by Megan Derr
"You're mine," Bart replied firmly, and tilted Perry's face up to take a gentle but thorough kiss. He smiled when they at last broke apart. "I could not figure out why that damned highwayman kept kissing me."
"Neither could the highwayman," Perry grumbled. "It was the epitome of stupid."
Bart laughed, settling more comfortably in his seat. "You had long, dark hair as a highwayman. A wig?"
"Yes," Perry said around a yawn.
"Then there are only two things I do not understand—the perfume and the change in your voice."
Perry laughed. "The perfume was a private matter; it was Scarlet's favorite scent…" He paused, hesitation in every line of his body.
"I know all about it," Bart said lightly, stroking his back soothingly. "I do not like you wearing the perfume of a former paramour."
"Neither do I," Perry said. "It was a reminder to myself about why I was doing this and why I should be careful not to fall back into my awful ways. I hate that damned scent. Now this is over I'm throwing the damned bottle into the nearest fire. Or maybe the ocean."
Bart continued to soothe with strokes and caresses, soft, wordless murmurs of comfort and affection. "The voice?"
Perry laughed again. "Bart, I am astonished you don't have that one figured out?"
"What do you mean?"
He felt Perry shift against him, the light from the lantern outside bouncing erratically inside the carriage, casting Perry's face in and out of shadow. Fingers stroked his cheek, his mouth, and then Perry spoke, making Bart shiver, his entire body going hard and tight as that dark, brandy voice washed over him. "Why, good soldier of the queen, this is nothing but the voice of the fully grown Bloody Corsair Peregrine."
Bart realized abruptly that it was—the deep, adult version of Perry's boyish attempts at sounding as he thought a villainous pirate captain should. He laughed and pulled Perry into his lap, wholly uncaring for the mild discomfort of the position in the confining carriage, and held fast to his pirate-turned-highwayman until they at last reached home.
Epilogue
"Someone has been stealing gingersnaps from the kitchen." Bart chuckled, licking Perry's lips before kissing him again.
Perry shared the laughter, settling more comfortably where he lay on top of Bart, who was stretched out on the long settee by the picture window in the library. "Well, they should not have left them unsupervised."
"How is your arm?" Bart asked.
"Fine," Perry said absently, trailing lazy kisses across whatever portion of Bart's face and neck he could reach. "Between your fretting and Rogers fussing, I am the healthiest man in Greendale. Or did I not prove that adequately last night?"
Bart grinned, gladly recalling the sight of Perry riding him, bathed in firelight, his eyes glowing like green fire. Better still had been falling asleep with Perry in his arms, warm and pliant and safe from all harm.
Shifting so that his head was lying on one bent arm, Bart bent one leg and let it rest against the back of the settee so Perry slipped to settle quite pleasingly between his thighs. "Speaking of such matters, I hope you locked—"
He was cut off as the library door abruptly flew open, admitting the very last people he wanted to see right then. He'd had plans, damn it, and none of them involved his family. "What are you doing here?" he demanded, holding fast to Perry when he tried to sit up. He refused to move from his wonderfully comfortable arrangement just because his family had decided so rudely to intrude.
His mother's cheeks went pink, but it did not decrease the power of her glare. "Bart! We have been worried to death about you!"
"There, there, darling, you can see he's perfectly fine," his father said, patting her hand. "Bart, I said in my letter that I would not tolerate any further argument on your part and was coming to fetch you."
"You did?" Bart asked, thinking back to the last letter he had received from his family. "I must have missed that part."
"Honestly, Bart, you never think." Crispin sighed. "Poor Lane was as worried as the rest of us and we had to leave him in the city because he could not leave his wife, and did you ever think of that should something happen to you? Do you ever think at all?"
"Of course he does," Perry said sharply before Bart could form a reply. "He thinks about his family and he thinks about his friends. He thinks about his duties and responsibilities, and he thinks of all the ways he can help and improve the lives of all the people around him. All he does is think—about everyone but himself. And what does he get for his efforts? Yelled at, berated, dismissed, and hurt—over and over again, but still he continues to help."
