Page 34 of Chasing Benedict
The viscount remained where Benedict left him, glaring daggers at his back. Once free of the house, Benedict pushed his father from his mind. The viscount couldn’t touch him in Kent, which meant he would be safe enough for now. Everything was still under his carefully planned control.
Alex awaited in the first carriage, so Benedict hauled himself in and took the squabs opposite him. Within seconds they were on their way, the curtains parted to allow in the glow of the afternoon sun. Benedict laid his hat beside him and watched the scenery of London pass them by.
It took ten minutes for Alex to speak, almost as if he wanted to be as far from the Sterling townhouse as possible before saying a word.
“He knows,” he said, voice low and strained. “Your father … he knows about us.”
Benedict frowned at Alex. He had taken great pains to ensure his father never discovered the truth of his association with Alex. Benedict had never wanted his lover to stand on the other end of the viscount’s machinations. “Of course he doesn’t. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“Didn’t you notice the way he looked at us?”
Benedict snorted a dry laugh. “Healwayslooks at me like that. He hates me … you know that.”
Alex shook his head, staring down at his hands. “Ben—”
“Calm down,” Benedict interjected. “He is suspicious, but it would be no different if you were some other man. He knows I have no interest in women, but seems to have learned that I’m capable of being friends with other men without wanting to debauch them all. It has everything to do with me and nothing to do with you. Don’t tell me you’ve become paranoid.”
That seemed to help a bit, and Alex slumped against his seat with a sigh. “When did he find out about … you?”
Benedict propped his feet up beside Alex. “Years ago … after university. He found your letters hidden in my bedchamber. We were smart not to use our names. He knew they were from another man, but I refused to name you when he confronted me. The bastard gave me such a thrashing.”
He had made that last remark without second thought, only realizing the weight of it when Alex reacted—drawing in a sharp breath and going preternaturally still.
“He beat you because of me?”
Benedict waved a dismissive hand. “He has beaten me in the past for far less. You should know it was the last time he ever raised a hand to me. I’d grown too old and too big to be anyone’s whipping boy.”
Those words had done nothing to comfort Alex, who was still watching Benedict with mournful eyes. “You should have told me.”
“It’s water under the bridge now,” Benedict said.
Alex looked as if he wanted to protest but snapped his mouth closed. They sat in the rocking carriage in silence for a while before he spoke again, his voice low and hoarse.
“My father knew. Not just about me, but about us … together.”
Benedict hadn’t known that, but was hardly surprised. He would never spend much time at home between terms if he could help it. The company of men like Alex, Aubrey, and Dominick had offered him a haven away from the tyrannical rule of his father. His constant presence at the earl’s London residence had to have made the man suspicious.
“He was a good man,” Benedict murmured. “Far kinder to me than my father ever was.”
“Yes,” Alex agreed.
“But he and my father did have one thing in common. Both are and were determined to do whatever it took to preserve their names and their legacies.”
“Yes,” Alex said again, his gaze unfocused and detached. “Do you remember how we always vowed to never become like them?”
Benedict stared at Alex’s profile, sharp and smooth along the jaw, strong and stubborn through the chin. His dark brows shadowed eyes that betrayed nothing, though Benedict could feel the disquiet emanating from him. The concern that rose in Benedict was uncontrolled and unwelcome. Shoving it aside, he tore his gaze away, arms folded over his chest.
“Yes, well, one of us held true to that promise,” he said, ignoring how words meant to hurt Alex also made his chest ache. Was he really so different from Alex? He might not have made the same choices as the man he’d once loved, but Benedict never passed a day unencumbered by bitter rage. He looked and sounded more like the viscount every day, as the people he relied on to keep him out of the darkness faded away one by one.
But then, he couldn’t be angry at his friends for taking wives and being happy. Such was expected for men who craved the companionship of women and the pride of a growing family.
It was Alex who had truly abandoned him, leaving Benedict to carry on alone and misunderstood. Yet, as he leveled an accusing look at Alex, needing some outlet for the turmoil welling within him, his heart sank.
Alex stared morosely out of the window, a forgotten peppermint stick hanging from his limp hand. His brow was pulled down, his lips pressed together, and he looked as if someone had just punched him in the gut.
For reasons Benedict didn’t want to examine, pity and curiosity afflicted him as he wondered what Alex might be thinking. The mention of their fathers and the unresolved questions of the past floated on the air between them, heavy and oppressive.
But, Benedict couldn’t allow himself to deal with them, so he went on pretending they didn’t exist. Alex wouldn’t be part of Benedict’s life long enough for the resolution of their past to matter, so it was better to leave things as they were.
