A Scot's Surrender (The Townsends)

by Lily Maxton

  Mrs. Worthington was in the process of berating her husband. “…he is, as we speak, becoming your son-in-law, and she chose him for herself. If you don’t accept this and make peace with her, you will lose her.”

  Mr. Worthington grumbled something in response, but his face wasn’t quite as red as it had been.

  “He finally told her,” Miss Hale exclaimed gleefully. “I knew it was only a matter of time.”

  “As thrilling as this is,” Robert said. “I am indecent, so if you could…” He waved toward the door.

  His sister and Frances stayed behind, seemingly uncaring about his attire or lack thereof.

  Georgina placed the letter on the nightstand and then said, teasingly, “You tortured his mind and soul, Robert.”

  He winced. “My words tortured his mind and soul. There is a difference.”

  “I had no idea he was quite so dramatic,” Frances commented. “He’s such a quiet boy otherwise.”

  Georgina nodded. “It does seem like a bit of a mismatch. Do you think they’ll be happy?” she asked Robert.

  “I think her practicality and his dreaminess might balance each other. Keep them both from going too far in one direction. I think they have as good a chance at being happy as anyone.”

  “And you must be glad, anyway,” Frances said.

  “I am glad,” he said. He hadn’t expected Hale to work up his courage quite so suddenly or in quite so dramatic a fashion—although he probably shouldn’t ever underestimate the drama that Hale was capable of.

  His first thought was that he needed to tell Ian. He wondered if he’d be as amused by the letter as Robert was. He wondered if he’d be happy. He wondered if he’d be willing to take a step forward if Robert met him partway.

  There was only one way to find out.

  “Now if you’ll excuse me,” he said, looking pointedly at the door. He kept his voice light, but his stomach was tight, and his chest hurt, and he was terrified and hopeful in equal measure.

  Once everyone was gone, he locked the door, wary of more intrusions, and then went to the washstand to splash some cold water on his face. He had just lifted his head, water still dripping, when he heard a soft, muffled knock.

  The softness of the knock disturbed him.

  Had Worthington finally decided to try to kill him?

  He shrugged into his dressing robe, determined to meet his possible demise with some small amount of dignity. The door creaked as he opened it slowly.

  He faltered. Breathed in deeply. Thought he could smell the faintest trace of peat and brine, but maybe he was imagining that.

  Ian stood in his doorway, hair wind-tousled, expression solemn.

  Was he dreaming? He was used to dreams of Ian by now, when he’d wake with an ache in his heart and his seed staining the bedsheets.

  Robert peered at him without moving. “Are you…” He just stopped himself from asking Ian if he was real, because that was stupid. Of course he was real—Robert was quite awake. So he settled for something mundane, the only thing he could think of. “What time is it?”

  “Early.”

  Robert stepped back to let him in, and after checking that no one was watching from the hall, locked the door (again) behind him. When he turned, Ian was sitting at the edge of his bed. In the soft yellow light, his hair was the color of cinnamon.

  Robert swallowed, throat thick. He wanted nothing more than to touch him, to reach for him, to feel muscle and skin against his fingertips. But he didn’t know if Ian wanted the same. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m going to take some time away. I havena had any time off since Lord Arden came here, so I don’t think he’ll mind.”

  Robert’s stomach clenched. “Why?”

  “I’m going to visit my family. See if they’re still there.” He looked at something, some point on the far wall. “I don’t even know if they’re still alive.”

  Through his pain, worry for Ian emerged, bitter and sharp. “What I said before…I was angry—”

  “I know, but you had a point.” Ian’s mouth tilted wryly. “I want to see them. I think it’s time.”

  “Will you be all right? Even if…even if they’re there and they don’t want to see you?”

  “Even then.”

  “That’s good.”

  Ian reached for him then, hand out, and open. Robert stared at it dazedly for a moment, and then he did the only thing he could do—he took it. Ian’s rough, warm fingers wrapped around his own, tightened, drew Robert down to sit beside him on the bed.

  “I’m sorry,” Ian said quietly.

