April 1822
Durham, England

Arsen Grey set the report from his Norfolk property manager down on his desk. "Request approved. Three new teams of horses for the fields and if Mr. Baker believes two of the tenant houses are in need of new roofs, then by all means, they should be replaced."

His youngest brother tipped his dark blond head then made a notation in his ledger.

Arsen rubbed his eyes. Not quite nine in the evening and he was more than tired. There was a time when he would have considered nine closer to afternoon than evening, but those days were far behind him. Though the fact he hadn't had a decent night's rest since Emmet had shown up on his doorstep likely had more to do with the exhaustion pulling at his eyes than the time of day. Something he could lay firmly at his lover's feet.

"Anything else?"

Emmet flipped to the front of the ledger and scanned the page. With a soft scratch of his pen, he crossed out an entry at the bottom. "No. We've covered everything."

Trust Emmet to have made a list. "Are you certain?" At Emmet's nod, Arsen tucked the report into the appropriate file in his desk drawer. "Good. Wouldn't want Newland to accuse you of being negligent," he said, referring to their staid brother and the current next in line to the Somerville marquisate. The brother who Arsen was certain had been the loudest voice behind Emmet's visit to Somerville Park.

When their letters had failed to produce the desired result, his brothers had sent the youngest. Cowards. Yet wise cowards. If Newland, Jonathon or Vaughn had shown up on his doorstep, he would have promptly sent them on their way. And the excuse they had made Emmet use to justify the visit—days of going over documents and reports that could have easily been sent via the post.

Arsen knew very well he was not "needed" in London. The mammoth stack of paperwork he and Emmet had reviewed did not offer one bit of proof to the contrary. One did not need to be physically in London to effectively run a marquisate. Many other men tended to their estates from their family seats, so it wasn't as if it wasn't done. And what did he care if the Season was to start in less than a week? Clearly, he had thrown his brothers completely off balance when he'd informed them of his decision to remain in Durham.

How unfortunate for them.

Arsen pushed back from the desk and stood, giving his black coat a tug to straighten it. "I am going to retire for the evening. As should you, if you still plan to get an early start on the morrow."

Emmet grabbed his leather bag from the chair beside him and slipped his ledger inside it. "I've already alerted my driver to have the carriage ready by seven."

A ridiculously early hour. "You'll excuse me if I don't see you off."

"Of course." Bag in hand, Emmet got to his feet.

They left the study and went down the corridor and through the entrance hall, their footsteps echoing off the marble floor.

"You truly do plan to remain in Durham indefinitely, don't you?" Emmet asked, as they began to make their way up the grand staircase.

"Yes," Arsen replied, not caring to elaborate. His reasons were none of Emmet's concern.

"You certainly seem happy. Never seen you more at your ease."

A smile teased the edges of Arsen's lips. He was happy because he had Henry. "Country life agrees with me."

They reached the second floor. Emmet turned toward him and paused. His deep green eyes, an exact match to Arsen's own, swept over his face. "Mr. Shaw's a good man."

"Yes, he is," Arsen replied, a bit taken aback by the sincerity in Emmet's tone. Did he suspect? No, Emmet couldn't possibly. Arsen had been quite careful, and Henry even more so, going so far as to refuse to share his bed while they had a guest under their roof.

Likely Emmet was simply relieved Arsen didn't have a bevy of various hangers–on at the house.

"Thank you for the hospitality, Somerville."

"Think nothing of it. My door is always open to you. But you shouldn't allow those three to push you into acting as their pawn. If they try it again, remind those cowards that they do possess their own traveling carriages."

Emmet's lips twitched with amusement. Arsen could tell the lad was doing his best to suppress a chuckle. At eleven years younger than Arsen, Emmet and he had been too far apart in age to have had common interests growing up. Yet Arsen had always been fond of him, especially since their other brothers tended to treat him like a nuisance.

Though...perhaps he shouldn't classify Emmet as a lad anymore. At twenty three, Emmet was the same age as Henry.

Not a comforting thought. Made him feel like an old man.

He clasped Emmet on the shoulder. "Best get some rest. It was good to see you again."

