Mending Him (10 page)

Chapter Eleven

The worst heat of the summer had passed, but the days seemed too sultry to Robbie. With the approaching dance, he had additional duties. He had an uneasy truce with Samuel, who seemed distracted and barely heeded him but at least didn’t sneer or pick fights.

He’d just finished consulting with Aunt Lenore about the autumn-themed décor for the ball when he came across Gemma outdoors, sitting on the ground in the garden, clutching the squirming, nearly grown pup that she’d been allowed to keep from the litter.

“See, Miss Daisy? Wearing a dress isn’t so bad. You just have to get used to it,” Gemma counseled the whimpering dog in her arms.

“Gemma. Take that dolly frock off the puppy,” Robbie ordered. “It’s unkind to force her to do something that isn’t natural for a dog.”

“But she’s so darling. Look!” Gemma thrust the pup, growing quite husky now, toward him.

“Perhaps, but she’s also miserable. Take it off.”

“All right,” Gemma grumbled but obeyed, pulling one puffed sleeve down Daisy’s foreleg.

When it appeared she was going to wrench the poor dog’s leg, Robbie set aside his walking cane and eased himself down to the ground to help. The grass was still damp from another recent rain, and wetness seeped through his trousers and drawers. Ah well, they would dry.

As he undressed the struggling dog, Robbie wondered who would help Gemma with this sort of task when he was gone. Mary, he supposed, but the nursemaid wouldn’t be so accommodating of her charge’s lively nature, and soon enough, Gemma would be too old for a nurse, leaving only the governess, Miss Peters, to supervise her. Heaven knew Aunt Lenore scarcely paid the child any heed.

Robbie pulled off the taffeta skirt, then cuddled and petted the dog. His thoughts drifted, as they did every second or so, toward Charles, the other person he would greatly miss when he left home. With every day, Charles grew stronger. He could now walk with crutches. He was healing too fast, and yet Robbie couldn’t regret that or wish him back into that awful wheelchair.

“Look, here comes Cousin Charles!” Gemma jumped to her feet and skipped along the flagstone path toward the man who strode determinedly toward them, one step, then a swing of the crutches. Charles planted the tips firmly before taking another step over the unevenly set stones.

Gemma danced around him. “You’re doing well. But your face is all red. Is it hard to use crutches? I want a pair too. I want to play soldier home from the war.”

Robbie’s heart snagged in his throat and stopped beating for a moment as he gazed at the man who’d become far more to him than a mere friend. Sunlight set Charles’s coppery hair ablaze. His shoulders and arm muscles flexed as they plied the crutches. True, Robbie couldn’t
see
them flex under Charles’s coat, but he knew what those arms looked like bare. He could imagine the subtle play of muscles under a smooth sheath of skin, and it sent a shiver of lust flickering through him. Good Christ, he wished he could admire more of Charles’s body at great length and study every detail.

But time and privacy were hard to come by. Stolen moments were rare in a crowded household with family members and servants swarming about.

Robbie let the pup loose, grabbed his cane and hoisted himself to his feet. By the time he was upright, Gemma and Charles had reached him.

“…went off
again
without me. After he
promised!
” Gemma recited her tale of woe about negligent Bert. “He and Liam built a fort in the woods. That’s all he’ll talk about, but he won’t take me to see it. It’s not
fair!
”

“No. Indeed it is not,” Charles said gravely. “Your brother should be horsewhipped for treating a lady so. Do you want me to do it?”

Gemma stopped and stared. “Really? A whipping? Would you?” She sounded far too eager and thrilled at the prospect.

“No. But I will talk to Bertie for you, if you like. Perhaps he’ll listen to me.” Charles dropped down on a garden bench with a grunt and set the crutches aside. The dog sniffed around his shoes, then squatted and pissed. “Is that the ever so charming Daisy?”

“None other.” Robbie smiled. And smiled and smiled. He couldn’t seem to stop smiling when he talked to Charles, or when he glimpsed him across a room, or when he even thought about him. All this smiling was going to get him into trouble.

The dog leaped against Charles’s leg, and he leaned to take her onto his lap. Gemma leaned against him and prattled on about dogs and Bertie and the dress she was going to wear the night of the harvest dance.

