by Mary Birk
“Thanks, Bernard. Happy Christmas.”
“Happy Christmas to you, my lord.”
Miranda followed her bags up the stairs, calling back, “I’ll be down after I unpack.”
Reid, left alone with his mother, felt self-conscious. “Thank you for doing all this for my son, Countess. The baptism and everything.”
“For heaven’s sake, Terrence, Michael’s our grandson. We’re thrilled.” She looked at him levelly. “I need to ask you about how you want the rooms for your family set up. I set aside the large green bedroom, and thought I could also give you the separate adjoining room. You can put the baby’s bassinet in the large room or in the smaller room—however you want.”
“Can you have the bassinet set up in the larger room? Anne and the baby can have that room, and I’ll take the smaller one.”
“Of course. Just let Bernard where to put everyone’s things.”
He nodded. “I will.”
“I cannot wait to see the bébé.” His mother led the way to the drawing room where the Christmas tree lights lit up the room prettily.
“The house looks wonderful, Countess, and all the fairy lights along the drive are magnificent. I wish Michael were old enough to appreciate them. You’ve truly outdone yourself, and on short notice.”
She smiled. “Not short notice for Christmas, chérie, as it seems to fall on the same day every year, but for the christening, I would agree. We’ll see how well I have that organized later, but for now, let’s just try to manage the whirlwind.” She leaned up and kissed his cheek. “We’ve missed you.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve been underwater at work. Then Paris. I just couldn’t get away.”
“It would have been nice to know before the child was born that you and Anne were expecting.” His mother’s voice was gentle, not censorious, but still, he stiffened.
“I’m sorry about that too.”
“Not to worry, chérie. But next time, a bit more notice of any expected babies would be appreciated.”
He nodded, knowing there would likely never be a next time.
She patted him on the chest. “But we’ll take what we can get. Better no notice than no babies.”
“Thank you.” Reid turned as the front door opened, letting a cold blast of air into the front of the house. His father stood in the entryway, holding the massive wooden door open for two women, one of whom was holding a baby. Reid froze, singling out for his attention the one who was his wife.
His heart stopped, then slammed into his chest. Anne’s face broke into a luminous smile that felt like warm sunshine after a long barren winter, and he felt himself sinking. Lord, help him. She was so bloody damned beautiful. He could hardly breathe as a surge of instant longing swept through him.
“Hello, Terrence,” she spoke his name softly.
“Anne.” He kept his face impassive and his voice stiff and formal. He wouldn’t let her know what her betrayal had done to him. “How are you?”
“I’m good. Come see Michael.” She motioned with her head to the child she was holding. As Reid drew near, she lifted her face ever so slightly. He gave her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek in greeting as he would have done for any other woman guest, then looked down at the little bundle in her arms.
He hadn’t expected the same incredible magnitude of emotion to rush through him again as it had when he’d first seen his child. He breathed out his son’s name. “Michael.”
“Do you want to hold him?” Anne’s eyes sparkled like the water in the loch when sunlight bounced off of it. He wanted to stare at her, drink in all the details of her, but he knew he couldn’t think about her like that. She’s not yours anymore, he reminded himself. But Michael was his and would always be his. He would focus only on the child. Their beautiful child.
“Shouldn’t I wash up first?” How could a baby make him feel so clumsy? So nervous? His baby and Anne.
She laughed, and he loved her. “No, that’s not necessary. He’s not going to put his mouth on you, so you should be fine. Take him.” She handed the little bundle to Reid and guided his hands as he placed them around the child.
He bent his face toward his son’s, smiling and talking to the baby, trying to establish communication. Michael had changed so much since he’d last seen him. He’d grown bigger and there was even more of the dark, thick hair. He studied his son’s face. It had filled out as well. “Love you,” he whispered. He glanced around when he heard someone coming down the stairs. Miranda. He motioned to Michael. Miranda smiled back and nodded, coming close, and put her hand on his arm.
Reid caught Anne’s eyes appraising them. With complete self-possession, his wife put her hand out toward Miranda. “Hello, I’m Anne. I don’t think we’ve met.”
