ROLLO HAD EXPERIENCEDvarious iterations of his lover since arriving at Goule.The dour, brooding lord taking pot shots at him was a memorable highlight, absent of late.A much friendlier fellow had since taken his place, someone still trying his hardest to be a crotchet, but his crabbiness diluted by a desire to kiss Rollo wherever and whenever they were alone.He proved so during another picnic the following day, when his thirsty tongue licked against Rollo’s as if his life depended on it.And again, on the settee in the drawing room, with Rollo hauled into his lap.And also, against the encyclopaedia shelves in the library.
Even more extraordinary was his lordship’s apparent contentment with kissing.He cherished Rollo’s face between his warm palms, stroking his thumb tenderly across a cheek, catching his chin and lifting it as if he were made of porcelain.Pressing his lips against Rollo’s nose, his eyelids, his temples, before seeking out his mouth.
It was almost as if he had acquired and was honing a brand new skill.
Notwithstanding, this panicked, anxious version of Fitz sharing a carriage with him was a newer one still.As his handsome pair of roans picked their way through the busy Norwich streets, he repeatedly straightened his cravat and fiddled with his gloves.Beginning to feel on edge himself, Rollo took over after first pressing a firm, quick kiss to his lips.
“You’re meeting your beloved twin brother, not heading for the gallows.”
“At present, swinging from the gibbet is looking more attractive.”
Rollo tutted.“Now you’re being ridiculous.”He kissed him again briskly.“You have put off making your reparations for far too long.You said so yourself.”Fitz’s silk cravat slipped around his fingers.“Whilst avoidance is a highly commendable strategy and not without its advantages, on this occasion, you’ve allowed this rendezvous to build into something it’s not.”
Leaning back, he admired his handiwork.His father’s son through and through, the cravat was geometrically flawless.“Most likely, His Grace will wave your apology away, tell you how much he’s missed you, and within five minutes, you’ll have moved on to other matters.”
For the first time during the journey, Fitzsimmons smiled.“If I forget later, thank you for coming with me today.You have an old soul behind those young eyes, Rollo.”
Rollo.If the carriage weren’t slowing, Rollo would have kissed him again.Rollo.Spoken fondly, with deliberate, quiet intent.
As his heart skipped several beats, the carriage drew to a halt, and Rollo peered through the window.He found his lover’s hand with his own and gave it a squeeze.
“Everything will be fine, you’ll see.Just be yourself.Say something nice.”
Fitz emitted an agonised noise.“Which?I can’t do both.”
Rollo chuckled, unnecessarily tweaking his own hat and gloves as the groom opened the carriage door.“Everything will be fine.I promise.Courage, dearest Fitz.”
“I have all the courage I’ll ever require,” he grumbled, “if I die within the next minute.”
Rollo didn’t catch the solicitor’s name.Clearly prewarned by His Grace as to his minimal role in the lunchtime proceedings, the man produced two or three obsequious bows, then, citing an urgent engagement elsewhere, left his most distinguished clients to get on with things.
Which neither of them did.
Despairingly, Rollo regarded them both.That the two men were brothers—twins even—was evident in their strong bearing and wary dark eyes.For his part, the Duke of Ashington was as diffident as he was handsome.His austere demeanour at complete odds to his charming nature, Rollo could only assume that a penchant for sombre clothing must run in the family.Fitz, of course, for all he was as beautifully, darkly clothed as his twin, hulked in the doorway like a cornered bear, hiding his nervousness behind a scowl.
“Your Grace,” Rollo said smoothly, seeing as the brothers were both finding the worsted carpet of great interest.He tipped his hat.“How excellent it is to see you again.”
“And the same to you.But dispense with this ‘Your Grace’ business.Ashington, please.”
A second man, slim, elegant, and familiar, rose from a seat by the window.
“Tommeee!”squealed Rollo.In two leaps, he was across the room and hugging him tight.“Nobody told me you’d be here.”
“Can’t imagine why,” muttered Fitz from somewhere behind him.
Rollo twisted in Tommy’s embrace to see his lover glowering.“Fitz.This is Tommy Squire, one of Papa’s oldest friends.”
“We’ve met,” Fitzsimmons replied sourly.
Ignoring him for the moment, Rollo disentangled himself.“What in heavens name are you doing here, Tommy?”
“Accompanying Benedict.”Tommy cast his eyes over to the bemused duke.“I…ah…do that quite frequently.”
Tommy and His Grace exchanged an indulgent look.The sort of look Rollo and Fitz had enjoyed over recent days.
“You…oh… Oh!”For once, Rollo was lost for words as the duke dropped his eyes to the floor.
“Good heavens,” Rollo said finally, “Papa tells me nothing.Really?”
