It Is Better Not Retrieved 3: Then Bid Him Not Die
by Tinnean

I stared at the calendar on my desk, but it hadn't changed in the last quarter hour. It was still Wednesday. I wouldn't be able to toddle down to Brandon Abbas and see my lover for another two days.

Oh, I *could* show up whenever it pleased me; after all, I held Sir Hector Brandon's gambling chits, to the tune of twenty thousand pounds, and what that meant was that I owned Augustus Brandon, who had inherited when his uncle did the one decent thing in his miserable life and shuffled off this mortal coil.

I taped my pen against my desk blotter and recalled the first time I had seen Augustus. I had heard much of him, long before I ever met him.

Father had corresponded with me while I was in school, and his letters had been filled with the many achievements of the Geste brothers, orphans who had been taken in by his very dear friend, Lady Patricia.

But Father would also mention Sir Hector's heir, who had been dubbed 'Ghastly' Gussie by Beau Geste and his band. To my bemusement, I found myself skimming the passages about those boys who could do no wrong, and lingering over the descriptions of the young man who would always be second best to them.

I was looking forward to finally meeting him.

I was waiting in the blue salon, leaning heavily on my silver-headed walking stick, when he entered the room.

"Mr. Lawrence? I understand you wished to see me? You're not George Lawrence!" he exclaimed as I turned away from the window which afforded a delightful view of Lady Brandon's gardens.

His voice was like crushed velvet, and it went right to my cock. I was grateful that the cut of my suit concealed my interest in him. "I am, actually. However, the George Lawrence with whom you're acquainted is my father."

He swallowed hard, and his gaze seemed to sweep over me in an almost tangible caress.

I remained where I was standing. The bullet wound to my leg had long since healed, but it still pained me if I moved too suddenly, or used it too extensively. He came to me, his hand extended. "What can I do for you, Mr. Lawrence?"

His hand was in mine when I told him, "You can pay me my money." I felt his fingers tense and then relax, and he took the notes I held out to him. Feigning nonchalance, I waited to see what he would do.

He went pale, obviously shocked as he totaled up Sir Hector's vowals, which I had been at such pains to buy up. The baronet had ruined a great many lives, Lady Brandon's, my father's, my mother's...

****

I never forgot the first and only time I saw my mother weep.

She had shared her excitement with me over the prospect of my father's return on leave from his post in the Far East, and together we waited expectantly. "Papa will be home soon, poppet. Won't that be splendid?"

But when he arrived, it was simply for a flying visit. He tossed me into the air, ruffled the curls that he ordered Mother to have sheared and announced he couldn't stay long. "I have some business to attend to in the country, at Brandon Abbas," he told Mother shortly when she questioned him.

He was gone for the remainder of his leave, turning up just before he needed to return to China.

Those few days were spent in a mad rush to re-outfit himself with items it was impossible to find in the far distant country to which Civil Service had assigned him, and we scarcely saw him at all.

All too quickly the day arrived when Father would be leaving. I stood watching with huge eyes, this big man who was mostly a stranger to me. His bristly mustache twitched, and he leaned forward to brush a kiss against Mother's cheek. Then he patted me brusquely on the head, and George Lawrence was gone, out of our lives for another two or three or four years.

Mother's eyes were over-bright, but she didn't cry. Not then.

Mother was quite the most beautiful woman, with russet curls that flowed down her back when she didn't have them severely confined, as was her wont whenever we left the house, and eyes the color of drenched violets. Or perhaps I was seeing her with a son's loving eyes. As I grew to be a man I realized that had she so chosen, she could have attracted any man who saw her.

But the only man she wanted was Father, and so she remained at home, forgoing the beautiful dresses she would see in the shop windows, telling me with forced gaiety that once Papa was home, there would be plenty of time to purchase them. If he weren't there to see her wearing them, she'd wait until he was there.

There was one particular gown, the color of her eyes. Every day on our way to Hyde Park, as we passed the shop where it presided in solitary splendor, she would pause and sigh over it.

We were just about to continue on our way when two ladies stopped to glance at the window.

"And you're telling me she has no idea?"

"None whatsoever, my dear!"

"But it's common knowledge that he's been in love with Patricia Brandon since her come out!"

Their voices were lowered, but it was still so simple for us to overhear their words.

"And he spent this entire leave at Brandon Abbas?" The first woman tittered.

"Brandon Abbas?" I piped. "Isn't that where Papa was staying, Mama?" Mother's hand tightened on mine. "Ouch!"

The two women whirled to face her, and had the grace to blush. They hurried away, their heads tucked together as their whispers floated back to us.

"Oh...!"

"So mortified...!"

Mother stood like a statue, and I glanced up at her curiously to see why we weren't moving on.

Tears were streaming down her cheeks. It wasn't until years later that I understood: when Lawrences fell in love, they loved deeply and for the rest of their lives. Only - she was not the one whom Father loved.

****
My original plan had been to ruin Sir Hector, for it was due to his machinations that Father, unable to marry the woman he loved, settled instead on Mother, and broke her heart.

Presented with the vast sum that he owed, the baronet would have had no choice but to blow his brains out.

But Sir Hector was dead now, and there was no way I could collect on those debts of honor, not with the estate entailed as Augustus informed me.

"There may be a solution." I heard myself offering. "I'm looking for someone to entertain me. In my bed." I held my breath. His face flushed with fury, and I hastened to add, "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 that 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?"

"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!"

He could have refused, and there would have been nothing I could have done about it. I would have been left with twenty thousand pounds worth of horseshit. Instead, he agreed, his eyes revealing an ancient pain that I wondered about.

I forced my expression to remain indifferent, although truth be told, I could barely contain myself.

Dinner was a torment, almost impossible to sit through, knowing that soon I would have him. I tried to distract myself by observing the woman my father loved. She was pleasant, and charming, and the epitome of the gracious lady of the manor.

I couldn't fault Father for loving her.

"Aunt Pat, would you excuse me, please?"

I started as I realized that Augustus was about to retire, and my cock grew so hard I knew the slightest touch on my heated length would cause me to come. I desperately needed a distraction. "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!"

Lady Brandon murmured something, but I was mesmerized by the younger man's movements and paid her no heed. *He was going to be mine*!

****

I knew there had to be a reason for him to beg not to be lain on his back, but I didn't care. At that point I wanted to be inside him so badly that the final trump could have sounded and it wouldn't have stopped me.