After biding his brother good night, he made his way down the corridor. Reviewing reports had been tedious in the extreme, yet it had been nice to spend time with Emmet. Though Arsen had to admit he was looking forward to his brother's departure tomorrow. What with being ensconced in the study for days, he'd barely seen Henry except at meals. Since Henry had agreed to stay with him at Somerville Park eight months ago, he had grown accustomed to the man's continual presence. Seemed odd to miss someone he lived with, but he missed Henry.

Arsen pushed open the door at the end of the corridor and passed through his sitting room, unbuttoning his coat as he went. He didn't bother to suppress a sigh at finding his bedchamber empty. He'd known the room would be empty. Still...

His gaze settled on the massive four-poster bed. There wasn't a single wrinkle in the navy coverlet. Neat and tidy and...distinctly lonely.

His shoulders slumped. Hell, he needed a decent night's rest.

Enough.

He flung his coat toward the wingback chair near the fireplace and turned on his heel. But he found the bedchamber next to his empty. The fire in the hearth warming the room, the drapes closed tight, the candles on the dresser lit, though no sign Henry had even been to the room since the servants had readied it for the evening.

Perhaps the green morning room? He checked across the corridor in the room Henry favored. Not only empty, but cool and dark.

He frowned. The sound of footsteps approached. Not Henry's. The rhythm too measured, the steps just a hair too quick. He turned from the sitting room.

Clad in black and gold livery, a footman stopped a pace from Arsen and clasped his hands behind his back. "Shall I have the fire lit, my lord?"

"Not tonight, Timothy. Would you happen to know Mr. Shaw's whereabouts? I am in no humor to search the house." One of the drawbacks of a sprawling estate. Too many damned rooms.

"Mr. Shaw was last seen walking toward the stables after supper."

Arsen tipped his head in thanks. A couple of moments later his butler was closing the front door behind him. A blanket of darkness had descended over the grounds. The tiniest hint of warmth from the day's sun rode behind the strong bite of night's chill. Following the gravel drive that wound its way to the stables, he quickened his pace, and not because he should have grabbed his coat before leaving the house. But because of the thread of worry weaving its way into his gut.

Henry had been rather quiet at supper. Granted, a good portion of the conversation had revolved around the latest findings of the Select Committee on Printing and Stationery. Not something that would spark Henry's interest. Nor did it spark Arsen's, but it wouldn't do to be uninformed when it came to the various issues before parliament. He racked his brain. He could not recall even hearing Henry's voice during the meal.

He went inside the stable, shutting the door behind him. The air was considerably warmer than outside and held the distinct scents of horses, hay, and leather. Only a single lantern hanging from a hook outside a stall lit the red brick aisle. Given it was now well into the evening, the grooms would have retired hours ago.

Closing his eyes, he focused on listening. Beneath the occasional soft swoosh of hooves through straw as horses moved about their stalls, he heard the faint sound of a brush and then the gentle pat of a hand on a sleek neck.

He followed the sounds and found Henry brushing one of the horses in its stall, his back to Arsen. The animal's coal black coat shone like fine satin under the soft golden glow of the lantern. Arsen did not doubt his grooms' skill, and he certainly paid them well for their efforts, but the horses had flourished under Henry's gentle, loyal hand.

The man had abandoned his coat and his shirtsleeves were rolled to his elbows exposing his strong forearms. Arsen would not have believed it possible, but Henry had filled out even more since last summer. The country definitely agreed with him. The broad shoulders now beyond broad. The powerful muscles of his back bunched and flexed beneath his cream waistcoat. Over six feet two inches of rugged, blatant masculinity.

Henry dropped to his haunches to sweep the brush down one of the horse's front legs. His tan breeches stretched across his firm, round arse.

A grunt rumbled Arsen's throat. Damn, he had missed that delectable gorgeous arse.

Henry paused. Then the soft swoosh of the brush resumed. When the foreleg met with his satisfaction, he straightened and continued down the horse's back.

Pushing aside the flare of annoyance, he passed his gaze over Henry's shoulders again. If he wasn't mistaken, the broad line had become more than tight.

"Evening, Henry."

