Forced into the navy so he could become a man, and to be honest, aside from almost getting him executed, it had done just that.
Still, he had been horrendous this afternoon. Punching a man without just provocation. So very unfair.
Blocks slipped by, and memories of this neighborhood assaulted him. Happy jaunts to dinner or a ride in the park, even happier trips back to Randall’s home, his bedroom, and passionate rides in Randall’s bed.
Perhaps this was a bad idea. He reined his horse to a stop and closed his eyes; flashes of sinfully perfect, naked flesh did not help him clear his head.
Nothing to it. He had to continue. If he were honest, he would continue for two reasons: stop the wedding, and kill the niggling worry Randall was lying in the park unconscious.
He nudged his mount into a trot. Time to get this over with so Pru could get on with her life and he could look into the shipping business he wanted to start. The earl would likely go into apoplexy. But he would not go back to the navy, so some occupation was required. Sailing was his training if not quite his passion. The endeavor could prove very lucrative and set him up well, for a sixth son.
The white marble home looked the same. A footman rushed out to take his mount. Too late to turn back now.
“Welcome back, Midshipman Smith.”
The butler remembered him and his stupid fake name. Bloody hell.
And he remembered every nuance of the townhouse himself. He was swamped by memories. Bloody damn hell.
Every filigree, the distinctive swirls in the marble. The exact shade of brown paint on the molding. Everything was burned into his memory like Randall himself—burned into every fiber of his being.
That week left a very vivid impression. But he already knew that. He’d relived every detail a thousand times over the past five years.
He was shown into the study, the room where he lost his virginity. Fire laced up his ass to his heart, and he almost turned and fled. Clenching his fists, he continued into the burgundy-and-gilt room.
The viscount had indeed made it home and was not, as he’d ridiculously feared, lying dead or maimed in Hyde Park. No indeed. Instead, he lounged in a large leather chair. Long, muscular legs stretched out so the wool breeches pulled and bunched, hinting at pure powerful male. He held a whiskey glass against his cheek, and a slow, lazy smile played across that sinfully wide mouth, showing strong straight teeth.
David’s own mouth went dry. The man was resplendent. And he still wanted him. How was that possible? For the love of God, he was promised to his sister. Hell!
“Thank you for returning my phaeton. I am rather fond of those particular bays,” he said in a sweetly sarcastic tone.
David focused on the framed portrait of Randall’s parents above the fireplace. The painting showed two people in the full flush of youthful love. The man was big and flame-haired, the lady tall, willowy, with fair hair like her son. Only her coiffure was impeccable, whereas her son’s hair always looked tousled, as if he’d just been riding, or sailing, or fucking. That thought sent his attention rushing back to the portrait. The painted parents seemed to stare at David. Heat crept up his neck. From embarrassment at accosting their son, or from embarrassment at still wanting him? Didn’t matter, he was here to save Pru. “I talked with my sister.”
Randall stiffened.
“And she is determined to marry you.”
“What did you tell her?”
He sneered. “Nothing which would get either of us hanged, of that you can rest assured.”
That big-boned frame sank into the chair, once again sprawled negligently.
“I want you to cancel the wedding.”
“I cannot do that. The papers have been signed. We are as good as married already.”
He ground his teeth against the anger causing his whole body to shake.
“If you’d only arrived a day earlier…” Randall shrugged.
“Damn you, what are you, anyway? Are you a lover of men, or do you desire women and I had simply been an itch?”
Randall studied his feet. “A very satisfying itch.”
“Your glib tongue, sir, will not get you out of answering.”
Randall stared at him, the sea-green gaze sending a sizzle deep in his gut.
“Do you love my sister, do you crave women?”
Looking away, Randall removed the glass from his cheek.
David winced at the bruise forming on the side of the man’s face. But he would not let that deter him. “Did our time together mean anything to you?” Why did he ask? It was not what he came here to discover.
That slow, thoughtful smile again. Damn, it warmed him all the way through.
