Note: I’ve taken some liberties (what else is new?) with
the Great Hurricane of 1780. To my knowledge, no Spanish ship named The Queen of
the Silver Rose ever sailed or went down in that storm. BEA is British European
Airways. Character death, we were expecting this, and it isn't pretty. This is
Marconi’s POV, so there’s a little m/f here as well.
Part 18
Things had been set into motion. I’d had to liquidate
some assets to raise the folding for this venture, not that I really cared.
Personal computers were fine in science fiction movies, but they’d never be a
reality. I was happy to dump the shares I owned, although my broker almost
cried. What did the wanker know?
I’d done a little research on the treasure fleet that was
lost in the Great Hurricane of 1780, and sure enough, the flagship of the fleet,
La Reina de la Plata se Levantó, had
gone down somewhere off the southeast coast of Brazil.
According to the manifest that was on record in Spain, she had been
carrying several tons of gold and silver bullion, as well as chests of
doubloons, pieces of eight, and jewels worth a king’s ransom.
Oh, yeah, I
was going to have so much lovely lolly I’d be able to buy London if I wanted
it.
I met with the sailors Jenny had told me of. "I'm
Ricky," the one announced briskly. "My mate's Andy. Last names aren't
necessary."
I took an instant dislike to both of them. They were taller
than I, dark haired, with hard, toned bodies. The one who said his name was
Ricky wore shades even though the day was overcast. “Take the glasses off!”
I snapped irritably.
His head turned in my direction, but the lenses were too
dark for me to see his eyes. “Sorry, Gov. No can do. I have a sensitivity to
light,” he said in a soft voice. I glared at him, but he just shrugged.
The shorter of the two, who looked in constant need of a
shave, hovered over his mate, touching his arm or stroking his thigh. “Poor
Ricky,” he murmured. “Are your eyes bothering you very much today, pet?”
It was obvious they had a physical relationship, and I turned away in disgust.
Fucking fags.
But I wanted the treasure, and I’d use them to get it.
And once I had it, I’d get rid of them. After all, accidents happened all the
time. Paul Sarone was the man to see they happened.
I needed him to supply a boat that would get us to Isla del
Queimada Grande, and some men who could do the grunt work as well, men who knew
better than to ask any questions. According to the late Juan Zolo, Sarone was
the man to get them for me as well.
However, the telegram I’d sent to Paul Sarone had gone
unanswered, and I’d have to wait until I arrived in Brazil to try contacting
him again. I didn’t know why the bloody bastard had to live in such an
out-of-the-way, god-forsaken place as Furo do Infero!
In the meantime, I needed a little recreation. Recently I
had met this skinny little model. She had as many curves as an adolescent boy,
but for some reason she attracted me. We'd been clubbing and then returned to my
pad. After undressing, we shared a joint, and she lay sprawled on my bed, high
as a kite, her eyes glittering manically as I ran my hands and tongue over her
flat chest. Her nipples were the size of lug nuts, though, highly sensitive, and
she writhed as I sucked them voraciously. I pulled her thighs apart and was
about to stick my dick into her, and then I got another of those goddamned phone
calls. I continued to fondle her breasts.
“You starting to worry, Marconi?” the hoarse voice
asked. “I would, if I were you. Your ass is grass, you know that? And it
belongs to me! Why don’t you save us all the trouble and eat a bullet?”
My fingers tightened on a nipple, and she hissed a protest.
There was tight laughter over the line, and I slammed the phone down. The model,
what the fuck was her name? I decided I didn’t fucking care. The model giggled
inanely. She arched her body in what I’m sure she thought was a sensuous
invitation. “I’m horny, Cally,” she said in a little girl whine. Her
fingers stroked and probed her woman’s flesh. She was wet and slick with
arousal. “Make love to me!”
I growled, flipped her over, and shoved my dick into her
arse. She squealed and cried, but I held her hips in a bruising grip and paid
her no mind. I was going to fuck her until I came.
But goddamn it, I couldn’t come. I pulled out of her and
flopped over on the bed, glowering at the ceiling. She continued to snivel into
the pillow. I slapped her arse and rolled to reach for my wallet. I threw her
some bills and yelled, “Gino, get this fucking bitch out of my house!”
He appeared in the doorway, his hair tousled from having
been asleep. Yawning, he walked around the room gathering up her clothes and
then took her arm. Mascara streaked her hollow cheeks as tears continued to
stream down her face, and she limped out of the room, one cheek of her skinny
arse sporting a bright red palm print.
When I was finally alone in my room, I stared blankly into
space. It was the snake boy's fault that I hadn't been able to come! I knew it
had been him on the phone. Since Boxing Day at least one call a day had come in,
taunting me, threatening me. How the fuck was I going to get my hands on him?
How the fuck was I going to keep him from getting his hands
on me?
I put in a call to a drone who worked at BEA. “Get me on
a flight out of Heathrow and to Rio de Janeiro now, or your wife is going
to see some very interesting pictures of you and that Great Dane!” Satisfied
with his stammered, stuttered response, I hung up. When he called back, it was
to verify my first class accommodations on the following day’s mid-morning
flight. He was able to get seats for my underlings in tourist. I wasn’t about
to pay more for them than I had to.
Everything was under control; the timetable had just needed
to be tweaked a little. "Gino!”
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Find those two fucking sailors. We’re going to Rio
tomorrow.”
He glanced at the bedside clock. It was late, but that
didn’t matter. He had the number for the rooming house where they were
staying; the taller sailor had left it with Jenny. Gino would call and make sure
they got the message to be at the London airport, or else face consequences that
were too dire to be conceived of.
****
I had never been a good flier. There was turbulence, a
rainstorm, more turbulence; in general, it was the flight from hell. Seventeen
goddamn hours, and a connection that had to be made in Frankfurt. Who the
fuck’s idea was it to have a connecting flight in Frankfurt sodding Germany? I
was so bloody furious that I wanted to cosh the drone who’d set this up, and
the passenger in the seat next to me, also, who persisted in informing me of
what a good traveler she was. Since I spent a good portion of the time in
the loo tossing my cookies, I was seriously considering opening a hatch and
shoving her out with a well-placed boot to her arse.
Finally the jet touched down at Rio de Janeiro’s
Internacional airport. “Geez, Boss, that was a bit of all right! I ain’t
never been on a jet before. Ricky said it wasn’t a bad flight, just long.”
Gino had joined me at the baggage carousel and retrieved our luggage, then
trailed after me. It was obvious he wasn’t suffering from jet lag. I
snarled at him and looked for his travel companions.
The two sailors, Andy and Ricky, had slung their duffles
over their shoulders and strolled out into the bright Rio sunlight. I hurried
after them.
I was still dressed in clothes suitable for winter in the
UK, and the heat slapped at me like a wet dishrag. I gasped and tore off my
coat. “Bugger!” The one called Ricky turned and grinned at me. His
eyes were hidden by dark glasses. Furious, I stalked to him and ripped them off.
“Don’t you laugh at me! Don’t you ever fucking laugh at me, or I’ll rip
off your balls and stuff 'em down your throat!”
He stared down at me. I’d heard his… ‘friend’ say,
“I love your eyes, pet.” But I failed to see what was so attractive about
them; they were simply a mundane brown. He reached for his glasses, and
involuntarily I backed away a step.
“D’you mind, Gov? The light hurts my eyes.” For
someone who was dependent on my good will to last out the day, he was extremely
confident. He slid the shades onto his face. “Where do we go?”
I ground my teeth. My contact still hadn’t been in touch
with me at the time we left London. “I’ve had rooms booked for you in a
youth hostelry. Wait there until you hear from me.”
“I’m sure we can find something to keep us …
occupied.” The shorter one, Andy, leaned into his mate, and I thought he was
going to kiss him.
“Yeah,” Ricky murmured. His tone was so satisfied I
wanted to shoot his dick off. “You going to be with us, Mar… Mr. Marconi?”
The wanker was actually going to call me by my last name? I
glared at both of them. “Don’t be so bleeding ridiculous. I’ll be staying
at the Copacabana Real.” But if I didn’t hear from Sarone soon, I’d have
to send Gino out to hire us a boat. I hoped he at least had enough sense to get
one that floated.
****
The hotel was luxurious, highly rated by Michelin. Situated
near Arpoadar and Ipanema, and only a two-minute walk from the beaches with all
those bare-breasted birds, it offered a five star restaurant whose imported
French chef boasted a diploma from Cordon Bleu. It also provided an exercise
room with a sauna and hot-and-cold running masseuses on premises twenty-four
hours a day. They were available for in-room… massages… as well.
I was lying on the table that was a discreet part of my
suite’s decor. The exotic, dark-haired beauty poured a pool of scented oil
warmed in her palms in the hollow of my back, and then began to work it into my
tension-knotted muscles. She had educated hands; her fingers alone could have
held a degree from Oxford. I was toying with the idea of turning onto my back
and letting her become acquainted with Mr. Big when there was a peremptory knock
on the door to my suite.
“Do you wish for
me to answer that, senhor?”
“Yeah, yeah, find
out who it is, and then get rid of him. I’ve got plans for you, baby.”
I could hear the
liquid vowels of her language as she spoke to whoever was at the door. Damned
foreigners. The least they could do was speak English.
“Mr. Marconi?”
I raised my head
and glared at the man who sauntered past the masseuse. He was an older man,
dressed in a loose-fitting shirt with a design of outrageous birds. Canvas pants
left his lower legs bare, and on his feet were shabby deck shoes. He wore a
stained cap that looked as if it might have belonged to someone from the
Brazilian navy at one time. When he tipped it back, I could see his hair was
sprinkled with grey. He needed a shave; his chin and jaw covered with grizzled
stubble. A toothpick hung from the corner of his mouth, and he chewed on it with
casual disregard.
“Yeah, I’m
Marconi. What’s it to you?”
“Word is you need
a boat.” The man spoke not English, but American. He jerked his thumb toward
his chest. “I got one. If the price is right.”
I signaled the
masseuse to wait in the bedroom, and didn’t speak until she shut the door
behind her. “Sarone sent you? Why didn’t he get in touch with me
personally?” He just hitched his shoulder and looked bored. I decided to
proceed cautiously. “Name your fee, and I’ll tell you if I’m
interested.”
He took the
toothpick from his mouth and examined it thoughtfully. “Five hundred a day.”
“Pounds? Are you
out of your sodding mind?”
He shrugged. “I
got expenses that need to be met, amigo. Fuel, supplies, my crew. And there are
palms that need to be greased as well.”
Bribes I
understood. Still… I made a counter offer. “Five hundred dollars, not
pounds.”
He looked pensive.
The toothpick went back in his mouth, and he chewed it some more. “Make it
three hundred pounds, and you’ve got a deal,” he finally said.
I gritted my teeth
and sat up, making sure the towel was draped over my lap, covering strategic
parts. “Very well,” I agreed grudgingly. “Three hundred pounds a day.”
“And I need two
hundred up front. Call it good-faith money.”
I wanted to
good-faith his head right off his shoulders. “Yeah, fine.” Maybe an accident
would befall him as well as the two sailors. “What kind of boat have you got?
I mean, for what I’m paying I’d better have my own cabin. My bodyguard and a
couple of arseholes will be coming along as well.”
“My boat is a
twenty-eight foot cabin cruiser. She’s got twin inboards, a full galley, and a
head with a shower. Aside from the captain’s quarters, the Josie has two other
cabins. Ditch the assholes, amigo. They can’t come, not if you want your own
cabin.”
“The arseholes
have to come, never mind why.” I wasn’t going to tell him about the treasure
on that little island. The fewer who knew of that, the happier I would be.
“Listen, they’re sailors, they can deal with ship stuff. You can leave your
crew on shore.”
His eyes narrowed.
“That’s not an option.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.
“My mate goes where I go.”
“Hold it, hold
it, hold it!” I groused. I knotted the towel around my waist and slid off the
table, then began to pace, doing some fast thinking. “Gino is my bodyguard, he
can sleep guarding my door. The arseholes are fruits, they can share a cabin.
Your mate can bunk with you. That’s my last offer. Accept it, or the whole
deal is off.”
I turned away, not
wanting him to see I was holding my breath, and I wondered if he was going to
argue further, but instead he said, “Okay, I guess I can live with that. Where
did you want to go, and when did you want to leave?” His palm was extended,
waiting for the advance. I went into the bedroom and retrieved my wallet,
peeling off a number of bills. I returned to the other room.
“I’ll be down
at the pier first thing tomorrow morning, and I’ll tell you our destination
once you’ve cast off.”
He counted the bills, his manner insulting, and then he stuffed them in his
pocket and grinned around that goddamned toothpick. “All right, amigo. The
Josie is in number thirteen slip. I hope you’re not a superstitious man. By
the way, my name is Reed." He touched the brim of his cap and walked out of
the room.
I went to the
telephone and dialed the number for the hostel. Then I had to wait until the old
man who ran it went looking for Gino. It would have taken less time for me to
walk there and find him myself.
“Boss?”
“Yeah. The docks,
five tomorrow morning. Slip thirteen.”
“Bugger, Boss!
That’s a damn unlucky number!”
“Never mind that.
Just be there, and make sure those two are with you!” I hung up.
“Does the senhor
wish to continue with his massage?” The masseuse was standing in the bedroom
doorway. I had forgotten all about her. I could feel my muscles had all knotted
up again.
“Fuck, yeah.” I
dropped the towel and laid down on the table.
****
I had a bloody
rotten night, dreaming of wolves that stalked me through the shadowed,
mist-shrouded streets of Rio. When the operator rang my room with the wake-up
call I’d left for four thirty, I was logy and exhausted, my legs ached as if
I’d spent the night running, and my sweat carried the stink of fear. I swore
at her, slammed down the phone, and fell back to sleep. It was almost an hour
later when I woke again, and I was late.
Then I thought,
bugger it, it was my charter. They’d wait for me, or I’d know the reason
why.
I stumbled into the
shower, letting the stinging spray wash away the cobwebs, then brushed my teeth
to rid my mouth of the ‘something died there’ taste in it, dressed, and went
down to the hotel’s restaurant for a breakfast that included the Brazilian
coffee that everyone was always carrying on about. I couldn’t see what all the
fuss was for; coffee was coffee.
Ringo Starr had
taken up residence in my head, beating out the heavy, driving rhythm of Twist
and Shout. I wasn’t able to do justice to the breakfast that was laid out
for me; all I could manage was the fruit cup. I pushed myself away from the
table and went to the lobby, where I had the doorman summon a cab. The little
baby-shit yellow vehicle careened through the streets, and I shouted, “Basta!
Rallentamento!” But the bastard didn’t slow down, and I almost yacked up one
of my balls.
I sat in the back
seat with my eyes closed, breathing shallowly. Eventually, he pulled up at the
pier. I handed him the fare, but no tip, and staggered out while he swore at me.
I gave him the finger and went to search for slip number thirteen.
“Hurry it up,
Marconi!” that bleeding boat captain shouted when he saw me. “Time and tide,
amigo!”
He would have
enjoyed it if I tripped and fell into the scummy water that lapped at the
pilings his boat was tied up to, but no way in hell was I going to pull such a
half-arsed stunt. Let him laugh at my expense? Not bloody likely! The wanker. I
carefully made my way up the gangplank.
The cabin cruiser
was cleaner than I expected it to be. Captain Reed showed me to my quarters. It
was very compact, with drawers built in below the bunk. Gino was going to be on
the cramped side sleeping on the floor in front of the door. I didn't really
care.
The sick headache
had gone from bad to worse, and I told the skipper I was going to have a bit of
a lie down on my bunk. Maybe I’d catch forty winks. “Tell Gino not to bother
me.”
“Sure thing,
Marconi.” I glared at him for his lack of respect, but he ignored me.
“We’re going to cast off. If you'll give me the coordinates?”
“Yeah, yeah.” I
handed him the slip of paper I'd written the longitude and latitude of Isla del
Queimada Grande on. He whistled when he read them, and the sound pierced my
brain. I winced and waved him off, and laid down. In a matter of minutes I could
hear the engines rev and feel their dull throb through the decking, beating in
time to the throb in my head. And then I was mercifully asleep.
****
It was the absence
of noise that gradually woke me. I felt much better, and I relished the gentle
rocking of the boat at anchor and the scent of the ocean blowing in through the
open porthole. I stood and stretched, then went up on deck.
Three men were
standing on the port side of the boat, staring at the island that was about a
hundred and fifty meters away. Rocky hills rose steeply, almost from the
water’s edge, covered by a thick carpet of vegetation. “But… but… where
is the beach? Where is the gold?”
The tallest of the
trio, the sailor, Ricky, pointed. “It's on the other side, Gov. We can't get
in that way because of the reef. It would tear the bottom out of Captain Reed's
lovely boat.”
“Bugger!”
He turned to smile
at me, and I felt a shiver run up my spine. Those goddamned glasses, hiding his
eyes! “Not to worry, Gov. We'll take the dinghy in and walk across. It isn't
too bad. And there’s that cave just chock full of treasure, as well. That's on
the way, and you'll want to check it out, I'm sure."
"Then what are
we waiting for?" I began to dance with impatience.
"If you’ll
permit, Captain?” It had to be a sailor thing, the respect he afforded the
boat's captain.
Reed smiled thinly.
"Of course." There was something else there, but I couldn’t put my
finger on it.
“Where’s Gino?
He can help with the rowing.”
“Gino couldn’t
make it.” The shorter sailor seemed to be entranced by the island’s terrain;
his eyes were fastened on it. He continued before I could get a sound past
suddenly dry lips. I was alone with these men? Well, I had a Webley-Fosbery in
my pocket. “We didn't want to get him into trouble. He went looking for a good
time last night. It was his luck he found just the opposite. He’ll survive,
he’s just a little battered is all.”
I glared at him.
"You didn't think to tell me of this, back on the pier?"
"I thought you
wanted to get here as soon as possible. Look, we're ready to launch the dinghy,
Mr. Marconi. Or would you rather we go back to Rio empty-handed?"
"Just don't
try any funny business." I climbed down into the little boat and showed
them my gun. "I'm armed." I didn't show them the knife strapped to my
calf.
With easy, flowing
strokes, the two sailors rowed us to the tiny beach. "Y'know, most shark
attacks happen in not more than three feet of water," the tall one said
conversationally. They jumped out into water that was about three feet deep, and
I glanced around at it in suspicion as they dragged the dinghy onto the white
sand. "You wait here, Andy."
"No!" I
barked. "He comes with us! We all go together!"
"Andy needs to
keep an eye out. That's the way it's done, Mr. Marconi."
"Oh, yeah,
right." I had seen enough pirate movies when I was a boy to know a lookout
was always left behind on the beach. "Okay, let's go then."
We began to climb
up the hill. The higher we climbed, the denser the undergrowth became. I thought
I heard slithering and kept whipping my head around at each sound.
"Don't be so
nervous, Gov. We just need to go over this rise. There's a bit of a forest and
then the beach with all the gold."
He was right. We
entered the forest, and I noticed what seemed to be the remains of a path.
"What's this?"
"Hmmm? Oh,
that was the way the lighthouse keeper used to go for fresh water. It hasn't
been used in ages; the lighthouse is automated now. Mind the vines, Gov."
"Ta." I
raised my hand to brush the hanging vine away from my face.
"Ow. Damn thing has thorns!" I continued on a few feet.
"Ow!" I grabbed at a vine that draped over my shoulder and flung it
away. "What the fuck? Is this place covered in thorns? Ow! Jesus,
what…"
He raised his arm
as if to part the overhanging vines, and when he turned, there was a golden
snake in his hand. Its body coiled around his forearm, and he stroked its
lance-shaped head. I raised my eyes to his face, unable to understand what was
happening. There was something wrong with his eyes, they were no longer brown,
but gold, and the pupils were slim, vertical slits.
"Here's your
gold, Marconi," and his voice was the hoarse voice I had heard numerous
times over the phone. He offered me the snake.
"You're the
snake boy!" I swallowed repeatedly and backed away from him, pain like fire
shooting up my arm, down my shoulder, turning my legs to rubber and my bowels to
water. Another sharp sting in my neck this time. A snake draped over my
shoulder, and I yanked the smooth, surprisingly warm scaled body away, moaning
as I felt the fangs tearing the flesh of my throat.
Whimpers spilled
from my mouth. I turned and ran back the way we had come. Captain Reed had to
have anti-venom serum on his boat. I was paying him. He would have to save me!
My vision began to
cloud along the edges. I'd never make it back to the beach. I remembered the
knife I carried. I ripped back my sleeve. My right arm was turning a frightening
shade of purple-black and swelling, but I could see the two puncture wounds. I
pulled out the knife and cut the skin. Blood flowed freely, and I felt relieved.
I was doing something about the situation. It would be all right.
I raised my arm to
my mouth, sucked, and spat. More blood welled out. My trousers began to feel
tight around my thigh. I cut a six-inch slit in the material, and shuddered as
the discolored flesh seemed to surge through it. I made a cut between the
punctures. The blood poured out, and for a second I was afraid I had nicked an
artery. But I had severed arteries in other people and knew there were none in
that part of my thigh.
I swayed, now
starting to become lightheaded, and I tried to find my way back over the lip of
the hill to the beach. My pants' leg was soaked with blood, and it was dripping
steadily from the wound on my arm. I couldn't do anything about the bites on my
shoulder and neck. I staggered and went down to one knee, breaking the skin on a
sharp rock. I heard more slithering, and moaned and pushed myself back to my
feet. More blood. I was sweating as well.
The top of the hill
was just ahead of me. It kept wavering in and out, and I blinked furiously,
trying to bring it back into focus. I forced myself up to my feet, falling over
a couple of times before I finally succeeded. My breathing was rapid and
shallow. Agony was a living, breathing thing, consuming me, eating me alive. But
I kept putting one foot in front of the other. My heart was pounding. I looked
behind me and saw a huge swath of blood. The undergrowth rustled, and I became
panic-stricken. I took a single step forward and then pitched onto my face.
This time I
couldn’t even move. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a pair of legs. The
sailor… the snake boy. He squatted down beside me. “All dead, Marconi.
Sarone. Halliwell. Zolo. You.”
And bugger. He was right.
Note: Because St. John is a viscount's son, he would be
referred to as the Honorable St. John Ashford. A hand is four inches. Measured
from the ground to the withers (shoulders) Jingle Belle would have been
fifty-eight inches.
Part 19
Robert Dorincort was charming and handsome, with thick,
fair hair, the texture of which made my fingertips tingle, and eyes so blue they
did not seem real. He had his pick of any young man in the city, in the whole of
the British Isles. Rumor had it even straight men were willing to bend over for
him.
He had made me admit I loved him. He had been fucking me
senseless, and I shivered at the memory; I could still feel the ache deep inside
me. He refused to let me come until I confessed to the unconfessable.
The last person I had said 'I love you' to had been Mama,
just before she vanished out of my life. Father never encouraged either Germaine
or myself to speak of warm emotions. The result was that I never told anyone of
my deepest feelings. For a long time I did not think I had any.
And now, here I was, following Robert up the stairs,
somewhat like a disconsolate puppy. Was this what love felt like, this searing
feeling in one's chest? How did I know it was not simply heartburn?
I was a trifle startled to see him open the door to his
room and wait for me to precede him. “You… you want me to stay with you?”
He looked exasperated. “Singe, don't you get it yet?
You're mine. Of course you're going to stay in this bedroom with me. This
is your bedroom, too, now.” He dropped my suitcase beside the door.
“Oh.” I did not know what to say about that. I had
thought he said he loved me simply to soothe my ruffled feathers, so that I
would allow him to continue fucking me. Once he grew tired of my inexperience I
had no doubt he would show me the door, disappointed with me, just as Father had
always been.
“All right, St. John. There's something I have to tell
you.”
Confused, I braced myself, unsure what he was going to say,
unsure how I should react to it. I bit down on my lower lip and flinched.
