Authors: Samantha Kane

Retreat From Love (43 page)

Anne leaned back against Brett in the large copper tub. The water sloshed over the side and Freddy shoved a rug over with his foot to sop it up. Then he leaned back in the chair he’d pulled over next to the tub and replaced his foot on the stool he’d dragged over with it.

“We need to get a larger tub,” he said idly as he watched Brett gently splash the warm water over Anne’s breasts.

Anne blissfully closed her eyes. She could feel Brett’s strong, broad chest pressed against her back, his chest hair wet and slippery and soft. His nipples were hard and Anne smiled as she remembered the taste of them on her tongue.

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“Mmm,” Brett hummed in her ear. She thought it was agreement with Freddy’s statement, or it could have just been contentment. Either way, Anne hummed right back.

Water splashed her face and she opened her eyes to see Freddy’s hand dipping into the tub and his fingers flicking the water at her.

“Don’t fall asleep,” he warned. “I’ve still got to get in there.”

Anne laughed lazily and splashed him back. “I won’t. I’m just…” She paused, trying to find the right word. “Happy,” she concluded with a shrug and a smile.

Behind her a chuckle rumbled through Brett’s chest and Freddy grinned. “I can see that,” Freddy told her.

“Good,” Brett murmured in her ear, his hand stroking her arm softly.

They sat quietly for a while and Anne thought about Freddy’s recent revelations.

After they’d made love he’d told Anne and Brett about Uncle Ash and her father, and his own questionable paternity.

“I wish I had known about Jerome,” Anne finally said, reaching for Freddy’s hand.

“He was my brother, and I never had a chance to share that with him.”

Brett sighed. “I’m sure it was hard for your parents and the duke not to tell you all, but I think it was best kept a secret. If too many people found out then Jerome might have had a hard time of it as duke, and Freddy too.”

Anne leaned her head back on his shoulder. “You’re right, of course.” A minute passed as they all thought about the many secrets they were privy to now. “I suppose I should have figured it out, about father and Uncle Ash. I knew they cared for one another more than most friends, but in my naiveté I never put the clues together.

Looking back, I remember so many shared looks. And all the times my father told Uncle Ash how handsome he was. And one or the other, even Mother, popping out of various bedrooms during the day with an embarrassed stammer.” Anne laughed at that. “I just thought they’d been caught napping.” She sobered. “I realize now how much my mother truly lost in that carriage accident.”

Brett wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her neck as Freddy squeezed her hand.

“I shall try to pry my paternity out of mother, but I have a feeling she will deny the truth to her dying day.” His thumb absently stroked the back of Anne’s hand. “I have an idea of who my father is, at least, and that’s a starting point. But Bertie’s paternity shall forever remain a mystery.”

Anne smiled. She had a rather good idea who Bertie’s father was. All of Reeves’

kindnesses were explained now, and his obvious devotion to Bertie. How could she have missed the resemblance between them? The emotional part of Anne wanted to tell him she knew, and to say how sorry she was that he hadn’t been able to mourn Bertie as a father should. But the logical part of her knew that Reeves would not appreciate it if she did. Ashton Park was his life. In all likelihood he would not remain if it came to light that he had fathered Bertie. It was so very sad. But Anne would make sure to treat 219

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Reeves with the respect he deserved until he was ready to leave service, and then she would see that Freddy gave him a more than generous stipend.

With a self-conscious start Anne realized that she was planning for a future with Freddy.

“What is it, Anne?” Freddy asked, tugging on her hand. She looked up at him in surprise. He smiled. “You had a very odd look on your face.”

Anne was suddenly quite nervous. “I was just thinking about the future.” She stopped, trying to find a way to say what she knew had to be said. “I know that you must marry, Freddy, and I want you to know that I will not hold that against you.”

Brett froze in the act of pouring water from his cupped hand over her breast.

“Go on,” Freddy said in a neutral voice.

Anne bit her lip. “I love you, Freddy, and I know you love me. But we all know that I am not suitable for marriage to the Duke of Ashland. Your title is one of the oldest in Britain, and your wealth, lord, it is unimaginable. I was not raised to be a duchess. You must think of your responsibility to the title, Freddy, to your line.”

“If you wish to marry Brett, Anne, you’ve only to say so.” Freddy spoke quietly, but Anne could hear both the regret and the understanding in his voice. She gripped his hand.

“No, Freddy. I mean, yes. Oh lord, this is all so difficult. I’m just trying to say that we all know you must marry one day, and we all know that you cannot marry me. It will complicate things, but I want you to know that I will always love you and I will never turn you away.”

Brett scoffed behind her. “Don’t be such a martyr, Anne.” He pushed her forward and awkwardly climbed around her to sit facing her, sloshing more water out of the tub while she sat in stunned silence. He took her free hand in his. “Of course you’re going to marry Freddy.”

“Brett, if she’d rather marry you, then that is what you shall do.” Freddy sounded stoic.

“Now don’t you be a martyr,” Brett said in an exasperated tone.

“I find it very interesting indeed, Brett Haversham, that
you
are lecturing us on martyrdom,” Anne commented wryly.

“Hear, hear,” Freddy agreed.

Brett grinned sheepishly. “My past makes me eminently suitable to lecture on the subject.” Freddy snorted. “Freddy, will you marry someone else if I marry Anne?”

Freddy’s answer was immediate and emphatic. “No.”

Brett held out his hand as if that settled the topic, which it did not for Anne. “He says that now, and he may believe it, but if he won’t think of the title, then I will. He must marry someone more suitable.”

