by Lynn Lorenz
“They are all still intact, are they not?”
“Aye. There has been no change, and can’t be, unless we all come to some agreement.” His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps there has been some change on you or your sister’s part?” Was that hope in his voice?
Basil looked into blue eyes the color of the summer sky. Eyes he could fall into without even knowing he fell. By the gods, the man stirred him.
Marcus coughed, and Basil’s gaze slid away and pinned him. Marcus’s gaze held his, and if Basil didn’t know better, there was almost a pleading in them.
Now was the time, if ever, to bring up Beth’s wishes to be free of the contract.
Basil glanced at Baymore, who had set his lips in a hard thin line—his brow furrowed and with that one look became, to Basil’s mind, a very dangerous man.
“No, there is nothing.”
Holcombe’s hands curled into fists on the arms of his chair, and Marcus glared at Basil. The duke, whose eyes took on a wild look, seemed as if he would bolt at any moment. Or rise up and draw his sword to attack.
“Has there been a change on your part, Your Grace?”
The hall bustled with servants preparing the tables for the midday meal, but at the hearth, a silence heavier than velvet drapes descended, blocking out all the noise, and leaving only the heavy breathing of the four men who sat there.
No one spoke, just furtive glances between them all. Hell, something was afoot here, and Basil was determined to get to the bottom of it. It might mean him and Beth’s lives if he didn’t.
“No change,” Jackson spoke, his voice a near whisper.
“Good, good.” Basil nodded. He stood. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’ll see to my sister and her belongings now.” He bowed to Duke Baymore. To Holcombe, he said, “Lord Holcombe, I wish to speak to you on a private matter, at your earliest convenience.”
Holcombe stood. “I will speak with you in an hour. There are some matters I must attend to first.”
“In an hour, then.” Basil bowed to them all, and left to find Beth.
These men were hiding something. He didn’t know what, but he would damn sure find out what and make sure his sister was safe before he let the wedding go on or leave her here.
∙•∙
“Marcus, attend me. Your Grace, take your rest here—I will return shortly.” Will jerked his head and Marcus followed as he crossed the hall and climbed the stairs to his room.
Once there, he opened the door and motioned for Marcus to follow, then shut the door behind him.
“Tell me,” Will ordered.
Marcus spread his stance, braced himself, and swallowed. “I failed, my lord.”
Will stared at the man in front of him. He’d been loyal to Baymore, and to Jackson, almost to a fault. “How so?”
“I…she…” Marcus stuttered, his hands gripped each other.
“Come now, Marcus. I saw the looks you gave her, when you thought no one looked, and those she gave you. Don’t try to tell me nothing happened. She’s beautiful, even if she has a child.”
Marcus cleared his throat. “I didn’t say nothing happened. I said I failed.”
“Failed, or refused?” Will narrowed his eyes. Something had happened between them. Lady Beth had stared blankly at everyone around her, except for two people. Jackson and Marcus. Jackson with interest, and Marcus? Well, the only thing Will could call it was regret.
Marcus straightened. “Refused, my lord.”
“So you would betray Baymore?”
“I would not betray her, my lord.”
Will’s eyebrows rose. “Oh, I see. You do feel for her!”
“She is… I would not have her with a lie, my lord. I could have taken her, then and there, but if she ever found out…if she knew it had been planned, that I had married her for lands, hearth, coin…” He shook his head.
“And not for love?”
“Aye.” Marcus looked at him with desperation burning in his eyes. “I would lose her. And to lose her after knowing her love and her touch?” He shook his head and fisted his hands. “That would be unbearable.”
“So you will bear the never knowing?”
“Aye. It’s better that way.”
“It’s a nice plan, Marcus. Only it leaves Jackson and me in the same place we were before. Fucked,” Will spit out. He understood Marcus’s thoughts, but it damned him and Jackson.
“If you wish payment for my failure, my lord, I willingly accept.” Marcus loosened the clasp of his sword belt and it dropped to the floor. He dropped to one knee and held out his arms in surrender.
