Bugger.
Nelson rose to carry the platter out, but Ainsley took it from him and found the rest waited for him.
“Gracious, you’re a pain. Oh, cheese.” Trixie’s snarl disappeared and she reached for the platter.
He curled the plate to his side and lifted his nose. “If I’m a pain, feel free to fetch your own damned cheese.”
Trixie appealed to Joachim and Poppy, shoulders around her ears. “You’re lucky you’ll be heading back south, Cocky, before you realize what an utter monster Ainsley truly is.”
Poppy toyed with a giant chiffon bow drooping over her forehead. She propped her elbows on the table and directed all her attention to Cocky. Poor Joachim. Mocking his name like that.
“Oh, aye. I want to hear more about my darling Stuart.” She bloody well licked her lips. “Please tell him that he is sorely missed.”
His sister cut her eyes over and rolled them. Poppy’s incongruous longing for Stuart was the butt of many jokes.
“I am good friends with him.” Joachim shuffled the cards like a sharp. God, he’d always wished he could do that. Barley could, as well. Ainsley was stuck shuffling like a child, creating little piles and then smearing them around on the table as if no one watched.
Not like Joachim, who made a bridge and broke it over and over. It was hypnotic.
“I can’t imagine what you might have in common with Stuart. He’s so dull.” Trixie took advantage of Ainsley’s momentary preoccupation with the cards and pilfered half his cheese.
Methodically, Joachim dealt the cards, his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth. Out of that beard.
What would he do without that?
Fuck.
“He saved my life even as I pleaded with him to leave me on the battlefield. It overcomes any number of character deficiencies, I assure you.” Cockburn’s voice was mild, but the impact knocked the younger man’s breath out.
Had Joachim wished to die? Ainsley searched his body language for an answer, but Joachim looked as calm as always, aside from a slight tension around his mouth.
“Did he? When?” It was Poppy.
Trix stopped chewing and blinked hard.
“August 1917. Ypres.” Joachim lifted his chin. “At a great risk to himself, he carried me out of two feet of mud. In direct fire. And after that, he went back and fetched the body of the man who’d fallen next to me.”
“Darling Stuart. I always guessed he was a hero.” Poppy dabbed at her eyes with a lace-edged hanky.
Ainsley might need to borrow it. He didn’t wish to think of August 1917 for a half second. Nor of Joachim giving up on life. And most certainly not Ypres. And if Trixie didn’t lose the baleful look she sent his way, he really might make a fool of himself. He resettled himself on his chair so she was out of his line of vision.
The pile of thirteen cards was pushed his way. Bugger, Ainsley was the world’s worst card player. Guessing what everyone had in their hands required concentration he’d never been able to muster.
Joachim picked up his cards and organized his hand. Took a long sip of his drink. “He also came to find me after the Armistice. He knew I wished to go to university. And your dull brother found me at the convalescent’s hospital and forced me to prepare for my examinations.” His smile was tight, and he loosened his tie. “I owe quite a lot to Stuart. And honestly, he’s got a very keen sense of humor. Dry, but clever. I’ll play one spade.”
“Mercy, Cocky.” Trixie sniffed. “I’m of a mind to send off a note to the blighter tonight apologizing for my appalling lack of sisterly devotion. You’ve quite sold me on him for the first time in my life.” She pulled her own handkerchief from a pocket of her drop-waisted burnt umber dress. “Two hearts.”
“It’s mostly that we don’t know him very well. He moved out of the house right around the time we were our most horrible. I’ll always be an odious nine-year-old in his mind.” Ainsley totted up his cards. He had three clubs. That was good, wasn’t it? Christ, why couldn’t they play rummy? He was good at that one. “Three clubs.”
Cockburn’s eyes widened a fraction. Fuck. Was that wrong? No, he had them in his hand. “I like to hope that Freddy will grow out of his pranks someday, but if I were to move away and not see him but once or twice a year, I’m not sure I’d ever feel really comfortable around him, either.”
