Kindred Hearts (35 page)

“
Bugger
orders! You’re retiring! You’re selling your commission. They don’t need you anymore. We need you.
I
need you! Christ, Charlie, don’t
do
this!”

“Tris.” Charles came across the room swiftly, dropping his hat on the sofa and taking Tristan’s hands in his, holding tightly. “I made this choice when I joined twelve years ago. I took an oath to serve where asked and I have never gone back on that oath. I
can’t
go back on it.” He put a hand to Tristan’s cheek. “I can’t,” he whispered.

Tris reached up and closed his fingers around Charles’s wrist, holding him there, feeling the callused palm warm against his skin. “You promised to take care of me, Charlie. I need you.” He felt as if he were going to weep; it took an effort to keep from outright tears.

“You don’t need me, Tris. You’re strong enough to manage on your own—you’ve proved that over and over. And besides, I’m only a liaison. It’s nothing. Chances are we’ll take Paris without firing a shot.”

“Ballocks,” Tristan said savagely.

Charles rested his forehead against Tristan’s. “I don’t want to go,” he admitted. “I argued with both Castlereagh and Hill, but Tris, they need me.”

“Ballocks,” Tristan said again, but less angrily. He closed his eyes, holding Charles’s hand against his cheek a long moment, then pulled it away. “When do you leave?”

“In two days’ time.” He glanced up at Charlotte. “I’m sorry, Lottie. I promised to be here when you were brought to bed but I’m afraid I’ll have to renege on that promise as well. I’m sorry.”

“Nonsense,” Charlotte said. “I managed to birth Jamie just fine without you, so I see no reason to expect your help with this one.” She patted her abdomen. “Little Caroline will just have to wait to meet her uncle.” She studied Tristan, then added, “And besides, once
that’s
all over, there’s no reason to keep Tris here. He could easily go over to Brussels. So many of our friends are already there. Even the Lennoxes—but then, the Duke of Richmond’s there with the army, and Lord March. But lots of other people are too—I get letters from them all the time. It would be quite like London. Only without the speaking-English part. You could take a house there, and when I was feeling more the thing, I could come and visit Charlie too.”

“I don’t know. It’s a possibility, I suppose.” Tristan turned and walked across to the hearth, staring down into the flames a long moment, but his thoughts wouldn’t organize. Finally, he sighed, turned back to the room, and said, “Well. You’ll be quite the beau of the ball tonight, Charlie. The women will be falling all over themselves to draw your attention.”

“I don’t want their attention,” Charles said fiercely. “You know what I want, Tris.”

“Yes.” Tris essayed a smile. It felt awkward on his lips. “I know. Well.” He swallowed hard, then held his arm out to Charlotte. “We’d best be going. We don’t want to be late for supper.”

Charlotte gave him an anxious look. “Are you all right, Tris?”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. He glanced at Charles. “Charlie says I’ll be fine, so I’ll be fine.”

“I’m never wrong,” Charles said with an attempt at humor.

“Not yet,” Tristan said. “And I hope never. Come on, then. Let’s go pretend.”

Tristan
woke early and lay quietly in the darkness of the drawn bedcurtains. Charles slept behind him, his arm thrown carelessly over Tristan’s side and his breath warm on Tristan’s neck. Odd, Tristan thought contentedly, that he’d never realized how enjoyable waking up sober could be. No headache, no nausea, no discomfort at all, just the warmth of linen and lover. He laced his fingers gently through Charles’s and let out a soft sigh.

“Awake already?” He felt more than heard Charles’s voice, rumbling against his skin. It was scratchy with sleep.

“I thought you were still unconscious,” Tristan murmured. “Did I wake you?”

“No.” Warm lips pressed his shoulder, and his fingers curled against Tristan’s belly. Tristan’s cock stirred and Charles chuckled. “Good morning, love,” he said.

Tristan turned his head and smiled at Charles in the darkness. “God, I’m going to miss this,” he said.

“It’s just for a few weeks,” Charles said.

