To Love a Traitor (17 page)

Chapter Twenty-Two

They were received with placid warmth by Mrs. Mac, active pleasure by Miss Lewis, who complained of boredom and seemed out of sorts, and with affronted disdain by Marmaduke—who soon, however, unbent when there was a warm lap by the fire to be had.

Tea in the sitting room after supper could not be politely avoided, but their long journey—far longer than Mrs. Mac knew—and the prospect of returning to work in the morning gave them an acceptable excuse to mount the stairs rather earlier than usual.

By silent assent, they both went into Matthew’s room. “Lord, I’m tired,” he said, flinging himself down upon the bed. “Lie down with me?”

George sent a quick glance at the door—highly unnecessary, as he’d himself shut it firmly and shot the bolt less than a minute previously. “We’ll have to be quiet,” he cautioned.

Matthew gave him a weak smile. “I’m not sure what you’re imagining we’ll get up to. And I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed, but I’d really like you just to hold me. If that’s all right.”

“Of course I will.” George lay down beside his friend and wrapped his arms around him, Matthew wriggling until they were comfortable together, his head on George’s shoulder. “I’m sorry it’s been such a wretched day for you.”

“It has, rather, hasn’t it? But at least now we know the truth.” Matthew was silent a moment, his hand insinuating its way inside George’s jacket and up under his pullover, to rest on his waist. “Have you decided what you’ll do about it all?”

George hadn’t, not consciously, although he’d spent much of their wearisome journey home racking his brains over the matter. But as he opened his mouth to say so, he realised there was only one thing
to
be done. “I’ll write to Mabel and to Sir Arthur, and I’ll tell them I’ve concluded my investigations, and I’m satisfied you weren’t involved in any treachery. I won’t mention Donald’s name at all. I’ll simply say I’ve seen evidence I’m not at liberty to divulge—and that it didn’t come from you—which makes it plain who the guilty party was. And as that person is no longer living, there’s no action which need be taken.”

“Will it satisfy them? I should hate for Miss Fuller to have to suffer further on Donald’s account.”

George gave a rueful smile. “To be honest, I think Mabel wouldn’t be desperately unhappy if I were to simply let the matter slide. She seems to have developed another interest.”

“Another man?” Matthew’s hand rubbed up and down George’s flank. “I’m sure Captain Cottingham would have been glad to see her happy, you know.”

“I know, I know. And the man is even an old friend of his. Lost his legs at sea.”

He felt, rather than saw, Matthew’s smile against his chest. “That sounds uncommonly careless of him, although I suppose it’s in bad taste for me to say so.”

George chuckled. “Probably. Although from what she’s told me of him, I think he’d appreciate the joke, himself.”

“Sounds like an excellent fellow. What about Sir Arthur?”

“He’ll take my word for it,” George said confidently. “If he gives a man—or a woman,” he added, thinking of Miss Pendleton, “a job to do, he’s the sort to trust them to do it well, or he wouldn’t have given it to them in the first place.”

“Then it’s all over.” Matthew’s hand tightened on George’s waist, then loosened again. “What will you do now?”

George frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well… You came here to find out the truth, didn’t you? And now you have. So will you go back home—” He broke off as George, startled, drew away in an attempt to look him in the eye, dislodging Matthew’s head from his shoulder.

“What on earth do you mean? I’m not planning to go anywhere—why should I? These are perfectly good digs, even if I didn’t happen to have a particular reason for wanting to stay here.”

“Then…your position at Forrester and Thingummajigs? That wasn’t just for appearances’ sake?”

“No, of course not. Good God, you’ve heard me drone on often enough about how fascinating I find the law. Did you think that was all smoke and mirrors?” George couldn’t imagine now leaving Forrester & Lindley. Leave Phillips, and Mitchell, who’d opened a niche for him in their strange friendship?

“I wasn’t sure what I should think. I hoped it wasn’t, but I didn’t like to presume. So you’ll stay here? Qualify as a solicitor, and live with me?”

“If you’ll have me,” George said softly. “I wouldn’t blame you if, after everything, you decided I was more bother than I was worth.”

“Don’t be absurd. You’re worth any amount of bother—oh, George, I’ve been so afraid I might lose you.” Matthew’s hand left his waist, but only, it seemed, so that it could stroke his hair, his face. George nuzzled into it, planting kisses into the palm.

