Never a Road Without a Turning (18 page)

D
ESPITE
HIS
lingering pique over the abruptness of his dismissal the night before, Pip still found time to work on a mounting block the following day. They could have hired a stonemason from the village, but it seemed a waste for something so simple, and besides that, Pip wanted to build it. A full and exhausting day of lugging rocks back to the yard in his cart and venting his frustrations with a hammer and chisel sounded much better than brooding over his hurt pride, even if the day was wet and the air unpleasantly cold.

He found a likely spot against the stone wall that surrounded the yard and set to work not long after exercising the horse. By the time the sun set, he had a good start on it and nearly every muscle in his body ached from his exertions. He ate his supper in sullen silence and then excused himself early.

“If the master rings, give ’im me regrets. I’m done in.”

“Certainly,” Mrs. Applethwaite replied. “You worked quite hard today. I’m sure the master will understand.” Her words were gentle and her mien concerned, but Pip could see that she was secretly pleased. She hated that the master had chosen to spend his time with someone so lowly instead of inviting any of his peers from the village or even hiring someone more appropriate to act as his companion. And perhaps that was what he should have done instead of raising Pip’s hopes only to smash them again at the end of each night they had together.

Pip feared the sourness of his mood would make it hard for him to fall asleep that night. But he needn’t have worried. Working himself into exhaustion did the trick, and he was asleep almost the moment his head hit the pillow.

He woke only once, in the middle of the night, judging by the position of the moon. An eerie cry had him bolting upright in bed, his heart hammering in his chest. He was almost certain it had come from the other end of the cottage, Ash’s bedchamber, and he held his breath, straining to hear if it was repeated.

Nothing but the wind and the everyday creaks and rattles of the cottage came back to him, and after several minutes ticked past, Pip settled beneath his blankets again and tried to go back to sleep. Ash had nightmares. Pip knew that after the first time he’d heard the man cry out in the night. But if he wanted Pip’s help beyond a quick fuck every now and again, he had an odd way of showing it.

“Don’t leave me.”

Ash’s words rang in Pip’s head only to be followed by a harsh and dismissive
“Good night, Phillip.”

So which was it, then?

T
HE
NEXT
day Pip was as stiff as a plank when Mrs. Applethwaite roused him from his troubled sleep, and not in a pleasant way. He had to push himself through several hours of misery before his body limbered up enough that every move wasn’t a hardship.

Upon seeing what he’d accomplished in the yard, Mrs. Applethwaite took pity on him and did not add overmuch to his regular duties, but a part of Pip wished she had. It would have given him something to do instead of wandering about the place useless for anything but sulking and looking longingly toward the library window.

Pip was hauling scuttles of coal back to the cottage, sighing despondently for the hundredth time that day, when he caught his reflection in one of the kitchen windows and stopped in his tracks. Mournful brown eyes underscored by dark rings looked back at him from above a set of full, downcast lips. His cheeks looked hollow, and he’d missed several spots shaving. His hair was in disarray and his neck cloth looked as if a child had tied it. In short, he looked awful.

And why was that?

Because he was mooning over his master like a bloody maid, that’s why.

The realization hit him like a punch to the stomach, and all his pathetic melancholy fled, chased away by a wave of anger and mortification. For weeks now, he’d been following Ash like a puppy, begging for scraps.

Where was the Pip who’d wooed and bedded dozens of women across the length and breadth of the countryside?

Now
he
was the bloody woman, reading more into a couple of tumbles than he ever should, expecting more than was ever offered. Ash had made no promises, confessed no feelings beyond a desire for Pip to remain at the cottage and to warm his bed from time to time.

Pip was disgusted with himself. If Master Carey, Maud, or Stubbs had been there to see it, they would have laughed themselves silly by now, and Pip would have well deserved their ridicule. Living in the country had made him soft.

