Authors: Samantha Kane
Retreat From Love
wonder Brett liked to play with it. “Seeing what she could have as duchess at the same time she’s experiencing what it means to be a mistress will change her mind. The comparisons are inevitable, especially here.” Freddy crossed his legs and laid his right arm along the back of the sofa. He cocked his head to the side and looked around his drawing room. “Ashton Park could be hers, Brett, to do with as she pleases. Surely that is a potent lure for a woman.”
Brett shook his head as he squeezed the pillow roughly between his hands. “Anne is no ordinary woman, Freddy. She knows what Ashton Park means, the responsibility that comes with it, the history. Perhaps it is more than she bargained for when she became our lover.”
Freddy snorted. “Nonsense. Anne is not a green girl, Brett. She knew exactly what was going on when she became our lover. She knew what we carried with us. Ashton Park and the title hang around my neck like the albatross around the neck of Coleridge’s Ancient Mariner. Anne has been around Ashton Park her entire life. I am the third duke she has known here. The responsibilities to the title and the land are almost as thick in her blood as they are in mine.” Freddy patted Brett’s knee. “And you, my dear, have no such dead seabird hanging around your neck. Her excuses that she is too old and her reputation too tarnished for marriage are just that, excuses.”
“Excuses that disguise her real reasons.” Brett sighed and stood slowly, tossing the pillow haphazardly at the end of the sofa. “Those reasons being she is not in love with either one of us, and in my case, because of my history with Bertie.” He walked over and leaned a hand on the frame of the tall window to the right of the sofa. “I’m not sure it would be a good idea for me to marry her, Freddy.”
Freddy stood and faced Brett. He didn’t try to hide his concern. “What do you mean, Brett?”
Brett replaced his hand with his shoulder and stood staring out the window. He reached out and idly rubbed the heavy blue damask curtain between his fingers. Again Freddy felt that tingling awareness go through him. He’d never seen Brett so unconsciously tactile before. It was as if his hands had a mind of their own, feeling their way through this new world of emotion and risk that Brett had entered.
“We haven’t talked much about any of this,” Brett said tentatively. He sighed. “And now is not the time.”
“I beg to differ. I think it is an excellent time.” Freddy very carefully modulated his tone. He didn’t want to frighten Brett with his eagerness to discuss Brett’s heretofore unexpressed emotions.
Brett shook his head and pointed out the window. “No, Anne is here.”
Freddy walked over and pulled the curtain aside to watch Anne descend from the carriage. His brow furrowed. “Didn’t I buy her a blue dress today? To match her eyes?”
Brett’s answer was amused. “Yes.”
“But the dress she is wearing is lavender. As a matter of fact, haven’t I seen that dress before?”
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“Yes.” Brett was still amused.
“What is so amusing?” Freddy asked irritably as he watched Anne direct the footman who helped her from the carriage. The footman leaned in and removed two boxes from the carriage, and then followed Anne up the steps to the entry. Freddy lost sight of her halfway up the steps. He turned to Brett. “She is returning the gifts.” His voice was flat, but inside he was angry.
Brett straightened and smoothed the front of his jacket before adjusting his cuffs. “I told you you had underestimated her determination.”
Freddy raised an eyebrow at him in a silent question.
Brett laughed softly. “I believe Anne has no intention of being a mistress on our terms, Freddy. Rather, I think we are about to find out what her terms are.”
“Good evening, Reeves,” Anne said with a soft smile as she entered the grand entry hall at Ashton Park. The hall was quite impressive, oval shaped and surrounded by sixteen Corinthian columns of Derbyshire alabaster. The same marble outlined the floor while a Greek key pattern lined the lower walls. The alabaster gleamed with vibrant pink, ivory, purple and green hues. It was beautiful and terribly intimidating. Or it had been when Anne had come as a small child with Uncle Ash. Perhaps even a few weeks ago she might have trembled at its grandeur.
“Good evening, Miss Anne,” Reeves said softly. She looked back at him. Was that affection she saw in his face, perhaps even heard in his voice? He had always been kind to her, even when he’d caught her and Bertie sneaking into the Park for one piece of mischief or another. He’d indulged Bertie shamelessly. As far as Anne knew Bertie was the only person whom Reeves had ever lied to the duchess to protect.
