Title: ...If Heaven Won't Have You...

Author/pseudonym: Tinnean

Fandom: Beau Geste

Pairing: Augustus Brandon/George Lawrence

Rating: NC-17

Email address: Tinneantoo@aol.com

Disclaimer: They still don't belong to me. Why do I torture myself like this?

Status: new/complete

Date: 11/01

Series/Sequel: This follows the events of It Is Better Not Retrieved

Other Web Site: http://www.angelfire.com/ny4/tinsel/

Archive: OK, I surrender. Yes to all the list archives. (I'm so easy!)

Summary: The Blue Water has vanished, along with the Geste brothers. Those who remain behind must face the music.

Warnings: m/m, language, whipping, major spoilers for the movie

Notes: The title comes from the words Michael Geste spoke at his youngest brother, John's, Viking funeral: ...if Heaven won't have you, the devil must! Town refers to London. As always, this is for Gail and for Silk. If you look in the dictionary under friendship, their pictures will be there.

It Is Better Not Retrieved 2: ...If Heaven Won't Have You...
by Tinnean

I'd been in love with Digby Geste since we were children, and had loved him since my seventeenth birthday. He had to be the best birthday present I had ever received. Dig had come across me having my wicked way with one of the younger grooms in an empty box stall, and had been excited by what he had seen.

Later that night, in my room, he'd gone up in flames in my arms, and taken me with him. But he lived in abject terror that I would tell the older brother he idolized of how he spent his nights. He refused to see that I had grown beyond the obnoxious child who had existed merely to torment him.

Dig loved how I could make him feel. And he hated that it was I who could make him feel that way.

****

It was some time after the Blue Water disappeared. I went through the days with a deep sense of dread in my belly. Not because the fabulous sapphire was gone, and one of the family was the thief, but because I had to face Digby Geste across the breakfast table each day, knowing he didn't care tuppence for me, certain his love was reserved for his older brother, and wondering if I'd ever be able to refuse him my bed.

Burdon, the butler who had come with Lady Brandon when she married my uncle, stood at the bottom of the shallow steps leading to the second floor of Brandon Abbas, wringing his hands and shuffling from one foot to the other.

"What's wrong, Burdon? You're acting as if you have ants in your pants."

The old man was pale. "It's Sir Hector, Mr. Augustus!"

"Bloody hell! Never tell me he's here already?"

"Yes, sir! If Mr. Michael or Mr. Digby were still here, I'd fetch them. As it is, I don't know what to do!"

The Geste twins weren't around? That was strange. They made it a point to always be near Aunt Pat and Isobel, another of the orphans she had adopted, whenever Uncle was home. Sir Hector so enjoyed hurting those weaker than he.

I thought I heard a muffled cry. My eyes shot to the butler's, and he nodded, miserable. "Sir Hector was quite...annoyed when he learned of the theft of the Blue Water. I'm afraid he's taking it out on her Ladyship!" The old man's faded blue eyes were wet with unshed tears.

"Bugger!" I was ashamed to think how much I feared my uncle. He was my father's elder brother, and had become my guardian when my parents had been killed in a drunken motoring accident. His temper was volatile, and when things didn't go his way it was explosive. He loved to brandish his riding crop on the nearest target, and often as a child, I had felt it on my back. "Where...?"

"They're in the breakfast room, sir."

I ran a hand over my hair, gave a tug to my jacket and straightened my spectacles. As I approached the closed door to the small parlor, I could hear muted sobs, and the rhythmic slash of the goddamned crop. I didn't bother knocking on the door, as I might have done when my relatives were closeted together.

Uncle glared at me over his shoulder. Aunt Pat huddled on the rug at his feet, her shoulders hunched, her hands shielding her face. "What is the meaning of this interruption?" Sir Hector demanded, spittle flecked over his chin. He began to hurl abuse at both his wife and me, his words becoming more and more vile. His eyes looked not quite sane.

"Aunt Patricia, please let me help you." I got her to her feet, in spite of Uncle's fearsome harangue. He strode from one end of the room to the other, slicing the air with his crop. "Burdon, please see to her Ladyship. Perhaps Dr. Medford might be sent for, as well?"

The old man led his trembling Lady away. I closed the door behind them, and turned to face my uncle. "Aunt Pat did not deserve that, sir," I murmured as I went to confront him.

He continuously beat the crop against his leg. "She lost the Blue Water!" he snarled.

"No, Uncle. She had nothing to do with it. The stone was ..." I paused. If I told him it was stolen, he'd assume, most probably rightly, that the missing Geste brothers had something to do with its loss. I needed to protect Digby. I amended my statement. "The stone is missing."

"I need the Blue Water! I'll be rolled up horse and guns if I can't redeem my vowals! I'll be barred from all my clubs! My honor will be in the dust!" He lashed out with the crop, catching me across my temple. I backed away from him. "Remove your jacket, Gussie! And brace yourself against the table!"

"Uncle..."

His open palm hit just below my cheekbone and my spectacles flew off. I staggered back a few steps. "Obey me, boy!"

I shed my jacket and did as he ordered. I knew from past experience there was nothing to be done until he had satisfied the demon that dwelled within him.

The crop whistled through the air and sliced the material of my shirt, which quickly became stained red. I bit my lips raw suppressing moans. My arms trembled, supporting the weight of my body, and soon my shoulders were as hunched as Aunt Pat's had been.

Abruptly, in mid stroke, the whipping stopped. There was a garbled, gurgling sound and then a thud as Sir Hector toppled over. I moved cautiously, trying to put as little strain on my back as I could.

Uncle was writhing on the floor, his face an alarming shade of blue. His fingers scrabbled at his collar. I watched dispassionately as his vicious temper and years of heavy drinking and high living got the better of him, and then walked out of the room.

The family physician was just coming down the stairs from Aunt Patricia's suite of rooms. "Augustus. You seem to have lost your spectacles."

"Dr. Medford. Yes. I believe I have. Is Aunt Pat all right?" I put out a hand to the banister to steady myself.

His lips tightened. He had been called to Brandon Abbas more than once after my uncle had paid us a visit. "I've seen her better. I wish I could convince her to leave the blighter!"

"Ah, yes, Uncle Hector. He isn't quite the thing, I fear. Perhaps you'd see to him before you left? He's in the breakfast room."

I pulled myself up the first few steps to the landing as the doctor passed me. He turned, to say something cutting no doubt, but drew in his breath sharply instead. "God in heaven, Gussie! What have you done?"

Of course. It was my fault. *I* took a whip to my back. "Nothing, Dr. Medford. Please see Uncle."

Instead of leaving me to make my way up the stairs, he slid an arm around my waist, carefully avoiding the worst of the gashes on my back, and got me up to my room. Burdon peeked in, and moaned. "I'll get you some more water, Doctor."

"Wait! Not a word of this to her Ladyship, is that clear? It would distress her, even if it was only *I* who felt his crop." I waited until they both agreed before lying crosswise on my bed. "Did he open Aunt Pat's back as well, Dr. Medford?"

The older man muttered something under his breath as he plucked the remnants of my shirt out of the cuts that crisscrossed my back. He took the basin of water from the butler and dismissed him. "Someone should bloody well take a whip to Sir Hector's miserable hide!" he growled. A shrill scream interrupted his ministrations. "What the f...what is *that*?"