He had lost that beautiful erection. "This will never do!" I told him as I took his softened cock in my mouth. The touch of my lips on his shaft had him swelling to complete engorgement and I suckled him enthusiastically.

A spurt of precome hit the back of my tongue, and I released him, pleased. "Much better! Have you any cream, or lotion?"

"In...in the nightstand." His voice was thready ... from need, I flattered myself.

I opened the jar and gave a disappointed laugh. I knew he liked men. I'd been able to ascertain that fact when I had my hand on his crotch in the blue salon. Why was I so disappointed to see how little cream was left? Had I really expected him not to have a steady stream of lovers, or at the very least, one who frequented his bed?

He took my cock in his mouth while I prepared his passage, and I gave a gasp of surprise. The silky hair of his mustache had been a revelation, and I knew if I wasn't careful I could easily pour myself down his throat.

"Let me go!" I gasped, and I had myself positioned at his slicked anus before he realized what I was about. The ring of muscle was tighter than I had anticipated, given the depleted state of the little jar, but with a little judicious pressure, it yielded to my cock, and I slid all the way in until I was buried balls deep in his rear channel.

He gave a cry and arched up, and I was thrilled with myself for wringing such a reaction from him. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he bit his lips until they were swollen, and I realized that it was not passion but pain that had him crying out.

I couldn't stop; I didn't have that kind of fortitude. The satiny friction of his snug channel on my cock pushed me to the edge. I came as quickly as possibly, and sank down on him, gasping to catch my breath. "Please!" he gasped as he pushed against my shoulders.

"What's wrong?" I asked as I rolled off him.

"You're too heavy," he shuddered.

I fell back on the covers and pretended to fall asleep, knowing there had to be more to it than that.

Through my lashes I could see him reach out to touch me, but he drew his fingers back and tucked them under his chin. He hunched in on himself, as if trying to protect a vulnerable spot, and I felt...bereft.

His breathing remained ragged until he fell asleep, but I *knew* I hadn't hurt him.

Or had I?

There was no semen on my chest or groin, and all at once I realized he hadn't climaxed. "Oh, lamb," I whispered, "I'm sorry!"

I reached for the little jar and scooped some of the unguent onto my fingers, working the soothing lotion into his channel.

He hummed with pleasure, shifted onto his side and moved his upper leg, giving me better access to his anus.

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

I fitted the head of my cock to his opening and was sliding into him before he could object to my actions. And then I made sure he couldn't remember what he was objecting to as I plunged into him again and again.

He was hard now, precome oozing from the tip of his shaft, and I smeared it over the length of him and stroked him, the steady rhythm matching the deep thrusts inside him.

He uttered a startled exclamation as his climax slammed into him. The clenching of his inner muscles saw me spinning out of control immediately after.

I rubbed my lips over his shoulder blade in an open-mouthed kiss, and froze at the rough texture beneath my cheek.

"Bloody hell, Augustus!" I snapped on the lamp, appalled by the condition of my lover's back. "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! Father said your only redeeming feature was what a bruising rider to hounds you were! These welts and cuts were caused by a whip!"

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

The sound of my teeth grinding together was quite audible. "Sir Hector did this to you?"

"That surprises you? Did you think that because I was the heir I was spared his choler?" His voice was flat. "Oh, go away, Geo!" His hand reached out to turn off the lamp, but even in the darkness I could see defeat written in the lines of his body.

If Hector Brandon had still been alive, it would have given me very great pleasure to tear his black heart out of his chest and devour it in the market place.

I settled myself down beside my lover and pulled him into my embrace, taking care not to put any pressure on his back.

"I don't think so, Augustus. I'll be spending my nights here. Get used to it."

****

A knock on Augustus' bedroom door brought me quickly out of a sound sleep. One of the key points to survival, I had learned while living with the desert tribes of North Africa, was waking fully alert. But I held myself still, and my lover had no idea I was aware of his activities.

He dressed quickly and hurried out. My leg was aching, but I managed to follow, in time to hear a young stable boy pass on his message. "She's doing well, sir. Mr. Nye says to make sure I tell you that! But if you wants to be in at the birth, you're to get your arse..."

Most servants, even in this, the twentieth century, could have expected to be punished for such blatant disrespect, but Gustus gave a huff of laughter and trotted toward the back of the house. The boy had spotted me, and glanced back a time or two, terrified that I might demand he be beaten.

"Oh, no, young Jack," I whispered to myself. "That is not my position! All that is Brandon Abbas belongs to Sir Augustus. If he sees no need to take you to task for your words, who am I to question him?"

I reached the stable in time to witness the birth. The sight of my lover comforting that ugly brute of a mare linked my cock to my heart.

And I knew I was in serious trouble.

His head groom washed up. "I'd have sent word to you sooner, sir, but I heard you had a visitor." He leaned companionably against Augustus as they watched the little filly suckle.

Jealousy, like a clawed, living, breathing entity, ripped at my gut, and I wanted to tear the handsome young groom away from my lover.

But all they spoke of was the prospect of buying a stallion for the stud they intended to set up.

"Brandon Abbas is deep in debt, Jem. If I'm ever to see my head above water, I'll need good horseflesh."

"Squire Newbury has some speedy stuff," Jem offered.

Augustus chuckled, the first time I had ever heard him laugh without a tinge of another emotion coloring it. "Unfortunately, he has a tendency to have any of his animals with the least bit of spunk neutered."

"Aye. We were lucky to rescue that big black we mated Beauty to before Squire sent for the knacker. Now that would have been a waste of a prime animal!"

They continued their conversation, but I made my way back to the house, thoughtfully considering what I had just heard.

I limped carefully up the stairs to the second floor and opened the door to my lover's room. The bedclothes were tangled, and the scent of our lovemaking clung to them. I held the sheet to my nose and breathed deeply while I glanced around his room. On the dresser was a small portrait of a woman. I crossed the floor to examine it.

She had dark hair severely confined at the nape of her neck, and thick-framed glasses that were perched on her nose. She wasn't precisely pretty, but her smile was sweet. In the folds of her skirts was a small boy, who was staring solemnly at the artist. With a start, I realized it was Augustus.

I put the portrait down. A look through the window at the eastern sky revealed that the night was over. I retired to my own room, which was down the corridor from my lover's.

I closed the door behind me and walked to a dresser where a similar picture stood in pride of place. Only it was of my mother.

