by Lily Maxton
He looked completely wrecked.
Robert wished he had some artistic skill. He wanted to paint him, just like this; he wanted him captured like this, forever.
But a painting would be unnecessary. He had a feeling this image would be burned into his memory until the day he died.
The intimacy of the moment was thick around them, inescapable. He pushed away from the bed and went to the washstand to rinse his hands with cool water from the pitcher. He’d wanted to bind Ian to him with pleasure.
He wondered if he’d succeeded, or if he was only being naive.
He’d had plenty of pleasurable nights with the widow he’d fallen in love with, and it hadn’t made a difference. In the end, she’d ended their relationship quite easily. And Robert suspected that his heart wouldn’t just be bruised if the same thing happened this time—it would be shattered.
Robert didn’t know what kind of experiences Ian had had. He didn’t know if he’d fallen in love before. Robert realized that when they spoke, they never spoke of Ian’s past or his dreams.
The Highlander’s heart was a mystery to him.
Robert wondered if it always would be.
Chapter Fourteen
Ian felt like Robert had unraveled him, as surely as if he’d taken a loose thread from a tapestry and pulled.
He hated being vulnerable, even physically. Maybe especially physically, and all Robert had had to do was look down at him with those dark eyes and command him with that rough velvet voice and he was done for.
As he recovered from the most intense orgasm he’d ever had, he realized Robert had crossed the room. He pushed himself up and found the other man at the washstand, his back to him. He wondered if he should say something.
He didn’t know what to say. Even at the best of times, he didn’t always know what to say, and right now it felt like he was reeling.
He wouldn’t be able to give this up, he realized. Wouldn’t be able to walk away.
He could only hope that Robert was sincere—he didn’t doubt he was sincere at this moment, but things changed. Lord Arden would come back, and they’d have to be even more secretive, and maybe the weight of it would be too much for Robert, eventually.
And even if it wasn’t, even if, by some miracle, Robert wanted to stay by his side through whatever difficulties they faced, what would their future look like? Ian’s livelihood was here. Would Robert live on his brother’s estate indefinitely?
Wouldn’t he eventually get bored without society? It wasn’t as if Ian was a stunning conversationist.
He realized Robert had turned. He was facing him now, arms braced behind him on the edge of the washstand.
Robert was still clothed, and Ian was sitting on the bed naked. He felt this disparity like a cold touch and drew his shirt over his lap to at least hide his wilting erection.
“Why did you leave your family?” Robert asked.
For several seconds, Ian was silent. “Why does it matter?”
Robert smiled wryly. “Because you matter. To me.”
“I wish you wouldna say things like that,” Ian said gruffly.
“Why?”
“It’s disarming,” he finally answered, truthfully. “It makes me want to answer your questions.”
“Then answer my questions.” Robert shot him a winning smile. “This sharing thing…it works both ways, you know, and it doesn’t stop.”
“That’s a pity.”
Robert laughed, but Ian could tell he was waiting. It was there in the careful way he held himself, the intent force of his stare. Ian couldn’t help but remember those dark eyes holding his gaze as he felt Robert around him, inside him.
He already knew it was too late. He might as well commit to his own fall. It wasn’t as if he could actually deny Robert when he came to him like this.
“When I was fourteen, my mother caught me kissing another boy. One of the neighboring crofter’s sons.” He lifted a shoulder.
“What happened?”
“She told my father. He hit me once or twice…it could have been worse…he never was a man who relied on his fists. He didna need to. And then he told me if it ever happened again, he would throw me out. He said he’d rather not have a son than have an unnatural one. So I left.”
It took Robert a moment to respond. “You didn’t think about staying?”
No. Not even when he’d wondered if he would starve, when he’d crossed the Highlands looking for any odd jobs he could find and had gone to sleep with nothing but the clothes on his back and the cold, distant stars overhead. Those stars had comforted him somehow—they changed, but slowly, and they always returned again to what they’d once been, season after season. He’d taught himself to read just so he could know their names and feel their constancy.
But he hadn’t thought about going back. Not even when hunger and the stars were his only companions.
“I couldna promise that it wouldn’t happen again.” And his parents had already broken something between them that could never be fixed. They’d told him, more or less, that to have their love, he would have to change something he didn’t think could be changed, or he would have to lie, to them, to himself. They didn’t want him as he was, they only wanted him as they thought he should be.
And that was something he couldn’t forgive, or forget.
He had regretted leaving his brother and sister behind, but he hadn’t had any other options at the time.
“Did you love him?”
Ian was startled back to the present. “Who?”
Robert looked at him incredulously. “Your neighbor. The boy.”
Ian shook his head. “I don’t even remember his name.”
What he’d felt for that boy had been simple youthful attraction. It paled in comparison to what he felt for Robert now. It was a drop of water next to the entire ocean. A drizzle next to a downpour.
“Does that bother you?”
After the tiniest pause, Robert shook his head, smiling wryly. “I’m just trying to learn more about you. And I have to ask. I know you won’t tell me otherwise.”
Ian had never thought he’d be so undone by simple honesty.