Robert seemed fascinated by my mouth. Then he shook himself
and stated bluntly, “I'm a wolf.”
I hid a relieved smile; I was aware of his reputation. I
ran my eyes over his beautiful body. “Well, yes, of course you are.”
He became impatient. “I’m serious, St. John.” And
then he proceeded to spin the biggest cock and bull story I had ever heard.
“Years ago, Lawrence Talbot, my grandfather, was bitten by a werewolf.”
“I thought Mr. Sayer and Mr. Smythe were your
grandfathers. Who is this Lawrence Talbot?”
“He was a boyhood friend of Pere’s, and lived at Talbot
Abbey, the neighboring estate in Kent. Quite frankly, I think there was
something between the two of them at one time, Pere gets this faraway look in
his eye, but never bring that up when Papa is around. He becomes quite put out!
Sometimes I think Pere does that on purpose, to tease Papa. Now stop distracting
me.” Robert looked at me blankly. “What was I saying?”
This was fascinating. “Your grandfather was bitten by a
werewolf.”
“Oh, right. He had been seeing Jennie Williams, who was a
local woman, and apparently he got her pregnant. My mother is his natural child,
although she was raised by Papa and Pere.” Off-handedly he added, “And my
father is also a shape-shifter.”
“Just one second, Robert Dorincort!” I frowned at him.
“You expect me to believe that when the moon is full, you turn into a hairy
beast?”
“I never have,” he said seriously. “I mean, I carry
the bloodline, and I do get hairy. A bit. But… Drew is the one who turns, and
possibly Ariane. None of the rest of us has shown any inclination.”
He really did expect me to believe such arrant nonsense!
“Then may I assume that I will not awaken one night to find you eating me?”
I asked in what I was sure Robert would have taken wicked delight in referring
to as my viscount’s son manner.
“Oh, I didn't say that, green eyes!”
His eyes grew sultry, and he bared his teeth in a predatory grin. My
penis hardened, and I moistened my lips. “I will eat you, and I assure you,
you will enjoy it!” he murmured. He took a step forward; I took a step back.
“Won't you?” I tried to prevent a whimper, but I could see from the heat of
his gaze that I was not successful. He wound his fist in my shirtfront, pulled
me to him, and brushed his lips over my mouth. “Won't you?”
“Yes,” I groaned; I curled my hand around his neck. How
could he do this so easily to me? I brought his mouth down to mine. “Yes,
whatever you say!”
Robert's hands stroked over my back and palmed my buttocks,
squeezing them rhythmically. I thought he whispered something that sounded like,
“My own sweet honorable; my beautiful boy,” but I could not have heard
correctly. No one had ever used words like that to me. His fingers sank into the
crevice that separated my arse cheeks, finding and teasing my anus, and he drew
me against him, urging me to rub against his hard erection.
I shivered and moaned and held on to him for dear life,
while I rocked back and forth and fed off his lush mouth. His tongue toyed with
mine, curling over it, stroking it, but for not nearly long enough. He withdrew
it to trace the line of my parted lips, and I panted raggedly.
“Yes,” he whispered back to me, and I rode the thigh he
thrust between my legs. “That's the way. Show me how hot I can make you. Come
for me, Singe.”
With a cry I stifled by biting his shoulder, I climaxed.
Robert laughed softly, triumphantly, then gave a startled groan as he shuddered
against me and came.
We stood in the middle of his bedroom, both of us surprised
by what had just occurred. He ran a soothing hand over my hair, brushing it out
of my eyes, holding me until we caught our breath. Then he tilted my head back
and kissed me again. “I love you, Singe. Never doubt it.”
I dropped my eyes, unable to meet the gravity in his. I
wanted so badly to believe him. Did I dare permit myself to believe? I searched
for something to conceal my own vulnerability. “Oh, bug…” Hastily I
corrected myself. “Bother! Look at my trousers!”
His expression was smug, and I did not know if I wanted to
hit him or kiss him. He retrieved my suitcase, placed it on the bed and opened
it, then handed me a pair of undershorts and trousers. “Go change, green eyes.
We might as well get you settled in.” I went into the adjoining bath. By the
time I returned, Robert had changed also, and was unpacking shirts and trousers,
as well as, “Pajamas, St. John?” He displayed them, letting them dangle from
his fingers, and a grin tipped up the corner of his mouth. They were made of
extremely soft wool, and covered with purple, green, and golden dragons on a
background of crimson.
“It is very cold in Father's house,” I offered
hesitantly.
“My eyes! My eyes!” he teased. I had to smile. The
colors were quite… vibrant. “I promise you, Singe, you won't be cold in my
bed.” I became breathless.
Next, he pulled out the Paddington Bear, and I could feel
my cheeks heat with embarrassment. If I expected him to mock me, I was wrong; he
simply stroked the bear's worn fur and handed him to me. I cradled the stuffed
bear against me.
Robert reached into the suitcase again, and my eyes
widened. I tossed the bear aside. “I can do that, Robert!” But before I
could stop him, he removed the little box that held all my treasures.
“Robert…”
He looked into my eyes, and I stood there, frozen,
uncertain what to say or do. In that box were the mementoes of my childhood: a
shiny shilling Grandfather had given me when Mama had once taken me to visit her
family, a linen handkerchief she had left behind the last time she had come to
tuck me into bed, a soft pouch filled with marbles that were a gift from Uncle
James, a braided length of hair from the tail of my Welsh pony, Jingle Belle.
Father sold her shortly after my thirteenth birthday, saying I had grown too big
for a pony, although at fourteen and a half hands, she was still taller than I,
and had no problem carrying me. One day about two weeks later, during an outing
to Hyde Park, I had seen the child of one of his friends riding Jingle. Her eyes
were rolling in distress, and her hide was streaked with sweat and welts from
the crop the brat carried. I pulled it from her hand and threatened to use it on
her.
I jerked myself from the memory of the punishment that had
earned me.
Robert’s gaze sharpened, but he gently set the box aside,
unopened, and ran his fingers over the curve of my unbruised cheekbone. “If
you'll finish unpacking, St. John, I'll empty some drawers for you.”
I did as he suggested. I could not live out of my suitcase,
after all. It was too transient. However, instead of emptying just ‘some’
drawers, he emptied an entire dresser. How long was he intending to keep me?
When we went downstairs for lunch, I began to get some
idea. “Robert? What is all this?” The hallway was lined with boxes that
contained everything I had left behind in my father’s house.
“Oh… er… nothing, really. I just persuaded your
father to have your things packed up and sent round.”
“And Father agreed?”
His blue eyes narrowed with savage amusement, and at that
moment I quite believed his tale of carrying the shape-shifter blood. “I can
be very persuasive when I choose.”
Yes. He certainly could.
####
“Tell me you love me, Singe.”
St. John Ashford was whimpering nonstop as I pounded into
him, each thrust stroking across his prostate, driving him closer and closer to
the precipice. I nudged his legs further apart and leaned onto his back. Putting
my full weight on him pressed his upper body down to the mattress and increased
the angle of penetration. The sounds he made told me how much I was pleasuring
him.
I took my mouth off the patch of skin I was marking long
enough to demand again, “Say it!”
“Pleasepleaseplease!” he begged. A massive shudder
rippled through his body, and I struggled to hold onto my control.
“Say it,” and this time I was the one pleading.
He sighed his capitulation, “I love you.”
No matter how many times I told him, the only time he would
admit to loving me was when we were making love, and I had to coerce it out of
him. Never once since I’d brought him home from his father’s house had he
freely said the words. Never once. Sometimes I wondered if he did that
purposely, making me force him to reveal his feelings.
I tightened my grip on his cock, shoved in twice more, and he came with a choked gasp, pouring himself into my hands. His inner muscles clamped down, and I howled and exploded into him as well.
I eased us over onto our sides, somehow managing to keep my
cock in his arse, his lovely, snug arse. For long moments we stayed like that,
ragged breaths disturbing the quiet of the night. I smoothed my palms over his
chest and down past his taut abdomen.
Finally I slipped out of him and turned him onto his back.
I tipped his chin up, and his green eyes, slumberous with sated desire, looked
into mine. “I love you, Singe.”
He hummed with pleasure; at least I thought it was
pleasure, I hoped it was pleasure, but he kept so much of himself bottled away
from me. He said, “You have made a mess of me, Robert. Let me go, please. I
want to get cleaned up before I fall asleep like this.”
“Stay still.” Starting at his groin, I began to lick
him clean, little, thorough cat licks. When I reached his chest I nipped and
sucked his nipples, tugging gently on the ring that pierced one small, flat
nipple, and he groaned and cupped the back of my head, kneading his fingertips
firmly against my skull.
“Robert,” he whispered. I held my breath, sure he was
about to say the words I wanted to hear from him, but instead, “Let me get up,
please. I am all sticky.”
Defeated, I rolled off him. He slid off the bed and went
into the bath. I listened to the water run, and stared at the ceiling, brooding.
Talk about fucking up royally. No matter what I did, no matter how many times I
said it, I couldn’t get St. John to believe I loved him.
He came back with a damp flannel, and the bed dipped as he
knelt on it. Moist heat enveloped my cock, and he gently cleaned me. The silence
between us continued to grow. When he was finished, he disposed of the flannel
in the bath, and when he returned he was dressed for bed.
I sighed. I hadn’t been able to convince him not to wear
those outlandish pajamas.
“Get the light, would you please, Robert?”
Was he deliberately trying to drive me out of my mind? I
had never seen St. John like this. He didn’t snipe, he didn’t whinge, he was
just so goddamned polite.
I wondered if
this icy politeness was how he had been treated, was what it had been like in
the viscount's house. I wanted to hurl something across the room, preferably
that cold, cold man for what he had done to my beautiful boy
I snapped off the lamp and pulled the comforter up over the
two of us. As had become his habit in the days since I’d brought him home, he
snuggled down on the other side of the bed. Within five minutes, he was sound
asleep. I rather wished I had the trick of that.
It was sometime after midnight when I roused groggily.
Nestled against me was St. John Ashford, his warm breath ruffling the hair that
covered my chest. His arms were around me, and he held me as if he would never
let me go.
Each night it had been like that. He would go to sleep as
far from me as he could get and still be on the bed, and sometime during the
night he would wind up lying in my arms. It was the only thing that kept me
sane, knowing that in his sleep, at least, he wanted me.
I rubbed my cheek against his chestnut hair. It was a
starting point.
****
Mrs. Harris, our housekeeper, had prepared her usual
sumptuous breakfast, in spite of the fact that only St. John and I were at home.
Drew and his lover had disappeared. I fingered the note my brother had left and
hoped he knew what he was doing.
I wasn’t worried about Drew, not really. According to the
note, they had some business to take care of somewhere in South America. I
intended to get all the particulars of that trip from him when he got back. I
had my ways. No, I wasn’t worried about my favorite brother, although I
wasn’t above lying about it. Drew could never resist a hangdog look from any
of the Siblings, but me least of all. I’d open my blue eyes very wide, regard
him reproachfully, and he’d spill the details before he even realized it.
St. John wandered into the breakfast room and helped
himself to a cup of hot chocolate. He picked up a section of the newspaper and
took a seat, a shy smile acknowledging my presence.
I felt my heart kick. Could this be the start of… I
reached for his hand. “Singe…”
“Beg pardon, Mr. Robin.” Mrs. Harris entered, bearing
an envelope. “Mr. St. John, this just arrived for you.” She handed it to him
and returned to the kitchen.
He opened the flap and withdrew the sheet of paper,
unfolded it. I watched as he
scanned the message, becoming alarmed when he turned so pale I thought he might
faint. “Singe, what's wrong?”
St. John licked his lips. “My… my grandfather is
inviting us to welcome in the New Year with him and Grandmother at their
townhouse.” He raised a napkin to his mouth. His hand was trembling, but he
strove for a tone of sophisticated boredom. “Odd. He has never expressed any
interest in spending time with me before.”
“This is rather brief notice, isn't it?”
He nodded shortly and worried his lip. I wanted to kiss
away the tiny hurt. “Robert, will you… will you accompany me?”
“I am invited as well?”
His expression became mulish. “I do not care! I want you
with me.” He looked abruptly stricken. “That is, if you would not mind? This
does say I may bring a friend if I so choose. Of course, I understand if you
would rather not come, Robert. As you said, this is very brief notice, and you
must have other plans! It is New Year’s Eve, after all. I quite understand
if…”
“For such a pretty boy, you often speak utter rot, St.
John. What time does your grandfather want us there?”
His relief was palpable. “Dinner is at eight. I'll call
and accept.” His eyes dropped
back to the message. He touched his tongue to his lips. “It is formal.”
“I’ve a monkey suit. When you belong to a family as
involved with hunting and steeplechasing as mine, it’s a requirement.” I
tensed. “Have you a tux?” I wouldn’t put it past the old bugger to do
something like that just to embarrass his grandson.
“Beg pardon? Oh, yes, of course. I unpacked it yesterday.
Do you think Mrs. Harris might give it a bit of a touch up? I regret to say it
is a trifle wrinkled.”
That was an understatement. I remembered the clothing that
he had removed from one of the boxes, a sigh marking his distress. Had his
tuxedo been among that jumble? I wanted to hurt whoever had thrown his things so
carelessly into the box. I took a firm grip on my temper. “I’m sure she
won’t mind.”
“Thank you.” He looked up from the note, his green eyes
cloudy. “I… I hate to confess this, but I am a trifle… er… concerned
about this meeting with Grandfather.” Concerned was not the word for it. He
looked bloody terrified. “From what little Father has said of him, he is not
a… a tolerant man.”
“Perhaps he’s changed.”
He laughed, a very sad sound that almost broke my heart.
“No, my dear. People do not change that much.”
My breath caught in my throat. He didn't appear to realize
what he had just called me. “Perhaps your father lied about him.”
“Father lie?” He looked stunned, as if such a
notion never had occurred to him.
I went around the table and knelt beside his chair.
“Singe, I’ll be there with you. If either of them so much as look at you
crosswise, I’ll tear their hearts out, I swear it!” I put my arms around him
and laid my head against his chest. His heart beat rapidly beneath my ear.
“Thank you, Robert.” He leaned over me and rested his cheek on my hair. “I…” But he didn't finish that sentence.
Note: St. John’s grandfather’s title is Pennington, but the family name is Blakeney, which is why his Uncle James was called Mr. Blakeney by the butler.
Part 20
My head was tipped back, and I was stroking the razor over
my throat. I relished the idea that in the other room my lover was laying out
his clothes for the evening.
“Robert!” The panic in St. John’s voice had me
gripping the razor like a weapon and sprinting into our bedroom.
“Singe, what’s wrong?” I expected nothing less than a
fiend. With fangs.
He stood before his dresser, clad only in white boxer
briefs, his bare toes curled into the rug. Dark chestnut curls covered his chest
and arrowed in a narrow line down past the briefs which clung to his arse and
lovingly molded his cock. My mouth went dry, and I almost swallowed my tongue.
The only immediate danger St. John was in was from an
aroused lover. I had to drag my eyes away from his body, and my mind from
thoughts of stripping those briefs off that beautiful body and making love to
him again. I stifled a moan and licked my lips.
“Robert?”
The least I could do was seem concerned with
whatever his dilemma was. “What is it?”
He stepped aside, and my jaw dropped open.
The top drawer of his dresser was a shambles, with socks,
handkerchiefs, shorts and undershirts tossed about, lying every which way. “I
cannot find my shirt studs, Robert!” He sounded as if he was about to weep.
“I know I saw them just a bit ago! I cannot go to a dinner party at my
grandparents’ without shirt studs!”
“Not to worry, green eyes.” I kept a serious expression
on my face, although it was difficult. This was working out perfectly. I laid
down the razor, rummaged through one of my own dresser drawers and found what I
was ‘searching’ for. Nonchalantly I handed him a jeweler’s box. “Here,
Singe. You can use these.”
His eyes became enormous when he opened the box and saw its
contents, emerald shirt studs, seven of them, and matching cuff buttons.
“Robert, these are beautiful! I could not possibly borrow something as
valuable as this!”
“St. John, you’d be doing me a favor. Truly! I can’t
use these! You see, I… uh… I bought them on impulse. Drew constantly chides
me about that. They’re so… uh… pretty, and I thought they would go with my
coloring, but I should have known better; I could never wear emeralds!” He was
wavering. “Please take them, Singe,” I wheedled. “One of us might as well
get some use out of them.”
As I had been hoping, he believed me. “Thank you,
Robert.” He took the box, running his fingertips over the precious stones, the
smile in his eyes as bright as the emeralds he held. “I promise I will take
excellent care of them!”
The truth of the matter was that I had gone shopping a
couple of days prior and had bought them specifically for him.
I gave a silent sigh of relief. I had given St. John a
gift, the first of a lifetime’s worth I hoped. He thought they were merely a
loan, but I didn’t care. I’d been sneaky about it, but I’d got him to
accept it. I picked up the razor and strutted back into the bath to finish
shaving, feeling extremely satisfied.
It had gotten me a spontaneous hug, as well.
****
I was pacing the front hallway, glancing periodically at my
wristwatch. What was taking him so bloody long to finish dressing? “St.
John!”
“Sorry.” He came trotting down the stair. His eyes were
fastened on his wrist as he wrestled with a cuff button, and so he missed the
dumbfounded expression I knew had to be on my face. The boy was absolutely
gorgeous! His glossy chestnut hair was confined neatly in a queue at the back of
his neck. His dress shirt was snowy white, with a series of neat pleats down the
front. Emerald shirt studs winked in the overhead light.
I knew they would go well with his green eyes.
A cummerbund of deep forest green encircled his waist. The
lapels of his tuxedo jacket were edged with satin, as were the cuffs. His untied
bowtie hung from his neck. “These always give me a hard time. Ah! Success!”
He smiled up at me and froze. He, in turn, studied my appearance. “Oh, my! Oh,
Robert!”
“What's wrong? Have I got something on my face?” I
thought I had gotten all the shaving cream off before I dressed.
Color stood out on his cheekbones. “No.” He swallowed
and walked past me toward the door. “No, you look fine. Better than fine.”
“I say, St. John…” Before I could tell him his tie
was still undone, he wheeled around and came back to me, and I was enveloped by
the most alluring scent. He was wearing something, cologne, possibly, or
aftershave, although he was so smooth-skinned that he rarely needed to shave. It
mingled with his natural scent. The heat of his body seemed to enhance the
heady, musky combination. In spite of the fact that I’d had him in the bath
earlier, my cock was hard and aching, pleading to bury itself in him again.
His palms cradled my cheeks, his eyes swept over my face,
my eyes, my hair, my mouth, and he brought my face down to his. The kiss he
pressed to my lips was whisper soft.
“St. John…” I groaned into his mouth, hoping he would
deepen the caress. “God, but I love you!”
St. John dropped his hands from my face, his eyes wide and
hopeful. “If we do not leave now…” His lashes dipped down, shielding his
eyes, and his tongue ran over his lips, as if tasting that kiss. I thought he
might lean in to kiss me again, but instead he sighed and stepped back. “If we
do not leave now, we will be late.”
“Just a second, green eyes.” I rubbed my knuckles under
his chin, then reached for the ends of his tie and began to form the bow. I took
a deep breath, held it, almost drowning in his scent. “There. All done.” He
looked handsome enough to cause a riot. “Now we can go.” I dropped a quick
kiss on his mouth and took his arm to lead him out to the Jaguar that was parked
at the curb.
****
Lord Pennington's townhouse was discreetly lit and reeked
of old money and blue blood. I left the Jag with his chauffeur who was waiting
to park it out of the way. With a tug to straighten my tux jacket, I followed
St. John up the shallow steps. “Singe, remember. We can leave whenever you
decide.”
“That would be an act of cowardice, Robert.” He
smoothed a restless hand over his hair.
The servant who opened the door seemed to recognize my
lover. “Mr. Blakeney! How splendid to see you again, sir! I trust you are
enjoying your usual…”
“I am not my uncle,” St. John interrupted gently.
“… good health? Oh,” his face fell.
“I am St. John Ashford. This is Robert Dorincort.”
“I beg pardon, sir. I can see now that you are too young
to be Mr. James.”
“I believe my grandfather is expecting us?”
“Yes, sir. If you will come in, please? Lord Pennington
would like a word with you, Mr. Ashford. Mr. Dorincort, perhaps you would not
mind joining Lady Pennington in the lounge?”
St. John’s fingers clutched my sleeve, the only evidence
of his anxiety, but then he dropped it and stepped away from me. I touched his
shoulder, stopping him, and glanced at the butler, my eyebrow cocked. “I do
mind.”
“Sir, please, I must insist…”
“No. I go with St. John, or we both leave.”
He looked put out, but in the face of my adamant refusal to
budge from my lover's side, he had no choice but to usher the two of us into the
dark-paneled study.
Lord Pennington stood by the fireplace where orange and red
flames snapped and crackled. He was solidly built, of medium height, with a
shock of light brown hair that was liberally threaded through with strands of
grey. His chin was tilted up, and meanly I wondered if his lordship presented
that profile because at one time someone had told him it was his best side, or
if he truly imagined that stance concealed his drooping jowls.
He stared at the painting of a pair of children that hung above the
mantle. “Your Uncle James and Pamela, your mother,” he murmured to St. John.
I was drawn to that painting myself. The boy, who was
probably thirteen or fourteen, had dark auburn hair and vivid green eyes. His
arrogant expression was captured by the artist’s talented hand. The girl,
whose coloring was so similar it was obvious they were siblings, was a few years
younger. She sat at his feet and gazed up at him with impish adoration. Her
skirt was a pool of color around her knees, and a pair of puppies played with
the ribbons that fastened the waist of her dress. It was easy to see the
children’s relationship to my lover.
Lord Pennington’s fingers drummed an agitated tattoo on
the mantle, and a frown creased the bridge of his hawk’s beak of a nose. The
frown deepened when he turned and saw I had accompanied his grandson. “I
wished to speak with you alone, sir!” he barked at my lover.
“I am very sorry, my lord. Robert will, of course,
leave.” St. John paused a beat, and I stiffened, determined to stand my
ground. Then he concluded, “If that is his wish.”
The old man began to sputter. “What… what…”
I was startled; I hadn’t expected my lover to defy this
imposing man. And then I was irritated with myself for not giving him the credit
to have enough bottom to stand up to his grandfather.
I gave the baron my wolf’s grin. “I believe I shall
delay making the acquaintance of your delightful wife until St. John can make
the introductions himself, my lord. Now, if he has no objections to me hearing
whatever it is you might have to say, I suggest you proceed. I am a trifle
peckish, and your grandson knows how… ravenous I become when I haven't
eaten.”
St. John blushed.
Lord Pennington’s brows beetled in a fierce scowl, but he
stalked to the large desk where a couple of glasses filled with amber liquor had
been sitting. He offered one to St. John, who shook his head. “I do not
drink.”
“What's this? Everyone in this family drinks! Are you
trying to give us a bad name, boy?”
“I hardly think you would care, my lord.” St. John’s
voice was cold, and I shivered. For
the first time I was seeing him as his father’s son. I wondered again what it
must have been like to grow up under Ashford’s roof.
Lord Pennington choked on his drink. “I beg your
pardon!”
St. John shrugged. “In the last fifteen years, how many
times, excluding tonight, have we met?” His grandfather was silent.
“Exactly. May I ask why you… invited… me here this evening?”
His lordship worried his lower lip, an action very similar
to St. John’s when he was trying to decide the best method of answering a
question or evading the need to answer a question. “I received a letter from
your father earlier today.”
“What did Father have to say?”
“He said you were being debauched by this young man, and
that he will not have a homosexual for a son. He is disowning you. As far as he
is concerned, he now only has one son.”
I heard my lover’s breath catch in his throat, although I
didn’t think the old man had.