“Why are you doing this? Why marry her? Why?”
“Because I want a family. An heir. Someone to come home to every evening. I want to be cared for. I want solace in my old age. Not too much to ask for, is it?” The negligent shrug was slow, as slow as his comment had been spoken, as if they were talking about lazing in a sunny field with no concerns, no worries.
The effect was like a drug on David’s senses. Every fiber of his being wanted to be there in the field, lying next to this man. He shook the longing away. “It is, if the cost is my sister’s happiness. Do you plan to be faithful to her, or will you have a string of lovers? Male, female, both?”
“Come now, you ask too much. You know there is no fidelity in the ton.” But his eyes crinkled. He was teasing. How dare he?
David walked over and leaned down to Randall’s eye level. Ice slipped off his words. “Are you a lover of men, or will you be able to make Pru happy?”
Randall looked at him, nostrils flared, breaths rapid, shallow. He reached, paused, and fisted his hand before lowering it back to the chair arm.
“Did our time together mean anything to you?” Well, bloody hell. It keeps coming back to that. He closed his eyes, choking on memories, regrets.
A caress on his cheek snapped him back to the study. Randall’s gaze followed the warm touch down his cheek, his neck.
“At one time, those one hundred fifty and one half hours meant more to me than anything else in the world.”
His attention clamped on to a sad grin. Such an expressive mouth. A very skilled and expressive mouth.
“Why did you leave me?” One finger slid over his bottom lip.
The silky glide sent heat across every nerve. He was in peril of falling for that touch all over again. To once more crave it more than air. Needing distance, he pushed back. “I had to.” He left unsaid that it had been the hardest thing he had ever done. It had devastated his spirit for years.
“And why was that, Midshipman Smith?” The fake name David had given years ago was expelled on a snarl.
The name that had once been uttered with such loving gentleness. The name he had secretly wanted to be real as he let it play over his memory on many lonely nights. To hold affection, and tenderness, even for a brief time.
“You left without telling me you had no intention of returning, with no idea how to contact you.” Randall laughed, rose from his chair, then placed his glass very quietly and very precisely on the corner of his desk. He paced, slowly, deliberately, to the window. “Without even giving me the courtesy of your true name.”
David swallowed a lump of regret and guilt. He’d left because every blissful day in Randall’s warm arms sent him one more day closer to the hangman’s noose. During that handful of idyllic hours, he had woken from nightmares, sweating, panting. The fault lay at his brothers’ feet, but he was still unable to control his fear. Even now, his hand went of its own accord to rub the phantom rope burn from his neck.
He closed his eyes and was once again transported to that youthful hell where five older brothers, who had listened to their father’s thoughts on weak, effeminate younger sons, had decided to teach their girly little brother a lesson. He’d only been ten, for God’s sake, but they decided to show him what happened to boys who liked pink silk and kittens. And who liked other things…
&nbs
p; But they had miscalculated the length of the rope, and what was meant as a youthful warning had very nearly hanged him to death. He rubbed his neck, feeling the bite of the cord, feeling the collapsed trachea, feeling starving lungs. It had taken them endless moments and bursts of laughter before they realized he was dying. All the life squeezed out of him by rough jute that should have been two inches longer.
He took a deep breath, just because he could, and opened his eyes. Back in Randall’s study. Not much of an improvement, but at least he could breathe again.
Warm breath tickled the skin behind his ear. “Why did you leave me?”
He was getting a cockstand. Of all the bloody… But the stiffness would not go away despite his self-loathing.
“I… I…” He swallowed. “Could not stay. I wanted to but…” The image of Adam swinging from the yardarm was a reminder of what could have happened to him had he continued to risk fate. “It was not possible.” He waved a hand. A weak, worthless gesture. “The military and all that is involved.”
“Hmm.”
Just that one sound, not even a word, carried more condemnation than a room full of inquisitors. He turned and faced his jury. “Are you doing this for revenge?”
