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Her Husband’s Lover
Madelynne Ellis


Darleston was beautiful. Not in a dandified fashionable sort of way, but in a beastly way… Any woman with a modicum of sense would be a fool to fall for him.‘Her Husband’s Lover’s’ is a sexy Regency romance from Madelynne Ellis, author of the bestselling Mischief book ‘Anything But Vanilla’.Emma is the respectable wife of Lyle Langley, and is shocked when she realises she attracted to one of her father’s guests at the family estate.Robert, Lord Darleston is like no other man she’s ever met. He’s flamboyant, charming and terrifies her as much as he arouses her. Nor is Emma the only person caught under his spell…Forced into an arranged marriage, Lord Robert Darleston has a reputation as a rake. His bitter, scheming wife’s rumormongering drives him from London into the heart of the English countryside. Here, fate unexpectedly reunites Darleston with his former lover, Lyle Langley.Torn apart by the intervention of their families, the primary barrier to their reunion is now Lyle’s wife, Emma. A woman Darleston is fascinated by and has no wish to disrespect. All seems hopeless until Lyle admits his marriage to Emma is unconsummated. And both husband and wife only have eyes for one man: Lord Robert Darleston. Who proposes a plan: if he can win Emma over, then maybe they can all find happiness together. Old ghosts, a jealous wife, and an outraged father stand in his way.









HER HUSBAND’S LOVER

MADELYNNE ELLIS





(http://www.mischiefbooks.com)


Table of Contents

Title Page (#ua9881a3f-72b5-5f38-966b-bbebc3ad88bd)

Chapter One (#uc5474313-c30b-51a8-a0e2-b4997d7ed267)

Chapter Two (#u8fa70931-862d-5d38-9fde-445211817d2e)

Chapter Three (#ueb191853-e0cc-5034-ad81-537053e6dfd9)

Chapter Four (#ub77e8d74-f69c-5404-ac21-d42e43f162a7)

Chapter Five (#uacb60ae8-4c9b-5097-9c17-7aa69c77167c)

Chapter Six (#ua75f0db1-f061-58ca-bb2d-08b24d31c4be)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

More from Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)

About Mischief (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE

June 1801, Field House, Staffordshire, England


He’s a man … Saints above. He’s a man and I want to touch him.

Emma Langley, who never touched anyone if she could help it, wanted to touch him. More specifically, she wanted to comb her fingers through the fiery strands of his hair and trace a fingertip down the ridge of his rather sharp nose. There were other more startling thoughts tumbling around her head too, but Emma took no account of them. It was quite shocking enough that she wanted to reach out and touch a person’s skin, without contemplating anything more daring.

Perhaps she’d drunk overmuch wine at dinner. The delightful Mr Aiken had never let her consume more than a sip before being ready to pour her another. But no, she didn’t think the wine to blame. Heavens, if it were that simple, she’d have taken to frequent tippling years ago. Rather, there was something quite special about the man – being, as he was, Lord Darleston, the eldest son of the Earl of Onnerley. A man, if certain recent newspaper epithets were to be believed, known for his perverse tastes and unnatural practices.

Of course, she gave no truck to such libellous speculation – well, maybe a little. Her father would never knowingly have invited such a wretch into his house. Rather, she supposed Darleston had enemies and slurring a rival’s reputation required little wit or ingenuity. Although – a smile stretched the corners of her lips – perhaps perversity could be attributed to his choice of evening wear. In a room of glorified dandies, Darleston alone wore brocade. Black knee-breeches disappeared into gleaming top-boots. They on their own invited only minor remark – they were in the countryside – but his coat … that was a triumph: ostentatious but not in a vulgar fashion, being formed, as far as she could tell through the glass, from black Florentine silk. It sported huge lapels in contrasting red and every seam, every buttonhole, was edged in gold filigree.

She wanted to rub up against him and trace every thread.

Emma looked at her fingers in suspicion; the notion of desiring contact was so very strange to her. Then she curled the digits over her lips to hide her smile.

‘Well, sister, what say you? Will any of them do?’

Emma turned her head as her sister inched closer to the dining-room window. The moment their skirts brushed, Emma recoiled, leaving Amelia in possession of the ledge.

‘I should think not, dear heart, for there are only Aiken, Connelly and Bathhouse whom you might consider and none of them to your tastes. The other gentlemen are already wed.’

‘Surely, not all?’ Amelia strained onto her toes for a better look. She was a good few inches shorter than Emma, and her view of the interior was largely restricted to the tops of the gentlemen’s heads. ‘Why do you dismiss Bathhouse? Connelly I can understand – he is always so bilious and red about the nose – and I know Aiken is quite besotted with that ninny from the Walshes’ party, but Bathhouse seemed most attentive earlier. And he’s young. That has to count for something, does it not? I shan’t want an old man.’

‘Gracious, Amelia! None of them is a day above forty. As for Bathhouse, why, he hasn’t two farthings to his name. He takes work as a tutor. Father would never approve.’

‘Well, I shouldn’t mind. At least one might assume he has a brain unlike most of the horrid popinjays I’ve been paraded before.’

Emma clucked in disapproval, a habit that seemed unavoidable in her sister’s company. Most would assume snobbery to be behind their father’s determination to provide them both with decent matches, but Emma knew the truth was far more practical. He wanted them never to starve – a condition he was more closely familiar with than any of his gentleman companions would believe.

Amelia continued to bob up and down, trying to catch a proper glimpse of Mr Bathhouse. Emma shook her head in dismay. She would have to maintain a close watch upon her sister and perhaps steer her in another direction. She stepped out of the flowerbed and gave a stamp to remove the soil from her shoes. ‘Come away now, dear heart, it’s time we went in. Father has very nearly finished his brandy.’ He only ever drank one glass and always left a dribble the size of a guinea in the bottom to appease the good-luck fairies, a practice that had apparently paid off. The Hill family fortunes had certainly improved since the days of Emma’s childhood. Heavens, they were now entertaining an earl’s son. In their threadbare past the only guest they’d had was the debt collector, from whom they’d unsuccessfully hidden.

After a little cajoling Amelia stepped away from the window.

The lawn of Field House lay in golden shadows, the last vestige of the late sun still streaking the evening sky. Swarms of midges hung beneath the hollyhocks and the other encroaching foliage as the two women climbed through an open sash window back into the homely comfort of the drawing room.

Field House was for the most part rather staid and masculine in design, but the drawing room had been decorated by their late mother and showed a more feminine touch. Colourful embroidered cushions nestled between the more recently acquired porcelains and elegant damask-covered chairs. Wildflowers arranged in jugs added bright flashes of colour to even the dimmest corner far from the hearth. It was the only room in the house Emma associated with joy.

‘I didn’t see Lyle,’ Amelia commented, as Emma lifted the teapot to give it a hopeful shake. By the feel of it, only the dregs remained. ‘Why wasn’t he with the others?’

The question carved furrows in Emma’s brow. Rather than answer, she calmly settled the teapot and filled the space in which an answer ought to have been by draining what remained of her cold tea. Truthfully, she didn’t know where Lyle had got to. He had certainly remained at the dinner table with the other gentlemen when she and Amelia left. He ought to still be there now. However, Lyle often wasn’t where he ought to be. As for where he would most likely be found – Emma’s cheeks burned, leaving her distressingly rosy. She immediately took a seat by the fire and thrust the guard out of the way to account for her glow. She’d lost count of the times she’d had to cover for him.

‘I expect he was there and you just didn’t see him, Amelia. Or else Father asked him to attend to something. You know he isn’t so sound on his feet any more and Lyle does like to be helpful.’

More than likely, Lyle had slipped away during the fuss over Darleston’s late arrival and was now below stairs or else secreted in some other cubby-hole engaged in practices it would take the ingenuity of a fence to explain away.

If her father ever found out – she shook her head sadly – heavens, if anyone discovered her husband’s proclivities, then her entire world would crumble. Divorce was not a pleasant word but, by God, that’s what it would likely come to, if only so that she might protect her dignity and not spoil Amelia’s chances.

Emma’s terror at the prospect wasn’t new and soon wore off, as did the flames in her cheeks. She’d known precisely how Lyle was when she’d married him. In truth it had been what had endeared him to her most of all. Other women might seek fidelity; Emma had known that Lyle would stray. In fact, she’d counted upon it. It had been her one great bargaining tool.

‘Drat and dandelions,’ Amelia cursed, rousing Emma from her thoughts with their favourite childhood blasphemy. ‘I’d so hoped that Lord Darleston had travelled with a companion. I mean, who does not these days? I’m quite put out by it. I don’t want to stay here and turn into one of those simpering old maids. I knew I ought to have insisted on going to London instead of being stuck here in the wilds. I don’t see why I can’t have at least one London season.’

‘Patience. I’m sure Father will arrange something. Give him time. You know this gathering is important to him.’

‘He’ll be too withered to take me, or I too old to be of interest if I’m forced to wait much longer. I’m nineteen. The Walsh girls have already had two seasons.’

‘The Walsh girls have no choice but to take whatever offers they manage to grab. Your situation is a little different.’

‘Not so very different,’ Amelia grumbled. She retreated to the rear of the drawing room, where she drew a book from a shelf and faked a deep engagement with it.

Emma’s gaze strayed to the mantel-clock. From the direction of the dining room there was a scraping of chairs followed by the sound of heavy footsteps. The gentlemen, headed by Mr Hill, squeezed through the parlour door two abreast and availed themselves of various chairs. Seven of them were soon draped over the furniture, chattering loudly. Amelia made a beeline towards Mr Bathhouse. Emma made to follow, only to be intercepted by her father and Lord Darleston.

Ada came up behind them bearing a second teapot. ‘I thought you might be needing some more, miss, with so large a party.’

‘Yes, we were. Thank you, Ada.’

‘Could you, dear?’ Mr Hill gestured towards the steaming vessel.

Perhaps Amelia would be fine for a moment or two. Emma poured for her father and offered a second cup to Lord Darleston. The wretched china trembled abysmally when she held out her hand. Close up, the urge to touch him grew infinitely stronger. The coat … his coat, heavens, if it wasn’t the most marvellously perverse thing she’d ever beheld. Each swirl in the fabric had a raised pile that gave it such texture and shape. Indeed, seeing it up close she realised it was not simple brocade, but formed an interweaving pattern of maenads engaged in rather lewd play. Yet it suited him perfectly, drawing attention to his big strong shoulders and the perfect narrowness of his hips.

For a moment, she thought it might be only his outfit that engaged her senses. Then his hand shot out and steadied the wobbling cup and he blessed her with a smile that made the very corners of his eyes crinkle. He had grey eyes, flecked with specks of lilac that were like slivers of rain-washed slate. Light flared in the depths of his pupils.

That one look told her everything she ever needed to know about Lord Darleston. He was handsome and dangerous, and if she had any sense of self-preservation she would avoid him, else those fanciful ideas she’d been entertaining earlier might very well get the better of her. At the same time, she knew she wouldn’t. Still, the sense of loneliness that had grown over the winter had only increased with the coming of lighter nights. She longed for a companion who was more attuned to her needs, someone who was wicked and exciting and who would give her a reason to thrive instead of growing old and drab. Lyle saw that she was cared for and comfortable, but she knew he found it hard to relate to her.

‘Emma, my eldest,’ her father introduced her. ‘It’s so good to have you home again, dear. I do wish you and Langley would reconsider my offer. The old place is so cavernous with only Amelia and me in residence. Where is Langley, do you know? I do so want to speak with him before I retire.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know, Father. I thought he was with you. Perhaps he’ll be back in a moment.’

Mr Hill’s sallow brows wrinkled. Emma’s heartrate doubled. He knows. He knows. Lord Darleston was watching them. Oh, God, please don’t let everything fall apart now.

Her father sipped his tea. ‘Well, yes, I expect you’re right. But I think I may just slip along right now.’ He turned to Darleston and cuffed him companionably upon the arm. ‘I haven’t the stamina of you young bloods any more. I’ll bid you goodnight, milord. Gentlemen. Emma will ensure that Grafton sees to your wishes. Do forgive my atrocious manners.’

‘Don’t worry, Father. I’ll see everyone off.’

‘Yes, yes, of course you will. Goodnight, Emma. Mind you don’t go needling, Lord Darleston. She can be quite the prickly philosopher, but you mustn’t take her too much to heart.’

No, she oughtn’t to be taken at all seriously. Emma enfolded her fists around the fabric of her skirts, whilst she maintained a well-practised smile. Silly old fool didn’t believe her capable of a single eloquent thought. And he really ought to have considered, before inviting them, the fact that his guests would go late to their beds. Now she and Lyle would have to play host and hostess, wherever Lyle happened to be.

Her father leaned towards her, meaning, she realised, to press a kiss to her cheek, but when Emma stiffened all the way from her toes to her lips, he straightened at once. ‘Well, goodnight, dear.’ He tottered away, yawning into his teacup, and looking strangely frail. Perhaps Amelia had a point about the London season. Mr Hill’s deteriorating health would likely make it impossible before long.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, recalling Lord Darleston. ‘He never does stay up past ten o’clock.’

‘No matter.’ Darleston’s soft drawl coiled around her pleasure centres. It was quite wrong that a man’s voice could make one feel quite so tremulous, not to mention it being a new and not altogether comfortable experience.

‘He does you a disservice, I think.’

‘What!’ Her throat grew tight all around the neckline of her gown, and another blush began crawling across her skin. It was the curse of being fair. ‘He says only what he believes to be true.’ The fact that she had run his household from the age of fourteen had entirely passed him by.

‘And do you believe I should disregard your chatter as nonsense? Do you often speak thus, Mrs –?’

‘Langley,’ she supplied, growing hotter still. ‘And no, milord, I do not. Although you are at liberty to reach your own conclusion about whether what I spout is twaddle.’

Darleston gave a deep throaty laugh that rolled like a purr and sent sparks of heat to her breasts. He was quite the most … No, it was wrong to think like that and positively discourteous to her husband. Not that they had a conventional relationship. Oh, to hell with it. If she couldn’t be honest in her own thoughts, then she would never hear any truth. Darleston was beautiful. Not in a dandified, fashionable sort of way, but in an animal way. Something about him yanked at her as if there were a knot tied in the centre of her chest and he kept tugging on the other end.

Emma focused on a point midway down his chest. She dared not glance any lower, nor look up into his face for too long for fear that he would recognise the heat in her gaze. She’d seen other women look at men in this way, but she’d never done so herself. Looking led to touching, and touching was something she could never do.

