Retreat From Love (35 page)

“Freddy, tell me what’s happened?” Brett pleaded. He grabbed Freddy’s arm to steady him, and Freddy leaned on him.

Freddy ran a shaking hand over his face, and then left it there, covering his eyes. A sob shook his frame, and Brett’s concern became panic. “Damn it, Freddy! What is going on?”

Freddy took his hand away and the pain radiating out of his blue eyes hit Brett like a punch. “You must marry her, Brett,” Freddy told him in a shaking voice. “Right away.

You must marry her and take her far away from me.”

Brett couldn’t speak for a moment. What the hell was Freddy talking about? What had the duchess told him?

Brett set the decanter down on the floor and pulled the glass from Freddy’s hand.

He set it down beside the decanter and then he rose and took both of Freddy’s hands in his. He squeezed them tightly. “Freddy, whatever it is, you can tell me. What’s happened? What did the duchess tell you?”

Freddy looked so bleak Brett’s stomach clenched.

“She’s my sister, Brett. Anne is my sister.”

The bottom dropped out of Brett’s world for the second time.

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July 27, 1812

Anne,

I’ve started this five times. Ten, maybe? God, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I
He’s dead. He’s dead, Anne. I can’t

It’s my fault. I’m sorry. You’ll never know

I’m sorry.

* * * * *

It had been almost two full god-awful days since Freddy told him. It seemed as if Brett had been counting each minute. Anne wouldn’t see him. Brett didn’t understand what was going through her mind right now. She didn’t even know what the duchess had told Freddy. So why was she hiding from them? Mrs. Goode adamantly refused to let him in the house. She relented enough to tell him she didn’t know why Anne was so upset, only that she was. Brett could tell from the look in her eye that she blamed him and Freddy. Anne spent the night at Ashton Park with the two of them, and the next day retreats to her room and refuses to see them. It seemed logical to blame them. Brett blamed them and he wasn’t even sure for what.

He’d poured Freddy into bed the day before last and Freddy had locked himself in his room and drunk his way through the next twenty-four hours. Brett couldn’t be angry with him. Freddy was in love with Anne, and he believed what the duchess had told him. He believed that Anne was forever out of his reach. Brett wasn’t so sure.

From what he knew of Freddy’s father and Mr. and Mrs. Goode the notion that they would keep such a monumental secret from Anne and Bertie seemed ludicrous. Bertie had loved them all deeply, and he’d respected his father and the Goode Vicar. The men Bertie had told him about would not perpetrate such a lie and would not condone a relationship between Bertie and Anne in order to keep their secret safe. No, there was something else going on here. The duchess had an ulterior motive, as usual, and she’d lied to Freddy to achieve her goals. The most obvious reason, of course, was the betrothal. Brett could only assume she wanted Freddy to marry Lady Vanessa Carlton-Smythe so badly she would manipulate Freddy into it.

Brett had been hoping Freddy would come to the same realization about his mother on his own, and he’d given him two days to stew and do it. Apparently that wasn’t going to happen. So he was prepared to go and shake some sense into the bloody fool.

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Brett had done some serious thinking himself in the last day, after the shock wore off. He wasn’t going to let what the three of them had slip away, damn it. During the war, before Bertie’s death, Brett had dreamed of a similar relationship, although he hadn’t loved Bertie like that. But he’d imagined sharing Anne. That dream had died with Bertie. He hadn’t allowed himself to think of it after his feelings for Freddy turned from wary friendship to reluctant love. Christ, he loved them both so much. He’d sworn not to, but really, had he ever had a choice? And now, to see the two people he loved the most in all the world falling in love with each other, he knew he couldn’t lose it all again. There was an empty space inside him that was filling up with love and happiness, things he never thought he’d have. Things he’d denied himself. He wasn’t running anymore. Unfortunately, the two people he’d run from all these years were now running from him. He rubbed his cheek as he remembered Anne’s greeting at the pond. Oh yes, he’d deserved it.

Brett threw down the letter from his business agent that he’d been trying to read all morning. It was barely half past ten. Too early to go marching into Freddy’s room and confront him, but Brett wasn’t going to get anything else done today until he did.

