Mrs. Tilton brought the tea tray and Freddy helped her with it, making a great deal of her baking the shortbread for him. A plate of the delicious treat was on the tray, fresh from the oven. After tea was served, Anne took a bite and closed her eyes in appreciation. She’d forgotten how good Mrs. Tilton’s shortbread was. She opened her eyes to see Freddy and Brett staring at her, their own shortbread forgotten. A quick glance at her mother showed the older woman sipping her tea as she politely looked out the window pretending not to notice the men staring at her daughter.
Anne swallowed quickly and choked a little, grabbing her cup to take a sip. Brett half rose from his chair. “Are you all right?” She was afraid he was going to thump her on the back. How mortifying!
She nodded quickly, holding up a hand to stay him, and he sat back down. “Fine,” she gasped, “just fine.”
Freddy said teasingly as he reached for his cup, “You needn’t rush, Anne. I promise I’ll leave some for you.”
The other three laughed as Anne blushed. She looked at her mother to see if she had noticed Freddy’s familiarity, but she said nothing.
“How long will you be staying here at the Park, Your Grace?” Mrs. Goode inquired. “I heard from several people that your plans are indefinite.”
“Yes, we’re going to be here indefinitely,” Freddy affirmed, including Brett without blinking an eye. Anne had heard they were close, but how close? It seemed that they lived in one another’s pockets. Perhaps some of the things she’d fantasized about last night were possible. She grinned into her teacup.
“His Grace is thinking about redecorating the Park,” Brett said casually.
Anne’s teacup clattered onto the saucer half a second before her mother’s. “What?” Mrs. Goode asked a little louder than was polite. “I beg your pardon,” she murmured, her cheeks turning red.
Brett’s brow wrinkled in consternation. “Why does everyone seem so horrified by that?” He was clearly annoyed. “It is his house, after all.”
Mrs. Goode set her cup and saucer down on the table in front of her and clasped her hands in her lap. “I’m not horrified. Just the opposite, actually. But I am surprised. The duchess redid the entire house less than a decade ago.”
“Right after my father’s death,” Freddy said matter-of-factly. “I remember.” He took a meditative sip. “But in her defense, the house was looking rather ramshackle in places.” He sighed. “Unfortunately she and I have different tastes.”
Mrs. Goode smiled sadly. “Yes, as did she and your father. He wouldn’t let her redo it during his lifetime, you know. He loved it the way it was.”
Freddy seemed very interested in that. “Did he? I didn’t realize. He wasn’t often there when we were. He seemed to spend more time here.”
Mrs. Goode blushed and busied herself picking up her teacup again. “Yes, well, as you know, he and the duchess had different pursuits.”
There was a long moment of silence and Anne looked back and forth between Freddy and her mother. What exactly did that mean? Freddy looked a bit confused as well.
“Freddy, do you remember what the house looked like before?” Brett broke the silence.
Freddy smiled at Mrs. Goode before turning to Brett. “I’m afraid I don’t, not really. I looked at it with the eyes of a child. I remember a few things, of course, but mainly furnishings, not paint or wallpaper.”
“Perhaps your father’s papers would help,” Mrs. Goode offered.
Freddy shook his head. “I don’t recall seeing anything in his correspondence that would help with the house. But not everything was kept.”
Mrs. Goode looked a little surprised. “I meant his history of Ashton Park. Did you not know he was writing it at his death?”
Freddy was speechless for a moment as he stared in shock at her. “No, no I had no idea.”
“Well, I have all his papers and what he’d accomplished so far.” Mrs. Goode smiled. “Would you like me to get them?”
“Why are the papers here? Shouldn’t they have been turned over to the estate at his death?” Freddy tempered his words with a smile. “Not that I mind. I’m just curious.”
Mrs. Goode was beginning to look like she wished she hadn’t spoken. “I suppose because they were in his room at the parsonage. And Jerome was helping him write it.”
“In his room?” Freddy seemed so stunned Anne almost felt sorry for him.
“Uncle Ash kept a room upstairs for when he was there very late and didn’t want to ride back to the Park,” Anne told him. “I thought you knew. Everyone knew that.”