Ash was an opportunity to fill his lonely nights with good company, in warmth and comfort. Pip could sate his lusts without having to put much effort into it at all and without having to worry about any angry relatives or husbands coming after him. Pip had absolutely nothing to complain about. So what if Ash got a bit high-and-mighty? He was a gent. What did Pip expect?

Pip turned back to his reflection and lifted his chin high. He straightened his shoulders and set off to finish his task with renewed vigor. The time for mooning about and self-recriminations was done. He silently vowed to accept only what was offered from that moment on, without any further histrionics on his part. And when Ash’s bell rang for him after supper that night, Pip answered without any hesitation at all, holding firmly to his new resolve so no other feeling could creep in and undermine it.

“Yes, sir?”

Ash frowned at him from his seat by the fire. “Am I ‘sir’ again, then?”

Pip shrugged against the tension in his shoulders, closed the door behind him, and strode across the room. He plastered a grin across his face that was not entirely genuine and winked at the man. “Depends on what I’m ’ere for, I s’pose.”

No leather-bound volume lay on his chair. A wrapped parcel waited for him instead. Pip avoided looking at it, though curiosity and hope clamored for his attention. Instead, Pip resolutely kept his eyes on Ash. The sooner they got to the fun part of the evening, the less time he would have to think about anything else.

“Mrs. Applethwaite said you were unwell last evening when I sent for you. I hope that you are better now,” Ash said, watching Pip closely.

“Right as rain, sir—
Ash
,” he corrected.

Ash studied him with his forehead creased and those damned beautiful eyes appearing almost hurt. Impatient to do away with the polite, and pointless, conversation, Pip crossed the final distance between them, brazenly took a swallow from Ash’s whisky glass, and then bent to claim his lips. He had no interest in reading that night or whatever gift Ash wished to bestow. He wanted to fuck until he couldn’t think and then go to his bed, alone but sated.

Ash’s lips stiffened in surprise but soon parted, and Pip’s tongue swept inside. Pip fisted his hands in Ash’s fine wool jacket and drew the man to his feet, uncaring the damage he did to the cloth. Ash clutched at Pip’s upper arms while Pip slid his hands around the smooth silk of Ash’s cravat, imprisoning his neck and preventing any escape. He plundered Ash’s mouth, swallowing the man’s moan as he pressed his thigh forward against the hardness of Ash’s prick.

After rubbing Ash’s cock a bit, Pip let go of Ash’s neck and tore at his cravat until it fell away, exposing the flesh underneath. Then Pip fumbled between them until Ash’s cock sprang free of his trousers. Pip bit and suckled the smooth salty skin beneath the coarseness of the man’s whiskers while he pumped his fist along Ash’s length until Ash was struggling to remain upright.

When Pip was certain Ash’s need was at its peak, he dragged him nearer the hearth and awkwardly lowered him to the Persian rug. Ash gazed up at him in confusion with eyes that had gone nearly black with desire, but Pip wasted no time with explanations or asking for leave. Tonight he would take what he wanted, and if Ash truly wished to stop him or complain, he would have to do so with conviction before Pip would hear him.

Pip knelt beside him and smashed their mouths together again as he pulled Ash’s jacket off his shoulders and cast it aside. Ash struggled in his arms, tearing his mouth away and gripping Pip’s wrists to stop him. “Not here,” he said breathlessly.

Pip grinned back at him and then captured Ash’s earlobe between his teeth, nibbling and sucking on it by turns. Ash’s grip on his wrists relaxed, and Pip dropped a hand down to fondle Ash’s prick again while the other squeezed his arse.

“This way we don’ make noise on the stairs,” Pip whispered, his hot breath in Ash’s ear and his other ministrations making the man shiver and melt beneath his hands.

Catching Ash by surprise, Pip pressed his advantage and had Ash draped on his belly over his padded leather stool before the man could draw breath to protest. Pip yanked Ash’s trousers down and lifted his shirt out of the way, exposing the taut, pale orbs of his arse to the lamplight.

“Phillip—” Ash hissed, but Pip didn’t allow him to finish. He dove in and bit one delectable mound while he swirled a thumb over Ash’s nether opening and fondled his sack with the other hand.

