Page 42 of Vanquished By A Viscount
Suddenly, after years of rancor and rage, he could not blame Charlie for leaving him. It still hurt, but over the wound, a scab of understanding had formed.
He was at a complete loss for what to do next.
“So you see why it was necessary?—”
On second thought, Gray knew exactly what to do. Before Charlie could finish his sentence, Gray twisted toward him, grabbed the sides of his face, and brought his mouth crashing over Charlie’s like he needed to kiss the air from his lungs in order to breathe.
Charlie made a sound of surprise and flailed a little as Gray knocked him off balance. A moment later, his sounds turned amorous and he clung to Gray, kissing him back.
It was not quite as if seven years of fury were completely wiped out. The hurt still pulsed in the darkest shadows of his soul. Charlie could have spoken to him about this sooner. They could have worked out a solution together. But all of that was secondary to the awakening of hope Gray felt in his soul.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie gasped, then gripped the sides of Gray’s jacket and yanked him closer.
It was a moment of overwhelming hope, hope so large it was painful. Gray half-sobbed into Charlie’s mouth as he kissed him,thrusting his tongue against Charlie’s and gripping a handful of the man’s hair at the back of his head. He was furious with Charlie for leading the two of them into wasting so much time, and he was desperate to make up for that time in whatever way he could.
“I didn’t know how to?—”
“Don’t speak,” Gray hissed between kisses. He didn’t want Charlie’s words. He wanted his heart and his body and his life. He wanted to make up for lost time, to tangle up with him until their bodies became one. He wanted Charlie’s cock down his throat and up his arse, and he wanted to fall asleep in his lover’s arms and?—
“Hello? Is somebody in here?”
The sound of one of the maids calling from the attic doorway slapped Gray out of his thoughts so sharply that he gasped aloud as he pulled back from Charlie.
“Is that my lantern?” the maid, Betsy, asked, stepping farther into the room. Unfortunately, that meant she caught sight of Gray and Charlie tangled up together. “Oh, goodness! I am so sorry, sir, my lord,” she said, backing quickly out of the room, face pink.
“Blast!” Charlie hissed, holding the back of his wrist to his red mouth. “Will she say anything?”
“Whether she does or not, Robert won’t care,” Gray panted.
Despite saying that, he took a large step back from Charlie, willing the bulge in his trousers to go down.
“We should—” Charlie began, standing, then cleared his throat.
“We definitely should,” Gray said, his heart racing and his feelings manic as he glanced at Charlie. He couldn’t help but grin. “Tonight,” he went on. “We definitely should tonight.”
Charlie barked out a wild laugh. He then slapped a hand over his mouth. That only made him laugh harder, though.
Gray found himself laughing along. “Come on,” he said, pushing aside an old hatbox with this foot. “Let’s get this blasted puppet theater and take it downstairs.”
“We really should,” Charlie said, grasping one end of it while Gray took the other.
They moved the puppet theater away from the wall and started the task of carrying it downstairs. He had no idea whether the house party guests would care for puppets or not, but for him, the summer was beginning to improve immensely. Who knew where things might lead next?
Thirteen
Confessing his reasons for breaking things off to Gray left Charlie feeling strangely lightheaded. Even though Gray’s reaction hinted that he might just be forgiven, Charlie did not want to throw caution to the wind and pretend that everything was bliss and sunlight. Experience had taught him that fortunes could reverse in an instant.
That did not prevent him from welcoming Gray gladly into his bed that night, after a long evening of half-conceived puppet theater that none of the guests enjoyed half as much as Gray was hoping they might.
The sun finally came out in the days that followed, but that shining orb did nothing to improve Barbara’s spirits.
“Surely, you can find some reason to be happy,” Charlie told her as the two of them walked along the garden path as part of the much-needed promenade of guests as soon as the paths were deemed dry enough not to ruin shoes. “Miss Martin did not end up leaving, even though her chaperone intimated that she wished to go.”
“I do not care one whit if they all leave,” Barbara said, pouting far too much for a countess. “I grow weary of this party.”
“Yes, darling, but you are still its hostess,” Charlie reminded her.
“Would that I were not,” Barbara humphed.