‘How is it you happen to be with us?’ she asked, eyes downcast, as she retreated into the safety of an armchair.

Darleston leaned against the mantel. ‘I did intend to stay elsewhere. Alas, that didn’t work out. He had … other plans.’ Darleston’s lips quirked upwards but failed to form a smile. ‘However, as your father had already kindly extended an invitation, and I was already quite nearby …’

‘And do you like it? What you’ve seen?’

‘I’ve scarcely taken more than a passing glance. I understand you have a hundred and twenty or so acres, but I’m sure I’ll find it charming, much as I find the lady of the house.’

Butterflies fanned the flames in her chest. It was an easy compliment for him to bestow, but not one she heard very often. Few sought her acquaintance or pleasure, preferring Amelia’s vivaciousness. ‘Strictly speaking, that would be my sister, not I.’

He turned his head to spy her sister out. Amelia sat at the centre of a ring of gentlemen upon a tapestry-covered pouffe. The week was clearly to be one rife with trouble. Just as Emma was about to intrude upon her sister’s admirers, the drawing-room door swung open, admitting a blond gentleman.

Emma’s concern switched to her husband. His expression was one of wistful delight, which transformed in an instant to one of rapturous joy. Good heavens, Lyle, she thought. Must you advertise the wickedness you’ve been about? She quickly turned her head, praying that, from what she could descry of the other gentlemen’s thoughts, they merely saw Lyle as merry and not licentious.

‘Darleston! God in heavens, what the devil are you doing here?’ Lyle crossed the room in several bounds. He stepped past her without so much as a glance in her direction and enfolded Lord Darleston in a fond embrace.

‘Langley!’ Darleston sounded equally surprised to find Lyle wrapped tightly around his person.

‘Heavens, man. How long has it been? It must have been years. You’ve met my wife, I see.’

Lyle turned his head towards her and graced her with a nod. A fantastic smile lit his face. Emma frowned at him. She couldn’t see why Lord Darleston’s presence should make him quite so joyous. Then again, Emma sucked down an unsteady breath. No! No, it simply couldn’t be. The first man she’d felt remotely … No! Oh, but it was. She could tell just from the way their arms stayed around one another and the embrace encompassed not only the brushing of chests but of thighs and hips too.

They knew each other, and not just in the platonic sense.

‘Yes, I knew of the wedding.’ Darleston pulled away first. He gave a swift glance around the room but the other occupants were still crowded around Amelia and seemingly uninterested in anything else. ‘My father made certain to send me the newspaper cutting. Happy, I trust?’ He raised his eyebrows and glanced first at Lyle and then at her as if he was seeing them quite anew. ‘Mrs Langley.’ His lips formed her name, but he didn’t speak the words aloud. Lightning flashed in his eyes.

‘Yes. Absolutely.’ Lyle slapped him upon the back.

‘Children?’

Emma bowed her head. She stared at her hands clasped tight around her teacup. Why did everyone have to pounce upon that particular subject as if breeding were the only possible purpose in taking a bride? Or one couldn’t possibly be happy without a dozen pale-faced imps running about one’s feet? She prayed they never had a child. Not a single blessed one. Her mother had carried fifteen of the little devils. See where it had got her – a cold box in a rat-infested cemetery, rained on and covered in moss.

Lyle, clearly noticing her distress, waved aside the question. ‘None yet. What about you?’ He cast her an encouraging smile. He might take ridiculous risks, but Lyle also worked hard to maintain at least the illusion of an affectionate marriage.

Darleston gave a vehement shake of his head. ‘Much to the Earl’s vexation.’

‘But there is a Lady Darleston?’ Emma ventured.

‘There is.’ His very abruptness explained all that was missing from his response. Likely he and his wife were not on intimate terms, assuming they tolerated each other’s company at all. Perhaps they even lived apart, occupying one grand house apiece.

Lyle slapped Darleston across the back again, as he finally relinquished his embrace. ‘I insist that we celebrate with something more spirited than over-stewed tea. You don’t mind, Emma, if I snatch him away, do you? It’s been … gracious, how many years?’

‘Nine,’ Darleston remarked dryly.

Emma gave a polite nod. What could she say? Foolish displays had never been her forte; she left such nonsense to Amelia, who would have stamped her foot and demanded a place in their conversation. ‘I’ll see to our other guests.’ She made to rise, but Lyle shooed her back into her seat.

‘No need to move, my sweet. Stay by the fire. We’ll walk. You don’t mind an evening stroll, do you, Darleston? You’re not afeared of the country vapours? I find it most beneficial to take a little wander before bed.’

‘Indeed, that sounds delightful. I’d appreciate the opportunity to stretch my legs. I’ve been stuck in a carriage for days.’

‘Where’ve you come from?’

‘Only from Shropshire today, but from London before that.’

‘Stopping in on the old family pile?’

The candlelight glowed bright copper among the fiery strands of Darleston’s hair as he shook his head. Lyle guided him towards the door.

‘I stayed the night at Pennerley. Do you know the marquis? I had intended a longer visit but he has business in Yorkshire to attend.’

‘And so you washed up here. How marvellous. How wonderful indeed.’

The door swung closed behind them. Emma stared at the abandoned cups of tea and poured herself another. A moment later she rang for Ada. ‘Could you ensure my sister’s bed is warmed, please?’ It was time she coaxed that little goose away from the ganders.




CHAPTER TWO


The proposed drink went forgotten. Darleston allowed Lyle to guide him across the hallway of Field House and down the front steps, eschewing overcoats and accoutrements. Twilight subsumed the last of the day as they crossed the lawn, stealing the colour from his vision. They didn’t really speak until they stood upon the bank of the Trent, well out of sight of the house amongst a copse of ancient sycamore trees.

‘I didn’t … I had no idea that you’d married Hill’s daughter,’ Darleston began. She’d told him her name and it hadn’t sparked a flicker of recognition. He’d met other Mrs Langleys before, but … ‘I mean, I knew you’d wed, but I’d really no idea there was a connection.’ Silence swallowed his words, which wasn’t such a surprise. What the hell did you say to someone you hadn’t seen for nine years and to whom you’d made promises you could never hope to keep? ‘Lyle.’ He put out his hand and touched the other man’s arm, making the briefest of connections. ‘If my presence is going to make things awkward, I can make my excuses.’ Hell only knows where he’d go when he left. He was fast running out of friends with country estates. The last place he wanted to end up was home, where Lucy could find him. Increasingly it looked as if he’d have to take a long, slow tour of the Scottish Highlands and grow a beard so that he’d blend in with the locals and not drawn undue attention.

Not drawing attention would be a damned fine strategy at this point.

The trickle of fear slowly running down his spine made him look about as if he might find spies perched within the tree bowers.

Lyle’s response acted as a burr upon his senses. ‘Is that what you think – that I’m afraid of you exposing my past?’ Lightly, tentatively, Lyle’s fingers rested upon his shoulder. Darleston turned towards the touch, so that they stood face to face, far too close to be friends, not quite close enough for lovers.

They had been lovers – extraordinary lovers.

He wouldn’t cause trouble. He refused to bring trouble.

Lyle’s eyes gleamed in the darkness. The shadows and hopes writ within them were not so very different from those he’d seen years before. Yet Lyle had aged, as had he. Nine years didn’t pass without scoring a few lines, even if the overall composition remained largely unchanged: same wide-set eyes and aquiline nose, the widow’s peak – more prominent than it had once been – that drew the gaze. And that same wicked-as-sin grin he’d spent years trying to imitate.

It hardly seemed appropriate to stare, given that he’d just been enjoying a pleasant welcome from the fellow’s wife. It wasn’t often he was treated with grace and respect any more. Since February, comely hostesses magically vanished whenever he came within forty feet.

He risked a quick glance into Lyle’s eyes. Desire so familiar he could almost taste it swam in the inky depths of those pupils. For a moment, it was as if no time had passed at all.

‘You don’t want your name sullied alongside mine,’ he insisted, already recognising the brewing danger. The problem was that he didn’t actually want to move away. Rather he wanted to press close and find himself entwined in Lyle’s embrace. It took every ounce of self-restraint to take a single step backwards instead.

Lyle’s lips quirked. ‘I don’t need you to sully my name. I’m capable of that all by myself.’ He followed Darleston’s retreat and extended his arm past Darleston’s ear, neatly trapping him betwixt his body and the thick trunk of a tree.

Conflicted, Darleston froze. Their last parting had been untidy. It seemed wholly rational that this beginning would be messy and awkward too.

‘By all means practise your excuses, Robert, but don’t leave on my account. Of course, if you feel you need to run away –’

‘Ought I?’ Of course he ought. Given the current euphoria bubbling beneath his skin, he ought to call his carriage right now and not look back until he’d crossed the county border. In an act of further lunacy, he maintained the eye contact they’d already made.

That wicked gleam – damn! Lyle’s ability, with barely more than a slight upturning of his lips, to reduce him to an irrational, seething ball of desire had ever been his downfall. The scent of port lingered on the other man’s breath, mixed with a trace of aniseed.

‘Christ, Robert! I can still hardly get over the fact that you’re here. For the longest time I didn’t know what they’d done to you. I wasn’t sure … I wasn’t informed, merely packed off like a piece of baggage and told to toughen up. I spent the first eighteen months in that Indian hellhole living off the memory of you.’

Darleston almost imperceptibly shook his head, having no comparable sentence to relate. ‘Nothing happened to me.’ It smarted a little to admit it. Lyle had taken the brunt of the punishment, though he was pleased to see the army hadn’t broken him. Meanwhile, he had suffered little more than embarrassment and his mother’s reproachful looks, both of which were quickly forgotten. No, his penalty hadn’t come until much later, when he’d stupidly committed the same crime twice. Then his mother had found him ‘a nice young bride’ to keep him busy and ‘out of the second footman’s underthings’. Not that it had worked. It’d been rather naïve of the countess to think it would. But then, she’d never been quite as bright as she liked to believe.

‘I sometimes imagined you’d write.’ Lyle’s words broke though his introspection.

Darleston gave a derisive little snort. ‘I sometimes imagined I’d write. But what the hell was there to say? What is there to say now?’ He couldn’t think of anything that would mend broken hearts and promises. Certainly nothing that would reverse the flow of time, or allow them to make that fateful day over.

‘Maybe you don’t need to say anything.’

His loins agreed, even if the rest of him didn’t. Words wouldn’t fix anything. Kisses might smooth away the awkward memories, but life had moved on from where they’d been. Nearly half his life had passed since then. He’d been married, acted the libertine and taken dozens of whores and other lovers to his bed. He’d been rejected by the one man he really wanted and laughed at by the only other that he admired. He really couldn’t stomach any more pain.

Which wasn’t to say that he wasn’t tempted. Lord, he was sorely tempted.

Lyle leaned closer still, damn near pressing their foreheads together. His lips parted, revealing a tiny hint of moisture upon their surface.

‘Wait!’ Darleston covered the temptation with his raised fingers. ‘Think. We’re not boys any more. Do you really want to be caught in a compromising position in your father-in-law’s house?’

‘Promises, promises …’ Lyle mused, eyes ablaze with salacious intent.

Dear God! That wasn’t the response he’d hoped to evoke. They needed to think seriously about this, about what they were doing and how drastically it could go wrong.

‘You were never so cautious in the past, Robert. Grown timid in your dotage?’

‘Look at what happened before. I can’t afford to cock things up. Things are dicey enough already.’

‘Give in to fear and they’ve got you anyway.’

That was true. And there really was comfort to be had in Lyle’s embrace.

It wasn’t really a kiss – not at all – being hesitant and whisper-light. Quite platonic really.

He wouldn’t fool anyone else.

They both stood stock still after their lips had parted, barely daring to move. They stared at one another, chests rising and falling, breath bated. Darleston’s heart hammered and hammered. It had been years and years and years. But he’d never forgotten. Hunger for everything he’d lost and for everything he needed gnawed beneath his skin. He couldn’t shake off the need to lose himself in the fantasy of love again. One could only fake numbness so long. The cracks in his façade grew wider every season. Lucy hadn’t driven him from London, he’d driven himself. That which he’d used for years to appease his appetites no longer sufficed as a balm. He needed something solid and real. Stability. Something to hold on to, to fight for and trust.

The message hadn’t entirely filtered down to his loins though. Lyle – incredible, beautiful, Lyle. The first man he’d swived; the first man he’d sucked. Lyle – who now had a pretty little wife and needed the stigma associated with sodomy like he needed toothache. He didn’t want to destroy everything the man had built for himself.

He didn’t want to pull back and walk away either.

‘Don’t brood, act,’ Lyle enticed him.

It was damned hard to resist when the offer was being dangled before him like that. Darleston grabbed the open front of Lyle’s dress coat and tugged him closer. He’d remained abstinent since the last time with Giles, save for the unmentionable mistake of the day before. Now his cock craved release like a drunkard longed for a bath of gin. He needed this. It was what he was. And it was easy. Oh, so very easy and real.

Why wouldn’t he risk everything when it felt this good?

Memories, sparked by Lyle’s scent, came flooding back as he reversed their positions and shoved Lyle hard up against the unforgiving bark of the tree. Good times and bad, the terrible pain of separation and the numbness that followed. Suddenly, he had to fill that empty void he’d been burdened with. He crushed Lyle to him, revelled in the hard press of muscle against his torso as they kissed again. Furious this time. He wanted to get closer, to rub up against the man’s bare skin. He inhaled Lyle’s scent like it was perfume; grew intoxicated on the musky aroma.

Dexterous fingers began to work open the buttons of his frontfall.

‘You’ve a wife now. Are you sure about this?’

The tip of Lyle’s tongue brushed the outer edge of Darleston’s earlobe, causing a waterfall of bliss to shoot through his veins. ‘I’ve a wife. You’ve a wife. Damn near entire population has a wife. And mine won’t mind. I need to have you, Robert. Do you realise you never allowed me that pleasure before?’

Was that true? He guessed it was. Pretty much everything about their relationship had been lopsided in those days. As an Earl’s son he’d taken precedence, and that had applied within the bedroom as well as without. Few men had topped him in any way since.

Lyle’s hot palm wrapped around his shaft. Vivid memories snapped sharply into focus, of things they’d done together and said. ‘You could kiss me first,’ he gasped.

Lyle chuckled. ‘I think I’ve forgotten how that works.’