“Ah. I believe I will have that drink.” St. John sipped
the alcohol, grimacing at the taste, then knocked back the rest. His eyes began
to water, and he gasped and coughed, painful, throat-rasping sounds. I took a
step toward him, but he raised his hand, stopping me.
Pennington watched with sour interest. “I am touched by
your concern for my grandson, Dorincort. By the by, did you indeed attempt to
break Ashford's hand?”
“Why, yes, I did.” I smiled blandly into his eyes. “I
took exception to his striking St. John.”
The old baron peered at his grandson as if searching for
the bruise, then looked away, uncomfortable. “That's family business, young
man. We do not interfere with the way a man runs his family.”
“Blakeneys do not, perhaps, but Dorincorts do.” I
looked back at the portrait of his children.
He glowered at me, his choler rising. “That is none of
your affair, Dorincort!”
“Is it mine, my lord?” St. John put the glass down and
approached his grandfather.
“I will not speak of it in front of this man!”
St. John shrugged. “If that is how you feel, sir.” I
was amazed that his grandfather could not feel the ice encasing him. “I will
bid you good evening, then. Robert, you did say we might leave whenever I
chose?”
I nodded and went to him, but before we could leave the
room, his grandfather snapped petulantly, “Oh, very well, St. John. You are
indeed your father’s son!”
St. John blinked. Hurt flashed briefly in his eyes, but
otherwise he showed no reaction.
“This stays within this room!” Pennington waited until
we both agreed. “Ashford is very cold, very prideful. He guards his emotions
like a miser’s gold. If I had
known that twenty-five years ago, I would have refused his request for Pamela's
hand. She was such a happy, high-spirited girl. Half that season’s eligible
bachelors were lined up for her, pleading for a flower from her corsage or a
smile or a glance from her eyes.” He tugged on his lower lip. “You have her
eyes, did you know that, St. John?”
“No, I did not, my lord.”
He glared at him. “Were you not the least bit curious
about your mother, boy?”
“The sole time I asked Father about her, he informed me
only that I was the spitting image of Uncle James, and confined me to my room
for the rest of the week. He forbade me from mentioning Mama again.”
Pennington had the grace to look abashed. He glanced away,
and it was some moments before he continued. “Ours is a very old name, St.
John. Ashford was willing to settle for a baron's daughter in order to align
himself with that name. Pamela began to grow weary of all that adulation, and so
he took another tack; he was cool to her. It worked. She was only eighteen; she
decided he was the one she had to have. Afterward, when she realized he was, in
fact, as cold as he appeared and that there was no way for her to change
him…” He became lost in thought, and when he spoke again, it was obvious he
had forgotten I was there. “It took a few years, but once she finally became
pregnant with Germaine, I hoped things would be better. I think, perhaps for a
time, they were. Germaine looked so much like his father.”
“Yes, it was always quite clear that Father loved
Germaine.”
“My boy…”
“It is not important, my lord.” But his expression was
bleak, and I felt a stinging behind my eyes. “Did Mama…” He cleared his
throat. “… did she care for me at all?”
“St. John, the only one she loved more than you was her
brother, James. You favor him greatly, so much so that your father actually
thought… ” He caught himself. “Well, never mind. That's neither here nor
there.”
I gritted my teeth, tempted to go after St. John's poor
excuse for a family and hurt them as much as they had so casually hurt him. The
old man didn’t even realize how devastated his grandson was.
St. John was looking down at his hands. “I was four the
last time I saw her.” His fingers were so tightly gripped together there was
no color in them.
“That last year Ashford seemed to grow even colder.
Pamela pleaded with me to allow her to come home with you.” Pennington
scrubbed his face. “I thought she was being hysterical. To my everlasting
regret, I refused to believe her accounts of how he treated her. She had been
such a joy as a child. How could anyone not love her? And then… and then she
met someone who wasn't afraid of her warmth and fire. One of those ‘ologist’
fellows. An archeologist, I believe, or possibly an anthropologist...” He
waved his hand dismissively, unconcerned with the occupation of the man his
daughter had apparently loved more than she’d loved even her younger son.
“If you weren’t so young, I’m certain she would have taken you with
her.”
“Instead, she left me with the man she, herself, could
not live with. Yes, I see.” St. John was becoming more and more withdrawn.
Before Lord Pennington could protest that, there was a tap
on the door, and he looked around. “Yes?”
“My lord, her ladyship wishes you to be informed that
dinner is served.”
“Please inform my wife that we will be along shortly.”
He said nothing further until the door closed behind his butler. “The times
your grandmother and I tried to see you, and it was a number of times I will
have you know, young man! We were told in blunt terms that neither Lord Ashford
nor his sons were at home to us. I even sent you and your brother ponies with
the stipulation that when you outgrew them, they were to be returned to me.”
“Jingle Belle was a gift from you, sir? Father never
said.”
The old man began to look appalled. “And when he said you
decided you no longer wanted her…?”
St. John’s mouth curved in an unhappy line. “You
believed I had some say in whether I kept her or not?” His eyes glittered with
unshed tears. “I understand now. No wonder you had no use for me.”
“St. John, you understand nothing!” He ran his hand
through his hair. “Pamela broke her mother's heart when she ran off with that
archeologist, or whatever he was, not doing us the simple courtesy of telling us
face to face, leaving only a note that wasn’t even handwritten! She used a
typewriter, for godssake! Ashford took great delight in informing me that my
grandson was exactly like my daughter, selfish and uncaring, and...”
“And in spite of what you knew of him, you believed
him?” I spat, unable to contain myself any longer. “Tell me something, my
lord. Why didn’t St. John's mother take him with her when she left Ashford? If
she loved him so much?”
“I refuse to speak of this any longer! You are not
family, Dorincort!”
“Am I, sir? Have I the right to know why I
have not seen my mother in fifteen years?”
“What are you talking about, St. John? Your mother has
been dead for more than ten years!”
I leaped forward and caught St. John before he collapsed to
the floor. He sagged in my embrace. “Chair!” I snarled. Pennington looked
alarmed. He quickly fetched the one from behind his desk. I eased my beautiful
boy into it, then pushed his head down between his knees. “Breathe, St. John,
breathe!”
His grandfather knelt beside us. “You had to have known,
St. John!” he murmured urgently. “Ashford had to have told you! He received
a message from some out-of-the-way consulate, informing him Pamela and her lover
had been killed in some local insurrection!”
“Robert.” St. John straightened slowly, his movements
as stiff as an old man’s. “I would like to go home now. That is, if you do
not mind having someone who is as selfish and uncaring and… and...”
“St. John.” I helped him up and waited patiently until
he met my eyes. “I love you.” Color rushed into his pale cheeks and a single
teardrop spilled over. I caught it on my fingertip, and brought it to my lips.
“Say good night to his lordship, St. John.”
“Good night, my lord. Please tell her ladyship I am sorry
to have missed dinner.” He paused at the door. “Happy New Year,
Grandfather.” He walked out.
“Dorincort.” Lord Pennington had the gall to appear
upset.
“Tell me, my lord. Do you enjoy kicking puppies?”
“Now see here, Dorincort!”
I clenched my fingers to prevent myself from knocking him
down. After all, he was an old man. “No, you see here. Between the lot
of you, you’ve broken St. John’s heart. Well, he’s mine now. Stay away
from him, or you’ll all of you have to deal with me!” I pulled the door shut
behind me.
Part 21
St. John was subdued as we walked from the mews after
garaging the Jag. I had my arm around his shoulder, my fingers gently kneading
it, and kept him firmly anchored to me. We entered the townhouse. It was so
quiet there when no one else was at home.
I removed my jacket and draped it over the banister and
watched him uneasily. “Not the smartest of moves on my part, I’m afraid. I'm
sorry, Singe, I should have waited at least until after we'd eaten before making
that grand statement.”
My attempt to lighten the moment didn’t work. “He never
told me, Robert. My own father, and he never told me my mother had been dead all
this time.” He hadn’t regained his color, and his usually bright eyes were
muddy. “Why would he do that? I understand that he always loved Germaine best,
I do, Robert, really I do. But how could he not tell me Mama was dead?”
//Because the sodding son of a bitch is a fucking, bent
bastard who’s a waste on the face of the earth!// I put my arms around him and
rocked him, stroking my hands soothingly up and down his back over the tux
jacket he still wore.
There was something off about the entire situation. I could
not see one of my siblings going off as St. John’s mother was purported to
have done and we not making a serious attempt to track him, or her, down.
Perhaps it was just because the Blakeneys were the way they were. I wished Drew
were home. What was he doing in Brazil? I needed to talk with him now.
“Let’s go see if Mrs. Harris has anything in the
larder.” I kissed his cheek and was about to step away from him. He held on
for just a second longer, his lips caressing the side of my neck, and I hummed
with pleasure and tipped my head to give him better access. The warmth of his
breath turned the hum to a groan that vibrated through me. He nuzzled my jaw and
released me.
“I thought you said she would spank my bare bum if I was
cheeky enough to dare cooking in her kitchen.” He couldn’t help but notice
my body’s response to his words. Rats, hoist by my own petard. His eyes
lightened, and his glance became decidedly wicked. “I will cook something for
you, shall I? See if you can find any vegetables. I know I saw a steak in the
refrigerator earlier.” He followed me into the kitchen and hung his jacket on
the back of a chair.
He wore white braces, elegant white braces, and it was all
I could do to prevent myself from placing my palms beneath them on his chest,
and sliding them over his shoulders and down off his arms. My fingers itched to
unfasten his trousers, to free his cock and tease it to hardness. When had
formal wear become so arousing? Or was it just the way he wore the clothes?
Vegetables. He wanted me to see if we had any vegetables. I
could do that. I wasn’t an animal who couldn’t control his baser instincts.
I crossed to the opposite end of the kitchen.
“Did you mean it, Robert?”
“Beg pardon?” My head was in the pantry, and I was
doing a fast tally. “There are some carrots and potatoes in here. And I
believe Mrs. Harris picked up some celery; it should be in the crisper. Will
they be of any use?” I stayed out of the kitchen as much as possible. Although
I could cook if I had to, I was not a dab hand at it. If it was my turn to cook,
the Siblings found other places to be.
“Yes, that will be fine. Robert. I think we shall need
something to tide us over until dinner is ready, cheese and crackers perhaps?”
He was looking away from me, but distress was written in every line of his body.
I became very still. “St. John. Did I really mean
what?”
He took out a wedge of sharp cheddar cheese and began to
slice it carefully, setting it on crackers he had found in a tin. He arranged
them on a platter, avoiding my gaze. I was a little surprised at how well he
knew where everything was in my kitchen. “Did you really mean what you told
Grandfather? That…”
“That your family would have to deal with me if they came
near you again? Yes.”
“No. Well, yes, but you also stated quite vehemently that
I was yours.” He took a couple of wine glasses from a cabinet. A bottle of
Sauvignon Blanc had been chilling in the fridge, and I took it out and extracted
the cork; it would compliment the cheese nicely.
“Again, yes.” I picked up a piece of cheese and offered
it to him. He tried to take it from me, and I pulled my hand back. “Please?”
His lips parted in surprise, but he let me feed it to him. With an effort, I
brought my mind back to the point I was trying to make. “St. John, what don't
you understand about ‘you are mine’? I thought it was quite clear, myself.
Haven’t I been telling you for days that I love you? You… belong… to
me.” I interspersed each word with a kiss.
He sighed and leaned into me for a moment before moving
away. “I see.”
“Do you? I hope so.”
“Might I assume that this is a two-way street? That you
belong to me as well?”
Well, of course! “That’s the way it works.”
“Really? I would not know about that.” He was shutting
down his emotions again, and I was at a loss as to what to do. “Are you very
sure I am what you want?”
“Goddamn it, St. John!” I exploded, sinking my fingers
into his shoulders in what had to be a painful grip, but I couldn’t prevent
myself. He stared into my eyes mutely, and I gave him a shake and yanked him up
against me. “How many times must I tell you? I. Love. You. I will until the
day I die! It doesn’t matter what’s come before; why can’t you understand
that? D’ya think I haven’t dabbled enough at love to know the real thing now
that it’s come along? I don’t know what to do to convince you of that.”
Or perhaps I did. I shoved a hand into my pocket, toying
with the ring I’d been carrying all evening.
Papa had come across the ring years ago, when he and Pere
had taken a horse-buying trip to the Continent. They’d brought something back
for each of the Siblings, but this was something extra that he said I should
have.
“It was given to me by a wandering gypsy under the light
of a full moon, my boy.” He was smiling. I had been certain at the time that
he was teasing me.
“But I don’t wear rings, Papa,” I’d told him,
turning the thick gold band over and over between my fingers. There was an
intricate design of a wolf chasing a man, or perhaps the man was chasing the
wolf, but I didn’t study it too closely.
“This is not for you to wear, this is for you to give to
someone else.”
“Oh, no, Papa! Not me!” I was around the same age as
St. John at the time, a cocksure cub who had the world by the tail. I felt there
were too many delightfully different men to choose from. “I’m never going to
settle down with just one person!”
“You think not? Young scamp!” He’d chuckled and
placed a kiss on my temple. “You’ll find the one important someone someday,
Robin, I promise you. Just as I found Pere.”
“If you say so, Papa.” Secretly I dismissed his words.
I put the ring away in a drawer, and forgot about it. But he’d been right.
Shortly after I’d brought St. John home I’d gone in
search of the ring. I’d taken it to be engraved and was determined to do the
romantic thing, presenting it to my lover on the stroke of midnight, when the
New Year began.
But now… Before I could decide whether to give it to him
right then or follow my original plan, he smiled sadly and stepped out of my
arms. Well, that put paid to all thoughts of giving him the ring now. “St.
John…”
“You said you were hungry. I had better feed you, before
you do decide to eat me.” Well, that put paid to all thoughts of giving him
the ring now. He removed his cuff buttons and handed them to me. I put them in
the same pocket that contained the ring and watched as he rolled up his sleeves.
He took out some bowls and the tin of flour, then tucked a tea towel in his
waistband to protect his trousers. “Preheat the oven please, Robert.” He
measured out flour and salt. “I need to bake the pie shell.”
“Preheat?”
“Yes, preheat.” He began to roll out some dough. “You
know, turn the oven on?”
“I’d rather turn you on,” I said softly. He heard me,
and he flushed and bit his lip. “It appears that you know your way around a
kitchen.”
St. John shrugged as he patted the dough into some kind of
shallow glass pan. “I found that if I wanted to eat, it helped if I knew how
to cook.” He was unaware of the effect his words had on me. “I am quite
good, you know,” he added simply.
My hands clenched into fists, and the nails bit into my
palms. Lord Ashford was well-to-do. There should have been no reason for St.
John to have to fare for himself in that manner.
That was when it occurred to me that the best way to prove
how deeply I felt about him was to take him to bed and into my body. I had never
been interested in that before, but I found my cock was suddenly very hard at
the thought of my lover fucking me. I cleared my throat. “St. John…”
“Yes, Robert?” The pan went into the oven, and he set
the timer.
I was excited, but I was nervous as well. I decided I’d
surprise him rather than tell him outright that tonight he would be making love
to me. I scrambled for another topic of conversation. “What are you making?”
He was peeling potatoes, cutting them into chunks. “This
is the simplest meal I know of. Aside from eggs. I am making you steak pie.”
He dropped the potatoes into a bowl and filled it with water so they wouldn’t
become discolored, then started on the carrots, celery and onions. “You may as
well help, Robert. Take out the steak, please, and slice it into strips. Then
brown it in that frying pan. It will cook faster that way.”
We worked in silence, I plotting my moves carefully. I’d
wait until after the New Year, until after I’d given him the ring. And then?
Then I would kiss him up the stairs and into our bedroom, and tell him what I
wanted him to do. I was certain that would work.
By the time the pie shell was finished baking, we had
everything else ready to be turned out into it and put back into the oven. St.
John set the timer for an hour, and we munched on the cheese and crackers and
sipped the wine.
I leaned my elbow on the table and reached across to free
his hair from the green satin ribbon that restrained it. The thick, wavy mass
seemed to wrap itself around my fingers. I brought it to my face and rubbed it
against my cheek and over my mouth.
“Oh!” St. John leaned toward me, lips parted, eyes on
mine, and I felt as if I were drowning in their green depths. The doorbell rang,
and he sighed. “Perhaps you had better see who that is?”
"And maybe if I ignore them, they’ll go away."
I was fascinated by the sheen the Sauvignon Blanc had left on his lips. I ran my
tongue over my own lips and half rose out of my seat, intending to sip the wine
from his mouth.
“Robert,” he said patiently. I was a whisper away from
kissing him. If only that annoying noise would stop… “Robert!”
I huffed and dropped back into my seat, scowling. “Who in
bloody hell is doing that?”
“Why are you looking at me for? This is your house. I
have no idea who is at your front door.”
“As if I should know who’s come to call on New Year’s
Eve?” I started to laugh. “All right, I’ll go see who it is.” I managed
a quick kiss, then rose and left the room.
I peered through the peephole, but the man who stood at my
door had his back to me, studying the street, and I couldn’t see his face.
Light from the street lamp glinted off his chestnut hair, and the shape of his
head somehow seemed familiar. I opened the door. “Yes?”
He turned. “You’re Dorincort?” I was suddenly faced
with an older, more intense version of my lover. This was what St. John would
look like in twenty-eight years. I nodded, and his lips parted in a chill grin.
“You’re very trusting, mate. A man could get himself killed, opening a door
like that without checking.”
I grinned back at him, just as cold. “A man could get
himself killed, calling on his nephew’s lover this time of night.”
“You know who I am?”
“James Blakeney. I’ve heard the resemblance is very
strong.” I had no idea it was this strong. I made no effort to open the door
further.
“Are you going to invite me in?”
“Are you going to give me a good reason to?”
“I could very easily hate you, Dorincort.”
“Doesn’t matter, mate,” I sneered. “I hate
you already. You and your whole bloody family.”
He blew out an impatient breath. “Look, I’m not going
to snipe at you on your doorstep. It’s freezing out here, and I need to speak
with my nephew.”
“Lord Pennington did a bleeding good job of upsetting
him. Your father is an old man, so I didn’t hurt him, much as I wanted to. You
aren’t so old. If you upset St. John, I won’t have any qualms about tearing
off your head, reaching down your throat, and ripping your lungs out.” He
nodded grimly. “All right, come in, then.”
James Blakeney followed me to the back of the house. St.
John smiled up at me when I entered the kitchen again, and then paled when he
saw the man who stepped into the room. His eyes darted toward me.
“Your uncle, James Blakeney. He says he has to talk to
you, Singe. I’ll throw him out instead, if you’d rather. I haven’t kicked
anyone down a flight of stairs all day. Don’t want to get out of practice.”
As I hoped, that made him smile, and he relaxed. “That
will not be necessary, Robert. Not yet, at any rate. Would you care for a glass
of wine, sir?” he asked politely. He brought another glass, poured the wine,
and offered him the plate of crackers as well.
Blakeney declined the crackers. He pulled out a chair at
the table, sipped his wine, and sniffed the air appreciatively. “Something
smells good.”
“Our dinner. St. John made it, and don’t even ask,
there isn’t enough for you.”
“Robert.”
Bugger. I didn’t want Blakeney to upset my lover, but
there I was doing a damned good job of it myself. “Sorry, St. John.”
“If you wish to stay for dinner, sir, I am sure there
will be enough." He worried his lower lip. "What did you have to say
to me?”
Blakeney held up the wine and examined the way the light
filtered through the pale liquid. He took another sip. “Is it true you had no
idea before tonight that your mother was dead, St. John?”
“That tears it, I’m throwing you out!” I started
rolling up my sleeves, ready to thump him if I had to.
St. John placed his hand on mine. “My dear.” I subsided
back into my chair, feeling as if I had taken a blow to the chest. I hoped I
never became blasé about him calling me that. He turned back to his uncle.
“Why would I lie about something like that, sir? Father never spoke of it to
me, but Germaine told me that Mama did not love us any more and had found
someone she loved better.”
I turned my hand over under his and clasped his fingers,
and he flashed me a sad smile. There was more that St. John wasn’t telling, I
could see that, but I’d wait to see if he wanted to talk of it later, when we
were in bed.
Blakeney meanwhile was tugging on his lip, the gesture
similar to his father's. And his nephew's. “I'm going to look into this, St.
John. Your father never struck me as one who did anything without a reason. It
seems to me, given his personality, he would have taken great pleasure in
revealing all the details to his four year old son of his mother's desertion of
him.”
I didn't like the direction in which his thoughts were
heading, and I was about to say as much, when St. John raised the bottle and
shook it gently. “Nearly empty! I will go down to the wine cellar and fetch
another bottle. I believe we will need a bottle of red as well, for the steak
pie.” He was through the door that led to the lower level before I could
object.
The silence between his uncle and I grew heavy. I checked
on the steak pie in the oven, but it seemed to be coming along nicely. “Would
you care for more cheese and crackers?” I shoved the almost empty plate toward
him. St. John was taking too long; it shouldn’t take that long to pick out a
couple of bottles of wine. “I’m just going to make sure Singe can find the
wine without any problem.” I bolted for the cellar stairs, just as St. John
came back up. The expression in his eyes frightened me. “St. John…”
“Robert, the door is not there. I would have sworn… How
very foolish of me. But then Father always said I was a fool, when he spoke to
me at all.” He blinked slowly. “Here is the wine, Robert.”
Blakeney glanced at me, his eyebrow raised in silent
question. I hunched my shoulder. “St. John, the only door downstairs is to the
wine cellar.”
He shook himself, like a dog coming out of the water.
“Well, of course, Robert. Who ever said there was another? Are these wines all
right, my dear?”
“Yes, they’re fine,” I assured him impatiently.
“St. John, are you all right?”
“But of course I am, Robert. Will you set the table in
the dining room? I think, on New Year’s Eve, we should be more formal than
usual, do not you?”
“If that’s what you want.” Mrs. Harris kept the
company china and the good silver in the breakfront in the back dining room,
which was across the hall. Originally it had been part of the servants’
quarters, but Drew and I felt it would be more useful as a dining room. I
arranged the place settings and returned to the kitchen as quickly as possible.
St. John was taking our dinner out of the oven when the
doorbell rang again. The other two occupants of the kitchen turned to look at
me. “That’s all right, I'll go see who it is.” I went into the hallway,
grousing under my breath all the way to the door. “What is this,
Tra-bloody-falgar Square? All I wanted was a quiet dinner with St. John after
his grandfather bollocksed everything up. But before we can sit down, who has to
show up but his bloody uncle! How much else can go wr…” A glance
through the peephole had me choking off in mid grouse. “Bugger! St.
John!”
He came on the run. “Robert, what is it?” There was a
whacking great knife in his hand. Behind him was his uncle, his hand hidden
beneath the jacket of his tuxedo.
“We’ve got company, green eyes. Your grandparents!” I
studied his uncle with interest as he brought his hand out, empty. What had been
under his jacket? The hell with that, we had more immediate concerns. I threw
the door open. “Lord and Lady Pennington. This is a surprise. Was there
something you wanted?” I asked hostilely.
They eyed the knife in their grandson’s hand, and he hid
it behind his back, like a little boy caught with a biscuit in his hand when his
mum had told him no.
“I believe my son is already here.” Lady Pennington
stated as she observed me from head to toe.
“Won’t you come in?” But the invitation was grudging.
She was a petite woman. She removed her mink wrap,
revealing beneath it a watered silk gown of ivory with a draped neckline and
flowing sleeves. Diamonds dripped from her ears, coiled around her wrists and
dangled from her throat. Her chestnut hair, several shades lighter than my
lover’s, was piled high on her head. Only her eyes were different; they were
hazel. “James.”
“Mother, I told you I would sort this all out and call
you.”
Lady Pennington sniffed, an inelegant sound from such a
very elegant lady. “Not quickly enough, James.” Next she pinned Singe with a
gimlet stare. “You and this young man were to spend New Year’s Eve with us,
St. John.”