Part 2

The laughing, fresh-faced girl in the portrait went into a decline after learning that the man she loved would never love her, and Father was forced to take a leave of absence and return to England. However, he was not home for long.

She rallied for a short time after his arrival, but it was to no avail. He couldn't love her, and she couldn't live without his love. She relinquished her grip on life.

I was sent away to boarding school, although the headmaster felt I was too young. He took me into his house, and I spent the remainder of my school years with Mr. Chipping and, while she lived, his wife.

The kindly headmaster insisted, as a condition of his agreeing to take me, that Father write to me. The letters were short and stilted on both sides, especially when I saw that some were posted from Brandon Abbas.

Eventually though, as the years passed, we became more comfortable with one another.

My notes to him went from being strictly about class work to my life at Mr. Chipping's. However, I didn't tell him when I lost my virginity to one of the older boys, although Mr. Chips knew.

"I say, Mr. Lawrence! What, exactly, are you about?" He had found me stripped naked in my room, examining myself before the looking glass, determined to see if the change in me was noticeable. He smoothed the hair back from my forehead and determinedly kept his eyes on mine, his face a fiery red. "This is not the thing, my dear boy!"

"But Mr. Chips, how could it not be? It felt so wonderful!"

His smile was sad. "And I assume you'll want to do it again, very soon?" He cupped my chin in his hand. "You must guard your reputation, Geo, or the boys will think you a trollop, and they will use you as such. Trust me on this, my boy."

And I took his words to heart.

Father's missives became longer and longer, filled with the exploits of the Brothers Geste, Michael, the eldest, who because of his fine looks and character was called Beau, his twin, Digby, and the youngest boy, John. They had been taken in by Lady Brandon when they were orphaned.

Father told of their splendid adventures, of the smashing games they played, of how Lady Patricia spoiled them, yet how good and kind and clever they were.

And occasionally he would mention another orphan, the one the other boys called Ghastly Gussie, who was Sir Hector Brandon's nephew and heir.

According to Father, Augustus Brandon was a wretched brat who fully deserved his nickname. And then he gave an example of what Augustus had done. "Digby's Welsh pony was inadequately saddled, and when the animal attempted his jump, the saddle slid one way and Digby the other!" Father wrote.

Gustus had been given the task of saddling the mounts. The young scamp had known Dig's pony had a tendency to swallow air, swelling his belly. If he wasn't nudged in the gut and made to release the air, the saddle girth wouldn't remain snug. He purposely hadn't kneed the pony before tightening the girth, resulting in the middle Geste being dumped unceremoniously on his
arse.

I had sneaked that letter into Roman History and laughed out loud in class, earning myself a thrashing, but not able to regret it for one moment.

I found myself looking forward more and more to the letters that told of Gustus' clashes with the brothers.

And when I came down for the hols and spent time with Father at home, I managed to steer the conversation to young Brandon. Father thought he was impressing me with the derring-do of Beau Geste and his band of young stalwarts, but what I really wanted was to hear more about Augustus.

****

With a start I came back to the present. I had thought it would be so simple: I'd make the young man who had intrigued me for so long my lover. There was no need to fall in love with him. I had seen first hand the results of loving someone. After observing him with that mare and her foal in the stable, however, I knew it was going to be extremely difficult to keep my heart whole and free.

****

"Augustus is always so punctual. I just can't understand what could have kept him abed this morning!" Lady Brandon was saying, although she eyed me speculatively. I looked up from the toast I was buttering and kept my expression bland.

"He doesn't usually sleep in, you say?"

She blotted her lips and reached for her bone china coffee cup. "Indeed. Generally he's finishing his breakfast just as Isobel and I are coming down."

"Ghastly isn't any fun! He's become such a bore, always closeted with Uncle Hector's solicitor, or meeting with the farmers. Not like my John, who is up to every rig and row! John just lives for excitement, you know." Isobel reached for the pot of jam. Apropos of nothing, she said, "John told me that he loves me beyond anything. It would destroy him if I died!"

"Aren't you a trifle young to be concerned about dying?" I remarked, looking at her eighteen years from the maturity of thirty.

"Well...well, yes, of course, but things happen! I could contract a deadly illness! Wouldn't I present a very romantic figger?"

Lady Brandon glanced up. "I *beg* your pardon, Isobel!"

"But Aunt, 'figger' is the new small talk!"

"Not in this house, it isn't!" She might have been tiny, but Lady Pat could lay down the law.

"Yes, Aunt Pat. Wouldn't I present a romantic 'figure', all in white lace, pale and tragic as I lay on my bed, coughing delicately perhaps, just like Camille?" She nailed me with a hard glance. "Don't you think I would look romantic?"

I nearly choked on my coffee, and managed to murmur something noncommittal just as my lover entered the room.

He was looking so exhausted and so desirable that all I wanted to do was scoop him up and hustle him back to bed.

"Beg pardon for being tardy, Aunt," he murmured as he crossed to the sideboard to help himself to eggs and sausages. "Beauty chose last night to foal."

Lady Brandon looked interested. "A satisfactory delivery, Augustus?"

He smiled and pushed his spectacles back up his nose. "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!"

I rose and limped to the buffet, joining my lover there. "Are you often called out in the night?" I asked. The reports I had compiled on Brandon Abbas revealed Sir Hector to be an extremely neglectful landlord, yet the farms appeared to be prospering, and I wondered how involved Augustus was with the actual running of the estate.

"It happens." He lowered his voice. "I hope your sleep wasn't disturbed." Obviously he didn't want the others to be aware that a good portion of my night had been spent with him.

"As a matter of fact, it was. I followed you to the stable." I could see he was surprised by my admission. Augustus had proved to be a restless sleeper, and I wondered about that as well. Was it because his back was still sore, or because he was unused to anyone sharing his bed? "I was curious to see where you were going that time of night."

"Did you think I had an assignation?" It was clear he expected me to assume the worst of him.

"If that thought crossed my mind, I was soon disabused." I reached for a sausage the same time he did, and our hands brushed against each other. He flushed, relinquished the fork, and turned away. "You got on your knees for that mare."

His eyes widened as he looked back at me, and I could see he was remembering dropping to his knees before me the previous night. Augustus' mustache had been like a soft fall of silk upon my cock, and I grew embarrassingly hard as I recalled the sensation. His tongue peeked out and I uttered a whispered moan. Fortunately the sound was so muffled that only he heard me. He moistened his lips. "Of course. There was no need for her to suffer when there was comfort at hand."

