Page 9 of Ravishing Among the Roses
“My work is much more than an annual display of blooms for people to gander at. His Grace is clever. He can destroy the things that no one sees, the parts only I care about, the real work in my glasshouses.” Edmund had once lost years of work when a pane of glass on one glasshouse had broken, letting in bees who’d upset his carefully planned propagations, and killing several of the more delicate plants with the sudden change of temperature. He suspected his brother had done it because someone had used a broom to deliberately break the glass in a way that could not have been an accident, but he’d never be able to prove that it was his brother.
“Then it’s even more important to tell people what you do.”
“It’s boring. Gathering of data is mostly time consuming and I already talk too much about this.” All the temporary lightness disappeared and his skin began to itch. He needed to do something, like shovel snow onto the root stock of his Himalayan rose to give it the chill it needed.
“Not if you make it about sex. Imagine, you could talk about roses and how you breed them in great detail. The audience want to be scandalised, listening to a discussion on intercourse and breeding, and you could simply teach them the reality of your passions.”
Edmund took a step backwards and his spine collided with the brick wall. “I could?”
“A beautiful man like you in our club talking about sex? That would definitely be a scandal. It would be perfect for our charity event.”
“Beautiful?” Edmund gulped. “You think I’m beautiful.”
Gabriel reached up and stroked Edmund’s cheek. “Darling, you are beautiful in the way that a rugged landscape is beautiful. You take my breath away and I want to be overwhelmed by you.”
Edmund couldn’t breathe. Someone, an angel, was saying these things about him. “But I’m too brutally strong to be suitable for society. I’m not beautiful, I’m a blight.”
“Whoever told you that was wrong. Lord Thwaitepiddle, oh damnation. What is your name? The title is so—” Gabriel grimaced.
“It—”
“Yes, it’s a lot.” Gabriel interrupted and Edmund’s already scattered thoughts were lost.
“Your title is too much. I want your name.” Gabriel’s imploring expression gave Edmund enough hope that perhaps Gabriel wanted more than his name. Perhaps he might want a kiss. Heat flushed through his body.
“My name is Edmund Elizabeth Wilkinson Billesfelt. I’m the Earl of Thwaitepiddle, a courtesy title given to the second son of the Duke of Galforth.” He recited his whole name by rote, as all his blood had rushed south and he could not think anymore.
“Edmund.” Gabriel’s rough whisper was more than Edmund could deal with. “Please kiss me.”
Could he? Edmund had known this man’s lips on his cock, and now he wanted them on his mouth. It was incredible to be wanted, and Edmund ... oh how much he wanted, but could he really do it?
Chapter 7
Gabby hoped the flush painting Edmund’s cheeks had nothing to do with the chilly air. “Please.” For the first time in a long time, Gabby wanted an innocent kiss. He’d fucked people for money and he’d fucked others for fun, but here, with Edmund beside his rare rose on a cold December morning, Gabby wanted something special. A connection. Edmund’s gaze darted around, and Gabby’s breath hitched. It wasn’t going to happen, was it?
And then, just as Gabby’s held breath began to burn in his lungs, Edmund pushed himself away from the brick wall, slid his hands around Gabby’s shoulders and kissed him. Oh goodness. This was a proper kiss, like nothing he’d had before. How could a simple touch of lips bring him so completely undone like this? Edmund held him with a tenderness, his hands spread across Gabby’s back, and then the softness changed and Edmund kissed him with a savageness and a desperation that made Gabby want more than was possible. Gabby kissed Edmund back with all the commitment that this kiss deserved. He grappled with Edmund’s tongue, stretching up on his toes as he shoved his hands through Edmund’s hair. He needed to be closer, and Edmund responded with a satisfying growl in the back of his throat. Gabby pressed his body against Edmund, rubbing himself against him, desperately trying to communicate how much he wanted him. He could hook his leg around Edmund’s hips, but then, just as the kiss had deepened and Gabby could barely breathe, Edmund lifted him off the ground and deposited him again, a few feet away. Edmund’s face was flushed and his chest heaving.
“Not now. Not here.”
And reality came rushing back like a slap with a wet fish. They were in someone’s garden, outside where anyone might seethem. “Somewhere?” Gabby wanted more. Foolishly, perhaps, but damn, Edmund kissed like he meant it.
“I don’t have anywhere safe.”
Gabby’s heart damn near exploded because that wasn’t a no, it was merely a practical problem and one that he could solve.
“Luckily, Lord Edmund Elizabeth Wilkinson Billesfelt Thwaitepiddle, I do.”
“It’s Lord Thwaitepiddle, then all those names.” Edmund paused. “You remembered all my names?”
Gabby grinned. “One of your middle names is Elizabeth.”
“And?”
“Why are you named for a queen?”
“I’m not. Or rather some might say that Elizabeth Wilkinson was a queen, although not in a royal sense.” Edmund grinned as if this were a hilarious jest, but Gabby had no clue what was so amusing.
“I’d always heard that the gentry were eccentric, but I really don’t understand why your middle name is some woman that I’ve never heard of.”
