Softly, so that only Charles could hear, Tristan wept, “Yes, I do.”
“No, you don’t. Shut up,” Charles whispered back. “Reston,” he said aloud, “fetch some tea. We’ll try that feverfew. Lottie, will you get it from my medicine case? It’s in the box marked ‘Brazil’.”
“I thought that was snuff,” Lottie said.
“That was the purpose of the box, but I don’t take snuff. Go. Please.” He glanced at Reston, who nodded and vanished out the door, closing it quietly behind him.
“How long do you want me to look for it?” Lottie asked thoughtfully.
“A few minutes. I don’t care. Until Reston comes back. Go. I need to talk to Tris.”
She sketched a mocking curtsey, then went through the door into Charles’s room.
Charles rolled off to lie beside Tris, his hand smoothing the tangle of brown curls. “Are you all right, Tris?”
“Fine,” Tris said bitterly. “Go away.”
“And let you dive out the window?”
“That was the general intent, yes.” He sat up, his back to Charles. “What do you want, Charles?”
“Ah, it’s back to Charles,” Charles said. “You’re angry. Why? Because of what I did to you last night?”
“No,” Tris said flatly. “You know damn well I enjoyed that.”
“That doesn’t matter,” Charles said. “Someone with a strong feeling about relations between men might enjoy the experience, but hate himself—or his partner—afterward. Is that what’s going on in your head, Tris?”
“I don’t hate you,” Tris said.
“Oh, all right. It’s yourself you hate—thus the interrupted swan dive from the window.” Charles sighed and stroked Tris’s shoulder. “Why? Because you enjoyed it?”
“No.” Tristan covered his eyes with one shaking hand. “I did enjoy it. It was… it was wonderful, Charlie. It’s not about the, the sodomy. God, what an ugly word. It just doesn’t fit the reality of it; it makes it sound sordid and shallow instead of beautiful.”
“Then what is it about?”
Tristan lowered his hand and looked at him through watery, bloodshot eyes. “I didn’t
do
anything!”
Charles frowned. “Of course not. How could you? What did you expect to do?”
“You let me go. You made love to me, and I did nothing but bloody weep.”
Charles went up on his knees behind Tristan and slid his forearm around the front of Tristan’s chest, pulling him back against him and onto Charles’s lap as he sat back on his heels. “Tris, love, what I did to you was intense—very intense. You were wound up like a spring, and when I let you let go, you, well, unwound. The crying was a catharsis, and not unexpected. In fact—it was flattering.”
“Flattering? Having a grown man sobbing in your lap?”
“Yes.” Charles leaned down and nuzzled Tristan’s neck. Tris tilted his head automatically to give Charles better access. “Because it was I that brought you to that. You broke down because of me, because of what I did for you. It was intense for both of us, Tris; you don’t know what it felt like to hold you like that, balanced in my hands, knowing that all it would take would be a word from me to send you spiraling into pleasure.”
Tris’s heart was pounding under the palm Charles had pressed to Tristan’s breast.
“And it was pleasure, wasn’t it, Tris, my love?”
“God, yes…” Tris breathed, remembering.
Charles slid his hand down and under the loose fabric of the nightshirt, finding Tris’s cock and curling his fingers around the warm, limp shaft. Tris arched at the touch. “God, you feel so good,” he breathed into Tris’s ear. “I could make love to you again right now, you know that? Except that Lottie’s about to walk into the room, and Reston’s on his way back with tea, and I’m exhausted, and you’re worse, you’re drained and feverish and you need sleep. I beg you, love, don’t frighten my poor sister again like that.” He released Tris and wrapped his arms around his chest instead.
“I’m sorry,” Tristan began, but Charles shook his head, his hair brushing against Tristan’s cheek.
“I’m not looking for an apology,” he said firmly. “I just don’t want you to do it again.”
Tristan sighed and leaned his head back against Charles’s shoulder. “I don’t know what to do,” he said wearily. “Everything is just so—overwhelming. Frightening. I’m not a coward, Charlie, but I’m so bloody scared I don’t know what to do. Not of you. Not of this. But of everything else. It’s all so… huge.”
“It’s not, really,” Charles said softly. “It seems that way because you’re so tired, physically and emotionally. I’ve seen this in soldiers when they’ve been pushed beyond their tolerance. The perspective gets skewed, and everything seems more important than it is.” He added wryly, “Fortunately, at the military level, just about then is when the guns start, and you can’t think at all anymore about anything after that.” He smoothed Tristan’s hair back from his forehead. “After you’ve rested, we’ll do that talking I promised you, and maybe things won’t seem so bad. Just remember that you’re not alone. I’m here. I’ll take care of you.”
