Retreat From Love (5 page)

she replied meekly.

Brett hid his smile at her tone. He knew that Bertie’s Anne was anything but meek.

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Retreat From Love

June 18, 1810

Anne,

You don’t know me. But I know you. I passed some lilac in the woods the other day, and
thought of the way your hair smells. If I press my nose very close to your letters, Anne, I can
smell the lilac in your hair, and the warm, sweet scent of your delicate neck. Bertie has described
it to me so many times it has become my memory as well.

You probably think me mad. Or would, if I were to send this. But I need to write the words
Anne. I need to tell someone that I care. I care to live. I care to return. I care to finally meet you,
to hear your laughter at last, to see you smile at me, to see you happy. Are you happy, Anne? I
am happy, thinking of you. Your letters bring me the only happiness I have had in recent
memory.

But underlying it all is the knowledge that you are his and not mine. I love him like a
brother already. But you, Anne, you I desire like a lover. And we have never met. And I shall
never tell him.

Brett

* * * * *

In the end the two men won the argument to accompany Anne to the village. Brett was just a step or two behind Anne and Freddy as they headed down the lane to the village. Freddy moved in a cloud of expensive scent and a rustle of expensive fabric.

Anne turned to watch him walking next to her—tall, regal, beautiful, exuding wealth and breeding—and she’d never felt more like a poor country mouse. Yet even though he made her feel that way, she knew he didn’t mean to and that made him desirable in a convoluted way that Anne did not wish to explore.

Freddy walked with his hands clasped behind his back as he looked around him.

To most observers his perusal would have looked casual but Anne recognized the sharpness in his gaze. She tried to see what Freddy saw.

It was pretty here. Quite pretty actually, with overhanging trees lining the wide road to the village. Farms, some with their fields freshly plowed, the turned earth black with promise, surrounded them. In other fields crops were fresh and green. The birds sang, and the sun shone, and the air smelled ripe and sweet. All in all, thought Anne as she walked with two handsome men beside her, it was a fairly perfect day.

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“I should like you to take us around and introduce us to the shopkeepers in the village, Anne,” Freddy said suddenly.

Anne’s day took a decided turn for the worse. “I don’t think that’s necessary, your—” she stopped and corrected herself at Freddy’s look, “Freddy. I’m sure the shopkeepers will be very happy with your patronage with or without an introduction from me.”

“I think it’s an excellent idea,” Freddy responded as if Anne hadn’t even spoken.

“Don’t you think so, Brett?”

They turned to look at the silent man limping behind them. Anne was appalled. She hadn’t thought about Brett’s injury when they’d offered to accompany her.

“Mr. Haversham, Brett, I’m sorry, your injury—”

Freddy cut off her apology. “Is fine, Anne. Brett has a limp because when his leg healed it was slightly shorter than the other. It is not from pain.”

Brett smiled ruefully. “Yes, if you look closely you can see the leg is slightly crooked.” He held his legs together and Anne saw that indeed the left leg was bowed slightly at the thigh. Brett rubbed the spot. “It broke, was set improperly, and got infected. They had to re-break it when I returned to England.” He looked at Freddy warmly. “Without Freddy, and Freddy’s doctors, I wouldn’t have walked again.”

Freddy harrumphed. “Without Freddy and Freddy’s doctors you surely would

have died, at the very least. And don’t you forget it.” The fondness in his tone took the sting out of his words and Brett’s smile grew.

“How can I, when you remind me of it so often?” Freddy laughed and Brett motioned them forward again. Anne was glad she was no longer looking at him when he continued. “Although today it is a little stiff from the fall I took yesterday. Walking is good for it.”

Anne bit her lip to hold back another apology. She couldn’t hold back her gasp when Brett continued, however.

“Freddy’s recent gunshot wound has healed much cleaner. His arm was not

affected at all.”

“You were shot?” Anne cried, turning to Freddy and clutching his arm.

Immediately she pulled her hand back as if it were burned. “I’m sorry! Did I hurt you?”