“I didn’t realize,” Freddy said, shaking his head. “I assumed he was hiding in a guest room to avoid my mother.” He looked at Anne and narrowed his eyes. “You called my father Uncle Ash?”
It was Anne’s turn to blush. “Only here, in private. He insisted. He hated all that ‘Your Gracing’. Just like you, Freddy,” she added teasingly.
Freddy smiled. “Yes, just like me.” He turned back to Mrs. Goode. “My brother Jerome was helping him?”
Mrs. Goode shook her head. “No. Mr. Goode’s given name was Jerome.”
Freddy gave up all pretense of being unflappable. “My eldest brother was named after the Goode Vicar?”
Anne laughed. “Not many people knew his name was Jerome, Freddy. Most people just called him Mr. Goode, or the Goode Vicar. I don’t think very many people know Jerome was named after him. Although Jerome knew, didn’t he, Mama?”
Mrs. Goode smoothed a shaking hand over the side of her upswept hair. “Yes, Jerome knew.” She stood suddenly. “I’ll just go up and get the papers for you, Frederick.”
Anne started to stand. Her mother seemed very upset of a sudden. It was unlike her to use Freddy’s name instead of his title.
Mrs. Goode forced a laugh. “Oh dear, I am sorry. I mean Your Grace. You just look so like you did…” she paused and shook her head. “I mean, seeing you has just brought back memories. I’m sorry, Your Grace.”
Freddy stood. “Let me help you, Mrs. Goode.”
The older woman smiled gratefully. “Yes, that would be nice.”
Brett didn’t know what to make of all that Mrs. Goode had told them. Something didn’t seem right. Brett was sure there were things she wasn’t telling them. He watched Freddy open the drawing room door for her and follow her out. She looked so much like Anne, the same dark curly hair, the same figure.
“More tea, Brett?” Anne asked from behind him. He turned with a start. Bloody hell, they’d been left alone. Immediately every part of him urged him to drag her from the sofa into his arms and kiss her. From the look in her eye, Anne wouldn’t put up any resistance.
“I…more tea?” Brett mentally shook his head. He sounded like an idiot. “No, thank you.”
Anne laughed, though it was a little strained. Was she uncomfortable being alone with him? Had he misread the signals? “Well, I know it is not the best tea. We tend to brew it a little weak here.”
Ah, thought Brett. She was embarrassed by their circumstances. “I simply don’t care that much for tea, strong, weak or otherwise,” Brett told her with a smile as he sat down again. Anne gracefully slid over until she was pressed to the arm of the sofa, so close to Brett in the chair next to her that their knees almost touched. Brett sucked in a deep breath. Anne made a point of leaning over and knocking her knee gently against his.
“And what do you care for, Brett?” she asked in a sultry undertone.
Her meaning could not be mistaken. Brett froze. He wanted to throw her down on the floor and fuck her like he’d meant to that day at the pond. But what he wanted and what he knew he should do were two entirely different things. He was beginning to realize that Anne herself was going to make it hard to hold to his resolutions.
He’d been quiet too long. Anne leaned farther over, pressing her arms together so that the tops of her plump breasts were pushed together and nearly falling out of her neckline. She reached out and traced a pattern on his thigh with her index finger.
His muscles tensed and he saw Anne’s breath hitch right before she gently placed her palm over the hard muscle she’d been tracing. She was so hot she burned him through his buckskins.
“Do you know what I am partial to?” she asked him, staring all the while at her hand on his leg.
Brett shook his head even though she couldn’t see it. She went on as if he had answered. “I am partial to this.” She kneaded his leg and Brett swallowed audibly. She finally looked up at him, desire blatantly revealed on her face. “I believe what I am asking is if you would be partial to it as well?”
Brett took a deep breath. “To my thigh?” He was thinking furiously, but her hot, kneading fingers were making it damned difficult.
Anne laughed—a low, sultry, intimate sound. “Or mine,” she mused.
Brett couldn’t resist. He placed his hand on top of hers and pressed it harder against him. Christ, the feel of her hand on him, not an innocent hand on his arm as they walked down the street, but a hot needy palm against his thigh, so close to his cock, which was instantly, painfully hard—this was heaven.