Under the table, Trixie smashed her heel into the arch of his foot. “Oh, I beg your pardon, was that you?” Her eyes crackled with annoyance and he bent to rub his foot. “Freddy’s nothing as horrible as you and Charlie were.”
Poppy giggled. “Pass.”
Ainsley kept his mouth shut instead of arguing that Freddy was worse because honestly, perhaps he wasn’t. He’d blocked out most of his childhood as too painful to think about.
“How long was the drive up here, Cocky?” asked Poppy.
Christ. He’d be stuck with the bloody nickname forever, poor man.
“I’ll pass, as well.” Other than the faint coloring over that beard, Joachim didn’t appear annoyed. “It was three hours by train. To Edinburgh. But perhaps Ainsley can drop me at the closest train station Tuesday and I can skip the bus to Haymarket station.”
Trixie looked at Ainsley like she knew he had no idea what he was doing. Which she did, surely, as she’d played cards with him many times. Ugh. “Pass,” she said, exhaling smoke into his face.
A squirmy sensation wriggled in his belly. Was he supposed to pass, too? Shite. “I can manage that as long as it isn’t too early in the morning.” He was unable to look at Cockburn when he said it. He didn’t wish to take him to the train station, or the bus station, or anywhere that meant the man would be gone.
Not ever.
“I suppose that makes me the dummy?” Joachim flipped his cards over and Ainsley’s mouth dried up. Christ, he had a good number of spades. More than one, what?
“I can do better than that, Cocky. Why don’t I drive you down to Durham?” Poppy twinkled around at them all. “Stuart has a guest room, doesn’t he?”
Trix blinked at Ainsley, bewildered. “Does he?”
Ainsley shrugged and tried to make sense of his damn cards. Three plus two plus...no. That last was a four, or was it a five? Bugger. And they all waited for him to do something. He put down his highest club. It was a jack. “No idea. I don’t go to England if I can help it. And I’ve been able to help it for years. Can’t imagine any reason I’d ever wish to go down there again, to be honest.”
Whomever invented bridge ought to be hanged. Too dramatic. Too easy to let your partner down. He raised his eyes but Joachim wouldn’t look at him. Trixie had the queen of clubs. That beat his. Damn. And Cockburn’s highest was a nine. Poppy put down the two and Trixie snatched the cards to her side, giving Ainsley a snotty smile.
“That would be much too generous. I couldn’t possibly allow you to do that.” What was Joachim on about? His ears were blood red.
And he’d made an entirely wrong bid, damn it all. It wasn’t the number of cards in a suit, it was their value. God, he was stuck now. If they played again, he’d remember to say pass, no matter what his cards were.
Er, or hopefully he’d remember.
Joachim looked past his ear at the wall, even though Ainsley tried to smile at him. Was that part of the rules, too?
“Nonsense. I’m thrilled.” Poppy bubbled with merriment that must mean she had a winning hand. And then she slapped her palm over her cheek like a silent film star. “But does he have any lady friends down there? Would I be intruding?”
Cockburn’s lovely eyes widened. “We don’t have the sort of friendship where we discuss...er...things like that.”
Oh, he’d miss that blush so very much.
And...hell, he actually registered that Cockburn was referring to the possibility that Poppy would mention his fucking Ainsley to dratted dull Stuart.
>
“Dear Lord, Poppy, promise you’ll keep your mouth shut about this um...” Shite. What could he say he’d been doing with Cockburn that wasn’t beyond vulgar? “...this little fling we’ve had. Not to Stuart. He’d fuss and it would make it awkward for Cockburn. There’s no reason for Stuart to ever know about it.”
He followed it with a sharp look at his sister’s best friend.
Why wouldn’t Joachim look at him? It was his wretched card mangling. And it was his turn again. He put down his highest card; the queen of spades. That was all right? Belatedly, he realized Joachim had the king, so that was a bloody waste.
Bugger bugger bugger.
Poppy turned as red as her name. “Gosh, Ainsley. I’m not a pudding head.”
“As much as I complain about Stuart, it’s not like he’d hold Cocky against you, Ainsley. He’s British, at least.” Trixie slapped down the ace of spades, so he’d take a lower one of Cockburn’s. That was right, wasn’t it?