“You’ll remember my name,” Robert said. “I’m not going to let you forget it.”
It sounded like a promise. Or maybe a challenge. Or a threat. Either way, whether it was true or not, Ian wanted to cling to it. Maybe this wasn’t as hopeless as he assumed. Maybe this really could be their life—together, in the Highlands, nights spent just like this.
They’d probably never sleep, but if he was going to run himself ragged, it would be an enjoyable way to do it.
“Is that so?” he asked.
Robert nodded.
Ian felt his pulse quicken. He wasn’t about to tell Robert that there was no chance he’d ever forget. Not even if he lived for a thousand years.
“Then come back to bed,” Ian said.
Robert was quick to oblige.
Chapter Fifteen
Over the next few days, Worthington became increasingly impatient about the thefts and increasingly suspicious of Robert, so Ian returned to his work as factor (which he was rather happy to get back to), and when he had a free moment while the houseguests were occupied, he continued their search, while Robert reluctantly stayed in Worthington’s sight to avoid raising Worthington’s suspicions even more. Ian had finished checking every inch of the castle; now there was nothing but the outbuildings.
But progress was slow. For the most part, they each went about their normal business during the day, and the nights…well, their nights were for each other.
It wasn’t as though they hadn’t tried to find the missing items. They’d looked and looked, listened and asked, and were still no closer to finding them than they’d been at the beginning.
Ian was starting to think the culprit would never be revealed.
It bothered him. He hated to think that someone who might have tried to frame him would get away with no consequences. And it bothered
him more that he didn’t know why they would have attempted such a thing in the first place.
But these thoughts and worries weren’t as immediate when he had Robert pressed against the wall of his temporary bedchamber and their mouths met in a hungry kiss.
This was the shape the thing between them always took—hungry and hot and desperate, as though they’d both been waiting for it for years without ever knowing what it was they longed for.
Ian had never known the difference love would make. Robert might have, but Ian didn’t ask him about it. It was enough to be with him.
Ian tugged at Robert’s shirt so he could slip his hands against his stomach, smooth his palms against the rigid contours of muscle and skin, delve into the hair that formed a line down his lower abdomen.
He stopped kissing Robert long enough to sweep the pads of his fingers across Robert’s lower lip and then push into the warmth of his mouth. Robert didn’t need prompting; he sucked on Ian’s fingers, scraped his teeth along the skin, licked at the spaces between them.
Ian, impossibly, felt his cock swell even more. He didn’t think Robert realized how sensual he could be. The thing about Robert was that sex was an act without walls or boundaries. He threw himself into it with enthusiasm, and openness, and honest pleasure, and he seemed to have no real motive other than a desire to get as close to Ian as possible. He seemed to have no thought of protecting himself.
Ian felt his own boundaries crumbling under the force of Robert’s will, and sex became more than an act of physical release, but a demonstration, a mutual give-and-take. His lack of experience hit him with startling force in these moments, left him unmoored. His few prior couplings hadn’t prepared him for this.
Nothing had prepared him for this. For him.
Ian, who didn’t think of himself as a generous lover, found himself wanting to do things for Robert, wanting to give him whatever he asked for. Wanting to give him things he didn’t ask for.
It was a little terrifying.
But being close to Robert felt too good for him to even think about stopping.
With fingers still wet from Robert’s mouth, he fumbled with the other man’s breeches, pushing at them until they bunched at the top of Robert’s boots, leaving his hard, muscled thighs bare. Then he sank to the floor in front of him.
A distant part of his mind screamed that this was too vulnerable. That he was giving Robert all of the power in this encounter. That he was giving up control in too many of their encounters.
He didn’t care.
As he traced the head of Robert’s cock with his tongue, he felt Robert’s hand clutching at his hair.
“I like the way you look, on your knees in front of me,” Robert said.
That voice. Rough and gravelly. Ian sometimes thought he could come just by listening to the sound of Robert’s voice.
In retaliation, he grabbed Robert’s arse, squeezing roughly.
Robert tugged at his hair, not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to sting. “You’re so cruel,” Robert muttered. But his tone held that hint of good-natured teasing that it was rarely without.
Ian didn’t know how Robert could still jest in the midst of something like this. Ian felt like he might shatter into pieces just from a touch.
He looked up at Robert’s shirtless form, breeches down to his knees, and while Robert’s voice might be enough to make him come, he didn’t want to miss this, either. He loved Robert’s body, lean and long, hard planes and sculpted muscles, somehow both elegant and coiled with a lithe strength.
He sucked at Robert’s cock, drawing it as deep into his mouth as he could. He was a bit clumsy, but Robert didn’t seem to care—a strangled moan escaped him, and he reached down blindly. Ian’s hand found his, their fingers twining together gently.
A pain pierced him, and Ian realized it was his heart.
Here he was, on his knees with Robert in his mouth, and his heart hurt.
Happiness shouldn’t be this easy, he thought. If it was stumbled into this easily, how easily could it be taken away?
