Released

by Adella J. Harris

  So if Rosamond wasn’t the connection, what was? Or was it simply the fact that Dixon’s house reminded Jim of his old life, a life he clearly didn’t want Lionel to think about? That could be it. But then, if Jim trusted him so little as that, he would have to make certain that Jim understood he considered him more than just a body to warm his bed, and that meant he would not be trying to seduce him again tonight. Lionel didn’t like to admit to himself how much of a disappointment that was, but it was worth it to let Jim know he considered him a friend.

  That was the crux of it, Lionel decided. He was curious about Jim’s reaction to the man, but it wasn’t terribly important. Gaining enough of Jim’s trust so he wouldn’t be afraid of Lionel finding out whatever he was keeping from him was.

  And if he’d really been Jim’s friend, he would have paid attention to the stiffening of his back and the way his eyes darted when they’d stopped by the carriage. There had to have been some other way for him to fulfill what he thought of as his obligation of honor without ignoring what in hindsight Jim so obviously had wanted him to. And it would have been simple. He could have offered to send someone with a proper cart to help the man wherever he was going and turned back to Hensley House to tell Garrett. If he’d done that instead of trying to be some knight of old, Jim would still be sitting next to him, planning to return to see the view another day.

  But Jim wasn’t there when he returned to Hensley House. Lionel looked in all the places he could think of: the garden, the study, the library, even a glance into the kitchens, but there was no sign of him. It was certainly possible that he needed time to think, and he had always seemed interested in the trees and plants around the house. Lionel told himself not to worry simply because Jim needed a little time alone.

  But when he entered the dining room and found only one place set out, all of his fears came crashing back, starting with the idea that Jim was lost in the woods somewhere, alone and hurt, and ending with the far more reasonable but no less painful idea that Jim simply didn’t want to see him again and had left for good.

  Lionel pasted a calm expression on his features as Harrison came into the room. “Is Mr. Smith going to be joining me?”

  “Mrs. O’Brien felt he was catching a chill, so she chased him off to bed.”

  “I see.” Lionel’s first thought was to hurry upstairs and see if Jim was well, see if maybe a conversation where Dixon and the strange man weren’t mentioned at all would be enough to convince Jim to come downstairs, but he made himself stay in his seat. What would Jim think if he really were resting from a chill and Lionel burst into his room to chatter on about nothing of any importance? No, it would be better to let him rest. But he didn’t want him to brood on whatever had bothered him either. Lionel picked up his spoon and started on his soup. He’d just lock himself in his office tonight and get to work. He could have his desk cleared of everything important in a few hours, and he would simply ignore the morning’s mail. Well, maybe not ignore—he’d sort it at the breakfast table, and it was very likely there would be nothing that needed his immediate attention. Then, while he had Jim there, held captive by Mrs. O’Brien’s cooking, he would propose spending the day together, somewhere not in the direction of Beckwood Hall, of course. Maybe offer him a riding lesson on the grounds of the estate. That would give them time together, and Jim wouldn’t have to worry about anyone from his past turning up. It was a simple solution. And then he could ask Jim about his plans. It would be perfectly natural to wonder what sort of riding he would need to do.

  Unless Jim wasn’t at breakfast. Lionel pushed his food around on his plate, his appetite gone. He wasn’t sure if he should be concerned that Jim might becoming ill or that Jim didn’t want to see him, but clearly there was some cause for concern. He rose from the table. If he wasn’t going to eat, then he should go to the study and start making a dent in the work that was waiting for him. Then he could give Jim his full attention in the morning, or plan what to do if Jim didn’t come down to breakfast.

  As Lionel went through the letters on his desk, he couldn’t understand why he had put off seeing Jim all those mornings to answer them. There was nothing terribly important, nothing that couldn’t have waited. The most important was from Sanders at the office, and it was merely to tell him that everything was running smoothly and he’d be needed at the beginning of the month to sign some papers. The rest of the stack was made up of invitations to places he had no intention of going. Those were simple to deal with, and by the third polite, dull response, he was able to write them without thinking about it.

