Her Husband’s Lover

It hardly seemed appropriate to stare, given that he’d just been enjoying a pleasant welcome from the fellow’s wife. It wasn’t often he was treated with grace and respect any more. Since February, comely hostesses magically vanished whenever he came within forty feet.

He risked a quick glance into Lyle’s eyes. Desire so familiar he could almost taste it swam in the inky depths of those pupils. For a moment, it was as if no time had passed at all.

‘You don’t want your name sullied alongside mine,’ he insisted, already recognising the brewing danger. The problem was that he didn’t actually want to move away. Rather he wanted to press close and find himself entwined in Lyle’s embrace. It took every ounce of self-restraint to take a single step backwards instead.

Lyle’s lips quirked. ‘I don’t need you to sully my name. I’m capable of that all by myself.’ He followed Darleston’s retreat and extended his arm past Darleston’s ear, neatly trapping him betwixt his body and the thick trunk of a tree.

Conflicted, Darleston froze. Their last parting had been untidy. It seemed wholly rational that this beginning would be messy and awkward too.

‘By all means practise your excuses, Robert, but don’t leave on my account. Of course, if you feel you need to run away –’

‘Ought I?’ Of course he ought. Given the current euphoria bubbling beneath his skin, he ought to call his carriage right now and not look back until he’d crossed the county border. In an act of further lunacy, he maintained the eye contact they’d already made.

That wicked gleam – damn! Lyle’s ability, with barely more than a slight upturning of his lips, to reduce him to an irrational, seething ball of desire had ever been his downfall. The scent of port lingered on the other man’s breath, mixed with a trace of aniseed.

‘Christ, Robert! I can still hardly get over the fact that you’re here. For the longest time I didn’t know what they’d done to you. I wasn’t sure … I wasn’t informed, merely packed off like a piece of baggage and told to toughen up. I spent the first eighteen months in that Indian hellhole living off the memory of you.’

Darleston almost imperceptibly shook his head, having no comparable sentence to relate. ‘Nothing happened to me.’ It smarted a little to admit it. Lyle had taken the brunt of the punishment, though he was pleased to see the army hadn’t broken him. Meanwhile, he had suffered little more than embarrassment and his mother’s reproachful looks, both of which were quickly forgotten. No, his penalty hadn’t come until much later, when he’d stupidly committed the same crime twice. Then his mother had found him ‘a nice young bride’ to keep him busy and ‘out of the second footman’s underthings’. Not that it had worked. It’d been rather naïve of the countess to think it would. But then, she’d never been quite as bright as she liked to believe.

‘I sometimes imagined you’d write.’ Lyle’s words broke though his introspection.

Darleston gave a derisive little snort. ‘I sometimes imagined I’d write. But what the hell was there to say? What is there to say now?’ He couldn’t think of anything that would mend broken hearts and promises. Certainly nothing that would reverse the flow of time, or allow them to make that fateful day over.

‘Maybe you don’t need to say anything.’

His loins agreed, even if the rest of him didn’t. Words wouldn’t fix anything. Kisses might smooth away the awkward memories, but life had moved on from where they’d been. Nearly half his life had passed since then. He’d been married, acted the libertine and taken dozens of whores and other lovers to his bed. He’d been rejected by the one man he really wanted and laughed at by the only other that he admired. He really couldn’t stomach any more pain.

Which wasn’t to say that he wasn’t tempted. Lord, he was sorely tempted.

Lyle leaned closer still, damn near pressing their foreheads together. His lips parted, revealing a tiny hint of moisture upon their surface.

‘Wait!’ Darleston covered the temptation with his raised fingers. ‘Think. We’re not boys any more. Do you really want to be caught in a compromising position in your father-in-law’s house?’

‘Promises, promises …’ Lyle mused, eyes ablaze with salacious intent.

Dear God! That wasn’t the response he’d hoped to evoke. They needed to think seriously about this, about what they were doing and how drastically it could go wrong.

‘You were never so cautious in the past, Robert. Grown timid in your dotage?’

‘Look at what happened before. I can’t afford to cock things up. Things are dicey enough already.’

‘Give in to fear and they’ve got you anyway.’

That was true. And there really was comfort to be had in Lyle’s embrace.

It wasn’t really a kiss – not at all – being hesitant and whisper-light. Quite platonic really.

He wouldn’t fool anyone else.