“My lady…”
“Grandmother, St. John. You will address me as
Grandmother.” She thrust her wrap at me. “Hang this up, young man. Since you
left so precipitously, we will be dining with you here instead. What is that
intriguing odor?”
“Steak pie, my… Grandmother.”
“Interesting. We generally have foie gras and filet
mignon on New Year’s Eve, St. John, but I imagine since you will be starting
your own traditions, steak pie is as good as anything else.”
There was a slight cough behind her, and Lord Pennington
murmured, “Perhaps they won’t have enough for us, Glynnis.”
“Nonsense, Arthur!”
“I believe there should be enough to go around,” St.
John assured them. I scowled at him, but he turned those green eyes on me, and I
sighed in resignation.
“Of course. You’re welcome to dine with us.” I was
surprised I didn’t choke on the words.
“Excellent. Now, someone please be so kind as to pour me
a drink.”
****
James Blakeney left just after the New Year had been rung
in. “I’ve some work to catch up on in the morning, and I’ll need to be
fresh. Thank you for an excellent meal. I can’t quite believe you prepared
that, St. John. Neither your grandfather nor I can cook a lick!” He shook his
nephew’s hand, and then mine. “Mother, I’ll call before I leave the
country again.” He kissed her powdered cheek. “Father, take care of
yourself. I’d like a game of billiards the next time I’m home.”
The door closed behind him. “The boy exhausts me!”
“Glynnis, James is forty-six, hardly a boy!”
“Arthur, he’ll always be a boy to me. Just as you, St.
John, will be that little urchin who broke my abalone tea set.”
“I do not remember that, Grandmother. But if I was so
naughty as to do that, then I do beg your pardon.” He was seated beside her on
the settee.
“No, St. John, it is we who should beg your pardon.
Dorincort was correct. We knew what your father was like, yet we believed his
lies about you.”
“Father is very persuasive. Once he begins speaking, it
is the easiest thing in the world for him to make you believe that night is day,
and the cow did indeed jump over the moon.”
And that a door that was there, was no longer there?
“Then we will be a family once again?” his grandfather
asked.
St. John was extremely quiet. I knew it wasn’t from the
wine he had imbibed, which had been negligible.
“May I suggest you take this slowly?” I murmured.
“After all, it’s been fifteen years. What difference will waiting a little
longer make?”
Lady Pennington was none too pleased with that, but since
St. John seemed willing to agree with me, she acceded as gracefully as was
possible for her. “Arthur, I think we had better be going home. St. John.”
She proffered her cheek for a kiss. “Come see us soon. Both of you,” she
added as a second thought.
St. John brought his grandmother her wrap, and Pennington
carefully draped it over her shoulders. And finally they were gone.
“Do you think they truly are sorry they were so cold to
me, Robert?” He sighed. I knew how much he wanted to be part of a family, but
I also knew how reluctant he must be to expose himself to the real possibility
of more hurt.
“I believe they regret all the wasted years, St. John,”
I said cautiously. “Just remember, you have all the time in the world. There
is no need to rush into resuming the relationship. Whatever you decide, I will
be with you one hundred percent.”
He smiled gratefully and leaned against me.
What I did not tell him was that I would keep an eye on
them.
And most especially I would keep an eye on his father.
We stacked the dishes in the sink for the following morning
and locked up the house, then went up to bed.
St. John undid his bowtie and his cummerbund and slid his
arms out of those white braces. “I always used to hate New Year's Eve,” he
said pensively.
I had already turned down the bed and skinned out of my
clothes. Singe had been musing over his grandparents, and hadn’t realized the
inordinate amount of time I’d spent in the bath. I’d never taken a cock up
the arse, but I was determined; I wanted to do it for him, and I’d lubed and
stretched myself carefully. Now I was lying naked on the bed, watching as he
undressed, as each article of clothing he removed revealed another intriguing
bit of his body.
“Come here, green eyes.” I pulled him down on top of me
and spread my legs so I could cradle him comfortably in the vee of my thighs. I
stroked my hands over his back, down the crevice between his arse cheeks, and
teased the tight pucker of his hole. He wriggled against me, and he was hard
against my abdomen. “Well, as your grandmother said, we’ll be making our own
traditions.” I reached for the jar of lubricant on the nightstand, licked my
lips, and got some in my palm. “Angle up a bit, would you, St. John?”
He obeyed, then jerked as he felt my slick hand on his
cock. “Robert, what are you doing?”
“Tonight is your turn.” I rocked back and locked my
ankles behind his back. “You’ll have to guide yourself in.” I put my other
hand over his lips. “Don’t argue with me, my beautiful boy!”
He made a little sound of happiness, and then I felt the
head of his cock pressing against me. I concentrated on breathing, on relaxing.
It pushed past the ring of muscle, and I bit back a groan. “Robert!” St.
John held himself still. “My dear, are you all right?”
“Yes. Yes, just… just give me a second, all right?
Jesus, you didn’t look this big!”
“I’ll stop!” But he couldn’t. I tightened my legs,
arched up, and took him all the way in. We both groaned, and St. John dropped
kisses on the corner of my mouth, my cheek, my jaw, my throat. He distracted me
from the sense of fullness, from the intense burn, and then he hit my prostate,
and I bit him.
I’d always been so careful not to mark his fair skin, but
this time there was nothing I could do to restrain the urge to sink my teeth
into his shoulder. I didn’t break the skin, but I knew I’d leave a bruise.
“I’m sorry. St. John, I’m so sorry. I’m…”
“Robert. Shut. Up. Tell me, why did you bite me?” He
was panting, trying not to move. “Tell me!”
“You nailed my prostate. God, I’ve never felt that
before! I just… I had to bite you.”
He thrust forward. Unerringly he found the right spot, and
I moaned and shuddered. “Ah. Let us try that one more time, shall we?”
The boy was phenomenal, he just kept going. “You are so
tight, so hot!” He stroked across my prostate repeatedly. “I love having you
like this, being buried so deeply inside you!” His voice became hoarse.
“Take all of me, Robert!”
And I became a mass of sweating, pleading, moaning sex
slave. “Yes! Please, yes!” At that point in time, I would have done whatever
he wanted, up to and including murder and mayhem.
I knew we were almost there. I clenched my inner muscles,
and St. John cried out suddenly. I could feel his cock pulse as he poured
himself into me, and then my balls drew up tight, and I slammed into a climax.
Breathlessly, he sank down on me.
I ran my hand over his back, and rubbed my cheek against
his hair.
“Robert?”
“I’ll let you go in a second, St. John.” I didn’t
intend to, not really. We’d wake up stuck together in the morning, but I
didn’t care.
His lips wandered over my throat and up to my mouth. He
raised his head, so he was looking in my eyes, and with his lips against mine he
whispered, “I love you, Robert.”
****
I lay in bed, St. John draped over me. He had softened and
slid out of me, and my arse was pleasantly sore. He snuffled softly in his
sleep, his breath ruffling through the fair hair that covered my chest. Why had
I never allowed any of my previous lovers to do this to me?
It was a foolish question that didn’t even need thinking
to answer: none of them had been him.
Note: This starts from Gino’s POV, then segues to Da”s.
Part 22
Bruno Marrone, the man married to Callisto Marconi’s
sister, had a cousin who lived in the hill country outside of Rome. Mario
Marrone was le pecore nere of the family, the black sheep, who was always
causing trouble. He fancied himself a ladies’ man, and if it turned out that
the lady did not fancy him in turn, he saw nothing wrong with using force to
change her mind.
Which was how Gino Marrone came to be born. The poor little
scrap didn’t survive the hour of his birth, and neither did his mother, a
young girl who had suffered Mario Marrone’s attentions.
I did my homework well. I went to Italy Tanner Green, and
when I returned to London, I was Gino Marrone, not quite the sharpest tool in
the shed, but family. I was presented to Marconi by his sister and her husband,
and he took me on. I hung around doing odd jobs, and because I wasn’t too
bright, and he was afraid I would embarrass him, he kept me close.
What Marconi didn’t realize was that not long after I
joined his family, I had been contacted by Vincent Shaw and recruited to keep an
unobtrusive eye on him.
What Shaw didn’t realize was that I actually worked for
an extremely covert organization that had branched off of CI5.
Marconi wasn’t stupid, but he had a sadistic streak and
liked to torment those around him, including me on occasion.
Shaw wasn’t stupid. He knew I wasn’t the dumb dago I
pretended to be, but accepted it because Marconi had a sadistic streak, and Shaw
thought I was trying to protect myself.
And I walked a very fine line.
****
I had gone for a walk in the brisk December night and found
a callbox far enough away from Marconi’s house to believe myself safe. “Mr.
Blakeney.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line as the man I
had worked for since my discharge from the Royal Marines ten years before, my real
boss, sorted through the various identities I’d used at one time or another.
It never failed to amaze me that he always recognized my voice. “Gino. I’m
glad to hear from you. Are you all right?”
“Fine, sir. I’ve had to watch my arse a little more
than I like.”
“Oh?” Prior to this assignment, no one had ever taken a
romantic interest in my arse, and he was a trifle entertained by my predicament.
“Sorry, er… Gino. I realize this is a difficult situation for you. You will
be sure to receive a commendation.” I made a rude noise, and he chuckled.
“Now. What’s this deal that has Marconi over the moon?”
“He’s learned of a lost Spanish treasure ship, sir.
Sounds like it went down in a big hurricane, and some of its cargo is lying on
this island, available just for the taking.”
“What’s your take on it?”
“There was a hurricane in 1780, and a treasure fleet,
including the flagship, Queen of the Silver Rose, was destroyed in it. That much
of the story is true as far as I can discover. As for it going down near this
Island of the Great Burning…” I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me.
“It’s rather opportune for this information to come to
the surface at this time,” he mused.
“Too opportune, if you ask me.” I told him about the
merchant seamen who had shown up at the Battered Cruiser and paid for their
drinks in salvaged silver. “And then there’re these phone calls that Marconi
has been receiving. They’ve scared the shit out of him, although he’d kill
anyone who said as much.”
“Any idea who would want to do that?”
“He’s made his share of enemies, but Marconi is pretty
high up on the food chain. Most people are too afraid of him to strike at him.
Unless the order came from Shaw himself, I can’t think of anyone who would
even think of tangling with him.”
“Hmmm.” I could just picture Blakeney stroking that
long, lower lip of his. We’d only met the one time, when I was vetted to his
department, but I had never forgotten his almost beautiful good looks.
“Marconi’s been getting even more volatile of late.”
“Yeah.” It was getting hard for me to stay out of his
reach; he was becoming violent, also. “I understand that Mr. Shaw’s normal
equanimity is being severely tested. The fire at Marconi’s House of Oddities
has drawn too much attention to their activities; the Yard was called in to
investigate. Shaw is not happy!”
There was a beat of silence. “Perhaps this might be the
time to take Marconi out of the equation. What do you think… Gino?”
“Being out of the country should make it easier to
dispose of him,” I conceded. “As you say, Mr. Shaw is concerned. I’ve
worked for him long enough to know he doesn’t like being concerned; it
aggravates his ulcer.” I laughed softly, confident. “If I give him a bit of
a nudge, he might be willing to look the other way.” I let my boss hear that
confidence in my words.
“Just be careful.”
“Aren’t I always, Mr. Blakeney?
His voice became unexpectedly serious. “I’d be very
disappointed if Her Majesty had to hand that commendation to your next of kin,
rather than pin it on your chest.”
I had no next of kin, but James Blakeney was aware of that.
He was also aware that in my personal file, which was buried so deep no one but
he knew of its existence, he was listed as my next of kin.
“I’ll be careful,” I assured him, then hung up to
place a call to the man who ran Great Britain’s underworld. “Mr. Shaw, I’m
afraid Mr. Marconi is going off the deep end…”
****
“Hurry it up, Gino, you fucking moron! We gonna miss the
plane!”
I had myself firmly in my strong-but-not-quite-bright
henchman persona. “Sorry, Boss.” I gave him a vague smile and got in beside
the driver, who put the Mercedes into gear and headed for the airport.
We arrived at Heathrow to find the two seamen waiting in
the BEA international lounge. The shorter one was smoking a cigarette, while his
friend was chewing gum. Mr. Marconi sneered at them and went to sit off by
himself. I wasn’t surprised that he didn’t harangue the airline
representative to make sure he got the best seat. The man who booked the flight
for us would have dared give him nothing less.
“Hey, Gino, come join us, mate.”
Regretfully I shook my head. I had to guard Marconi. He was
still dangling the lure of being his lieutenant before me. I stood next to where
he sat and tried to look nervous. I’d told him I couldn’t afford plane fare
when I’d come to England, and so had taken the train. This was supposed to be
my first flight.
The airline representative switched on a microphone.
“Ladies and Gentlemen, BEA flight 1415 to Rio de Janeiro with the connecting
flight in Frankfurt, Germany will depart shortly. All those holding first class
tickets please board now.”
First class had two really big, comfortable-looking seats
on each side of the aisle. I made sure the Boss was settled comfortably, and
then passed back into the tourist section. The jet wasn’t very wide. There
were four seats on one side and three on the other, and I found the row that we,
the two sailors and I, had been assigned.
There was a touch to my arm, and I glanced back at the men
who followed me.
“Uh, Gino, would you mind taking the aisle seat?” the
taller one asked. His eyes were hidden by the sunglasses he wore, even though
there wasn’t much sun that morning.
I stepped aside and let him slide past me. Andy paused to
reach into the overhead compartment and pull out a blanket, then settled himself
next to his friend. He spread the blanket over both their lower bodies and
smiled when he saw me watching them. “Ricky gets cold easily,” he said. I
realized abruptly that his voice no longer had the lower class quality to it,
and I wondered about that.
A stewardess came by, making sure all the seats were in
their upright position and informing us that as soon as the jet had become
airborne, beverage service would begin. We would have to wait for the Frankfurt
connection for breakfast, though.
There was a crackling sound from overhead speakers. “Good
morning, ladies and gentlemen. This is Captain Everard, and I’m pleased to
welcome you aboard BEA’s flight to sunny Rio de Janeiro. We’re first in line
for take off, and we’re about to begin taxiing. Our first stop will be
Frankfurt, Germany. We should arrive there in approximately one hour and three
quarters for a brief layover before we continue on to our final destination in
Brazil. So sit back and enjoy the flight.” The microphone clicked off.
I sighed and made sure my seatbelt was fastened, then
stretched out my legs and took a paperback from my coat pocket. It was one of
Ian Fleming’s, Dr. No. I opened the book and began to read.
The two sailors beside me behaved as discreetly as
possible, although I could tell that under the blanket their hands were all over
each other. Made me rather horny. It had been a while since I’d shagged.
Working for Callisto Marconi, I had to stay alert. Word was Marconi was a rabid
heterosexual, but I didn’t care for the way he eyed my arse from time to time.
The look was… hungry.
I’d mentioned it to Mr. Shaw, and he’d shrugged. “You
do whatever you have to do, Gino. Even that.” I shuddered, not because the
thought of having sex with another man disturbed me, but because if Marconi ever
realized he had latent homosexual tendencies, he’d incorporate more pain into
his sex play than was usual even for him. “You
know you’ll be rewarded.”
Yes, I’d be rewarded, but would I survive long enough to
enjoy it?
****
The jet finally touched down in Rio de Janeiro. The flight
hadn’t been that bad, but Mr. Marconi had a decidedly greenish cast when we
met at the baggage carousel.
“Geez, Boss,” I grinned vacuously. My bag was at my
feet, and I waited patiently for his suitcase to come around. “That was a bit
of all right! I ain’t never been on a jet before. Ricky said it wasn’t a bad
flight, just long.”
Andy and Ricky had already claimed their bags and were
watching with interest.
We walked out of the terminal and into the hot, muggy
atmosphere that was Rio, and Mr. Marconi looked as if he was about to melt into
a puddle. He wrestled out of the cashmere coat that had been so suitable for
London. “Bugger!” I was surprised that Ricky grinned at the boss’
discomfort, but I imagined he had no idea how dangerous that could prove to be.
“Don’t you laugh at me!” Mr. Marconi snarled, almost frothing at the
mouth. He yanked Ricky’s sunglasses off. “Don’t you ever fucking laugh at
me, or I’ll rip off your balls and stuff 'em down your throat!”
I went on the alert, in case a situation erupted, but,
“D’you mind, Gov? The light hurts my eyes.” The tall sailor still didn’t
seem perturbed by the uncontained fury he faced. Ricky took the shades from my
boss and put them back on. “Where do we go?”
Andy just stood to the side, observing, but his relaxed
stance belied the tension I could discern just beneath his surface. This was a
dangerous pair, and I couldn’t understand why Mr. Marconi wasn’t aware of
that.
“I’ve had rooms booked for you in a youth hostelry.”
Nothing less than third or fourth best for his minions. Not like Mr. Shaw, who
would have put us up in a decent hotel near the beach. “Wait there until you
hear from me.” Of course, he wouldn’t be in the same place with the hired
help.
“I’m sure we can find something to keep us …
occupied.” Andy was flaunting the relationship with his partner.
“Yeah.” Ricky’s expression was bland, but I was
certain if we could see his eyes, they’d be hot. “You going to be with us,
Mar… Mr. Marconi?”
The boss was not in the best of moods. I wondered if he had
been able to sleep on the flight at all. “Don’t be so bleeding ridiculous.
I’ll be staying at the Copacabana Real.” He signaled me to step aside with
him. “I may need you to hire a boat, Gino. I’ll let you know. Now beat it. I
gotta get some rest. My arse is draggin’.”
I was looking forward to the time away from the mercurial
bad man. A shower, a nap, and then dinner in the small cantina next door. I’d
need to stay close to the phone, but maybe I could find someone who would be
interested in whiling away the afternoon and evening.
The youth hostel was comprised of six tiny bedrooms and a
communal bathroom down the hall. Andy and Ricky each had a room at the end of
the corridor, but I was certain they would wind up sharing one. They disappeared
behind one of the doors, ostensibly to unpack.
I went into my room and removed clean clothes from my
duffle, then found a towel and headed for the bath. I stripped and pulled aside
the shower curtain, and let out an involuntary yell.
My companions came pelting into the tiled room. I was
clammy and sweaty, and I was balanced on the sink, swallowing heavily. “Gino,
what is it?” They scanned the room, but saw nothing.
“It’s… it’s in the shower.” I pointed shakily.
“It’s fucking huge! Jesus, I’m sorry, this is so childish!”
“Stay back with Gino, Drew.” ‘Drew’? Ricky’s
hands were clenched, and he approached the shower cautiously. With a rapid
movement of his forearm, the sailor thrust aside the shower curtain. For what
seemed like forever, he just stared into the tiled space.
“Da’, be careful, don’t get hurt! What is that?”
Ricky… Day…whoever… began to laugh and bent to pick
the thing up off the floor. He stroked it with careful fingers and showed it to
us. I shuddered, feeling my gorge rise. It was an extremely large, extremely
hairy, “Tarantula. She’s a beauty. All right, my pretty one, off you go
now.” He unlatched the window and released the spider, and it scurried away.
Then he smiled at me.
I lost my balance and skidded off the sink and onto the
floor, landing so hard on my arse that my jaws jammed painfully together. I
looked up into his eyes and stared at them in disbelief. “Bloody, fucking
hell! You’re… you’re the snake boy Marconi went on about.” I scrambled
to my feet.
His hand went up to his face, and he glanced at his
partner, who joined him and smiled ruefully, running his fingers over his cheek.
“One of your contacts has fallen out, Yank.”
I didn’t even see the fist that connected with my chin
and knocked me unconscious.
****
“Gino.” Hands patted my cheek, first one, then the
other. “C’mon, Gino. Wakey, wakey, mate.”
My jaw throbbed. My arms were fastened uncomfortably behind
my back. I moaned around the gag in my mouth and opened my eyes to meet a cold,
reptilian stare.
“Your boss is on the phone.” Something sharp was
pressed just below my adam’s apple. A drop of blood, and then another, made
its way down to pool in the hollow of my throat. “I’m going to take out the
gag and let you talk to him, and if you give him the least idea that there are
problems here, I’ll cut your throat.”
I swallowed hard and nodded. The sock was removed from my
mouth, and I swallowed again to work up some moisture, hoping that at least the
sock had been a clean one. He held the phone to my ear, and I knew that both
sides of the conversation would be audible. “Boss?”
“Yeah. The docks, five tomorrow morning. Slip
thirteen.” Marconi sounded even more discontented than normal.
In spite of my circumstances, I reacted as Gino would.
“Bugger, Boss! That’s a damn unlucky number!”
“Never mind that!” he snarled. “Just be there, and
make sure those two are with you!” He hung up before I could say another word.
“Sorry, Gino. We don’t want to hurt you, but you’d
definitely be in the way.” A cloth soaked in something pungent, ether, I
thought, covered my nose and mouth, and I tumbled helplessly into a soft, black
cloud.
####
I stood looking down at the body that was bleeding out into
the soil of Isla Queimada Grande, Island of the Great Burning. The golden
lancehead wrapped around my arm raised his head from where it had been resting
on the back of my hand and stared unblinking into my eyes. //Very nicely done,
little brother. Thank you.// He hissed softly, his forked tongue flicking in and
out to test the air for more prey, and I placed him on a low-hanging tree
branch. Without a backwards glance he was gone.
There was a sound behind me, and I turned. //It still
lives.// A large, webbed foot nudged the almost lifeless body. The disgust in my
Brachian father’s mind colored his communication.
//Not for long.// I envisioned the sharks that frequented
the stretch of ocean just beyond the reef. //I'll dispose of him there.//
He ran a hand over my hair. //Go back to the Josie. I will
deal with this.//
I shook my head. //You took care of Sarone. Pop handled
Halliwell. This is my responsibility.// I took the heavy signet ring from
Marconi’s middle finger and put it in my pocket. //Someone will demand proof
that he is gone.// I got a firm grip on his foot and began dragging him through
the underbrush to the other side of the island.
Dad sighed and picked up the other foot. //Actually, it was
Esme who had the enjoyment of dining on Paul Sarone. You really are being quite
selfish, Da'ric. I haven't had any pleasure in this matter at all. And if your
young man sees any blood on you, I imagine he will be quite concerned.//
//Drew?// My burst of amusement surprised him. //Once he
finds out it isn’t mine, he’ll just be ticked that I didn’t let him come
along. There’s something I should tell you about him, Dad.// I intended to
reveal Drew’s unusual genetic history to both my parents together.
I felt the fond exasperation in the caress his mind gave
mine. //Da'ric, it is quite obvious to both your father and me that this Andrew
Dorincort means more to you than a casual … How would David put it? A casual
roll in the hay.//
The image he projected, of Drew and me tumbling down a hill
covered in straw, had me sputtering with laughter. //Dad!// In spite of
his vast storehouse of knowledge of things extraterrestrial, there were still
Terran expressions that left him at a loss.
//I am so pleased to be a source of amusement to you,
Da’ric.// But I could tell he was pleased to have lightened my mood. Again his
hand stroked over my head. //As long as he makes you happy, my son.//
//He does. I don’t understand it. We’ve known each
other such a short time. It worries me, Dad.//
By this time we had reached the beach, floated the body out
past the breakers, and let the current take it. There was no more blood loss,
and I wasn’t sure if the sharks would take him. There were always
opportunistic scavengers in the ocean; it would just be a matter of leaving the
body where it could be found by them.
We waded back to the shore and watched as deceptively mild
bumps caused the now lifeless body to rock. Abruptly the bumps became savage
tearing and rending. In seconds there was nothing left, and I sighed in relief.