Tristan fumbled for Charles’s cheek to guide himself in for a kiss; light, at first, but then Charles’s tongue took possession of Tristan’s mouth, and they shifted so that Charles sprawled over Tristan. Tris drew his legs up and wrapped them around Charles’s back, sliding his hands down to cup Charles’s muscular arse. He rocked against Charles, loving the solidity, the stability, the strength of his lover’s body. “Love me, Charlie,” he murmured, and took Charles’s mouth again, his hands and tongue eager. He felt Charles’s rumbling laughter and drew back. “What’s so funny?”

“You, love,” Charles said, dipping his head to lick at Tristan’s throat. “Love you? As if I had any choice in the matter.”

“You know what I mean,” Tristan said, digging his fingers into Charles’s ribs.

“You’re as big a brat as that horse of yours,” Charles said, smacking his hands away and catching him by the wrists.

Tristan gasped in surprise at the sensations that being restrained triggered. His heart sped up, his pulse raced, and his cock grew harder. At first he thought it was fear, but it wasn’t. It was… excitement. “Like that, do you?” Charles murmured wickedly. “I should have known, after your little performance for your father, that you would enjoy the odd bit of binding. I should have left you tied up like that and taken you then and there, shouldn’t I?”

“Yes,” Tristan moaned.

Charles laughed again. “Oh, my love, you are an endless source of surprise and delight. Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I didn’t know.” Tristan arched up to kiss Charles. “I liked it that first night, when you told me what to do, made me hold onto the bed and all. And when you told me to let go… God, Charlie, I’ve never
felt
anything like that before. I don’t understand. I never do what anyone tells me to do. It’s just not my nature.”

“Not true,” Charles said lazily. “I’ve seen you listen to Jackson or Henry Angelo, and you’re quick enough to jump when Mac or Crosby or one of the other doctors snaps their fingers.” His fingers tightened on Tristan’s wrists, not hard enough to bruise, but certainly hard enough to make their presence felt. Tristan’s breath came quickly. “Well,” Charles said, his lazy tones changed to interest. “Well. This is something we should explore in more detail sometime when we have a few hours to play. But for now—turn over.” He released Tristan and shifted to the side. “On your belly—grab hold of the headboard as you did that other night.”

Panting, Tristan obeyed, feeling his cock already seeping in excitement. “Oh, God,” he whispered.

“Shh,” Charles said. “I’d spank you, but it would be too noisy. Later.”

The words sent a shiver through Tristan. He bit his lip, barely able to contain himself, then clenched his teeth, determined not to make a sound as Charles’s hands moved over his back, his arse, cupping his cheeks and sliding between to stroke the opening there. He shifted over Tristan to reach beneath the pillow and draw out the little bottle they’d taken to keeping there. The scent of the oil had Tristan moaning low, and when Charles’s fingers breached him, sliding slickly into his entrance, he could barely bite back the cry. “Shh,” Charles said again, and then in that low voice said, “You’re not to spend until I say so, do you understand? You don’t spend. You take what I give you—
all
I give you—but you don’t spend until I give you permission.”

Tristan turned his head to bite at the pillow. He heard Charles’s low chuckle, but it was far away; he was focused on the hands at his gate, the fingers rising inside to stretch the tight channel. It was nothing different from what they’d done before, but having Charles controlling him the way he was made everything so much more intense, pushing Tristan into a state of need he didn’t think he’d ever experienced. He moved slightly, but Charles’s free hand settled on Tristan’s arse, holding him down. “Not yet,” Charles murmured in his ear. “You’re not to move.”

He couldn’t have moved if he’d tried. His whole being was centered on the fingers in him, the voice above him, the scent all around him. The scent of sex. The scent of Charles.

And then, somehow, he slid into that
place
again, the one where he was free and floating and still. He was aware of his body responding to Charles but it was an intellectual awareness, a peaceful acceptance of his desire, his
need
for Charles. Charles was in command here. He only had to do what Charles told him to do. Nothing else. No demands, no expectations. Just Charles.

Just Tristan. Just who he was. And for the first time he could remember, that was enough.

Time treacled past, slow and thick and golden. Charles coaxed him higher and higher into that state, separate yet part of his body, at peace and thoroughly aroused at the same time. He welcomed Charles when he slid inside, felt the thick cock rocking into him, the full head bumping gently against the spot inside him that teased him so. It felt so good. He floated in that feeling, only sighing gently when Charles’s hand curled around his cock, smearing the shed drops of liquid around him. “God, you’re all wet and you haven’t even spent yet,” Charles said softly.