I recognized the tones of our housekeeper. In spite of the discomfort I was in I gave a huff of laughter. "I expect that Mrs. Gerard has found Sir Hector. You'd better go, Dr. Medford. I'm...all right."

Burdon came hurrying in, his eyes wild with panic. "Doctor, you must come!"

Medford sighed but followed the butler down to the breakfast room, where, after a cursory examination according to those who witnessed it, he pronounced Sir Hector dead of apoplexy.

****

It was a week later. Uncle had been interred in the family crypt, the turnout meager at best. I told those who saw Sir Hector to his final resting place that Aunt Patricia was prostrate.

I saw no need to tell them that she was prostrate with relief, and not grief. That was no one's business but the family's.

It was a nine-day wonder that the Gestes also were not at the funeral, but that, too, was none of their business. It was only later in the day Sir Hector died that the letters from the brothers were discovered in the rose salon, neatly stacked in the chest that had housed the Blue Water. Each missive said simply that the author was the sole thief of the valuable stone.

I refused to believe that Digby did it; everyone else refused to consider *any* of the Gestes, but the fact remained that the Blue Water was missing, and so were they.

Aunt Pat's lovely blonde hair turned pure white over night. Isobel never left her side, more than happy to fetch whatever her benefactress might desire. Together they mourned the departure of the Gestes, but not the loss of Lady Brandon's husband.

I had been closeted with the family solicitor all afternoon, trying to make heads or tails of the shambles in which my uncle had left his estate. Burdon tapped at the study door.

"There's someone here to see you, Mr....beg pardon, sir. *Sir* Augustus." He handed me a card.

I couldn't get used to hearing myself addressed as 'Sir Augustus'. I removed my spectacles and rubbed the bridge of my nose, then took the rectangular piece of cardboard. 'Geo Lawrence, Esq.' My eyebrow elevated past the hair that concealed the fading mark on my forehead. "Thank you, Burdon. I'll be right there."

"I'm sorry I don't have better news for you, Sir Augustus, although I must say the farms are in much better condition than I had dared to hope." Mr. Kirkby, the solicitor, gathered his papers and shook my hand. "Quite puzzling, that. I'll continue to study your uncle's affairs, and return later in the week to let you know how things are evolving."

"Thank you, Mr. Kirkby." I followed him out into the hall and watched as Burdon closed the door behind him. "Where's Mr. Lawrence, Burdon?"

"He's in the blue salon, Mr....Sir Augustus."

The blue salon was toward the back of the house, and I went there, wondering why George Lawrence, who was an old friend of Aunt Patricia's, would want to see me. Whenever he visited he had never shown much liking for me, much preferring the company of the Gestes.

I opened the door and stepped into the room. A man stood by the French doors, gazing out toward the gardens that were Aunt Pat's pride and joy. I approached him warily. "Mr. Lawrence? I understand you wished to see me?" He turned. "You're not George Lawrence!"

"I am, actually. However, the George Lawrence with whom you're acquainted is my father."

I felt the queerest sensation in my chest. The elder Lawrence had visited Brandon Abbas whenever he had been sure Sir Hector was from home, and I would listen covertly to the marvelous tales he told of his son, who was a few years my senior, and of whom he was so proud. I had hoped he would one day bring the young man with him, but Geo Lawrence was frequently out of the country, having followed his father into civil service.

Now he stood there, leaning casually on his cane, and for the first time in eight years, I found myself attracted to someone other than Digby Geste. Lawrence was beautiful, with classic features, curly chestnut hair and a body that looked fit and solid. The dark suit he wore was set off, with panache, by that silver-headed walking stick. My mouth went dry, and I swallowed hard, startled by my reaction.

I shook myself out of my reverie. "What can I do for you, Mr. Lawrence?"

His look was pensive. "You can pay me my money."

"I beg your pardon?"

He took a fistful of notes and vowals from his pocket. They were all signed by my late, unlamented uncle. I tallied them up quickly. The blood drained from my face, and I felt anger at my uncle rise. The total was over twenty thousand pounds.

"The estate doesn't have this much money." My voice was a tight growl. "Not with the Blue Water gone!"

"Perhaps Lady Brandon..."

"No! She suffered enough at my uncle's hands. I won't have her paying for that as well." I scrubbed my hands over my face. "How much time are you willing to give me?"

I glanced up in time to catch his expression. It was almost as if I wasn't what he expected. I dismissed that foolish notion.

Lawrence examined his fingernails. "Your uncle used up all the time. I've given you an additional week's grace due to the unfortunate circumstances of the other day, but..." He shrugged.

I sank down onto a sofa, jerking away as my back came into contact with the nappy fabric of its back. I removed my spectacles and dug my fingers into my eyes. "There is no money," I repeated.

"Sell Brandon Abbas," he suggested callously.

"I can't." I gave a harsh laugh. "It's entailed."

"You could always blow your brains out."

"This isn't the eighteenth century." I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket and polished the lenses of my spectacles before sliding them back on. When I looked up once more he was standing by the Italian marble fireplace. I let my eyes caress his elegant figure, then glanced away before he could see my interest. "You've got me confused with the Gestes, dear boy," I drawled. "They are the ones who are so bloody honorable, or they were until one of them apparently pinched the Blue Water."

"My father has told me a great deal about the Gestes. And about you as well. Ghastly Gussie, isn't that what they call you?"

I closed my eyes, trying to conceal the pain I knew must be evident in them.

"There may be a solution." Lawrence picked up one of Aunt Patricia's ceramic dogs from the mantle and turned it idly in his hands. "I'm looking for someone to entertain me. In my bed." He raised his hand. "Before you jump to the very erroneous conclusion that I have designs on either her Ladyship, or the extremely pretty Isobel, let me tell you my preferences run to men."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Lawrence, I'm a bit stupid this afternoon. Explain to me, please, in words of one syllable?"

He limped to the sofa, and I realized the walking stick was not an affectation. Carefully he eased himself down next to me and ran his finger along my thigh, up the crease of my trousers stopping just short of my crotch. In spite of myself I started to grow hard. "It's very simple, Sir Augustus. You, in my bed. If you satisfy me, I'll consider reducing the debt. Please me enough and I might cancel it!"

"You think I'm worth twenty thousand pounds? I'm flattered, I suppose." God*damn* you, Uncle! In all the years you were alive you never managed to fuck me. You certainly have now!

"Perhaps, perhaps not." Lawrence shrugged indifferently, but his eyes, so pale a blue as to be almost grey, belied his words. They bored into mine as if he would plumb all my secrets, and I felt myself getting lost in them. "Of course, the ladies will be allowed to remain at Brandon Abbas. How you explain our...friendship...is entirely up to you."

"Why would you want me?" I wondered. To punish me for a childhood misspent?

"Truthfully? You interest me. I listened to all Father's tales of your imbroglios with the Geste boys, and I was...intrigued. Yes, that surprises me too." His thumb traced the silky hairs of my mustache. "May I assume we have an agreement?"

What choice did I have? Although I was 'Ghastly Gussie' Brandon and not a Geste, I had my own sense of honor. I extended my hand, and was surprised when Geo Lawrence took it in his strong fingers. He actually turned it over and brought it to his mouth, caressing the calloused skin with his lips.