Dad grinned, a truly frightening expression if one were not
familiar with him. //Did you truly think I would allow that, Da’? A little
encouragement is all that was needed. Sharks can really be quite susceptible to
suggestion. And now it’s time to return to the Josie. I am interested in
learning what is so unusual about this young man on whom you have settled your
heart.//
He placed his arm over my shoulder, and we walked back up
the hill and through the dense forests of the little island. We were on the
downward trek when a streak of gold launched itself toward me. Before I could
react, a blur of black fur was there between us, and savage jaws snapped closed,
catching the snake just behind its head, safely out of range of those venomous
fangs. The huge wolf gave a furious shake of his head, and the snake’s head
was severed from its body. It continued to writhe, coiling violently upon itself
on the forest floor.
The wolf spat the remains out of his mouth, his lips
wrinkled in disgust at the taste, his eyes pinning me to the spot. His ears
flattened to his skull, his tail held low, he stalked me, low-pitched, menacing
growls rumbling through his massive chest. My father leaped in front of me, his
battle claws extended.
And I put myself between my lover and my father. “Drew,
it’s all right. I could have handled it!” The sound the wolf made was
uncannily like a growled curse. He sat down on his rump, disgruntlement written
in his expression, his dark eyes glaring at the being beside me. I swallowed and
licked my lips. //Dad, this is Drew.//
My father watched silently as the wolf morphed into his
human form. Drew rose to his full height, gloriously naked, and gave himself a
vigorous shake. “What do you mean you could have handled it?” His attention
was focused solely on me. “That snake would have bitten you before you could
have done anything to prevent it.”
Dad’s lips curled back over his muzzle in amusement.
Drew ignored the large extraterrestrial who towered over us
both. “You would have bled to death like Marconi!”
“How…?”
“I was watching through the binoculars.”
“Ah. So you thought if a lancehead tried to attack me, I
couldn’t do this?” My hand shot out to capture a snake that had launched
itself at us even as I spoke. It writhed in cold fury. //Ah, little one, that is
not well done.// It whipped its body around my arm until it formed a living
gauntlet. I stroked its head, and gradually it calmed.
//It’s a good thing you have a way with those creatures,
Da’.//
I shrugged. //I understand its unhappiness, Dad.// I turned
to my lover, who was standing in numb bewilderment. “The gene pool on this
island is so limited these snakes have evolved into three sexes; there are true
male, true female, and then those like this poor little one, and the one you
killed, a combination of the two. I’d be spitting mad also, if I couldn’t
enjoy my mate.” I released the beautiful, deadly snake and watched as it
slithered away. “I think perhaps we had better go. They are becoming quite
agitated.”
The three of us made our way quickly down to the beach
without further incident. On the rocky soil were the remains of Drew’s
clothing. I picked up his tattered shirt and he looked abashed. “Well, I
didn’t have time to get out of them properly, did I?” He found what was left
of his shorts, and scrambled into them. “I was so bloody frightened, Da’. I
thought I’d be seeing you die before my eyes!”
“Ah, Brit, d’you think I’d leave you, now that I’ve
found you?” I nuzzled his lips, and they parted to let my tongue duel with
his.
//Da’ric.//
“Sorry.” I laughed and leaned my forehead against my
lover’s. “Drew, this is my dad.”
Drew looked up. And up. He cleared his throat and extended
his hand. “How… how do you do, sir? I’m… er… happy to make your
acquaintance.”
Dad’s lips curled back revealing razor-sharp teeth, and
he accepted Drew’s handshake. //I’ll meet you back on the Josie, Da’. Your
father is becoming quite anxious.//
//Anxious? Anxious? I’ll show you anxious, you big green
dragon! Get our son back here!//
//Of course, David. Shall we go, children?// Dad slid into
the surf and disappeared.
I swallowed a grin. It never failed to tickle me, the way
Pop had Dad twisted around his finger. “Let’s go, Brit. I’d like to
properly introduce you to Pop. He really isn’t as disreputable as he
appeared.”
We climbed into the dinghy and began the row back to the
Josie, Pop’s new boat. I began to sing, “‘In Camden Town, where I did
dwell, a butcher boy, I loved quite well…’ Drew, love’s a silly thing
to die for, but it’s a damn good thing to live for!” As we reached the cabin
cruiser, I shipped oars and gazed fondly at the name on the bow. “Desejo do Coração, Drew.”
“What’s it
mean, Da’?”
I sighed happily.
“Heart’s Desire, Brit.” And I pulled him to me and took his mouth in a
thorough kiss.
****
My fathers were at
the wheel, Pop’s hands competently steering the Josie back to Rio, while Dad
stood behind him, wrapping him in a tender embrace. The difference in Pop’s
appearance was amazing. He’d washed out whatever it was he had used to streak
the hair on his head and chest, and he no longer looked like a grizzled harbor
rat.
“So, Da’, this
young man is a shape-shifter? I imagine your life will be rather interesting.
Have you decided where you’ll be living?”
“You’re taking
this awfully well, Pop.” I’d expected at least some degree of shock.
He gazed up into
his partner’s eyes, and rubbed his face against Dad’s chest. “This is what
all parents live for.”
“Learning their
son has committed himself to a creature of legend?”
Pop gave Dad the
wheel, stepped forward and hugged me, then ruffled my hair. “Learning their
son has found his own heart’s desire. Welcome to the family, Drew. Welcome.”
Note: Scarso piccolo bastardo= poor little bastard. A jumper is a sweater. The Iron Duke is Arthur Wellesley, the Iron Duke of Wellington, who defeated Napoleon at Waterloo. Gino/Tanner's POV
Part 23
When I regained consciousness, my neck was a little sore, I
had a splitting headache, and my stomach was roiling in protest. I always
reacted that way to general anesthesia. I breathed shallowly through my mouth
and began testing the bonds that secured me.
They were rank amateurs; they'd left me lying comfortably
on my bed. There was even a glass of water with a straw nearby that I could
easily reach. While the seamen had tied my ankles together, they hadn't secured
them to the cords that fastened my wrists behind my back, which would have made
it almost impossible for me to untie myself.
I sat up in bed and began edging my hips backwards until I
was sitting on my hands. Biting my lips to keep the groans silent-- it had been
a long time since I'd been so stupid as to allow myself to be taken-- I managed
to work my hands past my thighs, then curled my legs in and angled my arms
further forward. Finally I got my feet through; my arms were in front of me.
I toppled sideways onto the bed, panting and sweating from
the exertion, and brought my wrists up to my face. It took a bit of studying,
but once I saw how they had tied the knots, I started worrying them with my
teeth. It took about twenty minutes, but I managed to free myself.
By the time I got down to the waterfront, they were long
gone, of course. I asked around and learned that Captain Reed, whose cabin
cruiser Desejo do Coração had
been tied up in slip thirteen, was expected to return late in the afternoon.
When I told one of the fishermen that I wanted to hire his boat to go to the
Isla del Queimada Grande, he shook his head emphatically. “No! No, senhor! Proíbe-se!
It is forbidden!”
There was nothing more I could do at that point, so I
returned to the hostel. I entered the bath cautiously in case I might find
another unwelcome visitor, but I was the sole occupant and showered quickly,
then decided to have a meal at the cantina next door. Once I had eaten, I felt
much better. There was still time to kill. I thought about buying one of those
Brazilian bathing suits and going down to the beach at Ipanema for a swim, but
the surf was rough and the water was cool. Not only would I not get to see the
tall and tan and young and lovely girl from there, but after about half an hour,
my pale British skin would start to burn.
I went sightseeing instead. I visited the little chapel in
the base of the statue of Christ the Redeemer on Corcovado, and saw Sugarloaf
Mountain, the bay, and downtown Rio from that vantage point. I was on my way
back to the hostel when, “Senhor.”
My hand went to my waistband, where I carried a small
revolver. This wasn’t a bad part of Rio, but it paid to always be careful. I
looked around. “Eu não falo o português,”
I told the stunning
redhead.
He smiled at me.
“Is no problem, senhor. I speak five other languages besides English.” His
lashes lowered flirtatiously, and he tipped his head to one side. He had to be
in his early twenties, with skin the color of warm, café au lait. “If the
senhor is at… mmm… loose ends?”
“How much?” He
named a price, which I automatically converted to reals. Expensive, but not
exorbitantly so, considering what it included. What the hell? I had nothing
better to do, and there were still a few hours before my wandering flight mates
returned. “I cannot bring you back to my room,” I told him regretfully.
His teeth were
stunningly white. He gestured toward a small building that I hadn’t realized
was a hotel. “This place is quite safe, senhor. They will not permit me to
leave until they have spoken to you and been assured that you are unharmed and
satisfied with your service.”
I wasn’t worried
about my safety; I knew twelve different ways to kill a man without even
reaching for my gun. Still, it was nice to know that while prostitution was
legal in Rio, they did not have a free and easy attitude toward taking advantage
of the clients.
I ran my eyes over
him once more. He was approximately the right height, about five feet nine or
ten, although his eyes were very dark. I imagined once I had him stripped, he
would prove not to be a natural redhead, but if I took him from behind… I
could pretend. “What’s your name?” I asked as I fell into step beside him.
“You may call me
whatever you wish, senhor. I will be whoever you want me to be.”
//No, you could
never be who I really wanted.// I shook my head, and he smiled agreeably.
“Paolo, senhor. I
am Paolo.” And as Paolo, he was very, very good.
****
I was on my bed, the bonds back in place when the two men
returned. They were so strictly amateur; they wouldn’t notice the way my hands
were tied. I’d knotted the cord and wound it around my wrists. They observed
me from the door for a long moment before entering. “Sorry we had to do this,
Gino.”
“Where's Mr. Marconi?”
“He won't be coming back. He's dead. He got excited when
he saw the island and fell overboard. Sharks got him.”
“Was anything left?” They shook their heads. Bugger. I
wasn't unhappy the bent bastard was gone, but it was my responsibility to see to
his demise. If I didn't have anything to back it up, I was as good as dead
myself.
Ricky gently pushed me onto my stomach. “Don't try to be
a hero, Gino.” I could feel the tugging as he sliced the ropes, and hoped his
knife wouldn’t slip and cut my wrists. “Your boss is dead. He was a
worthless piece of shit. It you try to avenge him, I'll kill you.”
I doubted he’d have the intestinal fortitude to stick a
knife in me, but if he was trying to impress his boyfriend by playing tough guy,
I was willing to go along with it. “Why would I want to avenge Callisto
Marconi's death? As you said, he was a worthless piece of shit.” I made a
production of rubbing my freed wrists, then sat up to untie my ankles. “There
are people in London who'll want proof that he is dead.”
“Got it covered, mate.” Andy bared his teeth in a
wolf’s grin and nodded to his partner, who pulled something out of his pocket:
Mr. Marconi's signet ring, the ring his father had given him, the ring he had
never taken off his finger. Ricky dropped it into my palm.
“Thanks.” I turned it over and over, then looked up at
them. “I'll change my ticket and get the next flight back.”
“We're not going back, Gino.” No, it wouldn't be safe
for them.
“Don't let me find you in London; I'd have to kill
you.” I had to say that; it's what Marconi's henchman would have said.
“You'd try.” Ricky's eyes glittered. He raised his hand
in farewell and hustled his partner out of my room. Within ten minutes they had
cleared out.
I wondered what part they had played in Callisto Marconi's
death, then shrugged as I went down to the front desk to call the airline.
Marconi was out of the London underworld scene, and that was all that mattered.
****
The man who stood guarding the door was huge, not only
tall, but wide. He didn’t need the Magnum that he carried in a shoulder
holster to be intimidating. When he saw me approaching, his lips parted,
revealing a gold tooth that reflected the light. “Oi, Gino.”
“Oi, George.”
He squeezed my shoulder. “Rum go, mate.”
I bit my lip and looked away from his compassionate gaze.
“Mr. Shaw wants to see me.”
George nodded and opened the door, and I walked into the
underworld kingpin’s office. “’Allo, Mr. Shaw. I came as soon as I got
word. Oh, er… Should I come back another time, sir?”
He was standing by his desk, a plump brunette dressed in
somber black in his arms. “Gino. Come, come.” The woman turned to face me,
and a shiver ran down my spine. Marconi’s sister. Her eyes were pale chips of
ice. “I was just offering Giacomina my condolences.”
I walked toward her, my arms hesitantly extended. “Mina.
I’m so sorry. I didn’t do a good job, did I?”
Although she pulled my head down into her arms and kissed
first one cheek and then the other, her expression remained cold. “Gino. What
made Cally decide he had to go deep-sea fishing off Brazil?”
I darted a glance toward Mr. Shaw, and he gave a slight
shake of his head. She had no idea that the boss wanted her brother whacked.
“He never shared his plans with me, Mina.” I made my voice quaver. “He
just told me to pack, and I packed.”
“Sit, Gino. Bruno, pour us all a drink,” Mr. Shaw
instructed him. Of course Mina’s husband would be with her.
I went to a chair and sank down heavily, my hands dangling
between my knees. “Bruno.” I let my eyes well with tears as I looked up at
my ‘cousin’. I accepted the glass of whiskey and gulped it incautiously,
then coughed as it burned its way down my throat.
He patted my shoulder roughly. “Scarso piccolo bastardo.”
“What happened?”
I shuddered and sniffed hard. “Our first day out, Mr. Marconi hooked a
swordfish, a beauty. She must have weighed six hundred, maybe seven hundred
pounds.” I extended my arms all the way out to show how big, then gave it up
with a helpless shrug. “He unfastened his chair harness; I don’t know why he
did that, and the next thing I knew, that bitch of a fish pulled him over the
side!” I looked at Giacomina Marrone, my eyes tortured. “I had his hand,
Mina! I was able to get his hand. I tried to pull him back up, honest to
god! but… Something got ahold of his lower body and wouldn’t let go! This
shark… Jesus, Mary and Joseph!” I scrubbed my face. “Mr. Marconi’s hand
was all sweaty, it started to slide through mine. The captain ran for his rifle;
he was leaning over the side to shoot the goddamned thing, but it was too
late.” Tears trickled down my cheeks. I fumbled in my pocket and held out my
hand, palm up, revealing the signet ring he had never taken off in the years I
had worked for him. “His hand slid out of mine. I grabbed for his jacket,
but…” I broke down and sobbed.
She took the ring from my hand, and closed her fingers
tightly around it. “Mother of god!” she whispered.
“I’m so sorry, Mina! I’m so sorry!” I risked a peek
up at her as I ran my sleeve under my nose and eyes, smearing the moisture of my
tears over my cheeks.
Distaste was written on her face. “At least you were able
to bring his ring back to us.” Mina turned away and sank into a fair
reproduction of a Queen Anne chair, her hands fisted in her lap, her feet
planted solidly on the floor. Discreetly, from the corner of my eye, I observed
her actions. She slid the ring onto her thumb, the only finger it would fit, and
sent a glance to her husband.
The lines around Bruno’s mouth were tense, and I knew it
wasn’t because his brother-in-law was dead. “Mr. Shaw, what happens to The
Family now?”
“I’ve been watching you, both of you, Bruno. I’ve
seen how you tried to minimize Cally’s excesses. You have a handle on the
business. I will turn the Marconi family over to you.”
All business now, Giacomina Marrone rose and briskly shook
the mob boss’ hand, then brought it to her lips in a sign of respect.
“Grazie, Mr. Shaw. You won’t regret it, I promise you. You’ll… ah…
you’ll take care of that small matter of business we discussed?” Bruno
joined her and slid an arm around her waist.
Mr. Shaw raised an eyebrow, smiled noncommittally, and
called out, “George!” The big man opened the door. “See my guests get
safely home.”
“Sure thing, Boss.”
The door closed behind them, and Mr. Shaw wiped the back of
his hand off on his trousers. He went to his desk and poured himself another
glass of whiskey. “That was a trifle over-the-top, Gino.”
I took out a handkerchief and wiped off my face, then
joined him and filled my glass as well. “Sorry, sir. I wasn’t expecting to
see them. It was the best I could do, spur-of-the-moment.”
“She wants you dead, you know.” His eyes were hooded.
“I rather had that idea. She’s Mr. Marconi’s sister,
after all. What are you going to do, sir?”
“I need something delivered to my contact in the Vatican.
I’ll be sending you. Unfortunately, you will have an accident.” He sighed
mournfully. “The drivers in Italy. They’re so reckless!” His voice became
dark, threatening. “If you return to England, I will have you killed,
Gino.” He reached into his desk and withdrew a billfold. “Consider this
severance pay.”
I accepted it and examined the contents, a wad of pound
notes, then slipped it into my back pocket. “I understand, sir. It’s lovely
in Rio this time of year. Perhaps I'll go back there. It’s been a pleasure
working for you, Mr. Shaw.” That was a lie, but it was what Gino Marrone would
say.
“Just a second.” He reached further into his desk.
“You will deliver this to Cardinal Bartoli.” This time he handed me a small,
silver-encrusted chest. He didn’t tell me what was in it; I was just the
errand boy, after all. “All right, that’s all, Gino. Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Mr. Shaw.”
So Gino Marrone returned to the country of his birth and
was struck down in the streets of Rome by one of those crazy Italian drivers. He
was rushed to a nearby clinic, but the doctors were unable to revive him. There
was a small funeral. Tasteful floral arrangements were sent by representatives
of Vincent Shaw and the departed’s cousins. Three weeks later, Tanner Green
stepped off an Alitalia airliner in Heathrow.
****
There was a knock on the door of my flat, and I paused in
the midst of writing my report. I laid the pen down on the desk, reached for my
gun, then rose and crossed the narrow space. “Yeah?” I asked. It was later
than I had realized, past midnight, but I was not too weary to exert normal
caution.
“Tanner?” I recognized that voice, although always
before I’d heard it over a telephone line. “It’s…”
I tucked the gun in a bowl of artificial flowers that was
on a small stand and unlocked the door. “Mr. Blakeney. This is a surprise.
Won’t you come in?” I took his jacket and hung it up on the coat rack, which
was on the other side of the door. He was clad in a casual cable-knit jumper and
dark grey trousers, but he looked better than anyone I had ever seen dressed in
evening clothes. I felt scruffy in comparison, wearing only faded denims and a
shirt that had seen much better days.
My boss spared me an interested glance as he walked into
the cramped room, but refrained from commenting on my attire.
Trying to appear nonchalant, I reached for the jumper I had
hanging over the back of a chair. “I’m still working on the report, sir,”
I said as I fought my arms into the sleeves. Fortunately, the jumper was in
better shape than my shirt. “But I should have it on your desk by tomorrow.”
“There’s no rush. I thought you were supposed to be
recuperating from your plastic surgery.” That was what that little clinic in
Rome specialized in.
“Don’t remind me. It gives me a start every time I pass
a mirror.” I ran a careful hand over my nose and cheekbones, which were still
sore, and then threaded my fingers through my hair.
He smiled into my eyes. “You always were too pretty.”
Hoping he wouldn’t see how aroused his words made me, I made a casual affair
of sitting and crossing my legs. “This gives you the look of a rugged
individualist.”
I gestured to the other chair. “Well, at least I can move
around London without the fear of having my balls ripped off.”
He paused for a moment, then hitched up his trouser legs
slightly, and sat down and crossed his own legs. “Yes, Giacomina Marrone is
proving to be as volatile as her brother. I think even Vincent Shaw is looking
over his shoulder.”
“Couldn’t happen to a more deserving guy! May I get you
a drink, sir?”
“Tanner, it’s after hours. Do you think you could call
me James?”
I became very still. He wanted me to call him James? “You
want me to call you by your first name, sir?”
“Is that such a difficult thing to do?”
“Uh… no. Of course not. James. Um… brandy…
James?”
“That would be grand, Tanner. How did you know I take a
brandy in the evening?”
I’d made it my business to know. “Lucky guess.” I
stood and went to fetch the bottle. I had first
tried this particular French brandy ten years ago, and found I enjoyed the
slightly fruity taste. It was hard to come across a reasonably priced bottle,
but with the hazard pay I had received for this last job, I’d been able to
splurge.
He joined me by the liquor cabinet and took the bottle,
examining the label. “Marquis de Montdidier V.S.O.P.? Oh, I say! You’ve got
very nice taste, Tanner! This is one of my favorites, did you know?”
“Glad you approve.” I grinned at him, only letting my
gaze linger on him for a second, then took a couple of brandy snifters from the
cabinet that had been built into the bookshelves that lined one wall. While I
held the glasses, he opened the bottle and poured a couple of fingers for each
of us. He set the bottle aside and took a snifter from me, then cradled it in
his hands, warming the brandy. “Are we drinking to anything in particular?”
He hesitated, then shook his head. “Then I’ll propose a toast, shall I?
‘Here’s to us; who’s like us? Damn few, and they’re all dead!’”
James laughed, touched his snifter gently to mine, and
swallowed, savoring the taste. “Good choice, Tanner.” He returned to his
seat, stretched his legs out before him and lapsed into silence, contemplating
the deep golden brown liquid in his glass.
I regarded my own drink pensively; I liked him being in my
flat but... “Mind telling me what’s going on, sir? James,” I hastened to
correct when he frowned at me. “It’s not your MO to come see me after I’ve
completed an assignment, and I know you didn’t come here to compliment me on
my taste in brandy.”
He worried his lush lower lip, and the desire to sink my
teeth into it became so great I had to look away. After a moment he said,
“That nephew of mine looks to be settling down.”
Ah. He wanted to talk about his family. There had been
times when I would call to fill him in on an operation, and afterwards he would
somehow sense my need to hear a voice I could trust. He would talk to me of his
family, among other things. I made myself comfortable in my own chair, an
oversized wing-back. “Germaine?” I would never distress James by informing
him that the Ashford heir had, on more than one occasion, purchased illegal
substances from one of Vincent Shaw’s associates. I would have talked to the
wanker about it myself, but some people don’t want to listen. “Never tell me
Lord Ashford finally found a woman he considers worthy of the slimy little
bugger?”
“Tanner! That is my family, I’ll have you know!”
“Sorry.” I widened my eyes, and he knew I wasn’t. “Still, makes me glad I’ve none of my own to speak of!”
“Does it really?” He looked sad for a moment, then
concealed his expression by raising his glass to his mouth. “No, I’m
speaking of St. John.” He swallowed.
“Your sister’s youngest? He’s just a baby, James!”
“He’s nineteen, Tanner.”
“There you go, a baby!” I twisted sideways in my chair
and let my legs dangle over the side. “St. John’s getting married? So,
who’s the lucky girl?”
“Not exactly married.” He cleared his throat. “And…
er… not exactly a girl.”
“Beg pardon? We’ve only the two sexes, James, and
…” A flush mounted his cheeks. “Oh. Oh, I see! So St. John prefers
boys?”
His eyes narrowed. “Do you have a problem with that,
Tanner?”
“Of course not. I prefer boys myself on occasion.” Oh,
bugger, that did not just come out of my mouth! “I shouldn’t have said
that!” Not to him of all people! It was my turn to blush, and I took a hasty
swallow of brandy. It went down wrong, and I choked and gasped, tears streaming
down my face. He jumped up and came to me, and pounded my back until I stopped
coughing. “Enough, enough!” I protested. I sniffed hard and ran the heel of
my hand under my eyes.
A small smile curved his lips. Before I could wonder about
that smile, he sobered. “St. John’s become involved with Robert
Dorincort.” I shook my head, the
name didn’t ring a bell. “Robin Dorincort?”
“No, never heard of him.”
He seemed stunned. “Tanner, he’s bedded every
good-looking man in London!”
I bit my lip to keep from asking if he had been one of
them. “James, I don’t imagine you came to see me this late at night just to
tell me your nephew is seeing someone with a bit of a reputation. Now suppose
you tell me why you are here?”
He began to pace the room. “I need your help, Tanner.”
“Consider it done.”
“I won’t ask for assurances that this stays within this
room… Pardon me?”
“What?”
“You said, ‘Consider it done.’”
“Oh, yes. And?”
“You don’t even know what I’m going to ask you.”
I couldn’t let him know that whatever it was, I would do
it. I feigned impatience. “Look, sir. It’s almost one in the morning, I’ve
still got this bleeding report to finish, and my face hurts like a son of a
bitch. Get on with it, do!”