He pressed more kisses to Matthew’s neck, then, daringly, to his lips. Matthew tasted of hot tea and cinnamon biscuits, and George felt like he would burst with the maelstrom of emotions that coursed through him as their bodies pressed together, arousal clearly evident on both sides. To be known—fully known—and not rejected was something for which he’d never dared hope.

“I need—oh God, George, I need you.” Matthew’s voice was hoarse, his breath tickling George’s ear as his words came between kisses. “I need you inside me. Would you do that?”

“Would I…?” Was that a serious question? There was certainly only one possible answer. “I’d like that more than anything. But you’ll have to show me what to do.”

“There’s a tin of Vaseline in the drawer. We’ll need lots of that. And a towel to save the sheets.”

George blushed as he realised what they’d be saving them from. “And I won’t hurt you?”

“Not if you go slow. Use your fingers on me first.”

George’s blush grew ever deeper as he followed Matthew’s directions—he’d never touched another man
there
. He couldn’t believe how much it increased his desire as he did so—and how much Matthew seemed to enjoy being touched, which sent his arousal spiralling even higher. “Oh God. I shan’t last, you know,” he said as he lined himself up, ready to take the momentous final step. “I want you too much.”

Matthew, on his knees with his arm braced on the headboard, looked back over his shoulder. “I don’t care. As long as you’re inside me, I don’t care.”

It was too much to bear. George pushed—and gasped as he penetrated his lover. “Oh God,” he panted. “Matthew, oh God…” He slid in slowly, until they were pressed together, as close as two people could get. “Is that all right?”

Matthew laughed, a quiet, breathy sound. “All right? It’s heavenly. Keep going. I need to feel you.”

His arms wrapped around his lover’s slender torso, George thrust raggedly into his body. It was sheer ecstasy—never had George thought there could be pleasure like it. It ratcheted higher and higher, fed by the half-stifled sounds Matthew made at each thrust, until perfection burst upon him like a flood tide and he spilled inside his lover.

It was a long, exquisite moment before he was able to pant an apology. “I’m sorry I didn’t—”

“I’m not. That was glorious. Give me your hand now, though. I want to come with you inside me.”

The frank language made George shiver as he did as he was asked. Matthew’s cock fit easily into his hand, and he worked it with firm strokes that soon had Matthew shaking in his arms. When the peak came, George was taken by surprise by the aftershocks that seized his softened member, still buried deep in Matthew’s clenching body, and could barely stifle a groan.

Matthew chuckled softly. “Ripping, isn’t it? You were marvellous.”

“Not half so marvellous as you.”

Afterwards, they lay together in Matthew’s bed. This time, Matthew claimed the pillow, and George’s head rested far more happily—in his opinion, at least—on Matthew’s chest. He wished he could stay there all night, but it wouldn’t do at all. George sighed. “I should get back to my own room,” he said, not making any move to do so.

“Don’t go yet,” Matthew murmured, stroking his shoulder.

“I’ll have to go soon. What will I say to Mrs. Mac if she sees me sneaking out in the small hours?”

“Just tell her I had another nightmare. And ask her what
she’s
doing, wandering the house in the middle of the night. Quite scandalous in a woman of her mature years.”

“Surely it would be more scandalous if she were younger, and unmarried?”

“Quite probably, but no need to mention that to her. You wouldn’t want to give the impression you were well-versed in scandal.” Matthew snuggled in closer, completely destroying George’s already very faint resolve to leave.

He did rouse himself, however, to lift his head from Matthew’s chest. “Do you think… I know you loved Donald very much. Do you think, one day, you might be able to love me like that?”

Matthew gave him a fond smile. “Oh, George, you idiot. Don’t you know I already do, and more?”

George’s reply to that wasn’t verbal, although it did involve the use of his lips.

Matthew’s eyes were bright as he finally pulled away. “Poor Donald. He wasn’t really the man I thought him to be, was he?”

“Neither am I, remember?” George reminded him a trifle sadly.

“Rot. What’s in a name? Shakespeare said that, you know. A George by any other name would smell as sweet.”

