by Tinnean
I climbed to my feet and tugged my coat to straighten its lines. “I would wager if I searched the three of you, I would find the Flame of Diabul on one of you. And if one of you is to blame, then all of you are, because you always stick together!”
They leaned one against the other, Robert and John and William, and grinned smugly at me. And then John slid a glance at his older brother, and I felt my heart crack. The unquestioning love in his eyes! Never had he looked at me in that manner.
Then again, never had anyone.
Utterly blue-deviled, I turned and walked out of the room.
JOHN HAD promised to come to me, and I gazed at my pocket watch, waiting for the tap at my door. It was late, and not just in the matter of the time of day. I was determined to tell him I could not—would not—do this any longer. I placed the watch on the chest of drawers and began to dress for bed. No, that was not a good idea. It would be too simple for me to lift up my nightshirt and drive my prick into John’s fundament. I did up my inexpressibles and slid my braces back over my shoulders but left off my shoes, and sat in the chair by my window, reading an old copy of The Corsair.
My eyes burned—they were simply tired, or perhaps it was the chaff from the hay planted in the fields through which I’d ridden earlier in the day, or…. I removed my spectacles and set them aside, and dug my fingers into my eyes. I would wait just a few moments more. Just a few….
Warm lips caressed my cheek and jaw, waking me. “My own!” John sighed.
“Am I, John?” I sighed in turn and started to turn my head toward his lips. Never before had he called me sweet names or tried to kiss me.
And then his cognac-scented breath filled my nostrils, and I froze. “John, you’re foxed!” I snapped, disappointment flooding through me, along with the remembrance of what had occurred earlier in the evening.
“Devil a bit! ’m not even a little bit on the go!”
“Aren’t you, though? How much have you imbibed?”
“Jus’ one or two. Or three.” The sound he made could only be called a giggle. “Needed ’em to screw my courage to the sticking point. Want you to… want you to make love to me.” He leaned forward and cupped my cheek, and all my intentions went up in smoke. For the first time, not only had he touched me with tenderness, but the word “love” was brought up between us, and it was John who had said it!
“Oh, I am going to love you, John Hood. God help me, but I am!” I shrugged out of my braces, stripped off my shirt, and pulled him into my arms. Somewhere along the way he had lost his formal coat and waistcoat. His dress shirt hung open, and those small, tight nipples of his stabbed into my chest, burning where they touched.
I fitted my hand past his waistband and brushed the backs of my fingers against the turgid length of his prick.
“Yes, my heart’s love! Yes!”
“Get your breeches off now, John!”
He scrambled out of them and flung himself backward on my bed, while I removed my own breeches. “Come to me, love!”
Twelve years of hurts and slights and disappointments were forgotten in a trice. He loved me! He was lying on his back, finally ready to make love with me face to face!
In the nightstand beside my bed was a jar that contained the cream that eased my way into my lover’s body. I scooped some up and massaged it around his anus, dipping a fingertip and then more past the tight ring of muscle.
John’s breath hitched with need. “More, love! Give me more!”
Instead, I removed my finger and began to pet the thick, wiry hair that curled around his prick, smoothed the soft skin where thigh and groin joined. I pushed his legs back, opening him to my tender assault, and I gazed down at him.
His prick was oozing pearly drops of liquid with which I was quite familiar, and his hips thrust blindly into the air, seeking something to rub against to satisfy his maddening desire.
“Gently, my love, gently,” I whispered and leaned down to worship his prick briefly before covering my own prick with the cream and fitting it against his hole, slowly pressing forward until it accepted me. He gasped at the steady intrusion and thrashed his head back and forth upon the pillow, while I shuddered at the hot, silken ripple of muscles that tightly clasped my hardened flesh.
John writhed beneath me and cried out as my inward thrusts hit that spot within him. I drove in harder, deeper, faster and faster, while my lover begged and pleaded for me never to stop.
I did not know why on this night, of all nights, he chose to do this, but I had no intention of questioning him. I would accept it and be grateful.
I took his erection in my hand and squeezed and pulled on him in time to my strokes, and all too soon he was spending all over his chest.
