  The servants had seen enough for one day, and he would not finish this conversation until they were behind closed doors. “Please, let us discuss this in the parlor.” He led the way to the second floor; she followed with a show of reluctance. Not like before. Before, she had always followed him like a shadow. Today had damaged their relationship. He prayed the harm was not irreparable.

  Once in the bright and sunny room, he paced and fidgeted, not sure exactly what to say. In the two days since receiving the letter, he should have decided on a course of action, but his thoughts had been…were still muddled.

  Arms crossed, his sister eyed him. “What do you have against Lord Blair?”

  “You will not marry him, Prudence.” He picked a desiccated leaf from a potted fern and crumpled it in his fist. If only it would be as easy to get rid of Randall’s pursuit. “It is out of the question.”

  “Well, considering you have no say in the matter, and considering I already agreed to his proposal—”

  He turned on her, but she waved away his retort before it was fully formed. “And considering mother has given her blessing, and father has given his consent, then there really is nothing you can say, or do, that is likely to change the fact Lord Blair and I will wed in February.” The edges of her lips turned up in a feral, satisfied smirk.

  She had changed. She had grown up and had a mind of her own.

  Damn. This was not going to be easy. He chose his words carefully. “You cannot marry him. He will make you miserable. Trust me and bow out gracefully.”

  She looked at him, head tilted, toe tapping on one of the room’s ornate carpets, and waited. “He is wealthy, a viscount, somewhat handsome, and polite. What more could a woman ask for?”

  Somewhat handsome! The girl was blind as well as stubborn. Grasping for any argument, he said, “He is an imposter.”

  “What?” She gasped and hurried over to him, studying his eyes. “He is not the Viscount of Torring? How is that possible? Surely it is not possible.”

  If only he could let her believe that. He sighed. “He is the viscount, but he is still an imposter. I forbid this union to take place.”

  She laughed. She actually laughed. No man under his command would have dared, but she, his younger sister by two years, laughed at his counsel.

  “You forbid me but will not tell me why? Come now. Don’t be obtuse. We used to talk plainly with each other. What do you have against my betrothed? If there is truly something horrible about the man, although it is hard to believe from such an amiable suitor, then I should know. I would rather not be shackled with an ogre. Even though the ogre is a viscount.” She winked at him.

  The saucy wench.

  She had been given too much independence over the years, and since their parents had let her choose her own alliance, she had waited until she was five and twenty. Unheard of in her circles, but her parents had spent all their energy on their first five children and never had much time left for the two stragglers—him and Prudence.

  “He…well, he…um, well, he is a rogue.” God, he really was a hypocrite. When all Randall had done differently than himself was to propose to his beloved sister. What had the navy done to him? Turned me into a beast.

  “A rogue. You mean a rogue just like every other young lord of the realm, or do you mean a rogue like every young lord of the realm?” Her eyes twinkled, but she could not know how miserable she would be if she married Randall. A man who loved men.

  The image of long, straight blond hair, teasing green eyes, kiss-reddened lips smiling over his needy cock, rekindled his anger. Anger driven by the knowledge he wanted that face, that expression, for himself, only for himself. The remembered glimpses had kept him satisfied—mostly satisfied—through endless, lonely years in the navy.

  The face he had dreamed of almost nightly. The man should not, could not, be his sister’s husband. He closed his eyes and tried to wash away the memory of
a connection he at one time thought meant something, thought it might last, at least for a while. Ironically, he was the one who ended the affair. Ended his only chance at happiness because of fear.

  What did he expect? That Randall would pine for him forever?

  No.

  But, he also didn’t expect his one-time lover would propose to his precious sister. Noticing her mutinous expression, he changed that thought: his previously precious sister. He swallowed back the bile surging in his throat. “He is worse than most, take my word on this.”

  “Your word? Why? How do you know? He seems perfectly wonderful to me. In fact, he has not even tried to steal a kiss. He has done no more than squeeze my hand a time or two. The perfect gentleman. No running off into the bushes.”

  He huffed, but she only gave him a knowing smile. “I am five and twenty, David.”

  Yes, well, there was a very good reason why Randall never forced kisses on her in the bushes: he was the type to chase footmen around garden fountains, not young maidens. “Prudence, he is a rogue, and you will not marry him.”

  “I have every intention of doing just that unless you give me a very sound reason why I should not. Tell me what he has done to raise your ire, and I might agree with you. I really have no intention of marrying someone who will make me miserable.”

  “You are going to be quite difficult about this, aren’t you?”

  She just glared.

  He drummed his fingers against the marble mantelpiece. If she would not listen to reason, there was no other recourse but to convince Randall himself to quit his suit.

  Chapter Three

  David directed his mount to Piccadilly after confirming Randall still lived in the same Soho townhouse. The pleasure of being on horseback did not, however, clear his mind of his problems.

  Pru was a headstrong, irritating sister, but there was no use going to his father to stop this damn wedding. Father never listened to him; not to his youngest son, the sissy.

  He swallowed down years of resentment at being the inferior son.