“No, I truly had no idea you were related to this family. Remember, you lied about both your name and status. You played a commoner very well.”
David flushed at the suggestive drawl. Yes, he had played a base commoner with Randall. Taking it any way and every way the large man wanted. And it had been beautiful. The only time in his life he had truly, freely experienced physical bliss—well hell, if he were truthful, his emotions had become tangled up in the affair as well. Leaving, knowing it would be the end, had almost killed him.
“If you had come back… If you had stayed, perhaps I would have been content to never wed.”
That was low. Putting blame on him for this debacle. So he fought back with a bitter laugh. “I couldn’t stay. You flaunt your perverse sexuality like a new shoe. You are dangerous to associate with.”
“I do not.”
David quirked a brow.
“I am simply comfortable with who I am, unlike you. You should have stayed.”
Another attack; why then could he not look away from those searching green eyes? Good God. Those eyes still had the ability to hypnotize him.
“If I meant so much to you…” He swallowed. God, his tongue had its own agenda. “What I meant to say is, if you do not desire women, how do you plan to keep a wife happy and her belly full of your heirs? If your prick only dances for other men, how do you plan to do your duty?”
“Boy! You have certainly turned into a smart-mouthed little bastard, haven’t you?” Putting his hand on David’s shoulder, he grinned. Grinned! “Actually, I had planned to think of your perfect body when doing my duty.”
“Good God!” The imagery of that statement… He almost vomited.
Chapter Four
Randall was not in best form this afternoon. Having spent most of the night wrestling over David’s condemnations—with lots of shifting sides and punching pillows, his thoughts always turning back five years to David’s hot flesh and ready cock—he was exhausted physically and mentally. Together, the ruminations caused a restless, sleepless night. Still awake at daybreak, he’d given up on the idea of getting any rest, and masked his stupor with two steaming pots of oversweetened pekoe.
Unfortunately, he had promised to attend Lady Prudence’s tea. There was no polite way to refuse, especially after yesterday’s scene in the park.
He dismounted, stroking his horse’s neck, and waited for a woman in a maid’s uniform, pushing a perambulator, to pass by, then readied himself for what would be, at least, a challenging afternoon. At worst…? He adjusted his clothing, hair, and expression, so on the outside he would appear a composed gentleman. No one but himself need know the confused turmoil roiling around inside him like cabbage blasted from a cannon.
Now there was an image.
If he hadn’t been so damnably miserable, he might have laughed at his overly maudlin thoughts. He didn’t laugh. He still hadn’t decided what he would do. How could he continue with this farce now that he knew Lady Prudence was David’s sister? But how could he end it? So much depended on him. Her family, his family, the viscountcy.
He pressed his palm against his roiling guts. Damn. How had he managed to muck things up so thoroughly?
Taking a deep breath, he plastered on a smile and knocked on the green door. It matched the season, his attire, and the queasy feeling in his stomach.
He had not expected the day to turn incrementally worse with each passing second. But when he was shown into the drawing room, there was his meddling cousin, Elizabeth, taking tea. Lovely. Just bloody lovely.
Lady Prudence jumped up. “Oh, Lord Blair. Do come. See who is visiting, your cousin—” She gently touched his abused cheek. “Oh, you poor, poor dear.”
He flinched out of reflex, not real pain. But the reaction seemed to enhance his newly acquired status as martyr. He could probably ask her for anything right about now, and she would happily give it. Too bad her brother wasn’t as easy to sway.
“Not to worry, I shall mend with no harm to this handsome mug you agreed to marry.” He gave her a wink, and she stopped fussing over his bruises.
“Well, look, my favorite cousin. Hello, Elizabeth. Why have you forayed all the way out to Chelsea?” He worried the icicles dripping off every word would not be enough to rein in his unmanageable cousin.
She gave him a courtly nod, completely ignoring the hint to stop interfering.
“Randall. I came to meet and express felicitations to your betrothed.”