I did not want this to end. I wanted to make love with John until the end of time—but of course that was impossible. My testicles tightened and drew up, and with a deep groan I began to spill myself into his channel.
He lay sprawled beneath me, and we both struggled to bring our breathing under some kind of control. As I began to drowsily contemplate our future together, John ran his fingers through my hair, nuzzled the skin beneath my ear, and whispered a name.
It was not my name.
I disengaged, wanting to weep. I had no choice but to face the truth. John Hood might enjoy my carnal caresses, but it was not me for whom he cared.
“What’s wrong, love?”
“Say my name, John. Open your eyes, look into my face, and say my name.”
“Ashton? What the devil? I thought it was….” The disappointment on his face had to equal mine. He was in the wrong bed. “It was you.”
“Yes, it was I.” I sat on the edge of my bed and buried my head in my hands. “You truly think I took the Flame of Diabul, John?”
“Had to be you, Awful,” he mumbled. “If it wasn’t, then that would mean it had to be one of my brothers. And it couldn’t be them! They would never steal from Aunt Cecy, never do anything that vile, that evil!”
But he had no problem assuming that I would.
He rolled to the other side of the bed and staggered to his feet. Taking a corner of my bed sheet, he wiped himself off on it. Then he dragged on his breeches and gathered the rest of his clothes. “Mus’ get back to my room, Awful. You’ll… you’ll say nothing?”
“I’ll say nothing.”
“Splendid.” He smiled, his eyes vague, and he hiccoughed. “Night.”
There was a finality in the sound of the door closing behind him.
I had been in love with John Hood since we were children, and had loved him since my seventeenth birthday. I’d hoped that he might….
Well, no matter. John had just dashed down all my hopes.
I stared at the closed door thoughtfully. Four years, I mused, refusing to consider the six that had gone before. Had I been insane to continue all this time?
Enough was enough. Little though John might know it, it was not goodnight, it was the end.
Having accepted the inevitable, feeling oddly at peace, I parted the curtains so the moon would give some light to the room, then blew out the candle, pulled the bedclothes over my shoulder, and fell asleep.
COLLING STOOD at the bottom of the shallow stairs leading up to the first floor of Laytham Hall, wringing his hands and shuffling from one foot to the other.
“Has Mr. John come down to breakfast yet, Colling?” I was in… not a tranquil mood precisely; having spent the time at my morning ablutions in determining how I would tell John I would no longer be available to him, I was intent on having it out with him, knowing I would be able to stand fast to my resolve.
“No… yes… that is to say….”
“What’s wrong? You’re acting as if you have Saint Vitus’s dance.”
The old man was pale. “It is Sir Eustace, Mr. Ashton!”
Bloody hell! “Never tell me he’s arrived already?”
“Yes, sir! He traveled through the night, and he’s in a beastly mood. Beg pardon, I’m sure, sir.” Obviou
sly Colling was shaken. He blinked furiously and continued to wring his hands, and abruptly I saw him as the elderly man he was. Of course he now feared my uncle’s temper as much as any of us. He could be turned out without a character at a moment’s notice, and at his age, another position would be impossible to come by. “If Mr. Robert or Mr. John were here, I would fetch them, but they are not in the Hall, and Mr. Ruston says their horses are not in their stalls.”
The two eldest of the Hood brothers were not around? That was most peculiar. Robert, and by extension John, made it a point to always be near Aunt Cecily whenever Sir Eustace was home, knowing that my uncle enjoyed hurting those weaker than he.
“What of Mr. William?” He was as likely to leap to Aunt Cecily’s defense as his brothers.
“I believe he is still abed, Mr. Ashton. That is to say, he hasn’t rung for his morning water as yet.”
“Well, perhaps….” I thought I heard a muffled cry. My eyes shot to the butler’s, and he nodded, miserable.
“Sir Eustace was quite… quite perturbed when he learned of the theft of the Flame of Diabul.”
“You mean it wasn’t returned?”
“No. When I went to Lady Laytham to inform her that the priest’s hole had been open all night, she gave me the unhappy news.”