A reminder seemed wholly inappropriate given the way that Lyle’s tongue stabbed between his parted lips. He held nothing back. Raw passion rolled off him in waves. It infused his breath and his grip, so that they clutched one another, fists closing around cloth and fingertips digging into the exposed flesh beneath, unable to break apart.

The sweetness of kitchen dainties lingered upon Lyle’s tongue mingled with the dark residue of after-dinner port. His touch, cradling at first, soon grew bolder and transformed into a sliding caress. Whole languages had surely been invented to describe this very act, but right now Darleston couldn’t recall a single word of any of them. All he knew was that he wanted – oh, God, how he’d missed – that touch.

With a few deft twists, he released the placket of Lyle’s breeches. There were times when he was all about taking, but this wasn’t one of them. He needed to give pleasure too. Following Lyle’s movements he curled his thumb over the tip of his cock and rubbed slow circles around the sensitive eye.

Not that finesse was really about to play a great part in this.

‘Together,’ Lyle hissed into his ear, before he pressed their cocks tight to one another and began stroking them as one.

Darleston’s hips rolled. He clung to Lyle, fingertips curled into one bicep, the other hand fast upon his hip, while the dual caress upon his cock worked him rapidly towards fever pitch. Strange that Lyle could bring him to this so quickly, when it was his legendary control that had wooed so many matrons in the bedroom.

He guessed the difference was desire. Not only his, but Lyle’s too. This wasn’t just about satisfying an itch, it was a physical need. The threat of climax loomed. It drew his balls up tight and set him walking a knife’s edge. It came as a shock when Lyle got there first, crying into his shoulder as his seed spilled. Darleston’s hips still rocked, but he was thrusting his cock against nothing but the cool night air. Bereft, he felt the sting of rejection in his cheeks. Then Lyle dropped to his knees and buried his fair head beneath the hem of Darleston’s shirt.

Warm heat surrounded him. Then months of stagnant tension finally ran out of his limbs. His arms fell momentarily limp by his sides. Lyle had always possessed outstanding skills and his ability to suck had only improved in the intervening years. Tricks he played with his tongue left Darleston breathless and grasping at handfuls of blond hair just to steady himself. He’d often wondered what it was about this man that made him so damn special. Well, maybe it was this. He simply had a knack, a certain way, of turning what was usually a pleasurable act into something monumental.

Darleston urged more of his prick into the wet enveloping heat, knowing he was being overly rough but quite unable to stop. Lyle’s little grunts of protest only made the moment sweeter. Pain, pushing things to their limitations, had always gotten him off. This was going to be swift or he might have tested those limitations. Lyle’s fingers curled claw-like into his buttocks. Damn, his fingernails were sharp. He’d have half-moon-shaped bruises there tomorrow. The heat, the raw intensity of this … He couldn’t tolerate much more. He needed relief, not torture.

A week or two would give them plenty of time to draw things out.

Lyle’s fingers uncurled. He began to knead the tensed flesh, and then two digits speared into the channel between Darleston’s cheeks and headed straight for the sensitive hidden whorl of muscle. Just a tickle there, the very suggestion of a fingertip sliding within undid him completely.

His body gave up its gift in long shuddering rolls of bliss.

Legs, knees, arms – his limbs were jelly. Only Lyle’s hold kept him upright.

He heard him swallow.

‘Fuck!’

Lyle stood, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

‘Fuck!’

Lyle’s kisses tore at his mouth. The taste of his own arousal mingled upon their lips.

‘I mean to have you, Robert. I’m not going to let you run away from me. I need a lover, not a wife.’

‘Right.’ The thought sobered him somewhat. Emma – Lyle’s wife, who was sweet and charming and no doubt sitting up waiting for him. Field House wasn’t anywhere near large enough to host couples separately when there were this many guests.

‘Come on, the Orangery is this way.’ Lyle tugged him along in his wake. Darleston followed somewhat unsteadily, still trying to fasten his clothing so that he wasn’t walking around exposed. Had it been this chilly before? A shiver rolled through his limbs, and Lyle noticed. ‘There’s a stove in there. We can keep warm and we don’t need to worry about being overheard.’

* * *

Condensation clouded the numerous window panes of the Orangery, obscuring the views of both inside and out. Lyle led the way through the towering foliage to a small stone grotto near the back, which also housed a raised silken divan. Darleston had only a glimpse of its gaudy lamp-lit stripes and then he saw Lyle spread out along it, his dress coat cast aside and his breeches tugged down so that the pale globes of his bottom lay exposed. Though he guessed what Lyle had in mind would involve him being spread out, and while in some ways it would be easy to give in, he’d always enjoyed ruthless self-flagellation.

‘This is a bad idea.’

Articulating the thought failed to destroy the rather lovely image. Instead he saw the scenario developing, himself creeping forward and enjoying the firm expanse of muscle laid out for him. Heat rose off Lyle’s body as he fitted them together in one slow, delicious push. He heard the hitch in Lyle’s breath, the momentary sign of protest. If he said ‘stop’, would he do it? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he could endure such torment. Things always got complicated when his heart said no and his cock said yes.

He followed Lyle over to the cushioned mattress. Watched him as he kicked off his shoes and perched crossed-legged upon the silk. Lyle wove his fingers together as he settled his elbows upon his knees.

‘There’s no pressure, Robert. I understand you’ve had a nasty scare. It’s natural that you’d have reservations. Maybe you think we’ve already stepped too far over the mark.’

They’d certainly taken more of a risk than he cared for. He’d never given up on loving men, but he’d always taken great pains to keep such doings out of sight. It benefited no one to expose that particular part of his persona. What they’d just done constituted lunacy, and this … this current proposition a spell in the asylum.

‘I’m not unaware,’ Lyle continued. His eyes remained fixed upon Darleston’s face. ‘You live in public. I know the company you keep, the clubs you frequent. I’ve seen the criticism levelled at your family ever since the Earl took it upon himself to marry a whore. As for your recent problems with Lady Darleston –’ Lyle raked his hand through the long strands of his fair hair, clearly uncomfortable, finally tugging loose the queue holding it in place. Soft fair curls sprang free and hung just shy of his shoulders. ‘I concede that puts you in a precarious position. I trust she can’t prove anything.’

The only proof of which Lucy was capable was her own wretchedness, and then only because it was apparent the very moment she opened her mouth. Darleston made an irritated swipe at the leaf of a coconut palm before leaning against the grotto wall. ‘I’m not wholly devoid of sense. I never put anything in writing. Also, I trust that any punks that might be rounded up would have the sense to realise their own necks are at stake.’

‘Your word would stand against that of a cooper or butcher.’

‘Perhaps. Either way it makes sense to lie low.’

Lyle cocked his head. ‘This would be why you’re attending a prize fight. Because naturally no one at all will spot you or remark upon your presence.’

Darleston conceded a grin. The situation wasn’t ideal, but at least he wasn’t flaunting his person around town any more. More importantly, he’d stopped playing unwelcome chaperone to Giles and his new bride. He hadn’t specifically come to Field House to watch the fight. Supporting Neddy, his twin, in his role as Mr Hill’s new trainer had merely provided a reason to be here.

‘Neddy’s deeply involved,’ he said to justify his presence.

Lyle continued to smirk and nod. ‘Is that who Hill has brought in as trainer? Ned must have put on some brawn since the last time I saw him.’ He unwound the length of his cravat, let it hang in a loose loop between his hands.

Darleston gave a quick shake of his head. ‘Not noticeably so, but he’s a good weave and a sharp right hook. I’m told his footwork is good.’

‘That’d make sense. Getting his legs in a tangle is Jack’s main downfall. He has a punch like a ton-weight bull, but the nippier boxers just dance around him.’

‘Think he’s a chance?’

‘Ned or Jack?’

‘My brother had better not be going anywhere near the prize ring.’

‘So-so. I don’t know much about his opponent. He’s not local. From Welsh stock, I’m told.’

Lyle cast his cravat aside and undid the ribbon fastening of his shirt. Pale blond hairs pecked provocatively through the opening. The yellow glow of the lamp warmed his skin, giving it a sun-kissed hue. Something about seeing a teasing glimpse of chest hair like that grabbed Darleston straight in the groin. Maybe it was the hint of masculinity or the exposure of all that was wild and was customarily hidden by clothing. They were all beasts when it came down to it. No one remained a gentleman in the heat of passion.

The bottom of Lyle’s shirt still hung over the top of his breeches from their earlier sport so it was simply a matter of unbuttoning his waistcoat and peeling the layers off to expose him completely.

‘Join me.’

Darleston slipped the top button of his own waistcoat, but paused before unfastening the second. Somehow they’d ventured into territory he was reluctant to retread. There was no question about whether he desired Lyle. He’d always done that. Rather, the problem was Mrs Langley. He saw her pale oval face staring up at him again as the teacup she offered rattled alarmingly upon its saucer. It would destroy her to learn what sort of man her husband truly was – what sort of man he was.

‘I can’t do it, Lyle. I just can’t. I’m sorry if I’ve led you on.’ He refastened the button, then bit his lips, wanting to say more, but unable to form the words to make sense of his emotions. It wasn’t only Emma he was trying to protect, but all of them. He’d been hurt too recently to stomach any more pain. The ache of losing Giles was too raw. Lucy and her libellous innuendos had provided a perfect excuse to leave London. But they’d never been his main issue. Besides, she’d stopped making them as soon as she’d realised that the chastisement he chose to dole out wasn’t to her taste. She’d deserved a hiding, but cutting her allowance had silenced her rather more effectively. No, really he was taking in the country air to mend the ache in his chest. He thought he’d understood loneliness before, but not like this. He’d never felt so bereft of friendship as well as love. All his other cronies, the ones he’d hoped to turn to in order to escape the emptiness inside, seemed to be entangled in bereavements of their own

Of course that was the dilemma of his current situation. Love, of sorts, was exactly what Lyle sat offering. Still, he couldn’t sacrifice Emma Langley’s happiness for his own. There existed hurt enough in her watery blue eyes.

He hid his face, turning into the shadow. He wasn’t going to compete with a woman for a man’s affections ever again.

‘Long term, it’ll never work, and that’s what I’m looking for.’

Lyle came up behind him. Strong arms encircled his waist, and Lyle’s head rested between his shoulder blades. ‘I never once stopped wanting you. You have to understand that Emma and I, we’re not exactly compatible. We swore to be friends, not lovers.’

‘That doesn’t make this right.’

‘When were you such a moralist?’ Lyle’s lips brushed the back of his neck, raising shivers. Darleston leaned into the caress, craving more, yet adamant that he wouldn’t capitulate.

‘I can feel your pulse, your tension, smell your desire. Why resist, Robert? No one’s going to know. Don’t think so hard about the future.’

‘I can’t risk hurting her like that.’

‘My wife? Why does she matter to you? Why so concerned about her and not your own?’

He shook Lyle off. ‘To hell with Lucy! Because Emma has done nothing to hurt me. She’s been a kind and gracious hostess.’ And he didn’t want to compete with a woman. Not again. Not after he’d lost so spectacularly. Not that he’d ever had a chance with Giles. His friend simply wasn’t constructed that way.

‘We’ve never …’ Lyle hesitated. His teeth dug into his lower lip. ‘Our marriage, it’s never been consummated.’ He retreated into the deeper darkness of the grotto, leaving Darleston staring at his back in confusion.

‘How is that? Do you mean you’ve never been to her bed? Lyle, how is that even possible? Aren’t you sharing a room in this house? I don’t understand.’ He’d never wanted Lucy, but he’d visited her bed once a month for the last nine years. Give or take. One had to make the pretence of wanting issue, regardless of his actual wishes. The fact that he’d sometimes paid his twin to go in his stead wasn’t something he liked to make public.

‘I’ve no wish to embarrass myself,’ Lyle confessed, his voice muted and hesitant. ‘Nor have I any wish to engage in such an act. I’ve no desire in that regard. Women are rather like porcelain dolls. I can admire their crafting, but I have no desire to possess such a thing. There was mutual benefit to be had from the arrangement. I’m hardly the first man to seek the security of marriage as a mask for my proclivities. Society asks fewer questions if you offer them the illusion of normality.’

While Darleston’s own preference was for men, he’d spent many evenings equally at home between a woman’s thighs. At least there seemed to be some degree of affection in Lyle’s marriage, which was more than he could claim in his own. ‘And does Hill know about your lack of desire?’ Darleston asked.

‘He sees that Emma is well settled and contented. That’s all that matters to him. Of course he doesn’t know of my preferences. He’s a good man, not an overly enlightened one.’

‘What about Emma? How does she take your lack of affection? I can’t imagine she’s content to be left virginal, or do you allow her trysts as well?’

Lyle shook his head.

Darleston ground his teeth and found his lips were pursed into a tight moue when he tried to form his next word. ‘So you sleep with whom you please but deny her any affection. Lyle, I thought better of you, I truly did.’

The other man turned to face him once more. Eerie shadows swam in the depths of his hazel eyes. ‘You don’t understand. I haven’t denied her anything. She wouldn’t let me touch her even if I desired to.’ Lyle’s sibilant whisper bled into the darkness. ‘She’s frigid, Robert. Colder than the hoar frost. She doesn’t let anyone touch her.’

‘So she’s nervous. But with coaxing …’ Darleston curled his fingers, imagining pressing them to Emma’s prettily flushed cheek. Every woman he’d ever known had warmed to sweet talk and a little charm.

‘No. You’re not hearing me. She’s not skittish. She doesn’t let anyone near her. Nobody touches her, not even her maid or her sister. We’ve been married over two years and the only time I’ve held her hand was in church as I slid the wedding band upon her finger. Believe me, she trembled enough through that. If she could have avoided it …’

‘That’s common enough.’ He’d quaked too. Although in his case it may have been down to how much drink he’d consumed.

‘This affliction goes way beyond that. Watch her tomorrow, and then you’ll understand. It’s not coitus she’s afraid of, Robert. It’s physical contact of any sort.’

Darleston’s brows furrowed. ‘Have you tried to discern why?’ How could a human being survive in such a way?

Lyle half-nodded, half-shook his head. ‘She won’t discuss it with me. Believe me, I’ve tried and never made the slightest bit of headway. She just brushes me off. It doesn’t help that she knows I like men. So talk of physical affection between us is pointless. It’s why she was so keen on the arrangement in the first place. She knew I’d make no demands upon her.’

‘How the devil did she know? Did she see you?’ Incredulous now, Darleston’s mouth hung open. Gentle-born women didn’t knowingly marry men whose preferences ran to other men. No one wanted to be wed to that sort of scandal.