They both stood stock still after their lips had parted, barely daring to move. They stared at one another, chests rising and falling, breath bated. Darleston’s heart hammered and hammered. It had been years and years and years. But he’d never forgotten. Hunger for everything he’d lost and for everything he needed gnawed beneath his skin. He couldn’t shake off the need to lose himself in the fantasy of love again. One could only fake numbness so long. The cracks in his façade grew wider every season. Lucy hadn’t driven him from London, he’d driven himself. That which he’d used for years to appease his appetites no longer sufficed as a balm. He needed something solid and real. Stability. Something to hold on to, to fight for and trust.

The message hadn’t entirely filtered down to his loins though. Lyle – incredible, beautiful, Lyle. The first man he’d swived; the first man he’d sucked. Lyle – who now had a pretty little wife and needed the stigma associated with sodomy like he needed toothache. He didn’t want to destroy everything the man had built for himself.

He didn’t want to pull back and walk away either.

‘Don’t brood, act,’ Lyle enticed him.

It was damned hard to resist when the offer was being dangled before him like that. Darleston grabbed the open front of Lyle’s dress coat and tugged him closer. He’d remained abstinent since the last time with Giles, save for the unmentionable mistake of the day before. Now his cock craved release like a drunkard longed for a bath of gin. He needed this. It was what he was. And it was easy. Oh, so very easy and real.

Why wouldn’t he risk everything when it felt this good?

Memories, sparked by Lyle’s scent, came flooding back as he reversed their positions and shoved Lyle hard up against the unforgiving bark of the tree. Good times and bad, the terrible pain of separation and the numbness that followed. Suddenly, he had to fill that empty void he’d been burdened with. He crushed Lyle to him, revelled in the hard press of muscle against his torso as they kissed again. Furious this time. He wanted to get closer, to rub up against the man’s bare skin. He inhaled Lyle’s scent like it was perfume; grew intoxicated on the musky aroma.

Dexterous fingers began to work open the buttons of his frontfall.

‘You’ve a wife now. Are you sure about this?’

The tip of Lyle’s tongue brushed the outer edge of Darleston’s earlobe, causing a waterfall of bliss to shoot through his veins. ‘I’ve a wife. You’ve a wife. Damn near entire population has a wife. And mine won’t mind. I need to have you, Robert. Do you realise you never allowed me that pleasure before?’

Was that true? He guessed it was. Pretty much everything about their relationship had been lopsided in those days. As an Earl’s son he’d taken precedence, and that had applied within the bedroom as well as without. Few men had topped him in any way since.

Lyle’s hot palm wrapped around his shaft. Vivid memories snapped sharply into focus, of things they’d done together and said. ‘You could kiss me first,’ he gasped.

Lyle chuckled. ‘I think I’ve forgotten how that works.’

A reminder seemed wholly inappropriate given the way that Lyle’s tongue stabbed between his parted lips. He held nothing back. Raw passion rolled off him in waves. It infused his breath and his grip, so that they clutched one another, fists closing around cloth and fingertips digging into the exposed flesh beneath, unable to break apart.

The sweetness of kitchen dainties lingered upon Lyle’s tongue mingled with the dark residue of after-dinner port. His touch, cradling at first, soon grew bolder and transformed into a sliding caress. Whole languages had surely been invented to describe this very act, but right now Darleston couldn’t recall a single word of any of them. All he knew was that he wanted – oh, God, how he’d missed – that touch.

With a few deft twists, he released the placket of Lyle’s breeches. There were times when he was all about taking, but this wasn’t one of them. He needed to give pleasure too. Following Lyle’s movements he curled his thumb over the tip of his cock and rubbed slow circles around the sensitive eye.

Not that finesse was really about to play a great part in this.

‘Together,’ Lyle hissed into his ear, before he pressed their cocks tight to one another and began stroking them as one.

Darleston’s hips rolled. He clung to Lyle, fingertips curled into one bicep, the other hand fast upon his hip, while the dual caress upon his cock worked him rapidly towards fever pitch. Strange that Lyle could bring him to this so quickly, when it was his legendary control that had wooed so many matrons in the bedroom.

He guessed the difference was desire. Not only his, but Lyle’s too. This wasn’t just about satisfying an itch, it was a physical need. The threat of climax loomed. It drew his balls up tight and set him walking a knife’s edge. It came as a shock when Lyle got there first, crying into his shoulder as his seed spilled. Darleston’s hips still rocked, but he was thrusting his cock against nothing but the cool night air. Bereft, he felt the sting of rejection in his cheeks. Then Lyle dropped to his knees and buried his fair head beneath the hem of Darleston’s shirt.