Unhappy indeed. I knew I hadn’t taken it, and Aunt Cecily and Arabella were both too far from the ruby to have purloined the precious gem. That left only the three Hoods, and in spite of his callous disregard for my feelings, I could not see John as the culprit. As for William, he followed slavishly in his brothers’ wakes, with not a notion as to how to go on himself. So it had to be Robert, the most honorable of the Hoods. I felt a mean sense of satisfaction, although Aunt Cecily would be devastated by the extent of his betrayal.
“I am afraid Sir Eustace is taking it out on her Ladyship!” The old man’s faded blue eyes were wet with unshed tears. “What should I do, Mr. Ashton?”
“Hell and the devil!” The words slipped out. Things were at a pretty pass if Colling was looking to me to take charge, for in spite of the fact that I was the heir, he much preferred to go to Robert Hood.
I was ashamed to think how much I feared my uncle. His temper was volatile at best, and when things did not go his way, it was explosive. He loved to brandish his riding crop on the nearest target, and often as a child, I had felt it upon my back.
“Where are they, Colling?”
“In the morning room, sir.”
I scrubbed a hand over my face, then straightened my spectacles, smoothed my hair, and gave a tug to my frock coat. More than anything, I wanted to take to my heels and escape to the stables, but I could not; I was a Laytham, after all, and in spite of what those in the Hall might think, I did have a sense of honor.
“Very we… well. I shall d… deal with this.”
As I approached the closed door to the morning room, I could hear muted sobs, and the rhythmic slash of that bloody-be-damned crop, punctuated by Uncle Eustace’s tirade.
“It was bad enough that I had to take in Archibald’s whelp. You would saddle me with your friend’s”—he gave the word a nasty twist—“brats. Eating me out of house and home, costing me a fortune in school fees—”
“Their father left them the money for their schooling!” she dared to protest, but Uncle completely disregarded her words.
“Repaying me by stealing the Flame of Diabul!”
“No, Sir Eustace, no! Not my boys! They would not!”
“Wouldn’t they? I knew from the moment I saw them they were useless and worthless.” Because they had no fear of him? Still, I found it interesting to hear those words directed at someone other than myself.
I did not bother knocking on the door—as I might have done at another time when they were closeted together—I just turned the knob and entered.
Aunt Cecily huddled on the rug at his feet, her shoulders hunched, her hands shielding her face. Her hair was in a tangle about her shoulders, and her gown was in disarray. Had he also violated her? Uncle glared at me over his shoulder.
“Well, sirrah?” he demanded. When had his face taken on such an unhealthy color, such deep-scored lines? “What is the meaning of this interruption?”
“I heard you were home, Uncle. May I not come to greet you?”
“May you not….” His eyes looked not quite sane, and I took an involuntary step backward. “I come home to find the Laytham talisman has been stolen, and you, you miserable jackanapes, think only to utter inanities?” Spittle flecked over his chin, and he began to hurl abuse at both his wife and me, his words becoming more and more vile, accusing Aunt Cecily of betraying him with various and sundry men and me of abominable, unnatural acts. Uncle strode from one end of the room to the other, slicing the air viciously with his crop.
Good God, did he really think I could steal the family silver or take any of the female servants to my bed? I’d grown up with some of the housemaids, and it would have felt like incest. As for animals….
I shuddered, banished his words from my mind, and went to Aunt Cecily. “Please, Aunt, let me help you up.” I took her elbow and urged her to her feet and, in spite of Uncle’s fearsome harangue, summoned Colling.
“Yes, Mr. Ashton?” His expression was smooth and blank, but his eyes looked horrified. Uncle Eustace had never been this uncontrolled.
“Colling, please assist her Ladyship to her chamber. I’m sure Flowers will know what to do, but perhaps Dr. Medford might be sent for as well?”
The old man led his trembling mistress away. Before I could make good my own escape, Uncle wheeled, and his eyes fell upon me once again.
“Where is my wife?” he thundered.
“She is not well, Uncle. I thought perhaps it might be best for her to lie down….” I edged toward the door.