Brett didn’t bother to knock. He just walked into the drawing room adjacent to Freddy’s bedroom. He was surprised to find the door unlocked. He was expecting to walk into a dark room reeking of spirits. Instead the windows were open with a gentle breeze rippling the curtains, sunshine splashing across the beautiful oriental carpets covering the floor. He came to an abrupt stop and scanned the room for Freddy. He wasn’t here, but he could hear him in the adjoining bedroom quietly talking. The sound of his voice skipped down Brett’s nerve endings, giving him a pleasurable sense of expectation. Brett had missed Freddy. They’d been apart for longer than that before, but for some reason Brett had never felt it as acutely as he had yesterday.

Havers’ soft response told Brett who was with Freddy. That must mean he was dressing. Good. This conversation would be considerably easier with Freddy sober and dressed. He walked over to the bedroom doorway and leaned against the jamb, content to watch Havers helping Freddy into his jacket. It was dark blue. Brett loved when Freddy wore blue. It brought out the color in those amazing eyes. He let his gaze wander down to admire the tight fit of Freddy’s trousers across his equally amazing arse. Playing with Anne’s bottom had naturally made Brett think about what he’d like to do to Freddy’s. Namely, what Freddy had done to Anne. Brett blew out a breath and straightened, his buckskins getting alarmingly tight across the crotch.

Havers spotted him first. “Good morning, Mr. Haversham.”

Freddy’s eyes lifted and he met Brett’s gaze in the looking glass.

“Good morning, Havers,” Brett said, though he held Freddy’s gaze.

“That will be all, Havers,” Freddy said. His tone was anything but unfriendly or dismissive. That was one thing Brett had always admired about Freddy. In spite of his station and his upbringing he was never cold or aloof with servants. He was always respectful, pleasant, grateful. He didn’t invite familiarity, but his servants tended to be quite loyal. It was a privilege and a pleasure to serve the Duke of Ashland.

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“Yes sir,” Havers replied. He took a moment to tidy up. Then he bowed and quietly left the room, closing the door after him.

“You look better,” Brett said casually, trying to get a feel for Freddy’s mood.

Freddy was straightening his cuffs, not meeting Brett’s eyes. “Do I? Well, that’s something I suppose. Wouldn’t do not to look good.”

“Freddy,” Brett began, but then didn’t quite know where to go.

Freddy raised bloodshot eyes to Brett and Brett’s chest constricted. It killed him to see Freddy like this. All the years Brett had known him he’d never seen Freddy so upset.

“It will be all right, Freddy.” As soon as he said the words he winced. What meaningless drivel. He couldn’t think of something better than that?

Freddy smiled grimly. “Will it? You have more faith than I, apparently. Exactly how is this supposed to be all right?”

Brett walked over behind Freddy and put his hands on his shoulders. Freddy was so tall Brett could see only his nose and eyes over Freddy’s shoulder. He imagined kissing Freddy, having to rise on his toes to meet those full, pouty lips and instead of amusing him it aroused him. He tried to blink away the vision, but Freddy’s gaze had narrowed and he leaned back against Brett.

“Freddy, you can’t believe—”

“Put your arms around me.”

Freddy’s softly spoken request cut through Brett’s answer, surprising him. “What?”

“Put your arms around me.” Freddy turned slowly and Brett’s hands fell away from his shoulders. Neither man stepped back, so when Freddy faced him he was close enough that Brett could smell the lavender water in his linen, and the sandalwood scent of his soap. “I need it, Brett. I need you to hold me right now.”

Brett looked up into Freddy’s face and he saw the red eyes, uncertain, hurting. His gaze traced the strong, straight line of his nose, and the skin of his cheek and chin, still shiny from his recent shaving. He watched a muscle flex in Freddy’s cheek as his jaw clenched, and Brett knew he couldn’t leave Freddy to hurt alone. Very slowly he slid his hands to Freddy’s waist and then around his back. Freddy stepped forward until they were pressed together and he wrapped his arms around Brett’s shoulders, hugging him tightly as he buried his nose in Brett’s hair. Brett’s arms tightened involuntarily and Freddy gave a shaky sigh, tickling Brett’s head as his hair moved. Brett’s hands moved up Freddy’s back, rubbing softly.

“Oh God, Brett,” Freddy whispered.

Brett tried to keep the embrace neutral, comforting rather than sexual. But it was hard. He’d always avoided any contact that might reveal to Freddy how much he wanted him. But this morning…perhaps it didn’t matter so much, after all, if Freddy knew. Perhaps he already did.