Warm heat surrounded him. Then months of stagnant tension finally ran out of his limbs. His arms fell momentarily limp by his sides. Lyle had always possessed outstanding skills and his ability to suck had only improved in the intervening years. Tricks he played with his tongue left Darleston breathless and grasping at handfuls of blond hair just to steady himself. He’d often wondered what it was about this man that made him so damn special. Well, maybe it was this. He simply had a knack, a certain way, of turning what was usually a pleasurable act into something monumental.

Darleston urged more of his prick into the wet enveloping heat, knowing he was being overly rough but quite unable to stop. Lyle’s little grunts of protest only made the moment sweeter. Pain, pushing things to their limitations, had always gotten him off. This was going to be swift or he might have tested those limitations. Lyle’s fingers curled claw-like into his buttocks. Damn, his fingernails were sharp. He’d have half-moon-shaped bruises there tomorrow. The heat, the raw intensity of this … He couldn’t tolerate much more. He needed relief, not torture.

A week or two would give them plenty of time to draw things out.

Lyle’s fingers uncurled. He began to knead the tensed flesh, and then two digits speared into the channel between Darleston’s cheeks and headed straight for the sensitive hidden whorl of muscle. Just a tickle there, the very suggestion of a fingertip sliding within undid him completely.

His body gave up its gift in long shuddering rolls of bliss.

Legs, knees, arms – his limbs were jelly. Only Lyle’s hold kept him upright.

He heard him swallow.

‘Fuck!’

Lyle stood, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.

‘Fuck!’

Lyle’s kisses tore at his mouth. The taste of his own arousal mingled upon their lips.

‘I mean to have you, Robert. I’m not going to let you run away from me. I need a lover, not a wife.’

‘Right.’ The thought sobered him somewhat. Emma – Lyle’s wife, who was sweet and charming and no doubt sitting up waiting for him. Field House wasn’t anywhere near large enough to host couples separately when there were this many guests.

‘Come on, the Orangery is this way.’ Lyle tugged him along in his wake. Darleston followed somewhat unsteadily, still trying to fasten his clothing so that he wasn’t walking around exposed. Had it been this chilly before? A shiver rolled through his limbs, and Lyle noticed. ‘There’s a stove in there. We can keep warm and we don’t need to worry about being overheard.’

* * *

Condensation clouded the numerous window panes of the Orangery, obscuring the views of both inside and out. Lyle led the way through the towering foliage to a small stone grotto near the back, which also housed a raised silken divan. Darleston had only a glimpse of its gaudy lamp-lit stripes and then he saw Lyle spread out along it, his dress coat cast aside and his breeches tugged down so that the pale globes of his bottom lay exposed. Though he guessed what Lyle had in mind would involve him being spread out, and while in some ways it would be easy to give in, he’d always enjoyed ruthless self-flagellation.

‘This is a bad idea.’

Articulating the thought failed to destroy the rather lovely image. Instead he saw the scenario developing, himself creeping forward and enjoying the firm expanse of muscle laid out for him. Heat rose off Lyle’s body as he fitted them together in one slow, delicious push. He heard the hitch in Lyle’s breath, the momentary sign of protest. If he said ‘stop’, would he do it? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he could endure such torment. Things always got complicated when his heart said no and his cock said yes.

He followed Lyle over to the cushioned mattress. Watched him as he kicked off his shoes and perched crossed-legged upon the silk. Lyle wove his fingers together as he settled his elbows upon his knees.

‘There’s no pressure, Robert. I understand you’ve had a nasty scare. It’s natural that you’d have reservations. Maybe you think we’ve already stepped too far over the mark.’

They’d certainly taken more of a risk than he cared for. He’d never given up on loving men, but he’d always taken great pains to keep such doings out of sight. It benefited no one to expose that particular part of his persona. What they’d just done constituted lunacy, and this … this current proposition a spell in the asylum.