“Miranda Greene.” Miranda’s voice was chilly.
“It’s nice to meet you. This is my sister, Meg Grainger. And that’s Michael there, with Terrence.”
Miranda’s nod just barely skated past being rude. Without saying another word to Anne, she turned her attention to him. “He looks so much like you, lucky boy, but his photos didn’t do him justice. I’ll bring my camera down later, and we can take some more. Then I’ll email one to Peter and Claudia. They’re so disappointed to be missing the christening,”
Reid could see Anne’s face register the other woman’s affectionate way with him. She momentarily faltered, seeming to be at a loss as to what to do next. Meg put her hand protectively on her sister, and Anne leaned into it. He wanted to say something, but couldn’t think of anything to say to either her or Miranda. The painful silence was broken only when his mother came forward and embraced Anne. Without pausing, she bustled everyone into the drawing room.
Reid averted his eyes from Anne and focused instead on his mother, whose face was beaming.
“He’s so beautiful, so perfect, chérie. May I hold him?” She looked at Anne, then at him.
“Of course.” Reid handed the baby to his mother.
“I’ll take him to see his grandfather.” She left them, making her way over to the big fireplace where the Earl was standing.
Deprived of the child in his arms who had conveniently insulated him from whatever else was going on in the room, Reid took a deep breath, trying to stop his heart from racing. Longing for his wife sat like a stone against his chest. He could hardly catch his breath. By the time he looked up, he realized Anne was no longer beside him. She’d gone over to the Christmas tree and was standing there alone. He knew he should go over to her, but he couldn’t talk to her until he got his emotions under control.
Meg was talking to Pippa on the other side of the room. He went to join them even though he knew it would seem to be slighting Anne not to go to his wife. He just couldn’t do it yet. He still couldn’t breathe right. He’d just get his bearings, then he’d talk to her.
“Meg, wonderful to see you.” He kissed his sister-in-law on the cheek, but Meg was undeniably cool to him. He struggled to make small talk but couldn’t concentrate. Luckily Pippa carried the conversational ball, and he and Meg only had to make polite noises.
Pippa’s children hurtled into the room and accosted their mother. Her husband, Thomas Haney, came in behind them, followed by the maid bringing the tea. Bernard walked behind her, carrying a tray filled with scones, cakes, little sandwiches, and hot mushroom tarts. The guests broke into lively talk as they made their way to the food.
Reid looked around to find his wife, trying to will himself to show a calm he didn’t feel. Anne was no longer standing, but had taken a seat on a rose-colored armchair and was gazing absently at the Christmas tree. She sat so still and alone, as if she were composing herself for an ordeal. Suddenly ashamed, he realized he’d been thinking only of how her coming was unsettling him. This had to be hard for her, too. She deserved a great deal of credit for her willingness to bring the child to his family so they could see him; she could have insisted they all come to the States instead.
He went over to her. “How are you, Anne?�
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She didn’t take her eyes from the tree. “Isn’t he a lovely boy?” She sounded tired. Of course she was tired. After all, she’d given birth only a month earlier and had just made a long trip. But God, she was so beautiful. The way the light played on her hair—he’d almost forgotten. When he’d been forced to briefly see her in California after Michael was first born, he’d made sure to keep his gaze to the side of her, knowing he wouldn’t be able to take the full force of seeing her, and he’d left before he could say or do anything to jeopardize his escape. Now she was here, and he couldn’t look away.
“Yes, he is.” Finally, she turned to him, her face lovely and calm, and her eyes with that magical quality of making him want to swim in their deep blue depths. “Anne, we need to talk.” He tried to keep his voice businesslike.
For a time, she said nothing. Finally, she spoke, her voice soft. “Yes, we do. But right now, may I have a cup of tea? I’m so thirsty.” Her voice was polite, and she still spoke in that odd way he didn’t remember, pausing before each sentence. Fatigue, no doubt.
“Of course. No sugar or cream, right?”