  Robert stilled.

  “I’m sorry,” Ian repeated, “for the things I said to ye. I like that you weaseled your way into my life. You’ve made me stronger. Better.” He didn’t look at Robert when he talked, and if Robert wasn’t mistaken, there was a slight flush to his cheeks. “When you said you wanted to tell your siblings about us, I told myself that you were foolish. That I should protect you from yourself. But a big part of that was my own fear. If they did turn their backs on you, I didna want you to resent me for it. If ye had to choose between us, I thought…I thought, at some point, you’d decide I wasn’t worth the sacrifice.”

  In his lap, Ian’s free hand curled into a fist; his other hand was still wrapped around Robert’s. His voice was not quite steady as he spoke, there was a sheen of sweat on his forehead, and his gaze remained fixed on a random point on the far wall. Robert realized Ian had never looked so scared or so vulnerable before, even at the height of intimacy. He watched him, barely breathing.

  “But I need to trust that you know your own heart. You might be younger than me in some ways. But you’re older than me in others. Stronger than me, in others.” He took a deep, deep breath. “And maybe I could borrow a little of your faith.”

  He stopped.

  Robert stared.

  Finally, Robert said, “I don’t…Ian…what exactly are you saying?”

  Ian closed his eyes. “I don’t just want to fuck you, I want to be your friend,” he said, voice shaking. “Your best friend. The one you talk to when you’re happy and when you’re angry and the one you go to when you don’t want to talk at all. I want to be the one you turn to. I won’t settle for less.”

  Robert felt like he couldn’t breathe. Ian had remembered, almost word for word, what he’d told him that starry night. And he must have kept those words tucked away, close to his heart.

  “And I don’t want ye to get married. I know you’re too honorable to call it off, but there has to be a way. I want ye to myself. We can do our best to persuade Hale. But if he doesna work up the courage on his own, I’m willing to do anything. Threaten. Blackmail. I’ll be dishonorable for you. Anything for you—”

  “Oh,” Robert said stupidly. “Oh.” He leaned over Ian to reach the letter on the nightstand. “That won’t be a problem.”

  Robert waited while Ian read the letter silently. He noticed the other man’s hands were trembling.

  A few minutes later, Ian crumpled the letter in his fists, looking mortified. “Maybe ye should have showed me this first.”

  “Well, yes,” Robert said, a little embarrassed himself. “But in my defense, you startled me. And…I…” Now it was his turn to feel vulnerable. “And it was nice, to hear it. More than nice.”

  Ian slumped back onto the headboard, as if, after his declaration, his words had all been used up for the day. And Robert laughed, a bright, fierce joy filling his chest, as though he’d swallowed the sun.

  Robert thought he’d never experienced a more perfect moment. He tangled his fingers with Ian’s, rested against him, arms entwined, shoulder to shoulder.

  “What did you say to him?” Ian asked after he’d had some time to recover.

  “Something about love not being quite like it is in poems. How it’s deep and enduring and made up of a thousand little moments.” His hand tightened around Ian’s. “Just like this one.” After a moment, he added, “I’m sorry, too.”
<
br />   “For what?”

  “I thought it was my responsibility to save Alice’s reputation. Even at the expense of my happiness. Even at the expense of yours. And that’s not the way things should have been. You must have felt…abandoned. And I don’t ever want you to feel that way again.”

  Ian pulled on his arm, and Robert crashed into him. Their lips collided in a hot, languid kiss as Ian’s hands trailed down his back, calluses rasping along his skin, making him shiver.

  “The door is locked,” he said into Ian’s mouth.

  “Aye.”

  “But we’ll have to be quiet.”

  “Aye.”

  “Are we done with talking?”

  “Obviously.”

  He laughed.

  Ian huffed and pressed him down into the mattress, and Robert accepted his weight, helped unfurl him from the wool of his kilt until there was nothing between them. Ian’s body was as hot as a furnace, as though it blazed with its own fire, and Robert held him close, wanting to feel that heat all down his length.