Was her tone openly condemning, or was the lack of sleep eating at his sanity?
They talked of nothing important, drank overly sweet tea, and ate overly bland cakes that stuck to his teeth and lodged in his throat. They talked about the lovely weather, the shortage of good servants…
Good Lord, he hated social calls.
Randall had finished off the last bite of a poppy seed something-or-other when Lady Prudence lost all her color, jumped up, and exclaimed, “No! No, you must not interfere!” She rushed around the tea table. “David, you may not cause trouble again.” She stomped one petite foot.
It was rather endearing how she tried to protect him.
“Now, do not cause trouble. I will not allow it.”
“Actually, I came to apologize to his lordship.”
Well, that was a surprise. He hadn’t apologized yesterday after the incident, or later, when he had stirred Randall’s blood while making demands in the study. The study where they had at one time, years ago, thoroughly christened the carpet and desk. The temperature in the room seemed to rise five degrees, remembering what they’d done on the settee.
So, why was David apologizing now? Was this a ploy to throw his sister off mark, make her think he was resigned to the nuptials? He regarded David with narrowed eyes. No, the handsome officer was not that devious. He came straight at you with open aggression, not coyness. He was sword, not poison.
What was afoot?
“I apologize for smacking you yesterday, your lordship.” He fidgeted with his waistcoat buttons.
Prudence looked back and forth between them, wringing a handkerchief.
Smacking? It had been more of a wallop, but he wanted to see where this was leading, so… “I accept your apology. Water under the bridge and all that.” He motioned at the porcelain tea service. “Refreshments?”
“No. No, um…actually, I wished to speak with you.” He regarded the ladies with a nod. “When you’ve finished. Take a ride with me?”
He smiled, couldn’t help but. He and David out alone. What a thought. He nodded his acceptance.
“A word with you, Randall?” Elizabeth’s expression was much too smug. She was enjoying this awkwardness he’d gotten himself into. The hussy.
She bade her good-byes while he and David stared at one another, neithe
r one breaking eye contact. Was it a challenge, or did David share the surge of steam and tenderness wrapped with tension?
He escorted Elizabeth to her simple but elegant carriage. The brawny driver shifted in his seat and scowled at him. More than a driver, Randall realized. Elizabeth’s husband had hired her a rough. A bodyguard. Probably wise, considering the man’s illicit dealings and association with the unsavory class. And her propensity for getting into trouble.
“Have you gotten yourself into another bit of mischief, Liz?”
“Pardon?”
He waved at the driver.
“Oh no. Nothing of import, but Vincent thinks it prudent.” She nodded at the rough.
Rather unlike Vincent to overreact, so his cousin probably was meddling in something she shouldn’t. He was going to push the topic when she cut into his thoughts.
“What exactly is going on here, Randall?”
He opened the door for her. “I need to talk to you. But not here. I will come round this evening. Seems I’ve put myself in a pickle, and you can always help me see things clearly.”
“I will be home.” She brushed her gloved hand gently under his bruise. “Randall, I like her. Did you notice she does not follow the dictates of fashion? Very sensible woman.”
He nodded. How could one not notice and appreciate the absence of all that ridiculous puff and powder?
“Before, I was only concerned about you making your life miserable with this ridiculous farce of a wedding, but now… You have to stop this insanity for both your sake and hers.”
He kissed her cheek. “Tonight.” And then added, “Do be careful.”
She snorted.
The sleek black equipage clattered off on the cobbled street before he went back into the townhouse. He retraced his steps to the drawing room, footfalls silent on the plush carpet. Reaching for the partially open door, he heard Prudence hiss in a low voice, “You are not going to start trouble again today, are you?”
“No, I promise to be a perfect gentleman.”
“Don’t ruin this for me. Your odd behavior might make him decide my family has insanity running through it, and he will call the whole thing off. And he may be my last chance to marry well with Mother and Father’s approval. I’m not getting any younger. What do you have against him, anyway?”
His Second Chance Page 3