I tried to keep my breathing even as his tongue traced my lifeline. I shivered, and felt his smile against my palm. He drew his hand away slowly, his fingertips lingering enticingly on the back of my fingers.

He was allowing me to step back from him, but it took all my resolve to make that move. "I look forward to our first encounter, Gussie."

"Please." His eyes hardened as if he thought I was about to plead to be released from our bargain. I had to moisten my lips. "Please don't call me Gussie."

He nodded. It was a small enough request to grant me. "Till tonight, then, Augustus." His voice held dark, velvet promises.

Of course. It was too late in the day for him to drive back to Town. Tonight...tonight he would have me. The thought of him in my bed made me hard.

Burdon answered my summons so quickly I knew he had to be lurking in the hall. "Burdon, Mr. Lawrence will be staying with us for a few days. Please have Mrs. Gerard prepare a room for him, and see that he has everything he wants." The other man's eyes glittered at my words, and I silently cursed myself for the unwitting double entendre.

The butler ushered Lawrence out. "Your luggage, sir?"

"It's in the boot of my motorcar." Their voices grew fainter as they drew further away.

I went in search of Aunt Patricia. She would need to be informed that the son of her old friend would be staying with us for a time.

Part 2

I was uncertain what to expect later that evening, and so I was silent throughout dinner.

Aunt Pat knew that was not my normal reaction to guests, however seldom we had them, and frowned thoughtfully. Isobel ignored me much as she did when the man she loved was at the table with us. She was brooding over John Geste's defection, and I could have told her that no matter whom the brothers might care for, they loved none so well as each other.

Geo Lawrence watched with interest. He took a sip of his wine. "Lady Brandon, I can't tell you how much I appreciate your very kind invitation to visit Brandon Abbas. Father has often spoken of your lovely home."

"It's such a shame George is stationed in Nigeria."

The younger Lawrence contemplated the ruby hues of the liquid in his glass. "Unfortunately, he was stricken with malaria. Oh, he's much better now," he hastened to reassure Aunt Pat at her cry of distress. "I expect he'll be returning home to England before the year is out."

"How splendid. And just fancy, the son of my dear friend having become friends with my nephew while he was at university! What a small world, to be sure!"

His lips curled into a smile as he saluted me with his glass, acknowledging the Banbury tale I had given Aunt to explain his visit.

"I noticed you were limping, dear boy. Nothing serious, I hope?" Aunt Pat was determined to keep the conversational ball rolling.

"A trifling run-in with the Tuaregs, milady. We both wanted a specific oasis." He told the tale, making light of what had obviously been a dire situation.

Isobel turned her beautiful blue eyes toward him and fluttered her lashes.

I frowned, unfamiliar with the feeling that was burning in my stomach like acid. There had been nothing like it with Digby: I knew the only ones he loved were his brothers, and Beau, honorable bastard that he was, would never approach his twin in the manner Dig secretly desired.

"What was the outcome, sir?"

"*They* did not get it."

She leaned forward in her chair. "Ripping, sir!"

"Isobel!" Aunt Patricia scolded her. "You've been in John's company entirely too much!"

"I beg your pardon, Aunt. It's just that John would have loved to hear this story. And Beau and Digby as well!" Both women lost their animation.

I shoved my chair away from the table. "Aunt Pat, would you excuse me please? This has been a trying day. Meeting with the solicitor," I offered as an excuse.

"Of course, Augustus."

"Good evening, Aunt, Isobel. Mr..... G-Geo," I stumbled over his name.

I walked to the door, pausing to glance back as I heard Lawrence speak again. "Father has told me much of the Blue Water. What a shame that I shan't have the opportunity to see such a splendid stone."

Aunt Pat's eyes skittered away from his and she reached for her own wine, almost knocking it over in her haste. "Yes," she murmured hollowly, "a pity!"

I closed the door behind me and made my way up the stairs.

****

The bedside lamp cast a soft, amber glow over the room, while the logs in the fireplace snapped and crackled, chasing away the chill.

I stood by the window that opened onto what I had referred to in my youth as my balcony, a platform surrounded by wrought iron that extended no more than two feet out into space. Gazing out into the darkness, I saw nothing, not the trees that surrounded Brandon Abbas, not the stars that spangled the night, not the moon that hung low and swollen in the sky.

My back was still too sore for me to attempt to sit up and read in bed, so I waited there, carefully considering what I was about to do. Some might see it as whoring myself, and that might be so, but the long and the short of it was I wanted him in my bed.

When he finally came to me, he didn't bother with the fiction of knocking on my door. He knew that would I, wouldn't I, he would have me that night and any night he chose.

I shivered at the thought. I had never been wanted that much. It's only until he considers the debt paid off, a little voice whispered in my ear. I quashed it down. Twenty thousand pounds would take quite some time to pay off.

Geo pushed the door opened, the plush blue velvet dressing gown he was wearing deepening the color of his eyes. He observed me at the other side of the room, then strolled toward the bed, shedding the robe and revealing his naked glory.

My breath clogged in my throat.

"You're a trifle overdressed."

I moistened my lips and walked to the side of the bed, turning out the lamp before I reached for the hem of my nightshirt and pulled it over my head. It fell unheeded at my feet.

"On your knees."

I dropped to the floor and waited while he watched me. Without my spectacles, the world was something of a blur. He strolled to where I knelt and stopped before me, his fingers stroking over my mustache.

"Such lovely, soft hair, Gussie." I flinched at the name. "You really do hate that, don't you? Very well, *Augustus*," he corrected himself. "I find I'm curious as to what that would feel like on my flesh."

Perhaps he intended to say more, but I stopped listening. I leaned forward and licked the tip of his cock, a broad swipe that bathed the slit with moisture. Then I took the head between my lips and sucked gently while I rolled his balls between my fingers. His hands tangled in my hair and he urged me to take in more. I relaxed my throat and swallowed his entire length, and he groaned and began to fuck my mouth.

I balanced one hand against his thigh, lightly running my nails through the fine hairs that covered it. The other abandoned his balls and curved around to his muscular buttocks, exploring the crack of his arse, teasing the puckered opening.

I wondered briefly if he would come in my mouth, and found I was hoping for that. My lips and tongue suckled his cock hungrily, while my own cock quivered in the cool air of the room, and oozed precome. His taste was salty and slightly bitter, similar to Digby, and yet different.

His palm on my cheek halted my actions, then he pulled free. "Lay down on your back."

"I'd prefer not to. If...if you wouldn't mind, Mr. Lawrence?"

"Oh, come, Augustus. You'll never convince Lady Brandon we're old friends if you persist in calling me Mr. Lawrence. You made a nice start of it in the dining room. Call me Geo. And get on your back. This is how I want you now." His voice was implacable.

The covers had already been folded to the foot of the bed and I climbed in, favoring my back as much as I could without being obvious about it. I closed my eyes and concentrated on keeping my breathing even. My cock, so gloriously hard while I had been going down on him, had become completely flaccid.

"This will never do!" Geo commented. He settled himself on the bed between my legs and leaned down to take my shaft between his lips.

I gave a startled cry, and became swiftly engorged. His teeth scraped lightly along my length and his tongue probed the slit. Was he going to make this good for me, as well? He took my balls in his long fingers and rolled them gently. I wound my fingers in his hair, but struggled not to thrust too deeply into his mouth. Digby had refused to go down on me, but I had always been careful of the few lovers who had.