The group fell into a startled silence, until a lazy, amused chuckle finally broke it. Jude spoke from where he stood just behind Crispin. "It seems to me that he had less than altruistic thoughts on his mind when we arrived."
"Yes, Bart," his mother said, fanning her still pink cheeks. "Would you please stop lying about in such a suggestive fashion? That is not how one behaves with other people about."
Heaving a sigh, Bart obeyed. "Next time stay in the city," he groused. "Honestly, I am alive and well, with nary a scratch upon me. The problem was resolved and I wrote to you about it, if you had only waited a couple more days to receive it."
Perry muffled a snicker beside him.
"You took care of the highwayman?" Lord Ford asked.
"Yes," Bart said, pointedly ignoring Perry. "I know everyone thinks me an incompetent, brainless, interfering fool, but I do manage to muddle along through life quite well." If Perry did not stop with the barely muffled laughter, he was going to wring that pretty neck the moment they were alone.
"Well of course you can manage things just fine," his mother said, then snapped her fan shut and rapped her husband on the arm with it. "Isn't that right, darling?" She looked at him, speaking with an unmistakable warning in her voice even as she smiled sweetly. "We have been discussing it at length, that it might be nice to let Bart do more of the work so we could spend more time with each other now that the house is so empty."
Bart brightened for a moment, but then smothered it. He refused to get his hopes up yet again, even if he had succeeded in stopping the highwayman. "Somehow I doubt you discussed anything more than what a disappointment and frustration I continue to be. I believe those were more or less the words Crispin and Lane used."
Crispin flinched as their parents looked at him. "I may have gotten carried away. I'm sorry, Bart. I never should have said that. I was hoping to spur you to return to the city. No one has ever said you're a disappointment, least of all Father."
"Honestly, Crispin," Ford said. "I know you and your brother have very different methods in life, but don't be hurtful."
"I really am I sorry."
Bart nodded tersely.
"But he's not the only one who has made mistakes," Ford said with a sigh. "Your mother is right—we would like to spend more time just the two of us, perhaps do a bit of light traveling that won't strain me too much. You certainly are more than capable of managing everything in our absence; you have been for a long time. I simply don't like that maybe I'm not as up to it anymore. And if nothing else, giving you more responsibilities will keep you from doing stupid, reckless things like chasing after highwayman."
He didn't look particularly thrilled by his own words, but he didn't look unhappy either. But that was his father—admitting or conceding anything was like having a tooth pulled.
Bart went still, scarcely able to believe what he was hearing. "You…do you mean it?"
"Yes," his mother said, whapping her husband again. "We're decided; do not mind his sour face."
Lord Ford sighed. "You already work too hard, Bart. This tendency of yours to fix every problem that crosses your path leaves you more than a bit overwhelmed. I did not think giving you more problems and responsibilities was a good idea." He looked at his son. "However, I like this running off and nearly getting yourself killed by smugglers even less. So I am handing over my duties as head of household to you. Pl
ease avoid getting shot at in the future."
Bart groaned. "Who told? I gave strict orders not to tell any of you about the smugglers!"
"We encountered Father Thomas on our way here," his mother said, expression growing stern. "He told us everything." She looked at Perry, the sternness easing from her expression. "He also said that he would like to speak with his son, if you are amenable, after services tomorrow. I said that you would send a note with your reply."
"He wants to speak to me?" Perry asked.
She quirked a brow. "He did say 'son', and unless he has another one running around, I do not know who else he could possibly mean. Although, honestly, I never expected you to act as crudely as my…" Her eyes widened and she dropped her fan to cover her mouth, barely muffling an excited shriek.
Bart winced. "Honestly, mother, you are even higher pitched than the debutantes. What the devil has gotten into you?"