“It is still lovely, Reeves, is it not?” Anne asked, indicating the hall. “It takes me back in time.”
“Yes, Miss Anne,” Reeves agreed. He was back to his usual reserve, as befitted the butler in a great house.
Anne’s stomach fluttered a bit. Well, if she were honest she’d admit to a little trepidation at breaching the hallowed walls of Ashton Park after so long.
“Anne, my dear, you have arrived.” Freddy’s voice drifted down from the central staircase. The staircase dominated the entry, taking up fully three quarters of the back wall. It gradually narrowed as the stairs rose, so that at the top one entered the house through an intimate doorway framed in alabaster and hung with dark green curtains made from heavy velvet. It was an intriguing contrast of formal elegance and informal welcome.
Freddy stood in the middle of the stairs holding out his hand to her, while Brett stayed at the top of the staircase, in front of the door. Freddy was all smiles and welcome, but Brett seemed reticent, his face hidden in shadows.
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“You sent the carriage, Your Grace, and we are but two miles from the Park. I do not think my arrival such a grand feat.” Anne didn’t know why she was suddenly ill-humored.
Freddy merely laughed at her sarcasm. “Since you have not been inside Ashton Park in over a decade, Anne, in spite of the fact you are only two miles distant, it is a grand feat indeed.”
Anne pulled off her new gloves with quick, precise movements. She felt a blush creeping up her chest to her cheeks as she suddenly remembered the feel of Freddy’s glove against her the other day.
“You may give the gloves to Reeves, Anne,” Freddy told her quietly. A shiver of awareness chased down Anne’s spine and she couldn’t help but look over Freddy’s shoulder to Brett at the top of the stairs. He still stood there, revealing nothing.
Freddy leisurely strolled down the stairs. He was elegance personified in black evening wear with a sky blue silk waistcoat gleaming in the light, and Anne felt a thrill that he was hers, if only for a short while. She could drag him up the stairs, collect Brett on the way, and ravish them in the first available empty room and they would not protest at all. Any intimidation she’d felt at entering the Park again faded in light of the confidence that she held power over these men.
She handed her gloves to Reeves, along with her shawl and reticule. With a bow he took them. Anne strolled over to Freddy with the same nonchalance with which he had moved. “I had no intention of keeping those gloves with me, Your Grace. I like them too much to risk them.”
Freddy laughed and at the top of the steps Anne saw Brett rub his upper lip with his finger. Ah, so she’d made him smile. That made her happy again. “I’m famished,”
she told Freddy as she took his arm. They turned toward the stairs, and Freddy’s arm tensed beneath her hand. Anne felt a jolt of sexual awareness streak through her to lodge in her sex. It began the throbbing that seemed a constant effect of Freddy and Brett’s presence. She hummed a little as the climb up the stairs rubbed the swelling folds of her sex together in a sublime caress.
Freddy pulled her closer with a tug on his arm and covered her hand with his. “Are you? I find I am getting quite hungry myself.”
How she adored Freddy’s innuendo. She grinned, but refused to look at him.
“Hmm. And how shall I find the fare at Ashton Park this evening, Your Grace?
Plentiful? Incomparable?”
“Plentiful, certainly,” Freddy purred, “but you are the incomparable here, Anne.”
They were getting closer and closer to Brett with each step. The closer they got, the faster her heart pounded in her chest. The tension was like a rope that pulled Freddy and Anne to Brett, as if he had both hands wrapped around one end and tugged them, hand over hand, into his grasp. By the time they reached the top she was having trouble breathing normally and she was strung as tight as a bow.
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Brett reached for her hand and she held her breath. Freddy was firm and tense beneath her other hand, radiating heat along her side, and she was suddenly desperate to bask in Freddy’s heat while Brett touched her with those big, firm, calloused hands.
When his palm slid along hers, her breath hitched noticeably. Freddy pulled his arm from under her hand and slid his hand across her lower back in an imitation of Brett’s palm along hers. When Brett grasped her hand, Freddy gripped her hip and pulled her into his side. Brett bent low over her hand and kissed the back just as Freddy’s hand slid from her hip to her stomach and he moved slightly behind her. Brett’s lips caressed the back of her hand, and then the tip of his tongue traced the vein there. Anne gasped.
Freddy leaned down and kissed her bare shoulder. It was too much. Anne laughed shakily.
