Chapter 12

“Pull your shoulder back. There’s a shadow.”

Jeremy’s voice came from behind a large canvas. They had been working on the painting for the last two hours, with Andrew—dressed in his officer’s uniform—sitting on the most uncomfortable stool he owned and trying to keep his temper in check. Nearly two weeks had passed since Jeremy’s meeting with Percy, and in those weeks, he had refused to discuss anything that had been said. Granted, Andrew hadn’t said a word about his visit with Lady Dersingham, but that was a separate matter entirely. Percy was one of his oldest friends and confidantes. Still, every time Andrew brought Percy up, even to mention his name, Jeremy forced the conversation elsewhere. Not today. Today, Andrew was going to ensure that Jeremy broke his silence.

“You know, you still have yet to tell me how your visit with Percy went,” he started.

“I told you a number of times. It was a pleasant visit and I look forward to knowing him further.”

Andrew pursed his lips and tried again. “The two of you have much in common, you know.”

Jeremy snorted, and though his face was still hidden by the canvas, Andrew could imagine his expression: his eyes bright beneath raised brows, his pink lips pursed.

“Aside from the fact we’ve both shared your bed, I cannot say I see the similarity,” Jeremy said finally.

“No, I don’t suppose you’ve known him long enough. You’re both incredibly determined. When you decide you want something, you’ll stop at nothing to obtain it. Not to say you’re ruthless,” Andrew added quickly. “But rather, you’re determined without the malice that ruthlessness brings. Beyond that, you both share a certain innate goodness. You might not share similar positions in life, but you most certainly share highly estimable qualities.”

“You have a number of good qualities as well. You love your family. You know your duty.” The compliments came out strained. “Not to mention you share in Percy’s and my determination.”

Andrew smiled tightly, then forced his face back into impassivity. “I suppose you’re right. I was determined to have you, after all,” he said, steering the conversation into a lighter direction.

Sometimes he wondered how much his determination benefited the both of them. They hadn’t argued since that night in the drawing room, though there was still a strain between them—a certain awareness that their time together would come to an end. That strain had only increased since Andrew’s visit to see Lady Dersingham. Yet Jeremy wasn’t the only one with a worry that they would eventually separate. Andrew found himself constantly, acutely aware that Jeremy would eventually leave. But there was nothing that could be done. He had made his bed, choosing to take Jeremy under his wing, and he would have to lie in it when Jeremy left.

As Jeremy stepped out from behind the canvas, Andrew frowned. The boy wiped his hands on the paint streaked smock, trailing his gaze up and down Andrew’s body. Then he closed the space between them and Andrew let his hands drift to the boy’s waist.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Jeremy asked, one brow raised.

Andrew frowned. “What are you doing?”

“I told you. Shoulder back. You’re creating a shadow.” He pushed Andrew’s shoulder back, then shook his head. “Stay there. I need to try something.”

Jeremy strode over to the drawing room window and pulled the curtain back, letting in more light. When he returned, Jeremy chewed on his bottom lip, then set about repositioning Andrew. This had to be his own personal taste of hell, Andrew was sure of it. Jeremy’s hands on him, touching him, moving him, while he wasn’t allowed to reciprocate…it was maddening.

As Jeremy straightened the gold tassels hanging from his shoulders, Andrew reached out, his fingers brushing across the boy’s neck. Jeremy stilled immediately and Andrew could feel his pulse spike as he traced his thumb across the hollow of Jeremy’s throat. They were so close, Jeremy practically in his lap, hovering over him. Andrew wanted to pull him down so Jeremy straddled his thighs, and undress him until the only thing covering him was that smock. From the tension thrumming through Jeremy’s body, Andrew knew that he wanted it, too. Their eyes locked on one another and they remained frozen for several seconds. Then Jeremy pulled away.

“I hope you’re proud of yourself,” he said. His voice was lower than normal. “Now I’m going to have to position you again.”

Jeremy’s eyes were still locked on Andrew’s as he knelt, and Andrew allowed him to reposition his boots. He was fairly sure they wouldn’t even be in the portrait, but who was he to argue? As Jeremy worked his way up, correcting every little flaw in his posture, Andrew shuddered. He could do nothing but press against Jeremy, a silent plea for more. But more didn’t come. Instead, Jeremy positioned Andrew’s hand on his sabre, then placed his own hand on top. He lingered for a moment, then pulled away abruptly.

“Was that entirely necessary?” Andrew rasped.

He was achingly hard, straining against his pantaloons. Positioning be damned. The only position he wanted was above Jeremy, thrusting into him until the only word the boy could remember was Andrew’s name. Breathing hard, he watched as Jeremy disappeared behind the canvas again.