“Now who’s being an idiot? After what we’ve been up to, I should think I smell anything but sweet.”

Matthew bent his head and took an ostentatious sniff. “Sugar and spice and all things nice,” he declared.

“Rot. For one thing, and I should have hoped you’d noticed this by now, I’m not a girl.”

“You’re not?” Matthew’s eyes widened in mock horror. “Dear me. I’m afraid this alters things quite substantially. You know, you really ought to have mentioned it before.”

“Idiot,” George said again. “Although you’re quite right. It really would alter things if one of us were a girl.” For a start, they’d have been able to be together openly. Marry, even.

Matthew was silent a moment. George wondered if his thoughts were running on similar lines—and he rather thought they had been, when Matthew spoke again. “Do you remember I told you Father had given us his blessing—Lord, it was Christmas Day, wasn’t it? He told me he’d been thinking about my living situation, and that if I wasn’t happy living in digs, he’d let me have the money to set up in a house of my own—either by myself or with a particular friend.” Matthew smiled. “I’ve always thought, you know, that he knew about me—and this rather put the tin lid upon it.”

“Good Lord! Doesn’t he mind, then?”

“Well, we’ve never spoken of it, of course, but I remember him a few years ago preaching a sermon about Sodom. He took particular pains to point out that the great sin of its citizens was inhospitality, and not what is usually supposed.”

George was moved by this evidence of support from so unlikely a source as an ordained minister. “What did you say to him about his offer?”

“Well, I thanked him, of course, and I told him that I was quite happy living at Mrs. Mac’s for the present, but if I changed my mind, I should let him know.” Matthew drew in a deep breath. “So what do you think, George—not now, I mean, but in the future, if we carry on getting on as well as we have—do you think you’d like to get a house together? Just us—and Marmaduke, of course?”

George found he had a pressing need to blink, repeatedly. “I think…” He cleared his throat. “I think I should like that very much indeed.”

About the Author

JL Merrow is that rare beast, an English person who refuses to drink tea. She read Natural Sciences at Cambridge, where she learned many things, chief amongst which was that she never wanted to see the inside of a lab ever again. Her one regret is that she never mastered the ability of punting one-handed whilst holding a glass of champagne.

She writes across genres, with a preference for contemporary gay romance and mysteries, and is frequently accused of humour. Her novel
Slam!
won the 2013 Rainbow Award for Best LGBT Romantic Comedy, and her novella
Muscling Through
and novel
Relief Valve
were both EPIC Awards finalists.

JL Merrow is a member of the
UK GLBTQ Fiction Meet
organising team.

Find JL Merrow online at:
www.jlmerrow.com
, on Twitter as
@jlmerrow
, and on Facebook at
www.facebook.com/jl.merrow
.

Look for these titles by JL Merrow

Now Available:

Pricks and Pragmatism

Camwolf

Muscling Through

Wight Mischief

Midnight in Berlin

Hard Tail

Slam!

Fall Hard

Raising the Rent

The Plumber’s Mate

Pressure Head

Relief Valve

Heat Trap

The Shamwell Tales

Caught!

Played!

Coming Soon:

The Shamwell Tales

Out!

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All the world’s a stage...but real-life lessons are hidden in the heart.

The Shamwell Tales
, Book 2

Though Tristan must join his family’s New York firm at summer’s end—no more farting around on stage, as his father so bluntly puts it—he can’t resist when Shamwell’s local amateur dramatics society begs him to take a role in
A Midsummer Night’s Dream
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The bonus: giving private acting lessons to a local handyman who’s been curiously resistant to Tristan’s advances. Not only is Con
delicious
, there’s fifty pounds riding on Tristan getting him in his bed.

A late-diagnosed dyslexic, Con’s never dared to act, convinced he’d never be able to learn his lines. But with Tristan’s help, he takes the chance. Trouble is, the last time Con fell for a guy, he ended up getting his heart broken. And with Tristan due to leave the country soon, Con is determined not to start anything that’s bound to finish badly.

Just as Tristan thinks he’s finally won Con’s heart—and given his own in return—disaster strikes. And the curtain may have fallen forever on their chance for happiness.

Warning: Contains a surfeit of Bottoms and asses, together with enough mangled quotations to have the Bard of Avon gyrating in his grave.