“Just lemon, please.”
Ignoring Miranda’s concerned gaze from across the room, he got the tea. When he returned, his mother was holding the baby and sitting next to Anne, engaged in conversation about Michael’s sleeping and eating habits and how he’d made the journey.
He handed Anne her cup, then inclined his head toward his mother. “May I get you some tea, Countess?”
“No, thank you, Terrence, but after Anne has had her tea, you can take her and the baby up to the room so they can rest before dinner, and so Anne can feed the baby.” She looked at Anne, motioning to her own breast. “You’re feeding him yourself, chérie?”
Anne nodded. “Lady Wynstrathe, I want to thank you for your hospitality. It was so nice of you to invite my family for the baptism and for Christmas. I hope it isn’t too much trouble.”
“Chérie, please call me Juliette. There’s no need to be so formal. We’re thrilled to have you here. It’s been far too long since we’ve seen you, and now you have this lovely baby.” His mother smiled and touched the baby’s head gently. “I laid out the christening outfit in your room. I’m sure it will fit him perfectly.”
Anne took a drink of her tea, and then put down her cup and saucer. “Thank you so much. I’m sure it will. If you’ll excuse me, I really should take Michael upstairs and give him his dinner.”
His mother shot him a look. “Terrence will go with you. I believe I am falling behind on my hostess duties.”
Reid, momentarily taken aback at the prospect of being alone with Anne, recovered enough to nod. This would be a good opportunity for them to talk about the annulment. “Of course. Let me carry Michael.” He took the child from his mother, who kissed Anne on the cheek before leaving them alone.
Anne stood up and reached out to take Michael from him. “You don’t need to come with me.”
“You might get lost.”
“I doubt it.”
Meg suddenly appeared at Anne’s side and took her by the arm. She addressed herself to her sister, speaking gently as if to someone wounded. “Time to feed Michael?”
Anne nodded. “Can you come with me?”
“Of course.”
Anne looked over at him, her eyes unreadable. “Can we talk later? I need to rest before dinner if I’m to be able to keep from falling into the soup.”
“Certainly.” He was both relieved and dismayed. “You’re sure you can find the room?”
“Your mother said it was the room we stayed in when I was here before. I remember where it is.” She put her arms out, and he handed her the baby. “Meg will be just across the hall. We’ll be fine.”
Chapter 8
LANCE KENSINGTON was having trouble driving the little sports car down the winding road toward Dunbaryn. The roads were dangerously icy, and the snow pelting down so hard wasn’t making things easier. But he didn’t ask Darryl to stop what he was doing. It was too glorious. He wanted to pull over, but Darryl insisted he keep driving. It was the most exquisite torture, to have to try to resist climaxing so as not to crash the car. And his lover knew exactly when to pull back, to stop the march towards the inevitable explosion in order to draw out the sweet pleasure. Darryl was so skilled at this Lance was sure he’d had many lovers before—unlike Lance, who at almost twenty years old, had been a virgin when he met Darryl Duggan.
On some level, Lance had realized a long time ago he was turned on by the male body, having been confronted with his naked schoolmates frequently during years at boarding school. He was fairly certain he’d be equally attracted to girls, especially if he ever got to see a real one naked. Photographs of naked girls made him hard. As did photographs of naked men. Actually, everything to do with sex made his body stir. He adjusted his body in the small bucket seat trying to give Darryl’s head more room to maneuver.
When Darryl had approached him at the club that first night, looking like a blond god, Lance was still so naive, he hadn’t even realized Darryl was coming on to him. It had been Lance’s first time in the dark, sultry, underground nightclub. The place was decorated like a cave, with private little alcoves for the tables, plenty of dark corners, and pulsating music. It reeked with the scent of people looking for fun, for excitement, for sex. Men and women. He’d gone there with a few of his mates from school, but he’d lost track of them after they wandered off in pursuit of some girls.
Sitting alone at one of the tables in the back, Lance had almost swallowed his tongue when the smoking hot young man, flashing a smile illuminated by the whitest teeth Lance had ever seen, pulled up a chair and, without asking, sat down.