“I believe that is a yes.” Anne’s voice had a needy, desperate tremor that made Brett grit his teeth against the desire to push her down on the sofa, yank up her skirts and shove his cock inside her.
“Anne,” he whispered, alarmed by the weakness in his voice. His traitorous body was clamoring for him to say yes to her, yes to everything she needed, anything she wanted, right here and right now.
As if she read his thoughts Anne slid from the sofa to his lap, pulling up her skirts slightly to straddle his good thigh. She gave a little shudder when her sex touched him, then she shimmied on his leg until she found a spot that made her moan. It was awkward but Anne didn’t seem to care. She bit her lower lip, hard, and Brett grabbed her waist to steady her as she wrapped her arms around his neck.
She turned her face so that her lips lay along the curve of his ear, her forehead resting against his hair. “You feel so good, Brett. I’ve wanted this for so long.”
Brett was breathing heavily, and he clutched her hips, desperately trying to keep his hands there and not let them wander over the body he’d been dreaming of just last night.
“Anne, we can’t,” he groaned. He was having trouble remembering why they couldn’t, but he knew there was a reason.
“Why?” she asked, her hot breath against the side of his neck.
Just then Brett heard voices and footsteps on the stairs. “Because Freddy and your mother are returning,” he whispered. Anne groaned and tried to stand, but her skirt was caught and she couldn’t get her balance. Brett steadied her with his hands on her hips and helped her scoot back so that she was standing on her own, still closer to him than propriety dictated.
“I can get the rest later,” Freddy was saying to Mrs. Goode so that she had her head turned back to him as she entered the room. But Brett could see Freddy’s eyes widen as he took in the scene. Without missing a beat Freddy dropped one of the books in his hand and it hit the floor with a loud bang. “Oh dear, is it all right?” he asked Mrs. Goode, who had no choice but to stop and turn to inspect it as Freddy picked it up.
Taking advantage of Freddy’s ploy, Anne scrambled back and fell onto the sofa with a thump that had Mrs. Goode turning around, startled. “Anne, what was that?”
Anne looked at her mother with wide, innocent eyes. “What was what?”
Her mother looked puzzled. “That, I don’t know, thump.”
Anne shook her head and looked at Brett with a confused frown and a twinkle in her eye. “I didn’t hear anything. Did you?”
Brett didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He just shook his head, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at Mrs. Goode and Freddy in the doorway.
“Hmm, Mr. Haversham didn’t hear anything either.” She looked at Freddy with the same innocence. “Did you, Your Grace?”
“Why, yes, Miss Goode,” Freddy said seriously. Brett peeked over his shoulder and saw a twinkle to match Anne’s in Freddy’s eyes. “I do believe I heard something that sounded like an object falling back into place.”
“Into place?” asked Mrs. Goode. “What do you mean? Is something broken?”
I am, Brett thought despairingly. My self-respect, my honorable intentions, my noble resolutions are all lying in tatters at my feet. Because with one touch she has broken me.
Brett was still staring at Freddy and he watched the twinkle fade from Freddy’s eyes as he looked at Brett. Anne was busying herself with the tea tray and missed the exchange. It was just as well. Because he hadn’t given her the real reason why they couldn’t have each other. Instead he’d given her a temporary excuse, and hope. Brett knew it was going to be even harder to tell her no now.
Freddy had been amused when he returned to the drawing room to find Anne clearly backing out of Brett’s embrace. There was a twinge of jealousy. He was man enough to admit it. He’d wanted Brett for so long that that was inevitable, but for the most part he was happy that his plan seemed to be working. Because after last night, and Anne’s greeting this morning, he still had hope that he might fit into their lives somehow. He wasn’t surprised by the bolt of pure desire that had shot through him at the sight of Brett’s hands on Anne’s hips. He’d already known that was what he wanted, to see them together. To be with them together.
Then Freddy had looked at Brett and the bleak despair there in Brett’s face was all too familiar. God no. He was going to deny her too. Brett was going to let Anne get away. Why? Wasn’t she what he wanted, what he’d wanted all along?
