His Second Chance

by Stephanie Lake

  “I find it very disconcerting, Randall, that every time you and my wife are alone together, you manage to get your hands all over her.”

  She gave Randall a wink and snuggled closer.

  Vincent curled his lip.

  “I suppose she cannot resist my manly charms.”

  A growl suggested the flippant remark was not well received.

  “Vincent, do behave.”

  Deciding the silence and stillness was a warning, Randall let Elizabeth go, and Vincent immediately drew his wife to his brawny chest.

  She tsked as her husband put his hands on her shoulders, but placed her hand on one of his as if she could not resist touching him, showing her love. He ran his fingers along her collarbone, and even Randall shivered at the raw sensuality expressed by those strong swarthy hands. The message was loud and unmistakably clear: my possession.

  He hoped Liz had not mentioned the kiss she’d given him months ago. Otherwise he might get to feel those strong hands on his shoulders too. Right before they strangled the life from his useless self.

  “Actually, you can help us, my dear. Randall needs a way out of his betrothal without hurting the girl.”

  Raising one inky brow, Vincent asked, “So you’re not going to marry her?”

  He shook his head.

  “Good; you would make a dreadful husband.”

  “So everyone is fond of telling me.” He sighed and rose to leave.

  Liz reached for him, but Vincent held her firm.

  “If either of you think of something useful and less cynical, please let me be the first to hear.” He turned to leave and then remembered to ask over his shoulder, “I noticed her guard. So what hazards is she involved with now, Vincent?”

  Liz sputtered and claimed she had done nothing, but her husband talked over her head. “She’s developed an improved gunpowder. The research has made quite a stir of late; the guard is to keep her from falling into the wrong hands. Never know what kind of international incident she could start if King Louis decides he wants the formula. Just trying to maintain world peace.”

  “Well, I am grateful, and I’m sure the rest of England would be too if they knew the danger this one was capable of stirring.”

  Liz huffed, but Vincent laughed heartily, although the sound could have been mistaken for giants chewing boulders.

  He left the cheery townhouse for a gloomy, lonely evening.

  Chapter Seven

  Lack of sleep and the late hour set David to drowsing in the humid confines of the hired hack. His head nodded forward several times, but he caught himself each time before slipping off the cracked leather seat. Finally giving up, he reclined back into the corner. He had a good twenty minutes before arriving and answering Randall’s summons. Might as well catch a few winks.

  * * * *

  David enjoyed the sound of First Lieutenant Michelson’s laughter. It was a free sound that came from the portly man’s round belly. He was an attractive enough man, if a bit thick around the middle. They had both indulged in a bit too much ale with their lunch, but this was the last day of their two-day and much-too-short shore leave in the Azores. So he let himself enjoy the low thrum of alcohol-induced giddiness as they walked back to the Porcupine.

  Michelson wiped sweat from his face and stumbled as he stepped onto the wharf.

  David laughed at him. Not very seamanlike, but at the moment, he was too inebriated to care. Laughing felt good. So he threw his head back and guffawed as sweat soaked his uniform. He chuckled, until he noticed the motion off the yardarm.

  Two bodies hanged from the sunbaked wood. His heart stopped for a few seconds. He stumbled, then caught himself on a crate and blinked. Then blinked again. The bodies were still there, swinging in the ocean breeze. His mouth went dry. He’d heard nothing about any officers being caught, tried, and found guilty. No, their offence must have been so egregious that the punishment was carried out without trial. Some poor sodomites, then. Some sodomites who had been careless.

  Michelson laughed again and clamped him on the back. “Careful there, man; don’t want you falling in and drowning. What are you looking at?” The man looked up. “Well, damn. Damn, damn, damn. Who are they, I wonder?”

  David shook his head, dread filling his limbs, making them numb. He kept his steps unhurried; how, he didn’t know. Especially when he got close enough to see the vibrant red hair glistening in the sun. Adam. No. It couldn’t be. Adam had always been a bit rash, but David was his voice of reason; they’d not been together for months, the circumstances making it unsafe.