She smiled and went to yank on the bell pull. "Rogers," she said when the head footman appeared. "Do prepare an especially fine meal for tonight, as it seems we must be celebrating my eldest son finally settling down. No, I'm sure everyone would like to rest tonight after the traveling. Make it a dinner party for the end of the week, and I will send invitations to Baron Weaver and Father Thomas, and of course the constable…" She kept muttering to herself as she crossed the room to kiss Bart, and then Perry on the cheek. "I always thought you boys were lovely together; this is splendid. Oh, I shall have to write… we should have a summer wedding right here, what do you think, darlings?"
Bart rolled his eye as she wandered away to work on her invitations and flopped back down on the settee. "You had better rein her in," he told his father. "Why is she already muttering about a wedding? And why are having a dinner party all of a sudden?"
Lord Ford snorted. "If you did not want her making a party of it, you should not have been so indelicately sprawled in the library. And she always hoped, watching you grow up, that you'd become a pair. I'm afraid you're getting married, boys."
Bart flushed, and beside him Perry was laughing too hard to make any noise.
"Learn to knock," Bart retorted, grinning.
"Learn to lock doors," Lord Ford replied. "Now, I am going to rest. If you boys are smart, you will find somewhere to be that is far from your mother." Waving to them all, he departed.
Crispin shook his head, but smiled faintly as he looked at Bart. "I'm glad you're all right, Bart. We really were worried."
"I'm sorry," Bart said.
"Oh, forget it." Crispin rolled his eyes. "You'll just do again in a few months; you can't help it. And I know we grumble and yell at you, but I also know you're the reason that Jude came to find me that night—and Lane would not be married without your efforts. So thank you, and I'm sorry I'm always so short with you."
Bart swallowed. "It's all right. I know my interfering ways can grate. I just want people to be happy."
"Well now we know you're alive and well, we are. Now, what say we all go for a ride? Jude has never been here and I barely remember the place."
Bart stood, and then tugged Perry to his feet, not letting go of his hand. He grinned and headed for the door, beckoning his brother and Jude to follow. "Sounds perfect. If we head for the ruins, we can show you our secret passage. Mother will never find us there."
"Sounds good to me," Crispin muttered, wincing as she called their names.
The four men bolted, laughing and gasping for breath as they finally reached the stables. Several minutes later, they were mounted and fleeing the estate as quickly as they could.
"I still cannot believe you were tangled up with smugglers and highwaymen, Bart," Crispin said. "How the devil did you manage to come out of it alive?"
"The smugglers were a bit of a problem," Bart said, then smirked. "Highwaymen, however, are quite easy to catch." He urged his horse to a gallop as Perry roared a protest, laughing loudly as his highwayman gave chase.
FIN
Bonus Short
Thaddeus stripped off his coat as he entered his study, tossing it absently over the back of a chair he passed on the way to his desk. The study was his retreat, his sanctuary, the place he always felt most comfortable. His bedroom, too often, just reminded him of the loneliness which seemed to have dogged his heels every step of his life.
Until he had been knocked over by a beauty with sad eyes—a beauty who apparently lived in fear that Thaddeus might someday turn him out because he'd worked for years as a gentleman's companion. A beauty who apparently had been blackmailed all these months into helping smugglers.
Thaddeus closed his eyes as the pain and anger washed over him, raw and overwhelming—that Alfred thought Thaddeus would be so cruel, that he had lived in fear all this time when Thaddeus had wanted nothing but Alfred's happiness, that anyone would dare to harm what belonged to him…
If someone else did not beat him to it, he would tend to the matter of William himself. Crane should have beaten that boy black and blue years ago.
"Thad?" Alfred stood just inside the doorway, a soft smile of welcome on his face, but as always, he would not enter the study until Thaddeus bid him do so.
No one had ever said his name like Alfred. He was always 'Baron' or 'Weaver' or, less often, 'Chadwick'. No one had ever called him 'Thaddeus' outside of his immediate family, and he had never thought to hear someone call him 'Thad'. It seemed to speak of a level of intimacy which he had never truly shared with anyone.