Geo released me with a pop. "Much better! Have you any cream, or lotion?"

"In...in the nightstand," I panted.

He retrieved the jar I had used for Digby, and I heard him chuckle as he opened it and saw its depleted state. "Someone likes it up the arse!"

I looked away, swallowing hard. I'd have rolled over for Digby if he'd asked, but he'd never cared to ask.

Geo straddled my chest, his head facing the foot of the bed, and urged me to bend my legs. As he parted my buttocks and spread the cream over my anus, teasing the sensitive skin behind my balls, I stroked the curves of his firmly muscled rump, tracing the crease and tickling his own sac. He angled his hips up a bit and I was able to get my hand on his cock.

He was rock hard and slick from his precome and my saliva. I licked my lips, and then scooted down a little further to lick the flushed tip, gathering the drops on my tongue. I swallowed as much of him as I could at that awkward angle, surprising him.

Did he think I'd just lie there and not reciprocate? I tried to encourage him to sink his finger deeper into my arse, his cock deeper into my mouth.

He withdrew his finger and I moaned in protest, the sound vibrating around the mouthful I had. "Let me go!" he whispered, and I obeyed reluctantly. Before I could blink twice, he was lying over me, my legs pressed back by his muscular forearms, and his spit-slicked cock entered me easily.

It had been a very long time since I had been mounted, and the feeling of fullness, of being invaded, the electrical spark as my lover caressed that spot inside me drove me toward fulfillment. And then his full weight forced my back into contact with the mattress. With a cry he mistook for passion, I arched my shoulders up off the bed, trying to spare my scored back.

It was impossible to maintain that position for long, however, and I sank down once more, too swamped by the remnants of pain to be even remotely interested in what Geo was doing to me. I bit my lips raw trying to suppress my moans.

Perhaps he sensed something was wrong. Perhaps he just hadn't been laid in a long time. Whatever the reason, he was finished quickly, coming with a quiet groan, and he relaxed onto my body, pressing me even more deeply into the bed. "Please," I managed to gasp, pushing at his shoulders.

"What's wrong?" He slipped from my passage.

I couldn't tell him I had been whipped; at my age that was too shameful. "You're too heavy," I lied.

He grunted and eased off me, arms and legs sprawled over the bed, and was soon asleep.

I turned onto my side and drew the sheet up over me. Hesitantly I extended my fingers toward the smooth skin of his spine, desperately wanting to touch him, but then I withdrew them. I wondered if he intended to stay the night, or if I should awaken him before dawn so he could return to his own bed.

Digby had always made a point of leaving as soon as he possibly could.

I banished my former lover from my mind, and settled myself to sleep.

****

At some point I must have rolled away from him. I awoke to fingers teasing my hole, sliding soothing cream into the well-used channel. With no pressure on my back, I could enjoy what he was doing to me. I hummed with pleasure and backed onto the invaders that were gently stretching me.

"Yes! I knew you liked it; I knew I couldn't be wrong about this!"

I stiffened as the memory of the earlier events came crashing down on me. But then the broad, blunt head of Geo's cock replaced his fingers, and I whimpered as he filled me.

His hand caressed my hip before moving around to find my cock. He fondled me, smearing drops of precome over the tip and along the shaft. I shivered at the combination of sensations that bombarded my nerve-endings.

For the first time in longer than I cared to remember, I was pushed toward the mountaintop, knowing that when I fell off someone would be there to catch me.

Geo stroked across that spot inside me and pumped my cock and I came, filling his hand, pouring myself over him. Another few thrusts, and I could feel him quivering in my passage as his scalding heat flooded me.

I nestled my arse back against him, sighing with repletion. He dropped a soft kiss on my shoulder blade, and I was hoping that perhaps he *would* stay the night with me when I felt him grow still.

How foolish of me to hope for the moon. Briefly I wondered what I had done to make me so unlovable, and turned my face into my pillow, not wanting to watch as he left.

Instead, he leaned over me and snapped on the bedside lamp, then turned me onto my stomach. "*Bloody hell*! Augustus, what happened to your back?"

"A stupid hunting accident. I fell from my horse and was dragged. Surely your father mentioned what a poor rider I am?"

"Bugger that! He said your only redeeming feature was that you were a bruising rider to hounds! These welts and cuts were caused by a whip!"

I gave a short, unhappy laugh. "It's nice to know your father thinks I have even one good quality." I glanced over my shoulder. "He told you so much of what happened here at Brandon Abbas. Didn't he ever mention my uncle's uncertain temper?"

"Sir Hector did this to you?"

"That surprises you? Did you think that because I was the heir I was spared his choler? Oh, go away, Geo!" I turned off the lamp and the room was pitched into darkness. The bed dipped as he moved, and I bit my lip to prevent myself from calling him back.

But there was no need to call him back, because he was going nowhere. He settled himself in my bed. "I don't think so, Augustus. I'll be spending my nights here. Get used to it."

Part 3

It must have been some time after midnight when a light tapping at my door roused me. My body was pleasantly aching, and I wanted to ignore the summons that was being repeated a little more demandingly.

Muttering under my breath, I rolled over and came up against the warm, relaxed body beside me. His steady breathing led me to conclude that the noise outside my door had not disturbed my lover's slumber. For one wild moment I panicked, knowing Digby would be livid if he was caught in bed with me.

And then memory came crashing back. It was not Dig who was tucking an arm firmly around my waist and dragging me back into his embrace. It was not Dig who protested drowsily as I eased my way out of bed.

But it *was* someone who wanted me enough to blackmail me into bed with him!

For me to permit such a state of affairs was madness. I wondered briefly if a strain of madness ran in the Brandons. It had to be in that branch of the family, for it certainly hadn't shown up in the Gestes, who never acted in any but the most honorable manner.

Whoever was on the other side of my door tapped again, and this time it sounded almost frantic. "Sir Augustus?" a voice called. It was David, the young footman who was in training to replace Burdon if he should ever decide to step down. "Sir Augustus!"

*Bugger*! He'd waken Geo with that racket!

I flung back the covers and winced as I got out of bed. It had been not quite ten years since I had taken a cock inside me, and I was sore, in spite of the care that Geo had taken. On silent feet I went to the door and cracked it open.

"What is it, David?" I asked softly.

"Beg pardon, Sir Augustus. Jem sent word. It's time!"

"I'll be right down!"

I pulled out a pair of loose trousers and an old shirt from the armoire. I was only going to the stable. There was no need for anything fancy. I got into them without making any noise.

Closing the door carefully, so as not to make a sound and awaken my lover, I ran down the stairs, hastily buttoning my shirt. A young stable boy was waiting in the hall. He stared with enormous eyes at the suit of armor that stood guard in a corner.

"Jack! How's Beauty?"

"She's doing well, sir. Mr. Nye says to make sure I tell you that." He was unable to tear his eyes away from the armor as he gave me his message. "But if you wants to be in at the birth, you're to get your arse..." The boy turned fiery red and then went pale. "Oooh, I'm that sorry, sir!"

I stifled a chuckle. It would not do to become too familiar with the young stable boy. I led the way through the house and out the kitchen door, noticing the backward glance he threw over his shoulder, but dismissing it as awe in being in the manor house for the first time.