  But after he stumbled off the gangplank and his feet stopped below the corpses, he could no longer deny the man hanging there was his lover. “No!”

  Michelson put a hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, man. I know he was your friend. Did you know about his predilections?”

  David shook his head, not in denial of the question, but in denial of the senseless murder.

  The sultry breeze slowly rotated the body. Adam’s handsome face turned toward him; his eyes, plucked out by birds, stared at him with black emptiness. Condemning him.

  “No!” His entire body fought the image. He fell, hands and knees hitting the polished planking. With painful heaves, he lost everything in his stomach. Fingers clawed, splintering wood, drawing blood, but his stomach would not stop heaving.

  * * * *

  David jerked awake. Sweat ran down his back. God! He abhorred this dream, this gruesome remembrance. It woke him several times a week and never failed to make him somewhat ill. He rubbed his middle, hoping to ward off the nausea.

  Poor Adam, poor goddamn, naive, careless, cheating bastard Adam. He took deep gulps of air, the anger and sadness eating at his composure.

  He leaned his head against the hackney’s hard interior. Damn. It was the day after the hanging when David was told Adam had been caught buggering another sailor. Caught bare-assed.

  David had been sick down to his soul thinking it had been his fault, that Adam surely made a one-time mistake because of his hesitancy.

  Being such a goddamn coward, he’d denied his lover’s advances for months, waiting until it was absolutely safe. And even then, always jumping and starting at every noise. No wonder Adam succumbed to another man’s offer.

  It hurt, hurt like hell that Adam had cheated, hurt worse that he had cheated and got himself hanged. All because David had not been available often enough to keep the young man’s desires sated.

  But then, several days later, while wallowing in self-castigation, he’d learned Adam had not been exclusive with his affections; he’d shared them often and with many. The bastard had called out every name of anyone he’d ever touched, pleading for leniency, trying not to get hanged.

  Poor bastard.

  Almost got all his other fuck friends hanged too, including David.

  Goddamn. The redheaded boy had broken David’s heart for the second time.

  So when the inquisition started, David had only slight remorse at denying his involvement with the man. Only slight?

  It had almost killed him.

  But he’d done it nonetheless.

  Survival was long ingrained in him. He would deny the king himself if it kept him from the noose. What a damn coward.

  He pulled his cravat away from his constricted throat.

  Coward.

  The moon was bright tonight. Bright enough to cast twisted shadows from old trees lining the drive onto the hack’s window. He recognized the neighborhood; he was getting close. He looked at his abused pocket watch. Eight. Placing the thing to his ear didn’t help. The hack made too much noise to detect any ticking, if there was any. After a good shaking, the mechanisms started up again in a soft wobbling spin of the second hand around the face. He sighed and shook the watch again for good measure. He knew it was a little past midnight. Too late for a social call.

  But Randall’s demand had not mentioned a time.

  At a musical most of the evening, David received the note late. Since
it was his mandated two-day deadline, he went immediately to hear the decision, fully expecting to be turned away until a decent hour.

  If received, it would be the first time seeing Randall since the incident in the cottage. He had lost many hours of sleep since then, and lost concentration. Hell, he couldn’t remember anything of import he’d done the past few days. All he could think about were those few moments just a little way outside London. He flung himself out of the slowing hack, needing to move. To do…something.

  He did the right thing, screwing Randall to save Pru. He did. He was sure of it.

  Adjusting perfectly righted clothing for the fourth time, he turned away from the hack and the gawking driver, and finally faced the pale-yellow-brick townhouse.

  A deep breath helped fortify his conviction. He had done the right thing. But at night, alone in bed, he struggled with whether or not that was the only reason for the seduction.

  He was not only welcomed, but ushered into a cozy study; a fire blazed, and there was a round table close by the welcoming warmth of the flames. A silver salver and a bottle of wine sparkled in the minimal light.

