The Viscount Returns (2 page)

Weeping from the tip, beads of pre-cum were spread by Allen's strong hand. Robert’s straining member was a steel rod concealed in the velvet sleeve of his skin. Slowly moving at first, Allen’s stroking motion soon followed pace with his hips, bringing the two of them into a harmonious coupling far too intimate for others to see. Balancing himself over Robert’s backside, Allen’s free hand curled into the flesh of Robert’s hip and with one final thrust he buried himself deep in the final purge of his release. Robert’s own climax washed over Allen’s hand, bathing his fingers with Robert’s pleasure.

Lying there on the grass in a heap, they both struggled to match their breaths while soaking in the warmth of each other’s body from the sexual flux that was burning through them. For weeks of traveling abroad through all kinds of weather they had been subjected to little chase for the opportunity to safely couple, never risking the threat of being labeled or charged for the crime of sodomy. Here in the natural cathedral of God’s earth they breathed in the freedom they had shared for six years on the frontier.

“Welcome home, my Lord.” Breathless, Allen rested his cheek on his friend’s naked back, taking in the peace and comfort he felt in his friend’s body. Robert didn’t know that soon he would say goodbye to this free living life that they had shared in exchange for the shackled life of a Viscount.

*  *  *

Fighting the English cold winds with their damp clothes whipping about, they struggled to dress. After years of living abroad in the freedom of the frontier, they both were unaccustomed to the restraints of these clothes. With little hope of either of them looking respectable now, they both settled for what they could accomplish without a valet’s skilled hands they both had once depended on. This was madness if Robert thought there was hope to remerge to English society with no help from the valet he had left behind.

“Why bother?” Tossing the wet cravat over the back of his horse, Robert saluted it with a smile. “We have not lived with such things for years, why bother now just because we have crossed the ocean?”

“How you ever survived here I will never understand.” Shaking his head in disbelief, Allen draped the soggy linen around his neck, letting it hang wrinkled and limp. “You are not the stuffy lord of his castle like your father. You are that wild adventurer whom I walked the busy streets of that city with.” Pulling the ends of his cravat out, Allen displayed great skill in tying the soggy linen into a limp but presentable flourish of folds, twists, and knot.

“New York is a city I shall never cast out of my mind.” Robert took his horse’s reins in one hand and walked alongside his steed, ignoring the uncomfortable friction of wet fabric rubbing between his chapped thighs. “If we had not left we would probably be taking another train for San Francisco.” Hovering over his tongue like an angelic vision, he spoke the name of the city with reverence. “Now that was a city with promise.”

They both shared a short lived laugh with an exchanged twinkle to solute their times shared in such a raw city.

“Halt!” a small voice shouted.

Turning to the intruder, Robert was shaken with surprise by the young stranger. Standing at four foot, the young man had a hard squint in his eyes and had the bravery of an Apache Brave. Armed with a slingshot pulled tight over his shoulder, the boy was a soldier ready to defend the kingdom.

Allen was the first to swallow back the laughter that was bubbling at the back of his throat and stepped forward to introduce himself to the boy. Rolling his shoulders back in a proud defense, the boy studied Allen.

“You are trespassing on private property.” Determined face and tight lip, the boy reminded Robert of his own youth when playing soldiers with his brother. He was the picture of their own youths and no doubt the apple of his father’s eye. “I warn you now that I am well armed against any invasion.” The boy held his slingshot to aim.

“Now, now, young squire.” Bending down onto one knee, he met the boy eye to eye with a false formality in his voice. “I did not think that this pond had been claimed by anyone.” Robert playfully defended. “Tell me, do you live on this property?”

Dropping the sling shot slightly out of aim, the boy popped his chin up in a prideful pose. He was a ragtag in his ill-fitting, dirt covered clothes and messy hair, much as Robert and his brother had been when they managed to escape their governess.

“Since the day I was born,” he answered with pride, sticking out his chest with a challenging pose. “I am the defender of this estate.”

“And your mother?” Leaning in, Robert searched the boy’s face to find a familiarity that would connect the boy to one of the tenants who had been living on the property when he had left. “Do your mother and father live here as well?”

There was not a servant’s or tenant’s face he had forgotten in the eight years he had been gone and there was clearly something familiar in the boy.

“I cannot speak for my father, but my mother is down at the mill today.” Bringing his weapon back up to aim. “Why is it you ask, sir?” The boy was a soldier in his own mind. “My mother is a good kind woman whom I will proudly defend.”

Leaning back over his grounded knee, Robert held his hands up in front of himself as a sign of surrender. The boy’s eyes darted over to the pond and back again at his captives. Licking his lips, he thought out what to do next, but Robert knew the boy’s mind far too well.