  Robert had asked him who he was trying to impress. He’d brushed off the question, but Robert had been right. Father wasn’t around to be impressed anymore, not that that had ever really been a possibility. And Randall, well, Randall saw him as someone to be called on when he needed to be saved from himself, nothing more. The quality were only interested in him as long as he had money or the ear of the royal family. No, the only person he should have been trying to impress was Jim, and that was the one person he hadn’t been trying to. But that would change. He was going to find some way to let Jim know that he was important, more important than any of the letters on the table or fools in the city. He just needed to figure out how.

  Lionel finished the last of the responses in the stack but still hadn’t figured what he would propose they do in the morning. It had to be something that would tell Jim he wanted to spend time with him, something that wouldn’t scare him off either. So nothing that would take them in the direction of Beckwood Hall. The riding lessons didn’t seem special enough, not for what he needed. Lionel stared into the fire, hoping for some inspiration, but all he could think of was how cozy it would be if Jim were sitting there too, perhaps going through the newspapers, looking for his cottage, while Lionel finished up his letters before they went upstairs together.

  Of course, that scene would bring Jim one step closer to finding his cottage or to determining there was nothing suitable in the area. Either way, it would be one step closer to him leaving. Lionel knew he should be hoping for Jim to find the place he was looking for, but he couldn’t help hoping it would take him a while, long enough for Lionel to—to what? That was the question, wasn’t it?

  Lionel glanced at the clock, but it was too early for him to retire, unless he wanted the staff to think he had caught a chill as well. He eyed the bookcase, but nothing caught his attention. He pulled his notepaper towards him again and began to write out the shell of a polite but generic refusal of an invitation. If that was what he would be receiving in the post, he may as well be ready to turn them down. And every line written now was a few more moments he could spend with Jim later.

  Lionel stayed in the study until he had finished his letters, tidied the desk, and gone through the bookshelves twice. Then it seemed late enough to retire to his room without causing comment among the staff. As Baxter helped him prepare for bed, he had to control himself not to snap at the man to hurry up or simply tell him to leave. The sooner he went to sleep, the sooner he could wake up to breakfast with Jim and the prospect of a whole day spread out before them. He’d narrowed his plans to two choices. He could either ask Mrs. O’Brien to prepare another picnic lunch for them and take him out wandering on the grounds with the excuse he wanted his opinion on how to restore them, or he could ask Jim what he wanted to do. The second choice sounded like the better one, but what if Jim proposed something that had no place for Lionel, either because he believed Lionel would be in the study for most of the morning again, or because he was still sensitive about whatever it was that had happened on the road, or, horror of horrors, because he didn’t want to spend time with Lionel anymore? No, he decided as he finally got Baxter out the door, he’d propose the picnic. And Baxter would definitely be staying in the servants’ quarters while Jim was here.

  Baxter didn’t seem to think it was odd that Lionel hadn’t spoken as he’d prepared for bed, and he left as soon as Lionel dismissed him with nothing more th
an a “good night.” Lionel hoped that meant Baxter thought he was tired or that Baxter wanted to get to his own bed, but he didn’t have the energy to try to figure it out. He’d go to bed, and when he woke up, he’d see about putting things right with Jim.

  Lionel sat on the edge of the bed and went to blow out the candle, but now that he was in bed, his mind wouldn’t stop. What if the passing thought had been right, and Jim didn’t want to spend more time with him? They had spent two wonderful nights together, or at least it had been wonderful for him What if Jim had seen it as a simple transaction in exchange for room and board? Everything he was thinking of as nerves could simply be a man bored with his situation and waiting for the chance to get away. Lionel got off the bed and poked around the bureau until he found a boring book of historical treatises on the Roman Empire. It would do, complex enough to keep his mind occupied but dull enough to let him fall asleep.

  He had just settled in with the book when Lionel heard a soft knock on his door, hesitant, like someone unsure of their welcome. He hurried out of bed to open the door and found Jim standing in the hallway. “Can I...”