  “Oh, good. I had hoped you would come as soon as you got my message.” Randall, dressed only in breeches and a half-buttoned linen shirt, came into the room with the casual energy of a deer in rut.

  Seeing those strong bare feet and muscular calves did odd things to David’s middle. He swallowed, not certain he could handle this situation with aplomb. Not certain at all.

  “Please sit.” Randall indicated a chair by the table. “I hope you haven’t eaten; I took the liberty of having Cook prepare a late supper. Must admit I’m famished.”

  He sat. After all, there was no reason to be rude. He realized his tactical mistake when Randall sat in the other straight-backed chair and the light from the room’s single candle danced in laughing green eyes. Leaning back, he relieved some of the pressure on his misguided cock.

  The food smelled heavenly, and even though he had eaten only two hours prior, his stomach rumbled with appreciation. Roasted pheasant with herbed potatoes and mushy peas. Randall remembered this was his favorite? He took a bite. The bird dissolved on his tongue.

  “You like it?”

  The nearness of that muscular body in shirtsleeves had his mouth watering more than the superb meal. Damn, this was a seduction. What was Randall up to?

  Revenge?

  He jumped up and slammed both palms on the polished wood surface. The cutlery clanked against china. “What are you about? Why seduce me?”

  That slow one-sided smile threatened his sanity. “Because I want you.”

  “Well, you cannot have me.”

  Randall ran his hand through already tousled hair. “I am not, apparently, handling this very well.” He sighed. “I invited you here tonight to…let you know I’m withdrawing my proposal.”

  “You are?” He half fell into his seat, relief making his legs weak.

  “Yes.”

  He took another bite of fowl. “Well, in that case.” He couldn’t help the ridiculously silly grin slipping into place. And he was not at all sure why he was grinning.

  “So, does this mean you’re seducible?” A smooth, oiled statement, almost lickable.

  Lips trembling, he choked down a laugh. “I’m not entirely certain.”

  “I’m not a strong man, David. In fact, I am very weak. And calling off this wedding will be difficult. I need support.”

  A soft caress on the back of his hand. It felt good. Damn good.

  “I will need encouragement.” Flashing eyes lit with merriment. “I will need…distraction. Or I may be too weak to ward off the objections from your family.”

  “You are blackmailing me.” The situation was no longer amusing.

  “I am trying to garner support.”

  The caress moved to the underside of his wrist, and a shiver coursed through his body like the shudder of a ship running aground.

  “I do not like being alone, David. You can help me. You can also help me derive an easy way to break off the engagement so Prudence is not terribly hurt.”

  Yes. That was important. Perhaps he should help, but did he really need to sleep with this man? Tingles laced up his arm from the continued caresses. He closed his eyes and just enjoyed the sensations. No reason why he couldn’t enjoy Randall for a little while. After all, it had been a long time since he’d been with anyone, and the encounter in the hunting shed had been so fast and frenzied, it didn’t really count. What was he trying to convince himself of? It had counted. In fact, that was all he’d been able to think about since it occurred. Half the time, the memories were sexy, sinful, enjoyable. The other half, they were filled with guilt.

  He nodded, and Randall went to lock the door. Panic as familiar as an old robe wrapped around him. The panic that had kept him from doing anything stupid in the past, that always made him careful so he would never be charged with buggery. The panic that caused him to rebuff so many of Adam’s advances, the man had to find other willing, less careful lovers. The panic that had caused Adam, his second and only other lover, to cheat.

  “Not here. The servants.”

  “Are safely in their beds with orders not to disturb. They know we have important business to discuss. Business about the problem with my impending nuptials. They will not bother us.” Randall grabbed the back of his linen shirt and pulled it off over his head, further messing straggly hair.

  He watched the play of light over Randall’s rough masculine form. Sweat beaded on his upper lip at the vision of muscles bunching as wine was poured into one glass, then carried to the carpet in front of the fire. The fire burnished Randall’s skin golden as he lounged on the plush wool, like a sheik admiring another man’s harem. Good God! He was sex personified.