Lyle nervously wetted his lips. ‘I’ve never asked and she’s never ventured the details. But now you see there’s no impediment to us.’

Darleston began to pace in and out of the grotto’s mouth, worrying his fingernails as he moved. Did this change anything? Superficially, perhaps. Deep down, he wasn’t so sure. Emma might still fight for her husband. She could still be hurt by the scandal.

The humidity was starting to wear him down. Sweat beaded his back and trickled down his spine in much the same way as it ran down the window panes. He still wasn’t sure. When had he become so cautious? Not so very long ago he’d made a jape of danger and desecrated a grave to settle a score. Now he was hesitating over fucking a man who was actually prepared to give him more than one night of his life. He couldn’t in all honesty use Emma as an excuse for rejecting that. If their marriage was truly as platonic as Lyle described, then he wasn’t about to lose Lyle to his wife in the way that he’d lost Giles to Fortuna.

Emma knew the risks. She’d made her choices in full knowledge of what might come.

Lyle smacked him across the arse. The impact jerked him forward and out of his emotional stupor. God help him, but he was going to do this. But on his terms. No more being dictated to by Lyle, and no more pansying around playing go-lightly. If they were going to fuck … well, they were going to fuck.

‘Take off your breeches too.’

Lyle’s head twitched, bird-like, in surprise. Then he settled his ruffled feathers and did exactly as he’d been told. Naked he really was a marvel. He had an arse to rival that of a Roman god, though not quite as pale as alabaster. Thighs that were feathered with soft golden hairs, and loins … there was no denying that’s where Darleston was primarily looking. Lyle’s prick stood proud. Long and uncut, it reached halfway to his navel. It was striped with pale-blue veins, like some Oriental piece of china. Thankfully, it wasn’t quite as fragile as a vase.

‘So you’ve missed me,’ Darleston remarked. ‘In all these years there’s never been anyone else that turned your head in the same way? No one who’s fucked you halfway to the moon and back? No one who crept inside your head and steamed up all those naughty fantasies you concoct while you date Miss Nancy and her four sisters?’

‘Robert, when I toss myself the only pictures in my head are of you … and the adorable little vadelect I had in Bangalore.’ Lyle’s grin stretched wide, growing infectious the further it spread. Darleston smiled along with him. Bangalore? He wanted to ask, but the story could wait for another night. Instead, he perched on the end of the divan and tapped his middle finger against his lips. Slowly he wetted its tip.

‘Know where this is going?’

‘I know where I hope it’s going.’ Lyle rolled onto all fours.

‘Uh-uh! Face to face. If we’re going to do this, let’s do it properly. I want to see you come and know that you’re mine. And if I so much as think your thoughts are straying towards Emma then it’s over. Truly over. I can’t go through that again.’

He could see a myriad questions racing through Lyle’s mind, but his lover seemed to sense that this wasn’t the time. Lyle turned and lay flat upon his back.

‘I think you’re more likely to think of her than I.’

‘Maybe.’ Darleston covered him, still fully clothed. He didn’t intend to remove a stitch. Instead, he pinned Lyle down and kissed him, revelling in the heat and the clash of their tongues. As their lips made merry, his hands were at work, brushing lightly over Lyle’s arms and torso. When they parted, it was only so that he could take a breath and turn his attention to Lyle’s flat, penny-shaped nipples instead. He sucked hard, drawing the little teat into a point. He palmed Lyle’s cock at the same time, working it up and down until Lyle’s contented groans had lapsed into euphoric silence. Only then did he tease the entrance to Lyle’s arse with his wetted digit.

Fiercely hot, but eager and willing in his acceptance, Lyle writhed beneath him, lifting up his hips to allow for a deep penetration. One finger soon became two, then three. Finally, Darleston accepted Lyle’s hands fumbling at his waistband and feeling their way inside his frontfall. His cock bucked in appreciation of the touch. He let Lyle guide him home. Butted up against him, and slid deep.

It really was that smooth and that quick.

Too perfect, really. He did so like a bit of torment.

He pulled Lyle’s hair, raked his teeth along his jaw and began to fuck like he truly meant it. The little yelp of pain Lyle gave in response fired Darleston’s senses. So too did his lover’s retaliation, right down to adding more bruises to his already marked rear.

‘Bite me again,’ Lyle hissed into his ear as they were rocking smoothly together with the whole universe collapsed in upon itself and centred on the tip of his cock.

Lyle guided him over towards his throat. Darleston sucked hard. He nipped a little but didn’t let his teeth break the flesh. He left a mark though, a deep-purple bruise like a stamp of ownership. He’d known lovers who gave one another love-bites in lieu of wedding rings they couldn’t legitimately wear. He didn’t want to wed Lyle, he just wanted to sink deeper inside him, until he was no longer sure where their bodies met, or what part of this pleasure was his and what was Lyle’s.

He added another mark to Lyle’s throat. Let him cover it with his cravat tomorrow. He’d still know it was there.

Darleston’s temperature reached fever point just before his body gave in to the little death. Sweat coated every inch of his skin. His clothing stuck to him. Only in the areas where their bodies met skin to skin did he feel true contentment. Next time, maybe he would take his clothes off. Then again the discomfort added something, and he liked that it was only Lyle who was exposed.

He looked down into his lover’s eyes as his nerve endings began to sing. His orgasm knocked him about like one of Hill’s champion boxers, leaving him punchdrunk and dizzy, full of light and air. He collapsed against Lyle, aftershocks still racing along his shaft, each one provoking a sigh of pleasure.

‘That’s right, Robert. Give it to me. Let go now.’ Lyle’s hands kneaded the tension from his shoulders. Darleston floated, acutely aware of the feeling that he’d somehow returned home.

His dexterity was shot to hell and his fingers and thumb refused to make a proper fist around Lyle’s cock. He worked it anyway, staying inside his lover’s body until he’d wrung every ounce of pleasure out of them both. Only when Lyle’s high had mellowed to a contented afterglow, and warm semen coated his fingers, did he finally release him.

Darleston rolled onto his back and sucked Lyle’s gift from his fingertips.

‘How long are you planning to stay?’ Lyle propped himself up on one elbow so that he could make eye contact. The tops of his cheekbones, his temples and the tips of his ears were flushed with a pinkish glow. The hint of colour gave him an almost boyish air, while the glow in his hazel eyes suggested embarrassment over his own eagerness for an answer.

‘Not until after the boxing. Though I haven’t specified a set length to Hill.’

‘So it wouldn’t be unreasonable to draw it out into a few weeks.’

‘I suppose,’ he said, a tad dubious.

Joy replaced hope in Lyle’s eyes. Lyle curled against him, wrapping a thigh over his legs and nestling his head in the crook of Darleston’s shoulder. ‘I’m glad our paths crossed again. I truly meant it, what I said about thinking of you. You’ve always been in my thoughts.’

‘Yes,’ Darleston drawled, feeling pleasantly lethargic and sated. ‘Me – and the vadelect from Bangalore. I trust he’s still in India and not secreted about the house.’

Lyle’s laughter rumbled up from deep in his chest. ‘Robert, if he were, I’d definitely share him with you.’




CHAPTER THREE


Emma woke obscenely early, just as she had every morning she’d ever spent in Field House. The moment the scullery maid opened her door to lay the fire she snapped out of her repose. She kept as still as she could, faking the even breaths of sleep as she listened to the sounds of intrusion. Sometimes, if she were lucky, she’d slip back into the arms of slumber, but more often she lay awake staring up at the patterns on the bed canopy.

It took a moment to realise that Lyle was not lying safe beside her. At home, he never strayed into her bedchamber, but in her father’s house there were appearances to maintain, as well as a shortage of rooms. She’d learned to tolerate Lyle’s presence in the bed. A line of pillows down the centre of the mattress formed a clear dividing line. She couldn’t have him touch her, no matter how much she cared for him, not even in sleep.

Emma sat up. ‘Where is Mr Langley?’ she asked the dishevelled maid, who in her shock rubbed soot down the front of her homespun.

‘I’m sorry, milady. I don’t know.’

‘I’m right here, of course.’ Lyle sauntered into the room, still in his dress coat of the night before, carrying his waistcoat. At some point in the intervening hours he’d lost his cravat. The collar of his shirt hung open, revealing slivers of the fair skin beneath. He bore the glazed look of someone who has been awake too long, drunk too much or been kissed too hard. In Lyle’s case, she suspected all three. Something the marks around his neck seemed to confirm.

Emma lowered her gaze. Her lips pressed tight together. She hardly needed to ask where he’d been or even who with. It made her stomach churn imagining Lord Darleston kissing Lyle so hard that he’d left such marks. ‘Leave us,’ she barked at the scullery maid, who gathered her things and fled.

‘Do we have something to talk about?’ Lyle wandered over to the sideboard and began removing his cufflinks and collar studs.

‘Where have you been? Have you slept?’

‘You know where I’ve been. Do we need to discuss it? And yes, thank you for asking, I have slept. Although I still require a good bit more.’ His coat and waistcoat followed the cufflinks, forming a jumbled heap upon the floor. Emma watched enraptured as he stepped out of his evening breeches and folded them over a chair back. Lyle was all straight lines. His body fascinated her in much the same way that she sometimes became entranced by a picture. She appreciated the aesthetic quality, but there was really no need to touch.

He strode over to the bed, crushed shirt-tails dangling around his thighs and the neck open to his breastbone, so that the pale-gold hairs upon his chest were clearly visible. Up close the bruises on his neck were a vivid mix of crimson and purple. She half expected to see teeth-marks too. Lyle made no attempt to hide them.

‘I know the rules. I promise you, we were discreet.’ He destroyed the wall of pillows, casting all save one cushion onto the floor. The last he plumped instead and settled against.

She couldn’t stay with him like this, with nothing between them but air and cold sheet.

‘Who was it?’ she asked quietly. There were things she instinctively knew about Lyle that only marriage exposed. She knew when he’d taken a lover and she knew when he’d drunk too much, without the need for questions or empirical evidence. Tonight she wanted actual confirmation, even though she knew it would smart to hear it. ‘Who?’

Please say it was the footman or Aiken or anyone else. She clung tight to the slender thread of hope.

‘I thought we had an agreement that there was no problem with my choices. Why is it so important to know? What do you hope to learn? I wasn’t implying anything by removing the pillows. I just find it ridiculous that we have to sleep as though there are three of us in the bed.’

‘Don’t change the subject.’

Lyle looked at her, his lips slightly parted as if about to speak. Instead, he smoothed a hand over the bedclothes so that he banished the wrinkles in the eiderdown. He frowned. ‘Why are we squabbling?

They weren’t normally enemies over his infidelities – heavens, rather that than him seeking satisfaction from her – so she supposed it must seem odd to him that she was making an issue of it now.

‘Was it … was it Darleston? You know one another of old, don’t you? I just thought … I guessed after your greeting –’

Oh, why did it have to be him? The only man she’d ever felt even the faintest connection with. Though hell knows why she felt it. They had nothing in common.

Lyle’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.

‘Yes, Darleston and I know one another. Why is it important?’ The bed groaned as he made a half-hearted attempt to tug the sheet over his shoulders. ‘Why the sudden interest in my doings? You’ve never taken any interest in my lovers before.’

‘No reason.’ She couldn’t confess. What was there, really, to confess to? She wasn’t about to act upon the curious tingle she felt inside when gazing at Lord Darleston. ‘I just thought it prudent to know. I wouldn’t want to intrude upon anything.’

Lyle rolled over and gave her a hard stare. His nostrils flared slightly, causing Emma’s heart to thud. What if he suspected her affection? He might treat her differently if he saw she had intentions on another man. He might not be quite so amenable. God forbid, he might actually demand his conjugal rights.

‘Isn’t he a little notorious? I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.’

‘I won’t. Not as long as you’re with me.’ He reached out a hand to her, as if he meant to cup her cheek.

Emma hopped out of bed. ‘You know that I’ll not make a fuss. Whatever it is that pleases you is quite fine by me as long as you respect my wishes as we discussed.’ She glared accusingly at his hand, so that he hid it beneath the sheet.

Lyle’s lips formed a tight moue. ‘I always do, don’t I? I’ve never demanded …’

She nodded. ‘And I appreciate it. Our needs complement one another. I’m eternally grateful for that.’

‘Don’t you ever long for even a little affection?’ Lyle enquired

Emma’s nod transformed into a vigorous shake. ‘No – leastways, not as you mean it.’

‘But do you have any idea what it’s like?’ He sat up against the pillows with his hands steepled before him. A wistful smile turned up the corners of his mouth.

‘No – no, I don’t. And I really don’t need to.’ She shook her head while backing away from him. She really, really didn’t need to, because despite still being virgo intacta she could well imagine, having witnessed Lyle’s exploits before. That’s how she’d known she’d find him a suitable husband. She wasn’t sure who the man had been; a migrant labourer, perhaps, or a visiting groom. The sort of man she’d never really expected Lyle to associate with. They’d been bent over a mounting block in the stables and she remembered how the cheeks of the man’s bottom had flexed and dimpled as he’d driven his prick deep into Lyle’s rear. Even now the image still had the power to quake her to her very core. Watching him had been lewder by far than stumbling upon a man and maid. Men were not meant to love one another. She knew what she’d witnessed had been a criminal and ungodly act, yet the men’s pleasure had been unmistakable. Worse still, her memory had now metamorphosed, the groom replaced by Lord Darleston, standing in his magnificent baroque coat swiving her husband with depraved abandon.

Fever consumed Emma’s body. She pulled on a wrapper and disguised her shivers as cold, fleeing toward the fireplace for emphasis. Her fascination with Lord Darleston hadn’t diminished with sleep; if anything it had grown more acute, particularly as she now knew him to be interested in Lyle. Not that she would ever act upon her attraction. Besides, silly ninny that she was, Lord Darleston was clearly inclined like her husband and would have no interest in her.

‘Shall I have your breakfast sent up?’ she asked. As soon as the chill air in the bedchamber cooled her cheeks she’d dress.

‘That would be nice. It was Darleston,’ Lyle said with a sigh. ‘I had his cock in my mouth and he tasted absolutely divine.’