He returned to his seat, glancing sharply at Isobel, who was suddenly not looking well. Obviously, the topic distressed her

He elevated a single brow, and I realized he must have picked up that gesture from the woman at the head of the table. Smoothly he changed the subject. "You were conversing about something when I came in," he remarked. "Please don't let me interrupt your conversation."

Lady Brandon smiled at her husband's nephew. "I was assuring Geo that you were normally an extremely punctual young man, Augustus."

Isobel, the twit, seemed to be obsessed with a single idea, and she returned relentlessly to that subject. "I was about to tell Mr. Lawrence how John promised to ride ventre a terre to my deathbed." Obviously she saw herself portrayed as someone fragile and heartrending, the image sure to touch the hardest of hearts.

The topic was so ludicrous that Augustus struggled to prevent a laugh from escaping.

Isobel felt he was not taking her seriously enough. She glared at him and attacked. "Do you think John wouldn't ride like the wind to be by my side if I was in danger of dying? Would you do that for anyone, Ghastly? Would anyone do that for you?"

My lover turned as white as the napkin that he had been in the process of raising to his lips. "No," he said. There was a fine tremor in his hand. "I don't imagine so." He rose slowly. "If you'll excuse me?"

"That was rather cruel, don't you think, Isobel?" the older woman chastised her.

Isobel was startled that anyone would think to defend Ghastly Gussie, and shrugged sullenly.

Lady Brandon's lips tightened, and she frowned at the girl. I tossed my napkin down on the table and hurried after Augustus. "One moment, Gustus. I need to speak with you."

"We'd better be private then." He led the way to his study, his gait stiff after the night before. "I'm quite all right, Geo," he assured me as he saw my concern. "I do hope you weren't too severely disappointed, dear boy."

I hated that tone of voice, smooth and smarmy and just a touch patronizing. But there was a look of sadness in his eyes before he shielded them, and that stopped me from snapping at him.

"I promise to do better in future, if you're still interested."

"Whatever gave you the idea I was losing interest, Gustus?" I couldn't resist. My fingers caressed his chin, and drew him toward me, while my eyes were fastened to that lush mouth with the plump lower lip that just begged to be nibbled on.

I urged him closer to me and settled my mouth on his. He yielded. No struggle, no objection, just utter and complete surrender to the demands of my lips, and his breath sighed into my mouth.

His hair was in disarray from my fingers, and his mouth had a bruised, wanton look. I wanted to take those swollen lips again and ravish them.

Abruptly, I pulled back, appalled that I had gotten so carried away. I had no intention of falling into the same tender trap as my mother had. "I have to run up to town. I'll be back before the weekend. When I come back..."

"You'll be back?" Half question, half statement, and far too eager. Or was I reading my own eagerness to return into his words?

"Of course. After all, twenty thousand pounds will take more than one night to repay!" I had to keep him at a distance.

****

Each weekend I went to Brandon Abbas, determined to keep him from getting too close during the day. But the nights were filled with sweaty passion.

A single question began to eat at my insides. "Gustus."

"Yes, Geo?" He was seated by the fire, his legs crossed casually at the knee, a newspaper spread across his lap. He removed his spectacles and rubbed his eyes, then smothered a yawn. Lady Pat and Isobel had already gone up to bed.

"Do you see anyone when I'm not here?"

He didn't pretend to misunderstand me. "As it happens, I don't. I'm not a Geste, but I do have a sense of honor." His eyes were directed toward me, but I knew without his spectacles he was blind as a bat. "One might ask the same of you, you know."

I crouched down beside him and slid his spectacles over his nose so that he could see clearly. "No, Gustus. Only you!" I tossed aside the paper, shivering with lust. "Come to bed!"

I surprised us both that night with the number of times I made love to him, with hands and mouth and cock, again and again, until finally, as I was buried deep inside him, and he was wrapped snugly around me, we both tumbled headlong into an exhausted slumber.

I drove back to Town that Monday, whistling.

And it occurred to me that each week as Friday approached, my spirits became lighter, and I looked forward impatiently to the drive to Brandon Abbas. And when the weekend was over, I resented the drive back to London, which took me away from my lover.

I became terrified. I had learned from my father that Lawrences loved only once in their lives. And I learned from my mother the high cost of loving someone who doesn't return that emotion.

So I stopped going to Brandon Abbas. I didn't call to let him know my plans. I just didn't show up. He never rang to inquire if I would be driving down, and I assured myself sternly that I wouldn't have taken his call if he had. For weeks I tortured myself in this manner. I became surly and short-tempered. Even Father gave me a wide berth.

"Mr. Lawrence." My superior paused at the door to my office.

"Sir?"

"Go home."

"Sir?"

"You've been unfit to be around for the last four weeks. Quarreled with your lass, have you? Well, go to her, apologize for whatever you've done, and make it up with her!"

"I don't have a lass, sir."

"Ah, like that is it? Then go find a bit of crumpet, fuck her blind, and come back next week able to concentrate!"

The doorway was empty before I could begin to explain the situation to him. And perhaps it was better that I didn't. How could I, when I wasn't sure that *I* understood the situation?

****

Burdon greeted me at the front door, his manner more effusive than usual. "I'm so glad you've come, sir. Your usual room is ready. Perhaps Sir Augustus will be in better spirits now you're finally here, Mr. Geo."

I actually felt my heart stutter in my chest at the thought that he might have missed me, and handed the old man my hat and weekend bag. "Where's Lady Pat, Burdon?" I felt the need to continue the fiction that I came to Brandon Abbas to keep her company while my father was back at his post as First Class District Officer of His Majesty's Civil Service in Nigeria.

"She's upstairs with Miss Isobel, trying to calm the young miss who's visiting."

I paused on the stairs. "That doesn't sound like something in which I want to get involved!"

"No, sir," he agreed. "Sir Augustus is in his study, if you wish to see him." Studiously he examined a spot just beyond my left ear. "Then again, perhaps it might be better if he wasn't disturbed just now."

"Burdon?"

The butler sighed and his shoulders slumped. "Miss Honoria, Miss Isobel's friend," he clarified, "took a young horse out, sir. He proved to be more than she could handle."

"Was she injured?"

