by Merry Farmer
Pain laced Niall’s expression for a moment before he could hide it. “I’m happy for you,” he croaked.
Blake focused on the tea once more, fixing Niall’s the way he remembered he liked it, then standing and taking the cup to him. “Annamarie didn’t want to have company. She remembered you as nothing more than a low-born playwright. I argued that you were so much more than that. I insisted you be invited to stay, that you were dear to me.” He turned back to the table to fetch his own tea. “That’s when she made the connection with the letters.”
“Niall, not Nancy or Nellie or Nora,” Niall said, face red, sipping his tea.
Blake nodded. “She put the pieces together—why I only ever came to her bed after drinking, why I didn’t care about her lovers, why there was never so much as a whisper of a rumor of me with another woman. She figured it out after ten years, and she was appalled.” He swallowed a gulp of tea that went down wrong, choking him.
“Did she leave because she was heartbroken?” Niall asked.
Blake lowered his teacup, flushing. “She left because she thought I would be a threat to the children, particularly Alan. Or so I assume, given the argument we had the evening before she left.” Saying as much out loud lashed Blake with bone-deep grief and revulsion. “I love those children with everything I have,” he managed to squeeze out, voice ragged. “It’s disgusting that she would think I would harm them in any way, especially that way. What kind of a vile mind would assume that just because—” He snapped his mouth shut, shaking his head. He had to put his teacup down. There was no way he would be able to stomach any more of it.
“I share your disgust in the way we are portrayed where children are concerned,” Niall said, a little too formally. “But from what I know, I didn’t think Annamarie was that spiteful.”
“I don’t think she is,” Blake said, forcing himself to breathe and face Niall again. “I think her mind was poisoned by whoever her current lover is.”
“And who is he?”
Blake shrugged and shook his head. “I have no idea. It was Howard Vale for a while, but they broke things off about two years ago. I suspected there was someone else, but she’s been better about hiding things for the last year or so.”
Blake sank onto the piano stool. Now that he’d said everything he had to say, he didn’t have an ounce of energy left.
“So Annamarie left you because she discovered what kind of man you are? She took the children because her current lover probably told her you’d be a danger to them?” Niall frowned. “It doesn’t add up.” He paused. “Have you heard anything from her since then?” Niall asked, walking to the piano and setting his teacup down on its top, next to the letters.
Blake shook his head. “Not a word. I don’t know where they are, I don’t know if she plans to bring them back, I don’t know if she wants a ransom for them, and I don’t know who her lover is.” He laughed. “Oh, and on top of that, I have to sell my criminal brother’s burnt-out estate before it becomes enough of a liability to bankrupt me, making Father’s entire plan for me to marry Annamarie moot. And apparently, word has gotten around that I might be in the market for another duchess.” He shook his head, burying his face in his hands. “I can’t stand it anymore,” he said, emotion thick in his voice that he couldn’t have hidden if he’d wanted to. “I can’t bear it anymore. I just…I just want my children back. I just want to be left alone to watch them grow. I just want to be happy again.”
He didn’t think he had a single tear left in him, but when Niall rested a hand on his slumped shoulder, Blake sobbed. It was unmanly and messy, but it couldn’t be helped. He was completely wrecked, but Niall was there.
“I’ll help you find them,” Niall said, his voice shaking with emotion, though his body was stiff beside Blake. “I’ll help you track down Annamarie and her lover. And I’ll help you find a buyer for the estate. I know people who know people.”
“Thank you,” Blake breathed. He tilted his head to lean his cheek against Niall’s hand, even though it stretched his neck into an awkward bend. He would have buried himself against Niall and never let go if he thought he could get away with it.
“I’m staying at the Mandrake Hotel in Leeds,” Niall went on, “and I can—”
“No, you have to stay here.” Blake jerked clumsily to his feet, eyes wide with desperation.
Niall pursed his lips and stared at Blake. “I can’t stay in your house, Blake.”
“I can’t be here alone for another night,” Blake pleaded with him. “God, it’s awful being here all by myself, everything so empty.” He glanced around at the abandoned nursery.
“You have servants,” Niall argued.
“Who treat me as though I’m some sort of golden statue,” Blake said. “It’s not the same.”
Niall let out a heavy breath, rubbing his face. “All right, I’ll stay here. But I’m not staying in your bed,” he said with blistering firmness, meeting Blake’s eyes.
“No,” Blake whispered, shaking his head. He supposed that was too much to ask for anyhow. Though he would have given the moon and the stars to have Niall’s mouth on his again, to hear the sounds of pleasure he made, and to feel him inside of him. As painful and frantic as their last time had been, Blake could still feel every last sensation Niall had caused. He hadn’t stopped wanting Niall for a single day since then.
“I can have Xavier, my valet and my friend, fetch your things from the Mandrake,” Blake said, crossing to the door. He didn’t trust himself to stay so close to Niall, now that he knew Niall would be with him through the storm. “Everything will be all right now,” he went on, mostly for himself. “Now that you’re here, I’m certain we’ll be able to sort everything out.”