Emma snatched an ornament off the mantel. Her fist clenched the slender figurine, as for a moment she was convinced that Lyle had deliberately intended to vex her. She stared at her hand, trying to comprehend the violence of her response. She wasn’t normally given to rash actions, but then neither was she invested in any person enough to experience pangs of jealousy over their affections. Emma closed her eyes and breathed slowly until the tension drained from her body and she was able to uncurl her fingers. Thank heavens Darleston would only be part of their lives for a short while. She glanced at Lyle and realised that, in his wistfulness, he was merely thinking aloud. It was hardly the first time he’d shared inappropriate thoughts or descriptions with her. When they were home alone, it even amused her.

* * *

The more thought Emma gave to the prospect of living even a short while with Lord Darleston in the same house, the more terrified she became. What if Lyle recognised her desire? How would it change their relationship?

Her hands shook so hard during breakfast that she gave up trying to crack the shell of her soft-boiled egg and left it and the rest of her food untouched. A walk ought to have made things better, but the heavens opened as she stood upon the entrance steps. Thick grey clouds promised a heavy, lengthy downpour, which left her stuck in the library, flitting ghost-like between the shelves seeking escape, when there was no place to escape to.

Lyle’s words echoed between her earholes as if her skull were devoid of matter. She’d been aware of several of her husband’s previous lovers. She’d known their names, their families and backgrounds. Never once had she felt threatened by their existence. Nor had she counted them as anything other than blessings. While Lyle was taking his pleasures elsewhere he wasn’t making demands upon her.

Her gaze again strayed through the open door into the billiards room, where the men stood around the table conducting what sounded very much like a plan of war. Her father’s voice rose above the others.

‘As soon as this infernal rain stops I’ll take you down to see him. I want you gentlemen to get a feel for his character before the event.’

‘Aye, but what about the Welshman? Will there be a chance to assess him before the fight?’

‘Of course. Of course. We’ll see what we can do.’ Her father guided Mr Bathhouse towards the rear of the room, leaving her with an unobstructed view of Lord Darleston holding a billiards cue. Since he’d been nursing it for a good twenty minutes without taking a shot, it seemed he merely held it to provide comfort.

She oughtn’t to have been looking, but her gaze kept straying from the printed words upon the page of her book to the frontfall of his breeches. She saw it not as it was but open, Lyle upon his knees, his mouth wrapped around the thick firm rod that lay beneath. Lyle had touched what she wanted, when she’d never wanted anything before. Not like this. She’d never wanted to press her fingertips to the warm flesh of another living soul. Not since – she shook her head – not since … She needed no reminder.

Darleston would be warm, not cold, the vibrancy of his pulse a flicker of heat running just below the skin. He’d taste of brandy and sin, and of all the wicked things in the world that one ought not to do. He was sin. Her sin. One big package of impiety, from the ends of his fiery locks to the sculpted perfection of his coat-tails, and just standing there waiting to be unwrapped. If God could have sent her a gift, then Darleston was surely it.

Emma dropped the book and twisted her fingers in her hands. Pure awareness of his presence needled her so much she had to scratch. The rasp of her nails felt impossibly good, but didn’t dissipate any of her irrational need. Some strange part of her that she could barely comprehend longed to stride over to him and comment on the firmness of his bottom. Truthfully, she wanted to say arse, but to hear such a crudity from her would turn her father milk-pale. Not that making a remark about his bottom would be much better.

If she offered to walk with Darleston as Lyle had done, and then fell on her knees in turn, would Darleston allow her to take his prick in the same way?

Was it possible to touch someone and to make them understand that you required no recompense, no like for like? She couldn’t bear hands upon her skin. Not even his. Not for a moment. But perhaps she could tolerate the movement of her hands over his body. After all, she’d be in control of that.

Damn, she had to stop looking at him. She jerked her gaze away, only for it to return a second later. She couldn’t help it. There was something about him that called to her. Something incomprehensible. Damn, she had to stop damning in her head. It was uncouth – and damnation – had Darleston even noticed her existence? Did he recall their conversation last night, or had their tête à tête been obliterated by memories of pleasure and her husband’s unfaithful mouth?

‘Emma – whatever’s the matter? You look as if you’ve been cooked.’ Amelia hurried over to her side.

Emma immediately stopped her scratching in order to ward off her sister’s approach. Amelia never could resist poking at her. The notion that her overzealous affection might be unwelcome seemed to pass her by. Not that she didn’t dearly love her sister, but, heavens, she did wish they wouldn’t fuss over her.

‘I’m quite fine. Just hives. Horsehair does always set me off.’ She scowled at the library furniture. ‘I’ve some lavender cream I can put on. It’ll soothe it.’

She left as quickly as she could without seeming to flee, painfully aware of Amelia’s gaze upon her back as she hurried towards the stairs. If her sister latched onto her irrational thoughts, it would be worse by far than Lyle finding out. Lyle understood discretion. Amelia understood nothing but her own need for entertainment.

‘Mrs Langley.’

Emma squeaked in alarm and clutched the banister. She leapt up the bottom few stairs before turning her head to see who called, although she already knew. His voice sent a dart of energy right through her midriff. Lord Darleston stood in the lobby. Emma remained stock still, fingers locked tight around the wooden rail, while her heart thumped against her ribcage.

‘Mrs Langley. The others are heading off to see Mr Johnstone. As I’m not so eager for that pleasure, I wondered if you’d show me the amphitheatre that is to be the stage for the bouts instead. I understand it’s located amongst the woodland.’

‘The amphitheatre?’ she gasped. She sounded choked even to herself.

‘Only if it wouldn’t cause you any trouble. I imagine I can find it myself if I’m pointed in the right direction. I realise it’s an imposition, it still being rather wet.’

Had the rain even properly stopped? More than likely this was a mere break in the clouds.

‘No, that’s fine. That’s not a problem. I’ll just fetch a shawl.’

Why should a little rain keep them indoors?

Why was she so excited over the prospect of wading through wet woodland with him?

‘Maybe you could see if that vagabond of a husband of yours has risen and would care to join us,’ Darleston hollered after her, affection evident in his voice.

‘Of course. I expect he’s …’ She gave a nod. What was better – to find Lyle still asleep and endure Darleston’s closeness all alone, or to find Lyle dressed and eager to accompany them? She didn’t wish to stroll along behind or between them in full awareness of what they’d done. Nor did she know any method of extracting such images from her head.

Lyle’s valet slipped away the moment she entered the room. She’d never understood Lyle’s need to have someone fasten his buttons for him. How she hated the stares, the tugging and pulling sensation of hands upon her skin. Surely he could manage to find the armholes of his own coat.

Ignoring Lyle’s inquisitive glance, she hurriedly donned her spencer.

‘And where are you off to?’

‘Out for a stroll.’ She did intend to pass on Darleston’s invitation, but something stopped her speaking the words. Why should she invite Lyle? There’d be no fun in watching the two men walk shoulder to shoulder while she waddled along behind like a lost puppy. She couldn’t do it. The whole time she’d know what they’d done together the previous night. She’d know she was apart from them, locked out, surplus to requirements. She’d rather have Darleston to herself, even if all they exchanged was a companionable silence. She wanted a friend.

All right, mayhap a bit more than that.

It wouldn’t do to have Lyle present if her gaze kept straying as it had done this morning. He read her too well. He’d realise something was afoot, and God forbid that he recognise the true depths of her fascination with Darleston. It would serve them all equally ill if he thought she had real designs on the man. Jealousy was bound to rear her ugly head and, worse still, he might finally insist on his matrimonial rights.

And yet in a purely theoretical sense she did have designs upon Lord Darleston. Practically speaking, it was a hopeless and irrational dream, but then, practicality had rarely served her interests.

Also, deep down she didn’t believe Lyle would ever want her as a woman.

‘Do you know where my wrap is?’

Lyle crossed the room holding it. He waited for her to turn, so that he might drape it around her shoulders, but Emma stiffened her spine and refused to turn. Recently he’d used such opportunities as a means of getting close to her. Then, all the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, leaving her feeling doubly wretched.

‘What I said earlier, I wasn’t trying to needle you, only to be forthright about things. I don’t like that we live a constant lie. If there was another way –’

‘It’s fine,’ she cut him off. ‘There’s no need to go over this. I perfectly understand that you have needs and that Lord Darleston is helping you fulfil them.’

‘Yes, however –’

‘Don’t, Lyle. You’ve already told me what you’ve done with him. There’s no need to say any more.’ She snatched the wrap from his hands, taking care not to make contact with his person. ‘Take your pleasure in whatever fashion you please. It makes no difference to me.’




CHAPTER FOUR


While fibbing to Lyle as a defensive measure came incredibly easily to Emma, she couldn’t lie in the same way to herself. Hot tears rolled down her cheeks as she fled the bedchamber. It did matter how Lyle took his pleasure. It mattered very much, because in this instance his pleasure was Lord Darleston.

Ninnyhammer! Fool. You’ve spurred Lyle towards him now, when that was the last thing that you wanted.

Though really, wasn’t that for the best? Daydreaming was one matter, but reality quite another. Nothing romantic would ever happen between her and Darleston. They’d never share a touch, while Lyle would find hours of satisfaction in kissing and holding the man. And what she needed was to keep her husband satisfied. That way he wasn’t in her bed making demands.

A deep tremble rolled through her body as she imagined being crushed beneath Lyle’s weight and of being pressed tight to Lyle’s pale skin. No – she corrected – not simply pressed together. He’d be right inside her, so there’d be absolutely no retreat or escape. They’d be completely bound. He’d be under her skin, not just beside it.

The notion froze her in mid-step. Emma clutched the top of the banister and sucked down several steadying breaths. No one else ever seemed to have such a problem with the idea of contact. They were all forever exchanging handshakes, kisses and embraces. The last person to cuddle her had been her nanny, right after she broke the news of Emma’s mother’s death. The embrace had made her skin crawl as though all the bugs and beetles of the graveyard were clambering over her. She’d avoided such clinches before that point, but that hideous show of false and vile affection had made her determined not to endure further embraces.

She’d grieved by the graveside, alone, invulnerable and aloof.

‘Still abed, is he?’ Darleston called up to her. He stood awaiting her return in the hall below, his hat already perched upon his head of fiery hair and his cane swinging gaily in his hand.

Since she didn’t want to admit that she hadn’t extended the invitation to Lyle, Emma remained silent. She mopped her tears, and then continued straight past Darleston out into the fine spray of mist that hung in the air at shoulder level. She fastened her bonnet as she went.

* * *

Darleston strode after Mrs Langley trying not to show his bemusement at her conduct. Although he had no hard evidence for his supposition, he’d lay money on Lyle being dressed and a more than willing companion on their walk. So naturally he had to conclude that Mrs Langley had deliberately excluded her husband from their jaunt. He couldn’t help speculating over the reason.

Had Lyle told her of the passion they’d shared the night before? He hadn’t hinted at making such intimate confessions to his wife, but Darleston had known couples who reported the details of every extramarital tryst to one another. However, if Emma possessed such knowledge and hated the arrangement, why then had she agreed to accompany him out? Had he set himself up for a scolding? He wasn’t sure he could face that. Not after months of rebukes and a night during which recollections of Lyle’s welcoming mouth had left him largely deprived of sleep.

The pale sun still seemed a little too bright this morning.

Darleston lowered the brim of his hat. In truth, tired as he was, his body still ached for more robust loving. To hell with what he’d initially said to Lyle, the chance of pleasure, however fleeting, was too rare a thing to casually dismiss.

It was fine to dismiss the need for love, when love surrounded one in abundance and affection could be bought by merely raising one’s brow. Things became rather more desperate when you were tarnished goods. Women avoided him, afraid that his homosexual tendencies might be transferred to them and onto their husbands, as if his preferences could be equated with the pox. And men avoided him for fear of – well, because they were preposterously conceited for the most part. He had standards as well as taste.

He thought back over the nights he’d spent alone. The caress of his bed sheets against the hot tip of his cock had been unbearable. Even the satisfaction he’d wrought with his own hand hadn’t entirely seen off the seductive ghosts of his imagining. Lyle’s presence had relieved much of that tension.

How could Emma Langley possibly survive with no human contact to soothe away the pains?

Learning her secret, if it existed, was paramount. He wished he could lock himself up that tight, become immune to those around him; no longer need their voices or their nearness to simply propel him through the day.

Of course, he had to touch her, primarily to confirm the validity of Lyle’s assertion. Not that he intended to just reach out and grab her, though on one or two past occasions such actions had got him exactly where he intended to get.

Women – he watched the sway of Emma’s hips as she walked ahead of him – there was no telling where even the subtlest gesture would get you. One misconstrued tilt of the head and you were shackled for ever.

Emma’s purposeful stride came to a halt on the edge of a copse. She peered back at him from beneath the vast rim of her bonnet. Beckoned him forward. Was the bonnet too a guard against affection? Bestowing a kiss upon her would run the risk of serious injury. He eyed the end of her brown ribbons and contemplated tugging upon them so the knot unravelled and he could send the ridge of corduroy flying up into the trees. Its fortress-like confines aside, the colour drained the vitality from her face, giving her a sallow, waxy skin tone. Darleston preferred the deep chestnut of her hair.

‘I’m afraid the path is a little windy and overgrown. And I don’t suppose Father has recollected to have the briars trimmed. He never thinks of such practicalities, only of his vicious brawlers.’ As he approached she strode forth again. ‘We’ll simply have to make the best of it. I trust you don’t mind a few pricks, milord?’

Darleston snorted into his coat cuff, pleased he faced her back once again. If only she were offering something other than a stroll through the brambles then his answer could have been wholeheartedly positive. As it was, it seemed best not to grumble over the nicks in his coat when the excursion had been at his behest.

Not that he had any genuine interest in the venue, only in engaging her as a companion. He still felt uncomfortable about accepting Lyle’s affection with only Lyle’s assurance that Emma would be unperturbed by it.

‘You don’t approve of prize-fighting?’ he ventured, seeing a lead into conversation.

Emma briefly turned her head to look back at him. ‘I confess I find little to admire in such sport. Perhaps you can tell me what the appeal is in watching grown men beat the wits from one another’s heads when they possess few enough to start with?’ The path widened a fraction and he caught up so that they walked abreast.

‘I’m afraid any explanation I offer would fail to enlighten and paint me in very poor light.’

Did he see a twinkle of knowledge in her pretty blue eyes? Did she think just for a minute, as he did, that there were aesthetic reasons for watching shirtless men fight? Although most of the prize-fighters he’d known were sadly spoiled in the looks department. Too many scuffs and broken noses did that. He tended to focus his attention on the parts that were normally left unseen.