Ainsley slipped the three of spades from Joachim’s deck. “It’s not like we’re having a child together—or even sharing Violet—so it doesn’t matter at all.”
Cockburn’s head jerked up. Finally, he looked at Ainsley, confusion written all over. But he waved his hand. It wasn’t his story to tell, after all. He wasn’t dim enough not to know that. Poppy laid down the two of spades.
With a growl, Trixie took the cards and stacked them with her other won trick. “You see, Mr. Cockburn, I had the lack of self-control to fall in love with a perfectly decent young man who happened to be from Berlin. And he died at Ypres, too. Stuart never forgave me for it. Said that he might have been the one to kill Charlie.”
Fuck. Trixie sat back in her chair and rubbed her knuckles. As grouchy as she ever was, telegraphing her misery. But she must trust Cockburn to tell him that. She never told anyone that.
His scalp itched. And his arms. It had been horrible. Mama wanted Trixie to come home from her finishing school in Lucerne—especially once Maisie realized how ill she was. But their blasted father thought it was safer to leave her there rather than risk crossing through Europe while the war raged.
Until she had no choice and was sent home in disgrace, having to admit that the father of her unborn child had died fighting against her brothers before he’d gotten around to marrying her.
No year had ever been as horrible as 1917.
Ainsley jumped up and excused himself to the washroom. Leaned his hands on the rim of the sink after splashing water on his face. His face was frightful. Pinched and white and ugh...dark pockets under his eyes.
And he’d buggered up the card game.
And made Trixie sad.
And Cockburn was uncomfortably distant.
Poppy was her usual chipper self, which was grating when the rest of them were grumbling.
And she drove a Triumph with a damned dickie seat. Neither he nor Cockburn would fit in that comfortably enough to ask to tag along for the ride.
With a sigh, he opened the door and was faced with his kindly Englishman. “Are you all right?” Joachim stroked his cheek much more friendly than he deserved.
He forced a smile. “Sorry I mucked up the game.”
Golden-brown eyebrows rose. “Did you? No bother, it’s only cards.” Cockburn’s beard tickled his ear. “You’re talented in enough other areas to give you a pass, I think. Now, food’s on the table, and you need some fortification.”
“Do I?” His belly flipped. How was Joachim able to bring him back from his funks so easily?
Hands traced up his spine under his jumper. “I’ve decided that I’m going to take advantage of every moment I have up in your bedroom tonight. And you take orders much better when you’ve been well-fed. Is that all right with you?”
Yes, please.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Joachim
This meal was easier than the last time he’d sat at the table. Ainsley cheerfully took the ribbing that Trixie and Poppy meted out in regards to his card playing skills. By nine, Poppy had bid them a good-night, telling Joachim she’d fetch him bright and early Tuesday morning with an excitement she didn’t seem to realize that he did not share.
Because now there was no way to extend his visit till Wednesday. Not that he’d thought to, but knowing it was an option had helped quell the rise of panic that he really would leave without any plans to meet with Ainsley in the future. Ever.
To be fair, Graham had said something about his purchasing an automobile—an absurd expense that he couldn’t countenance on any level—to drive back to Scotland. But even if Joachim had the sort of bank account to support such an extravagant purchase, he wasn’t the kind to do so without thoughtful research.
And the only research he’d be able to do in the foreseeable future would be a way to salvage the past two years of studying and documentation of cases at the hospital and write up his dissertation.
Curled on the sofa with a brandy, Trixie was conveniently lost in Anita Loos’s But Gentlemen Marry Brunettes and didn’t even lift her head to wish them a pleasant evening.
It had been one, for the most part.
He was unwilling to dwell on Ainsley’s insistence that nothing could prod him to visit below the border. Because it didn’t matter. This was only a fling.
Perhaps if he said it enough times, he’d believe it.
The younger man touched his arm as he was about to ascend the stairs. “I’m going to take Violet for a stroll before bed. Would you care to join us?”
Joachim would, even if it were pissing rain. Which it wasn’t. The night was unusually clear—the moon full, peeking through the boughs of trees that circled the house.