He received a single tip of Henry's light brown head. No glance behind him. No pause. As he suspected, the man had known Arsen stood outside the stall.

"Don't you think it's a bit late to be tending to the horses?"

His lover shrugged his massive shoulders.

"Emmet is leaving on the morrow. Departing at an ungodly early hour."

A country gentleman to his core, his lover had a quiet soul and was the more grounded of the two of them. Wealth and titles meant little, if anything, to him. Finding him here would not normally worry Arsen. But at nine in the evening...

When Arsen thought about it, he realized it wasn't just at supper. Henry had been getting progressively more distant over the past couple of days. Not that he'd spent much time with him, what with Emmet in residence. Well, he could have spent nights with Henry, if the man wasn't so damn cautious.

He tamped down the irritation and instead focused on his disturbingly quiet lover. Was Henry upset with him? Was this his way of voicing his displeasure?

No. Henry spoke his mind. Arsen's title didn't intimidate him in the slightest. It was one of the many characteristics he loved about Henry. Loyal, dependable, considerate, devoted, and with the ballocks to stand up to him and put him in his place.

Then why wouldn't the man speak to him? And Arsen had the distinct impression Henry had chosen the stable tonight as a means to avoid him. Not like Henry at all.

True worry invaded his gut.

"Henry—"

Before Arsen could voice the request Henry feared would follow, he said, pitching his voice low, "Please don't ask me to accompany you to London."

His heart hurt. A heavy, leaden force that weighted down his chest. He loved Arsen. The last eight months had been...bliss. Pure happiness. More than he could have ever hoped for. Yet he would never return to London. A year there had been more than enough to last him a lifetime.

And if Arsen went to Town, as Henry strongly suspected he would, then it would mean the end of them.

White hot pain lanced into his chest. His breaths hitched. His back to Arsen, he didn't fight to keep the wince from his features.

Better now than later. Quick and agonizing was much preferred to having to bear witness to the slow death of their relationship. For he truly feared if Arsen went to London, that city would suck him in and never let him go again.

"All right then," Arsen said. "I wasn't planning to ask you to accompany me anyway."

That hurt.

Unable to look at Arsen, he kept his attention on the horse, moving around the animal's haunches to run the brush through the mare's long tail. "I understand you have responsibilities and that you take them seriously. I do not begrudge you for them. And I understand that your family needs you."

A pause. "And? Why is it I sense there is more?"

Henry didn't need to look at Arsen to see the arrogantly arched brow. "If you go to London, I should have you know..." He took a deep breath, pushed onward, pushed past the constriction nearly clogging his throat. "I plan to return to Devon." He wouldn't feel comfortable staying at Somerville Park without Arsen. His staff was nothing but hospitable, still he'd feel like an unwelcome guest who refused to leave. "I need to settle on a means of employment anyway. Can't continue to live off your generosity forever."

Arsen scoffed, all aristocratic condescension. "Don't be ridiculous. I have more than enough for ten lifetimes."

"It doesn't make it right for me to live off you like some sort of poor relation."

"You don't live off me. My horses have never looked better, you thin the forest of game to keep the wildlife from knocking on the backdoor, and at last count, you refitted two carriages and the gig. It would cost me more to pay you for your work than your board."

"It's not work." Henry scowled. "I do it because I enjoy it, and I'm not one of your servants."

"I did not mean to imply otherwise. But the estate is still the bearer of the benefits. Henry, you don't live off me. Please cease with that ridiculous line of thought. You live with me."

Not for much longer.

He kept his head tipped down, averting his face from Arsen. Tucking the brush under his arm, he willed the tremor from his hands and focused on picking apart a stubborn knot at the end of the mare's tail.

The barest of squeaks reached Henry's ears. The stall door's hinges needed some oil. He'd see to it tomorrow.

There was a soft swoosh of footsteps through the straw, but he didn't need to hear Arsen approach. He could feel his presence, smell the faint, light scent of his cologne. Sandalwood and citrus. It tugged at heart, threatening to weaken his resolve.

"Henry, why haven't you asked me if I intend to return to London?" Every trace of the bored drawl was gone, leaving only the man.