‘I’m not unaware,’ Lyle continued. His eyes remained fixed upon Darleston’s face. ‘You live in public. I know the company you keep, the clubs you frequent. I’ve seen the criticism levelled at your family ever since the Earl took it upon himself to marry a whore. As for your recent problems with Lady Darleston –’ Lyle raked his hand through the long strands of his fair hair, clearly uncomfortable, finally tugging loose the queue holding it in place. Soft fair curls sprang free and hung just shy of his shoulders. ‘I concede that puts you in a precarious position. I trust she can’t prove anything.’

The only proof of which Lucy was capable was her own wretchedness, and then only because it was apparent the very moment she opened her mouth. Darleston made an irritated swipe at the leaf of a coconut palm before leaning against the grotto wall. ‘I’m not wholly devoid of sense. I never put anything in writing. Also, I trust that any punks that might be rounded up would have the sense to realise their own necks are at stake.’

‘Your word would stand against that of a cooper or butcher.’

‘Perhaps. Either way it makes sense to lie low.’

Lyle cocked his head. ‘This would be why you’re attending a prize fight. Because naturally no one at all will spot you or remark upon your presence.’

Darleston conceded a grin. The situation wasn’t ideal, but at least he wasn’t flaunting his person around town any more. More importantly, he’d stopped playing unwelcome chaperone to Giles and his new bride. He hadn’t specifically come to Field House to watch the fight. Supporting Neddy, his twin, in his role as Mr Hill’s new trainer had merely provided a reason to be here.

‘Neddy’s deeply involved,’ he said to justify his presence.

Lyle continued to smirk and nod. ‘Is that who Hill has brought in as trainer? Ned must have put on some brawn since the last time I saw him.’ He unwound the length of his cravat, let it hang in a loose loop between his hands.

Darleston gave a quick shake of his head. ‘Not noticeably so, but he’s a good weave and a sharp right hook. I’m told his footwork is good.’

‘That’d make sense. Getting his legs in a tangle is Jack’s main downfall. He has a punch like a ton-weight bull, but the nippier boxers just dance around him.’

‘Think he’s a chance?’

‘Ned or Jack?’

‘My brother had better not be going anywhere near the prize ring.’

‘So-so. I don’t know much about his opponent. He’s not local. From Welsh stock, I’m told.’

Lyle cast his cravat aside and undid the ribbon fastening of his shirt. Pale blond hairs pecked provocatively through the opening. The yellow glow of the lamp warmed his skin, giving it a sun-kissed hue. Something about seeing a teasing glimpse of chest hair like that grabbed Darleston straight in the groin. Maybe it was the hint of masculinity or the exposure of all that was wild and was customarily hidden by clothing. They were all beasts when it came down to it. No one remained a gentleman in the heat of passion.

The bottom of Lyle’s shirt still hung over the top of his breeches from their earlier sport so it was simply a matter of unbuttoning his waistcoat and peeling the layers off to expose him completely.

‘Join me.’

Darleston slipped the top button of his own waistcoat, but paused before unfastening the second. Somehow they’d ventured into territory he was reluctant to retread. There was no question about whether he desired Lyle. He’d always done that. Rather, the problem was Mrs Langley. He saw her pale oval face staring up at him again as the teacup she offered rattled alarmingly upon its saucer. It would destroy her to learn what sort of man her husband truly was – what sort of man he was.

‘I can’t do it, Lyle. I just can’t. I’m sorry if I’ve led you on.’ He refastened the button, then bit his lips, wanting to say more, but unable to form the words to make sense of his emotions. It wasn’t only Emma he was trying to protect, but all of them. He’d been hurt too recently to stomach any more pain. The ache of losing Giles was too raw. Lucy and her libellous innuendos had provided a perfect excuse to leave London. But they’d never been his main issue. Besides, she’d stopped making them as soon as she’d realised that the chastisement he chose to dole out wasn’t to her taste. She’d deserved a hiding, but cutting her allowance had silenced her rather more effectively. No, really he was taking in the country air to mend the ache in his chest. He thought he’d understood loneliness before, but not like this. He’d never felt so bereft of friendship as well as love. All his other cronies, the ones he’d hoped to turn to in order to escape the emptiness inside, seemed to be entangled in bereavements of their own

Of course that was the dilemma of his current situation. Love, of sorts, was exactly what Lyle sat offering. Still, he couldn’t sacrifice Emma Langley’s happiness for his own. There existed hurt enough in her watery blue eyes.

He hid his face, turning into the shadow. He wasn’t going to compete with a woman for a man’s affections ever again.

‘Long term, it’ll never work, and that’s what I’m looking for.’

