YOU BELONG TOme?What the devil had he been thinking?For a moment, Lyndon had almost given himself away.Cursing under his breath, then again, louder, he plucked a couple of weeds from around the Elliot’s grave marker and flung them aside in frustration.Poppycock.Hehadgiven himself away.Even when called out, the boy was as slippery as quicksilver, his taunt skewering Lyndon like the tip of a bayonet.You can’t even summon the courage to admit what you really are, can you, Fitz?
Honest concern had driven him to trail the pup out of the barn.Nothing more, nothing less.God knew why he should have cared, except that Benedict and bloody Rossingley would never forgive him if an accident befell the idiot.Young Duchamps-Avery didn’t know a pond from a peat bog; the land around Goule at night was a snake pit for the unwary.
But laying his hands, in anger, on a local countryman?Guilty of nothing but the same desires stirring in Lyndon’s own loins?Nothing but jealousy had driven that.Born from hostile self-pity, that Ralph bloody Hart had the ballocks to satisfy his cravings, whereas Lyndon did not.
His daily visit to the Elliot graves was short.Most days, it was nothing more than a nod hello on his way to spend time with Will.Lyndon was not a fanciful man.The dead were dead.He did not believe for a second that the essence of his friend’s family lingered in that dismal spot any more than the ghost of the person Lyndon used to be lay there next to them.No, the worms had long since enjoyed their fill, the substance of the dead ploughed back into the ground.Something drew him there, but it wasn’t a search for solace.More that he kept the marker tidy out of respect for Will, no longer able.
“He persuaded you to go to the dance,” slurred his well-informed friend.“You’re a soft touch after all, Lyn.”
“Yes.And I should have stayed at home.I behaved like an addle-headed fool.”He threw Will a wry smile.“And before you say it, even more than usual.”
Will accepted his customary kisses, eyeing the cold cuts of meat Lyndon laid down next to him.“Over the Duchamps-Avery boy,” he surmised.
With a dry laugh, Lyndon ruffled his hair.“Aye.You know the mixed-up corners of my soul even better than I.”
Lyndon paced the floor of the small parlour as Will ate.“The damned pup unravels me like a ball of string, and that’s the truth of it.”
You belong to me.Bloody idiot.Discovering the boy in the unworthy arms of another, Lyndon had half a mind to punch Duchamps-Avery in the mouth.But with his own.And softly.He’d been awake most of the night imagining it.
“Ralph Hart took a shine to him,” he groused.“Didn’t take him long, and he was half-cut.Very nearly made a spectacle of them both.I had no choice but intervene.”
“Jealous,” pronounced Will around a mouthful of ham.
“Yes, yes, yes.Obviously.”
“Obvious to the boy too?”
Lyndon glared at him, not that Will took notice.The man knew him so well it was like wrangling with his own mind.“In many ways, Duchamps-Avery reminds me of you.Not least in having scant regard for my sensitivities.”
The boy’s dishevelled and leaf-strewn body crawling from the undergrowth flashed through his mind, his pale face pink from his exertions with another man.The torture of picturing him succumbing to Ralph bloody Hart’s grubby hands speared Lyndon anew.
“He is not like you in manners or his looks,” Lyndon continued.“I believe he is unique in that regard.”He drummed on the tabletop.“He’s acidic as vinegar and has this…this curious inquisitiveness.He does not let the slightest comment slide without some sort of opinion on it.And he fidgets.Incessantly.Darts about like a bumblebee from buddleia to catmint to lavender and back again.Although do not make mention of lavender.The boy has a weakness for it.”
Massage it in deep after an overenthusiastic, hard ride?The damned pup had been toying with him even then.
“And for yellow fabric too,” Lyndon explained.“He wears a…a banyan thing.Two, actually.One is a plain mulberry, the other soft, yellow silk.A frivolous garment, one should throw it out for the beggars, though goodness knows it wouldn’t warm them on even the mildest of nights.Too bloody thin and silky.Too bloody—”
A guttural noise interrupted him.He raced to Will’s side and slapped him hard between the shoulder blades.His friend was choking.No, he was laughing.Or a combination of both.Tears ran down Will’s uneven cheeks as he heaved for breath.Lyndon’s second sharp slap sent a gobbet of ham flying across the room, which had the effect of making Will laugh even harder.And choke more.Lyndon slapped him again.And then knelt at Will’s feet as his precious friend recovered, hugging him hard against his chest—slobber, snot, ham, and all.
“My dearest Will.”His throat felt full, his eyes sprang sudden hot tears.“If not for you, I would have despaired of myself many years back.”
“You have fallen hard, Lyn,” Will spluttered.“For the son of a man you despise.Only you!”
“I have not.”Lyndon dabbed roughly at Will’s chin and nose, his denial only serving to fuel his friend’s mirth.“He’s…a distraction.An annoyance.An extra mouth to feed.An unnecessary hindrance.”
“He’s a breath of fresh air.Just admit it.And that you want him.”
You belong to me.
As Will’s coughing subsided, Lyndon rose to his feet.“Enough.You have the remainder of your lunch to eat without suffocating on it.”He began rolling up his sleeves.“And I have mangel-wurzels to weed.”
Will grinned his twisted lopsided smile.“Weed your head while you’re at it.”
As Lyndon was half out the door, Will called again.“A lad like that won’t stay here forever, Lyn.And you should think about leaving too.We’re not both tied to this chair.Perhaps it’s time you stopped behaving like we are.”
“As you are not tied to this cottage,” Lyndon retorted.Of course, Duchamps-Avery would leave as soon as he was able.Lyndon wasn’t an idiot.And then things would settle back to how they were.Ordered.Uneventful.“I am more than willing to take you places,” he added.“In great comfort too.And yet you always refuse.”
He lingered, his hand on the door, watching his friend clumsily tear at the ham.One day, he promised himself, he’d coax Will to come up to London.He’d show him the back streets and alleyways so beloved of his gothic novels.
