Page 48 of To Defend a Damaged Duke
TOMMY WAS QUIETon the long ride on account of an unfamiliar emotion suspiciously close to nervousness.And nudging on irritability.The stink of cow shit had kept them company for the last half mile, liberally spread across the fields in every direction he looked.If that wasn’t enough to make him long for the festering fug of London town, then, ever since they crossed the river Rye at Ashtead, a persistent horde of gnats were making it their short life’s work to build a home in his mouth.
He remembered, a little too late, that he loathed the countryside almost to the same extent as he loathed Lord Lyndon Fitzsimmons.
Tommy was out of his depth, of course, he reflected miserably as they trotted along at a pace a little faster than an occasional amateur rider such as he was used to.Making opportunistic love to Benedict in London, a grimy town with rhythms as familiar to Tommy as his own nose, was one thing, but trotting out to hishunting lodgewas another kettle of fish entirely.Nothing exposed the thinness of his respectable veneer like falling in love (and how insufferably!) with a duke in possession of a hunting lodge.
Regardless, love seemed determined to drag him there by his bootlaces.
Riding with great ease alongside, Benedict was quiet, too, no doubt brooding.On their return, he would meet with his brother and suggest he alter his course, together with a modest offer to increase his annual income.Tommy hazarded it would fall on deaf ears.He’d grown up in the stews.He knew people.He knew how they ticked.How petty jealousies matured into feuds, how envy and resentment simmered for years, how weak, clever creatures such as Lord Lyndon desired nothing more than to draw those they despised down to their level.
Which meant the half-baked scheme they’d laid most of the groundwork for had to succeed.
“How do you plan to tackle Lord Lyndon’s assault on your stables?”Tommy enquired of his companion.He’d saddled up Rossingley’s fine grey mare, a creature he often borrowed when riding through the parks at leisure with the earl.She was placid enough, but after an hour, he was convinced the saddle was stuffed with rocks.Surreptitiously, he shifted his aching buttocks.
“It’s a secret,” answered Benedict, then chuckled.“I am permittedone, aren’t I?If only to drive Francis and Rossingley insane.”
“For those reasons, you certainly are,” Tommy agreed.“Rossingley prides himself on always being one step ahead.”
“I am in awe of his wit as much as I am yours.I imagine the two of you make an excellent business team.You have accrued several investments together, I understand.When did you begin?”
Two years after I was freed from the pillory?Nine months after I stole a man’s silver watch?One month after a madge beat me to a pulp?For all that he sensed Benedict was hungry to fill the gaps,his inglorious past didn’t belong here, amongst fresh spring blossoms and dewy green grass.
“Several years ago,” Tommy answered, shortly.
Bestride his beloved Nimbus, his lover sat straight-backed and severe.Even Tommy’s inexpert eye recognised Benedict was a superb horseman.Windswept, flushed, and so solidly in his element, the longer he spent on horseback, the farther the diffident, uncertain duke receded.And the wider the crevasse between them gaped.
“He told me you were once lovers, too,” Benedict pressed.
“Did he?”Tommy tightened his hands on the reins.“How very…forthcoming of him.”
“More a lucky guess on my part.You…you do not hold a candle still?”
“No.”
Tommy spat out a gnat, more single-minded than its companions.The foreshadowing of a sneeze tickled his nostrils.“We…I have had more than my share of lovers, Benedict,” he said testily.“My sordid chequered past can attest to that.Do you care for me to enumerate them?”
Tommy couldn’t have startled Benedict more if he’d pushed him off his mount into the clusters of stinging nettles lining the road.
“Apologies, Benedict,” he managed stiffly, then sneezed twice in rapid succession.“I’m a little out of sorts.”
“You are ill?”Concern limned Benedict’s soulful eyes.“You are coming down with a cold?Have I ridden too fast?”
“No.I am perfectly well.”Another sneeze, even more explosive than the first two.“Perhaps a little fast.”
“Then tell me what ails you.Please, so that I can prevent it.”
“It is nothing.I must apologise for my short temper.”
Yet still, those bloody brown eyes gazed at him from within their damned fluffy lashes, mirroring the strength of the man’s sincerity, his gentleness, his absolute goodness.And, despite himself, Tommy’s deprived, velvet fist of a soft heart was enchanted.“I am…not at ease in the country,” he admitted.“Nor indeed, in hunting lodges, though I have never had cause to visit one.What with once being a molly boy and all.”
There, he’d said it.Benedict could make of it what he would.
The duke replied with a sharp clicking sound.He pulled on the reins, Nimbus stopping in an instant.“Let us pause a moment and dismount.Here.”
“I am quite all right.Forget I said anything.Indeed, I have looked forward to our trip.”
“I said we’re stopping.”Benedict dismounted with a smoothness belying his size.“We have gone too long without each other to let snappish words and misunderstandings go unheeded.You are unhappy.Or uncomfortable.Or…something.”
He helped Tommy down, which was damned embarrassing, unnecessary, and yet also indescribably wonderful.He secured the horses whilst Tommy succumbed to a sneezing fit.