Chapter 13
Blake was a broken man. It was far more difficult for Niall to witness the fact than he’d anticipated. The way Blake seemed reluctant to leave his children’s nursery—even after he’d sent his valet, Xavier, to fetch Niall’s things from the Mandrake Hotel—was only one shattering bit of proof of that. Blake sat at the child’s size table, inviting Niall to sit as well, and asked him more questions about London and the theater and Niall’s current play than anyone ever had. But whether he was aware of it or not, Blake continually glanced into the pink and frilly bedroom off to one side of the nursery and the smaller bedroom, decorated with medieval scenes of knights and dragons, on the other, as if he expected his children to bound into the room at any moment.
There was something tragically fitting about the way Blake looked as he sipped his tea at a table miles too small for him, like he didn’t fit in the life he was forced to live. And yet, he had clearly adapted. He knew exactly how to position his knees so that they didn’t bump the impossibly small table, and knew how to smile and look fascinated by everything Niall said. Though it was clear to Niall that Blake had slipped into some safe, protected part of his mind after spilling out his story, and what he showed to Niall was a shell of who he truly was.
Eventually, Blake’s butler announced that supper would be served in the dining room in an hour, and wouldn’t his grace like to bathe beforehand? Blake seemed to awake from his jovial stupor then, flushing with embarrassment and making excuses as he leapt up to leave. His last words as he dashed out of the nursery were, “Make yourself at home. My house is yours.”
Niall rose as soon as Blake was gone and exchanged a wary look with Mr. Dobson. He had a feeling the grand ducal house with all its riches and finery was no more of a home to Blake than the flat he’d taken in York during university. In fact, that flat was probably three times the home Selby Manor was.
Supper was a stilted affair in which Blake did most of the talking. Niall was too exhausted, body and soul, to do more than nod and smile when appropriate at the tales Blake related of taking his son, Alan, fishing for the first time several weeks ago, the fancy Greta had taken to Lord Milton’s son, who was twice her age but had been kind to her at a garden party that spring, and the way Jessie had climbed t
o the top of the sheepfold on one of their tenant’s farms. More alarming was the fact that Blake ate as though he’d been skipping meals for a fortnight and kept running his fingers through the thick curls of his hair, as if he didn’t understand why it was so long. That distracting gesture left Niall longing to bury his hands in Blake’s hair in spite of the gnawing resentment that still hadn’t dissipated in his gut. Apparently, lust didn’t care how wounded his heart was.
“Would you like another dessert?” Blake asked at the end of the meal, as Niall’s eyelids and spirits were beginning to droop. “I could have Mrs. French bake a cake for you.”
Niall’s eyes shot wide at the insane offer.
“Or we could adjourn to the conservatory and I could play for you,” Blake suggested. “Composing has been one of my few joys these past few years, aside from the children.” His overly bright expression faded fast at the mention of the children.
“Blake, I’m exhausted.” Niall rubbed his temples, his heart squeezing painfully. “I just want to go to bed.” When Blake drew in an expectant breath, Niall said, “To sleep.” Though he’d be a fool to deny the pull he felt toward Blake, even after all the years and pain between them. He told himself it was a natural, nostalgic reaction to a man he’d felt such pleasure with, that it’d been months, nearly a year, since the last time he’d had sex, and that his need was only skin deep. He told himself that, but knew it was a lie. He still loved Blake, and he hated it.
He pushed is chair back and stood before those feelings could get the better of him. “If you don’t mind, I’ll have Mr. Dobson show me up to my room.”
Blake leapt to his feet as well. “I had the maids prepare the guest room across the hall from my bedroom.”
Niall fixed him with a flat stare and blew out a frustrated breath through his nose. “No.”
“I didn’t mean—” Blake tried to defend himself, but gave up with a sigh, shoulders drooping.
“Good night, Blake.” Niall stepped away from the table. “We’ll sit down and begin sorting things out tomorrow.”
It felt wrong somehow to walk away from Blake in his own house, knowing how much distress his friend was in. He couldn’t even, in good conscience, think of Blake as just his friend. He was more than that, and he was less. But Niall had reached the end of his rope and needed time alone to regroup.
He had no idea what he was going to do. He stripped off his clothes, ran a washcloth over himself to clean away the grime of travel, dressed in crisp, cotton pajamas, and climbed straight into the huge, soft bed Blake had given him. And immediately cursed at himself for going hard at the sound of Blake’s footsteps in the hall. Those footsteps paused just outside of the door before the door across the hall opened and shut. Niall flopped to his back, hissing for the twist of disappointment that hit him.
He flat refused to relieve himself of the throbbing tension being near Blake brought with it, but that meant he spent most of the night tossing and turning and aching instead of resting. No matter how many times he told himself he should be focusing his mental efforts on puzzling out where Annamarie had gone, whether Blake’s children were safe, and how he could sell his brother’s estate, Niall’s mind was filled with memories of Blake’s plaintive pants as he neared orgasm and the rich sound of his laughter as they’d dashed across campus on their way to his flat.