Did the man expect Will to beat him? Whip him or even behead him?
Will’s stomach clenched. He’d only killed a very few men, and in self-defense, never in a cold-blooded rage. He wouldn’t start now.
“Get to your feet and put your sword on, Master of Arms.” He waved at the weapon. “There can be no punishment for love. It’s punishment enough.” He strode to his desk and fell into his chair, burying his face in his hands.
Marcus retrieved his sword and stood. “William, I am truly sorry.”
Will looked up. “But, she cares for you?”
“Aye.”
“You’re sure?” Marcus nodded. “Does her brother know?”
“No. We promised not to tell a soul.”
Will smirked. “And yet, you told me.”
“I owed you, my lord.”
Will tapped his lips with his finger. Perhaps she owed her brother? Perhaps he knew nothing of Marcus and his sister?
Wild thoughts raced through his head. Impetuous, rash thoughts. He could take Jackson and they could flee. That he could do, but Jackson would never give up Baymore, not even for him. Will could kill the brother and sister, but he’d only forfeit his own life for theirs, and deep inside, he couldn’t bring himself to that damnation, no matter what.
“Fine. You’re dismissed.” He waved Marcus out.
With a crisp bow, Marcus backed out of the room.
The door closed and Will slumped to the desk, his forehead resting on the warm wood. There had to be a way out of this. He could expose the love between Marcus and Lady Beth, force them to deal with it. But that might mean disclosing the deal he’d made with Marcus, and incur the good lady’s wrath. Ruining Marcus and her chances for happiness.
He could speak with her brother. Tell him the truth.
But that could get Jackson and he killed.
He could just leave. Go, say goodbye to Jackson, wish him well and many sons, and take to the road. He looked up and surveyed his room. He managed the castle’s business here, took the occasional nap, changed clothes, and hid here when the darkness of mind and soul took him, but this is not where he lived.
That was across the hall, in Jackson’s room.
He could pack what little he needed and be gone before the wedding, well on his way south to the coast, and find a ship to spirit him away into the cold ocean mists.
The plan formed in his mind, and his heart died in his chest.
He would abandon the man he loved.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Basil followed the servant down the hall to Lord Holcombe’s door. The man knocked on the door. “Lord Holcombe, Lord Clayton wishes to speak with you.”
A few heartbeats went by, then the door opened.
William Holcombe stood in the doorway, his eyes dark, his gaze menacing.
“Lord Clayton.” He sounded surprised.
“Did you forget?”
He shook his head. “Come in. You wanted to speak to me?”
Basil entered and Holcombe shut the door, then went to sit behind a massive desk. Basil scanned the room. A large bed, dressed and ready for sleep, stood against one wall. The hearth had been well tended, the room warm, but not overly so. Other than the desk, the room showed little signs of having been lived in.
He took a chair in front of the desk and sat. “Lord Holcombe, I have a few questions.”
“Indeed?” Holc
ombe sat back, eyeing him.
Basil returned the gaze, liking everything he saw, from the top of Holcombe’s golden-haired head, to his broad chest and strong arms. Could Basil dare hope the appreciation returned?
“I wish to speak openly, and I want your pledge to do the same.” Basil knew he tread on dangerous ground.
“I will give you honest answers, if I can.” Holcombe shrugged.
Basil stared at him, intent on seeing past the façade the man put before him. As he held Holcombe’s gaze, the man’s face reddened, and Basil let his own gaze heat. Holcombe swiped his lips with his tongue, and swallowed.
Aye, there was a flicker of interest, wasn’t there?
Sitting back in the chair, Basil left himself open for further inspection. He spread his legs, and rested his hand on his thigh. To be too obvious might place himself in danger, had he guessed wrong about his lordship’s inclinations.
“Honesty is all I want.”
“Ask your questions, then.” Holcombe glanced down at Basil’s groin.
“Just what is going on here?”
“What?” Holcombe’s gaze shot up to Basil’s face.
