Page 45 of Vanquished By A Viscount
Bradford must have realized he’d made his feelings a bit too apparent. And they were most definitely apparent. He dropped Gray’s hand and took a step back, turning so that he could address Robert and Charlie as well, though Gray was clearly the central focus of his attention.
“I have indeed,” he said with a smile. “I trust you received my letter, Lord Felcourt?” he asked Robert.
“I have,” Robert began hesitantly, glancing between Bradford and Gray, then peeking at Charlie. “I am interested in hearing more about South Eastern Railway’s proposal to buy a chunk of Hawthorne House land for the Maidstone line. The information you sent me was intriguing, but I should like to know more.”
“I will be only too happy to accommodate you,” Bradford said, radiating good will.
Charlie narrowed his eyes slightly. Was that good will and charm genuine or was Bradford a snake in the grass that would rise up and give Robert a fatal bite?
Charlie schooled his expression to neutrality a moment later when Bradford shifted to say to him, “I am delighted to find you at Hawthorne House as well, Lord Broxbourne, though I must confess that your kind host,” he gestured to Robert, “informed me of your presence here this summer. I might have been able to conduct this business by correspondence, but when I learned you were here, I had to come in person.”
His gaze snapped straight to Gray, as if his words were meant for him and no one else.
To his credit, Gray looked as though he might expire and sink into the floor. But whether that was because he was embarrassed to have what was clearly a past lover suddenly return to his life or eagerness to reclaim said lover was unclear.
God! What would he do if Grayson chose Bradford over him? The thought was manic and potentially ridiculous, given the way things had been going, but Charlie could not drag his eyes away from Bradford. Hell, if he had not been so much in love with Grayson at the moment, he would have thrown himself at the man and begged to suck his cock, though he typically preferred the other role.
“Shall we go for a walk around the estate to examine the land that might be purchased?” Robert asked, glancing between the other three of them as if figuring out the tangle that had just descended on them.
“That would be lovely,” Bradford said, the picture of graciousness. “Mr. Hawthorne, are you coming with us?” he asked Gray.
Gray glanced to Charlie with a desperate look, though whether desperate to remain in Bradford’s company or toexplain things, Charlie could not tell, and said, “Yes. That is, if my brother requires my presence.”
“I could always use your council when discussing matters of the family estate,” Robert said. “And yours as well, Broxbourne, since you are more or less a member of the family.”
He glanced pointedly at Bradford. Charlie wondered if he was attempting to inform the man that he and Gray were together in some way.
Whatever the case, Bradford remained nothing but smiles without a hint of suspicion in his eyes. He smiled like a man with full confidence that he could have whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it.
Charlie was doomed.
Fourteen
Howard Bradford. Gray had a string of past lovers that could have stretched across the English Channel, but of all the men who could show up at Hawthorne House with his enticing smile and a glint in his eye, it had to be Howard Bradford.
Howard was ten years older than Gray and had ten times as much experience. They’d met in Florence, when Gray had been feeling particularly melancholy and missing Charlie. Howard had noticed him in several ways and had provided Gray with everything he’d needed. He’d been a distraction and a mentor, a friend and the most exciting lover, aside from Charlie, that he’d ever had.
The things Grayson had done for and with Howard would have had even the most salacious member of The Brotherhood blushing, and now here the man was, walking a few steps ahead of him between Robert and Charlie on the garden path. He spoke easily about everything from geology to locomotion, striding across the hills of Hawthorne House as if he owned the estate and the title, not Robert. And he had both Robert and Charlie gazing at him as they walked as if he were far more beautifulthan any charming vista or carefully planted garden bed in all of England.
Because he was.
Anyone with a lick of sense could see that Howard Bradford was a man among men, and he was right there, at Hawthorne House, occasionally glancing back over his shoulder at Gray as if he had every intention of picking up their past acquaintance from the exact place where they’d left it.
And, of course, the place where they’d left it was with Gray spread like a frog on his back and panting as Howard drew out of him, kissed his belly, lapping up some of Gray’s fresh spend, then his lips, then glibly said he had a ship back to London to catch and that he hoped they would meet again someday. He’d pulled up his trousers, winked at Gray, and walked away, leaving him stunned and satisfied.
That had been ten months before.
“As you can see,” Howard said, gesturing across the verdant landscape of the Hawthorne House estate, “the path that the railway might cut across your land would create very little disturbance to your fields and tenants. There are no plans at present to build it across any land currently occupied by structures.”
“Yes, it does seem as though the suggested route your company plans to take would hardly influence the usual workings of Hawthorne House at all,” Robert said, following the line of Howard’s gesture to take in the sight of all he owned.
“And as you might imagine, Lord Broxbourne,” Howard went on, “should you decide to invest a portion of your considerable fortune in South Eastern Railway, you would see dividends beyond anything you could imagine.”
“It does appear that way,” Charlie mumbled, studying Howard more than the land.
Gray bit his lip, heart racing as he frantically attempted to puzzle out what he should do. Charlie knew how careless he’d been with his affections in the last seven years, though Gray suddenly doubted the wisdom of sharing himself around so liberally in the hope that word of his conquests would make its way back to Charlie to punish him.
That punishment was making its way back to Charlie now, and Gray could not have regretted it more.