Tristan only sighed again. “Charles….” It was barely more than a breath.

Charles’s hand and cock sped up, driving harder into Tristan. Tristan roused ever higher, higher and higher, until finally Charles gasped, “Now, Tris! Now!” and Tristan came out of his daze with a shock, back into his body, which was arching and climaxing and pouring his heat and his heart out in an enormous wash of lust and love. It was amazing. It was transcendent. It was… perfect.

Charles fell back, rolling over onto the bed with Tristan clamped to his chest, himself still buried deep inside him. “God, Tris! That was….”

“Perfect,” Tristan said. He laid his head back on Charles’s shoulder and regarded his lover peacefully. “Perfect. Like you, Charlie.”

“God, no,” Charles said with a half-laugh. “That would be you. My perfect Tris.”

“If we can’t make love again before you go,” Tristan said, “at least this time was memorable.”

“And we can’t,” Charles said. “Our ship sails on the morrow’s morning tide; this evening Hill and I leave for Dover. We’ve only today left, and I’ve too much to do today to spend it in bed with you, Tris.” He stroked Tristan’s hair gently. “My beautiful Tris.”

“My beautiful Charlie,” Tristan said, and echoed the gesture, laughing. Their lips met in a soft kiss, and Tris ran his hands over Charles’s face, memorizing his touch, his skin, his shape. “I love you so and it breaks my heart to say goodbye to you, but you’ll come back to me, won’t you?”

“Always,” Charles promised. “And you’ll come to Brussels, as soon as Charlotte’s settled? Assuming the French haven’t come to their senses by then?”

“As soon as I can.” He rolled off Charles and got to his feet, stretching. “What a way to wake up in the morning,” he said. “I’ll miss that.” He gave Charles a cocky grin. “So will you.”

Charles laughed. “I will,” he said. “But not for long. Promise me that?”

“Not for long,” Tris said. “Never for long.”

In the
end, their leave-taking was public and more formal than either would have liked. Charles stood in the hall, great-coated and scarved and hatted, his dispatch case under one arm and Jamie in the other. Tristan stood with his arms around Charlotte, who was weeping, something he’d never seen her do before. He felt like weeping himself, but clenched his jaw and only nodded curtly at Charles’s farewells.

Charles turned and murmured something to Jamie, who nodded solemnly, then he handed the toddler back to Tristan. Jamie put his arms around Tristan’s neck and buried his face in Tristan’s shoulder, not quite sure what was amiss, but picking up on the grief and fear around him. “You’ll take care?” Tristan said in a low voice.

“Of course,” Charles said. “I’ll write you both as soon as I’m settled in Brussels. I don’t need to tell Lottie to write back, I know.”

His sister gave him a watery smile. Ellen, standing to Charlotte’s other side, patted her shoulder gently. “I’ll see that you get all the news, Charlie,” she said, and wiped her eyes with a damp handkerchief.

“I rely on you to take care of my Lottie, Ellen. You and Tris.” He bent and kissed her cheek, then kissed Lottie, who squeezed his hand hard as she kissed him back.

Then he turned to Tristan. “Northwood,” he said coolly.

“Mountjoy,” Tristan replied in the same tone.

Charles nodded curtly and turned toward the door, where General Hill’s footman waited with his luggage. He stopped, his back toward them, a long, still moment; then he turned and walked the few steps back to Tristan and Jamie, and gathered them both into his arms. They stood there, just holding each other, until Tristan let out a faint sob and pulled away. “Go,” he said in a low voice.

Another curt nod, and Charles was gone, a swirl of wet March wind blowing in through the open door. George hurried to close it behind him.

“Well,” Tristan said in his usual cool fashion, “that’s that. Tea, Lottie?”

She looked up at him blankly. He’d surprised her for once, and it was in a small, helpless voice that she replied, “If you wish, Tristan.”

“I do. Ellen? Will you mind if Jamie joins us?”

“Not at all, Tristan.” The look she gave him was approving. “I think that would be most enjoyable.”

“Well, demon,” Tristan said to Jamie, “will you behave yourself for tea?”

“Jam!” Jamie caroled, and the piping sound broke the tension in the hall. Tristan took Lottie’s arm, and they went in for tea.