‘You’re not aroused by such a show of strength?’

Emma gave an indelicate tut. ‘Intelligence is far more valuable to me than brawn. I think I should rather watch a scholar study than see two hot sweaty men bloody one another’s noses and wrestle in the clarts like beasts.’

‘Indeed. Yes, I suppose it is faintly ludicrous for grown men to behave in such a way, but then we do love to pit ourselves against one another.’

‘We’re almost there. We take a right ahead where the path forks.’ She gave him a rather hard stare when he stood mere inches from her person. Her normally agreeable mouth formed into a tight pout that made him want to smooth a thumb over it to iron the wrinkles away.

Naturally, he held back from such an intimacy. They weren’t friends enough for that sort of action to pass without rebuke, even if she weren’t as skittish as a hare over the mere press of a fingertip.

Although, all said, he still had only Lyle’s word that that was how she’d react.

‘An amphitheatre is an atypical garden attribute,’ he observed.

Her expression brightened immediately. ‘Yes. My great-grandfather had it built as a fernery, but it fell out of favour once the Orangery was completed. He was prone to momentary passions. He owned three hundred coats when he died. Not a single one had ever been given away. His valet positively despaired.’

‘I’m surprised only one valet sufficed.’ Darleston swung his cane and knocked aside an arch of thorns. ‘Ah, but the ferns remain,’ he observed.

They had reached a sheer drop, so that they looked down into a bowl in the earth, with concentric stone-edged tiers cut into the sides. Ferns grew in patches upon the banks, long stems reaching for the sun. It was the most perfect space for all manner of indiscretions, which he suspected was its primary purpose, not the growth of ferns.

Steep steps, worn and lined with cracks, led to the various layers of the amphitheatre and down to the circular base, where sandbags and ropes already marked the extent of the prize-fighters’ ring. Darleston jogged down to the base and strolled the perimeter.

Directly opposite the steps, a tree lay fallen across the entrance to a stone tunnel. The huge trunk formed a solid bridge between several of the tiers. ‘That’s not recently come down?’

Emma shook her head. ‘It’s been there since before I was born. There are dates carved into the bark.’ She wound her way around one tier and traced her hand across what he presumed to be one of the carvings. ‘The tunnel leads through to the promenade in the walled garden, but it’s rather damp and in ill repair. It’ll be hideous if Father traipses all the spectators through that way.’

Lyle ought to have brought him here last night, where they’d truly have been shielded from the house and the chance of discovery, although it would have been a good deal colder than the Orangery. Still, personally he preferred the natural shield formed by the high banks, undergrowth and woodland to walls of transparent glass.

Emma followed him down into the basin. They stood awhile in companionable silence. He liked that quality in a woman. So many of the silly chits in town saw silence as their downfall and chattered on inanely without pause. Of course, she was older than most of the maids out seeking a husband. He guessed her to be a good ten years older than her sister.

‘What are your passions?’ he asked. When she turned and looked at him he qualified the statement: ‘As you’re not one for boxing.’ He imagined she’d list the normal rote of womanly accomplishments, but instead she simply shrugged. Only after a significant pause did she answer.

‘I pickle things.’

‘Cabbages, beetroot, that sort of thing?’

She laughed at his seriousness. ‘What else? You didn’t think me an amateur naturalist, did you?’

‘Well, I confess the thought of pickled mice did cross my mind. You’re clearly not a great lover of crowds, so something else must entertain you, and I’ve come across a few rather eccentric recluses.’

Outrage briefly flared in her eyes. ‘I’m hardly that.’

‘No. No, of course not. You’re far too pretty to be a hermit.’

Emma blushed a little, his ill-chosen words forgotten in the wake of the compliment. She turned away from him still smiling and found herself a perch upon the fallen log. ‘Do you have one on your estate?’ she asked a moment later. Her fingers worked over whatever names were carved into the tree bark.

‘Me? I have neither a hermitage nor an estate. I own very little save a vast array of coats and a plethora of dubious appellations. Everything belongs to my father, including a few of the labels with which I’m blessed.’ He was rather glad she didn’t enquire into what those labels were as most of them were unrepeatable. ‘You don’t paint?’

‘No. Do you?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Any other hobbies?’

He couldn’t help it. A wicked grin slid across his lips. ‘One or two.’ He raised his brow.

‘Oh!’ Emma gulped, and then retreated into the shadows of her bonnet. She left her perch and went to look at some of the wild flowers nestled amongst the ferns. Still, it wasn’t long before he felt her gaze upon his back. He’d been facing away from her, eyeing the tunnel entrance, itching to explore, but wondering if it was too much to ask her if the passage were truly as riddled with dirt as she seemed to suggest. Darleston turned a little so that he could spy her from the corner of his eye. She was looking – no, staring – at him intently, her expression a curious mix of desire and revolt; hot eyes, sullen lips.

The expression alone raised a purr of interest in his chest. Coupled with his need for affection – well, the possibility of her wanting him set his pulse racing.

Maybe he was mistaking anger for desire. If she knew or suspected what had happened between him and Lyle then it made sense that she’d be riled. Not that their encounters so far suggested that. Additionally, there was something in her gaze that was too curious, too warm to be anger. Plus the stare wasn’t focused upon the back of his head as though she intended to deliver a blow, rather it travelled up and down his form, taking in the contours, lingering over his profile and the curve of his arse.

The merry devil was staring at his arse.

Well, that ruled out the possibility of her being Sapphic. It wasn’t repulsion over being with a man that was keeping her from Lyle’s bed. The notion had briefly entertained him, or at least the possibility of watching her with another maid had done so.

Darleston turned to fully face her. He raised a brow. Emma’s chin immediately drooped towards her chest. Four strides brought him to her. He took the obvious course. The same one he’d trodden with many a drooping wallflower. He stretched out a hand and with two fingers lifted her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

Shock so deep it bleached every hint of colour from her face transformed her expression. Her eyes opened so wide her blue irises shone like halos. Emma’s mouth fell open, and not in a good way. Not in a ‘kiss me, I’m yours’ way. Instead, he winced, expecting a scream. However, she remained silent. Then, rather than knocking his arm away, she scrambled backwards away from him as though he was Satan and his hellish touch burned.

‘Why?’ she might have asked. ‘Why did you touch me?’

Instead – nothing. Arms wrapped tight about her body, she continued to shiver.

‘I didn’t mean to startle –’

‘Forgive me.’ She cut him off. ‘I no longer feel so well.’

In truth she didn’t look it either.

Darleston watched her flee back up the steps and into the thicket of grass and briars. Considering the shock he’d seen on her face, he didn’t envisage her halting before reaching the edge of the copse, perhaps not until she’d locked herself behind her stout bedchamber door.

Naturally any decent man would have followed and seen her home safely, or at least attempted to intercept her flight, but pursuing her would likely cause more harm than good. He’d seen the sheen of tears in her eyes; heard the thickness in her throat. And he and tears never mixed to anyone’s satisfaction but his own. His brother Neddy had once observed that what he really needed in his life was a doxy who wept whenever he spoke.

‘Satisfied that I’m no liar now?’ Lyle emerged from the gloom in the tunnel’s entrance and sauntered towards the fallen tree.

Darleston strode upwards to meet him, admiring the buff and cream ensemble in which Lyle had dressed. Pale colours suited him. His breeches had been handsomely cut so they rode over his upper thighs like a second skin, giving rise to all manner of tempting thoughts – and wasn’t that likely the intent?

‘Followed us out, did you?’ he asked.

Lyle offered him a simple shrug. ‘It seemed prudent, given your reputation as a licentious rakehell, and, considering what I’ve just witnessed, it seems I was right to keep watch.’

‘And what did you see exactly?’

Lyle cast an awkward glance in the direction of Emma’s flight. ‘Robert, it seems very much to me that you were attempting to kiss my wife, which is rather unsporting of you, given all the pleasure I advanced you last night.’

‘I was merely trying to affirm what you’d told me.’

‘Then a handshake would have done.’

Darleston rested against the fallen log in a spot where the bark had completely worn away. This close to the tunnel entrance, he could see that it was indeed damp and riddled with murky puddles.

‘I can count on one hand the number of ladies with whom I’ve shaken hands. A kiss is a far more customary greeting.’ Admittedly, he didn’t generally aim for the lips, but usually the knuckles. ‘And she was looking at me with such obvious desire it seemed rude not to oblige.’

‘You’ve a vivid imagination if you think Emma was assessing anything other than your intellect –’

‘She was staring at my arse.’

‘– but it’s useful to know what it takes to grab your attention.’ Lyle counted the pointers on his fingertips. ‘A salacious expression, a pout and a prominent “don’t touch” label.’

‘It was more pleading than salacious.’ Salacious rarely stirred his blood any more. In fact, he liked things difficult. In a fit of playfulness, he leaned closer to Lyle. ‘I’d like to see you donning a “don’t touch” label. I think I know the perfect place to hang it.’

‘Would that be where you wish to touch the most?’

‘Perhaps,’ Darleston remarked cryptically.

‘Damn it, Robert! What game are you playing with me?’ Lyle brought his palm down hard upon Darleston’s knee. The resulting slap echoed around the arena. Birds scattered from the interlacing branches overhead.

Darleston stared at his stinging leg, which he was unable to rub without knocking Lyle’s hand away.

‘I thought we reached an understanding last night.’ Lyle’s hand slid upwards a fraction, slipping into the channel between Darleston’s thighs. ‘So, if you’re not set upon becoming a monk, and clearly you’re not, given that you were about to kiss my wife –’ Lyle turned his head expectantly ‘– would it kill you to show me a little mercy? You’ve seen what she’s like now. It’s never going to be physical between us.’

‘Ah, but I do relish a challenge.’

The fingers caressing his thigh turned into claws.

‘Ow!’

‘Robert!’

A wicked smirk climbed across Darleston’s lips. He couldn’t help it. A no was always more appealing to him than an easy yes. ‘Oh, don’t fret. I just have an idea about your little dilemma, that’s all. Naturally I’ll only pursue it with your permission.’

‘Unless it’s a plan that involves her becoming jealous because I’m repeatedly swiving your arse, then permission isn’t granted.’

‘A little jealousy could be part of it.’

With a jerk, Lyle sat up straight. His eyes narrowed, then he leaned forward, lips gently parted, his gaze locked upon Darleston’s mouth. His large hand burrowed into the warm space between Darleston’s thighs again. The tip of his thumb scored a line over the crotch seam, slid upwards and buffeted the wakeful ridge of Darleston’s cock. ‘Right here, right now. No running away. Dare you?’

‘Permission first.’

Lyle drew in a long breath through his nose. His tongue briefly wetted his lower lip. ‘What do you need?’

‘Everything.’

‘You’ll never get close.’

‘Then there’s no problem.’

Several bated breaths passed between them. Heat flooded Lyle’s hazel eyes. He nuzzled Darleston’s shoulder, ran a finger around the collar of his shirt, and then quick fingers made light work of loosening the knot of his necktie. ‘As you will, Robert. And as I will.’ He struck, targeting the soft, exposed skin of Darleston’s neck right over the pulse point. ‘You know you marked me last night. It seems only right I return the favour.’

‘You were begging to be claimed. I on the other hand am hedging my bets.’

‘Darleston, if you mention my wife again, I may actually throttle you.’ Lyle’s fingers stroked the skin his lips had just met. Hot tremors rippled through Darleston’s body. Necks were sensitive. He knew that, he’d seduced several past lovers in that way, but he’d never counted on his own neck being quite so riddled with nerve-endings. He barely moved, unable to focus until Lyle’s kiss reached his lips and then they sank into one another’s arms, sprawled along the length of the fallen elm.

When Emma had first drawn his attention to the inscriptions carved into the bark of the fallen tree, a crude and impossibly tempting vision of Lyle lying bound and prone with a gag in his mouth and his bottom bared had swamped Darleston’s thoughts. Now he saw their positions reversed, Lyle above him, taking charge of things.

Could they do this here? They’d be taking a huge risk. But who else would come out here? All the other guests had gone with Hill to meet Jack Johnstone at one of the outlying cottages. Only Emma remained, and she’d already flown. Having observed the bone-deep fear in her face, he couldn’t envisage her returning.

He worked his hands inside Lyle’s clothing, and then sucked in a breath when Lyle did the same and found the swell of his cock. ‘Fellatio is fun,’ Lyle muttered, while working his way down Darleston’s body, kissing his chest and the pale skin of his stomach that he exposed en route, ‘but what I really need is a nice long fuck. I need to feel you around me, accepting me. I need to make this real between us, not just play acting. I want to know you’re committed to this. I can’t deal with you blowing hot and cold, whether it’s a tease or not.’

Darleston steadied himself a moment. What Lyle was proposing was different to how it had been between them in the past. He’d always been the indorser, Lyle the nancy. And yet … ‘Is that what you really want?’

‘Robert, you don’t need me to answer that. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve got hard just thinking about it.’ Desire made Lyle’s voice husky.

‘Then do it.’ Butterflies filled his stomach at the instruction. Lyle remained tensely poised, as if he couldn’t quite credit the reality of the invitation. Darleston gave him a wicked grin. Wits and senses be damned. He hadn’t earned a reputation as libertine by acting in a respectable manner, or by waiting around for somebody else to make the definitive move. He curled his fingers into the hair at the back of Lyle’s neck and pulled him hard against him.

They fitted together like the two parts of a puzzle, as if they were meant to be together. It made sense. He’d once loved this man. Nay – that love had never died, circumstances had simply torn them apart and then it had been easier to deny his feelings than to live with them. He’d acted in exactly the same way over Giles.

Darleston nipped lightly at Lyle’s bottom lip, teased him with the promise of a deep kiss but stayed just out of reach until Lyle’s breath became fast and flighty. Only then did he deliver on the promise. As it had been the night before, the kiss left him feverish and uncomfortably hard. Unlike last night, he didn’t allow Lyle to take charge. Having tossed aside his hat and stripped the coat from Lyle’s back, Darleston jammed their hips together while simultaneously enjoying a good feel of Lyle’s bottom. Firm muscle filled his palm. The robust swell of Lyle’s cock branded his abdomen, promising … well, promising exactly what he damn well needed.

It didn’t matter if this lasted a week, for the summer or the rest of his life. He no longer wanted to deny the pull he felt. Instead, he committed to it. No turning back.

‘Swive me,’ he purred.

‘With pleasure.’ Lyle’s breath warmed his ear. His lips traced the lobe and descended again to his jawline.

