Grinding his teeth, Rollo got one foot underneath him. “It is not the wind as you damn well know. It is my fear of heights.”

  “Ah, yes.” Lyndon nodded. “I had forgotten. When you visited me in the nursery, you always sat on the window seat looking across at the gardens, but never directly down.”

  “Actually, I spent most of the time looking at you.”

  For a second, Fitz’s features softened. Then his mouth twisted into a sneer. “Fear of heights is irrational, pup. Are you afraid of widths too? And depths?”

  Despite his terror, Rollo’s heart swelled. Sophistry at a moment like this! Absurd, and yet so typical of the man. Sucking in a breath, he shakily rose to his full height.

  “Fear of falling then,” he corrected, his voice cracking. Anything to keep Fitz distracted and talking. “It is much the same thing, is it not?”

  “It’s not the fall that scares you either,” remarked Fitz. “It’s the crunch and thud when you reach the bottom.”

  Rollo shuddered. He blinked several times, his vision blurring. Two Fitz’s now appeared to be dancing on the edge of the roof, not one.

  “Please, do not say that, Fitz,” he whispered, though his voice sounded as if it was coming from very far away. His left leg had numbed, too, as though it were no longer there. He thought he heard his father’s voice, urgently insisting on something. The grey sky faded in and out, little white stars dotting it as it merged with the flint roof slates like a vast, stormy ocean. “Please, Fitz, I cannot bear—”

  *

  ROLLO CAME BACK to himself, cradled in a pair of strong arms and ensconced in a solid, broad lap. Despite the sloshing in his belly and feeling like he might swoon again if he opened both eyes properly, he decided that he was so comfortable he never wanted to climb out of it. When he braved peeling his eyelids apart, he discovered he was still far too high from the ground for his tastes, though not near the edge. A howling wind whistled through his ears.

  And yet, he’d never felt more secure.

  Fitz’s throaty voice rasped in his ear. “Heights are stupid things to be afraid of, pup.” Soft lips pressed against his temple. “You should avoid them in future. Or you’ll do yourself an injury.”

  Rollo would have had a smart retort for that if his mouth were working properly. Instead, he drifted in a half-asleep haze with the steady thrum of Fitz’s heart against his cheek until he felt better.

  “I’m afraid of many stupid things,” he answered eventually. “Such as Willoughby doing pretty much anything from here onwards. And the peat bogs surrounding Goule. Sheep when they start that higgledy, gambolling run. This creaking house when darkness falls and the ghouls come out to play.” He opened both eyes to find his lover’s soft, dark, worried ones gazing down at him. “But…but losing you scares me more.”

  Fitz stroked his damp hair back from his face. “I tried, pup. I strived to return to how it was before you came. But…existing in such an empty, meaningless world felt so hopeless. No one needed me. I am not capable of such a pointless existence.”

  “No, but you are capable of love. You have so much to give.”

  “I am.” Fitz kissed his forehead. “And I gladly gave it all to you. But then I realised it wasn’t the giving that frightened me. I am afraid of not being loved back.”

  Rollo entwined his fingers in Fitz’s. “Then be afraid no longer. Because you are much loved. And needed.” He paused. “Very needed.”

  “I respectfully disagree.”

  “What about Will?” Rollo countered. “Who would read him Johnson’s cheerless essays one day and Rodolfo’s exploits the next, if not you? And give a highfalutin Italian count a rough Glaswegian accent, just to bring a smile to your oldest friend’s poor face?”

  Fitz’s cheeks warmed with a tinge of colour. “He nearly choked to death the first time I tried it, from laughing so hard. Perhaps it would be wiser if I didn’t.”

  “And no one except you would keep Berridge in employ. He can barely climb the steps to the front door, let alone the hall staircase. A lesser lord would have palmed him off years ago. And Simpson wouldn’t receive any church support for his second project without your name adhered to it. The Elliot’s grave markers would be strangled by weeds at the first hint of spring. Not to mention your beautiful hydrangeas.”

  Rollo sat up a bit, rallying. “In fact, the whole of Goule would suffer. You have no heirs, and your brother is far too busy to spend his time trekking all the way to Norfolk several times each year to ensure all is kept shipshape. The hall and the village would fall into disrepair and the people into poverty. Ripples would stretch far and wide. These folk aren’t tin soldiers, Fitz. If one kills the commander, the entire regiment falls.”