“Ah, so it is easy to guess you are playing hooky from your own duties today? You perhaps were hoping to take a swim in this pond here?” In the boy’s eyes Robert saw something familiar that he couldn’t place and suddenly wondered if he was perhaps Sarah’s son. She was just coming of age when he had left and her father had always worked hard alongside his grandfather in the mill. She had been a bright young thing whom he had played with in their youth and had no doubt been left a maiden long, once the marriage ready lads caught sight of her.

“Yes, sir, my momma thinks I am delivering bread to Millie, but it is such a hot day and Millie will not worry if I am late.” His brow creased in an arch and his arms were limp at his sides in defeat. “Please, sir, don’t say that you found me here. If my momma were to know that I disobeyed her, she would take away my riding privileges for a week.”

Robert had to question the boy’s observation over being a hot day, but he couldn’t begrudge the boy’s need to escape from his chores for the chance to take a swim as he had done as a lad and now as a Viscount. Looking at Allen, the two friends exchanged expressions of amusement. They had both known what it was like to fear punishment while seeking out some adventure and play. The boy was like any other and neither of them could deny him that.

“Tell me, boy.” Robert smiled at the lad. “What is your name, so I might know how to address you? That way when I tell your momma that I passed you on your way to make your delivery to Miss Millie’s cottage she will know who I speak of.”

The boy looked at him with a quizzical tilt to his head. It was not hard to read the working of his thoughts from the look on his face, nor the moment that he was brightened with understanding. Thrusting his hand out in a shake, he offered it in thankful friendship.

“The people around here call me Sprout and you can do the same.” He shook hands with gusto.

“Sprout you say.” Robert chuckled.

“Why ever for?” Allen joined in with a grin.

“My momma says it is on account for my hair.” He shook his brown curls. “I was born as smooth as an apple, but within a week my head was all shag.”

“Well then, Master Sprout, I am an old friend of your momma’s and grand papa’s. I was wondering if you could escort us to them?”

Tilting his head to one side, Sprout chewed his bottom lip in deep thought. “Of course.” He finally broke in. “Follow me.” He waved them on. “I will take you to my mother.”

The passing of time had left a handprint on the estate that Robert and Allen could not ignore. From the tales he had told Allen in their recent travels, the estate failed to deliver the fantasy that his memories and plans had presented. Rundown with a shabby appearance, his grandfather’s masterpiece was a shortcoming that looked unsafe. Alive with activity, but empty of all the equipment he had suggested in his letters, Robert began suspecting that something was wrong. His expectations had been high. From Jefferson’s correspondence, he’d had visions of his grandfather’s mill being restored to its once great state. Now, other than the forest green painted shutters, there was little of the weathered building that depicted his dream.

Chipped paint and miss-matched boards patching the outer walls, Robert felt his spirits fall. Here, as a little lad, he and his brother had watched their grandfather with pride plan out his dreams for the future of their family. Every timber had been cut and milled to desire and placed in an assembly to create his grandfather’s dream of the future, but now that dream was a withered, paltry skeleton of a shack.

They tied their horses out front at the post and followed Sprout inside. Only four men were at work and little lumber went through to turn the profit that he knew the estate required. At first glance the equipment left little to offer and Robert knew that after a closer study he would be less impressed. The belts were old and worn and no doubt in danger of snapping. Yes, indeed he would have a long talk with Jefferson and soon, before lives were threatened. His disappointment was quickly turning into a growing anger.

“Quick, Sprout, I cannot see your momma. Go fetch her for me. I do not think this is the proper place for Sarah to be working.”

The boy looked up in confusion, but Robert did not give him time for protest and pushed him along.

“But, sir?” Sprout tried to protest. “Sarah is not—”

“Go on, boy, and do not keep me waiting. I do not wish for your mother to be working near this death trap for another minute.” Robert noted to himself how he would have to take up the poor condition of the mill with his wife and Jefferson once he saw to Sara’s safety. This had not been in his instructions and Jefferson had assured him that the new equipment had been purchased and put into production. This was inexcusable.

Approaching the four men at work, Sprout brought them to an immediate halt, as they were eager to tousle the boy’s mop top hair in a happy greeting. One Robert recognized as Stevens, Sarah’s father, who was still one of the largest men he had ever known. Often in his travels along the Santa Fe rail line he had compared the large burly men to his memories of Stevens and they commonly came up short. Standing among the youths, Robert did not recall the faces of the three younger workers. Two were young strong men, much like the men Robert and Allen had befriended in their travels on the rail. Then there was the runt of the stock, a boy perhaps no more than fifteen hiding behind a low brimmed hat. The boy moved with confidence in his overalls and displayed a lean frame. Narrow in the shoulders and waist, the fabric of the boy’s work clothes hung loose. Shaped more like a girl from behind, there was a stir of desire. With Allen gone soon and a wife no doubt ready to lock him out of her chamber there was much to consider.