Tristan turned his face into Charles’s neck and sighed, his eyes closing. His lips moved, and Charles thought they might have shaped “Thanks,” but by then Tris was asleep, his body lax and heavy on Charles’s.
He shifted back and let Tris slide down onto the pillows, then drew the blanket up over the sleeping man. Charlotte said from the doorway, “Will he be all right?”
“I expect so,” Charles said. He got up and took the box from her hands just as Reston came back in carrying the tea tray.
Reston glanced over at the bed. “Oh, the master is asleep again?”
“Yes, for now. I’ll stay with him ’til he wakes and I can get some of this tea into him.”
“If you’ll pardon me, sir, Mr. Reid has expressed his concern that you have not slept,” Reston said.
Charles gave him a faint smile. “It’s not the first time I’ve been up all night, nor the last. I’ll just curl up beside Mr. Northwood for a while,” he said, “and that way we needn’t worry about him waking disoriented as he did just now. You and Reid can go about your normal duties.” He set the pot of water on the hearth to keep warm, took the tray from Reston, and placed it on the small table beneath the pier glass.
“Sir,” Reston said, hesitating. “Major?”
“Yes, Reston?”
“I just wanted to say… I’m grateful for your care for the master.” He met Charles’s eyes levelly. “I’ve known him, boy and man, a good many years, and he—well, he’s like a son to me, if I may be so bold as to say so. He’s a good man. He deserves people who care for him, like you and Mrs. Northwood.”
Charles put a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Thank you, Reston. I’ll take care of him for you. I promise.”
When the valet had gone, Charles dropped into the chair opposite Lottie’s. “I’ll be damned,” he said.
“About what?” Lottie asked curiously. “Reston? What was so strange about him?”
“I think he knows, Lottie. About me—about what I feel for Tristan. And if I’m not mistaken—he’s just given us his blessing.”
“I hope you’re right,” Lottie said doubtfully, “but it’s best we don’t make assumptions.” She walked over to the door and turned the key firmly.
“Lottie—does this bother you at all? I mean, me and Tris?”
She came quickly back across the room and kissed his cheek firmly. “Of course not. You two are quite my favorite gentlemen. I’ve hated that Tristan has been unhappy, and if you can change that, I am quite content.” Her voice turned anxious. “You
do
think you can make him happy, Charlie? He is quite conventional in a number of ways—I’m so afraid for you both.”
“I believe I can,
Liebchen
,” Charles said soberly. “I believe I can.”
She patted his cheek. “I hope you’re right. Now, you just curl up and rest, and I’ll be in the sitting room next door guarding your flank. Isn’t that how they say it in the army?”
“Yes, just like that,” Charles said in amusement.
She patted his cheek again and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her. Charles shook his head and climbed up on the bed next to Tristan.
There
was someone large and warm next to Tris when he next woke; a heavy arm draped over his waist, and the steady thud of a heartbeat in his ear. He breathed in the scent of rosemary and eucalyptus and smiled to himself. “Charlie,” he whispered, more to himself than aloud, and rolled over to face his lover.
“Hello, love,” Charles said softly.
“I thought maybe I dreamed you,” Tristan said.
“No. How are you feeling?”
“Tired. Confused.” He took a breath. “I don’t know what I’m feeling, but I think I just might be happy.”
That beautiful smile blossomed on Charles’s face. “Are you?”
“I think so. I’m not sure. I don’t think I’ve ever been happy before, so I can’t be positive. But I’ve never felt quite like this before. Oh, God, did I really just say that?” Tristan made a face. “So trite.”
“It’s not trite if it’s true. No second thoughts?”
“I’ve been through the second thoughts, and the third thoughts, and every other thoughts there might be. I know I’m damned to hell for this but I don’t bloody care. Being with you—being in your arms right now is more than I’d ever expected out of life.”
“Ah, damn, Tris,” Charles said, his voice raw, “I love you.”
Tristan froze, his heart pounding. “What?” he rasped.
“I said I love you.” Charles was calm, but certain. “I’m
in
love with you.”
“No one’s ever said that to me before,” Tristan whispered.
“Well, it’s true now.”
“What happens next?”
“What do you want to happen?”
Tristan was quiet a long moment, then said, “Well, it isn’t anything we can exactly go shouting from rooftops, can we?”
Charles chuckled. “Is that what you want to do?”
“God, yes.” Tristan put his hand on Charles’s shirt, bunching the fabric in his fist. “I want to send it to the Times: ‘Mr. Tristan Northwood is pleased to announce that he is betrothed to the Honorable Major Charles Mountjoy, late of Lord Castlereagh and his Grace the Duke of Wellington’s personal staff. The happy couple are At Home to visitors at Number 8 Cavendish Street.’ But I think that will create quite a furor if it were to be published.”
“That it would.”
Tristan kept hold of the shirt. “Charlie?”