  “All right, all right. You’ve made your point,” Fitz muttered.

  “Trust me, I’ve only just started. I have much more to say, especially about the duke. He needs—”

  Fitz held up a finger. “That’s where you’re wrong. Benedict has no need for me. He is perfectly capable of being Ashington without my hindrance. And anyhow, if its support he’s after, he has Squire warming his bed.”

  Rollo scoffed. “And Tommy Squire, born in the back alleys of Covent Garden, knows all about running a dukedom, does he?”

  “Well, no—” began Fitz, but Rollo cut him off, apparently suddenly feeling much better.

  “I shall support Willoughby in every way I can when he takes over from Papa, and gladly.”

  Fitz smiled at him gently. “Then I hope for his sake that your Willoughby has a strong character.” He nuzzled against Rollo’s ear, his mouth tracing the delicate flesh; Rollo felt he never wanted move again.

  “You haven’t mentioned you,” Fitz whispered into it. “Sometimes I think this slight body hides within it the strength of ten men, but I fear I shall test all ten of them in years to come.”

  Rollo reached up to cup his lover’s coarse whiskery cheek. “All ten of us would be bereft without you.” He scratched his fingers against the bristly hairs. “I am your man, Fitz, until I draw my last breath.”

  “Then, God help me, I am yours.”

  They kissed, long and deep. Rollo clung to him, even though Fitz’s mouth tasted like an uncorked cask of old brandy.

  “It will be hard, this business of loving,” he said as he came up for breath. “I am still young. And I am not always wise. And…and tend to speak my mind.”

  Fitz’s mouth smiled against his. “Indeed, we shall often do battle with each other. I look forward to it.”

  “Talking of battles,” Rollo pulled away to gaze about him. “What have you done with my papa?”

  Fitz chuckled. “I sent him back down in search of a stiff drink and his lover’s comforting arms. Never seen the man quite so distraught. Or dishevelled. Anyone would think a big, warm heart beat inside that pillar of ice.”

  “An enormous one,” Rollo confirmed. “He was prepared to scramble across this roof in my stead.”

  Fitz’s dark eyes twinkled. “In that case, I’d have definitely jumped.”

  “I put that argument to him.” Rollo traced a line across his lover’s strong jaw. “Being young and unwise, I decided to do it myself. And…” He wriggled a little. Truly, Fitz had a marvellous lap. “If you had received all my thousands of letters, you would see that I tried to explain my fears. I still have much to learn about life and…and I think that you have much to forget.”

  “And I think you are demonstrating your vast wisdom already.”

  Fitz’s fingers travelling over the front of his trousers was distracting, but Rollo pushed on.

  “Yes, but having you living here and my Rossingley life over there, and London somewhere else entirely, will be damned tricky to navigate on occasion. And we can’t overlook that you appear to have made enemies of half the country. We’ll have to sort that out and I daresay make the odd recompense for it, just as we will also have to accept that I’m a damned foolish youth desperate to enjoy a few seasons. I intend to be the pink of the ton. I am determined to get into all sorts of scrapes with Willoughby, which you may have to haul me away from. Undoubtedly, I shall quarrel with Papa when I do. And with you.”

  Fitz smiled. “All three of us will disagree on many things. Your father and I have yet to find common ground.”

  “You have more in common than either of you would believe. You just haven’t discovered it yet. What I’m trying to say, in far too many words when so very few would serve as well, is that I would be an utter disaster without you. If you had tumbled from this damned roof and died, I would never have forgiven you.”

  Planting a last kiss on Fitz’s mouth, he brushed himself down and reluctantly clambered off Fitz’s lap. “And it goes without saying that the art world would have suffered enormously.”

  Fitz fought a smile, Rollo could see it tugging at his lips. His dizziness had passed, but he wasn’t taking any chances; the skies were as leaden as ever and inside was calling. Reaching out a hand, he helped Fitz up.

  “Say goodbye to the roof, Fitz. You shan’t be seeing it again.”

  “You annoy me, pup.”

