Memories, page 9
“What?” Dearne frowned at him.
“Nothing.”
Silence beat between them.
“Then, I bid you good night.” Dearne held his gaze for a long moment and then stood up.
“Good night.”
Will watched as Dearne left. He was still limping, but not as badly. The room felt cold and empty without him in it. Will drummed his fingers on the table for a moment and then went to settle the bill for the food and drink, chatted with Jonno for a minute, and then headed for the narrow stairs which would take him to his chamber. The one next to Dearne.
He groaned and ran up them lightly, and was surprised to find Dearne at the top, just about to unlock his door. It must have taken him a little while to get upstairs with his leg. The lock clicked as he turned the huge key and then he pushed the door open and stood in the doorway looking at him. Light from the fire in the room spilled into the darkness of the hallway and looked warm, soft, inviting.
Something inside Will cracked wide open and all the longing, all the need, and all the aching loneliness he had kept firmly behind the barriers in his mind tumbled forth and propelled him the last few feet. He pushed Dearne into the dimly lit room. The door slammed behind them and Will shoved Dearne up against the door, careful of his wounds, but then all that mattered was tasting his mouth.
Dearne sank his hand into Will’s hair and pulled his head close and then they were plastered together, nose to nose, toe to toe. Will’s breath caught as they paused, lips a hairsbreadth away from each other until with an almost silent groan he closed the distance. It was almost as if Dearne was making him make a choice. He chose Dearne.
When their lips met, Will felt it all the way through his body from the tingling of his scalp, down his spine, settling in his groin. Dearne tasted of ale, but beneath that was the taste he recalled from before, the scent of his skin, the soft warmth of his breath against his cheek. When Dearne slid his tongue into Will’s mouth he stopped breathing and explored with his own. And then the tentative explorations stopped and Will surged into Dearne, pushing his head back against the door, until they were kissing as thought their lives depended on it, needing each other to live, and at that moment, Will felt he did. The kiss went on and on and Will was lost in it. Completely lost. His senses were awash and when Dearne thrust his hips against his, hard enough that he could feel the hard length of him, Will groaned into his mouth and thrust back, careful not to lean against his bad leg, and then they were kissing again, hands clutching and hips thrusting madly until Will’s world exploded into the most intense release of his life. Dearne swallowed his cry, clutched his hair so hard it hurt and then bucked into him and moaned his own satisfaction.
They clung together, Will holding Dearne up, Dearne’s fingers clenching and unclenching in his hair. When Dearne kissed him on the neck he jumped, the small act bringing him back to reality and his gut churned.
“We should get out of these wet clothes,” Dearne whispered. “Let’s get into bed.”
Will pushed away. He needed to get away from Dearne, from the evidence of what he had done, he needed to…
“I’m sorry,” he choked.
“Hey, hey, don’t be sorry. It was beautiful. You are beautiful.” Dearne’s voice was soft and seductive. Kind even, but Will’s heart was racing. He pushed away from him and looked at him for a moment. Dearne was the one who was beautiful. Will ached to kiss him again, ached to strip the clothes from him and wrap his naked body up in his arms, ached to kiss every single freckle adorning his perfect skin, sink himself into his…
“Have to go,” he choked, moved Dearne from the door, and fled.
* * * *
Dearne staggered to the bed and flopped onto it, resting his leg for a moment before peeling himself out of his breeches and cleaning himself up and worrying about Will. Or whatever his name was. He had fully intended to leave him alone, given that terse recounting of his youthful misdemeanours and the brutal punishment exacted by his father. But when Will had run up the stairs and pushed him into the room he had been utterly lost. He dried himself and pulled on a nightshirt and then rinsed the smalls out in the bowl of water on the dresser and put them before the fire to dry. His leg was throbbing again with all the activity, so he climbed into the bed. It was reasonably comfortable, but not as comfortable as he had been in Will’s bed. As he settled down he realised he wouldn’t be waking up in Will’s arms either. He sighed.