Ash gasped and moaned loudly, and Pip chuckled against his flesh.

“Shhhhh,” Pip admonished gleefully. “Ye don’ want Mrs. Applethwaite to come runnin’, do ye?”

Ash swore under his breath and flung out an arm, narrowly missing Pip’s head as he ducked out of the way. Still chuckling, Pip dove between the man’s cheeks and licked Ash’s entrance, ending any further protests or attempts at violence against him. Pip liberally wetted the man’s hole and Ash let out a guttural sound Pip hadn’t heard before. Encouraged, Pip toyed with Ash’s opening, experimenting with sucking and nibbling on the tender flesh before penetrating it with his tongue. He’d only begun this because he knew the oil was out of reach and he had no other means of easing his passage. But the strength of Ash’s reaction to his ministrations emboldened him.

By the time Pip drew away and clawed desperately at his clothes to free his own weeping cock, Ash was trembling and begging beneath him. Pip’s crown was so slick he hardly needed to bother, but he spat in his hand and rubbed it on his prick for good measure anyway. He pressed forward, and Ash arched beneath him, sending his arse higher in the air to meet Pip’s thrust. They came together hard. Pip withdrew and rammed home again, over and over, their muted grunts and the slapping of flesh their only accompaniment beyond the ticking of the mantel clock.

Ash lost the battle first, stiffening beneath him, his channel rippling around Pip’s cock. Pip shuddered through his own release soon after and collapsed against Ash’s back, his face pressed into the softness of Ash’s damp linen shirt.

Ash’s body rose and fell with each labored breath, but he was still the first to recover. He pushed up on his arms, forcing Pip to withdraw. They both hissed as Pip’s cock slid free of Ash’s channel, and he dropped back against the leather chair. Ash righted his trousers as best he could, pushed the stool aside, and dragged himself over to sit on the hearth, closing his eyes and letting his head drop back against the stone.

Pip watched him warily, unsure of his reaction and ready to leap back if the man took another swing at him. But Ash didn’t react at all. He simply sat there with his eyes closed until the clock began to chime. After the last bell faded, Ash turned to him with an unreadable expression and inhaled deeply, preparing to speak. Pip was fairly certain he was about to be dismissed again, and he decided not to give Ash the chance. He stood up quickly and turned away, tucking his cock back into his trousers and setting the rest of his clothes to rights.

Instead of speaking, Ash blew the breath out noisily and began to stir as well. Without thinking, Pip reached for him, but Ash shook his head.

“I can manage.”

“Yes, sir. Of course. Will that be all?” Pip asked through gritted teeth.

Ash didn’t answer until he was fully upright, leaning against the mantel. He looked pale, and Pip began to regret his rough treatment of the man, but the feeling evaporated as soon as Ash spoke. “Yes, thank you. You may go.”

Calm and collected as ever a gentleman should be.

“Yes, sir.”

He turned to go but stopped when Ash called after him. “Don’t forget that.” Pip turned back and only then remembered the parcel on the chair. When he hesitated, Ash said, “Take it. Please.”

Pip snatched it up and left as fast as his feet would carry him, narrowly avoiding slamming the door behind him. When he reached the kitchen, Mrs. Applethwaite looked up from her needlework with a puzzled frown.

“You’re back early.”

“Yes, Missus. The master decided he didn’t wish my company this evening after all,” he answered, keeping the parcel tucked under his arm and his expression bland.

He could tell she was pleased, but all she said was, “He must be tired, poor man. The turn in the weather must pain him. I would think, he probably won’t wish to stay up late often when winter is fully upon us.”

Pip nodded sullenly and returned to his room. Once there, he sat on his bed and stared at the package in his hands for a long while. Eventually, curiosity won out, and he untied the string. When he pulled the paper aside, a stunning waistcoat in russet and brown brocade was revealed, much finer than the plain one he’d been lusting after in the tailor’s shop window.