  “And I plan on annoying you every day for the foreseeable future.” As he tilted his head up to meet Fitz’s eyes, a spot of rain landed on his nose. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll make a start from the comfort of the house.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  THEY MADE IT as far as the nursery, then Lyndon could hold back no more. Desperate hunger for the touch of his lover’s skin burned through his own. He pushed Rollo against a wall, and they kissed madly in a clash of lips and teeth and tongues. He began tearing at Rollo’s clothes.

  “I need to take you, pup.”

  “It’s been far too long,” gasped Rollo. “Eight weeks and a day.”

  He wrenched off his cravat and wriggled out of his linen, exposing the milky-white skin of his chest. His small rosy nipples pebbled; Lyndon pinched one between his thumb and finger, tonguing, biting and sucking at the other. Rollo groaned his approval, his hands busy at the fall of Lyndon’s trousers.

  “I need this.” He ran his hand along the length of Lyndon’s jutting prick. “I need you inside of me, tearing my soul apart with every thrust. These weeks without you, I have hardly imagined anything else.”

  Lyndon yanked down Rollo’s trousers and drawers, scattering buttons. He swept his hands across Rollo’s flat belly and over his jutting hips. So smooth, so perfect. A body made for brazen display and wanton loving. But, above all, for Lyndon’s mouth.

  Sinking to his knees, he ran his tongue along the length of Rollo’s slim, elegant cock. As Rollo writhed with pleasure, Lyndon’s mouth watered. “Already, I’m destroying you in my head, pup.”

  His tongue travelled lower, and he sucked one of Rollo’s tight ballocks into his mouth.

  “You’re already destroying me in the nursery too,” Rollo moaned. His cock pulsed; when he made to squeeze it, Lyndon slapped his hand away.

  “No. Keep away. I licked it; I believe that makes it mine.”

  Rollo chuckled hoarsely. His hands tangled in Lyndon’s hair. “My spoiled, highhanded lord.” He canted his hips, head tipped back, and his wet lips parted in surrender. Again, Lyndon tongued the crown of his cock, breathing in the musk of him, savouring the bittersweet pearls. Feeling it throb against his tongue.

  “You’re shameless, my love. How you thrust into my mouth.”

  He sucked harder and deeper, tracing a path behind Rollo’s ballocks with his finger. Then he broke off, sitting back on his haunches to watch his lover’s face. Another silvery pearl dripped down Rollo’s shaft. “How do you get so wet for me?”

  Rollo moaned again, biting on his lower lip. “I have no control over it. When your fingers touch me there, dignity and I readily part company.” He hissed as Lyndon cupped his ballocks again, squeezing gently, then teased his prick with his mouth. “And if you persist, I shall also part company with my sanity. It shall stream down your throat.”

  With a last, lingering lick along the hard line of Rollo’s shaft, Lyndon pulled off to plant bruising kisses the length of Rollo’s body until, finally, he met with his lips. One day, he would manage a calm, measured seduction. He would unveil his lover’s body with exquisite care. He would carry him to bed, whereupon they would tenderly pleasure each other until reaching a leisurely, shared crisis. But not today.

  Clutching a fistful of blond hair, he spun Rollo to face the wall. “Spread for me, pup,” he whispered hotly against Rollo’s nape.

  By God, the boy was beautiful. It was all he could do not to fall to his knees again, torn between the urges to sink his teeth into Rollo’s juicy rump or his cock into the channel within. He licked his finger, then swept it across Rollo’s hole, up and down, up and down, up and down, teasing the entrance. Then, without warning, he sank two thick fingers inside. A moan locked his throat at Rollo’s shuddering response.

  “You want more?” Lyndon breathed. “You want my prick?”

  Rollo sucked in a gasp, pushing back on Lyndon’s fingers, and he crooked them, finding the nubbin that made his boy cry out. “Yes,” Rollo panted. “Yes.”

  Lyndon rubbed his bare shaft up against Rollo’s arse, grasping Rollo’s cock with his other hand. He pressed a path around the curve of his lover’s perfect ear with his lips and nipped at the soft lobe. “Then you must ask me nicely, pup.”

  “Please,” Rollo gasped. “Please. I beg you. My lord and captain.”

  In one short thrust, Lyndon slid inside. Even with oil, it was tight, so damned tight. He fought for control, his thoughts splintering. Rollo gasped.

  “Am I hurting you, pup?”