"No, sir. But Sir Augustus was livid. By the time he finished dressing down the young lady, she was in hysterics." He recalled the scene with distress and set my case down, fussing with a bibelot on a table set against the landing.

That wasn't like Gustus. I wondered what could have gotten my lover's knickers in a twist. Normally he was the most even-tempered of fellows. "What aren't you telling me, Burdon?"

"The animal had to be put down, sir, his ankle was so badly shattered. Sir Augustus had very high hopes for that horse." His expression blanked of all emotion, he gave a slight bow, took up my case again and walked with a stately measure up the stairs.

I glanced down the hall to the study. The door was shut tight, and the silence behind it was ominous. Making up my mind to offer what comfort I could, I approached and tapped on the door.

When there was no response, I knocked a little harder.

The door was flung open. "I left orders I was *not* to be disturbed!"

"Not even for me?" I had never seen Augustus so disheveled. He always made a point of being neatly pressed and dressed, but now all I could do was stare at him in amazement.

His hair stood in spikes, his spectacles sat lopsidedly across his face, and the cuffs and knees of his trousers were mud-spattered. The odor of alcohol was heavy in the closed room.

"*You*?" His eyes went a little wild. He latched onto my lapels and hauled me into the study. The raw anger, combined with the unexpected move, took me completely by surprise. I stood there with my jaw hanging stupidly, staring as he locked the door and then whirled around to glower at me. "Where have you been for the last four weeks?" he demanded; then, "Fuck it, I don't bloody well care!"

I found myself thrust back against the door, my jacket dragged down over my arms, rendering me helpless. His rough handling excited me, and I angled my hips away from him. There was no way I would be able to conceal the bulge in my trousers, and I didn't want him to know how aroused his actions were making me.

But it was a futile effort. He pressed his body against mine, his hips rocking in small, jerky movements, while his hands tangled in my hair, turning my head first one way, then another, as he explored my mouth voraciously.

Gustus tore my shirt open and seized a nipple, biting down with gentle force before sucking it into his mouth. He was aware now, of the erection it was impossible for me to hide.

"You ponce!" he hissed. "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!"

He shoved me over the desk and made quick work of the fastenings of my trousers, tugging them until they slid past my hips. There was a tea tray on the desk, and he grabbed up a stick of butter before he sent it crashing to the floor in his haste to get it out of the way.

I could feel its cool greasiness as he rubbed it between my arse cheeks and began to work it into my hole. "Jesus, lamb, what's got into you?" I moaned as I struggled to spread my legs further. He had two fingers in me and was working them to loosen and relax my hole.

"It's not what's got into me you should be worrying about, Geo!" I had never known Gustus to be like this. He didn't undress; he simply opened his trousers to free his cock and coated it, and then I could feel the broad head brushing across my opening, pressing teasingly against it. "It's what's getting into you!" He took my ear between his teeth, bit down on it, and thrust into me at the same time. I cried out and shivered as he possessed me.

I knew he would have to find me tight: when I made love, I preferred being in the saddle, and it had been quite a few years since someone had fucked my ass so thoroughly.

He reached around to take my oozing cock in his hand and began to pump it. I could hear the anger, but more than that, the hurt in his voice. "You. Will. Call. When. You. Are. Not. Coming!"

"Gustus! Oh, God! I'm coming!" He had been prodding my prostate unmercifully, driving me to the edge, and now I toppled over.

His breath whispered in my ear, and he climaxed, filling me with his heat.

As he lay across my back, struggling to regain his breath, there was a discreet tap at the study door.

"Sir Augustus?"

I wondered how long the butler had been standing outside the door.

"Yes, Burdon?" Gustus tried manfully to even his breathing.

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

I succeeded in muffling my laughter on the desk blotter.

"Yes, Burdon. Thank you."

"Very good, sir."

He righted my shirt and jacket, and I winced a bit as he eased out of me. "Good thing you locked the door!" I murmured. I searched my pockets for a handkerchief, but before I could dry myself off, Gustus was on his knees before me, caressing the curves of my buttocks. His tongue flicked out and he licked the remains of my climax from my shaft and groin.

For a second, his hands were tight on my thighs, and then he took the handkerchief and tidied himself. "Turn around, pet." That was the first time he had ever called me anything other than Geo. I felt the defenses I had deployed around my heart begin to give way. Gently he blotted my buttocks with the square of linen, examining me for tears. "Did I hurt you?" He rose gracefully to his feet.

"No, Gustus. It's been a while, but you didn't hurt me." In spite of everything, he had taken care with me.

He bent down and was picking up the broken crockery. "Mrs. Gerard will be quite cross with me." He seemed distracted.

"Augustus, lamb..."

"Geo." His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat to steady it. "I beg your pardon. I shouldn't have called you a ponce."

"Augustus, lamb..." If he would just meet my eye, he would see everything was well between us. *More* than well...

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

I could feel myself getting testy. I had *enjoyed* being pounced upon. "Augustus, lamb..."

He was going to continue to apologize. So this time, *I* pounced. I shut his mouth with mine.

Part 3

Later that night, as I was sprawled on my lover after making love with him, I could still feel that pleasurable ache in my own arse. The memory of him taking me across the desk in his study made our orgasms even more intense. It was a good thing Lady Brandon and Isobel both had chambers on the other side of the house, because we both came with a howl that would surely have woken if not the dead, then those sleeping nearby.

I was becoming too soft to remain in the satiny heat of his passage, but Augustus clenched his muscles in an attempt to keep me there.

"Turn off the lamp, pet."

"Not yet," I responded drowsily, and nuzzled the patch of skin where his neck and shoulder joined. "I love watching your face after I've had you, lamb."

"A boost to your ego, Geo?" His voice was disgruntled, but his mustache twitched in an effort to swallow his smile.

I nipped the flesh between my lips, then began to suckle it. "Mmmm." He angled his head to give me better access to the spot. In the morning he'd need to make sure his collar concealed the love bite I placed there.

Augustus did love having his neck nibbled on.

When my cock finally slid out of him, he groaned, and then crawled out from under me. He retrieved a washcloth and made a brisk job of cleaning us before he got back in bed. But the width of the bed was between us, and I stared at the clean lines of his spine.

"Gustus? Is something wrong?" It disturbed me that as soon as our passion was spent, he would invariably distance himself from me.

"Nothing's wrong, pet. Why would you think so? You were marvelous."