His eyes slowly followed the subtle curve of the lad’s frame. He wore his hat low and his collar high, but a small patch of his neck escaped into view. Creamy soft was his skin, a treat to suckle. 

Robert was taken to like the look of the boy and shied away in shame for his response to a youth. Always particular in the lovers he took, Robert avoided the bed of anyone his junior beyond the marital age, but there was something about this lad that affected him beyond reason.

Sprout stood on tiptoes to speak into the lad’s ear and was greeted with an enthusiastic hug. The other three men turned to face Robert and Allen while the lad listened to what Sprout whispered into his ear. Stiffening in his slender shoulders, the young man stood up straight and directed Sprout to walk away from Robert and Allen toward a shadowed corner of the mill where they continued to speak in private. Robert feared that Sprout had witnessed his love-making and was relaying a report.

A billowing voice calling out a command, the lad saw that Stevens brought all automation to a halt and the mill fell silent. Meeting the old man halfway, Robert was greeted with a strong embrace from the man who had helped raise him.

“Robert my boy, why did you not send word of your homecoming?” Straightening himself, he pulled back to correct himself. “Forgive me, I mean Lord Edden. Welcome home.” He stepped away and gave him a formal nod.

“Stevens, don’t be daft, man, there is no formality among friends.” Robert corrected him. “And what is this about not receiving a word? I sent a post to Jefferson nearly a month ago before he set sail.”

Stevens’ back shot ram-rod straight at the mention of the land manager and Robert’s former valet. He could see that bad blood had passed between them, but not interested in wasting his time and energy on trivial arguments, he needed to find Jefferson and bring him to account for his lack of attention to detail in this mill and obvious neglect in informing the staff of his return as he had specified in his correspondence.

“I am sorry, sir, but it has been so long. How is an old man like myself to know what to expect when you returned with no notice?” Stevens corrected himself, but still made no address to the post that had obviously gone missing.

Taking his hand, Robert led him to Allen, who patiently stood by in silence. “Allow me to introduce you to my friend Sir. Allen Raven. He and I met on our journeys and he is staying as my guest this night.” Robert was about to give his formal address, but was unsure of what Sprout had told the lad. Robert saw it best to conceal Allen’s family name for fear of any connection to a sodomite.

“Your servant, sir.” Receiving Allen’s offered hand, Stevens shook off the informal and friendly gesture before looking over his shoulder nervously at the lad who stood alone.

“I am pleased to make the acquaintance,” Allen responded.

“This old man taught me to shoot when I was no older than Sprout over there,” he said, wrapping his arm around Stevens’ very tight shoulders.

A dark cloud came over the four men and Stevens’ brow pinched in concern and confusion.

“Then you have met the boy?” He turned his head to Robert in a panic. “And you are not upset?”

“Upset? Why should I be upset? I am eager to see the lovely Sarah again. I must say the boy took me by surprise, but he is a delight nonetheless.”

“Sarah? But wouldn’t you prefer to settle in the manor house and receive lady Edden first?”

“There is time for that. I have met the boy, now I must congratulate the mother.”

Turning his head slowly over his shoulder, Stevens looked at the slim figure dressed in work clothes and holding the boy’s hand tightly in a while knuckle grip. Searching to register Stevens’ expression, Robert and Allen both followed his trail and were left stunned as the lad reached up and pulled his cap off his head. The room was not lit well enough to identify the face at such a distance, but as he reached behind his head and released a trail of long brown curls Robert was stunned into silence for a moment. He knew those curls from anywhere and could even recall the perfume they held.

“Fiona!” Her name was breathless on his lips.

“A girl, who would have thought?” Critiquing with interest, Allen’s question brought anger to Robert’s shock.

“That girl is no girl,” he growled through grinding teeth. Releasing Stevens, Robert took two steps toward his target. Rage burned in his eyes, singeing Fiona in his path. “She is my wife!”

Spitting out the declaration like a vile poison, Robert felt his gut synch in a knot, leaving him breathless and sick all at once. Here he had been lusting over the feminine form of his own wife while under the illusion of her being a man and now facing her haloed in her glorious hair and beguiling eyes. Hugging her curves he now saw how the shirt accentuated her breasts and round hips. Fiona was still the seductive temptress he had once known, only after eight years she had grown into a woman's body.

Seeing no one but each other, they both advanced and met a few feet apart, Sprout protectively tucked under her arm.