“Let Rome in Tiber melt, and the wide arch, Of the rang’d empire fall! Here is my space,”

Freddy quoted. At Anne’s look he told her, “Antony and Cleopatra Act 1, scene 1.” He 220

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sighed. “Anne, the title means nothing to me compared to you and Brett. And let us not forget what we all just learned. I am a mongrel on the Ashland throne, proof positive that good breeding is not a requirement for the title.”

Anne hadn’t even considered the ramifications of that. But the facts certainly did undermine her argument. Oh God, she was weakening. Could she do it? Could she really be the Duchess of Ashland? Her stomach lurched and she broke out in a cold sweat.

“Good God, you’re not going to be sick are you?” Brett exclaimed, half rising from the tub.

Freddy laughed. “No, Brett. She just got the feeling I wake up with every morning.

That ‘my God, I’m the Duke of Ashland’ feeling. Makes one a little queasy.”

Brett slowly dragged her onto his lap until she straddled his hips and felt his hard cock against her sex. She melted into his arms but wanted to make sure both men understood what their future would hold.

“And what if our first child has dark brown hair and beautiful brown eyes?” Anne murmured against Brett’s lips.

The water sloshed again as Freddy climbed into the tub behind Anne. He pressed against her and kissed her neck. “I can think of nothing sweeter than a little Haversham to succeed me,” Freddy answered softly.

Anne felt Brett smile against her lips. “There is no such thing as a little Haversham,” he murmured with a thrust of his hips. Freddy snorted with laughter behind her and Anne grinned.

Brett kissed her softly and pulled back to smile at them both. “If you are the duchess,” he said, looking at Anne, “and you are the duke,” he said, looking over her shoulder at Freddy, “does that make me your fool?”

“You are certainly being a fool now,” Anne told him, trying not to laugh even as she felt a little squeamish at being called the duchess.

“Only for love, my dear,” Brett assured her with another grin, “only for love.”

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Epilogue

June 19, 1812

My Dearest Anne,

I am so very sorry, my dear. I did not plan on dying when I kissed you goodbye and strode
off to war. Will you forgive me one last time for yet another misguided folly?

You must know, Anne, that you are the best friend I ever had. I do not have one happy
memory of my life before the war that does not include you. I loved you as a brother when we
were children, as a woman when I was a man, and as a friend, always. Know that with my last
breath I loved you, Anne.

My one wish is that you be happy. You deserve happiness. Do not waste your life mourning
me. What a foolish thought! You are probably laughing, since we both know it is not in your
nature to languish in misery, thank God. It is the reason you are the only female I have ever been
able to abide.

I worry about how Brett will take my death, Anne. You have been with us through this
whole ordeal, and you know what a true friend he has become. I wish fervently for his happiness
as I wish for yours, Anne. I would ask one more boon of you before I leave the mortal plane. (If a
man can’t be dramatic in his tragic farewell letter to his love, then I don’t know when he can.)
Please take care of Brett for me if he will let you. He is so damn stubborn. But I will let you find
out about that yourself.

I lied. I have one more favor to ask. Where the hell is Freddy? You must pry him out from
under the duchess’s thumb, Anne. He has more potential than all the rest of us Thornes
combined. You were the first girl he ever loved, did you know that? He would be mortified if he
knew that I knew that, so don’t tell him. But really, Anne, if you ever need anything go to
Freddy. Oh, I suppose Jerome would handle it for you, but he is overwhelmed by the
responsibility of being duke because he believed all that nonsense they forced into his head when
he was young. But Freddy is the sort of chap who will give you the shirt off his back if only you
can find him.

I cannot think of anything else that I want you to know. Take that exactly as it sounds, and
don’t listen to what anyone tells you after I’m gone.

Christ, I miss you already.

Your Utterly Devoted Servant,

Bertie

* * * * *

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September 21, 1817

My Darling Anne,

I am giving you these letters as a wedding gift. I hope they are enough. You see, they never
seemed enough when I was writing them. There was always more I wanted to say, but I couldn’t
put it in words, and the letters seemed cold and flat and not fit to be seen by you. That is my
recollection at any rate. I have not read them since I wrote them, and I will not do so now. These
are the past, and today I devote myself to the future.

Do not judge me too harshly, Anne, for these letters. I loved Bertie with a devotion usually
reserved for a brother. My feelings for you always felt like a betrayal of him. I realize now that he
would never have seen them that way, indeed, he told me in his last letter that he knew of my
feelings and he wanted me to take care of you. I wish the idiot had given it to me then.

I will thank God, and Bertie, every day for the rest of my life. Bertie’s love and friendship
gave me you, Anne, and Freddy, and this life that I love so dearly. Did he know that fateful day, I
wonder, what he was about?

All I can do now is tell you that in your love, Anne, and in Freddy’s love, I have found the
man I always wanted to be. These letters are part of that journey.

Your Utterly Devoted Fool,

Brett

* * * * *

Anne folded the last two letters and put them away in the small, jeweled chest Freddy had given her as a wedding present specifically to hold these precious memories. She wiped her tears away and put the chest on her vanity. After checking her appearance she turned to leave the bedroom. A laugh from the garden below her window caught her attention and she walked over to look down.

Freddy and Brett were standing there, the sunlight glinting off their dark hair.

Freddy said something and Brett threw his head back and laughed, and Freddy laughed with him. They were so happy, so in love. And so was Anne. She glanced beyond them and saw the wedding guests walking around the beautiful gardens. Her gaze returned to her two loves and they waved as they noticed her in the window and beckoned her to join them. She waved back and smiled.

Bertie, my love. Thank you. Thank you for all that you have given us.

The End

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About the Author

Samantha has a Master’s Degree in History, and is a full time writer and mother.

She lives in North Carolina with her husband and three children.

Samantha welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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