"I'm not fishing for compliments." I turned him onto his back and tipped up his chin, forcing him to meet my eyes. "Who taught you to avoid cuddling, lamb?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I thought if I gave you enough time you'd become more comfortable sleeping with me, but you never stay in my arms!"

"Geo," he blinked at me owlishly. "You *want* me to?"

"Yes. I'll...I'll even ..."

Gustus pressed his fingers over my lips. "No need to make promises that can't be kept, pet."

He replaced his fingers with his lips, then settled himself against me rather hesitantly, his head tucked under my chin and his arms around my waist. From chest to groin we were snug against each other. I hooked a leg over his thigh and fell asleep, sure he would stay put.

But sometime during the night I awoke to find him on the other side of the bed. I brought him back to me, and returned to sleep, only to wake once more with empty arms. He had wound up on his side of the bed again.

This time I followed him there and spooned up behind him. The only place he had to go now was either against me, or over the side and onto the floor. I slid one arm under his head and wrapped the fingers of my other hand possessively around his cock, and closed my eyes.

****

After that, I began accompanying Augustus as he made his rounds of Brandon Abbas, instead of spending the days in Lady Brandon's company as had been my wont, and was impressed by his competent handling of the estate.

I knew Gustus and Jem Nye, his head groom, were looking into finding a new stallion to put to the very good mares that Brandon Abbas boasted. A chap with whom I'd gone to school had some prime stock. Perhaps I'd place a trunk call to Fortescue Manor. I wondered how Augustus would react if I gifted him with one.

****

Spring rolled around, and with it, the damp, foggy weather that played havoc with my bad leg.

I was in a foul mood, brooding over the state of affairs between Gustus and myself, and glaring at the day planner on my desk. There were still two days before I could motor down to the country.

I knew I was in serious trouble. Staying away from him hadn't helped. Sating myself in his body was useless; I could never get enough of him.

Repeatedly telling myself that I was a Lawrence, that when I fell in love, it would be forever, and Gustus Brandon was not a forever type of chap, failed just as miserably.

I simply had to face the facts: I was head over heels in love with the man!

I couldn't concentrate on the job at hand. I wondered how my father would react when I told him that I intended to spend my life with Augustus Brandon.

My superior paused by my open door and took one look at the disaster area that was my desk. His brows beetled and he looked resigned. "Go on home, Mr. Lawrence; you're good for nothing today!"

I didn't bother to argue with him. I cleared off my blotter, retrieved my walking stick and limped cautiously to the lift, which I took to the ground floor. My digs weren't too far distant, and I walked home.

My man, Kincaid, opened the front door of my townhouse and took my hat and coat, nodding toward the mail piled on the console table nearby. There was a letter from Father, who was returning to England from Nigeria, where he had suffered a bout of malaria. For some reason only he and God were aware of he was coming home via France, and he was traveling directly to Brandon Abbas to see Lady Patricia. He had discovered some information that would prove to be vital to Lady Pat's peace of mind.

Curious. I shook my head and fanned through the rest of the mail. "Ah, excellent!"

Kincaid was crossing to answer the phone. "Good news, sir?"

I read through it rapidly. "Yes, this is very good news! The stallion I've had my eye on for Sir Augustus? His owner is willing to part with him for a reasonable sum!" There was no need to guard my tongue with Kincaid. He had been with me since before I left Cambridge, going with me to North Africa where I nearly lost my leg to a Tuareg bullet.

His very clear disapproval of my plan to destroy Sir Hector Brandon had led me to leave him behind the first time I went to Brandon Abbas. Now I would occasionally tease him with mention of David, the young footman in training to become Gustus' butler.

Kincaid picked up the phone. "Lawrence residence. One moment, Lady Brandon, I'll see if he's arrived home from work yet." He cocked a brow at me, silently inquiring if I was at home.

I held out my hand, a little concerned. Augustus' aunt never rang my Town residence. Kincaid placed the receiver in my palm and retreated to his pantry to polish the silver, or whatever it was he found in there to keep himself occupied.

"Yes, Lady Pat?" I spoke into the phone.

"Oh, thank God you're there, Geo. Can you come down to Brandon Abbas?" Her voice was tight with an emotion I was unused to hearing from her. "Augustus has had an accident..."

"What happened?" I interrupted harshly.

"There was...there was a misunderstanding. Augustus left the house and took Squire Newbury's bay gelding. I don't know how he could have misjudged that jump... He fell, Geo. Jem Nye sent word. They're bringing him in, but he's unconscious..."

"Lady Pat, I'm on my way!" I rang off and shouted for Kincaid. "I've got to leave for Brandon Abbas immediately."

"Sir, your schedule!"

He held out my coat and I slid my arms into the sleeves. "There's nothing important enough to keep me here. Make my excuses. I'll let you know when I'll be back once I know how badly Sir Augustus is injured."

"Mr. Geo, let me ring the mews and have your car brought round! And I'll put together a bag for you."

I rubbed my face. "Yes. Fine. No, wait, Kincaid! I've clothes at Brandon Abbas. Just tell them to get the car ready. I'm on my way."

I could never remember being so frightened, not even when the surgeon at Tokotu was determining whether he could save my leg or not. Gustus was a bruising rider. He took spills, much as any horseman, but I had never heard of him knocking himself senseless. And I finally identified the emotion in Lady Patricia's voice: fear.

My foot stamped down on the gas pedal, keeping it to the floorboard, while my other foot dealt with the clutch and I downshifted around a particularly nasty turn. For a split second the car threatened to veer out of control, but I spun the wheel and brought it back to the left side of the road.

Normally the trip to Brandon Abbas took a few hours, but that day I did it in less than half the time.

****

I tore into the house, nearly knocking over Burdon as he opened the door. Dr. Medford was in the great hall with my...

"Father? What are you doing here?" I was so startled that my nanny-enforced good manners automatically came to the fore. I approached with my hand outstretched.

"Geo! My boy!" Instead of taking my hand, he embraced me, his arms tight around my body. And I became really frightened.

"I'll just be leaving," the doctor said to my father.

"How is Augustus? Is he all right? Will he survive?"

"Of course he'll survive. The Brandons are too hardheaded to be laid low by a spill from a jump they should have more sense than to take. A trifle concussed, he's lucky he didn't break his ankle, and his ribs will be turning an interesting shade of purple, but he'll live." Dr. Medford tallied the injuries. He paused for a moment, looking bemused. "I never would have figured Ghastly Gussie to be the one to bring Brandon Abbas about!"