“Something is not as it should be, Lord Holcombe. I sense something.”
Holcombe shrugged. “Nonsense.”
“So it’s my imagination that the duke is uncomfortable with this marriage?”
“Certainly.”
“And that you, yourself, are not happy. Angry, if I’m not mistaken.” Basil narrowed his eyes, searching for any sign the man lied.
“Why would I be angry?”
“I’m not sure.” It could be many things or nothing. But there was something there, something between the duke and his steward, something…oh.
Basil’s heart plummeted to the ground.
“Perhaps you are unhappy with the thought of His Grace’s marriage?”
“Why would I be?”
“Some might not like the thought of sharing the person they loved.”
With great speed, Holcombe surged to his feet, pulled his dagger, and rushed around the table. He grabbed Basil’s shirt and vest, and put the tip of the blade under Basil’s chin, pinning him in the chair.
“What are you accusing me of?” His eyes burned a brighter blue. Stunning, if they weren’t so frightening. Oh God, he wanted this man.
The heat pouring off him consumed Basil. He swallowed, and the point pricked him. One false move and he might just push the dagger home.
“Only of what I myself am guilty of,” he whispered, and suppressed the desire to reach out and stroke the man’s cock. That would surely earn him death.
Holcombe’s eyes widened and the blade dropped. “Enough! Speak not one word more.” He pushed Basil away from him.
“It seems my words have struck home.”
Holcombe paced the room, the dagger still clutched in his hand. Basil watched, as ideas popped into his head. Greedy, selfish, horrible, ideas. Could he take what he’d never admitted he’d dreamed of? Could he twist these circumstances to his own needs so long buried and forgotten? Could Will be his?
“The contract is unbreakable. There is no way out of it.”
“I know,” Holcombe spit out. “Unless your sister breaks it.”
“Or I.”
They stared at each other, the heat building between them. Basil stood and walked around the room as if inspecting it, only biding his time and letting his thoughts and words form.
“My sister wishes this marriage.” He stood at the window and looked out. It was a fine day.
“Does she?” The tone of Holcombe’s voice sent a ripple of unease through Basil.
“She understands her duty. She understands and wants what is best for both herself and her daughter.”
“Really?” Clearly, Holcombe didn’t believe it. Had Marcus spoken to him, told him of his interest in Beth?
“And I want it. My sister will not break the contract, nor will I.” Basil faced Holcombe, daring him. “The marriage will take place. As planned.”
Holcombe raised the blade to his waist, and for a moment, Basil thought he was done for, but the lord merely slipped it back into its sheath.
“My sister will marry the duke.” Basil added, “And where will that leave you, Lord Holcombe?”
Holcombe stared at the wall, perhaps seeing something horrible and frightening, as the man’s eyes gave him away. As if he could see inside to the younger man’s soul, Basil’s heart staggered at the despair and defeat he beheld. To love someone so much, to risk everything for that person, to suffer such a loss, would he ever know that feeling?
Basil turned away, strode to the window, threw open the latch, and pushed it open. He sucked in air, filling his chest, steadying his nerves and the pounding of his heart.
Could he do this? Could he destroy so many people for a chance to be with a man whose heart burned for another? Could he act on his selfishness?
He’d denied his own desires for so many years, only slaking his thirst for intimacies with a man on a rare occasion. Instead, he’d passed his time in hunting, and music, and in his lands, forgoing any companionship.
A pigeon winged around the courtyard, then flapped to a landing next to another of its kind.
Here stood another of Basil’s kind. One Basil wanted, respected, and perhaps in time, would love. If he left now, ended this game, took his sister and left, he’d never know that pain, glory, or love.
“Honesty. We spoke of it, and yet, I have not been honest with you, Lord Holcombe.” Basil turned and walked over to Holcombe.
He reached out and took Holcombe’s face in his hand. “Gods, you are so beautiful and if I were a weaker man, a more conceited man, I would destroy Heaven and Hell to have you in my arms the rest of my life.” He let the hand drop, but kept his gaze locked with Holcombe’s.