He shrugged, grabbed the bucket of brushes from the corner, and purposefully avoiding Arsen's gaze, stepped past him.

Arsen's footsteps followed him into the tack room. The click of the knob announced Arsen had shut the door. Henry set the bucket in its place under the shelf of liniments.

"Henry? Why haven't you asked me?"

"The opportunity did not present itself. You have been occupied with your brother." He did his best to keep the frustration from his tone, but he was so used to having Arsen to himself that it had been hard to share the man for the past few days. And the time alone, with nothing but his own company, never mind having to sit through meals and listen to Emmet's not–so–subtle hints that the Marquis of Somerville's place was in London, had allowed those little worries to build.

Arsen was a lord. An obscenely wealthy and deliciously handsome one at that. A respected member of the ton and holder of a seat in the House of Lords. Whereas Henry had nothing to his name. How could he possibly expect to keep Arsen's affection indefinitely? The man would surely bore of him soon enough.

It had only been the faintest of worries, so easily dismissed when he could simply look across the dining table and receive one of Arsen's content smiles, filled with love. But with Emmet there, discretion needed to take precedence. The lack of Arsen's continual subtle attention had hit harder than he would have ever anticipated, chipping away at his self–confidence and leaving him certain Arsen would choose his responsibilities and his family over him. As well Arsen should.

Arsen let out a sigh. "I count on you to keep me in line."

A hand settled on his biceps. At the gentle tug, he turned to face Arsen and met deep, emerald green eyes heavy with concern. The light from the small lamp suspended from a hook in the ceiling picked up the rich golden tones of his antique blond hair. Even without his usual perfectly tailored black coat, the man was so elegantly handsome it hurt to look at him. The sight alone a firm reminder he belonged in London whereas Henry belonged exactly where they stood—in a stable in the country.

"I am not returning to London," Arsen said, grave and somber, his gaze boring into Henry's.

"But Emmet said—"

"I don't give a damn what my brothers want. They can very well do without me. Not as if I saw them much when I lived in town anyway."

"The Season will start soon and there are your responsibilities in the House of Lords and—"

"And?" There was that arched brow again. "I've told you before. Proxy votes travel quite nicely via the post, and they've been doing so these past few months."

Arsen took a step closer. So close Henry could feel the heat from his body. A tremble of longing shot through him. His senses deprived of even the most basic comforting touch, it felt like years and not the few days since he'd been this close to Arsen.

"I have no intentions whatsoever of returning to London. All of my business affairs are in order, my solicitor and man of affairs travel to Durham whenever I have need of them, and all the properties are thriving. I could not care in the slightest that the Season is to start. I am beyond tired of that city. It's full of greed and pretense and it's damn lonely." His gaze searched Henry's face. "It can't even begin to compete with you," he added in a low determined tone that begged Henry to believe him.

Arsen reached up and cupped the back of his neck, pulling him down. Their lips met. Henry moaned, the sound lost in the kiss. His arms shot out, wrapped around Arsen. Like a starving man, he greedily soaked up the taste of Arsen's perfect mouth and feel of his hard body against his.

Arsen dragged his mouth along Henry's jaw. Hot breaths fanned his ear. "Please don't ever speak of leaving me again."

Henry's heart clenched at the fragile vulnerability in the barely audible words. "I won't," he whispered fiercely, holding Arsen close. He never wanted to be parted from this man. Ever.

"And don't ever avoid me again. Understood?"

He nodded. Beyond foolish to have acted the part of a coward. He knew that now. Still, the very real possibility of losing the man he loved had turned him into someone he almost hadn't recognized.

Arsen nipped at his ear, grabbed his arse. "Good. Now fuck me."

Lust shot to his groin so quickly his head went light. Still, he regained enough of his senses to glance about the room. "Here?"

"The grooms have retired for the night and the door is locked." His hands moved between their bodies. "It's been days since I've felt you inside me. I want you. Now."

The demanding aristocrat was back, but Henry didn't mind in the slightest. He was more than happy to oblige the mighty Marquis of Somerville and bend him over the nearest saddle rack.