“Perhaps I should leave and enter again.”
Brett pulled back from her hand, his brow creased in confusion, while she could feel Freddy smiling against her shoulder.
“I think I should like to be greeted again,” she answered in response to Brett’s confusion. “And again.” His brow cleared and he grinned. “And perhaps again. How many times will you be able to greet me thus before it grows tedious?”
Freddy’s breath huffed against her skin as he chuckled, giving her goose bumps.
This time Brett joined his laughter. “It shall never grow tedious, Anne,” Brett assured her as his laughter died and he became serious once again.
Anne gave a little tug and he let go of her hand. Freddy picked up on the signal and he stepped back to her side, presenting his arm again. Anne smoothed her dress and placed her hand back on Freddy’s arm. “I would be careful of such statements, Mr.
Haversham,” she told him in mock concern. “Or else someone less charitable than I will test them.”
Brett followed them through the door, and Anne turned to see him smiling. “I would not make the same statement to anyone else, Anne,” Brett assured her. “But I would always give you the same answer.”
Anne’s heart beat rapidly in her chest at his words. He meant them. Brett did not make false statements to curry favor. It was not his way. She understood that about him. She blinked rapidly, cursing her volatile emotions of the last two days. “Then I needn’t ask again,” she murmured and turned to let Freddy lead her deeper into the house.
Brett followed Freddy and Anne with a certain sense of inevitability that lent buoyancy to his step. Or at least his limp. He smiled at his thoughts. Anne didn’t even notice the limp anymore. She made no conscious effort to curtail her own movements, or make allowances for his lameness. Yet unconsciously she did exactly that. Brett could tell she had no idea that she walked slower now than she did when he first met her. Or that she stopped in doorways to wait for him before entering. Just as Freddy did.
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Neither of them recognized what they were doing. But Brett did. He just didn’t know what to do about it.
“Would you like to tour the house now, Anne, or after dinner?” Freddy inquired politely as they paused just a few feet into the house.
“May we take the Long Gallery to the dining room, Freddy?” Brett could hear the anticipation in Anne’s voice. “I used to love to run there when I was a child.”
Freddy smiled a bit indulgently and Brett was struck by how pleasant that
expression was on Freddy’s face. Memories slammed into Brett. Memories of all the times Freddy had indulged him, their friends, strangers. Freddy lived to give to others, to make others happy. But who made Freddy happy? Who gave to Freddy? Certainly not Brett. Brett had only denied him over and over. He’d taken everything Freddy had to give except his body. In a moment of intense clarity Brett realized he’d been extraordinarily selfish in his effort to be selfless. Freddy had asked only one thing of him, that Brett be his lover, and Brett had refused. And yet he’d continued to take Freddy’s love, his loyalty, his support, his tender care when he’d been injured. He’d been spoiled by Freddy with fine housing, fine dining—the finest actually. He’d ridden in Freddy’s carriages, stayed in Freddy’s townhouse, ridden Freddy’s horses, patronized Freddy’s tailor. And he’d made Freddy miserable. Brett closed his eyes in shame. He’d never felt like a worse bastard in his life.
“Brett?” He opened his eyes to see Anne reaching back for him in concern. “Are you all right? Does your leg hurt? We can go right to the dining room if you wish.”
And Anne, beautiful, generous, forgiving, passionate Anne, who bore him no enmity for causing Bertie’s death. He had nothing to give but himself, and in that moment he gave it freely, recompense for all he’d taken from them. He reached out and grabbed her hand, looked over her shoulder at Freddy, whose brow was creased with worry.
“No, I’m fine. Let us go to the Long Gallery. I admit I enjoy it as well.” He cleared his throat, embarrassed by the knot of emotion that choked his voice. He tried to distract them from noticing. “I’d like to see you run down the Gallery again, Anne.
Would you do that for me?”
Anne laughed and Freddy smiled at him, and Brett felt as if the sun had appeared after forty days of rain.
“Yes, I should like to see that as well. Will you lift your skirts and run like the hoyden you used to be?” Freddy’s tone was teasing, but underneath was the ever-present sexual awareness that rode the air like wind currents whenever the three of them were together. Brett stood there and let the feeling wash over him. For the first time he felt his cock twitch and harden without shame. He welcomed the sensation, he embraced it.