“Any man you chose would be fortunate, my lord.”
“Ah, but were that true.” Basil sighed. “Above all my sister wishes to choose her own husband. I suspect she’d choose Marcus, your master of arms. He wants her. You want Jackson. I have a suspicion that Jackson wants you.”
“And you, what do you want?” Holcombe whispered, as he caught Basil’s hand in his, Basil glanced down. His hand and Holcombe’s were about the same size, as were their bodies.
“Nothing. I want nothing.”
“You would end all of this?” Holcombe exhaled. “I can barely believe it.”
“Believe it. If you want, I will write the letter to break the contract now.”
Holcombe let him go and rushed to his desk. He pulled out parchment, ink, and quill and sat down. Basil drifted back to his chair and sat.
A quarter of an hour later, they’d hammered out the terms of the new contract. Holcombe impressed Basil with his generosity, but then, he’d give away everything he had to keep his duke, wouldn’t he?
Holcombe slid the paper across the desk for Basil to check.
“Perhaps I should have asked for more?” He scanned the document. He’d done well by his sister. All she’d wanted, her own house, a guaranteed income, land, livestock, and the right to choose her own husband. It would free her, not just from his rule, but to find her own way in this world.
Basil signed his name, blotted it, and handed it back. Then he stood and gave Holcombe a bow.
Holcombe came around the desk and walked with him to the door.
“Is there nothing you want for yourself, Lord Clayton?” The man tilted his head with a smile. It was a smile any man would bask in, and Basil treasured it.
“Perhaps only one thing.”
“And that is?”
“A kiss, my lord.” Basil glanced across into Holcombe’s eyes.
Holcombe cupped Basil’s cheek and leaned in. Basil’s cock came to life as Holcombe’s lips parted. Basil met him, open and ready. Soft lips pressed to his, gentle at first, then harder as they supped at each other’s mouths, tongues exploring, tasting, delving deeper. Basil wished the kiss would never end, but at last, t
oo soon, it did.
“The duke is a most fortunate man, Lord Holcombe.”
Will smiled. “Is he? It’s I who count myself most fortunate to have him.”
Basil shrugged. He and William Holcombe were not to be. He could have forced the matter, but he didn’t want someone who didn’t want him, no matter how sweet his kisses. How long before the sweetness soured?
He’d waited this long, he could wait longer still.
“We’ll announce the dissolution of the marriage contract tonight, at the evening meal.” Holcombe opened the door and Basil stepped out. The castle’s steward handed him the parchment—he took it and then proceeded down the corridor.
Beth would be most pleased at this turn of events.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The midday meal was a quiet affair. Beth and Basil found themselves alone at the table. They waited, and at last, the duke’s young page appeared.
“His Grace bids your forgiveness, but he has some business to attend to.” The lad bowed and left.
“Well?” Beth arched an eyebrow up and her lips twisted. “So much for a welcome.”
Basil shrugged. “As long as there’s ale and good food.” He surveyed the table. “And this looks and smells like good food to me.” He filled his charger with meat and bread.
She picked up a piece of chicken and dropped it on her plate. “Good food, but the company is lacking.” She licked her fingers. Basil was right, the food was good. Well-seasoned and savory.
“You seem to be taking this well,” she continued. “If I had known better, I’d say you expected it.” She put her elbow on the table and her chin in her palm.
“Expected it? No. But there is nothing to do about it. Eat your meal, sister, then go to your room and rest. The running of Baymore doesn’t stop for you, my dear.”
Heat rose on her face. “I know that, but…”—she looked around—“we sit alone? No one to eat with us?”
“Don’t let it worry or vex you, Beth. The wedding festivities begin tonight.”
She sighed. He was right, as usual. She shouldn’t take it as a slight. The rooms they’d been given were warm, inviting, and well appointed. Even little Anne had settled in, taking to her crib for a nap. Beth’s old maid had stretched out on the bed and closed her eyes before Beth had even left the room.