“I wasn’t satisfied with your positioning,” Jeremy said. “Now look in the same direction your feet are pointing. Square up your body, then turn to look at the canvas so I can capture your expression.”

Andrew did as Jeremy said, the position straining the muscles in his back. It wouldn’t be easy to maintain the posture, but he would do his best. They lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sounds coming from the occasional clicking of brushes as Jeremy switched them out. Andrew wanted to ask about Percy, but he knew that he couldn’t handle it if Jeremy teased him like that again. That had been punishment, and they both knew it.

“Percy told me quite a bit about you during our meeting.”

Jeremy’s words hung between them, and Andrew felt as though the air had been squeezed from his lungs. Just how much had Percy shared? Had he told Jeremy about after the war? Had he explained why Andrew could no longer be close to anyone? Forcing his mouth closed, Andrew rolled his shoulders, attempting to arrange his expression into one of careful neutrality. He knew without seeing himself that it wasn’t working.

“What exactly did he say?” Andrew’s words sounded strangled in his own ears.

“He told me that the two of you were lovers. That it ended a long time ago and that he’s been one of your closest friends ever since.”

Breadcrumbs. Jeremy was feeding him breadcrumbs. And dammit all, Andrew was going to take them.

“He was right in telling you that. We were together for a few months before he ended things. Of course, you know that now. What else did he say? Certainly you didn’t discuss our friendship for two hours.”

“No, we didn’t,” Jeremy said. “We did spend a great deal of time talking about you, though. He cares quite a bit for your wellbeing, you know.”

Andrew’s grip on his sabre tightened. He did know. He had always known. Percy had provided a stable presence through everything—his commission, Ned’s death, then Nathaniel’s. He had been the one to nurse Andrew back to health.

“I know,” he said softly. “He’s a good man and a good friend. He deserves someone who loves him.”

“Oddly enough, he said the same about you.”

Andrew barked out a laugh. “Percy would say that about me. He’s been hounding me for years.”

“He said you used to take lovers for months at a time, but that you changed after the war.”

Panic coursed through Andrew’s veins. “You’re reaching,” he warned.

“No I’m not. Andrew, your friend is concerned about you. I am concerned about you.”

“You’ve no right to be.”

“No right? I’ve been sharing your bed for nearly two months. I count you as a friend, at the very least. I have every right to be concerned about you.”

Andrew had no retort for that. Over the past two months they had grown close—too close for Andrew’s comfort. He knew what Jeremy wanted, and he knew there was no way he could give it. Especially now that he was expected to marry.

“I appreciate your concern, however misplaced, but I do not need your interference. Or Percy’s for that matter. I suggest you tell him as such.”

“No.” Jeremy’s tone was firm. “I am not your carrier pigeon. If you wish to tell him something, do so yourself. But don’t presume to think for a moment that he is going to drop the matter. Nor I. We both know what changed you, Andrew, and it isn’t the damn scar on your back.”

Andrew felt as though he’d been stabbed in the gut. “Go to hell.”

“You need to talk about it.”

“What is there to talk about? I lost two of the people I loved most in this world when it should have been me!”

A soft clatter told Andrew that Jeremy had set his brush down, and the younger man walked over, kneeling once more between Andrew’s legs. Cupping his cheek, Jeremy let his forehead rest against Andrew’s.

“Listen to me and listen well,” Jeremy said carefully. “I am not without a heart. I do feel for what you have endured, but you are not the only man to have endured it. I spent too many years of my life wishing that I had been in my mother’s place—that she had lived and I had died instead. There would have been other children, after all. Such things happen.”

Andrew opened his mouth to speak, but Jeremy shook his head.

“I’m not finished. I wondered that for so long that I didn’t know how to live. Every day I woke up, I walked the earth, and she didn’t. So believe me when I tell you I know how it feels to wish that you were the one who had died in another’s place. But look at it through my eyes. Just for a moment. What if you had died on the battlefield that day? Would that have stopped Nathaniel’s death? Would it have stopped Ned’s?”

“Stop. Please,” Andrew croaked. His vision blurred, and he trembled underneath Jeremy’s hand.

“Wishing yourself dead will not make them any less so,” Jeremy murmured. “Mourn. Grieve. But do not let it consume you. There is nothing, nothing that you could have done.”

“You can’t know that. I should have at least been there for Nathaniel. For the funeral.”

“You were lying half-dead in Spain. There’s no point in dwelling on what you should have done. The universe doesn’t give a whit about what should have happened. By all accounts, my mother should never have died. I should have been able to meet her. To know her.” Jeremy wrapped his arms around Andrew, settling in between his thighs. “At some point—and I say this with absolutely no malice—at some point, you have to let go of the past.”