"Don't you call him that!" I snapped, thrusting my face close to the doctor's. He shied away in surprise.

"Geo." Father put a calming hand on my shoulder and nodded at the other man.

The doctor 'harrumphed' as he left, "Young hot heads!" drifting back as the door closed.

I had a foot on the bottom stair when Father stopped me. "Geo, Augustus will still be there. Patricia is sitting with him. I must speak with you."

Reluctantly I led the way to the blue salon, where I had first seen the man who would come to mean more than life to me. "Very well, Father, but please be brief."

He told me of the tale he had heard from his good friend, Henri de Beaujolais, and what he had learned of the Gestes from the recruiting office of La Legion Etrangere in Paris.

"... and then Isobel became hysterical. She shouted at Gussie. 'Why wasn't it you? Why are you alive while John is dead?' Ghastly walked out, and the next thing we knew, Nye, the head groom sent word that he'd taken a half-broken animal and seemed to be bent on killing himself!"

My lips were pressed tightly together. "Sir." My tone of voice arrested him. "You're my father, and I love you. But if you ever again refer to Augustus by those hateful names, I swear to God I'll knock you down!"

"Geo!"

"I'm serious, Father. He doesn't deserve that kind of ridicule." I left the room, and he followed me. I was on the landing when I paused. "They are all dead? Beau, and John, and...Digby?"

Father sighed heavily, which was all the answer he could give me.

****

I limped into Augustus' bedroom. The curtains had been drawn over the window, and the room was bathed in shadow.

He'd been settled in his bed, in the bed I shared with him, and his face was as white as the nightshirt they had put on him. His aunt sat beside him, staring desolately at his face. Four lines marred the pale flesh of his cheek. "Lady Pat, what is this?"

She seemed to have aged in the few days since I had seen her. "Isobel." I spat out a word a gentleman doesn't use around a lady, and succeeded in shocking Lady Patricia. "Geo!"

"Lady Brandon, Isobel is your niece, but if I have anything to say about it, she will no longer be welcome in this house!" She flinched from the fierceness in my face. "And I do not think Augustus will have any objections!"

"Geo, please! She's had a blow to her nerves!"

"I don't care. I want her out of here!"

Lady Pat rose to her feet, struggling to keep from weeping.

"And Lady Pat? If, for any reason, Augustus does not survive, I will make her life a living hell!"

She walked out of the room, her spine stiff.

I limped to my lover's side and eased myself to my knees. His hands were lying limp on the coverlet, and I took one and pressed my lips to his palm, which was scored with welts caused by the bridle reins. "Oh, lamb, you can't leave me!" I dropped my head to his shoulder and began to pray.

****

Augustus' anguished moan was the only warning I had. Fortunately I was able to get the basin beneath his head so he could empty his stomach into it instead of all over my bare feet.

"'m I still alive, Geo?" he mumbled, sounding so unhappy about it that I had to smile. "Bugger!"

"Yes, Augustus, you are." According to what Dr. Medford told me when I hounded the man out of bed because Gustus didn't seem to be rousing from his comatose state, Augustus would be feeling extremely miserable when he regained his senses. I disposed of the basin and returned to his side, gently stroking the hair off his forehead. "What have you done to yourself, lamb?"

"Geo?" Abruptly it all came back to him. He managed to peel his eyes opened, and appeared to be surprised to find me at his bedside. He squinted as if to make sure it really was me. "Good Lord, Geo! You look bloody *awful*!"

I was surprised he could see anything without his spectacles on. "Not half as awful as you do, lamb!" I sat down beside him. "Gustus, why did you take that horse?"

"The gelding!" He sat up so quickly I was sure he was about to make himself sick again, and I pushed him back gently.

"He's fine, Gustus. Which is a good thing, considering he isn't yours!" I took his hand, absently playing with his fingers. "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 that you were riding neck or nothing. He was terrified you'd break your neck."

He mouth twisted into a bitter line. "I'm sure it was a huge disappointment to everyone when I didn't."

I jerked his head up, uncaring if the action upset his stomach. "*I* was terrified you'd broken your neck!"

He looked stunned. Bloody wanker, did he think I could survive without him?

"Were you, pet?" His palm cupped my cheek, and I leaned into the caress. "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."

And how was Father going to feel when he learned that my Lawrence nature had settled on Augustus Brandon as my one and only love? "Gustus..."

His eyes skittered away from mine, and I wondered what was going on behind them. He folded his hands into his lap. "Geo, what are you doing here in the middle of the week?"

I missed his touch. "It's not the middle of the week. It's Friday."

"It is?" He looked totally confused.

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

"You did?"

I took his palm and placed it back against the three days' worth of stubble that covered my cheek. "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 became breathless, his mouth opening and closing several times, but nothing came out. Finally... "You really did?"

"Ventre a terre, lamb!" I could image the sour look on Isobel's face on learning that someone had cared enough about her despised cousin to ride like the wind to be there for him, and I grinned. It wasn't very adult of me, but I remembered how her cutting remarks had hurt my lover, and hoped that when she married her husband saw fit to spank her at least once a day.

I brought Gustus' hand to my mouth, then wound our fingers together.

"So, when the debt's paid off, you'll be staying?" His voice struggled to remain even.

"I have news for you, lamb." I rubbed the pad of my thumb over his lips. "At the interest rate I'm charging you, it will never be paid off!"

"A regular cent per center, are you?" His lips parted and I slipped my thumb between them, finding his tongue and rubbing it gently. Why hadn't I noticed how velvety brown his eyes were?

Why had I struggled so long to deny my feelings? "It's been a long, winding road getting here." I had to pause to clear my throat. "But I love you, Augustus."

****

Seasons passed.

My father married Lady Patricia. The state of his health forced him to retire from Civil Service, and without the stimulus of his job, Father quickly grew bored in Town. Lady Pat had never had much taste for city life, and so they happily removed to the estate in Sussex.

Fortunately, they took Isobel with them, using as the excuse that she would recover from John Geste's loss more quickly if she was in another locale. Augustus was so relieved to see the back of her that he never questioned my suggestion that she would really be much happier with her aunt than in a bachelor household such as ours.