By the time I got to the stable, it was almost all over. Jem Nye, the young man who had once been my lover and who had since risen to the position of head groom, was just rising to his knees from behind the laboring mare. Naked to the waist, his torso gleamed with perspiration, bits of straw clinging to him. "Get her head, please, Sir Gustus!"

I went to my knees as carefully as I could, feeling that ache deep inside me. I took her head in my arms, stroking her broad forehead and patting her sweating neck.

I was worried about her. She was getting on in years, and this would probably be her last foal. The soothing words I murmured in her ear helped calm her. Her large, dark eyes seemed focused on her labor.

"How is she doing, Jemmy?" He flashed me a cheeky grin, and I couldn't help but smile back. We'd had good times together when we were boys, and though our positions now precluded anything more than a working relationship, the memories were still there, fond and warm.

"Almost there, sir!" Jem had a firm grip on a pair of long legs, and with the next contraction eased the wet bundle of gangly foal onto the straw.

I helped the mare struggle to her feet. She shook herself and turned sharply, breaking the umbilical cord, then stretched her head down toward where her offspring lay in the straw, her breath wuffling over it. Her nostrils flared as she learned the scent of her baby.

We waited breathlessly to see what she would do. Earlier in the week, one of our younger mares had rejected her foal, and Jem had barely gotten the tiny creature out of the birthing box in time to save its life.

Fortunately, Beauty had always proven to be a devoted mother, and now she nuzzled and licked her newborn, encouraging the little filly to try her legs.

Jem sighed happily and clambered to his feet, running his arm over his forehead to blot the sweat away. "She's going to be a beauty, sir."

"Unlike her dam?" It was a running joke in the stables that Beauty was the ugliest horse in creation. Aunt Pat had insisted on naming her, saying she needed all the encouragement she could get. The mare's hips were bony and angular, her neck gaunt and her gait so bone-jarring it made her rider's teeth rattle.

But she was the sweetest-natured animal in the stables, and the colts and fillies she produced had some of the fastest times clocked on a racecourse.

The head groom came out of the stall and walked to the water spigot, where he sluiced himself off. "I'd have sent word to you sooner, sir, but I heard you had a visitor."

That was the thing about servants, I mused as I brushed the straw from my trousers and left the stall: they knew what was going on before their employers did. I leaned over the top of the stall and watched mother and child interact. Jem joined me, his shoulder brushing against mine.

As the little filly nursed, her wisp of a tail flicking back and forth with almost comical vigor, we chatted comfortably of her prospects, and of the possibility of buying a good stallion and starting our own stud.

But the visitor to Brandon Abbas was not mentioned again.

****

The sun was over the horizon when I finally returned to my room, and Geo was no longer there. I had been hoping to join him in bed, had imagined climbing in as he slept, and spooning behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and cradling my cock against his buttocks.

It was for the best, no doubt. I had helped Jem clean up the mare and her stall, and was dirty and sweaty.

My stomach rumbled loudly.

And hungry.

I washed and changed into at home clothing, then made my way downstairs. Everyone was already gathered in the breakfast room by the time I got there, and they fell silent when I entered the room, leaving me to wonder if I had been the topic of discussion.

"Beg pardon for being tardy, Aunt. Beauty chose last night to foal."

"A satisfactory delivery, Augustus?"

"Eminently so, Aunt Pat. Looks like she might take after her sire. Coal black, with white stockings! A little beauty, if I may say so!"

She laughed, as I had hoped she might, and I poured myself a cup of hot chocolate. The Gestes had frequently teased me about my choice of beverage, but this was something I refused to give up.

David bustled in, bearing a steaming platter of fluffy scrambled eggs and fat sausages that were done to a turn. "Shall I serve you, sir?"

"Thank you, no. Just leave them on the buffet, David; I'll help myself."

The young footman nodded, placed a newspaper next to my plate and retreated back to the kitchen.

Geo joined me at the buffet, helping himself to more sausages. "Are you often called out in the night?" he asked curiously.

I shrugged. "It happens. I hope your sleep wasn't disturbed," I murmured in a soft voice, so the others wouldn't hear us. Ostensibly I was loading my plate with breakfast, but I was watching him from beneath my eyelashes.

"As a matter of fact, it was. I followed you to the stable." So that was the reason young Jack was so disturbed. I raised an eyebrow and waited to see if Geo would continue. "I was curious to see where you were going that time of night," he explained.

"Did you think I had an assignation?"

"If that thought crossed my mind, I was soon disabused." Geo's eyes were calm, considering, and perhaps a trifle surprised. He returned to his seat across the table from me. "You got on your knees for that mare."

I had gotten on my knees for him also. "Of course. There was no need for her to suffer when there was comfort at hand." Isobel was starting to look a little green. She had wandered in on a birth when she was a child. The results had been unhappy for everyone concerned: both mare and foal had died, and Isobel had dissolved into hysterics. I changed the subject. "You were conversing about something when I came in. Please don't let me interrupt your conversation."

Aunt Pat smiled at me. "I was assuring Geo that you are normally an extremely punctual young man, Augustus."

Isobel sniffed and pointedly ignored that. She raised her cup to her lips and sipped daintily. "I was about to tell Mr. Lawrence how John promised to ride ventre a terre to my deathbed."

From over my spectacles I regarded her with some amusement, but I held my tongue, buttering a slice of toast instead.

She saw my glance however, and bristled. "Do you think John wouldn't ride like the wind to be by my side if I was in danger of dying, Ghastly?" she sneered. She would never forgive me for being here, while John was out somewhere in the cruel world. "Would you do that for anyone? Would anyone do that for you?"

I touched my napkin to my lips. "No," I said. "I don't imagine so. If you'll excuse me?"

The door had barely closed behind me before it was opened again. "One moment, Gustus. I need to speak with you."

"We'd better be private, then." I led the way to Sir Hector's ... to *my* study.

Geo noticed that I was walking almost as stiffly as he, and his eyebrow elevated in a silent question.

"I'm quite all right, Geo," I murmured. I had spent the time in my bath giving myself a stern talking-to. This situation really wasn't much different from what I had had before: a lover who wanted what I could make him feel, but didn't want me, not really. I had to remember, before I did something so foolish as to give my heart away again, that I merely represented a debt of twenty thousand pounds. "I do hope you weren't too severely disappointed, dear boy. I promise to do better in future, if you're still interested."

"Whatever gave you the idea I was losing interest, Gustus?" His long fingers took my chin and drew me toward him. His eyes seemed fascinated with my mouth. I began breathing so hard my spectacles fogged up, and I could see nothing. I started as he drew me closer to him and kissed me for the first time.

What a clever mouth he had! His lips teased, at first gently, and then with more pressure until my lips tingled and parted to grant him eager admittance. He licked at the smooth tissue under my upper lip. My own tongue stroked the ridged underside of his tongue as it explored my mouth, and I shivered with rising need.

With a soft groan, I leaned into him and simply surrendered, and he took my mouth with teeth and tongue. I let him have his way with me. Geo smoothed his hand over my hair and settled his palm at the base of my skull, his fingers stroking the indentation.

He pulled back slightly. My lips felt full and swollen. And abandoned. "I have to run up to Town. I'll be back before the weekend. When I come back..."