* * * *
Will scrubbed the mess from his smalls and hung them to dry and then proceeded to scrub every inch of his skin. Twice. His head was racing as fast as his heart and he couldn’t stop shaking. Couldn’t stop thinking. He found his nightshirt and slid it over his head, feeling marginally better now he wasn’t naked, and could stop thinking about what it would feel like to be naked with Dearne. Naked with Dearne. He coughed and went through his belongings, checking his box was safe and then arranging everything in the way he liked. Naked with Dearne. He got into bed and pulled the sheets up around his ears. What would Dearne do if he woke in the night terrified and he wasn’t there to calm him. Sleep was a long time coming.
* * * *
Will woke in the early morning light. He lay for a while, eyes wide open, and listened for any sound from the room next door. Nothing. Perhaps Dearne didn’t need him anymore. He closed his eyes and swallowed. That meant no more pretending. Pretending the only reason he was in bed with Dearne, with Dearne wrapped around him, was because he awoke regularly with nightmares. If he wanted to wake with Dearne again he would have to admit it was because he wanted to. His gut churned so he rolled on his side and drew up his knees. He closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, but couldn’t shake the feeling of sadness.
A knock at the door made him jump violently. He jumped out of bed and dragged the door open. Dearne stood there, barefoot, in his nightshirt with his hair all over the place.
“What is it?” Dearne’s eyes were bloodshot and his face was pale making his freckles stand out. His nightshirt was open at the throat.
“I want to sleep.”
Baffled, Will frowned. “So sleep. It’s early enough.”
Dearne pushed his way into the room and closed the door behind him. “It’s all your fault.”
“My fault?” What the hell was the man talking about?”
“Yes. Your fault. Nightmares. I can’t sleep without…I need to…I need…Christ, Will, can we just get into bed? I swear there will be no funny business, I just want to…need to hold onto you and then I can get some rest.”
Will was astounded, and as the knot in his belly unwound a little he ran his hand over his mouth. Dearne looked as though he was about to drop. He was being handed yet another excuse for having Dearne in his bed, yet another lie he could tell himself. He grabbed it with both hands.
“Get in.” His voice was gruff.
“Oh, thank God,” Dearne muttered and climbed in. Will got in at the side of him and lay on his back so Dearne could flop over him, slide one leg between his and wrap around him. Will pulled the sheets up over them both and put his arms around him. He pressed his nose into Dearne’s hair, inhaled the scent which was pure Dearne and kissed him gently on the top of his head. Dearne grunted and pressed a kiss to his chest, and then his breathing became long and slow. Will closed his eyes and slept, too.
* * * *
They both sat in the bar the morning after, drinking coffee and eating sausages with eggs Jonno brought them. Neither spoke for some time, but it was Will who eventually broke the silence.
“Is your sister married?”
“Minty? No. Never seemed to take. She’s a lovely girl. I believe she had one or two suitors, but nothing came of it. I think she resigned herself to being a maiden aunt to Gussy and a substitute mother for me.”
Will glanced up at Dearne who was applying himself with some enthusiasm to the eggs. “Your mother passed away?”
Dearne nodded as he chewed.
“I’m sorry. That must have been very hard for you.”
Dearne wiped his mouth. “Minty is a bit older than me, so by the time I was old enough to know what was what, she was like a mother.”
“Who’s Gussy?”
Dearne paused in his chewing again. “Holbrook’s son. Augustus Gerard. He prefers to go by Gerard with his friends, but his parents call him Augustus. I always called him Gussy.”
“I’ll wager he loved you for that.” Will said.
Dearne chuckled. “Hates it.”
“Does your sister live with your brother?”
“She does when he chooses to be there. He has enough houses for them to meet infrequently. At the moment she is living at Holbrook House, which is where we were headed. She’s pretty much dependent on him, although she does manage to persuade him to rent her a townhouse of her own when they sometimes go to London for the season, and there is the family townhouse in York.” Dearne smiled fondly. “She has a companion who lives with her for propriety, and a host of bosom bows. I suspect she has a whale of a time.”