He had the greenest eyes. They stared into my ordinary
brown eyes briefly, and then slid away. He wandered around the room, studying
the artificial flowers by the door, the books that lined the shelves, the
seascape that was on a wall, the view out my back window.
James Blakeney stared so intently at that view that I took
the opportunity to examine him closely. A little above average height, his body
was firm, with long, sleek muscles, and I knew he practiced some form of martial
arts to keep it so. His hair was a thick mass of deep auburn curls. I wondered
what they felt like to touch. My fingers itched with the need to find out, and I
curled them into my palm.
He spent so long staring out the window that I became
concerned, and the hairs on the back of my neck seemed to stand up straight. Had
I been traced to my home? “James,
is there something out there?” I crossed to stand beside him, but the glass
simply reflected back the two of us.
“Hmmm? No. It’s… nothing. Where was I?”
“Nowhere, exactly. You were going to ask for a favor.”
“Yes.” But it took another minute before he began
speaking. “Fifteen years ago, my sister ran away with another man… an
archeologist, I believe. I was out of the country; by the time I returned they
were long gone, and my parents had more or less accepted her doing a flit. I,
myself, was pleased that Pamela had found a chance at happiness after that cold
fish, Ashford.”
“Am I correct in assuming that there was something more
to your sister taking French leave of her husband?”
“You always were quick, Tanner. I was a trifle surprised
that Pamela never wrote, but then she never was one for letters. That was around
the time of the Suez incident, also, and I was called on to… well, that’s
neither here nor there. There was all that unrest in the Congo, and I didn’t
want to upset my parents any more than they already were. You see, Ashford was
using the excuse of Pamela’s desertion to keep the boys from them, and they
were… concerned.”
“Bloody bastard.”
“Quite.” His smile was tight. “That wasn’t the
least of it, Tanner. A couple of years after she left, Ashford claimed he
received a telegram from some tiny African country, informing him that his wife
and her companion had been killed during an insurrection.”
“Bloody hell!” I murmured in sympathy. He squeezed my
shoulder, and I could almost feel each finger imprinting itself on the flesh
beneath my jumper and shirt. “Ah hem. You were saying?”
“On New Year’s Eve, I learned that St. John had never
been informed that his mother was dead. That struck me as… odd.”
“Bloody odd! You want me to investigate your
sister’s death? I can call in a few favors. I have some contacts…” Some
that he didn’t know of.
“Thank you, no.” He reached up as if to tug a lock of
my hair, but it had been cut short to aid in the alteration of my appearance,
and he wound up just touching it lightly. “I already know that there was no
such telegram sent from that country, simply because that country did not have a
telegraphy system until the following year.”
“Shades of Sherlock Holmes! Then what do you need me for?
Don’t get me wrong, I’m pleased that you do, but…”
James opened his mouth, but said nothing. He licked his
lips, took a breath and cleared his throat, then went to his jacket. In an
inside pocket was a folded sheet of paper, which he withdrew and spread
carefully on my desk over the report I had been working on. The paper appeared
exceedingly fragile, and I commented on it.
“This is the original blueprint of Ashford’s townhouse,
as it was commissioned by the Iron Duke’s grandfather. I want you to study the
cellar dimensions; that was something you excelled at in the Marines, I
believe.”
I nodded absently as I braced my hands on the desk and
leaned forward to study the lines that formed walls and floors. I’d started
out as an illustrator in the Marines, operational graphics and intelligence
support. “I expect this should be a piece of cake in comparison,” I grinned.
James stood close to me, his shoulder brushing against
mine, and he reached across me to point out a number of rooms in the cellar. I
was engulfed by the warmth and the scent of the man beside me.
I forced my mind away from the thought of what his lips
must taste like and tried to concentrate on the plans before me. “I’ll need
to actually get into the house.”
“I anticipated that, Tanner. I’ll see to it that
Ashford receives a telephone call from the Liechtenstein consulate, informing
him that Germaine is being considered for one of the hereditary princesses. He
should be so over the moon about it that I doubt he’ll recall he never applied
for her hand.”
“Ah. A bit of breaking and entering while the
viscount’s away?” I rubbed my thumbs over my fingertips in anticipation.
“Nothing like keeping my hand in!” I rather wanted to dazzle him with a show
of brilliance.
“Sorry to disappoint you, dear boy, but St. John has
given me his key. The entry will be made in broad daylight.”
“Servants?” I asked hopefully.
He shook his
head, biting back a smile. “It will be the servants’ day off.”
“Bugger. You’re taking all the fun out of this,
James.” I almost missed the glance he sent my way. It was… affectionate? I
went very still, then took a quiet breath and returned to the plans before me.
The aftereffects of my surgery must have been having me see things that weren't
really there.
“Well, I’d best be off, Tanner. I’ll meet you at ten,
day after tomorrow.”
“Just one second! You’ll be meeting me?”
He was amused. “How else do you plan on getting the
key?”
I conceded gracelessly. “Just remember, I work alone,
James!”
“Not this time, Tanner.” My mouth dropped open, but he
had his jacket off the rack, and he was out the door before I could object. As
my boss, he got the last word in all the time.
Didn’t mean I had to like it, though.
Part 24
On the return trip to Rio de Janeiro, Da’ric was almost
giddy. I’d never seen him like that, practically drunk on relief and happiness
and the adrenaline rush of destroying the last of his enemies. He leaned into my
side, then bounced across the deck to hurl himself at the big extraterrestrial
who accepted his enthusiastic hugs indulgently. They had the same golden eyes
with vertical pupils, the same webbing between their toes, although the
patterning of Da”s skin was not nearly as pronounced.
The resemblance to his Terran father was much more obvious,
the dark hair and lean build. I had learned that David Reed was not a simple
expatriate American boat captain, but a highly renowned ichthyologist.
My lover wrapped his arms around the man who was his Pop,
actually lifting him off his feet. Dr. Reed laughed with pleasure and ran fond
fingertips over his son’s cheek. And Da’ grinned at me over his shoulder.
I had never realized how strong Da’ was, how very capable
of taking care of himself. Robin had seen it that very first night; why hadn’t
I? Because I hadn’t wanted to? Because I couldn’t see him wanting me
otherwise?
All of my life I had been the one who protected my
siblings, from everyday hurts, from nightmares, from any harm that might befall
them. As the shape-shifter, that was my responsibility, my place in the family.
After the incident on the Isla del Queimada Grande, where
he had snatched a deadly fer-de-lance right out of the air before it could sink
its fangs into him, it had suddenly struck me like a bolt out of the blue. If
Da’ didn’t need me to protect him, to place my body between his and whatever
danger might threaten him, what did he need me for at all?
“Drew, are you all right?” He was back beside me, his
hand on my arm. I nodded and forced a smile, looking down at the fingers that
traced random, deceptively innocuous patterns on my skin. “Come on, Brit. You
can’t stay out in the sun like this, you’ll burn. Pop should have a shirt in
his cabin that will fit you.”
We went below, and as tempted as I was to lay claim to his
body, I hesitated. I told myself that this was his fathers’ cabin; taking
their son on their bunk would not be proper. Da’ glanced at me curiously, but
he could read the ambivalence in my mind, and he hesitated in turn. He pulled
out a drawer in the captain’s bunk and found a shirt. I accepted it
gratefully. Already I could feel the heat rising in the skin over my shoulders.
In spite of my black hair and eyes, my skin was as fair as any of my blond
siblings. I knew if I weren’t careful, I’d have a nasty sunburn.
“Just a second, Drew. Pop always used to keep aloe vera
on the Jo. Let me see if he has some on this boat.”
“The Jo?”
“Ah! Success!” He showed me the bottle and led me to
another cabin. I was about to question our change of location, but, //Our
cabin.// He continued, “Desejo do Coração, Pop’s first boat.” His eyes
grew sad. “She was a good boat. Those bastards blew her up that day.”
“Da’.” Things began to fall into place. “The first
night we were together, the first night you were in my bed, you spoke in your
sleep. It… er… it sounded like Joe. I thought it was a… a lover’s
name.”
He was pouring lotion into his palm, and he paused. His
eyebrows rose. “You thought I would call another man’s name while I was with
you?” He gestured for me to turn around so he could examine the reddening
patches.
I obeyed, embarrassed now by the jealousy I had felt.
“Yes, well…” I decided to change the subject. “What does desejo do coração
mean?”
He smoothed the cool lotion over my back and shoulders. I
shivered, and he leaned in and nibbled and licked at my earlobe. “It’s
Portuguese for ‘heart’s desire,’ Drew. It’s what Pop was searching for
when he sailed her up the Amazon.” He tossed the bottle of lotion aside.
“And… and he… he found it?” I asked, hardly able to
think straight from the feel of his hands on me. They were painting designs on
my chest now. If I could just concentrate, I knew I’d be able to discern what
they drew, but his fingers toyed with my nipples, rolling and lightly scratching
them, then stroked down past my navel, following the line of hair that
disappeared beneath the shorts that hung low on my hips. I sucked in a breath,
and they dipped lower, and he accepted the silent invitation to continue his
exploration. His fingers edged past the waistband. //Da’!// I groaned.
He had stopped just a millimetre away from my cock. //Tell
me what’s wrong.//
“You’re not touching me, is what’s wrong!” I rolled
my pelvis forward, but his hands slid away to grip my hips. “Da’ric! Stop
teasing me!”
“I thought you didn’t want to do anything.”
“What?” My mind had become foggy with desire.
“My fathers are still above deck.”
“Bother your fathers!” I turned into him and wrapped my
arms around his neck, pulling him snugly against my body.
“You bother me, Brit!” He nuzzled my lips apart, then
fit our mouths together and licked delicately at my tongue. I was so lost in the
unexpected tidal wave of lust that swamped me that when his mind slid beneath my
shields, I was unable to prevent him. I froze. Now he would see all my faults,
all the failings, the petty resentments I’d been able to conceal from
everyone, even my family.
He pulled back in shock, and I tightened my arms for a
second before releasing him. “You… you won’t want me any more. I
understand. I’ll let you go.”
“The hell you will!” He clouted my shoulder with enough
force that I actually rocked backward a step. “D’you think I’m so shallow
that I…” This time he hit my chest with the flat of his hand, and I stumbled
back onto the bunk. “I don’t need you taking care of me, Drew! I’m a big
boy! And you’re an egotistical son of a bitch if you think for one fucking
minute that it matters a fig to me that you aren’t perfect! Look at me, for
chrissake!” I refused to meet his eyes, and he snarled in frustration. //Drew,
look at me!//
Helplessly, I stared into his golden eyes, and suddenly I
saw past them, saw the sum of the parts that made up my lover: the little boy
growing up in a world of unearthly beauty, the young man who, after a single
attempt at a relationship, buried himself in his studies, determined to settle
for nothing less than what his fathers had found with each other.
Beyond that, though, were the assaults by Sarone and
Halliwell; the long, drugged months in captivity when his only companions had
been a snake and an emaciated little wolf; freedom, and the dark satisfaction as
his claws sank into an enemy’s gut, eviscerating him. And then, a starburst of
exploding fireworks surrounding a presence that approached him, that Da’ had
been waiting for forever. //I thought I’d never find you, Drew.//
//Me?//
//You. In all this wide world, you are the one I was
waiting for! It wasn’t chance that brought us together, it was destiny, fate!
Keep me with you. Guard my back, as I’ll guard yours.//
Shakily I stood and opened my arms, and he pounced,
covering my neck and face with kisses, until finally he settled on my mouth,
exploring it voraciously.
His hands were busy unfastening my shorts, which slid down
my legs, leaving me naked. He stepped back, shedding his own trousers. The gaze
he swept over my body was almost a physical caress. I was stunned when he
dropped to his knees before me and nuzzled my groin, breathing in the hot scent
of my arousal. My own knees almost buckled when he took my cock into his mouth,
his tongue dipping into the slit at the tip, and then curling around the head
and tugging gently.
My fingers tightened in his black hair and urged him to
take more of me. I didn’t want to hurt his mouth, but I needed to be deeper in
it, to be sucked down into his throat. All I could do was babble, “Da’,
please!” “Da’, more!” “Da’, yes!”
Colors as yet unnamed swirled through my mind, flooded it,
splashed onto my lover. I moaned and rocked forward faster, and he hummed in
approval. And while he swallowed me deeper, his tongue curled around my shaft in
spirals, from the tip to the base. Later, he would have to tell me how he did
that. Later, he would have to do that to me again.
Now… now I could feel my balls draw up tight to my body.
“Da’!” I tried to warn him, but the first spurt of come hit the back of
his throat. Abruptly he released me from his mouth, capturing the remainder of
my orgasm in his hand.
I was too replete to wonder what he was going to do. He
pushed me back onto the bunk and parted my thighs. A semen-coated finger pressed
into my anus, and I shivered and moaned, still riding the crest of my climax,
and spread my legs, wanting more of him. A second finger joined the first, and
they thrust deeply into me, finding my sweet spot and teasing it relentlessly. I
hooked my arms behind my knees and pulled them back, surrendering to whatever he
wanted to do to me.
And then his fingers were gone, replaced by the pointed
head of his cock.
****
Once, in his sleep, I had examined his body, explored it
with curious fingers and lips and tongue. As I memorized his scent, as I licked
and lipped the smooth skin of his sheath, that so-soft, so-velvety skin, his
cock had slid out, hard and dusky. At the base, his knot was expanding, and he
began to ooze pre come. I dragged my tongue across the tip, and the taste of him
had exploded in my mouth. Da’ had welcomed me into his body, where I barely
had time to seat myself before I was coming like an untried boy. But he shivered
in my arms and groaned and spilled his seed between us. When I finally caught my
breath enough to raise my head and look up at him, his eyes were huge. //Never!
It has never been like that!//
****
His long, slim cock slid past the tight ring of muscle, and
he measured his length in me. I didn’t wonder what he had used to lubricate
his cock. There was no pain, as I had always feared, but there was a sense of
fullness, and each intense thrust burned. “Da’, what are you doing?” I
gasped.
“I’m making you mine,” he whispered hoarsely. My
inner muscles clamped down, trying to keep him lodged against my prostate, but
his hips rocked steadily, advancing, retreating, driving his cock against it,
and I yipped from the unbearable pleasure he was giving me. Abruptly, I felt his
knot enter me and plug my hole, and he began to swell. “Now, Drew! Now!”
His semen spilled into my passage, the heat like nothing I had ever felt before,
and I wriggled in a desperate attempt to get closer to him, to get him deeper
into me.
“Yes,” I moaned. His eyes were a rim of gold
surrounding the fathomless black pupils, imprisoning me in their depths, and I
surrendered willingly to him. “Yes!” I was thrown headlong into a second
climax that I hadn’t even realized was near until I was engulfed by it.
I must have lost consciousness, because when I regained my
senses, Da’ was beside me, but no longer inside me. He had cleaned us both,
and his fingers were stroking gently over my abdomen. “I’m sorry, Brit.
I’ve never done that before.”
“Well, if it comes to that, neither have I. I must say,
you surprised me!”
“Please tell me I didn’t hurt you.”
“Not a chance of it, Yank! I had no idea that was what a
knot felt like. I think I’d like to do this again.” There was an aura of
sadness around him, and suddenly I became frightened. “Da’ric?” //I know
le petit mort, love, but aren’t you carrying it a bit far?// He let me see
into his mind, and I was stunned. //A baby?// I angled up on my elbows and
stared at my flat stomach in confusion. “You made me pregnant?”
“No, Drew. You didn’t pay attention! I’m sorry. I
should have told you. I can’t make anyone pregnant. The results of a
Brachian/Terran cross is not ... I’m a mule.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I’m… sterile, Drew.”
I sat up so quickly my action dumped him off the bunk onto
the hard deck. My arse was sore, and I shifted to get comfortable. “You’re
an arse, Da’. Or else you’re trying to pick a quarrel to break up with me.
You can’t think something like that would matter to me?”
“It doesn’t?” He looked so hopeful I could have wept.
Instead, I growled, “Did that arsehole you used to be
involved with throw you over because of that?”
“What asshole?”
“That Den character you spoke with on the phone.”
“Den? Good god, no! He was my friend; he’s still
my friend. He would never hurt me like that!” Da’ got to his feet, rubbing
his bum. “Besides, he had no idea it was even possible! He thought one of my
fathers was my biological parent, and the other the… I don’t know… adopted
one, I guess.”
“How did he explain your…” I gestured to encompass
his slightly alien body.
“He didn’t. He never brought it up, so I never said
anything about it. Well, Drew, you have to realize, I’ve known Den for about
ten years. He’s used to me looking like this. He just accepts it.”
“Well, I accept it too. Now come back up on the bunk.
It’s my turn to ravish you.”
And somewhere in the back of my mind, I could feel the
amused approval of his fathers.
****
Dr. Reed backed the cabin cruiser into its slip with easy
competence and told us there was no need to rush back from the hostel; he was
going to restock the Josie with supplies, and it would take some time.
Da’ laughed. “Is that what they’re calling it these
days, Pop?” he teased. Dr. Reed blushed, and from below deck, where he had to
remain out of sight, the big extraterrestrial’s mind radiated humor.
We swung over the side to the dock and made our way back to
the youth hostel. “Will Gino be all right, do you think, Da’? We were gone
longer than I anticipated.”
“As long as he didn’t struggle against the bonds. The
knots are a little tricky, kind of like those Chinese pinky cuffs?” He could
see from my expression I had no idea what he was talking about. “Those things
you stick on your pinkies, and when you try to get out of them, the more you
pull, the tighter they become. Follow me? Anyway, the knots I tied can become
dangerous if he fights them. They’ll cut off his circulation, almost like a
tourniquet.”
“Da! I thought you liked Gino! He could lose his
hands!”
“I do like him; he’s nice enough. But this isn’t a
game of cops and robbers we’re playing, Drew.”
“I am quite aware this is a serious situation, Da’.”
“Serious as a heart attack.” His eyes were cool. “I
won’t risk your life just because Gino might be a nice guy who was led astray
by wicked companions.” We entered the hostel and made our way down the
corridor to Gino’s room. “Okay, here we go.” //Stay alert, Brit.//
Gino glared at us from the bed, but something was off,
about the way he was tied up, about the relaxed way he lay on that bed. He gave
the appearance of being almost… sated. Da’ caught my eye and shrugged, but
he proceeded with caution.
“Sorry we had to do this, Gino.”
Gino didn’t seem too concerned that he had been left
bound for all this time. “Where’s Mr. Marconi?”
“He won’t be coming back. He’s dead. He got excited
when he saw the island and fell overboard. Sharks got him,” Da’ lied easily.
“Was anything left?” Gino looked decidedly unhappy when
he saw our negative response. He moved restlessly on the bed, stirring up the
warm air, which had hung still in the room. Normal senses wouldn’t have
detected anything unusual about the odor that was layered over his own scent.
I sniffed the air discreetly, abruptly identifying that
faint odor. It was sex. I straightened from the wall against which I had been
lounging. Fortunately, Gino didn’t seem to notice my abrupt action or the fact
that I studied him intently. How in bloody hell had he managed to have sex?
Da’ carefully rolled him onto his front, and he grew very
still for a moment before extending his claws. //These knots. They aren’t the
ones I made.//
//You’re certain?//
//I’m certain. Keep an eye on him. I’m getting a bad
feeling about this situation!// The sound of his claws cutting through the cords
that were fastened around Gino’s wrists was similar to one I had heard in the
cellar of Marconi’s House of Oddities, only then he had been cutting through
flesh and cartilage, and I shivered. “Don’t try to be a hero, Gino,” Da’
warned him. “Your boss is dead. He was a worthless piece of shit. If you try
to avenge him, I’ll kill you.”
Gino seemed unperturbed by Da”s threat. He shook out his
wrists to get the circulation going, then began to work the knots that secured
his ankles, unwittingly revealing his familiarity with them. “Why would I want
to avenge Callisto Marconi’s death? As you said, he was a worthless piece of
shit.” He paused, resting his forearms on his knees, and regarded us somberly.
“There are people in London who’ll want proof that he is dead.”
“Got it covered, mate.” I was getting restless. //Hurry
up and give it to him, Da’. I want us out of here as soon as possible!// Da’
removed the ring he had been carrying in his pocket and tossed it to Gino.
“Thanks.” Gino’s gaze was flat when he raised it from
the ornate signet ring. “I’ll
change my ticket and get the next flight back.”
“We’re not going back, Gino.”
I stiffened. //Da’?// What was he saying? I didn’t
think I could live outside of my homeland, away from my family.
//Easy, Brit. Easy. He must believe we’re never returning
to England.//
“Don’t let me find you in London; I’d have to kill
you.”
“You’d try.” Da”s hand was warm on my back as he
pushed me out of the room. //We have to hurry. I don’t like this. There’s
something about Gino…//
Most of our things were still in our duffles. In a matter of minutes my shaving
kit was packed as well as any odd bits that were lying around, and we were ready
to leave. With a quick, backwards glance to make sure we weren’t being
followed, we headed out the door and went down to the dock and slip thirteen.
****
Lovely, serene, the Rainforest’s version of Shangri La,
the Black Lagoon was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. We spent our days
swimming and exploring, and our nights locked in a passionate embrace.
We’d finally tracked down the rainbow bass that had been
eluding Da”s Dad for years. I aimed my spear gun at it, about to fire the bolt
that would fetch us dinner, when Da’ gently closed his hand over the barrel.
//Let him go, Drew. I couldn’t eat him, and neither could Dad, in spite of
what he might insist otherwise. That fish is almost like one of the family after
all these years.//
The bass swam off, never realizing how close he had come to
being the guest of honor at a fish fry, and my lover and I rose to the surface.
I breathed in the perfumed air of the Lagoon, and Da’ gazed about him
thoughtfully. “The Black Lagoon is the most perfect place in the world,
Drew.”
“Yes.” Well, except for Dorincort Place. And Almeria
Hall. And the lovely green countryside of Kent.
I realized I was homesick. How was I going to tell my lover
I wanted to go home?
//You don’t have to tell me, Brit. I know.// “When do
you want to leave?”
“We’ve been away for almost three weeks.” Did I have
the right to ask him to leave this magical spot, and come back to the rain and
damp of England?
“I’ll tell Dad and Pop tonight. Would you mind if we
stopped in California before we went home? I’d like my grandparents to meet
you. And Den.”
“Home?” I was so dumbfounded by his use of that word
that I completely overlooked the mention of that person. “You won’t mind not
living in the Black Lagoon?”
“I’ve left it before, Drew. We’ll be coming back to
visit, won’t we?” He pulled me against him and rubbed his cheek against
mine. “I always thought the Lagoon was my home, but…” //You’re my
home, Drew. Wherever you are, that’s home.//
****
It was later that night. I’d just slid into Da”s body,
our hands linked, our eyes locked. His knees gripped my waist, and he arched up
languidly to meet each thrust. I growled. The moon hung full and fat in the
night sky, and I could feel the wolf trying to emerge.
Abruptly a wave of mental anguish overcame my lover, and
because our minds were linked, I felt it as well. It was so painful we cried out
in protest.
//Papa!// Da’ pushed at me, but I was already rolling off
him, and he bolted to the chamber his fathers shared, with me at his heels.
//Dad, what’s wrong?//
Ric’u was supporting his partner as he trembled in his
arms, wracked by shudders. //He woke like this from a nightmare. He refuses to
tell me.//
//I’m sorry.// “I’m sorry.”
//David, do not try to conceal this from me!// I had never
heard the big extraterrestrial so stern. //Please.// Or so beseeching.
“Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m sorry. Maybe the agouti
stew we had for dinner didn’t agree with me.” Dr. Reed’s complexion, which
had been grey, began regaining some normal color. He seemed to be recovering
from whatever terrors had disturbed his sleep.
//David. This has gone far enough. You are making yourself
ill. If you do not tell me what happened with Halliwell…//
Da’ stiffened. //What has Halliwell to do with this?