“You look familiar. You’re reading law at U of G?”
Lance nodded, wondering only for a second how he’d known.
“Me too. Almost finished, I hope.”
“It’s my first term.”
“How do you like it?”
“So far, it’s all right.” Lance had felt a strange quickening of excitement when the man smiled at him. They’d talked, had a few more drinks, and then Lance felt the man’s hand just lightly, briefly, touch his knee. Though because the table was small and the place was so dark, he wasn’t even sure Darryl realized he’d touched him.
Darryl suggested they go back to his flat so they could talk where it was quieter, and Lance went eagerly. He was still living in a dormitory, which felt just barely one step up from boarding school. Having a flat was much cooler. Lance had been even more impressed when he found out Darryl lived alone. No flatmate. And his place was nice. Small, but nice.
Darryl put on music and got them each a whiskey. Lance felt so adult, two men talking and having a drink. He thought about how out of place he’d felt growing up. Having to be so careful because of his diabetes had made him different than the other boys, and he’d had few friends. University was better. People didn’t seem to be concerned about things like that, and he’d made friends right away.
He looked over at Darryl, who’d unbuttoned his shirt and leaned back against the couch, arms outstretched. Lance was mesmerized by the bare tanned chest with its muscular hills and valleys, but Darryl went on talking as if he didn’t notice him looking. Darryl was in such good shape, much better than Lance was. He wanted to study each detail of the other man’s naked chest carefully, but he pulled his eyes away and forced himself to try to concentrate on what Darryl was saying and to keep up his end of the conversation. Darryl had a way of talking to him, and listening, that made Lance feel like he was saying something interesting, important.
Then casually, Darryl got up and stretched as he made his way to what Lance assumed was the bedroom. “I’ll be right back. Have another drink if you want one.”
Lance looked around and laid his head back on the sofa cushion. His head was spinning a little. He’d probably drunk a little too much already. When he looked up, Darryl was back wearing nothing but running shorts.
&nbs
p; “That’s more comfortable.” Darryl smiled that big toothsome grin and sat back down on the couch, a little nearer to Lance than he’d been before.
Lance felt his body react. He knew he had an erection. He hoped it didn’t show, and he moved a little to try to hide it.
Darryl looked at him with a lazy smile. “Tired?”
“I guess so. Perhaps I should get going.”
“Not yet, surely.” Darryl put out his hand and softly touched Lance’s pants where the hardness had betrayed him. Lance wanted to move away, thought he should move away. But it was as if he were detached from what was going on. He didn’t recoil, just let it happen. Probably being a bit drunk made it easier for him to accept what he was doing. Darryl’s touch wasn’t offensive, as he’d heard other boys report. Not offensive at all. In fact, it felt wonderful. He groaned softly with desire, and Darryl smiled as he rubbed his thumb over Lance’s knob-end.
There was no clumsy fumbling. Darryl knew exactly what to do. It had been beautiful, and Lance couldn’t say if he’d been seduced or whether it had been his own idea, but when Darryl put his mouth on him that first time, Lance felt all the fireworks he’d ever read about.
He was grateful for the initiation and for how elegantly it had been done. He’d not felt like a virgin, and when it was his turn to reciprocate, he felt like he knew what to do. And when they moved on from the mouth to other parts, that too, was glorious.
Lance felt different afterwards. Different in a good way. More confident, more attractive, and in love. So if Darryl wanted to torment him while he drove, he was more than willing to let it happen. He trusted when it became necessary, Darryl would grab the wheel so they wouldn’t crash.
He was so glad Darryl could come with him on this Christmas holiday. He hated when there was no one else his age at these things, and now, knowing what he would be missing if Darryl weren’t here, it would have been unbearable. The thought of the delicious times Darryl and he could have away from the rest of the people at Dunbaryn made him weak. His studies had suffered since he’d started seeing Darryl, and he knew his father wouldn’t be pleased at his marks. But Lance could hardly think about anything except being with Darryl.