Page 49 of To Defend a Damaged Duke
“I’m going to give you some riding lessons this autumn,” Benedict declared as much to himself as Tommy.“And I shall acquire a suitable mount, especially for you, to keep at my stables.”As if fitting him for size, his eyes raked over Tommy, from the top of his head where his annoying cowlick was most likely doing its thing, down to the shine of his riding boots, still creaky from underuse.A satisfied smile reached from one corner of his mouth to the other.“I shall enjoy that very much.”
“Alas, it will take more than a good seat to make a true gentleman of me.”
“I know,” answered Benedict, taking Tommy’s hand.“And I don’t care.Come here.”
Being neither oak nor beech, the tree Benedict selected exceeded the extent of Tommy’s botanical knowledge.Tall and sturdy, with oval-shaped green leaves, it was a commonplace sort of tree, the kind a child might draw.And yet, when Benedict gently pushed him against the trunk and its crusty brown bark warmed his back, Tommy forgot about ordinary trees and gnats and his chafed arse.Because Benedict was kissing him as though his hand was already around Tommy’s prick and his head resting on a goose down pillow.
“I have neither enjoyed nor suffered much in this life,” Benedict murmured between kisses.He smoothed back Tommy’s errant lock of hair as his eyes, fringed with lashes the colour of the damp earth under their feet, levelled with Tommy’s.“I have been surrounded by creature comforts, yes; I have wanted for nothing.But believe me when I tell you this.It has been a life lived in grey twilight.Until now.Until you.”
He tipped Tommy’s face up to the leafy canopy above and smiled before planting a kiss on the tip of Tommy’s nose, which Tommy loved, although it made him squirm.“And I shall embrace you and cherish you, young Tommy Squire, because of our differences, not in spite of them.”
And then, looping his arms around Tommy, Benedict hugged him.
The man was very much like a warm solid tree trunk himself.He smelled of the earth, of horse, and of a handsome raven-haired youth.Tommy couldn’t recall ever having been the recipient of a hug like it.
“There are so many questions I want to ask you, Tommy, I scarcely know where to begin.They spring into my mind, unbidden, when I should be focussing on mundane matters.For instance, whether you have a favourite season?Why you favour red ink?If you like crocuses?Thunder?What is the origin of the scar on your left wrist?Your preferred dessert?”
Tommy couldn’t help a short laugh.“Those things sound terribly immaterial.”
“Not to me.”
He lost track of how long they stood that way, Tommy’s body cradled in his lover’s arms, his head nestled in the hollow of his neck.This hug was a little thing, too, immaterial, like his penchant for red ink.And yet it told Tommy so much about the man.
When they reluctantly pulled apart, Benedict fished out his pocket square and offered it to Tommy.He beamed as though bestowing a gift.
“Your nose.It is dribbling.”
“As you can see, no part of me is fond of the country.”Mortified, Tommy dabbed it.“But my nose will learn to tolerate it.As will the rest of me.For you.”
Conversation flowed more freely when they resumed their ride.Benedict pointed out a few unusual landmarks and places he’d visited, and, as they came nearer their destination, places and land he owned.
“You are so grand that I feel I should be offering you a tithe of my harvest,” Tommy teased as they passed yet another swathe of forestry belonging to the Ashington estate.
“At the risk of imitating every pompous, shallow nobleman that ever lived, it is a monumental headache.Ever since my father passed, I’ve become increasingly of the opinion us Ashington brothers were born in the wrong order.Francis, for instance, would have made an excellent duke.He has our father’s quick intelligence, yet he is kinder and fair with it.And more importantly, he will beget children.”Benedict looked across at Tommy, his expression sombre.“I, on the other hand, whilst fair-minded enough, have insufficient wit to manage our affairs without it taking up the lion’s share of my attention.And”—at this he threw Tommy a small, intimate smile—“I have no intention of producing issue.Of that, since stumbling across you again, I am certain.Dukedom be damned.”
Why did that make Tommy’s heart sing so freely?Ever since his reacquaintance with Benedict, his mind had whispered their affair was nothing more than fleeting.Or, at best, an occasional tupping when his future duchess failed to satisfy his urges.With the weight of Benedict’s responsibilities, not to mention the horror of the title falling into Lyndon’s hands should he never have issue, how could it be anything else?
“But the Ashington title and lands would pass to Lord Lyndon or his future offspring on your death, would they not?”Tommy confirmed.“As the next in line?”
“Yes,” Benedict clarified, not seeming too concerned.“But I plan to rehabilitate him or, if that fails, outlive him.”
“On his current trajectory, the latter is more likely.”
“Sadly, for him,” replied Benedict with a nod, “I concur.With a bit of luck, he’ll not sire any legitimate offspring, and on my death, everything will pass over to Francis.If so, then I should die a happy man knowing our affairs are in safe hands.”
“But not too soon, I hope.”
They exchanged a smile.
“I have recently begun to hope that too,” answered Benedict.“So, you see, though I have all this—thousands of acres of land, hunting lodges, fine crystal, silks, pots of wealth, priceless art—none of it is mine.Not really.I’m simply a custodian, and a very average one at that, passing through.In years to come, the fourteenth duke shall be nothing but a brief, dull footnote in the long, distinguished history of Ashington.”Leaning forward, he patted Nimbus’s withers.“And, when I’m astride this majestic beast or one of his stablemates, all of whom are truly mine, I understand that.I see it very clearly.And it brings me both endless comfort and boundless joy.”
*
“ASMALLHUNTINGlodge?”Tommy scoffed, greatly amused.His anxiety had withered around the time his lover had offered him his pocket square and kissed his temple.Again.The sneezing hadn’t ceased, but it seemed a lesser foe.
As they rounded the final corner of a shady, twisting lane, a sprawling redbrick manor house came into view.Row upon row of paned lead windows twinkled in the rare late afternoon sunshine, as if welcome candles had been lit in each.A striking stack of chimney pots dominated the rooftop, all four puffing out smoke.Ivy crept around the doorways and snaked up the walls.
Benedict’s eyes twinkled too.“Forgive me, I was comparing it to the one in the grounds of Ashington House.”