He stole a quick kiss then swatted Arsen's hands from the placket of the man's trousers. One tug released the remaining buttons. He turned Arsen around and pushed him toward the nearby saddle rack.

"Bend over," he said, dropping to his haunches and pulling Arsen's trousers down to his ankles. He much preferred to bare every inch of Arsen's gorgeous body, but the location demanded baring only the essentials.

A quick swipe tucked Arsen's shirttail beneath his black silk waistcoat. Hands splayed, he pulled those firm muscular cheeks apart, exposing Arsen's entrance. Arsen's moans of pleasure filled his ears as he plied the man with his mouth. Flicking and swirling his tongue over the puckered skin, thoroughly wetting the sensitive flesh. When the tight ring of muscle began to relax, he pushed two fingers inside.

Arsen shuddered, pushed back. "Give me your cock."

"Not yet." He carefully worked a third digit inside and slowly stroked.

"Damn you, I can take it."

Definitely demanding. A smug smile curved his mouth. "I know you can." His cock jumped, more than eager to feel the tight sleek heat gripping his fingers.

For a man who once never even considered the notion of letting another man bugger him, Arsen had sure grown addicted to it. More often than not, he wanted Henry to fuck him. His body had grown accustomed to taking him. Still, the lack of available oil necessitated more than the usual considerable care. Well aware of his own size, the last thing Henry wanted was to hurt his lover.

He spit onto Arsen's hole. With his thumb, he worked the moisture inside then did it again. His cock pressed hard enough to hurt against the placket of his breeches, demanding to be set free. Yet he forced himself to proceed slowly.

When he was assured Arsen's body was slick enough and more than ready, he got to his feet. A quick tug and his breeches were shoved down to his hips. Thick and heavy and aching with need, his cock sprung free.

Bent over the wooden saddle rack, Arsen adjusted his stance, arching his back and spreading his legs as far as his trousers would allow.

A fierce surge of possessiveness rose within. He was the only man to have ever taken Arsen, and no one would ever follow him. He felt it down to his bones. There would only be him and Arsen, no others, until the end of their days.

After slicking his erection with spit, he grabbed Arsen's lean hip. With his other hand, he guided his prick to Arsen's entrance and pressed. When he heard the exhale swoosh from Arsen's lungs, he steadily increased the pressure. His lover's breath hitched as the head made the breach.

Henry's hand flexed against Arsen's hip, the need to snap his hips forward, to bury his cock ballocks deep in that tight clinging heat almost overwhelming him. Yet he paused.

His gaze was locked to the erotic sight of Arsen's entrance, glistening with moisture and stretched obscenely wide around his thick prick. A groan rumbled his throat. Need clawed at him. Built to impossible levels. His thighs shook under the strain of remaining still.

Henry almost sighed in gratitude when Arsen shifted beneath him, signaling he was ready for more. Jaw set in an effort to ward off the climax already building within, he pushed forward. He couldn't help but watch as his length slowly disappeared inside Arsen.

"Damn, you've got a big cock." Arsen rotated his hips, working that last inch of Henry's prick into his arse. A grumbling moan reverberated through his back. "Feels so damn good."

An understatement if ever there was one.

Henry pulled back, savoring the lush friction, and then gave in to that primal urge to snap his hips forward.

The saddle rack creaked under the onslaught, mixing with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and their hoarse, gravelly grunts. Arsen reached back, tugged at his thigh. Thrusting hard, Henry leaned down over Arsen's back and wrapped an arm around his lover's hips. His hand closed over hot silken skin backed by iron.

"Yes," Arsen growled, bucking back. "Stroke my cock. So...ah... close."

He felt the thick vein beneath pulse an instant before hot seed shot from the tip, coating his fingers. Swift and fierce, the orgasm rushed through him. He set his mouth to Arsen's shoulder to stifle the shout as he poured deep within him.

Panting, he pushed up, not wanting to crush Arsen with his weight. He tucked himself back into his breeches and did up the placket with fingers that didn't quite yet want to fully cooperate. Sprawled over the saddle rack, Arsen's back rose and fell as rapidly as his own. Trousers around his ankles and with a thin trickle of pearly white seed clinging to his well–fucked arse, the man looked positively debauched.