"You'll be back?" I was afraid my eager question exposed more than I intended to reveal.

"Of course. After all, twenty thousand pounds will take more than one night to repay!"

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing.

****

That set the pattern of our life together. During the week he stayed in his London townhouse, taking care of whatever needed to be done for the Government.

And on the weekends he would motor down to my estate.

At first he spent the days at Brandon Abbas keeping me at a distance, coming to me only after everyone had retired. I was...well, not precisely comfortable with that situation, but it was what I was used to. It was how Digby treated me.

But when for the fourth time in as many weeks Geo didn't show up, I was desolate.

In addition, a feather-brained friend of Isobel who was visiting insisted on riding one of the younger horses that needed a strong hand on the reins. The colt got the bit between his teeth and ran away with her. He attempted a jump when he wasn't set up for it and came down at an awkward angle. The chit took a tumble.

The colt shattered his ankle and took a bullet.

After I handed the gun back to Jem, I went to my study, intent on drinking myself into a stupor. Mrs. Gerard insisted on leaving me a tea tray. I set it aside on my desk and poured a large glass of whiskey.

The level in the bottle had decreased significantly, but had failed in making me forget the afternoon's events. There was a thunderous pounding on the door and I flung it opened. "I left orders I was *not* to be disturbed!" I snarled.

"Not even for me?"

"*You*?" I grabbed Geo's lapels and pulled him into the study, then locked the door behind him and shoved him back against the door. "Where have you been for the last four weeks?" Then I decided, "Fuck it, I don't bloody well care!"

I yanked his jacket down over his arms, effectively trapping him, plastered my body against his and took his mouth. My hands fisted in his chestnut hair and I turned his head this way and that so I could take the greatest advantage of the sweetness of his kisses.

I felt as if I was about to go up in flames. I tore his shirt open, sending buttons scattering all over the floor and took a nipple between my teeth, tugging it gently before sucking it into my mouth.

Geo groaned and thrust his hips against me.

"You ponce! I've let you have me, and let you have me, but now it's my turn! I'm going to fuck you until you don't know which end is up!" I dragged him to the desk and shoved him around to face it. While my fingers were busy unbuttoning his trousers, I was rubbing myself against his ass and scattering kisses over his neck and hair.

When his pants finally slid down past his hips, I grabbed the stick of butter and swept the tray out of the way. I bent him over the desk and smeared the butter between his buttocks, then worked it into him.

"Jesus, lamb, what's got into you?" It wasn't until later that I realized he wasn't putting up much of a struggle. In fact, he was trying to make it easier for me to get at him.

"It's not what's got into me you should be worrying about, Geo!" I didn't even bother removing my trousers; I just took my erection out, coated it with the remains of the butter and positioned the head of my cock at his spasming hole. I leaned over him and took his earlobe between my teeth. "It's what's getting into you!" I bit down and thrust forward at the same time.

Geo gasped and shivered under the twin assaults. I altered the angle of penetration and nudged his prostate, and he gave a cry.

"God, you're so hot and tight, Geo!" I groaned as he clenched his inner muscles.

He was moaning steadily now, and the sound went straight to my cock. I pounded into him harder, one hand fondling his nipples while the other teased his arousal, covering it with the drops of precome which had started to ooze from the tip.

As I stroked his cock, I growled out the words, "You. Will. Call. When. You. Are. Not. Coming!"

"Gustus! Oh, God! I'm coming!" He poured himself over my hands, spattering the desk with white droplets.

At his words, I shuddered and climaxed, filling his passage with my semen.

There was a soft knocking on the door. "Sir Augustus?"

I struggled to catch my breath. "Yes, Burdon?"

"Mr. Geo was looking for you, sir. Did he find you?"

"Yes, Burdon. Thank you."

"Very good, sir."

"Good thing you locked the door!" Geo grumbled as I eased out of him and pulled his shirt and jacket up over his shoulders, freeing him. He found a handkerchief, but before he could use it, I dropped to my knees and began licking his cock and groin clean.

I sat back on my heels and took the square of linen from my lover. As I cleaned myself off, I studied his eyes. He didn't look put out.

"Turn around, pet." I wiped the signs of my passion from his buttocks, and then tucked the handkerchief away in a pocket. "Did I hurt you?"

Geo cradled my cheek. "No, Gustus. It's been a while, but you didn't hurt me."

I climbed to my feet and stared in dismay at the mess the tea tray had made when I swept it off the desk. Absently, I tucked myself away and then began picking up the broken pieces of crockery. "Mrs. Gerard will be quite cross with me."

"Augustus, lamb..."

"Geo, I beg your pardon. I shouldn't have called you a ponce."

"Augustus, lamb..."

"And I shouldn't have pounced on you."

"Augustus, lamb..."

I opened my mouth to apologize further, but before I could say another word he sealed my lips with his.

Things changed after that. He began to look for excuses to be with me. He came along with me as I made the rounds of the estate, seeing to the business of running Brandon Abbas, surprised that I knew what I was about.

I did some rapid calculations one night after he had returned to London. If he considered each night he spent with me to be worth a pony, then I reckoned I'd have at least eight years with him. I began to hope that what we had together might last, hoped that it might be more than just to satisfy that damned debt.

I realized then that it was useless trying to protect my heart.

Somehow, when I wasn't watching, Geo had effortlessly captured it.

Part 4

Spring had come round again. The air was warm and balmy. The crops had just been planted, and while Mr. Kirkby, the solicitor, had stopped questioning how the farms could be in so much better condition than anyone might have suspected, I had a strong inkling of how that had occurred. But I said nothing.

After all, this was my inheritance, as much as the Blue Water would have been.

I was in my study with Jem Nye, a catalogue of horseflesh open on the desk. We would need to settle on a stallion for our stud, but just then we were discussing Squire Newbury, our closest neighbor. He was bringing us one of his horses, in hopes Jem might be able to do something with the high-strung animal.

Aunt Pat came rushing in, waving a letter. "Augustus, you'll never guess! George Lawrence will be coming for a visit!"

"How excellent, Aunt. Will Geo be with him?" It was the middle of the week, but surely if his father was coming down, my lover would be also?

Aunt Pat perused the note again. "No, it says nothing of Geo coming with him. I'm so pleased you've found each other. You do like him, don't you, my boy?" Before I could respond she rushed on. "Oh, I'm so excited! I haven't seen my dearest George in years! How simply *ripping*!"

"Aunt!" I had to laugh at her use of the cant term she had always frowned upon.

I nodded to Jem, signaling our discussion would be continued at a later time. He bowed politely, murmuring, "Lady Brandon," before he left.

"When does Mr. Lawrence plan on arriving?"

Aunt Pat's eyes fell to the bottom of the page, and grew enormous. "Oh, good heavens! He's supposed to arrive any time now!"

I took the letter from her and scanned it carefully. "Ah. I see. This was mailed while he was still in Paris, tracking down something or other, he doesn't make what quite clear. Well, you know what the French post is like, Aunt."

"Yes, yes!" But the state of the mail service in France was immaterial to her. "I must see Mrs. Gerard immediately. She'll need to prepare a room. And then there's dinner! Should I have it held back for him? Oh, what was his favorite dish?"

Fortunately, her old friend arrived before Aunt Pat could drive her staff to Bedlam.