Darleston pushed his hand inside Lyle’s breeches and took pleasure in the feel of Lyle’s erection filling his hand. This was what they both needed. It was a beginning and an end. They’d never properly said goodbye. This was a welcoming hello.

‘Trust me.’ Lyle winked as his fingers began to explore beyond the swell of Darleston’s shaft. ‘I learned a trick or two from that vadelect. All you need do a while is relax and enjoy.’ He made swift work of the remaining fastenings and dragged Darleston’s breeches down to where his boots prevented any further descent. Then, having first pressed a kiss to each inner thigh, he bestowed a series of ecstasy-inducing licks to the very eye of Darleston’s cock.

Darleston lay on his back and stared at the blue sky and swaying bowers. Birdsong filled his ears. Prior to Lyle, the last person to go down on him like this had been Lucy. He might hate his wife, but he’d made a fine job of teaching her how to suck. Yet Lyle breathed fire into his veins in a far more endearing fashion, seeking out tender spots so that the ache in his balls grew almost unbearable. His hips began to roll of their own accord. Fingers gripped him tight. They coaxed his legs further apart, traced circles over his bottom, urged him to lift up and turn over.

As he rolled onto his front, Darleston eyed the long slim wand that was Lyle’s cock. It had been too long since he’d allowed himself this pleasure. Butterflies began to riot in his stomach as he positioned himself over the trunk as he’d imagined seeing Lyle. He’d needed, had wanted a good pricking for so long, but circumstances had conspired against him and he hadn’t wanted a whore. He’d wanted someone with whom he had a bond.

Lyle’s hands settled upon his bottom, the touch so light it raised hairs all over his body. The sensation bordered on ticklish and made him realise just how few really good times he’d had playing the bottom role. No man had ever really touched him like this. Past encounters had been swift and frantic – seedy; something done in the dark, without an exchange of names or meaningful emotions. This was broad daylight, out-of-doors and luxuriously tentative.

Lyle touched him as though he meant to imprint a memory of himself upon the skin. When his thumb brushed the sensitive whorl of Darleston’s anus, he nearly shot up off the bark, it set so many nerves alight.

Dear God – that was only the trace of one finger.

Conflicting messages crowded his pleasure centres. Things became even more muddled, even rapturous, when Lyle bent and set his mouth to work where his fingers had strayed.

Darleston’s eyes drooped closed. He’d definitely never been kissed so intimately before. Within moments his blood ran so hot he swore brandy fumes had replaced his blood.

‘You really want this, don’t you?’ A whisper of hot breath assailed his ear. The tip of Lyle’s very cheeky tongue wriggled into another sensitive place. ‘Tell me how much you want it, Robert. Tell me what you’re feeling right now. Having regrets? Any final wishes?’

‘Let me feel you.’

‘Like this?’ Lyle’s form moulded itself to the curve of Darleston’s back. Loins pressed fast to willing flesh. Why was it that the sensation of a cock poised within the channel of his arse was in some ways more enthralling than the act to which it led? ‘Think you’re relaxed enough yet? Think I’ll slide in without a hint of resistance?’

He wasn’t sure about no resistance, but teasingly close wasn’t anywhere near close enough.

His senses screamed and his balls ran with an itch so crazy he wanted nothing more than to jerk himself to fulfilment then and there. Instead, he pushed back against Lyle’s cock.

The rasp of Lyle’s breath whooshed past his ear. ‘Easy, Robert.’

‘Easy yourself.’ He pushed back again. A shot of joy streaked from his anus to his chest as the tip of Lyle’s cock eased inside. A groan started deep in his chest and gained vehemence as it left his throat. ‘More. Do it and I’ll tell you what I have planned for Emma.’

‘What makes you think I want to know?’ Lyle wriggled his hips a little, but staved off Darleston’s attempt to take him all the way inside.

‘Because I know you. Give me a chance, Lyle, and I swear we’ll have her together. Have you ever had a woman as you’re taking me now?’

Lyle grunted – but not in affirmation.

‘Imagine it. Then imagine my cock inside her cunt so that you can feel me as though our cocks are caressing one another as we both possess her. All three of us sharing that perfect moment of bliss …’

A pinnacle he wasn’t so very far from now. He arched his back against Lyle again. This time his lover pushed forward at the same time so that their bodies met and Lyle slid deep.

‘Oh, God!’

The ache, was it always this good?

Too good.

Incredibly raw.

The border between ecstasy and pain had never been so fine.

‘I did warn you to go easy. Relax. Don’t tense up.’ Lyle pulled out a little, then slid back home. ‘There now. Show some bottom. Let’s just get you used to it, shall we?’

‘Fuck!’ Darleston swore. Drawn-out wasn’t what he needed right now. ‘Harder, Lyle.’ His words came out in a rush.

‘Like this?’ Lyle wrapped his arms tight around Darleston’s chest and tugged him into a kneeling position. Chest locked to his back, they swayed together, scaling the path of pleasure.

Lyle’s fist closed fast around Darleston’s cock and began to jerk him to the rhythm of their hips. ‘Almost,’ he cried. ‘I want you with me. It bothers me when the man I’m fucking can’t stay hard. Not that you’re having that problem.’

‘Keep stroking me like that and you’ll know just exactly how into this I am.’

‘Are you going to come while my cock’s in your arse?’

‘If you insist on stroking me like that, I don’t think I’m going to have much choice.’

Despite the warning, Lyle persisted in swirling his thumb around the head of Darleston’s cock.

‘Holy God!’

‘That good, eh?’

Darleston fell forward onto his palms. Sweat beaded his skin. His balls drew up tight as he soared towards orgasm. ‘Your goddamned wife is watching us.’




CHAPTER FIVE


‘Emma, aren’t you going to dress?’

Emma glanced up from the sampler that lay upon her lap. The embroidery needle she’d held lay dangling over her knee by a thread. Amelia stood at the drawing-room door, her hands pressed together before her as if in prayer, a pose that was probably intended to mask the ridiculously low and inappropriate neckline of her dress. Only a tiny scrap of lace maintained her modesty. A piece would have to be sewn into it before she was allowed to wear it in public.

‘The dinner gong went five minutes ago, yet you’re still here,’ the minx said, before Emma had a chance to scold. ‘Oh, heavens, Emma! Are you so determined to wreck my chances of finding a husband? Isn’t that the frock you went out in this morning? There are mud stains all around the hem. You can’t wear that to dine.’

Dinner. Hours had passed. Yet she hadn’t seen or heard anyone come in. After Darleston had … after he’d touched her, her heart had raced so fast she thought it would jump right out of her chest. All of her breath had been stolen. She’d had to get away from him as fast as possible, but she hadn’t run very far. The mire of brambles made it difficult and her legs wouldn’t carry her. Her feet kept slipping. One briar whipped back upon her and left her arm beaded with blood. She cried out but he hadn’t heard.

Perhaps it was best that he hadn’t heard. He’d been going to kiss her. Hell knows what he’d have done if he’d seen her hurt.

No man had ever kissed her upon the lips. Darleston had looked at her and seen into her soul. He’d read the desire there, had been about to return it. If he hadn’t raised his hand first, he might even have captured her. Her heart sped a little at the thought. A knot of tension built in her womb. How wonderful that he recognised her desire, but he had to understand that she wasn’t like the society women he knew. She couldn’t be with him. She couldn’t love him in that way. Any passion would remain unrequited. Regardless of the desire she felt, she would never act upon it.

And yet she’d still about-turned and stumbled back to where she’d left him. There’d been no sense in her head, just as none resided there now. The sound of Lyle’s voice had spurred her forward. She’d known why he was there even before she spied the men together. She’d given Lyle permission. She had only herself to blame. But seeing them together like that … The details of what Lyle practised had never before troubled her thoughts.

Now they were her only thoughts.

‘Emma?’ Amelia’s shrill cry smashed the recollection apart. ‘Are you not well? You look ill. See, you’ve gone crimson and your skin is all blotched.’

Emma turned her head, but she could not see herself.

‘Please don’t be sick.’ Amelia wrung her hands. ‘Father won’t hear of me being amongst this company without you around as chaperone. He’ll send me to Aunt Maude’s.’

Shakily, Emma waved away the concern. ‘I’m fine. Just a little faint. Too much fresh air and not enough to eat. I’ll be right again in a moment.’ She staggered past Amelia and into the hallway.

‘Should I come up with you and help you dress?’ Her sibling shadowed her flight into the hall so closely that her presence added to Emma’s nervousness. Amelia craved affection. Like a lapdog she was always underfoot. She saw any sign of weakness as the perfect opportunity to snuggle up close. It wasn’t that Emma didn’t want to return her sister’s love, only that she couldn’t bear to expose herself in such a way again.

‘No, you go in to eat. I’ll be fine once I’m rested. Could you please apologise to Father for me? Tell him I have a headache. And ask if Mrs Dobs would be so kind as to send up a tray.’

‘Should I have her send up a tincture of something too?’

‘No, quiet will be remedy enough.’ She gave her sister a weak smile. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll be fine again tomorrow. I won’t let Father send you to Aunt Maude.’ Then she hurried up the stairs before Amelia could follow. More than her head, her heart ached. And when she mulled over what she’d experienced her womb clenched tight too, as if her body intended to wring every ounce of feeling from the earlier encounter.

All afternoon she’d sat gazing into space waiting for either Lyle or Darleston to approach her. She hadn’t given dinner a thought. How foolish was she? Lord Darleston would be next to her at dinner, with Lyle directly opposite. There’d be no avoiding either of them. Oh, no. She couldn’t face them together like that, not in public where everyone would witness her embarrassment.

Hiding in their room wasn’t ideal, but at least only Lyle would seek her there.

* * *

Dinner calmed her a little, though she didn’t eat a lot. Lyle arrived while she was stirring a spoon around in the mashed-up remains of a lemon tart. He paused in the doorway a moment before sealing them within and striding forward.

‘Why are you hiding? Amelia says you have a sore head.’ He perched upon the foot of the bed, so that the tray of food formed a barrier between them.

She knew they’d seen her, so there was no supposing he didn’t understand her reasons.

‘All right, if you won’t say, then answer me this. Why did you come back, Emma? After he’d frightened you, why return? Did you change your mind about something?’

‘No.’

So he knew Darleston had touched her. She hadn’t considered he might be cross with her for that.

‘Emma.’ Lyle stretched a hand towards her, but stopped short of actual contact. ‘Can we speak plainly for once?’

‘I thought we always did.’ Her words echoed around the room, shrill and defensive.

Lyle shook his head. ‘I didn’t mean you to see that. We should have been more circumspect. I want to apologise if my behaviour has offended or embarrassed you. I’m sure Darleston would like to say the same. However, I have to know why you watched. Why did you stay when you saw what we were about? You could have left.’

‘I – I don’t know.’ Her cheeks prickled with the heat flooding them. Her reflection in the silver teapot bore the hue of a raspberry. Aghast with embarrassment she curled her knuckles against her mouth. ‘I was intrigued, I suppose. I’ve never seen … I’ve never spied on you before. Well, only once.’ And that hadn’t been anywhere near so enlightening. ‘I swear it. And I won’t do so again.’

Lyle’s fingers curled into the eiderdown. ‘I didn’t expect you to make it a habit. Not that I should really mind if you did wish to take pleasure in that way, as long as you warned me of your intention beforehand.’

What in God’s name was he saying? That he would invite her to watch them fornicate?

‘I don’t think … I’m not sure that’s absolutely necessary.’ The fire in her cheeks spread to her ears and her nose.

‘Why is that?’ Lyle pressed. He shifted position so that he sat upon his haunches. ‘Is it because it’s not me you want to watch? It’s Robert, isn’t it? You’re attracted to him.’

Robert she presumed to be Lord Darleston. Robert, she repeated to herself, committing his Christian name to memory. ‘I’m most certainly not.’ She shook her head desperately.

Lyle crowded her, shuffling up close to the wall of crockery between them. ‘You’re the most godawful liar I’ve ever met. Tell the truth, Emma. Do you want to make love to him?’

‘Of course not.’ She shoved aside the tea tray and leapt out of bed. Her limbs and arms were trembling. It took all her coordination and determination to cross to the fireplace. Lyle followed. He loomed over her. Emma risked a peep to find him dusting sugar from his clothing. The remains of dinner lay strewn across the bed. She reached out to ring the bell for a maid, but Lyle blocked the way.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so roused.’

‘I don’t want him like that,’ she insisted, still seeking a distraction from the conversation. The whole bed would have to be stripped and remade before either of them slept. ‘You know my habits. I don’t care to be touched by anyone.’

The harshness of her declaration made it sound convincing, but deep down she wasn’t so sure of her honesty. Omission still constituted lying and a small white lie lay embedded in her words. She didn’t want to be touched, but there was no denying that she wanted to run her palms across Darleston’s form.

Lyle frowned at her, his brown eyes riddled with mysteries. ‘He claims you were staring at his arse. And I saw you staring at his cock. Do you deny that?’

She blustered a moment, her mouth working but no sense coming out. ‘Well – I’ve never seen one before and I could hardly stare at yours, considering where it was embedded,’ she eventually blurted.

Oh, dear heavens, that was quite the most foolish and ridiculous thing to say.

Lyle’s jaw dropped. For what felt like eternity, he stared at her, shock engraved in every line of his face. Then, abruptly, he began to laugh. ‘Emma!’ A deep rolling laugh, which tugged at her lips and made her grin too. He didn’t seem so angry either, once their merriment had died down; instead he seemed intrigued.

‘Well, I think that’s outrageous. That you’ve never seen one, I mean. We ought to rectify that. Can’t have a married woman not knowing what’s what. I know you’d probably rather I brought in Robert, but –’

‘No, no, don’t!’ She couldn’t have him here making things even more difficult. Darleston didn’t understand the rules. And even if he did, she wasn’t certain he’d obey them. She supposed being an Earl’s son made him rather a law unto himself.

‘– but I don’t mind obliging you. Really, Emma, you had only to ask if you were curious.’ Lyle artfully slipped the buttons of his frontfall, drawing her attention fully to him. ‘You can’t have seen much detail out in the woods.’

She’d seen detail enough.

‘Robert’s is very nice, of course. I think you’ll find him a little thicker than I. Although I’m longer.’