Lyle came up behind him. Strong arms encircled his waist, and Lyle’s head rested between his shoulder blades. ‘I never once stopped wanting you. You have to understand that Emma and I, we’re not exactly compatible. We swore to be friends, not lovers.’

‘That doesn’t make this right.’

‘When were you such a moralist?’ Lyle’s lips brushed the back of his neck, raising shivers. Darleston leaned into the caress, craving more, yet adamant that he wouldn’t capitulate.

‘I can feel your pulse, your tension, smell your desire. Why resist, Robert? No one’s going to know. Don’t think so hard about the future.’

‘I can’t risk hurting her like that.’

‘My wife? Why does she matter to you? Why so concerned about her and not your own?’

He shook Lyle off. ‘To hell with Lucy! Because Emma has done nothing to hurt me. She’s been a kind and gracious hostess.’ And he didn’t want to compete with a woman. Not again. Not after he’d lost so spectacularly. Not that he’d ever had a chance with Giles. His friend simply wasn’t constructed that way.

‘We’ve never …’ Lyle hesitated. His teeth dug into his lower lip. ‘Our marriage, it’s never been consummated.’ He retreated into the deeper darkness of the grotto, leaving Darleston staring at his back in confusion.

‘How is that? Do you mean you’ve never been to her bed? Lyle, how is that even possible? Aren’t you sharing a room in this house? I don’t understand.’ He’d never wanted Lucy, but he’d visited her bed once a month for the last nine years. Give or take. One had to make the pretence of wanting issue, regardless of his actual wishes. The fact that he’d sometimes paid his twin to go in his stead wasn’t something he liked to make public.

‘I’ve no wish to embarrass myself,’ Lyle confessed, his voice muted and hesitant. ‘Nor have I any wish to engage in such an act. I’ve no desire in that regard. Women are rather like porcelain dolls. I can admire their crafting, but I have no desire to possess such a thing. There was mutual benefit to be had from the arrangement. I’m hardly the first man to seek the security of marriage as a mask for my proclivities. Society asks fewer questions if you offer them the illusion of normality.’

While Darleston’s own preference was for men, he’d spent many evenings equally at home between a woman’s thighs. At least there seemed to be some degree of affection in Lyle’s marriage, which was more than he could claim in his own. ‘And does Hill know about your lack of desire?’ Darleston asked.

‘He sees that Emma is well settled and contented. That’s all that matters to him. Of course he doesn’t know of my preferences. He’s a good man, not an overly enlightened one.’

‘What about Emma? How does she take your lack of affection? I can’t imagine she’s content to be left virginal, or do you allow her trysts as well?’

Lyle shook his head.

Darleston ground his teeth and found his lips were pursed into a tight moue when he tried to form his next word. ‘So you sleep with whom you please but deny her any affection. Lyle, I thought better of you, I truly did.’

The other man turned to face him once more. Eerie shadows swam in the depths of his hazel eyes. ‘You don’t understand. I haven’t denied her anything. She wouldn’t let me touch her even if I desired to.’ Lyle’s sibilant whisper bled into the darkness. ‘She’s frigid, Robert. Colder than the hoar frost. She doesn’t let anyone touch her.’

‘So she’s nervous. But with coaxing …’ Darleston curled his fingers, imagining pressing them to Emma’s prettily flushed cheek. Every woman he’d ever known had warmed to sweet talk and a little charm.

‘No. You’re not hearing me. She’s not skittish. She doesn’t let anyone near her. Nobody touches her, not even her maid or her sister. We’ve been married over two years and the only time I’ve held her hand was in church as I slid the wedding band upon her finger. Believe me, she trembled enough through that. If she could have avoided it …’

‘That’s common enough.’ He’d quaked too. Although in his case it may have been down to how much drink he’d consumed.

‘This affliction goes way beyond that. Watch her tomorrow, and then you’ll understand. It’s not coitus she’s afraid of, Robert. It’s physical contact of any sort.’

Darleston’s brows furrowed. ‘Have you tried to discern why?’ How could a human being survive in such a way?

Lyle half-nodded, half-shook his head. ‘She won’t discuss it with me. Believe me, I’ve tried and never made the slightest bit of headway. She just brushes me off. It doesn’t help that she knows I like men. So talk of physical affection between us is pointless. It’s why she was so keen on the arrangement in the first place. She knew I’d make no demands upon her.’