  He broke away from their kissing only to latch his lips on to Ian’s throat, biting and sucking and licking. He tasted salt, and skin, and the heartbeat that trembled at the hollow of Ian’s collarbone. He didn’t worry about leaving a mark. Some part of him wanted to. Wanted to claim this fierce Scotsman as his own with a physical brand.

  Mine. Mine. Mine.

  It was only fair. Robert was Ian’s, too. Had been even before unwanted guests and peculiar cats had forced them together. That pulse of attraction had always been there, even if he’d done his best to ignore it.

  He shifted underneath Ian, brought their hips together. Their hard cocks came into contact, and Robert thrust upward so they slid against each other, reveling in the heat and smoothness.

  Ian sat back on his knees, wrapped his hand around both of them and lightly stroked.

  But even that light touch…it had been too long…and Robert hadn’t been sure they’d ever be together like this again…he was close. Too close. And he was not about to come less than five minutes into their reunion.

  It would be embarrassing.

  “Stop.”

  Ian halted. He’d been looking down at his fist pumping their cocks; now he looked up at Robert. Gray eyes met dark brown.

  “Fuck me,” he said hoarsely.

  Ian did not have to be asked twice.

  He left the bed to get a small, glass bottle of oil and then crawled back onto the bed, the mattress dipping.

  Robert opened his thighs wide, and Ian moved between them. His oil-slicked fingers traced down the underside of Robert’s cock, cradled his balls, and then, one hand gripping his arse cheek to spread him, pressed inside.

  Robert wrapped his hand around his own throbbing length, skin flushing as Ian teased him with his fingers, a slow press in, a long draw out.

  He wanted more.

  He squirmed, he writhed, he pressed down hard with his hips. When Ian pulled out, abruptly, he nearly sobbed.

  And then Ian was back, cockstand wet with oil.

  He pressed against Robert’s thigh, forcing him wider and higher. And then Robert was being stretched again, and it was almost too much to accept. It burned slightly, but he wanted Ian more than he cared about the pain.

  Slowly, Ian pushed into him. Slowly, until Ian’s balls were flush against his arse, and his hot, hard cock was deep inside him.

  Ian braced himself on his arms above Robert, breathing heavily. He was trembling as he searched Robert’s face, gray eyes dark and intent. And Robert etched this vision into his mind so he would never, ever forget it.

  “Good?” was all Ian said.

  “Perfect.”

  …

  Ian felt like he was breaking apart inside. It had never been like this. Not ever. And it was both too much and not enough and more than he could have ever hoped for.

  He stared into dark eyes as he moved. And he knew what made the difference. Trust. Love. Faith. The things he’d never had before. Until Robert.

  He could barely hold himself up, but he wanted to see Robert’s face, flushed and heavy-lidded. As he thrust, Robert stroked himself, and it wasn’t long before his leisurely pace wasn’t enough.

  For either of them.

  Robert dug his feet into the backs of Ian’s legs, like he could spur him on as one might spur on a horse. Wry amusement flashed through him.

  This was different, too. Being comfortable enough with a lover to find humor in even the rawest, most intimate situation. Different, but good.

  “Fuck me harder, Cameron,” Robert groaned. He kept his voice quiet, but the command in it was unmistakable. “Press me into the mattress. Fuck me like you mean it.”

  Ian finally let himself collapse, arms no longer capable of holding his weight. With Robert pinioned helplessly beneath him, he thrust hard and deep and quick. Skin slapped against skin, and they muffled their grunts and pants and groans by pouring them into each other’s mouths.

  Robert wrapped one arm around Ian’s back, clutching him tight, pressing his sweat-dampened face into Ian’s neck. His hand snaked between them and he worked his cock again, the motions quicker and shorter this time. Ian felt him gasp and then shudder, and the wet warmth of Robert’s release pooled slick against Ian’s stomach.

  Ian was right behind him. His orgasm tingled in his balls and then exploded outward with a force that left him weak. He crushed Robert to his chest, held on for all he was worth as his breathing slowed. He was drained and vulnerable, and somehow, he’d never felt more content.