“This is the man I told you about m—”

“Yes, thank you, Sprout.” She silenced the boy with a pat to his shoulder, unable to take her eyes away from Robert’s. “Robert.” The formal address was delivered with an appropriate nod and curtsy. Ignoring her current state and the smudge of dirt on her face and hands, she held herself like the lady of the house that she was.

Approaching with apprehension, Stevens held the boy at his shoulders and pulled him out of Fiona’s grasp.

“I think it would be best if you complete that bread order now, young Sprout.” He whooshed him away as the boy protested.

Robert and Fiona were frozen in their tension, keeping their eyes on nothing else but each other. Turning to the two workers, Stevens sent the two remaining men to take their lunch at the cottage and return later to clean up and call it a day.

“Forgive my attire, I was not expecting you or your…” Taking in their state of undress with a quizzical eye, she paid him the respect to keep her address dignified. “…friend?” She labeled with a half arched brow. “You should have sent word, Robert.” She ignored his attempt at stating what he already had for Stevens and offered her hand to her husband’s companion. “Greetings, sir. Allow me to welcome you to our humble dwelling.”

He took Fiona’s hand. Callused and tanned her fingers were an iron fist that quickly relaxed in his, folding over the side of his fingers and transformed before him into a lady’s delicate touch. Settling a soft polite kiss over the top of her knuckles, Allen managed to capture her attention and expose a glimpse of the lady inside. “It is an honor and a pleasure to meet you, Lady Edden.” Releasing her hand, he gave a broad gesture. “The Estate that I have heard described to me over the years, I would not call it humble.”

“Trust me, the honor is all mine.” She turned on her heels to guide them out of the dwindling mill.

“Fiona, please. You must explain.” Robert followed her closely. “What happened to all of the equipment I had requested and improvement I instructed Jefferson on? He informed me all was well.” Reaching down between them, he tugged at the loose pant leg, startling Fiona and forcing her to jump a step ahead. “And what is with this getup?”

“I do not know what you mean by equipment?” Her eyes beat him down. “As to this getup? Someone had to be the master of the house after your father’s passing and while you were away.” She turned on her heels and left them to follow her.

Tied at a post, Fiona’s horse calmly grazed and did not lift its nut brown head when she released the tie and gave the horse a couple familiar pats to gain its attention. Never turning to the two men for help, she tucked one foot into the stirrups and readied her hands over the saddle, then after three well reheated bounces she pulled herself up, swinging her leg over the saddle and taking a very unladylike seat on the horse.

“Well,” Allen entered in. “Your wife is certainly full of surprises.”

Standing side by side, they watched the lady of the house ride off in the direction of the manor house. Flowing free on the air, her long luscious hair moved in time with the gallop of her horse. Robert could not ignore the rock in her body generating from her round perfect backside and up to her shoulders. Unsettling visions of her riding naked on that same horse distracted him. Bountiful breasts bare to the afternoon sun, bouncing in harmony to the rocking of her feminine mound grinding into the saddle. It had been eight years since he had shared a bed with his wife and even now Robert could remember every detail of that night like it was a treasured keepsake.

“Yes, that is what I am afraid of,” he grumbled, reminding him of the venom in her voice just now as she had addressed him and of the heartbreaking correspondence she had sent him. Some things were beyond repair.

“What say you to some hospitality?” Robert offered his friend, giving his own horse a loving pat and looking back toward Fiona’s vanishing form. “Let us ride to the manor house to fill our bellies and bathe this English road off.”

Kicking their horses into pace, they rode in chase of the lady. It did not take long till they broke from the surrounding trees and saw the manor house washed over in afternoon light. Though standing strong from a distance as they came closer, much of the estate showed the same disrepair as the mill. Weeds had grown up along the walkways and front steps. Ashamed of what he found, Robert was regretting that he could not offer Allen the grandeur he had descried so often. He led his friend to the stables where they abandoned their horses to the young ill-kept groom not much older than Sprout.

Mounting the stairs with their saddlebags slung over their shoulders, Robert remained silent, keeping his eyes focused at the steps before his feet. There was no groomsman to collect their belongings at the stable other than the boy who had been unprepared for the task. The more he saw the more he wanted to have words with his steward and land manager. This would not be the awkward reunion he had been anticipating, but what he expected to be the resignation of his oldest friend.

Standing at the closed grand doors there was no waiting staff ready to open the house for its master’s return. Reaching for the bell pull, Robert listened for the echoing ring from inside, but no one came. Perhaps it was the lady of the wife keeping the staff from attending him? In the end it was upon Robert’s shame that forced him to push the doors open, relieved not to feel the disgrace of a lock against the door. He forced open entrance to his own family home.