Freddy laughed. “You didn’t hurt me. It was my left shoulder. And it’s almost as good as new. My doctors assure me it was a superficial wound. Although I must say it felt quite profound to me.”

Anne covered her mouth with her hand. First Father and the duke, then Bertie and Brett, then Jerome and now Freddy. What would they all do if Freddy died? And now his death would be so much more devastating to Anne, now that she’d seen him again and talked to him, admired him for the man he had become. Freddy laid his hand lightly on Anne’s arm in response to her distress. “I’m all right, Anne, really.”

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Retreat From Love

Anne found she was shaking and she wrapped her arms around herself. “I’m sorry.

It’s just that I didn’t know. And…well, I’m very glad you’re all right now, Your Grace.”

She swallowed, bringing her emotions back under control. “How were you injured?”

Freddy and Brett shared a look before Freddy answered. “I helped to apprehend a wanted criminal who was holding a friend at gunpoint.” He waved a hand casually in Brett’s direction. “Brett was there as well.”

“My God!” Anne was aghast. “What were you two doing chasing down criminals?

You are gentlemen, not constables.”

Freddy was amused, and even Brett had a slight grin on his face. “Yes, well, we caught him, didn’t we?” Freddy asked with a note of pride in his voice.

“But why? I still don’t understand why you were there.” Anne couldn’t give up her questioning. Why would they risk their lives that way? Didn’t they understand that there had been enough death for them all? Did they need to provoke it? To invite it into her life once again?

Freddy became quite serious as he answered. “It was a matter of friendship, Anne.

A friend needed us. I will always assist a friend when they request it, and sometimes even when they don’t. Friendship is very important to me, Anne. My friends are all I have left now.”

“How long ago were you injured?” Anne pressed a hand to her heart, foolishly thinking that might slow its rapid beating.

“It’s been almost three months. My doctor didn’t want me to travel until recently.

But I needed to come here to recover. Ashton Park has been calling me home for some time.”

Anne felt better at Freddy’s words. He’d been following his doctor’s advice. And if he told him it was safe to travel now then surely he must be all right.

“It took Brett much longer to recuperate from his injury after Salamanca. How long, Brett?” Freddy’s question was asked casually, but Anne saw Brett tense.

He didn’t look at her as he answered. “Well, it took nearly a year to get me out of bed. Then another year before I could walk without crutches. Then I spent a year with a cane. Almost another year to get me on a horse.”

Brett‘s recitation was matter-of-fact, but Anne could imagine all that he was leaving out. Nearly four years before he was recovered enough to walk beside her today. He’d been injured so badly, as badly as she’d feared. She felt even guiltier about her unprovoked attack on him at the pond. She’d known he’d been badly injured, but according to Freddy he’d been unable to travel. She wished for a moment that she had been the one at his side during his illness and recovery, but quickly shook off the thought. She couldn’t have done for him what Freddy had done. Freddy had saved his life.

“Aren’t we passing The Narrows?” Freddy asked, changing the subject as he turned his head to look this way and that.

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“The Narrows?” Brett asked.

Anne’s laugh was a little forced, but she was going to let Freddy lead them away from the melancholy topic of Brett’s injury and Salamanca. “It’s the name of the farm in the valley there. It actually refers to the house, which is long and narrow. One long hallway with a dozen rooms coming off of it. The Hutchinsons are still there, Freddy.”

She walked over to the fence to point in the direction of the house, and she put her gloved hand on the top of the fence post. It was wet, and she immediately pulled her hand back, but not before her glove got soaked. She looked up at the tree shading the post. “I forgot about the shade here. The sun hasn’t had time to dry the dew.”

She stepped back onto the road, Brett moving out of her way to let her pass in front of him. His nearness made her self-conscious. She could feel his heat and smell his musky scent, and as she thought of all he’d been through in the last few years she wanted to brush up against him so badly she nearly stumbled. Instead she busied herself taking off her wet glove.