Damn tempting to admire the view. Instead he tugged up his lover's trousers. Bracing one hand on the saddle rack, he wrapped an arm around Arsen's chest.

"I can very well stand on my own," Arsen grumbled.

"I'm certain you can." Henry pulled him upright. "In about five minutes," he added.

He received a noncommittal grunt in response. His lips quirked, a chuckle tickling his throat.

Body lax with pleasure and limbs not yet steady, Arsen turned in his arms. His mouth found Henry's, lips gliding over his in a slow wet kiss. Then he rested his forehead on Henry's shoulder. "I love you, Henry Shaw."

Henry's heart swelled. Brushing his nose against the soft strands of Arsen's hair, he took a deep full breath of him. To think less than an hour ago he believed Arsen would leave him... He should have known better. He should have trusted in Arsen's love. "I love you, too, Lord Somerville."

His arms tightened around Henry's waist then Arsen pulled his spine straight, speared him with a haughty stare.

"Now get your arse back in the house so I can fuck you."

An excellent notion, but... He shook his head. "Your brother's there."

Arsen rolled his eyes on a huff of annoyance. Cheeks flushed and trousers hanging on his lean hips, he still managed to embody every inch the top-lofty lord. "He is in the guest wing and fast asleep by now. You could scream and he would not hear you."

Henry shook his head again. "We can't. I won't. We shouldn't take the risk..."

"That what? He'll decide at midnight he needs to pay me a call in my bedchamber? Henry, you're being—"

"I am not being ridiculous. I am being prudent." He absolutely refused to put Arsen's reputation at risk. The remote estate coupled with Arsen's loyal staff afforded them the luxury of lowering their guard just the tiniest bit. But a guest took away every trace of that luxury.

Arsen dragged a hand through his hair, disheveling the neat layers. His deep sigh echoed in the small room. "If you insist, I won't bugger you and we won't share my bed. But...can we share yours? I'm damned tired and haven't had a decent night's rest since Emmet's been here."

"You shouldn't have allowed him to work you so hard." Emmet seemed a nice enough fellow, yet Henry suddenly did not care for him much. While Arsen usually spent afternoons in the study tending to business, pushing him to work from dawn until past dusk was beyond inconsiderate.

Arsen's gaze darted to the floor. "It has nothing to do with work," he grumbled. "And everything to do with an empty bed."

The man had made a comment or two in the past about how well he slept since Henry started sharing his bed. He'd always assumed Arsen had been referring to the sort of deep restful sleep that follows a mind–blowing orgasm. Suspicion began to tug at the back of his mind. He studied Arsen. His lover shifted his weight. The uncharacteristic and distinctly uncomfortable gesture wiped away his previous assumptions. "Have you always had problems sleeping?"

Arsen rolled one shoulder. A heavy furrow marred his brow. He kept his attention fixed on the ground. "Not when I'm with you." The words spoken so low Henry had to strain to hear them.

"You should have said something."

Arsen gave his head a short, dismissive shake, as if revealing such a vulnerability had been unthinkable.

Emmet had no cause whatsoever to ever enter Henry's bedchamber, he reasoned. The man was already abed and would be gone by dawn. Assured the risk had dropped close enough to zero for his comfort, he said, "Of course you can share my bed."

"Thank you." On an exhale, the tension slid out of his frame. He lifted his chin, met Henry's gaze. "You do realize my cock will be in your arse the moment Emmet's carriage departs from the front door?"

Henry couldn't help it. He chuckled. "I would have it no other way." Grabbing Arsen by the back of the neck, he drew him in for a hot kiss. "Now get in my bed."

A few minutes later, Henry leaned over and blew out the candle on the bedside table, plunging the room into near darkness. He rolled over and snuggled up to Arsen's side. With a mumbled "Good night" Arsen slung his arm over Henry's back. Within moments, the very faint sounds of snores mixed with the soft pop and crackle of the fire in the hearth. He smiled against Arsen's chest as sleep began to tug heavily on his mind. There was no place else he would rather be, than right here with the man he loved.

Copyright © September 2010 by Ava March