Page 27 of To Defend a Damaged Duke
“Multiple times over.I…” Inhaling deeply, feeling a little more like himself again, Benedict dared turn back towards Tommy, giving him a sheepish look.“Perhaps the time was nigh to give others a chance at glory.And Nimbus was approaching his ninth year, old for a racehorse.You swear it is true?That Lyndon is behind all this?”
“As true as I’m standing here, Your Grace.”
Enjoying the fuss being made of him, Ganymede nosed at Tommy’s chest, and he stretched out a cautious hand, letting the horse nuzzle.
“He is often skittish with strangers,” said Benedict, picking out the only coherent thought jostling his head.“He must have taken a liking to you.”
Tommy’s skin pinked at the compliment; the colour everything Benedict hoped it would be.Ganymede had discerning taste.
“I was much younger when I rode him to all those wins.”Benedict congratulated himself on formulating such a lucid statement.“And freer.”
“Yes.”Now it was Tommy who appeared to be struggling to speak.“We have both grown older since.”
In silent conversation, the two men regarded each other as they contemplated the past.A conversation neither dared speak out loud.Butif not now, when?Benedict had so much to say to this man.All the things he’d wanted to tell Tommy all those years ago had never left his mind.Even now, amid all his other woes, they spun in his head like an incantation.Another opportunity might never present itself.Thanks to Lyndon, Benedict would soon be living an ignoble existence on a draughty estate far, far from London.For all eternity.Why waste this precious moment discussing a damned horse?
Resolutely, he moistened his dry lips.“Nimbus and I both enjoyed the heady glory of…of our youth.”Gathering courage, he bravely plunged on.“And our youth was truly glorious, once, was it not, Mr L’Esquire?”
“Please…I…yes.”
Tommy rushed his gaze away and up towards the sky, desperately searching it, as if seeking out and counting every single one of the thin, wispy clouds.In the natural daylight, his feral eyes shone a deep blue, like wildflowers.Back in the simple, dim bedchamber of their past, Benedict fancied they had taken more of a duller, slate-grey tinge.And yet still, he’d been captivated.
Behind them, a groom shouted lustily to another, and an iron gate clanged.Tension crackled in the air, and when Tommy levelled with Benedict again, his voice was soft and low, almost a whisper.
“I have requested before, Your Grace, that you refrain from speaking to me this way.It is too…too much.”
“And I have requested that you do not refer to me as Your Grace.”Benedict fondled Ganymede’s ears.“But it is fair enough.We shall limit our discussion to a dear creature, my dearestmale companion, whom, more than a decade ago, I loved so very greatly.Above all others.”
“Loved?”The word appeared to catch Tommy off guard.
“Yes.”
Loved.As if what they had could be consecrated to the past, when it accompanied Benedict in all his endeavours still.When it lived forever in his heart.“I have never loved like it since.Would you…do you care to hear about it?”
“I…I yes, if I must.Though I fear that this current excellent winning horse of yours is the only thing holding both of us up.”
An older man and a woman sauntered by, pausing to admire his champion.Benedict dragged his gaze away from Tommy and back to Ganymede.
He began softly.“I was but a stripling myself, of course.Very young and foolish, I admit, but I knew my own heart.And my love for such a fine creature.So fine in every way.I wrote poetry for him.The earth sings when I touch him.When my body covers his, I soar.Did I ever tell of that, Tommy?”
“Don’t…don’t…you cannot…” Tommy’s lips parted, but nothing came out.Abruptly, he turned to face Ganymede.
Another strolling couple joined the first.One of the ladies pointed to Ganymede’s wrapped legs, posing an enquiring question to the other.Clearing his throat, Tommy tried once more.
“This…this fine creature you loved.Was he fair?Or was he dark, like Rossingley’s beloved Twilight?”
“He was fair.”A lock of Benedict’s hair fell across his forehead.“Twilight is a fine and bold beast, to be sure, but my love was even more beautiful than that.He was the colour of fresh hay, light of limb, and golden-hued.And when I stroked him, the fiery sun of a late August afternoon burned under my fingertips.”
A light sheen of moisture covered Tommy’s brow.“You have not had other c-creatures so fine since?”
“Not even close.Every other is a mere beast by comparison.When my first love spoke, he called me home.”
The garrulous groom behind them came closer, rattling a metal bucket.The sharp clinking snapped them both out of it.
Tommy took a pace back, checking his fob watch, fussing with his hat.“Please excuse me, Your—Ashington.But I must away.The next race is due presently.”
Chapter Thirteen
DAYS LATER, TOMMYstill reeled from the duke’s—Ashington’s—forthrightness.Like lumps of steak swallowed before chewing, his quixotic (did that word even fit?) avowals lodged in Tommy’s chest, refusing to budge.Starry-eyed declarations when one was but a mere pup were one thing, but now?The man tested the very fabric of Tommy’s existence.Never mind the paper-thin wall between love and hate, Tommy was no longer sure it had ever been built.