His intentions, upon offering Alfred a place in his home, had truly been honorable. He would not claim that his thoughts had been honorable, but what he fantasized about in the dark of his own bedroom was his own business. A thousand times, he had reminded himself that it was the height of impropriety to take as lover a man who could have been his son. One and twenty years was no small gap in age, and just because he wished there was a way to bridge it, did not mean that Alfred shared that wish.
That aside, Thaddeus was no simpleton, for all that many took him for a reclusive, ignorant, country bumpkin with a title that barely placed him amongst the peerage. He had realized within moments what Alfred had once been, not least of all from the way he had at first reacted when Thaddeus had offered to take him home. Bart's revelation on that point had been anything but—only the matter of the blackmail had taken Thaddeus by surprise.
Now… now he needed to set all to rights. "Alfred," he greeted quietly. "Come in, close the door. We must talk."
Alfred went pale, mouth tightening and turning down in a deep frown, but he obediently closed the door and strode across the room to sit down in a chair in front of Alfred's desk.
There was no way easy way to say it all, so Thaddeus simply started speaking and hoped for the best. "Lord Bartholomew called for me a few hours ago because he needed to speak with me on a matter of some urgency." He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking up to meet the clear blue of Alfred's eyes. "He informs me that young William has been blackmailing you into assisting him with smuggling activities."
Dismay and shame filled Alfred's face, hands fisted tightly on his thighs. "I see," he choked out. "May I ask how Lord Bartholomew discovered this?"
"Apparently he overheard a discussion at the tailor a few days ago," Thaddeus answered. "That is neither here nor there, although certainly I will see to it that William suffers dearly for daring to threaten and harm what is mine."
Alfred's head jerked up at his words and Thaddeus was glad to see the spark of hope that warred with the fear and shame in his eyes.
"What troubles me most," Thaddeus continued quietly, "is that you thought I would turn you out for something so trivial. I have always known what you once were, Alfred."
Alfred looked ill. "You did? What gave it away?"
"The signs are not hard to read, if one knows what to look for," Thaddeus said calmly. "Especially the way you acted when I asked you to come home with me—you were upset and resigned all at once, until I clarified my intentions. Why did you think I would turn you o
ut? Surely you know me better than that, my dear. If you do not, then I am quite devastated to have made such a wretched impression. Did you really have so little faith in me, Alfred?"
"It was more that I could not bear the thought that I might be wrong, that I was seeing what I wanted and not what was truly there," Alfred replied. "You are well-liked, highly respected, a modest but powerful peer, and fiercely adored by all of Greendale, my lord. Everyone speaks of your manners, your propriety… What would they say if they knew you had unwittingly taken in a whore to be your heir?"
Thaddeus stood and moved around his desk, taking Alfred's hands and tugging him to his feet, freeing one of his own hands to force Alfred to look up when his head stayed firmly directed at the floor. "There was nothing unwitting about my decision, Alfred, and it is no one's business but ours. If anyone dares to take issue with my decisions, then he will find himself sorely regretting it. So please, I beg of you, cease to worry."
"Yes, my lord," Alfred said softly, and Thaddeus was gratified to see most of the shadows in his eyes depart. "I am sorry to have upset you; I intended the very opposite."
"I know," Thaddeus replied softly. He tried to let go, he truly did, but Alfred's skin was soft and he so rarely found a real excuse to touch what he knew he should not. Given Alfred's past, it would make him the worst sort of man to look for such base things, even if the difference in their ages was not there.
"Thad?" Alfred asked, soft voice breaking into Thaddeus' thoughts. "You still look quite troubled."
Thaddeus finally made himself let go, although he did not manage to step away. "Not at all, my dear. I am fine now that this matter is settled."
"You are lying," Alfred replied, lips twisting in a teasing smile.
Thaddeus sighed. "Perhaps. I cannot imagine that I have hid terribly well that I do not regard you as a son."