Not even a brisk morning stroll across the grounds of Blake’s estate could diffuse the fiery tension that gripped Niall the next day. It was made worse by the sound of the piano echoing through the house when he returned. He deliberately avoided the conservatory, heading straight up to his room to change out of his walking clothes and into something more formal, then delayed going downstairs for another hour. But the inevitable was exactly that, so at last he gave up and went in search of Blake.
“I trust you slept well,” Blake greeted him when Niall located him in a room that looked every bit like the office of a duke should look. There was a map of the estate on one wall and shelves of books about agriculture, animal husbandry, and law. Blake stood over his desk rather than sitting as he rifled through papers and letters. He glanced at Niall for only a moment before focusing on his work again.
“Perfectly well,” Niall lied.
Blake glanced up at him again. He knew Niall was lying, but he didn’t say anything about it. Oddly enough, Blake looked refreshed, as though he had slept well for the first time in a long time. He’d shaved as well, which did nothing to calm the raging need to take Blake’s face in his hands and kiss it until they were both breathless.
“I’ve been reading through Annamarie’s correspondence from this summer,” Blake rushed to say as Niall slowly approached the desk. “Normally, I would never presume to intrude on something of hers that is so personal, but it dawned on me this morning that there might be a clue as to her and the children’s whereabouts in her letters.”
“Have you discovered anything?” Niall asked, impressed with the idea to read her correspondence.
“Not yet,” Blake said, sounding paradoxically hopeful, sifting through the letters. “Although there are several letters from her mother and sister that seem to say she has been wanting to travel back to New York for some time. She went four years ago.” He glanced up at Niall. “The children and I stayed home.”
Niall nodded, unsurprised. From what Blake had told him the day before, and from what little he remembered of the woman from ten years ago, Annamarie was exactly the sort to go on holiday without her husband and children. “Anything about who her lover might be? Any letters from him?”
Blake shook his head. “There are a few old ones from past lovers. I wondered if she might have turned to any of them for help or advice. But it appears as though all of those doors have closed.”
Niall reached the opposite side of the desk from Blake, studying him more than the array of letters and other documents. Something was different about Blake. He was calmer. Only by a fraction, but it was a start. Niall wondered if sleep had brought about the change or food. He wondered, but he knew it was his presence that had changed things.
“Do you think she would take the children to New York?” he asked, addressing the main problem head on.
Blake straightened and shoved a hand anxiously through his hair before meeting Niall’s eyes. The deep worry there was different from the frantic way Blake had been the evening before, but it was somehow worse. “Very possibly,” he said in a quiet voice. “And if she does, if she takes the children out of the country, I’m not sure whether I’ll be able to get them back.”
“Of course, you will,” Niall reassured him on instinct, even though he had no idea of the laws of either the United States or Great Britain where custody of children was concerned. “I doubt it will come to that anyhow. Didn’t you say that Annamarie wanted to be a duchess and lord it over English ladies? She can’t do that in America.”
Blake hummed in consideration. “I’m not sure that’s what she truly wants now. Now that she knows….” His words faded and he glanced out the window nearest his desk.
“Somebody somewhere must have seen her.” Niall took things in hand once more. “A duchess traveling with three children under the age of ten will be noticed. Even if she is traveling with a lover. Have you hired investigators? Notified the police?”
Blake glanced back to Niall with a guilty look. “The police haven’t seen hide nor hair of her. I didn’t think to hire an investigator, though.”
“We could do that .” Niall nodded, taking charge. “I know of a few men who might be of help in London. We could telegraph them, and someone would be on the case by tomorrow at the latest.”
“Good,” Blake let out a breath of relief, more tension draining from his shoulders.
Niall felt a burst of pride at being able to put Blake’s mind at ease, even though he rejected the sentimental notion. He hadn’t come to renew things with the man who had callously left him; he’d only come to sort out his mess.
“We’ll send a telegr
am to David Wirth as well, asking him if he knows anyone in The Brotherhood who might be looking to invest in a dilapidated country estate,” Niall went on.
“The Brotherhood?” Blake blinked in puzzlement.
Niall was just as confused. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of The Brotherhood.”
Blake shrugged and shook his head. “Is that some sort of secret fraternity of estate buyers?”
Niall almost thought he was joking. “It’s an organization of men like us,” he explained, still incredulous that someone of Blake’s position had never heard of them.
“Like us?” Blake stared at him.
“Homosexuals.”
Blake flushed dark red, glancing to the doorway and windows, as if their conversation might be overheard. “How is that even possible?”
Niall’s jaw dropped. Blake couldn’t be that ignorant. “Possible for homosexual men to form an organization to promote their own interests and to look out for each other?”
“It can’t be very popular.” Blake flushed deeper, rolling his shoulders awkwardly.
“It has hundreds of members, Blake. Possibly thousands.”
Blake’s eyes went wide. “There are that many men who—” He snapped his mouth shut.
“God, you’ve been alone too long.” Niall nearly laughed. Until the truth behind his casual statement hit him. He stared hard at Blake. “You’re not alone, you know. Did you think you were?”