“Will you save a waltz for me?” Charles asked.

“That’s silly. You can’t dance. Besides, I shall only be presented, then sent back up to the nursery. But Mary said she and I can watch the company arrive through the railing above the staircase, and she said I’d have a special treat to make up for not being allowed to see the dancing. Mary’s nice sometimes.” Gemma sighed and let Daisy lick her hand. “It’s hard to be small. I can’t wait to grow up.”

Robbie ached at her forlorn tone. He came over and rested a hand on her head. “Don’t be in too much of a hurry, sweetheart. Enjoy your dolls and dogs and fairy tales while you may.”

Charles tipped his head back to look up at Robbie, and patted the bench beside him. “Sit. You’ll put a crimp in my neck looming over me like that.”

Robbie happily sat on the small bench, hip to hip with Charles. It was the first contact they’d managed today.

Some days it was easier to steal a kiss or a touch than others. Robbie was still working with Charles to strengthen his leg, which provided many hours spent close together in privacy. They could talk then, but little more than that. Since the first time Samuel had burst into the library, the room no longer felt so safe and private. Robbie’s fear of discovery was too great and he would not so dishonor his uncle as to seize passion beneath his very roof. Now, if they could but take a ride out into the countryside or a ramble in the woods… But for now, sitting side by side on a garden bench in the warm sunshine would do.

In a bit, Gemma left to take Daisy back to the kennel, leaving the two men alone at last. The moment she was out of sight, Charles reached for Robbie’s hand. Robbie nearly gasped at the warm strong palm pressed against his, at their fingers linking together. The sedate touch prompted nearly as much excitement as their kisses had on that amazing night coming back from the village.

How many times had he relived that event in the days since? The sensations seemed etched in him permanently; the rough wool of Charles’s trousers under his hand, the silk of his skin, a hard mouth demanding things Robbie’s mouth had never given before, the scrape of chin stubble against his own chin, the wetness of a tongue swirling around his. Oh, and that was only the beginning. If he started to dwell on the other part, he would be lost in the memory for minutes at a time, jerking out of his trance with a start only when Mr. Todd asked him a question.

Right now his cock began to stir from the mere touch of Charles’s hand and the memory of how that hand had felt touching him.

“Why, my good man. I fear you are having unwholesome desires. I can see it in your eyes,” Charles murmured. “Bad, bad Robbit. How I’d like to take you someplace much more private and give you the spanking you richly deserve.”

Robbie startled and nearly pulled away his hand. A jolt of dismay and incredible desire shot through him. His erection grew instantly stiff and aching and pressed against his trousers. He shifted on the hard bench.

“You like that sort of talk, eh?” Charles continued to whisper in a hoarse yet velvety voice that stroked Robbie’s skin and made it crackle with electricity. “You like the idea of being bent over a desk and receiving a paddling on your rear?”

“What are you doing?” Robbie whispered even more quietly although there was no one nearby. “What outlandish things to say!”

“Too soon? Yes, since we’ve hardly done more than kiss and fondle one another. Perhaps you would not enjoy that sort of play,” Charles said. “But it’s fun to think about, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand.”

Charles smiled and stroked the back of Robbie’s hand with one idle thumb, the little circles sending shockwaves of desire through him. “No, of course not. I forget sometimes how innocent you are. But that’s fine. I shall be content with an occasional kiss for now. And perhaps, someday very soon, we can find a way to spend an entire afternoon together in absolute privacy. Then I can teach you more about how to give and receive pleasure.”

Yes, please.
He would be an eager student. The very idea of giving and receiving pleasure, whatever that entailed, made his entire body tighten. He wanted to feel, to experience, to
know
what all he might do with Charles. His rear tingled and his arsehole clenched in response to the thought.

“But that day isn’t today.” Charles released his hand, and Robbie nearly whimpered in disappointment. “Right now, sir, I should like to talk to you about your wardrobe.”

“My wardrobe?” Robbie repeated dumbly.

“Yes. For all that you’re a student of design and enjoy beautifully appointed rooms, you do not seem to turn that artistic eye on your personal appearance. I should like to help you outfit yourself for your new life in London—”

“Or Durham.”