He’s dead!//
His Terran father glowered at his Brachian father, who
glowered back at him, a truly savage expression. //Are you happy, you green
dragon? You’ve upset the boy!// I
marveled that of all the emotions roiling in this chamber, fear was not one of
them.
//Da’ric is fine, David. It means nothing I am the one
upset, that you’ve upset me?//
Dr. Reed looked distraught. //I never…// He sagged
against his partner, his head burrowed under the alien’s chin. //It had to be
done, Ric’u. I had to be the one to kill Halliwell! I couldn’t ask
you to take on that burden! I couldn’t! It wouldn’t have been fair to
you!//
//David, I was raised to be a warrior. My shoulders are
broad enough to bear any burden, especially if it’s for you.// He tipped his
partner’s head up and gazed tenderly into his eyes. //At least share it with
me.// He exchanged glances with his son, their mental communication a private
one.
Da’ nodded, went to his Terran father, and hugged him.
“It will be all right, Pop. Dad will make it all right.” He kissed his
cheek, then turned to his other father and embraced him as well. //Good night.//
“Come on, Drew. Let’s go back to bed.”
“I’m sorry I disturbed you boys. This was the last
thing you needed on your honeymoon.”
I felt a blush starting. “Oh, er… that’s quite all
right, sir. It isn’t really a… That is to say…”
“Drew.” Da’ poked my arm in exasperation. “Say good
night.”
“Yes, of course. Good night, Dr. Reed, Ric’u.” I
followed him to the chamber I shared with him. “Will your Pop be all right,
Da’? Should we, perhaps, stay longer?”
“Drew. You want to go home.”
“Yes, but I can wait. If you need to be with your
fathers…”
He wrapped his hand around my neck and pulled me close to
him. “I really lucked out when I found you, you know that, Brit.”
“It wasn’t luck, Yank.” I kissed him softly.
“I never expected to find my heart’s desire across the
Atlantic.”
“I am truly your heart’s desire?”
“You are that. It scares me, y’know, when I think how
far away from me you were.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered, Da’. Sooner or later, we
would have met. We Dorincorts, you see, we search until we come to our
predestined end.
Notes: 13 degrees Celsius is 57 degrees Fahrenheit, the ideal temperature for storing wines. Many thanks to wb, who has access to the Net and isn’t afraid to use it. She found the sites dealing with human decomposition. Please bear in mind that at the time Ashford began to question St. John’s paternity, there was no DNA testing available to determine it.
Part 25
Robert thought I was asleep. I lay sprawled upon him, my
cheek above his heart, and the steady rhythm soothed me. Always before, when
we’d made love, and to me it had always been making love, he had possessed my
body. I didn’t know why this time he’d angled his hips up and allowed me to
slide into his heat. I used what he had taught me and pleasured him to an orgasm
so intense I was afraid he might never let me do it again. After all, Robert
Dorincort was never one to permit the loss of control.
I decided not to borrow trouble. He had been telling me for
the last few days that he loved me. If he continued to let me enjoy the
magnificent experience of fucking his snug, hot passage, I would accept it
without question. And if it never happened again, at least I would have this one
precious night.
I woke in the mid morning light of the first day of the New
Year so hard I ached. My lover was spooned up behind me, and his own erect cock
was nestled in the crevice of my arse. His fingertips stroked over my torso and
down past my navel, to lightly tug the curls that surrounded my cock. “I love
you, St. John,” he murmured sleepily in my ear, the warmth of his breath
causing me to shiver.
“Do you really, Robert?” I sighed and rolled over,
causing our cocks to glide against each other. I gasped, and Robert took
advantage of that to slide his tongue into my mouth. His hips mimicked the
movement of his tongue, and I moaned and began to suck on it gently, teasing him
in turn.
He smoothed his palms down my spine to caress the curve of
my buttocks, squeezing and kneading them, then finding the pucker of my anus and
pressing against it. I whimpered and pushed him onto his back.
His laugh changed to a groan as I began to wriggle down his
body, the hair on my chest teasing his nipples. I moved lower, pausing to give
his nipples a lick and a nip before moving lower to dip my tongue into his
navel. Robert was ticklish. He bucked beneath my mouth and gave a yelp, and I
raised my head.
“You will not do that again, Robert.”
“Oh, won’t I?”“ he demanded breathlessly, his deep
blue eyes glittering. “Why ever not?”
“If you do,” I moved lower, “then I will not do
this!” I swooped down and swallowed his cock to the root.
“St. John!” Robert groaned my name, and his hips arched
up, thrusting him deeper. My throat muscles rippled around him. I used one hand
to raise his balls up out of the way, then slid a finger over the sensitive skin
behind them. He was still slick from the last time I had had him, and there was
little resistance when I pressed my finger into his hole. I curled it and
stroked over his prostate. This time he shouted my name, and he came.
I swallowed and swallowed again, and licked him clean
before flopping over onto my back. Robert lay there in boneless satisfaction,
struggling to regain his breath. I smiled up at the ceiling. My cock was still
hard, and I ran my fingers up the side of it, across the flared head, gathering
drops of pre come that were beading there.
Suddenly, my hand was captured by Robert. I watched with
startled eyes as he brought my fingers to his lips, and one by one he sucked
them into his mouth. I whimpered.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me?” He straddled
my hips, and without taking his eyes from mine, he lowered himself onto my cock,
taking me into his body. My hips rocked up, the angle giving me access to his
prostate, and he groaned. He rose and sank on me repeatedly, riding me hard, and
he leaned over to take my mouth in a soul-deep kiss. His tongue fucked my mouth
as surely as my cock fucked his arse, and he captured the whimpers that spilled
from my lips. “Come for me, St. John!” he growled, his voice gravelly from
the aftermath of sleep and desire. “Come for me!” His inner muscles clenched
around my shaft, and I had no choice but to obey.
I knew there was a foolish smile on my face. I wound my
arms around his neck. “Robert, I love you so much!”
“I’m keeping you forever, St. John. Forever!” He
tried to move off me.
“No, please.” I tightened my arms around him. “Stay
like this.”
“I’m too heavy for you.” But his protest was
half-hearted. He liked lying on me, and he liked having my cock in his arse. We
stayed that way for as long as we could, and then he moved off me carefully.
“Come along, St. John. Let’s get cleaned up.”
****
Robert was standing in the doorway to the bath, watching me
as I picked up the odd pieces of our tuxedoes, cummerbund, trousers, the brocade
waistcoat that Robert had worn. They would need to be thoroughly pressed;
we had treated them so cavalierly the night before… I was lost in the
wanton memories of the night before. “St. John.”
I shook myself out of those memories, smiling. “Yes, my
dear?” I went through the pockets to make sure they were empty. In the trouser
pocket of Robert’s tuxedo, I found the cuff buttons I had given him when I had
rolled up my sleeves to prepare dinner. There was something else with them, and
I opened my hand to find a gold ring. I looked up at him in confusion and held
out the ring.
He was wearing casual trousers and an open-necked shirt,
the strong column of his throat lightly tanned from all the time he spent out of
doors. He looked so good my mouth went dry. Taking the ring from me, he reached
for my left hand. “I can’t put this on your ring finger, St. John, but in
some cultures this is the way it is done.” He studied my eyes intently.
“Forever, St. John.” He slid
the ring over my pinky. “My life,” he said, then removed it. He put it on my
ring finger. “My heart.” Next
came my middle finger. “My soul.” Finally
he settled it on my index finger, where the fit was perfect. “My love.” He
closed my fingers, kissed the ring, and then pulled me to his chest, where he
just held me.
“Oh, Robert…” His hand on my hip to steady me, I
stretched up on my toes and kissed him.
****
I hurried into the breakfast room, an apology on my lips.
Old habits died hard, and although I had been living with Robert Dorincort for
several weeks now, I did not want to do anything that would make him cross. “I
beg your pardon, Robert. I cannot think how I came to sleep so late this
morning!”
“Can’t you?” He placed his elbows on the table and
leaned toward me, cradling a cup of coffee in his palms, the same palms that had
caressed my buttocks as I had driven my cock into his snug, hot passage. The
smile on his face was so utterly besotted that I blinked, and my breath snagged
in my throat. “The fact that we spent the better part of last night making
love couldn’t have anything to do with your oversleeping, could it?”
I could feel a blush rise in my cheeks, and I laughed
softly. Ever since the early morning hours of the New Year, when Robert had let
me make love to him, when I had finally, freely confessed my love to him, things
between us seemed …
He reached for my hand and ran his thumb over the ring I
wore on the index finger of my left hand, effectively derailing my train of
thought.
“Will you be all right today?”
We would be going with Uncle James and a man he knew to
Father’s house. My uncle had a plan to get Father out of the house. Germaine
would be off with his disreputable friends, and the servants had the day off, so
we would be safe enough searching the cellar for the door I had apparently told
my lover was no longer there. The situation was … bizarre.
I did not know what possessed me to go down into the lower
level of Robert Dorincort’s townhouse. I did not even remember returning to
the kitchen with the bottles of wine. Something untoward must have happened,
although I recalled nothing, and I was afraid to ask what I had said that put
that tight expression on Robert’s face.
When I was about six I had ventured into the cellar of
Father’s townhouse, and Germaine had come tearing out of one of the rooms,
shrieking that it was coming, and it was going to get me. I could
not fathom at the time what it was, but Germaine’s palpable fear had
transmitted itself to me, and I was terrified. I had run up to my bedroom and
hidden under the bed for the rest of the day, and I had never again gone into
the cellar.
“I will be fine, Robert,” I lied. I did not want to
tell him that I was frightened of what that cellar held.
Robert was watching me as if he was not sure he could
believe my words. I took a soft, supple piece of leather out of my pocket and
ran it through my fingers, determined to distract him. “What have you got
there, Singe?”
I smiled at him and showed him the object, and he sucked in
his breath sharply. “Would you wear this for me, Robert?” I held it out to
him. It had taken a good deal of searching for me to find that band.
“You… you want me to wear this?”
“Y…. yes…. if you would not mind?” I held my
breath. If he agreed, this would declare Robert mine as surely as his ring made
me his.
He rose and came around the table to my side, and dropped
to his knees. His arms encircled my waist, and he laid his head over my heart.
“Oh, St. John.” He sat back on his heels, unbuttoned his collar, and bared
his throat. “Would you put it on me?”
I looked into his eyes and spoke softly. “My life. My
heart. My soul.” I fastened the leather collar around his neck. “My love.”
I rebuttoned his shirt, concealing the strip of black leather, and leaned my
forehead against his while I ran my fingers through his thick, fair hair. “My
love,” I repeated and kissed him.
****
There was a knock on the front door. “Robert, Uncle James
is here. Are you ready?” I opened the door. “Good morning, Uncle.”
“St. John.”
“Will you come in?” I brushed the lock of hair that had
fallen into my eyes off my forehead, and his eyes sharpened. He took my hand.
“What is this?”
“Beg pardon? Oh, my ring? Robert gave it to me.”
He blew out a breath. “So it’s serious, is it?”
“Yes, it’s serious, Blakeney.” Robert was just coming
out of the study, where he had been trying to deal with the books, which would
normally have been Andrew’s job. Robert scowled at my uncle. “Your family
didn’t take care of St. John when they had the opportunity.”
Uncle James’ eyes widened.
“Robert!” I whispered sharply, gesturing
surreptitiously to his neck. His fingers went to his throat, and he realized his
shirt collar was undone, revealing the band I had placed there. A dull flush
colored his cheeks, and he slid the top two buttons into their holes.
“I begin to see.” That was all my uncle had to say
about that. “St. John, there’s just one thing. I feel you should be
prepared. I have uncovered proof that your mother never left this country; in
fact, I am very much afraid she never left your father’s house. There is a
strong possibility that we may find her body today.” I felt myself turn pale,
and he patted my shoulder awkwardly. “We’re going to pick up someone I know.
Tanner Green is one of the best.”
“Best what?” Robert wanted to know.
Uncle James looked at his wristwatch, ignoring the
question. “We’d best leave now.
I promised Tanner we’d be there by ten o’clock.”
It was ten on the dot when we showed up at his friend’s
flat. The man who opened the door was just a bit taller than my uncle. He had
brown hair so dark that in certain lights it appeared black and eyes that were a
couple of shades lighter. His face
bore a slightly bruised look. I had heard about the results of plastic surgery
often enough at school, when one of the fellows would mention his mother having
gone for some nip and tuck work. He didn’t strike me as a vain man, and I
thought perhaps he had been in an accident.
“This is Tanner Green, an associate of mine.”
He smiled warmly at me, but his gaze sharpened as it swept
over Robert, who was hovering at my shoulder. For a moment I would have sworn
that Mr. Green recognized Robert. Then he gave his head a shake as if to clear
it, and his expression smoothed and became bland.
Uncle James concluded the introductions. “Tanner, my
nephew, St. John Ashford and Robert Dorincort.”
“Robin,” I corrected with a frown. “You may call him
Robin.” I called him Robert.
“Possessive little get, aren’t you?” Robert’s grin
was sultry, and he touched his throat, reminding me that beneath the collar of
his shirt was the leather band I had placed on him. This time I was the one who
blushed.
Tanner Green raised an eyebrow at that blatant bit of
teasing. He glanced toward my uncle. “I was just finishing breakfast. Would
you care for some coffee?”
Uncle James shook his head. “I’d like to get this over
with as soon as possible, if you don’t mind, Tanner?”
“Not at all, James. How much time do we have?” He was
looking at my uncle, whose attention was drawn inward; he did not see the
expression in Mr. Green’s eyes as they swept over him. I coughed lightly, and
Mr. Green’s lashes lowered. When he raised them again, there was no trace of
the longing I had seen in them. “James? How much time?”
“My contact at the Liechtenstein consulate will see that
Lord Ashford is kept occupied for at least a couple of hours.” Uncle James’
tone was complacent, but I shivered when I thought of Father’s reaction when
he learned that a princess would not be in his heir’s future. “Will that be
enough?”
“I’m running this operation, James. It should be more
than enough.” His grin was cocky.
“My BMW is downstairs. If you’re ready?”
“Quite.” He caught up a jacket, made sure his door was
locked, and we followed him down the stairs. “Are you going to let me
drive?”
Uncle James looked at him as if he had lost his mind.
“Tanner! You’ve wrecked enough cars! I’m not likely to risk my BMW with
you!”
Robert and I slid into the rear seat of Uncle’s car,
while Tanner Green made himself comfortable in the front. “My reputation has
been sadly maligned,” he mourned. His arm rested casually over the back of the
bench seat. Uncle James glanced at him before putting the car in gear.
It did not take us long to get to the townhouse, traffic
being light at that time of day. Uncle James parked at the rear of the stately,
elegant home. I wondered that I did not feel more of a sense of loss at having
been forbidden to return. We approached the door casually, and I inserted my key
into it and pushed it open. The house was eerily silent as we entered.
I stood in the middle of the back hallway and broke out in
cold perspiration. Robert felt me shivering, and he stayed close to me, keeping
a comforting hand on my back.
Uncle James was concerned. “St. John, perhaps you’d
prefer to stay above stairs?”
Stubbornly, I shook my head. “I have to know.” I led
the way to the butler’s pantry, where pressure on a latch disguised as the
British lion, rampant caused a built-in cupboard to swing open, revealing the
door behind it. A set of stairs descended into the cellar. There was a light
switch within hand’s reach, and I pressed it. “Be careful, please. These
steps are rather steep.”
Once we got down to the bottom, I found I could not go
further and stepped aside to let my uncle and his friend pass, then sank down
onto a step. Robert sat beside me. He rested his arm on my thigh and wound his
fingers in mine, and his thumb caressed the ring I wore. “It will be all
right, St. John.”
####
Before James Blakeney, the man for whom I worked, had left
my flat, he had given strict orders that I was to wait until the day after to
pay a visit to the home of Lord Allister Ashford.
So of course, I obeyed him. For about an hour. I was
certain that would be more than enough time to see him home. During that time, I
prepared, dressing in unrelieved black and slipping the camouflage paint I would
need for my face into a pocket in the leg of my cargo trousers. In another
pocket was a small torch. A knife was strapped to my calf, and my revolver was
nestled in its holster at the small of my back. I didn’t anticipate needing
them, but it paid to be prepared.
In the darkest hour of the night, I made my way to the
viscount’s townhouse and while he and his abominable son slept, unaware of my
presence, I familiarized myself with the layout of his very intriguing cellar.
Ashford’s cellar ran the length of the townhouse. Given
the history of this house, at one time it might have been intriguing, but now it
was simply creepy. The temperature was exceptionally chill because of the stone
walls, and the lighting was poor. You’d think the man would have heard of high
wattage light bulbs!
James’ nephew was disturbed by the atmosphere, and
knowing what we were likely to find here, I couldn’t blame him. I glanced at
the stairs where he sat huddled against his lover.
I sighed and turned back to the long, narrow space that
separated both sides of the cellar. No matter what, this was going to prove a
nasty business.
A number of doors opened off the central corridor. I
already knew three were simply for storage.
“I think our best bet would be to check Lord Ashford’s
wine cellar, James.”
“Which …?” I went to the wall with the single door,
and James’ eyebrows snapped together. “How, exactly, did you know this was
the correct door, Tanner?”
If I told him it was a lucky guess, and he didn’t believe
me, he might start to question my other ‘lucky’ guesses. I pretended I
didn’t hear him. His hand closed on my arm. Those elegant fingers of his, and
all he could think to do with them was jerk me backwards.
“Tanner? You broke in, didn’t you? After I strictly
forbade you to!”
“James, I’m an experienced field operative,” I
reminded him as I shook myself free. “I needed more information than you were
availing me.”
He gripped my jacket and hauled me to him so that we stood
chest to chest. “You could have blown this whole thing!”
I stepped back so he wouldn’t feel my cock, which had
been semi-hard since I’d opened my eyes that morning and known I would be
seeing him again. “Since when did you start thinking of me as incompetent?”
“Tanner, I’ve never… I know how capable you
are!”
“Then let me do my job, James.”
He scowled and released me, then tried to enter the wine
cellar. “The bloody door is locked, Tanner!”
I flashed my teeth at him. “As it always is.” I took a
small kit from my jacket pocket and pressed a thumbnail to the latch. The lid
popped open, and I selected a slender tool from it. “Step aside, James. Let me
show you how a professional does it.” I shot my cuffs and squatted down.
“Mind stepping out of the light, mate?” I took a deep breath to center
myself, then inserted the tip of the lock pick into the keyhole and moved it
gingerly. After a few seconds, there was a faint ‘snick’. I shoved the door
open with a flourish. “Entrez.”
“It’s black as a witch’s heart in here!” he
complained.
“James, James, James,” I chided. “This is why I do
what I do, and you don’t.” I handed him a small torch that I had brought
along. Within seconds, he’d found the light switch and the room was flooded
with stark, bright light. Racks of wines stood in the chill room, row upon row,
Ports and Cabernets and Pinots, Noir and Grigio, Chablis and Bordeaux and
Burgundies.
“How could one man hope to drink all this wine in one
lifetime?” I stayed in the doorway while James began his search.
“That is not his intention, Mr. Green. Some of those are
strictly investments. There is a ‘47 Port in there that I believe is worth
several thousand pounds. Other bottles he had laid down for special occasions,
such as my brother’s marriage, if it should ever come about.”
“You have doubts of that, St. John?” Dorincort was
curious.
“Well, my dear, Father cannot find anyone he thinks is
worthy of Germaine.”
I watched the two wistfully. Dorincort had been holding St.
John’s hand to give him some comfort, and he released it to place his arm
around his shoulder. He brought St. John’s hand to his mouth, caressing the
finger that bore a ring. St. John leaned into him and sighed softly. I echoed
the sound beneath my breath.
Meanwhile,
“Nothing!” James slapped the wall in frustration, and I joined him.
“Steady on, pe…please!” I’d barely caught myself in
time. “Pace off this wall, would you?” I stepped outside the chilled room
and measured the wall from the wine cellar door to the far end. “What’ve you
got, James?”
“Twenty-two feet.”
“Yes, well, out here it’s twenty-eight.”
“That’s a difference of six feet.” I kept my mouth
shut. He stuck his head out the door. “Tanner? That’s a difference of six
feet!”
“Yes, James, I got that.”
He snarled an imprecation. “Then St. John was right; at
some time or another, there must have been another room just past the wine
cellar.”
“I would think so. This stretch of wall appears to be
just a soupçon lighter
than the rest. I’d wager this is where the door was.” I went back into the
wine cellar and studied the long row of shelves that ran along the far wall. I
slid my fingertips over the sides, and then over the wall behind it, being
careful not to knock any of the bottles onto the flagstone floor. “‘Allo,
‘allo!”
“You’ve found something?”
“Perhaps. I think… Ah!” I curled my finger in a
shallow depression and barely got my arm out of the way as the center section of
the rack swung creakily, exposing another room. “Give me the torch, please.
And stay out of my range of fire.” I had my gun in my left hand, and I flashed
the narrow beam of light over the interior.
“What do you expect to come leaping out at us, Tanner?”
James demanded irritably, but he stayed out of my way as he followed me. “Good
god, this place is freezing! I can actually see my breath!”
While the room that contained the wine had been
approximately thirteen degrees Celsius, this room was frigid, probably around
zero. There was no light switch here; my torch was the only source of light. I
let it quarter the small room, and it wasn’t long before my eyes focused on
something on the floor. “Ah, fuck.” I’d really been hoping…
There was a faint, musty odor. I cast the light over the
outer walls and spotted a small, vented opening that must have permitted the
worst of the smells to be dissipated over the years.
I crouched down beside the skeleton and examined it. The
soft tissue was gone, but the outer layer of skin held the bones in place. I
didn’t have much forensic experience, but I knew enough to be able to tell,
even without the lady’s dressing gown that covered it, that it had been a
woman. The legs rested primly, side by side, and the hands were folded at her
waist. I angled the light up a bit higher, and the beam disclosed a lock of
hair.
Just behind my shoulder, James was breathing harshly.
“Oh, goddamn him! Goddamn his miserable soul!”
“I’m sorry, James.” The hair was auburn. “I believe
we’ve found your sister.”
####
Tanner wouldn’t let me go near the remains of my poor
sister. “We don’t want to contaminate the evidence, James.” I knew he was
right.
“Tanner. I want him to pay for this. If it even seems as
if he’s going to walk away, I will kill him myself.”
“Then we’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t walk
away. James, to a man like Allister Ashford, whose name is the only thing that
means anything to him, public humiliation is the ultimate punishment. I don’t
think he’ll want to face that. Now, you need to talk to your nephew, and I
need to make a phone call.”
Tanner went up the stairs in search of a telephone to put
in a call to his opposite number in the Yard, informing him of what we’d
found. I approached St. John. Dorincort stood shoulder to shoulder with him. I
ran a hand through my hair. “St. John, I’m so sorry…”
“Mama is in there, isn’t she, Uncle James?”
I nodded, and he began to tremble. Before I could take a
step to hold him, to shield him against that news, Dorincort had his arms around
him, supporting him. St. John’s left hand came up, and he gripped his
lover’s hand. Again I saw that ring.
“Dorincort, would you mind taking St. John home? Here are
my keys, you can drive the BMW…”
My nephew was shaking his head, his expression set. “I
will not leave, Uncle. She may have been your sister, but she was my mother. I
need to hear what Father has to say about this.”
I turned to his lover, hoping he would see reason. “When
Ashford returns home, I cannot vouch for his behavior. If he lost control enough
once… Dorincort?”
He grinned at me, that wolfish expression that warned me to
back off. “*I* need to hear what Lord Ashford has to say also, Blakeney.”
The sound of my teeth grinding together was audible. I drew
in a calming breath. “Very well. I expect it will be some time before your
father puts in an appearance, St. John. Would you be kind enough to brew us a
spot of tea?”