She had no response to that. None at all. Flabbergasted, Emma watched him step out of his breeches and raise his shirt-tails. Confusion momentarily wrinkled her brow, for what she saw was not at all like what she’d seen earlier. Lyle’s prick lay curled against his body as if slumbering, while Darleston’s member had stood erect. Yet even as she stood trying to figure it out, change occurred before her eyes. Lyle became stiffer, longer. He woke up and stood proud. The tip peeped out from beneath a hood, rosy and glossy. A slit like a tiny eye was exposed. From it leaked a single shiny tear.

‘How much more do you want to see?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know. What is there to see?’ She clasped her hands over her mouth.

‘I can pleasure myself, as if I were inside him. I can bring myself to climax. Women can too if they touch themselves in much the same way. Not all touch is bad, Emma.’

She’d reserve judgement on that. However she didn’t wish to get into a debate at present. Fascination had taken hold. It was nigh impossible not to focus on the slow, steady rhythm of Lyle’s hand rubbing back and forth, up and down the length of his shaft. What a delightful picture he made. It made her feel twitchy inside, hot and irritable but in a pleasant sort of way.

Actually, in much the same way Darleston’s touch had made her feel.

Well, why should it be such a great thing to admit to desire? She wasn’t immune to physical attraction, merely unnerved and quite unused to the sensations of it. She had never claimed not to feel; she only wished not to be poked and prodded.

Lyle caught her gaze. ‘Perhaps you’d allow me to get more comfortable.’

Emma gave him a mute nod. She watched him strip naked, desperately relieved that the door was locked.

Two years of life together and prior to this moment she had no clear idea of what he looked like. Her husband was a beautiful man. Naturally she was aware of his shape and how well he fitted into his clothes. But clothes masked plenty of sins, as she knew only too well.

Golden hairs flecked Lyle’s chest and the pits of his arms and formed a thick thatch around his loins. His legs were hairy too. She’d never realised that. So too were his forearms. His nipples were two pale-pink pennies, only a shade or two darker than his skin. Smooth muscle gave him a graceful shape. Why, he was even more beautiful naked, especially as he was right now, standing proud.

Lyle left the fireside. Emma followed his movement to the bed, gaze locked upon the firm globes of his rear as he set aside the crockery. He ripped the despoiled eiderdown from the bed. ‘Sit here. Come close. I promise I won’t touch you.’ He beckoned her to a spot just shy of his left hip. Emma sat primly upright, her hands clasped fast together. ‘How does it make you feel to watch me do this?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Good, bad, indifferent?’

‘Hot.’ Another blush streaked across her face. No similar sign of embarrassment coloured Lyle’s cheeks. He seemed supremely relaxed. The only hot and flustered part of him appeared to be his prick. The tip reminded her of the very ripest of cherries, with its dark-red hue and sensual curves. She noted that he swept his thumb over the eye-like slit every time he brought his palm downwards.

‘Hot is good,’ he mumbled.

‘How does it make you feel?’

He laughed. ‘It makes me feel fantastic.’

‘Are you picturing him, while you do that?’

‘Robert?’ Lyle shook his head. ‘Only in a roundabout way. I was thinking of you watching us and how very much I’d like to see you taking your pleasure. Everyone deserves some, you realise.’

She swallowed slowly, fearing what he might ask, how he might demand that she undress and lie naked beside him, and how he might beg to touch her skin. Enter her.

‘I’m not asking you for anything,’ he reassured her, perhaps having noticed her shiver. ‘Just tell me what would make you happy and I’ll give you it. Anything.’

She knew in essence what he meant – that he was offering her the sort of satisfaction other people craved – but she could find no joy in the notion of being caressed. However, watching the steady stroke of his palm back and forth in that rhythmic motion over his cock had taught her something. There was a tingling sort of excitement to be had from seeing someone else touch themselves. Not that she wanted to spend her days watching Lyle alone. No, she’d much rather watch her husband with his lover. The excitement she’d felt watching them fuck was ten times the fluttering, giddy nervousness she felt now.

Would Lyle understand?

What would he think?

Perhaps her greatest fear, far beyond that of being touched, was being thought mad. If she were judged so, every freedom she possessed would be stripped way.

‘Say it, whatever it is.’

‘I want to watch you with him again.’ Shock at her own words engulfed her body like a cold douche. Emma’s heartrate sped as she trembled. Afraid of Lyle’s reaction, she averted her gaze.

‘Go on,’ he prompted.

Emma immediately raised her head. Lyle wasn’t cross – he remained relaxed, if you could describe the pumping of his fist as such – but he was intrigued.

‘What is it you wish to see us doing?’

Emma shook her head, quite speechless. None of this made any sense. The whole conversation ought to have been a dream. Normal couples didn’t converse like this. At least she was fairly certain they didn’t. But then, typical husbands didn’t fornicate with other men, and wives accepted whatever affection their husbands chose to bestow rather than bristling at the mere notion of it.

‘You really ought to tell me. I can’t bear the suspense. I’m conjuring all sorts of images, most of them lewd.’

Maybe it was his smile and the way it ran into the depths of his warm brown eyes, maybe it was the peculiarity of the situation, but the admission spilled from her lips. ‘I want to see you do things the other way around, with him in …’

Lyle gave another chuckle. ‘Emma Langley, I don’t think I know you at all. I can’t believe you’ve just said you wish to see me fucked in the arse by another man. What are you thinking?’

‘I’m sorry. I should have kept quiet.’

‘No. No, you should not have kept quiet. You should speak some more. You ought to tell me why you want to watch things that way. Is it so that you might imagine yourself in my place?’

‘No!’ she squeaked, alarmed by how her insides seemed to heat at the notion. ‘The pair of you looked good together.’

Lyle shook his head, dismissing the answer as the blind it was. ‘I don’t think that’s it at all.’ He didn’t say what he thought her true reasoning was, for he reached climax at that moment. Emma watched his seed spurt from the tip of his cock. It fell in silvery streaks upon his belly and coated his fingers. For several long moments he held himself still and gulped down uneven breaths. Eventually he opened his eyes and found a handkerchief.

‘I believe you are monstrously wicked, Emma Langley, and if I hadn’t already married you, I would do so again.’ He reached out, but stopped short of embracing her. ‘I’ll speak to Darleston and arrange a time and a place when we can indulge you. I’m sure he’ll oblige. He’s quite sweet on you too.’

While she floundered, wondering what in heavens she was supposed to make of that remark, Lyle cleaned himself up and redressed.

‘Are you sure he won’t think it strange?’

Darleston had not seemed overly perturbed at being watched in the amphitheatre, but that had been accidental. Arranging a situation where she would be their official audience while they did that was different altogether.

‘I think he’ll see you as a very accommodating hostess. Not everyone is quite so gracious about sharing their husband. And Emma – I don’t mind that you desire him, just as long as you don’t steal him away. So you needn’t feel guilty in that regard. Everyone ought to have someone who makes them feel alive, but I am curious. What is it about him?’

Truthfully, she answered: ‘I don’t know.’




CHAPTER SIX


When Lyle went upstairs to address Emma, Darleston made his own excuses and left Hill and the rest of his house guests to their port and cigars. He walked out of Field House and set off along the riverbank, using the quiet time to churn over thoughts and possibilities. The sun still lingered on the edge of the horizon and swarms of aphids hovered over the deceptively still water. The river reminded him rather strongly of Emma Langley – or maybe she was simply in his thoughts – placid on the surface but driven by ferocious hidden currents.

Despite the excitement of the day and the prospect of working his way into Emma’s heart, he felt calmer now than he had in weeks. He guessed his good mood could be attributed to the sexual release. He’d always pursued his passions, even once they’d become a little jaded and prone to extremes, but for the last few months, between losing Giles and Lucy’s hideous rumour-mongering, he’d shied away from any sort of engagement. Maybe that too contributed to why seducing Emma had such a sense of piquancy. Women like Emma, cold on the outside, burned like hot coals once you cracked the surface, but he wasn’t sure which element of the challenge he relished most: seeing her passion burn so brightly once she’d surrendered, or planting the initial seeds of temptation required to set her on the path to his bed.

To his and Lyle’s bed.

Hell, he shouldn’t be so excited by the prospect, but he was.

He’d never had a husband and wife together before. Leastways, not after their vows. It was probably taking an enormous risk, yet there remained something hopelessly alluring about it. It was proving far too easy to fall for Lyle all over again. As for Emma – he liked the heat in her gaze when she looked at him. He loved the glimpses of her spirit he’d seen, like her annoyance at being thought weak and silly purely because she was a woman. And he craved – yes, craved – half her strength. He couldn’t survive without others around him to prop him up. The sort of solitude she endured would kill him.

‘Robert?’

He turned at the sound of his name to find a small coracle bobbing on the water. It contained two gentlemen, one of whom gave him a frantic wave. Darleston sauntered down to the water’s edge and waited for the boat to approach. His twin brother leapt from the vessel and slapped him about the back by way of greeting.

‘When did you get here? This afternoon? Hill didn’t mention you earlier.’

‘My presence must have escaped his mind. Last night. Pennerley wasn’t in the mood to be accommodating.’

‘I can’t imagine why you ever thought he would be. I don’t suppose anything has changed there since last November. Is Miss Rushdale still with him?’

Pennerley had split with his long-term lover the previous Hallowe’en and had been brooding in his castle ever since.

‘Yes, she’s still there.’

‘Excellent.’ Neddy rubbed his hands together. He turned to the man who remained in the boat, tilting the oars. ‘That’s twelve guineas you owe me, Quernow.’

The man resignedly bowed his head.

‘So, how are you finding the place? Shall we walk?’ Urged along by his brother’s grip upon his shoulder, Darleston resumed his saunter along the riverbank. The little boat bobbed along beside them, maintaining a respectful distance.

‘Why didn’t you tell me that Lyle was here?’ Darleston asked, though he knew the answer.

Ned released his grip. ‘As if you don’t know. If I had, you wouldn’t have come. I know what you’re like when your humours are unbalanced. It’s as if the whole world is out to get you. You’d have given me some patter about keeping the scandal at home and not transferring it, when really Lyle’s probably the best thing that could happen to you at the moment. You can’t mope around after Giles for ever. He’s a married man.’

‘As is Lyle, in case you hadn’t noticed.’

To his vexation, Neddy simply shrugged. ‘Not in the same way. He and the wife aren’t close like Giles and Fortuna. Oh, Rob, you’re not telling me that you’ve suddenly grown a conscience, are you? Because I don’t believe it. I really hate to indulge most of your little peccadilloes but I always liked Lyle. He’s good for you. I’d rather see you with him than one of those mollies in town.’

‘There’s no fear of that.’ Not while Lucy still had a tongue to tattle with. He couldn’t risk any real scandal, or she’d have him forced into fleeing the country. Not that bedding Lyle wasn’t a risk, but less of one. Lyle being married would certainly make things more palatable if word got out. The notion of them wife-sharing was quite a different matter from sodomising one another.

‘How is it you didn’t come down to see Jack earlier with the others?’ Neddy asked

Darleston slowly sucked his lip as he considered his response. Since he’d cut his hair in January, they’d become more alike. He looked at Ned and was disturbed to find such a perfect reflection staring back at him. Since childhood they’d taken pains to be as individual as possible. ‘Other things to think on.’

Ned grinned. ‘You’re not actually cross with me over Lyle at all then. That’s good. I would like you to see Jack, though. He’s something unique. I think you’ll approve.’

‘Aye, well, maybe tomorrow.’ Having reached a fenced border, Darleston turned back towards the house.

‘You say that as if you had another pressing social call to make.’

‘You know me. I’m just not that interested in sweaty labourers. I only ever watch you in the ring and then only to ensure you remember to climb out again.’

‘You won’t say that once you’ve seen him.’ Neddy’s jovial exuberance almost convinced him to make it a date, but really he had far more interesting plans for the morrow. He waited as his brother returned to the coracle and watched as they pushed out into the river again. We’ll see, he thought. We’ll see what tidings Lyle brings.

* * *

She could pleasure herself.

She could pleasure herself.

Emma lay on her back in the freshly made bed in the room she shared with Lyle, her arms positioned rigidly by her sides. Her nightshift covered her body from her neck to her ankles. The lace around her neck tickled her every time she exhaled. The question really was: did she dare? Also, while Lyle had said it was possible, he’d failed to dictate the exact method of accomplishing such a task.

Who was she trying to fool?

She didn’t need a map to know which bits of her body were sensitive and which were not. If she hadn’t before today, she certainly did now, following Darleston’s attempt to kiss her and Lyle’s performance, not to mention having watched the two men fuck.

Oh, dear Lord, had she really started to think in such crude language? Her family would be horrified to hear what went on in her head. She guessed that was another reason to avoid physical contact. People always seemed to read one another better when they were touching.

Darleston remained firmly lodged in her thoughts. The moments leading to the touch and all that followed kept replaying themselves. Even as she’d crept towards them through the bushes with no knowledge of lovemaking as such, on a gut level she’d understood what the sounds were. She’d arrived expecting to find Lyle on the receiving end, and had been doubly surprised and overheated when she’d seen that it was Darleston instead.

He’d had his eyes closed when she approached. His jaw was locked tight too, making her think that there was a measure of strain involved in the pursuit of pleasure. As she’d watched, his expression had slowly changed, a sort of rapture seeming to soften his hard features. Yet her attention had not remained upon his face, rather it had been repeatedly drawn to that point where the two men’s bodies were linked.

She had been too far away to really see the details of Lyle’s prick penetrating Darleston’s pale buttocks, but she’d been close enough to see Darleston’s prick standing erect, and to get an illicit thrill from it.

Emma’s breasts grew heavy again when she pictured the two men moving together as one. She had never witnessed anything quite so earthy or beautiful. Her nipples tingled and a thread of fire seemed to link the two points to a third, far more sensitive place between her thighs. Lyle would no doubt tell her to explore a little in any of those places. Yet it seemed wrong to do so. Darleston, she suspected, would offer to do it for her, and a not insignificant part of her worried that her response would not be the definite negative it ought to be.

Emma huffed a sigh against the edge of the bed sheet. After his performance Lyle had gone, having expressly told her where to find him. It hurt a little to think of him curled up in Darleston’s bed. More specifically it made her shivery and transformed the dark above her into something isolating and oppressive rather than comforting.

She didn’t like to have him sleep by her. The soft whisper of his breathing kept her awake all night.

Her only consolation was that Lyle had promised to speak to Darleston about arranging another tryst that she could watch. If she’d imagined such a thing possible even twelve hours ago, she’d have thought herself crazy. In all likelihood she was exactly that.




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