Will smiled back. The swelling had gone down on Dearne’s face around his eye, leaving it mess of yellowy green bruising, but looking a lot better.
“How are you feeling?”
“As though I might live. Thank you for this morning,” he said, keeping his head down and mopping up the last of his eggs with some toast. He popped it into his mouth. Will didn’t know what to say to that so kept quiet.
“Do you have family in York?” Dearne asked, looking up.
Will nodded.
“Is that why you prefer not to go?”
Will’s breath caught and his throat felt dry. He nodded again.
“I thought as much. I can travel alone, you know. You don’t have to nursemaid me.”
Will nodded, keeping his gaze on the table. “I know that.” His heart was pumping rapidly.
“And I will make sure you get your money.”
“I’m not bothered about that,” Will snapped and was surprised to find it was true. He didn’t give a damned fig about the money. He couldn’t look at Dearne.
Dearne fiddled with his napkin, twisting it this way and that, and then put it down. “Thing is, how will I sleep if you don’t accompany me?”
Will’s gaze shot up. Dearne wasn’t smiling, wasn’t smirking or teasing, he looked oddly vulnerable.
“Wouldn’t want that,” Will whispered. “Would we?”
Chapter 11
The journey to Holbrook House was uneventful. They travelled slowly even though the road was good, and for once, Dearne didn’t look like he was about to expire. They travelled mostly in silence, and Will was grateful for that. His head was a whirling mass of nonsense and he needed some peace and quiet. He knew he only had a few days left with Dearne at the most, and the prospect of time alone with him alternately elated and terrified him.
They swayed together with the movement of the horse. Will glanced at him. Leaving him behind would be hard.
After a little while, Dearne began to lean heavily and his head swayed gently with the gait of the horse as he drifted off to sleep. Will shifted a little to let him lean more securely.
Will followed the directions Dearne had given him towards Malton, and then turned to follow the narrow path that would lead to the hall. Eventually a grand looking house, built from creamy looking sandstone, nestled into the hillside became visible in the distance. It had to be Holbrook House. It was impressive. They ambled along until they reached the gateway and the drive. Before they set off up it, Will pulled the horse to a stop and shook Dearne gently.
“I think we are here.”
Dearne’s eyes opened gradually, and he blinked and stretched.
* * * *
Dearne took a huge breath, set his shoulders back, and waited. Eventually, the door opened to reveal a youthful looking footman who scowled at them. Dearne wasn’t really surprised. Will looked like a farmer and, with his bruised face and borrowed clothes, he probably looked like some sort of vagabond masquerading as a gentleman.
“Good morning,” he said, with cheer. “I am Captain Dearne. Lord Holbrook and Lady Araminta’s brother. They are in York attending my memorial service.”
The footman’s eyebrows rose and with a snort he started closing the door. Dearne stepped forward and stopped him. “My good man, I know it sounds ridiculous, but I really am Captain Dearne. Are there any staff in residence who have been employed for some time who might remember me? I don’t think I have been here in an age.”
The footman thought for a moment, half hiding behind the door. “Well, there is old Mr. Cox?”
Dearne laughed. “Old Cox is still here? He would be just the chap.”
“Wait here.” The footman closed the door and left them standing on the doorstep with Dearne’s mouth open. He looked at Will who was trying not to smile.
“Do you never visit? How long is it since you were here?” Will asked.
Dearne winced and shook his head. “Lord knows. Always tended to avoid the place. Probably before I joined up so…” He was trying to make the calculation in his head when the door opened to reveal old Mr. Cox who looked at him and promptly teared up.
“It really is you,” the old man said, his voice wavering. “Captain Dearne…Captain Dearne…when they said you were dead, killed by Bonaparte…I was…” He stopped and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his eyes. He glared at the footman who was standing with his mouth open, eyes wide.
“Get moving, Pilkington, you damned looby, and ready the Captain’s rooms and the blue room for his friend. Keeping him standing on the doorway indeed. “Please…” Cox stood back and invited them in. “I will arrange refreshment if you would like to repair to the parlour.”