  “Yes. A little.” Rollo sucked in a deep breath, then let it out between clenched teeth. “But it is exquisite. Indistinguishable from joy.” He threw his head back on a long groan, and Lyndon felt something give. “You have stretched me to the fullest.”

  Rollo braced his hands on the wall as Lyndon cradled him. Though his little rocking movements grew in purpose, he wouldn’t hurt his lover. Not even if he begged. Instead, he steadied them both, one hand wrapped around Rollo’s chest, the other around Rollo’s cock. Clasped against the warmth and weight of his body and hardly moving inside it, the raging, savage force of Lyndon’s climax raced towards him.

  “I could die like this, pup,” he breathed on a long slow thrust. “And I would never regret it. You against my hips, your taste on my tongue.”

  “Please don’t,” gasped Rollo. He twisted, his eyes flashing with amusement even as he winced. “I did not clamber upon that roof for you to die fifteen minutes later with me impaled on your cock.”

  Half a minute later, and his man was underneath him, cossetted from the hard floor by a dusty old dress, red as blood against the white of Rollo’s skin. Linseed oil’s earthy scent filled the air. Arguably a better use for it than daubed on Lyndon’s useless canvases. This time when he slid inside, Lyndon’s eyes never left his lover’s.

  “Spend with me like this,” he urged. Lyndon pushed Rollo’s knees higher, moving his dainty feet around the back of Lyndon’s neck and pulling him in. Nothing lay between them except the sweat from their bodies. Rollo’s damp hardness rubbed against his belly and Lyndon’s ballocks tightened. As long as he had this—this creature in his arms—he was saved. “Spend with me now as I can hold back no more.” Lyndon thrust deep and long, unravelled, unfettered, and undone. “My dearest pup, my love.”

  *

  ROLLO WRIGGLED DAMPLY. “The entire Duchamps-Avery clan is here,” he said.

  “What?”

  The entire clan? Knowing that Rossingley had witnessed him dancing around his chimneys was enough. Never mind the others. Lyndon very much prayed he’d misheard. Or was still half asleep and had dreamed it. Whilst the immediate effects of his morning’s brandy excesses had evaporated several hours ago, its afterbite was catching up with him. His fabulous, insane exertions had left him limp, woollen mouthed, and craving his bed.

  “The entire Duchamps-Avery clan is here,” Rollo repeated.

  Lyndon groaned. “Yes, I was afraid that’s what you said.”

  Of all the words he yearned to hear spill from his lover’s lips after Lyndon had bled him dry, he was not prepared for those.

  “My father has brought along his lover, Kit Angel,” Rollo added, as if that made it all better. “And you’ll meet Willoughby at last. Half of our bloody servants have accompanied them, of course. My father doesn’t travel light.”

  Lyndon would have been quite happy if the Earl of Rossingley never travelled at all.

  “And…ah…if I’m not mistaken,” Rollo continued, “As you were feasting on my ballocks, I believe I recognised the sound of another coach and four heading up the driveway. Admittedly, I was a tad distracted, but…could it be your own brother perhaps? His visit was due about now, was it not?”

  Lyndon closed his eyes. Perhaps he could feign illness and avoid all of them. Particularly the ones who’d witnessed his theatrics on the roof. In honesty, he felt terribly foolish about it all and furious that he managed to let his black thoughts get the better of him.

  That he came so close to losing all he held dear.

  Lyndon groaned again. “Benedict will be accompanied by Tommy bloody Squire, I’d wager.”

  “I jolly well hope so,” answered Rollo cheerfully. He delivered a sloppy kiss, then laughed with delight as Lyndon wiped it away. “Having everyone together will be such fun.”

  Lyndon gave a mournful sigh, refusing to let himself be so easily mollified by scrumptious kisses. “A slew of sodomites awaits me.”

  Rollo snorted. “You say it as if gangs of us roam the countryside.”

  “I’m starting to believe they do. Claiming unsuspecting, women-bedding lords as one of their own.” Lyndon gathered a giggling Rollo up in his arms and kissed his forehead.

  “You are one of our own,” Rollo said. “You simply haven’t come to terms with it yet. Don’t worry. We shall have fully indoctrinated you by the end of the week.”

  “I’m surprised they’re not here now, making a start. Certainly, they’ll be wondering where the devil we’ve got to.”