****
We were waiting in Lord Ashford’s study, Tanner and I, my
nephew and Dorincort. They had put together a surprisingly good tea. Or perhaps
I shouldn’t have been surprised, considering the meal he had prepared on such
short notice on New Year’s Eve.
St. John was raising his cup to his lips when we heard the
key in the front door. It opened and then slammed shut with such force the
teapot rattled on its tray. He turned pale, and his cup dropped from nerveless
fingers, splattering the thick area rug with its contents. Dorincort picked it
up and set it aside. “It’s all right, love.”
“Willis!” In the hallway, Ashford shouted in a
voice that would have done the military proud. “Oh, bugger, the man is
never around when he is needed!” He stormed into the study and came to a
shocked halt at the sight of us waiting there. “Blakeney?” His gaze swept
the room, and his lip curled when he saw his son. “St. John. What are you
doing in my home?” He stalked forward, fury darkening his expression. “You
know you are no longer welcome here!” Only when the man sitting beside his son
lunged to his feet and started toward him did Ashford realize his error.
“Dorincort!” I barked, but he ignored the order
implicit in my tone.
St. John seized his sleeve. “My dear.” Only then did
Dorincort rock to a halt, his hands clenching into fists.
I turned my gaze back to my one-time brother-in-law. “Le
jeu est fini, Ashford. The game is over.”
“What are you talking about?”
“My sister.”
“What about Pamela? She died years ago in another
country! Her body was never recovered!”
“She died years ago,” I concurred, “but her body has
been in the cellar of this house all this time.”
“Impossible!”
“Is it? You were the one who informed our parents
that she had run off with another man. You were the one who later
informed them of the telegram that notified you of her death. You were
the one who killed her, Ashford."
“What utter rot!” But the blood drained out of his
face.
“I think not. Pamela could accept your emotional abuse of
her, but when it spilled over onto your youngest son…”
Ashford became almost rabid. “St. John is no son of mine!
How dare you try to foist your brat onto me?”
“You sick bastard!” The notion was so outlandish
neither my parents nor I had ever given it an ounce of credence when Pamela had
tried to hint of how matters stood with her husband. “How could you think St.
John was mine? Pamela was my sister!”
“What has that to say about anything, Blakeney?” he
snarled, vibrating with hatred. “Men
have had their sisters before! I was just not gullible enough to believe the
whelp was mine! Look at Germaine, and then look at St. John! That red hair,
those green eyes! What further proof do I need that he is not my son?”
“You goddamned, vindictive fool! Didn’t you ever hear
of the mark of the Blakeneys? It is passed on directly from father to son. Solely
from father to son!” I was busy undoing my trousers, unmindful of the others
in the room. “If St. John was my son, he would have this!” On my lower back,
an inch or so to the left of my hip, was a velvety-brown birthmark, the size and
shape of a ha’penny. “St. John, if you wouldn’t mine lowering your
trousers?”
His mouth was set in a grim line, and his green eyes were
like chips of ice. He lowered his trousers enough to show that on neither hip
did he bear the mark of the Blakeneys.
Ashford staggered to the chair behind his desk, and he sank
bonelessly into it. “I do not believe it! I will not believe it! He
cannot be mine!” His voice was strident.
“Believe it!” I growled. At that moment the doorbell
rang. “And that should be the men from the Yard.” I nodded to Tanner, and he
went to let them in. “There is no statute of limitations on murder,
Ashford.”
“Uncle, if you do not mind, I believe I would like to
leave now?” St. John looked exhausted. “Robert, may we go home?”
Dorincort looked as if Father Christmas had left what
he’d been wishing for under the tree. “I’ll take those car keys now…
Uncle.”
Part 26/End
The band St. John had placed around my throat had been the
first sign he’d given that he was willing to commit to me, but now he had
said, “Robert, may we go home?”
He had called my house ‘home’. It was better than
Boxing Day and my birthday wrapped up in one. I had to be grinning like a loon.
I took the car keys from his uncle and escorted him from the gloomy house.
I knew St. John had been struck hard by his father’s
callous statement that he was not his son. It was one thing to suspect it, but
quite another to actually hear it spoken. He sat huddled in the front seat of
his Uncle James’ BMW, shivering from the reaction. I had the heater blasting,
and the temperature in the car was soaring by the time I got us back…
‘home’. I left the car parked in front of the townhouse I shared with my
brother Drew, and hustled St. John into the house. There would be time later to
worry about returning it to his uncle.
Mrs. Harris took one look at the pale, drawn lines of his
face and said, “I’ll brew up a pot of tea immediately.”
“Some food would be grand also, Mrs. H. Whatever you
might have?”
“Of course.” She disappeared into the back of the
house.
I shepherded my lover into the dining room. “St.
John…”
He shook his head. “Please, Robert. I cannot talk of
this. Not now.” His voice cracked, and he turned his face away. “Perhaps not
ever.”
“Then don’t.” As if he were my child, I removed his
jacket and threw it aside. Fortunately, it landed over a chair, but it could
have wound up on the chandelier for all of me. I put my arms around him and held
him snugly, letting my body heat seep into him. “Don’t. I’m here. I’ll
always be here.”
He leaned against me, his trust evident, and gratefully I
accepted it, another sign binding him closer to me.
Sooner than I believed possible, Mrs. Harris produced a
comforting meal of steaming, creamy tomato soup and toasted cheese sandwiches. I
sat St. John down and took the seat next to him instead of my usual place, and
she set the bowls and plates on the table before us. At first St. John just
toyed with his food, but after the first few spoonfuls, he tucked into it. I was
relieved to see the color coming back into his face.
“Will you be wanting anything else, sir?”
“Thank you, no, Mrs. Harris. Why don’t you take the
rest of the day off? I’ll clear this up later.”
“Very good, sir. See you do a thorough job, mind!” she
said, and while her tone was stern, her eyes were twinkling. I strove for an
innocent expression, and she wagged an admonishing finger at me. “Oh, and I
just wanted to remind you that I won’t be in tomorrow.”
“That’s right, you’re going to see your sister’s
new baby.”
St. John raised his head. “Please give Mrs. Nuttell my
very best, Mrs. Harris.”
She smiled warmly at him. “I will, indeed. She was that
pleased with the Paddington Bear you sent along last time for that precious
angel. As soon as things settle a bit, she intends to write a proper thank you
note to you all.” She nodded and returned to the kitchen to gather up her
things.
My lover felt my intent stare, and he shifted in his chair,
uncomfortable at having a good deed caught out, then turned to face me,
resolute. “Every child should have a Paddington Bear, Robert.”
“Of course they should, St. John. But why will Mrs.
Nuttell be thanking us all?”
His eyes dropped to his plate, and he concentrated on the
remains of his sandwich. “I told her it was from all of us,” he murmured in
a soft voice. “Things have been so hectic these last weeks, and I knew neither
you nor Andrew had the time to get the baby anything.”
“You are a wonder, d’you know that?” His head shot up
in surprise.” Your father is a complete and utter fool for not seeing how very
special you are!” His green eyes looked like drowned emeralds, and he blinked
furiously and averted his face. I hooked a finger under his chin and brought his
gaze back to mine. “Go along to bed, love. You’ll feel better after a nap.
I’ll be there as soon as I’ve made sure the kitchen is all right and
tight.”
I thought for a moment he would argue with me, but it was a
measure of his emotional exhaustion that he rose from his seat, kissed my cheek
and whispered, “Thank you, my dear,” and climbed the stairs to our bedroom.
By the time I was finished in the kitchen and went
upstairs, he was sound asleep in our bed. I stood in the doorway for a second,
just studying him. His chestnut hair was fanned out on the pillow, and the
blankets were cocooned around his shoulders.
I crossed to the curtains and pulled them closed, shutting
out the wintry afternoon sunlight, then stripped off my shirt and trousers and
slid under the covers, startled to find St. John was naked. His skin dimpled
with goose bumps, and he muttered a sleepy protest. I didn’t stop to wonder
why he hadn’t bothered to put on pajamas as he normally would. I spooned
behind him, cradling him against me, and he relaxed back into sleep.
I fell into a light doze. Afternoon flowed into evening
into night, and I didn’t need to be awake to be aware that the moon had risen,
a full, silver-white globe, the first full moon since St. John and I had become
lovers. I didn’t change; that wasn’t in my nature, but as always happened
during a full moon, a fine covering of hair grew over my body. I still didn’t
know how my lover would react when he realized that I truly did carry the wolf
strain, but for now, I didn’t worry. As he nestled closer to me in his sleep,
St. John hummed in approval and wound his fingers in the white fur.
The following morning I woke to find myself alone in bed.
The fragrance of freshly brewed coffee filled the house, and I smiled, knowing
my lover was feeling more like himself if he was making breakfast. I showered
quickly, dressed, and went in search of him.
“St. John?”
“Go on into the breakfast room, Robert. I shall be right
along.”
On the sideboard were a selection of chaffing dishes, and I
sighed happily. The boy could cook! I helped myself to some kippers and eggs and
had just sat down to butter a slice of toast when St. John entered with a carafe
of what smelled like Turkish coffee. Where had he managed to find that? Then I
realized he was still in a dressing gown, and I forgot about the coffee.
“Are you feeling quite the thing, green eyes?”
“Yes.” St. John came to me, his eyes on fire with
passion. I pushed my chair away from the table, intending to rise to my feet,
but he stopped me with a hand to my shoulder and dropped to his knees before me.
He made a space for himself between my knees and unzipped my trousers. My breath
snagged in my throat as he freed my cock and covered it with licks and kisses.
His hair feathered over my thighs, and I groaned. He curled
his tongue around the head of my cock and tugged gently, then slid it over the
thick vein on the underside before taking the shaft between his lips and sucking
strongly. I was unable to prevent myself from thrusting up into his mouth,
whimpering, “Oh, god…”
He gave a soft huff of laughter, his breath warm and
teasing on my spit-slicked shaft. “No, my dear, but thank you for the
compliment.” He stood and shrugged off his dressing gown, and I nearly came
right then. He was naked under it.
St. John turned, and before I could prevent him, he lowered
himself onto my rigid cock. He must have prepared himself before he came
downstairs, because I popped through the tight ring of muscle, and he took my
length effortlessly. My hands went around his torso to toy with his nipples,
pinching and scraping them, rubbing them to pebble hardness. I slid lower in my
chair, and he moaned as my cock found his prostate.
“Ride me!” I ordered hoarsely, and he began a steady
rhythm as he pleasured himself on my cock. He turned his face toward mine and
wound his hands in my hair, urging my mouth to plunder his. Whimpers and moans
spilled out into the morning stillness of the house. Mine? His? I bit at his
mouth, swallowing the sounds.
While my right hand tugged at the golden nipple ring, my
left was coating his cock with the pre come that was oozing from it, and I
jerked him off. His moans became sharper, more breathless. He found the angle
that drove my cock relentlessly against his prostate, and he rose and fell
faster.
His legs began to tremble, and his movements became
erratic. I ground my mouth against his and sucked his tongue into my mouth, and
he came, pouring himself into my hand. His inner muscles clenched around me as
he tried to milk my climax from me. Another two deep, hard thrusts, and I was
following him, filling his snug passage with my hot semen.
My lover laid his head back against my shoulder, and I
continued to feed off his lush mouth.
A sound so soft St. John didn’t hear it caused me to look
up in time to see my brother back quickly into the hallway. Drew? What was he
doing back in London? He and Da’ric weren’t due home for at least another
week.
“Is something wrong, my dear?” St. John asked, his
voice languid in the afterglow of our lovemaking.
“No, love.” I nuzzled the spot below his ear and
dismissed Drew’s untimely appearance. The table would have prevented him from
seeing that St. John was completely naked. Still, I had been so involved in
loving him that we could have been descended upon by a horde of inquisitive
siblings, and I would not have noticed. I leaned down and reached for his
dressing gown, and draped it over him so he wouldn’t get chilled. “Not as
long as I have you.”
####
I had enjoyed our stay in the United States, but after the
first few days I’d become increasingly more tense. Something was happening in
London, and I needed to be there. Da’ric had wound his fingers in my hair and
murmured against my mouth, “Of course, Drew.” He’d changed our
reservations, packed our duffles and kissed his grandparents good-bye, promising
to return for a longer visit in the near future.
Now my lover was exhausted, and not merely because there
had been too many time zones in such a relatively short period of time. That
little adventure in the lavatory of the SST had taken quite a bit out of him, no
pun intended. I smiled smugly, remembering his surprise when I’d dragged him
into the loo, locked the door of the tiny compartment, and gone down on him.
“I’m wiped, Drew.” He yawned. “I’m going up to
bed. Give my apologies to Robin, please.” He saw my smile, and his eyes
narrowed. “You don’t intend to tell him why I’m so tired, do
you?”
“No, Yank, I wouldn’t dare. You might be tempted to
tell him about what happened in the front cupboard in your grandparents’
house.” Where he had tripped me and beaten me to the floor. His grandparents
were supposed to have been at their country club, celebrating his Granddad’s
very first hole in one, but they’d arrived home earlier than we had
anticipated. Da’ was sprawled under me, and I’d put my hand over his mouth
to mute the sounds he was making as I plowed into his hot, tight passage. He’d
teased me by licking my palm and probing the spaces between my fingers until I
could barely subdue my own moans.
I kissed him lightly and ran a hand over his arse.
“I’ll just let Robin know we’re home and be right along.”
Da’ric leaned into me with a tiny growl, nipped the skin
over my adam’s apple, then shouldered one of the duffle bags and got the other
under his arm, and strode up the stairs. The casual exhibition of his strength
never failed to amaze me. I smiled and licked my lips, admiring the easy
movements of his arse and thighs as he climbed the stairs. Da’ paused and
glanced back over his shoulder. //Don’t be too long, Brit.// I could feel the
caress of his thoughts as if he physically stroked my cheek, and I hurried down
the hall.
Robin and St. John were in the breakfast room; I could hear
the murmurs of their voices, as
well as the soft sounds of kissing. The possibility of catching my brother and
the aristocratic young man on whom he’d settled his heart snogging
tickled me. For about five seconds I debated interrupting them, and then decided
it was my prerogative as the elder brother. I stepped into the breakfast room,
my mouth opened to tease them, expecting them to jump apart in embarrassment.
My mouth snapped shut. I was not expecting St. John, nude
from the waist up, to be seated on my brother’s lap and nuzzling his mouth.
His left palm was against Robin’s cheek, and I was astounded to see a ring on
his index finger that I vaguely recognized as one Papa had given Robin years
ago. I was even more astounded to see the leather band Robin wore around his
neck. I backed out of the room.
I paused in the hallway, and I gulped and ran my fingers
over my own throat, wondering how I would react if Da’ric should ask me to
wear something like that. //Only if you wanted it, Drew.//
Before I could start up the stairs, the front doorbell
chimed. I could hear Robin swear softly, and then St. John whispering,
“Perhaps if we do not answer, they will think no one is home, and they’ll go
away?”
But whoever was at the door left off ringing the bell and
began pounding. I sighed and went to see who was there. A glance through the
peephole revealed someone who bore a very strong resemblance to St. John
Ashford. I sighed again and opened the door, and he stalked in, followed by
another man.
“You’re Andrew Dorincort, aren’t you? I’m James
Blakeney. This is my associate, Tanner Green.” My nose twitched. “I need to
speak with my nephew, St. John.”
Tanner Green? I didn’t recognize him, but something about
his scent… “Robin.” I raised my voice. “Someone to see St. John.”
They came out of the breakfast room, and other than the
younger man wearing a dressing gown, no one would think anything was untoward.
“Uncle James. I was not expecting to see you. Oh! Your
car keys! Robert, do you have them?” Robin fished a key ring from his pocket
and tossed the keys to James Blakeney while his lover tightened the belt of his
dressing gown. “Just give me a moment to put on something a trifle more
suitable, and I will return shortly.” He hurried off before anyone could
object.
“May I offer you a cup of coffee?” At their nods, Robin
led the way to the breakfast room.
“Gino!” I called. There was no response, other
than James Blakeney gazing back at me, his eyebrow elevated. With a jerk of my
head, I indicated I wanted a word with him in private.
“Yes, what is it, Dorincort?” he demanded shortly, his
hand in his pocket jiggling his keys.
“How well do you know that man?”
“Tanner Green? How well does anyone know anyone?” he
countered.
I bared my teeth at him. “For your information, almost a
month ago he was working for Callisto Marconi…”
His eyebrow rose higher.
“… and he
was going by the name of Gino Marrone.”
“That is utter rot!” Blakeney had the aristocratic,
supercilious twist of the lips down to a science. I was almost tempted to admire
his way with it. “Utter and absolute rot!”
“Is it? I don’t know what’s going on here, Blakeney,
but this is my brother who is involved with your nephew. If he is harmed by anyone,
In. Any. Way… Let’s just say this planet will not be large enough to harbour
you.” I knew the wolf was close to the surface. He didn’t back away, but his
eyes became cool and cautious.
//Do you need me down there, Brit? Things sound like they
might be heating up.//
//Thanks, Yank. I’m dealing with it.//
//You’ll call if you need me?//
I’d always need him. I felt his pleasure as that slipped
out. //I promise. Now, get some rest.//
Green sauntered back into the hall sipping his coffee. In
his right hand was another cup, which he proffered to the man with whom he
worked. “Problem, James?”
Robin was right behind him, also bearing two cups. He came
to stand by my shoulder, and I took a cup.
“Dorincort seems to feel he’s seen you before, Tanner,
working for an underworld character.”
“Must have been someone else, Mr. Dorincort.” Green’s
voice was ingratiating.
“You know, Blakeney, I have to ask myself how you knew
Marconi was a yardie.”
“Possibly I read something about him in The Times.” He
didn’t seem too concerned. “You know, Dorincort, one asks one’s self how you
knew Marconi’s background.” He mimicked my words back to me.
I gave him a saccharine smile. “Possibly I read something
about him in The Times.” I raked Green with my gaze. “Were you aware, Mr. Green, that each of us has a signature
scent? Can’t be duplicated, can’t be eradicated.” I tapped the side of my
nose.
“Oh dear. Are you saying I… offend?”
My teeth gritted together. I was about to challenge that
asinine statement when, //You sure you don’t need me down there?//
//I said I’d call if I needed you.//
I could feel the weariness dragging over him and could
almost see the yawn that stretched his jaws. //Call anyway?//
I growled. It was audible this time, but fortunately no one
thought too much of it. “Just remember this, Green, or Marrone, or whoever the
fuck you are! I’ll be watching your arse!”
“Really? Oh, I… I rather fancy that, darling!” He
fluttered his lashes at me and simpered. “You will be gentle though,
won’t you, luv?” I started to choke, and I almost missed Blakeney’s
intrigued look.
And then St. John came down the stairs, and there were
other things to consider. He was dressed in what, for him, were casual clothes,
charcoal grey wool trousers and an off-white cable knit alpaca jumper. Robin
went to him immediately, offering him his coffee cup. “I am sorry to have kept
you waiting, Uncle James. What did you have to tell me?”
Blakeney tugged on his lip and sighed. “There is no easy
way to say this, St. John. Your father is dead.”
“But… He was fine yesterday. Well, perhaps not
‘fine’, but… I do not understand, sir. What happened?”
“Did you know your father had a collection of antique
dueling pistols?”
“Yes. He kept them locked in his study. He was the only
one who had possession of the key.” St. John accepted the cup. He took an
incautious swallow and grimaced when he burned his mouth. “What does that have
to say about anything?”
“Your father was left alone for just a moment.”
Blakeney exchanged a glance with his associate. “I sent Tanner to see how much
longer those Yard men would be. Your father asked for some tea, and I went into
the kitchen to brew a fresh pot. There was a gunshot. I ran back to the study,
but when I got there, your father was already dead.”
“How could such an accident have happened? Father is an
expert marksman!” St. John was pale. Robin pulled his lover against him.
“It wasn’t an accident. Allister Ashford deliberately
shot himself in the head. I’m sorry, St. John.” Blakeney didn’t appear
sorry to me, but I said nothing. “Germaine is making the funeral arrangements.
He said he would prefer to put it about that your father died of a brain
aneurysm. The authorities have agreed to seal the details of your mother’s
death, the part your father played in it, and his own death.”
“So Mama is to be left labeled a cheating whore who
abandoned her children?” St. John leaned into Robin, who rubbed his arm
soothingly.
He flinched. “I am sorry, St. John.” And this time I
could believe James Blakeney truly was.
“How can you permit that?” St. John asked bitterly.
“Sometimes we have no choice but to do things we would
rather not.”
St. John’s eyes burned like emerald fire, but his voice
dripped icicles. “Indeed.” He fell back on years of iron control and picked
at a piece of non-existent lint on his jumper. “When is the service to be
scheduled, Uncle James?”
“On Friday at two, at St. Eustace. Your grandparents and
I will be there, so it won’t be just you and Germaine.”
“I’ll be with you, love.” Robin scowled at his
lover’s uncle, as if daring him to say otherwise.
“So will Da’ and I. I’ll telephone Mum and Dad;
they’ll see that the Siblings are released from school for the day.”
Robin nodded. “The Papas will motor to town with them.
We’ll need to get in touch with Uncle Bertie and Aunt Dinah, and Hal and his
wife. Tris and Sigfried should be back from that dig in the Kalahari.” His
eyes became vague as he tried to remember if the other cousins would be
available to attend the funeral.
St. John’s expression was dazed; he’d never had such
closeness in his own family, and it was obvious he couldn’t imagine what it
must be like.
I crossed the hall to where he stood with my favorite brother’s arms around him, and my embrace encompassed them both. “We stand by each other in this family, St. John, and you’re part of this family now.”
There was a light clearing of a throat. “Well, if you
have no objection, James, I’ll be there also,” Tanner Green volunteered.
“I always liked your nephew.” Dull color swept up his cheeks, and he
coughed.
Blakeney looked interested, but didn’t pursue that
statement. “St. John, we must be off. I know I’m leaving you in good hands.
I’m sorry to have been the bearer of such sad tidings…”
“Uncle James, do not be any more of a hypocrite than you
can help.” He appeared to battle with himself, then stepped forward and
extended his hand. “I do appreciate your taking the time to tell me this in
person.”
“You’re my nephew, and as unlikely as it may have
seemed, your grandparents and I care about you.” Blakeney would have pulled
him into a hug, but St. John stepped back out of reach. A sad look flashed
across his face and then was gone. “We’ll see you on Friday, St. John,” he
said briskly. “Gentlemen. Tanner, I’d like a word with you.” With a final
farewell, both men were gone.
Robin urged his lover back into the breakfast room. “Are
you all right? There have been enough shocks for you. I want you to eat
something; you haven’t had breakfast yet, green eyes. Let’s…” His voice
became indistinct.
I looked after them. Jet lag was beginning to overtake me,
and all I wanted was my own lover. I hurried up the stairs to our bedroom.
“Da’?”
An incomprehensible mumble was my only reply. He was
sprawled naked across the bed, so exhausted that he hadn’t even drawn the
covers over his long, lean body. The sight of his tight arse lured me with the
desire to touch and taste and bite. His
legs were spread wide, and his hips gave an unconscious, voluptuous wriggle; I
wanted to bury myself in his heat.
That would be too ungentlemanly. I sighed and undressed,
and carefully pushed his body aside so there was room for me on the bed. I would
nap, and when I awoke, then there would be plenty of time to make love with him,
I promised myself. I dropped a kiss on his pillow beside his cheek.
//No need to waste it, Brit.// The feel of his mind in mine
was an almost palpable caress to the pleasure centers of my brain. His golden
eyes opened lazily and stared into mine. //I’m never that tired!//
I thought briefly about destiny. I thought about chance and
fate and how one small difference had the possibility of altering it all.
And then I dismissed it as irrelevant. I reached for my lover and held him. I had him, and he was solid and real and there, in my arms.
~End~