“Your new life in London,” he repeated firmly, “And for the upcoming harvest ball. A man as fine looking as you should not hide his attributes under dowdy attire.”

“You think I’m fine looking? Wait. You think my clothes are dowdy?”

“They are. It’s not an opinion. It’s a fact. With Cousin Phillip’s permission, I have contacted a tailor from the city to fit you for several articles of clothing, including eveningwear. He has just arrived and is setting up as we speak.”

“I couldn’t possibly afford… When did you arrange all this?”

“It’s quite all right. Phillip agreed with me that he owes you a decent wardrobe. Besides, Samuel wants a new suit, and Phillip needs one as well. I understand hosting this harvest event is an important thing around here. Even Phillip wishes to make a good impression.”

Charles leaned to pick up the crutches and dragged himself upright. “So, if you’ll accompany me inside, I will show you the wonders of
haute couture.
”

The next hour or so was a bewildering barrage of fabric swatches and decisions about cut and style. The tailor treated Robbie like a mannequin, measuring every part of him and holding material near his eyes to choose the perfect hue. Charles approved or disapproved each option while Robbie merely shrugged when asked his opinion. He didn’t like being the focus of attention and was eager for the ordeal to end. After the last measurement, the tailor set him free and asked them to summon Samuel to be fitted for a new suit.

As they walked down the hall, Charles regarded Robbie with twinkling eyes. “Wasn’t that fun? Nothing like being fitted for new clothes. You shall cut a swath at the ball. Heads will turn.”

“It will only be me dressed in a new suit. I hardly imagine anyone will suddenly view me differently.”

“You underestimate the power of style. They say
the suit makes the man,
and while that may not be true, it certainly colors how people view him.” Charles thumped into the larger of the family’s two drawing rooms with Robbie behind him, and dropped onto one of the sofas with a relieved sigh.

“You shouldn’t overdo,” Robbie warned as he sat in an armchair facing Charles. “You’ve only just regained your legs, and you should not push yourself too hard. Perhaps it’s time for an afternoon rest.”

“Yes, Doctor. I shall do that as soon as my bedchamber is not being used as a fitting room.”

It had made the most sense for the tailor to unpack his supplies downstairs, where Charles could have access, but now he was banished from the library until the tailor had finished with Samuel and Phillip.

“Anyway,” Charles went on, “it’s not merely a matter of new clothing. It’s the confidence a well-chosen wardrobe instills in you which makes you stand a little straighter, appear a little bolder.”

“I doubt I shall ever stand much straighter,” Robbie said dryly. “And my nature is not bold. I’m afraid I’m simply an accommodating sort of person.”

“Which I adore. Your nurturing spirit is what makes you Robbie. Still, there are times when one must assert oneself. Trust me, when you head into the social waters of the city, you do
not
want to appear timid. Those sharks will devour you.”

Robbie frowned, not wanting to think too much about the future. “I shan’t be spending much time in society, I don’t think.”

Now Charles frowned, too, and leaned toward him. He seized Robbie in his intense gaze. “Listen. What exactly is it you hope to do when you leave here? Do you have a plan?”

“Well, uh, Uncle Phillip has some acquaintances who might find a position for me, perhaps working in accounts…” Robbie trailed off.

“What do you
want
to do, Robbie? I can’t imagine you being content working in some stodgy offices for the rest of your life. I remember what you said about your time with that designer in London. You must try again. You are an artist at heart. If décor is what inspires you, then you must hobnob in society, making connections with the people for whom you wish to design.”

The force of Charles’s conviction was both thrilling and annoying. His words made Robbie see a vision of one possible future laid out before him, golden and fulfilling. But having a vision and making it happen were two very different things. Easy for Charles to tell Robbie what to do with his life when the man hadn’t figured out his own yet.

“I suppose,” he answered noncommittally since he didn’t wish to argue.

“The way you present yourself is important. When you design a space, you present a particular view of the people who will inhabit that room, the manner in which they might wish to be seen by their peers. Choosing clothing is no different. You attire your body in the way you hope to be viewed, as confident, self-assured, in charge. Whether this reflects the way you really feel inside doesn’t matter.”