  Then he worried he might be cutting off Robert’s air supply, so he rolled onto his back. But he felt cold, all of a sudden. He didn’t like the distance. He threw an arm around Robert’s waist and pressed into his side.

  He couldn’t quite dredge up the willpower to let him go just yet, even though they were sticky and sweaty and they should probably be cleaning themselves up. The light filling the room was still soft and diffused, but it wouldn’t be long before dawn faded into day. Ian would need to leave soon.

  But for now, he simply let himself bask in the quiet and the light and Robert’s breathing, deep and steady.

  Robert’s hand was warm against Ian’s back, following the path of his spine. It lulled him…until… “Do I get to fuck you sometime?”

  Ian felt his groin tighten with curious heat, even though he was utterly spent. Robert could do anything he wanted to him. He wasn’t sure how the other man hadn’t realized that yet.

  He settled for a soft “Aye.”

  Robert’s chest moved as he laughed, just as soft. “I’ve been thinking…I have enough money…maybe I could build a house here. Somewhere on Theo’s land, or I could even buy a small portion of land for myself. I would have a private space for writing, and we could see each other as often as we wanted.”

  Ian stilled. He hadn’t thought this far into the future. It was a hurdle he thought they’d cross later, and it brought out another fear that he would have rather ignored. “You wouldn’t get bored in the Highlands? Without society?”

  “I’ve been here for the better part of two years and I haven’t gotten bored yet,” Robert pointed out. “The majority of my family is here. And some of the tenants are growing fond of me, I’m sure of it.”

  Ian found himself smiling. He didn’t doubt it. He could picture Robert coming along, the opposite of his brother, overwhelming them with charm.

  “I’ll need to travel to Edinburgh sometimes. I like to turn in my manuscripts to my editor in person, and it will be nice to see Eleanor. But your work is here, which means you are here. So I want to spend most of my time here, as well.” He paused, and then, his voice a little quieter, said, “I know we shall have to be careful. I know it will be difficult at times—there will be sacrifices that other people don’t have to make. But if it was between you and everyone else, I would choose you, every time.”

  “I wouldna want you to have to make that choice.”

  “I know,” he m
used. “I doubt I’ll have to. But I wished for you to know.”

  “Robert,” he said, after the space of a few heartbeats.

  “What?”

  “You haven’t said it.”

  Robert, somehow, seemed to know what he meant. “Isn’t it obvious?”

  It was obvious. But he could ask for this. He could want this. He could allow himself to want it. Allow himself to be vulnerable in front of the person who mattered the most. So he repeated Robert’s words back to him. Robert was better with words, after all, and if he could borrow his faith until it became his own, he could borrow these, too.

  “But it would be nice to hear it. More than nice.”

  Robert shifted lower on the bed and pressed his lips to Ian’s temple. When he spoke, his breath fluttered against Ian’s hair. “I love you, Ian Cameron, taciturn, difficult thing that you are.”

  Ian’s heart felt full to bursting. “I didna ask for the last part.”

  “Then…I just love you, and that’s all.”

  When Ian tilted his face up to kiss Robert, the other man was smiling, and Ian etched the feel of it, the shape of it, into his lips. And he breathed those three words back to him, and made them his own.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The houseguests had left a fortnight ago, the happily married John and Alice Hale among them. Robert had been glad to see those two content, but he’d never been more relieved in his life to see a group leave.

  He renewed his vow to himself—even if there were torrential floods and fire raining down from the sky, he was not going to invite anyone in ever again.

  Theo and Annabel returned, and when they asked if everything had gone smoothly in their absence, Robert, Georgina, and Frances had looked at one another and been overcome with nearly hysterical laughter.

  He was not proud to admit this, but they gave Theo and Annabel an edited version of events. The stealing scandal was left out completely, since it had been resolved, and they didn’t mention that Robert had been caught in Miss Worthington’s room, because he would have had to explain why or face Theo’s disappointment. So they only told them about their surprise guests and John and Alice’s sudden anvil wedding.