  “Come in, please.”

  Jim nodded and slipped inside. Lionel closed the door, unsure how to proceed. Jim must be feeling the need to repay him for the hospitality. He didn’t want Jim to remember their friendship as a transaction. If Jim could see him as a friend, that would be something at least—not what he wanted, but being remembered fondly was surely better than as a client. He tried to school his features into a friendly mask as he turned to offer Jim a drink.

  He’d barely made it around when Jim pressed him to the door and covered his lips with his own. Lionel wondered if he should push his friend away or if that would hurt Jim’s feelings somehow. Jim’s tongue ran along the seam of Lionel’s lips until they parted, letting him in.

  When Jim pulled back to run his lips down Lionel’s neck, Lionel managed to force out, “You don’t have to.”

  “Shh, let me.” Jim kept working his way down, now undoing the laces of Lionel’s nightshirt.

  Lionel was going to protest. He’d had it all planned out. A pleasant morning doing something Jim wanted to, a friendly lunch, being friends, then maybe they could repeat the night they’d spent together. He was going to say something until Jim got his nightshirt open and Jim’s lips closed around his left nipple, sucking and nipping and driving all other thoughts from Lionel’s mind.

  Jim kept working his way down Lionel’s chest, following the opening of the collar, nipping and licking and sucking while Lionel panted. Every time he reached for Jim, Jim slid away, bringing them towards the bed, then letting his tongue glide over Lionel’s skin until Lionel couldn’t think of anything but letting Jim do whatever he wanted to.

  Lionel could feel the moment Jim knew he could have his way. Jim guided him to the bed and pulled Lionel’s nightshirt over his head and tossed it aside then slowed down his exploration of Lionel’s body, taking his time to taste and nip at Lionel’s skin as he worked his way down, until he was nuzzling the line of hair along Lionel’s belly, making Lionel shudder and tense and moan softly. The moan seemed to spur Jim on, and he eased his tongue along the crease of Lionel’s hip, letting Lionel’s balls rub against the side of his face until he was under them and able to run his tongue along the sensitive skin there. Lionel whimpered, wanting more, although of what, he wasn’t sure.

  But Jim seemed to know. He let his tongue dart out to touch Lionel’s shaft, stroking a little farther each time, until Lionel was thrusting his hips and making soft sounds in his throat. Then Jim closed his lips around Lionel’s cock and started to suck in earnest, taking it deep inside then sliding away. Lionel wondered if this was what Jim had meant when he said he was good at giving men what they wanted, and then he couldn’t think of anything but Jim’s mouth. He felt his hips move without him thinking about it, wanting to get in deeper, faster, more. He tangled his fingers in Jim’s hair, and Jim stilled. Lionel glanced down and found Jim looking up at him, watching, his pink lips stretched around Lionel. He nodded and gave Lionel a light slap on the arse. Lionel started to thrust again, and Jim nodded best he could then concentrated on making his tongue do something that felt amazing as Lionel slid along it. Only a few strokes, and he was spilling down Jim’s throat, Jim sucking and lapping as he did.

  Lionel collapsed back on the bed. He felt Jim slide off of his softening cock and rolled over to face him. He tried to sit up enough to reach between Jim’s legs and give him some release, only to feel Jim’s belly was sticky with his own climax. Apparently, he had enjoyed what he was doing to Lionel almost as much as Lionel had. Lionel slid his hand up and caught Jim’s arm, giving a little tug until Jim understood what he wanted and crawled into bed beside him, resting his head on Lionel’s chest.

  Lionel relaxed into the pillows, feeling sated and drowsy. He let his eyes drift closed and breathed in Jim’s scent. He felt Jim move beside him and tried to get his arms organized enough to reach for him, but everything felt heavy and relaxed. Then he felt Jim’s lips brush his shoulder. “I love you.” It was barely a breath against his skin, but he heard it. Lionel smiled. As he drifted to sleep, he thought he felt the bed move. Jim leaving. Jim loved him. Jim would want to be with him. He’d see Jim in the morning, tell him how much he loved him, invite him to stay, figure out how it could happen. Holding that thought in his mind, Lionel let himself sleep.