But then Robert’s hips moved, and Ian could do nothing but focus on his lover, all other thoughts fading in light of the way Robert tasted, the way he moved, the strangled sounds he made.
…
When Robert closed his eyes, he could swear he saw stars.
But he couldn’t keep his eyes closed for long. Not when Ian was lapping at him, one hand on his thigh, callused fingers scraping at the sensitive skin, other hand clasped in Robert’s own.
A lock of hair fell across Ian’s forehead, and Robert brushed it back so he could see him better.
He loved the way Ian looked, like a pagan worshipping at an altar.
After a while, he couldn’t keep his hips from jerking as he fucked into the wet warmth of Ian’s mouth. He felt his release tingle at the base of his cock, and he was trying to be a gentleman and push Ian away, but Ian knocked his hand to the side, then gripped Robert’s hip to keep him in place, head moving until he’d devoured nearly the entire length. Robert stiffened, exploding in Ian’s mouth while the kneeling man drank every last drop.
For a full minute, Robert couldn’t do anything but lean against the wall, panting.
“‘These violent delights have violent ends,’” he found himself muttering when he regained his breath. And then he felt like a fool. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Ian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What?”
“It’s Shakespeare.”
Ian rocked back so he could look at Robert’s face. A glimmer of amusement appeared in his eyes. Robert was noticing it more and more, and he liked that Ian showed this side of himself to Robert and no one else. “Townsend. You were thinking about Shakespeare while I sucked you?”
“You mean you don’t?”
Ian lifted his eyebrows, unimpressed.
“What? Do you have something against balding men with mustaches?”
Ian grimaced.
Robert, grinning like a fool, realized they were still holding hands and his breeches were still caught around his knees. He made a half-hearted attempt to pull them up as he tugged Ian toward the bed. The backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he fell onto the bed. Ian landed on top of him, knocking all the breath from his lungs with his not unsubstantial weight.
Robert reached for his trousers. “I’m going to suck you now, and I dare you not to imagine Shakespeare licking your cock.”
Ian groaned. “Robert.”
“What?”
“I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“Yes, you do.” When Ian didn’t respond, Robert said, “It’s because I share a marked resemblance to William Shakespeare.”
“That’s it.” Ian rolled onto his back. “My cockstand is gone,” he said mournfully.
Robert propped himself up with his elbow so he could look down at him. “Surely it’s only a temporary state. With a little encouragement…” He reached for the flap of Ian’s trousers again.
Suddenly, he stopped. There was a smattering of short, dark hairs on the pillow next to Ian’s head. “What is that?”
Ian looked and then frowned. “Hair,” he said unhelpfully.
“It’s all over your pillow.”
Robert’s first reaction was suspicion, but it quickly dissipated when he actually took a moment to think about the matter. They’d been together so much these past days that Ian wouldn’t be able to find the time to take another lover, even if he wanted to. And Robert didn’t think he wanted to, anyway.
Ian was happy. Robert made him happy. He didn’t have any doubts about that.
So why was there hair all over his pillow?
It was black hair, and short. Too short to belong to anyone at the castle.
“Willoughby,” Robert exclaimed suddenly.
Ian looked confused.
“The cat.”
Ian still looked confused. “How did it get in?”
“What do you mean? By the sta
te of the bed, I assumed you were in here cuddling with him.”
Ian didn’t seem to think that comment was worth addressing. “I keep my door shut.”
Robert frowned. “Are you saying Willoughby can open doors?” A new thought emerged, and he suddenly sat straight up in bed, accidentally smacking Ian in the face in his haste to sit up. The other man grunted. “What if Willoughby brought the stockings into your room?”
Ian pushed himself up, more slowly. “Do cats do things like that?”
“Cats are about as transparent as fog. I have no idea what they do or why. But it makes as much sense as anything else.”
“So what do we do?”
“We have a cat to follow.”
Chapter Sixteen
The first thing they had to do was find the cat. It was the middle of the night, and the creature could be anywhere—so they went to the kitchen and secured a plate of cold meat, which they put out in the hallway and watched.
Ian wondered if Robert felt like an idiot, too, crouched behind a corner as they waited for a cat who might or might not be a thief. Time ticked on steadily, slowly, and Robert shifted his weight, leaning against Ian. The pang this caused in Ian’s chest was as sharp and sudden as a gunshot.
And it was accompanied by a spike of fear. If the cat was the thief, did this mark the end? The thing that had brought them together in the first place would be over. The Worthingtons would leave and Lord and Lady Arden would return.
And then what? It seemed easy enough now to be together, while the real world was kept at bay and they played detectives, but what would happen later, as time passed, as Robert hid his relationship from a brother he loved and admired? As the threat of discovery grew greater with each night they had together?
What would happen then?
Ian glanced down at Robert. His head was on Ian’s shoulder, and his eyelids were heavy, as though he was struggling to stay awake. Pain sliced through Ian’s chest. He loved him, he knew. He loved him enough not to hold him to promises he couldn’t keep.
Before Ian could dwell on it any further, he saw eyes glinting in the dark. Ian’s hand tightened around Robert’s arm, and the other man straightened.