Page 19 of Vanquished By A Viscount
He closed his eyes as he stroked his fist up and down his hard length and tugged at his balls with his other hand. Charlie had looked gorgeous in the misty, morning light. The man was perfection in so many ways, his strong face, his chestnut hair, his hazel eyes that glinted with emotion, even when he tried to hide his feelings.
Gray worked his cock faster, reveling in the friction of only soapy water to smooth the action, and squeezed his balls. He let out a moan and rested his head back against the side of the wardrobe. The hint of skin and chest hair he’d seen through Charlie’s open shirt was such a wicked tease. He remembered what the bastard looked like naked, remembered the breadth of his chest, the tight muscles of his abdomen, the way his cock tended to stand straight up, its flared tip wide, when he was aroused. He remembered what the musky liquid that beaded on that tip tasted like, the way it made his mouth water when he licked and sucked it away.
Gray groaned loudly, his body tensing as pleasure coursed through him. His seed spilled out over his hand in several copious bursts. What he lacked in projection he made up for in volume, and within seconds, his hand was a sticky mess.
He sagged against the wardrobe, panting and still holding himself as he came down from the high. His fantasies of Charlie faded, and he was left feeling vaguely defeated and ashamed. He should not have had to resort to getting himself off to clear his head of the bastard who had broken his heart and pushed him into the restless life of a wanderer, uncertain of where to land and build his nest.
There was nothing for it but to step back over to the washbasin, clean his hand and bits, then to dress and make himself presentable enough to join the rest of the house party guests for breakfast.
As he left his room, he glanced warily at the door across the hall from his, praying that Charlie wouldn’t step out at just that moment. And also praying that he would.
“No,” he hissed to himself, shaking his head and storming off down the hall. “Do not be ridiculous. You are not fool enough to be burned twice by the same flame.”
Even if a part of him craved that burn.
Gray stayed quiet through most of breakfast, telling himself he would do better to listen to the newly arrived Miss Abigale Martin chatter on about the shock of traveling through the night after her carriage had broken a wheel just before dusk the evening before than he would to add much to the conversation around the table. He glanced continually to the breakfast room door, but when Charlie finally appeared, he snapped his head away and refused to so much as peek at his end of the table for the rest of the meal.
“I am certain you will all be delighted with the activity I have planned for us all this morning,” Barbara said, rising from her place near the center of the table once most people’s dishes were empty and the tea had gone cold.
“I am certain we will all enjoy whatever you have in mind for us, my dear,” Robert told her with an adoring smile.
Several of the ladies around the table smiled and sighed wistfully at the show of affection between the newlyweds, particularly when Barbara giggled happily at Robert’s praise.
Gray had to hold himself rigid so he did not turn to see what Charlie thought of his sister’s charming affection for his brother.
“I was very pleased to discover that Hawthorne House is in possession of several fine archery targets,” Barbara went on,“and lovely bows and arrows as well. I have decided that we shall have a tournament, as of old, on the west lawn this morning.”
“Oh, I am a champion archer,” Lady Suzanne said, smiling mischievously.
It took several of the guests, such as Lady Eudora, a moment to realize that the indomitable woman was teasing.
“I am certain you are a far better shot than me one way or another,” Pettigrew said, keeping the tone of the conversation light.
“And what is the prize for the victor of this tournament?” Mr. Gunnerson asked, grinning across the table at Lady Winifred as though he would seek to win her favor, like a knight of old.
“Oh!” Barbara said, suddenly flummoxed. “I had not thought of offering a prize.”
“Perhaps the prize could be the privilege of opening the dancing at the next ball,” Lord Iverson suggested.
“I think that is a splendid idea,” Lady Eudora said, her eyes wide and almost glassy as she gazed down the table at Pettigrew. “You are quite skilled at archery, are you not, Dr. Pettigrew?”
“Er, not particularly,” Pettigrew said.
Under any other circumstances, Gray would have chuckled at his friend’s discomfort and at the way Lady Eudora seemed so intent on pursuing him. Had the woman not heard his teasing banter with Lady Suzanne just moments before? He could not manage so much as a smile, however. He was too unsettled by the sight of Charlie leaning over to say something to Mr. Lindhurst, who seemed eager to talk to him.
Gray shook his head and pushed his chair back to stand as soon as Robert did, indicating the meal was over. He should have known better than to let his thoughts and feelings get away from him. As soon as he made it out into the overcast morning along with the rest of the guests eager to try their hand at archery, he told himself that he would behave and continue onwith his determination to have nothing to do with Charlie for the rest of the house party.
“Of course, there are not enough targets to give everyone their own for the tournament,” Barbara said once she had the attention of all her guests on the west lawn. “Nor are there enough bows. But I am convinced it will not dampen our enjoyment if we form groups and share such equipment as we have.”
“I will form a group with Dr. Pettigrew,” Lady Eudora suggested at once, turning to the man and reaching out like she would grasp his arm.
Pettigrew saw the gesture coming and pretended to swat away an insect, which allowed him to step to the side and avoid the eager young woman.
“Yes,” Barbara said slowly, evidently not entirely ignorant as to her friend’s intentions where Pettigrew was concerned. “And my dear brother, Lord Broxbourne, and Mr. Grayson Hawthorne will join your group,” she said. She glanced briefly at Charlie, her mouth twitching into a smile, before hurrying on with, “We shall have Lady Winifred, Miss Martin, Lord Iverson, and Mr. Gunnerson form the second group, and the rest of you will be the third.”
“And Lady Suzanne will be our judge,” Lady Carolina joked.
The others laughed and split off into their assigned groups. Gray did not even bother sighing at the division of persons. He should have known.