“Here,” Anne interrupted his thoughts and he tore his gaze from Brett’s. Anne had cleaned off the table. “Set the books here, Freddy, and we shall have a look at them.” She stopped and put her hands on her hips with a huff. “That is, if you’ll tell us what you’re hoping to find.”
Freddy took a deep breath and turned to Anne resolutely. “I am hoping to find some descriptions of the Park before the duchess redecorated it.” Freddy walked over and set the books on the table, then sat down close to Anne. Anne unconsciously moved a little closer still, and Freddy felt an odd thrill course through him, a thrill he’d felt many times in Brett’s company, and one he welcomed in Anne’s. He paused, his hands reaching for a book. Actually, the first time he’d felt that had been in Anne’s company. She and Bertie and Freddy had been walking down the road together, and Anne had caught Freddy looking at her adoringly. She hadn’t laughed. Instead she had smiled gaily and taken his arm, just as she’d held Bertie’s at her other side, and she’d hugged it close so that he’d felt the side of her lush young breast pressed against his upper arm. That was the first time he’d felt desire for a woman.
Anne’s hand touched his arm. “Freddy, are you all right?”
He came back to himself with a start and smiled at her before he picked up a book and then sat back. “Actually I was thinking about walking down the road with you and Bertie when I was thirteen,” he told her honestly. “You took my arm as if I were a man.” He looked at Brett. “We were walking in much the same way the three of us walked yesterday.” He saw Brett blanch, and suddenly he made the connection. Brett’s reluctance had something to do with Bertie. But that was ludicrous. Bertie was dead, and there was no going back. Surely Brett understood that?
Anne laughed. “You were so tall at thirteen, taller than me. But such a skinny boy, with that shock of bright red hair.” She squeezed his arm affectionately. “Did you know how happy Bertie was to have you here that visit? He hadn’t seen you in nearly a year, and he couldn’t get over how much you’d grown.”
Mrs. Goode sat down on Anne’s other side. “Oh yes,” she agreed warmly. “Ashland couldn’t get over it. He crowed about his boys and couldn’t stop talking about how tall you were, Your Grace, and getting taller.”
Freddy felt the catch in his chest that was becoming so familiar these last few days. “No, I didn’t know.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t here for that long, I do remember that. Mothe
r whisked me back to town for some reason or other.”
Mrs. Goode stood again, smoothing her hair. Freddy would wager that she did that whenever she was upset. “That was the last time we saw you before the accident,” she said in an unsteady voice. “The last time you saw your father.”
Freddy’s fingers tightened around the book in his hand. “Yes.” What more could he say?
“Mama,” Anne began, but her mother cut her off before she could finish what she was going to say.
“Well, again the day is half gone and I’ve accomplished nothing,” Mrs. Goode said with forced cheerfulness. She smiled stiffly at Freddy and then at Brett. “It was good to see you again, gentlemen. Please, Your Grace, take your time with the books. You may even keep them if you like. They are your legacy after all.” A quivering lip that she quickly bit down on was the only indication that she was still upset. “Anne, I must get out to the Ferstons’ with a basket, or those children will go hungry today.” With that she swept from the room, leaving the other three uncomfortable in the wake of her exit.
“I’m sorry,” Anne apologized, sounding bemused. “I’m not sure what was wrong. It’s been a very long time since mention of the accident had her so upset.”
Freddy could understand Mrs. Goode’s mood. He was thinking about the funerals he’d attended for his father and the Goode Vicar. Mr. Goode had been buried in the churchyard here, and everyone for miles had come, and quite a few from London as well. It had been a warm ceremony, if a funeral can be such a thing. Many good things were said of the vicar, and his life was celebrated. But Freddy remembered how devastated Anne and her mother had been. Bertie had been the strong shoulder they leaned on during that difficult time. Jerome had not been able to come because of matters concerning the title, but he had overridden his mother’s objections and insisted that Freddy attend. For perhaps the first time in his life Freddy had traveled to Ashton Park without his mother. His visit had been brief. He and Bertie were forced to return to London for his father’s funeral.
Brothers In Arms 05: Retreat From Love Page 9