“We’d be damned appreciative if you would. Are there many staff here or have they all gone with the family to York?”
Cox followed them to the parlour and made sure they were settled. “Most have gone with the family to York, sir, but there’s me, Cook, the estate staff, and a few footmen and parlour maids about. Cook will be thrilled to see you, sir.”
Dearne smiled as he sat opposite Will, remembering Mrs. Hart, the cook. “I would be delighted to see her. I wasn’t sure if she would still be here.”
Cox disappeared, and Dearne settled himself appreciatively into the comfortable leather chair. He looked around the room. Nothing much had changed in his absence. It was still a sickly shade of yellow with faded striped brown brocade drapes. He remembered them from his youth, when his father was alive. Funny, but the room seemed smaller than he recalled.
“It’s perhaps as well there are few people here,” Will said after a moment.
“How so?”
“Well, someone has gone to inordinate lengths to secure your demise. You popping up, hale and hearty, is going to put a significant dent in someone’s planning.”
Dearne sighed. “I know, but what else should I do?”
“Lay low until you know what is happening, or at least to see if your memory of the events leading up to your attack return, so you might be able to get some sort of bearing on what happened and who to look out for.”
Dearne rubbed the back of his neck. Will was right. Someone wanted him out of the way, presumably so they could have Denton Manor. Fingers seemed to point to Holbrook, but he couldn’t believe his brother would do something so underhand, so…vicious. There was not much love lost between them, but even so, trying to have him murdered seemed a bit extreme.
When Cox returned it was with the cook who came into the room behind him, already mopping her eyes with a handkerchief. When she saw him she broke into soft sobs. Dearne got up and went to take her gently into his arms. Cook was a treasure. As a boy he had haunted the kitchens looking for treats and she had always indulged him. When it had felt like no-one gave a damn about him, Cook and Cox had been there and genuinely seemed to like him.
“There now,” he whispered as she clung to him. “There now.” He glanced up at Will who had also stood and was now hovering awkwardly.
“Won’t you both take a seat and I will try and explain as much as I can?” He settled both Cook and Mr. Cox and then he and Will sat opposite them on a small settee.
“I have to be honest and tell you I am in something of a bind,” he said. “I cannot remember much of what happened. I had a blow to the head, and that seems to have affected my memory, but a few days ago, someone claiming to be Lady Araminta deposited my unconscious carcass at Denton Manor. Mr. Marsden here, the steward, was good enough to care for me until I regained my senses.”
Cook and Mr. Cox looked at each other and exchanged and uneasy glance.
“We were preparing to come to find Lady Araminta to make sense of it all, when we saw the announcement of my apparent demise on the Continent and my memorial service in the newspaper. As you can imagine, it came as something of a shock.”
“There’s summat not right, Captain,” Cox said, rubbing his mouth with one hand. “Summat not right at all.”
“I’d tend to agree with you on that front,” Dearne said with a smile. “Did Lord Holbrook and Lady Araminta say when they would return?”
“His Lordship is spending the week there, her ladyship, too, but we are expecting Lady Araminta day after tomorrow. Said she wouldn’t be lingering.”
Dearne looked at Will. “As we suspected. By the time we get to York she will be on her way back.”
“Then stay, sir!” Cook pressed her hands together. “We will take care of you both, it would be an honour. We can have rooms ready in a trice and I’ll be able to make you a fine dinner.”
“I am happy to share the servant’s quarters,” Will said quite out of the blue.
Dearne stared at him. “Be damned if you will.” He turned to Cox. “Make sure Mr. Marsden’s accommodations are next to mine.”
Will opened his mouth as though he was going to protest, but then subsided.
“We will stay,” Dearne said, and then rubbed his chin as he looked at the faces from his childhood. There was no-one he trusted more, but asking them to keep secrets, asking them to protect him until he found out what was going on didn’t sit well with him. The thought he might be placing them in danger was too much to contemplate, but he had no real option than to at least give them some warning of what might be afoot.