  He grabbed a piece of toast to distract himself.

  “No, I want to settle the matter of Prudence first.” There, that would slow things down, give him a chance to think. Did he really want to do this? Yes, God yes. But, should he do this? God no.

  “Nothing to discuss really; I’ve already decided to declare myself impotent.”

  “What!” He choked on spit and outraged humiliation. Randall was the most sexually virile man in England, he was certain.

  “It makes wonderful sense really, if you think about it. Gives me an excuse why I can’t marry, gives me an alibi for never taking a mistress, etcetera, etcetera.” He discussed this issue with an ease David found disturbing.

  “But your manhood, your honor.”

  “I am very secure in my manhood, and a little bit of slander will keep our relationship hidden for a good while.”

  Relationship. He shivered. A bone-deep shudder. David had never really had a relationship. A few fucks now and again when he was certain there was no chance of getting caught. Relationship suggested long-term, suggested risk. He wanted to run. His legs refused to lift him from the damn chair.

  Randall sighed. “Well, I guess I can always go through with the wedding as planned.”

  The piece of toast he held shattered into a pile of crumbs as he shot from his chair. Relationship it would be, then. He could do this.

  He brushed off the toast bits, strode over, and took the wine from Randall, and then settled close so he could read the other man’s reaction. Taking a hearty swallow of the mellow burgundy, he asked, “You are teasing me?”

  “Yes. Because you are endearing when you’re flustered. And because you don’t smile near enough.”

  “I don’t often have a reason to smile.”

  “Stay with me, and I’ll give you ample reason.”

  “You know, I’m cheating on my sister. Wonder if I’ll go to hell for this?”

  Head back and laughing, Randall looked all the world like a lazy god thinking up mischief for poor mortals. “Oh, I’m sure we will both burn in hell for what we do tonight. So, we had best enjoy, hmm?”

  Strong fingers clasped the back of his head and pulled him forward. Randall’s lips brushed h
is. Warm and smooth. Silk and sunshine. He shivered. Not a very manly response, but he really had little control over it. He shivered again and then smiled; his lips were out of practice, the skin pulled tight as he laughed. There was no reason to laugh, except Randall made him happy. Had made him happy five years ago and made him happy today.

  Randall stared. “God, you are beautiful.”

  He laughed again, then pulled that big-boned, heavy man atop himself for a long, tongue-grappling kiss. They ground together. The pleasure of being touched, kissed, cherished was nearly too intense. Everything slipped away, the room, his fears, his reason for coming here tonight, until nothing existed except warm affection and desire.

  “You know we are perfect for each other. We were perfect for each other five years ago. We are still perfect for each other. Stay with me.” He slowly unbuttoned David’s waistcoat, then pulled his shirt out of his waistband to slide strong fingers along his breastbone. The sensation held more raw power than lightning headed for a lone ship’s mainmast. “I want a relationship with you. You are someone I think I could love.”

  At the words, his traitorous body hummed with warmth and prickles.

  “And I don’t think I could bear it if you left again. Stay with me.”

  All he could do was groan, grab his lover’s head, and pull him in for another kiss.

  Randall ran his lips down David’s chest while slowly untying his breeches. “So is that a yes?”

  “Oh, shut up, will you, and just screw me.”

  “My. Impatient, aren’t you?” He looked up, eyes twinkling. “But no, I don’t think that is what we will do tonight. I have other plans for you. For us.”

  Other plans? “But, I… I want you inside me.” How pathetic. Next he would be begging, or worse, on hands and knees, offering his arse.

  “In due time, Lieutenant. In due time.”

  Cool air and warm skin muddled his brain. The whisper of clothing being removed. Sensations, gentle as a tickle on his ribs, sharp as a nip of teeth on a nipple, had his blood pumping, his dick brick hard, his heart pounding against his rib cage.