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Brett adjusted his stance a little, bringing Freddy closer, and he turned his head to feel Freddy’s hair on his face. His lips came into contact with the curve of Freddy’s ear, peeking out from under the too-long, dark red curls. Freddy shivered as Brett took a deep breath.

“We need to talk,” Brett whispered, his lips caressing Freddy’s ear. He wanted to touch it with the tip of his tongue, slide the wet tip through the whorls there as he had with Anne, and bite the tempting lobe.

“Now?” Freddy whispered back as his hands clenched, his fingers digging into Brett’s back. The contact made Brett’s heart speed up. Before this could go any further, Brett stepped away and pushed Freddy gently back.

“Yes.”

Freddy sighed, irritation plain on his face. “Another stalling tactic, Brett? Whenever we get too close, we have to talk. Don’t bother. We’ve had this conversation before.” He walked over to the vanity and picked up his signet ring, slipping it on his finger. His attitude dismissed Brett more harshly than he ever had a servant.

Brett tried not to get angry. He knew Freddy was hurt, hurting, and that he lashed out at Brett because Brett was here, a convenient target for his anger.

“I’m not sure what you think I wish to talk about, but I’m relatively certain it is incorrect.”

That got Freddy’s attention. He looked up at Brett in the looking glass. “Really?

Then you weren’t about to tell me all the reasons you can’t be my lover?”

Brett blinked and he could see his face growing red with embarrassment in the mirror. He licked his lips and could tell that Freddy’s eyes were locked on the small movement. His heart was racing like a thoroughbred now. “No.”

Freddy spun around to face him, incredulity on his face as he leaned back against the vanity for support. “What?”

Brett shook his head and took a step back. “No. I want to talk about Anne.”

Freddy closed his eyes and sighed. “Fine. Anne.” He opened his eyes and rose wearily. “I’ve ordered breakfast sent up. Come on.” He walked past Brett and entered the drawing room, his step heavy and tired. Brett ached for him.

No sooner did Brett enter the drawing room behind him than there was a knock at the door. Freddy called out and a footman opened the door, pushing a trolley covered with dishes. Brett smelled sausage. He hadn’t eaten this morning, and his stomach growled, causing Freddy to cast a small smile back at him. “I ordered sausage.

Somehow I knew you’d be coming this morning.”

Brett smiled back. “Well, if I hadn’t been here already I wouldn’t have stayed away long once I smelled that.” He sidled up to the cart and lifted the lid on one of the platters and got lucky. Sausages.

“Shall I prepare a plate, Mr. Haversham?” asked the footman respectfully.

Brett smiled at him. “No thank you. I can serve myself this morning.”

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The footman gave a slight bow. “Very good, sir. Your Grace?” He turned to Freddy who was standing looking out the window.

Freddy turned back absentmindedly. “What? Oh no thank you, James. We shall serve ourselves.”

He said nothing more, and Brett could see James hovering in indecision. “We’ll ring when we’re done,” he told the young footman, who acknowledged the direction with a relieved bow and went out the door.

Brett picked up a plate and began filling it with food. He was suddenly famished.

“Freddy, eat,” he ordered.

Freddy looked at him coolly and then raised an eyebrow. “Since when do I take orders from you?”

Brett just grinned as he sat down on the sofa and set his plate on the table before him. “It wasn’t an order so much as a suggestion. Your Grace.” He added the last with mischievous sarcasm, and was rewarded by Freddy’s reluctant grin.

“I suppose I can entertain suggestions.” Freddy walked over to the cart and filled a plate, joining Brett on the sofa.

They ate in companionable silence for several minutes. When Brett was done he rose and poured himself some coffee. “Would you care for some?” he asked. Freddy nodded and Brett went back with both cups, setting Freddy’s on the table. He sat back and enjoyed the sight of Freddy eating. Hell, he enjoyed the sight of Freddy doing anything.

Freddy looked at him self-consciously out of the corner of his eye. “Why are you watching me?”

Brett took a sip before answering. “Because I like to watch you.”

Freddy choked and quickly covered his mouth with his napkin as he coughed.

“Excuse me?” he rasped out finally. “Did you just admit that you like to watch me?”

Brett nodded. “Of course I like to watch you. Surely this comes as no surprise.”