The letter from Lady Pat arrived one morning while we were breakfasting. It contained the information that while Beau and Digby were indeed, dead, the youngest Geste had survived his ordeal in the desert.

Augustus read the contents of that letter, turning more and more pale. He began to swear. I had never heard his voice so flat and cold.

"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."

The page was trembling slightly as he raised his eyes from it, and I could tell that while his gaze might be directed at me, he was lost somewhere in the past.

"It was the best way he could think to repay Aunt Pat for her kindness to him and his brothers, you see." His fingers clenched spasmodically, and the letter was crumpled in them.

I had never seen him like this. I pulled him out of his seat and into my arms. "It doesn't matter, lamb." I was rapidly considering this turn of events. "It doesn't matter. John will marry Isobel and take that wretched girl off Father's hands."

Augustus wasn't paying attention. He shivered and recited the tale of the events that had occurred at Fort Zinderneuf, Beau's death at the hands of the sergeant, Lejaune, John killing the sergeant with his bayonet, Digby giving Beau the Viking's funeral he had always wanted.

I let the whole story pour out, stroking his back until I could feel the tension begin to drain out of him. "Hush, lamb, hush. It's over now. Let them rest."

He stepped back, distancing himself from me. "I've made a sodden mess of your jacket, pet, I'm sorry. Have you a handkerchief?"

I found one in my pocket. I could feel the emotional distance he was now trying to put between us, something he hadn't done in months. I would have dried his tears for him, kissing each one away, but instead I waited while he used the handkerchief and then put his spectacles back on.

"How can you love me, Geo? I'll never do anything as gallantly foolish as Michael's 'beau geste.'"

Ah. The crux of the matter. "But you can remain behind to look to the welfare of your people. You can shoulder a debt left by a dissolute bounder." And suddenly I was as tired of the Gestes and their affectations as I was sure my lover must be. I seized his shoulders and pulled him against me. The kiss was bruising, my lips and tongue demanding entrance to his mouth, which he gave readily. I broke away to give him an opportunity to breathe. "And you love me, don't you?"

"Well, of course I do!"

I sighed. He was finally admitting it. "Then that's more than enough!"

****

He loved me. He *loved* me. He loved *me*.

With Lady Patricia no longer in residence, Augustus had had the master suite redone, and had shortly afterwards moved into it.

"Geo, don't you want to see how I've had the adjoining chamber decorated?" he asked one morning as I was about to return to my own room, which was still on the other side of the house.

"No," I refused brusquely, and I could see my tone hurt him. I tried to explain. "Lamb, if you're intending to marry, I *don't* want to see where you plan to install your bride!"

He smiled, and suddenly I couldn't catch my breath. "Come take a look, pet. Please?"

Reluctantly I let him pull me out of bed and through the dressing room that connected the two sets of chambers. With a flourish, he threw open the door.

I glanced in, and was rendered speechless. The decor of these rooms was decidedly masculine. "Gustus?"

"It's for you, pet." He became uncomfortable when I didn't say anything. "Of course, if you don't like it, I can have it changed..."

"Augustus," I said softly, "the only thing I don't like is the neatness of this bed!"

I tumbled him onto the four-poster, and when we finally rose for breakfast, it was in decidedly less pristine condition.

****

"Sir Augustus."

"Yes, David?" He was busy working on his books in the study, and didn't look up. I liked these quiet times we spent together. I was in what had become my chair, reading the latest news from Town, and I did glance up.

"There's a delivery, sir. At the stable."

"Hmmm? It's probably just the tack that I've ordered. Jem will take care of it."

"Excuse me, sir." The young butler was insistent. "The driver said *you* have to sign for it."

"That's odd." Augustus frowned impatiently, but got to his feet. "I'm not going to get anything accomplished at this rate!" he grumbled.

David's eyes cut to mine and he inclined his head slightly. Murmuring something innocuous, he left the room. I'd have to see that he got a raise in salary.

I followed my lover as he made his way to the stable.

Instead of the rather small delivery van he was expecting, there was a horse carrier with the name Smythe-Sayer painted discreetly on the side.

The driver, whose white-blond hair fell over the eye patch he wore, opened the back panel of the carrier. A compactly built man joined him, sliding out a ramp and then hopping into the vehicle.

Augustus stood staring in confusion, his eyes magnified behind his spectacles. The younger man led a high-strung chestnut stallion out into the early morning sunlight and handed him over to the head groom. Rays of sun shone on the burnished copper of his hide as he danced nervously at the end of his lead.

"Oh!" Gustus approached the animal carefully, his palm extended so the stallion would learn his scent. "Oh, you are a beauty!" He ran his hand over the slopping shoulder and deeply-muscled chest. "There must be some mistake, however," my lover concluded regretfully.

"You're Sir Augustus Brandon? Then he's yours!"

"But...I don't understand."

The driver just grinned and joined me as I watched my lover fuss over the stallion. "Will he suit, Geo?"

I clapped him on the shoulder. "He'll more than suit, Thomas. He's everything you promised he'd be! Thank you!"

He nodded, gratified. "Then we'll just be on our way. All set, Roddy?"

The other man was coming out of the stable, and he smiled, his blue eyes warm. "Right-o, Tommy. I think Osiris will be happy here. Lots of fine mares for him! Good day to you, Sir Augustus, Mr. Lawrence." He disposed of the ramp, closed the door and climbed back into the carrier, waiting for his partner.

"Don't forget, part of our agreement is that Smythe-Sayer get pick of the first crop of foals!" he called as he put the carrier in gear.

I waved him off, then turned to face my lover, to find he was staring at me. "What, have I got egg on my chin?"

Jem Nye smothered a laugh. "I'll just get this fine gentleman settled in his new home, shall I, Sir Gustus?"

"That will be grand, Jem."

I began to grow nervous. My lover stalked toward me, unsmiling, and I swallowed. Was he about to refuse my gift?

"Geo." His voice was soft, reminiscent of the nights we spent in bed, and I began to grow hard.

"If you don't like him, Gustus, Thomas will take him back, I'm sure. I know I should have let you select the stallion, but I've known Fortescue-Smythe since school, and I trust his judgment. But if you really don't like Osiris..."

"You're babbling, pet."

I shut up. He stepped closer to me, and I was shocked to see how bright his eyes were. He blinked rapidly, to prevent tears from spilling over.

And then he sniffed hard, and smiled at me. "Thank you, Geo. He's perfect. Just like you."


~END~