She was just descending the stairs when Burdon opened the door to him. Isobel had come in from the gardens with an armful of spring flowers and I was about to leave for the stables.

George Lawrence stepped into the great hall and looked up at the woman he had loved for most of his life. He used to tease Aunt Pat that his heart had been broken when her father saw fit to marry her to Sir Hector, but I had long suspected it was nothing less than the truth. It always tore at my heart when I saw that expression in his eyes when he regarded her, for that was how I wanted to be looked at. "Patricia!"

Aunt Pat gave a happy cry, and I could see she wanted to run down the rest of the steps, but she was the daughter of a viscount, and so maintained a sedate walk, her hands extended to him in greeting. "George! It's so marvelous to see you again after all this time!"

He took her hands and raised them to his lips, placing a warm kiss upon the back of each one.

"I shall never forgive myself for letting you marry that blighter, Brandon!"

She blushed and drew her arm through his. "Come into the drawing room, George. Burdon, have Mrs. Gerard see that tea is served as soon as possible."

The old butler hurried off. Isobel and I were both about to leave them, when Aunt Pat asked, "What news have you of my boys, George?"

We changed direction and followed them into the drawing room.

"Sit down, Patricia. I have some very difficult news to give you."

I imagine we all had some idea of what he was about to tell her.

Isobel dropped the flowers and ran to Aunt Pat. She fell to her knees beside her, clutching Aunt Pat's hands so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Aunt Pat paled and flinched from the pain.

I stooped to gather up the gaily-colored blooms, which now seemed inappropriate given George Lawrence's solemn demeanor.

"My dear, I'm so sorry. Beau is dead. Digby is listed as missing, and presumed dead."

I dropped the flowers.

"And John?" Isobel demanded shrilly.

He shook his head. "All I can tell you is that John was not found among the dead at Fort Zinderneuf. I managed to track them from the office of the French Foreign Legion in Paris to the barracks where they trained in North Africa." He seated himself beside Aunt Pat, freed her hand from the death grip Isobel had on it, and began to tell us the story.

"My good friend, Major Henri de Beaujolais..."

"Jolly, George? Oh, he knew my boys?"

Mr. Lawrence drew a handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently dried her cheeks. "That's right, you knew Jolly from the year of your come out. I'd forgotten. We were such hey-go-mad scamps, weren't we, Patricia?"

His mustache quivered, and he searched for a handkerchief. Aunt Pat gave a watery smile and handed his back to him. He blew his nose and continued.

"He led the troops that came to relieve the garrison at Fort Zinderneuf, which had been under attack by the Tuaregs; an attack, I'm pleased to say, that failed. Every single place on the wall was occupied, but not a man answered when he called to them. It was only as he stood under the wall that he realized they were all dead, shot between the eyes, or in the throat, or...

"Jolly had a rope thrown over the battlements and was preparing to climb up himself when the bugler begged to be allowed to go in his place."

"The bugler?" I asked hollowly, feeling myself go pale as I made a leap of intuition. "Digby?"

Mr. Lawrence glanced at me as if just realizing I was in the room. "You here, Ghastly?"

I turned away from him and leaned my head against the wall. Isobel was sobbing softly.

"Yes. The bugler was Digby Geste. He went into Zinderneuf, but was never seen again. When he didn't return within the specified amount of time, Major de Beaujolais grew impatient and climbed into the fort after giving his second in command orders to break down the gates if Jolly didn't open it in ten minutes." He fell silent, musing on the course of events, and rubbed his face vigorously.

"For God's sake, George, what happened? Had the Tuaregs taken the Fort?"

Mr. Lawrence released a breath that was almost a ragged sob. He had cared a great deal for the Gestes. "No. The doors were barred from the inside: the defense held! But there were no survivors. Jolly searched the Fort. Every last one of the men, including Beau, was dead, and the bugler was nowhere to be found. He opened the gates, but before his men could enter, they were fired upon from the desert. No one saw their attackers, but it was assumed it was the same band of Tuaregs who had laid siege to the Fort. The relief column retreated to the oasis, and waited. And then they saw Fort Zinderneuf go up in flames."

"Then they are gone! My dear, gallant boys are gone!" Tears streamed down Aunt Pat's cheeks and she raised her hand to her mouth, biting her knuckle to stifle her sobs.

Isobel had no intention of bearing her loss with fortitude. She wailed and screamed and tore at her hair, leaving Aunt Pat no choice but to set aside her own grief. Later, when she was by herself, I knew she would mourn the brothers with her whole heart.

Now, there was the hysterical girl to be cared for. Mr. Lawrence and Aunt Pat petted Isobel, attempting to offer her solace, but she was not to be consoled.

Her eyes glittered manically as they came to rest on me. "Why wasn't it *you*?" she shrieked as she bolted toward me, her sudden move startling all of us. Her nails slashed across my face, and blood beaded up sluggishly. "Why are *you* alive while John is dead? You stole the Blue Water, I know you did! And they are all dead because of you!"

"Isobel!" Aunt Pat was aghast and dismayed. Her hand shot out, and she slapped Isobel twice, once across each cheek, then dragged her into her arms and rocked her. "Oh, my dear child, it was not Augustus who took that wretched stone!"

Whatever else she was about to say, I did not stay to hear it. The servants were all gathered in the doorway, some of them weeping openly. I pushed my way through them and walked out of the house.

By the time I reached the stable, I was running.

One of the grooms was leading a saddled mount in a tight circle, trying to keep him from dancing out of his skin. The animal was white-eyed, ropes of sweat streaking his hide. He tested the groom's control of him, tossing his head in irritation, trying to get the bit between his teeth so he could bolt free.

My vision was so blurred I couldn't recognize the big gelding, but I tore the reins from the groom's hands and threw myself into the saddle. I barely had time to get my shoes into the stirrups before the restive animal gathered himself and leaped forward in a tremendous bound that saw him in an extended gallop that covered the cobblestoned stable yard in two strides.

"Sir Augustus! *Wait*!" I heard the cries, but I ignored them. Tears streamed down my face, for the loss of someone I had once loved, for the love I now had to accept that my family would never have for me. Why had I ever thought anyone could love me?

I could hear the clatter of hoofs behind, but they meant nothing to me. I let the gelding have his head and our pursuers were left to watch our heels.

White paneled fences sprang up before us. Styles and hedges did their best to slow us down. With hands and voice and heels I urged him on, not caring we might be facing some nasty spills.

The gelding began to tire, and that was the only thing that saved my life. He took the last jump sluggishly, his landing so jarring that my teeth bit my tongue. I clapped a hand to my mouth and unbalanced myself. As I lost my seat, my shoe slipped through the stirrup, and my foot was caught in it.

I hit the ground hard, frightening the horse, but he was too exhausted to do more than shy away and break into a shambling trot, coming to a halt after a few yards. But by that time I was unconscious and had no idea what was happening.

****

My ankle hurt like the very devil, and my head was pounding as if a brass band had taken up residence in it. I opened my eyes. There wasn't much sun coming through the curtains, but there was enough to stab into my eyeballs, oversetting my delicate stomach.

With a moan I rolled toward the edge of the bed. Long fingers caught my head, and a basin was placed under my face before I could cast up my accounts all over the bare feet that were beside my bed.