“You haven’t leaned on your walking stick so much the past few days,” observed Graham, pressing his fingers in between Joachim’s.
Lord, I’ll miss you.
“Your massages have been beneficial, I’d say.” He was terrified to give a clue about how desperate he was not to lose them for good.
Ainsley threw a branch for Violet and it went far enough that Joachim didn’t see it fall. “It’s a shame you don’t live in Scotland. I’d keep you going pain free for the duration.”
Joachim did his best to hold back the sigh that rose in his throat and made it difficult to breathe. “Well, I don’t. My life is in Durham. And my job is there. Or the job I hope to be offered, at least.”
Ainsley murmured, “I can’t imagine leaving Rosethorne. Even moving to Edinburgh was difficult.” Graham’s face was downcast enough to perversely raise Joachim’s spirits. He’d at least entertained the idea of moving to be nearer to Joachim, perhaps?
It was impossible to imagine Dr. Graham anywhere but Scotland—not for the long haul. And he’d made it clear he had no fondness for England. Not even the border country.
Joachim was always at his best when easing someone else’s strained emotions, and he rallied himself to pack up his disappointment until he went home. He’d have plenty of time to wallow there.
“Never mind. We’ve had a lovely few days, and that’s all it was ever meant to be.” He raised the younger man’s chin, but he couldn’t force the eyes to meet his.
Ainsley jerked away. “Yes, you’re right. Of course you are.” His silhouette struggled to swallow from the stutter of his Adam’s apple. “Come now, Violet.”
The dear dog bounded over and pressed her head into each of their thighs respectively.
For God’s sake, he might bloody cry at this rate. Only he refused to shame himself so.
“I’ve an idea,” he said in the sort of voice he’d use to talk his nieces into doing something they’d rather not.
“What is it?” Graham’s bottom lip pushed out, just like his nieces.
He brought his ginger so close that the younger man leaned against him. Melted against Joachim’s body like he needed it to keep upright.
He’d give up a good many things if he could see this affair through to the end rather than cut it off whilst at its peak swirl of emotions. They’d tire of each other sooner than later, given the chance.
If he repeated that to himself enough times, he just might learn to believe it.
Joachim allowed himself the luxury of dotting kisses along Ainsley’s neck and jaw, mostly smooth but with the hint of stubble prickling his lips. “I’ll make a confession, as long as you don’t throw it back in my face tomorrow.”
The younger man nodded, all earnestness.
“I’ve never enjoyed someone’s company as much as I have yours this week. In and out of the bedroom. But it’s not practical for either of us to think that there’s a chance of doing it again, I’m afraid.” His voice didn’t betray the way his heart was crushed by admitting it aloud.
“There’s not?” Graham’s face was so close that his eyelashes ticked Joachim’s skin.
Being logical was overrated.
“Regretfully, no.” He had to stop and clear his throat before it cracked under the strain. “You have a life here, and I have one there, and even if I had a way to get back here regularly, I don’t have the time to with work and school, and this bloody paper. Let’s put it out of our minds and be done with it.”
“I’d hoped you had a more pleasant idea than that.” Ainsley took a step back, but Joachim grabbed his wrist. Pulled him tight again and kissed him until Graham’s knees buckled.
“I hate saying it. Here’s something else as consolation.” He brushed his thumb under Ainsley’s mouth. Reached under his jumper and rolled one of the ginger’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger. The man hissed.
“You’re going to go inside and ready yourself for bed. Take off everything except that kilt, which I expect you to raise to your waist. And then, you’ll drape your chest across the bed and wait for me.”
“Will I?” Fingers clawed through Joachim’s hair and Ainsley’s interest in the plan was evident from the press of his hips. “And what will you do?”
“I might write up some more of my notes in your office. Or I might have a whiskey.” He palmed Graham’s stiffening length through the thin wool of his clothing. Pressed an earlobe between his front teeth hard enough for the younger man to yelp. “Or I might come right up and make sure you’ve followed my instructions.”
Best Laid Plaids (Kilty Pleasures) Page 21