“You thought…. Since when have I given you leave to use that pitiful excuse you call a mind? And where do you think you’re going?”
I scrambled for a reasonable explanation to absent myself from his presence. “I was about to have a word with Cook,” I murmured as I faced him, my heart pounding in my chest.
“Oh, indeed? A word with Cook?” A cruel sneer twisted his features, and the crop beat against his leg in a restless motion. “Close that door!”
I swallowed, moistened my lips, and moved to obey him. We were much the same height, but while it had been some years since he’d struck me, I had no doubt he was about to do so once again.
“Lady Laytham’s negligence has cost me the Flame of Diabul!” he snarled.
“No, Uncle. She had nothing to do with it and did not deserve such treatment. The stone was….” Wanting to protect John, I hesitated to blame the theft on Robert, knowing that if one brother was involved, indeed they all would be, but I’d hesitated too long. Before I could amend my statement to “misplaced,” Uncle wheeled on me.
“Do not try to sugarcoat it! It was stolen! I must have the Flame of Diabul!” he howled. “It must be sold! I will be rolled up horse and guns if I cannot redeem my vowels! I will be barred from all my clubs! My honor will be in the dust!” He lashed out with the crop, and I flinched, drawing his attention to me once more. “Remove your coat, whelp!”
“Uncle….”
His open palm struck me high on my cheek, and my spectacles flew off, and I staggered back a few steps. “Obey me, boy!”
There was no reasoning with him when he was like this; I knew from past experience there was nothing to be done until he had satisfied the demon that dwelled within him. I shed my coat and braced myself.
The crop whistled through the air and sliced the material of my shirt. I bit my lips raw suppressing moans. My arms trembled, supporting the weight of my body, and soon my shoulders were as hunched as Aunt Cecily’s had been.
Abruptly, in mid-stroke, the whipping stopped. There was a garbled, gurgling sound and then a thud. I moved cautiously, trying to put as little strain upon my back as I could.
Uncle had toppled to the floor and
was writhing upon it, his fingers scrabbling at his neckcloth, his face an alarming shade of purple.
I watched in numbed disbelief as a vicious temper coupled with years of heavy drinking and high living got the better of him, and then haltingly made my way out of the room.
The family physician was just coming down the stairs from Aunt Cecily’s suite of rooms, and I blinked in a vain attempt to bring his features into focus. “Dr. Medford. You got here very quickly.”
“Mr. Ashton. Miss Arabella was… indisposed, and I had been sent for. You seem to have lost your spectacles.”
I raised a hand to my face, then dropped it. So that was why my vision was so blurred. “Yes. I believe I have.” Pain was washing over me in waves, and I put out a hand to the banister to steady myself, grateful the side of my face Uncle had struck was away from Dr. Medford. “Is Aunt Cecily all right?”
“Her woman is with her.” His lips tightened. He had been called to Laytham Hall more than once after my uncle had paid us a visit. “I have seen her better. Sir Eustace’s treatment of her… not gentlemanly! Not gentlemanly at all! It ought not to be allowed!”
“Ah, yes, my uncle. He is not quite the thing, I fear. Perhaps you would see to him before you left? He is in the morning room.”
I pulled myself up the first few steps to the landing as the doctor passed me. He turned, to say something cutting no doubt, but drew in his breath sharply instead. “God in heaven, Mr. Ashton! What have you done?”
Of course. It was my fault. I had taken a whip to my back. “Nothing, Dr. Medford.” All I wanted was the peace of my room. “Please see to Uncle.”
Instead of leaving me to make my way up the stairs, he slid an arm about my waist, carefully avoiding the worst of the gashes on my back, and got me up to my room.
Colling peeked in and moaned. “I will get you more water, Dr. Medford.”
“Wait! Not a word of this to her Ladyship, is that clear? It would… distress her.” As if it were only I who had felt my uncle’s crop. I waited until they both agreed before easing my shirt off my shoulders. My stomach twisted at the sight of my shirt, tattered and stained red. I shuddered and lay upon my bed. “Did he open Aunt Cecily’s back as well, Dr. Medford?”