"'m I still alive, Geo?" I muttered. "Bugger!"

"Yes, Augustus, you are." There was amusement in his voice as he brought the basin into the bath, but it sobered rapidly. "What have you done to yourself, lamb?" Gentle hands settled me back against the pillows, and tenderly brushed the hair off my forehead. He fingered the scratches that Isobel had gouged into my cheek.

I eased myself up onto my elbows more cautiously this time. When my stomach didn't seem inclined to protest, I breathed a sigh of relief and opened my eyes. Thankfully, I only saw one of my lover.

"Geo?" Normally I wouldn't be able to see much without my spectacles, but Geo was so close I could count the freckles on his nose. He was in his shirtsleeves. His hair stood up in uneven spikes, he was unshaven, and dark bruises ringed his eyes. "Good Lord, Geo! You look bloody *awful*!"

His mouth curved in a rueful grin. "Not half as awful as you do, lamb!" He moved my legs over and sat down beside me. "Gustus, why did you take that horse?"

"The gelding!" I sat up so suddenly my insides heaved, and I groaned, as I feared I would sick up whatever was left in my stomach.

A steadying hand pressed me back against the pillows and I sank back gratefully. "He's fine, Gustus. Which is a good thing, considering he isn't yours! He was so blown the grooms had no trouble getting him back to the stable, but he took no hurt. As a matter of fact, his owner was so impressed by the gelding's performance that he's going to have the brute trained for steeplechasing, rather than have him put down as he intended!"

"Well, at least something good came out of it."

"Augustus, why did you do that? Your head groom said you were riding neck or nothing. He was terrified you'd break your neck."

"I'm sure it was a huge disappointment to everyone when I didn't."

He moved so fast that I found him looming above me. His fingers wound through my hair and he jerked my head back. "*I* was terrified you'd broken your neck!"

"Were you, pet?" I rubbed my palm against the stubble on his cheek. "They blame me, you know. At least Isobel does. She's positive *I* took the Blue Water, even though I was standing beside her the entire time. I don't even want to think what your father might feel about that night."

"Gustus..."

I didn't want to discuss that anymore. I cast about for another topic of conversation. It suddenly dawned on me that this wasn't the normal day for my lover to be at Brandon Abbas. "Geo, what are you doing here in the middle of the week?"

"It's not the middle of the week. It's Friday."

"It is?"

"But I've been here since the middle of the week. I came as soon as Lady Brandon called me."

"You did?"

"Oh, come now, Gustus! My love very nearly succeeds in killing himself, and you don't expect me to be there when you regain consciousness?" He sat back up and took my hand, stroking the palm.

I stared at him stupidly, unable to believe he had called me his love. Oh, I knew he had come to care for me, but... "You really did?"

"Ventre a terre, lamb!" He raised my palm to his mouth and kissed it, then interlaced our fingers.

"So when the debt's paid off, you'll be staying?" I asked hopefully.

"I have news for you, lamb. At the interest rate I'm charging you, it will never be paid off!"

"A regular cent per center, are you?" I gasped as his other hand cupped my chin, and his thumb traced my lips, then slid between them and rubbed over the ridges of my teeth to find my tongue.

"It's been a long, winding road getting here," he said hoarsely, "but I love you, Augustus."

****

David crossed the dining room with the measured pace he had learned from Burdon, who had gone with Aunt Patricia when she had married George Lawrence and moved with him to a lovely estate in Sussex.

Isobel had gone with them, as well. It was felt her nerves would deal better with John's loss if she was in a different locale than where she grew up with him. Both Geo and I were grateful to the older couple for their kindness in removing her from Brandon Abbas.

In my butler's hand was a salver bearing the day's mail. He presented it to me and I took the small stack of letters. "Thank you, David."

On the top was a letter from Aunt Pat. I slit it open with a knife.

"What news, lamb?" Geo asked as he buttered a piece of toast and stuck it in his mouth.

"John's alive!"

"I beg your pardon?" He choked on the crumbs.

"Aunt Pat writes that he's come home! He had a note from Beau for her." I scanned the rest of the letter quickly, and began to swear in a flat monotone.

"Augustus?"

"I knew Aunt Pat had sold the Blue Water, that was the only explanation I could come up with for the good condition the farms were in. Beau had been hiding in a suit of armor when she sold it to the Maharaja's agent fifteen years ago. When Aunt Pat told us Sir Hector would be coming down, he thought it would be ripping if Brandon Abbas had a burglary. It was the best way he could think to repay Aunt Pat for her kindness to him and his brothers, you see." I looked at Geo but saw the children we had been, and crumpled the letter in my hand.

"It doesn't matter, lamb." He came to my side, hauled me out of my chair and wrapped me in a snug embrace. "It doesn't matter. John will marry Isobel and take that wretched girl off Father's hands."

I didn't hear his words. All I felt was the warmth of his body against mine, and I shivered. "When we were boys, Beau declared that what he wanted most in the world, when his time came, was to have a Viking funeral: to be laid out on a funeral pyre with his weapons beside him and a dog at his feet. Digby promised him he would see to it."

"A Viking funeral in the desert, lamb?" My lover's solid weight kept me grounded.

"Digby carried Beau's body from the wall down to the barracks and placed him in his bunk. He was using the name Michael Jones. How unimaginative is that? Bloody hell, why am I weeping? They had no use for me!"

Geo smoothed my hair and held me tighter. "Digby was the one who set Zinderneuf on fire?"

I settled my head against his shoulder and nodded. "After he had muffled his bugle and blown Last Post. He went over the wall and found John out in the dunes. John had been the one who opened fire on the replacement garrison. He had seen Digby go over the wall, and knew he would need to create a diversion so Digby could mourn Beau. When he saw the flames shooting up from the fort he questioned Dig. A Viking's funeral, Digby told him, down to the dog at his feet! 'He would have done the same for me.'"

"A dog, Gustus?" The rhythmic stroking of Geo's hand over my spine was soothing me, and I began to release the tension I hadn't realized I was in the hold of.

"A dog, Geo, a human dog! Lejaune, their bastard of a sergeant. Digby found him with John's bayonet between his ribs and dragged him down to lay at his beloved brother's feet." The last words were a snarl.

"Hush, lamb, hush. It's over now. Let them rest."

I stepped back and brushed my palms over my cheeks. "I've made a sodden mess of your jacket, pet, I'm sorry. Have you a handkerchief?" He searched his pockets for one, which I accepted gratefully. I wiped my eyes and replaced my spectacles. "How can you love me, Geo? I'll never do anything as gallantly foolish as Michael's 'beau geste.'" Or as sweetly romantic as Digby's resolve to give his brother the funeral he had promised him all those years ago.

"But you can remain behind to look to the welfare of your people. You can shoulder a debt left by a dissolute bounder." I was dragged back into his embrace. His lips were suddenly hard on mine, demanding entrance to my mouth, which opened willingly to his onslaught. He drew back enough to demand, "And you love me, don't you?"

"Well, of course I do!"

"Then that's more than enough!"

And, I suddenly realized, it was.


~END~

Note: Cent per center refers to a shylock. Those who have read No Matter What the Future Brings may recognize Lejaune, whom I borrowed from P.C. Wren. This is what happened to him. A beau geste is a gallant gesture.