  In the green suite, Jim let himself rest until it was barely light outside then gathered up his things. Seeing Lionel one last time had been foolish, but he couldn’t leave without one memory of that dear face flushed with pleasure he’d given him. And saying he’d loved him, well, he supposed he couldn’t have stopped himself, and he’d have probably regretted it forever if he hadn’t said the words at least once. But he’d had the sense to wait until Lionel was asleep. That was something, at least. He folded up the clothes that Mrs. O’Brien had found for him and left them on the chair. Then he realized she might ask questions if he came down in his old suit. He supposed it would be all right to take one outfit, as Lionel had said he could have them, and it would make it easier to leave quickly. He changed into one of the shirts he’d been given, with the brown trousers, as they were the most practical, showing the least dirt. He picked up the blue coat from the first night and stroked the sleeve. He’d been so proud when Lionel had seen him in it. And that was why he wouldn’t take it. There was a green coat from the other morning. That would do. He made certain he had all of his money, and his own things, then left the green suite for the last time.

  Mrs. O’Brien was already in the kitchen, with her troop of maids, getting breakfast ready. “Mr. Jim, are you feeling better?”

  “Much, thanks to your beef broth. But I should be on my way.”

  “Oh, I rather thought you were staying a while.” She seemed genuinely disappointed that he was leaving. “At least let me fix you a basket to take with you. You never can be sure of the food they sell at some of the inns along the way. The White Hart is safe, but I wouldn’t trust many others.”

  Mrs. O’Brien’s food was definitely better than anything he’d get along the way, and cheaper. “If it’s not too much trouble, I’d never say no to your cooking.”

  “With the blarney again. There’s cold pie from the servants’ supper yesterday. And some of these sausages will travel well. And perhaps a bit of bread.” Mrs. O’Brien bustled around preparing his basket then saw him on his way. As Jim walked down the path towards the road to town, he wished he were really a friend of Lionel’s, someone who would be coming back to Hensley House, for the fishing perhaps, as Lionel had suggested once. But there would be no returning now. Not with Dixon barely two miles away, and certainly not after he’d told Lionel he loved him.

  Chapter 14

  ***

  WHEN LIONEL AWOKE, he was disappointed but not surprised to find his bed empty. Perhaps he could have a word with the staff, tell them not to bother with his fire in the mornings any longer
. Then Jim could stay beside him.

  Baxter came in, and Lionel let himself be bundled into his clothes for the day. So how would he tell Jim? Part of him wanted to race down the stairs and burst into the breakfast room, fling his arms around the man, and declare his love. Ridiculous, dangerous, and above all, not quite romantic enough. No, there had to be a better way. Lean over him while he sat at breakfast and press a kiss to his neck? Better, but not quite.

  It was while he was shaving that it came to him. He’d ask Jim to walk with him in the garden, show him the mess that had been the hedge maze, on the pretense that he wanted advice on how to bring it back to respectability. Then he could lead him into some lover’s knot or overgrown walkway and steal a kiss. Silly and schoolboyish maybe, but he didn’t think Jim had had much silliness or schoolboy charms in his love life. Maybe he’d like the change.

  Lionel tried not to run to the breakfast room. He hadn’t heard any sign of Jim in the green suite as he’d passed it, so Jim must have already gone down to breakfast. Now that he thought of it, Jim had been at breakfast before him every morning. Lionel walked into the room ready to greet Jim and propose the walk in the garden at once, before the post came to distract them. The blasted post. When it came, he’d tell Harrison to take it away and leave it in the study. He wouldn’t even look at it until he’d taken a turn around the grounds with Jim and told him how things stood. He glanced around the breakfast room then looked a second time. “Harrison, has Mr. Smith already broken his fast?”