Freddy had been waiting patiently in the road, watching them. Anne felt for a moment as if she were acting out some play for him for which she didn’t know her lines. Then he smiled and she felt silly. They resumed walking, a little slower on Anne’s part due to Brett’s sore leg. After a quiet minute Anne became uncomfortable. There was no one else on the road, just the three of them. The sun was warm on her back, and the scents and heat and sounds of the two men beside her were arousing her against her will. She was becoming the most outrageous wanton when it came to these two. Wasn’t that the cruelest injustice? That she was more aware of and attracted to the two men she couldn’t have than any other men she’d ever met? She waved her glove in the air, trying to dry it.

“Here, let me,” Brett said in his quiet fashion, and took the glove from her. She gave it without a protest. There was something appealing about the sight of her delicate white glove in his large hand. He pulled off his own glove, and as he pulled each finger free of the brown leather Anne felt the tug on her insides. It was ludicrous. How many times had she seen a man remove his glove? But as Brett’s large, capable hand emerged Anne felt breathless.

She looked away, but her eyes slid back to him. She couldn’t resist watching him.

He shoved his glove in his jacket pocket. Then he ran her wet glove over his palm slowly. Good lord, Anne felt that caress across her flesh and shivered. She imagined Brett dragging the soft kid glove across her breasts, smoothing the hard points of her nipples with the leather and then tracing a pattern with the fingers down her bare stomach until he cupped her mound with the palm of the glove. She nearly moaned out loud as a pulse began to pound between her legs and she felt wetness slip out of her to coat the lips of her sex.

Suddenly Brett slipped his thumb into the thumb of her glove. His was too large—it stretched the leather until it was tight around his thumb, outlining every fold and bone in his knuckle, the shadow of his nail. It was as if the glove held him like a lover, 26

Retreat From Love

wrapping itself around that finger, and Anne became lightheaded with desire. Would he fit her like that? So tight, so full?

When he was satisfied with the fit of his thumb in the glove, Brett pushed his index finger inside and Anne bit back a whimper. She looked up at his face and saw that he had no idea she was watching him. He was completely engrossed in what he was doing to her glove.

Anne forced herself to look away. She turned, trying to find some inanity to say to Freddy when she saw he was watching Brett, too. And if Anne wasn’t mistaken, with the same awareness that she had been experiencing. She glanced down almost reluctantly and caught sight of his cock, hard in his tight breeches while he watched Brett’s sensual play with her glove. God, she could have them both. Couldn’t she? The thought was sudden, unexpected, and brought a blush to her cheeks.

She thought about the injuries the two men had sustained, both life threatening. But they had survived and were here now. Was this opportunity something she could let pass her by? An opportunity she may never have again. If she had learned only one thing in the last decade it was that life was fleeting. So many people who were important to her had died. And these two almost joined that sad list. Before today—no, before yesterday and seeing them both at the pond—she had been content knowing that they were alive and well somewhere in the same world in which she lived. It wasn’t enough anymore. She tried to control her panicked breathing as she thought about the consequences of pursuing a liaison with these two men. Could she risk her heart again?

She knew that any relationship she had with them was doomed to end sooner rather than later. If she did risk her heart, would she regret it as much as she’d regret letting them go? With equal parts joy and trepidation she realized the answer was no. She could never regret reaching for what she wanted, no matter the consequences.

What the hell was Brett doing with that glove?
Freddy was trying to hide his agitation.

He knew his cock was hard. He was the Duke of Ashland walking down the bloody road with a hard prick.
Come one, come all, and see the desperate duke!
He nearly snorted at his predicament. But then Brett pressed another finger into the glove and it turned to an inward groan.

Freddy had always admired Brett’s hands. Hell, Freddy admired everything about Brett. He wanted everything about Brett. Brett was on a horse every day, in addition to a regimen of various exercises to strengthen his legs and arms, and the calluses on his palms were a result. He didn’t like to wear gloves often. Brett liked to touch things. He liked to explore texture and density and heat with his hands and fingers. Freddy had been tormented untold times by Brett’s hands as they ran over ordinary objects, learning them. Freddy wanted Brett to know him with those hands, to feel him, to learn him.