Andrew shook his head. How could he? “Sarah Brimbly is a widow because I couldn’t save her husband.”

Sighing, Jeremy pulled away and sat back on his heels “Dammit, Andrew. Sarah Brimbly is a widow because of some French bastard who decided his life was more important than Ned’s. I understand how much you desire to control everything, but at some point, you have to realise that you are not God.”

“I never claimed I was,” Andrew said with a huff.

“Then stop taking responsibility for every bad thing that ever happened in your life. Stop punishing yourself for being alive. You have to let other people in again.”

Andrew pulled away, shaking his head. “That isn’t as easy as you make it out to be.”

“I know. Believe me, I do. But you can start with me.”

Jeremy climbed off the floor and into Andrew’s lap. The weight was comforting and helped to ground Andrew. As Jeremy cupped his cheek, he pressed into the touch, and when Jeremy leaned down to kiss him, Andrew let him. The kiss was hesitant at first—sweet and chaste. Then Andrew parted his lips and groaned, and Jeremy brushed his thumb across Andrew’s cheekbone, deepening the kiss. He nipped at the man’s lip and slid his tongue into Andrew’s eager mouth. Andrew’s abdominal muscles bunched as Jeremy’s hands crept up the braided cords of Andrew’s coat and Jeremy wrapped a leg around his waist. Pain shot up his spine, and he gasped, then gritted his teeth together. But the next minute, Jeremy was gone, back on the floor and pulling Andrew with him.

“Will it hurt too horribly, doing it here?” Jeremy asked.

More than likely, it would be painful, but Andrew didn’t have the heart to say no. He wanted Jeremy, and he wanted him now.

“I nearly bled out on Spanish soil,” he said. “I think I can handle pain.”

Jeremy smirked, nipping Andrew’s lower lip. “My hero. I should hope that being with me is less painful than being on the receiving end of a bayonet.”

“Most certainly,” Andrew assured him. “Being with you…”

Being with Jeremy was the best thing that had happened since his commission. He had been proud of it at the time. Twenty-three years old and a lieutenant at the outbreak of the war against Napoleon. A perfectly respectable position for the second son. Then he’d seen his first battle, and his second, and by the time he made it to Barossa, he had long become disillusioned by the war. Losing Ned, combined with his injury, had only sealed his disgust. Now he had an even greater set of expectations to live up to.

He shook his head, looking back down at Jeremy.

“Make me forget,” he whispered. “Make me forget everything, just for a little while.”

***

Jeremy nodded once, then leaned up to kiss him again. He couldn’t imagine the horrors that Andrew had seen—the death, the destruction, the violence. But he could take it all away for just a little while. Carefully, he unbuttoned Andrew’s coat and let it fall, a scarlet puddle on the floor. The waistcoat followed shortly after, but as Jeremy pulled Andrew’s white muslin shirt from his pantaloons, the man stopped him.

“Not yet,” Andrew said. “Please.”

Though Jeremy wanted nothing more than to strip Andrew bare and show him just how much pleasure he had to give, he relented. Instead, he helped him back up onto the stool so he could pull the man’s polished Hessians off. Stockings, pantaloons, and smalls followed, until Andrew wore nothing but his shirtsleeves.

“I’m afraid we’re unevenly matched.” Andrew’s voice was husky as he knelt again on the floor. Jeremy started for the strings of his smock, but Andrew placed his hand on the boy’s wrist, stopping him. “Leave it on. Only the smock.”

The request was an odd one, but he was hardly going to say no when Andrew wanted it this badly. Instead, he pulled at his breeches, satisfied at the shiver of arousal that ran through Andrew.

“We’ll need oil.”

“In my bag,” Jeremy said. “I keep linseed oil to clean my brushes.”

As Andrew walked over to the bag, Jeremy divested himself of his clothing beneath the smock. Once free, he stretched himself out on the rug, pushing one hand under the smock. He wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking in long, languid movements. When he looked up, Andrew stood over him, his lips parted.

“Are you going to touch me, or are you going to stare at me all afternoon?” Jeremy teased.

“I’ll touch you, believe me. Spread your legs.”

Jeremy did, and Andrew settled between them, pushing the smock up past Jeremy’s knees.

“Where did you even get this ridiculous garment?” he asked, opening the bottle.

“Our housekeeper gave me her old apron when I started painting. I’ve been using it ever since.”

Andrew hummed. “I see.”

Jeremy shivered in anticipation as Andrew placed his hands on either side of his head, bracing himself. Leaning down, Andrew kissed him, and as he did, Jeremy wrapped a leg around the man’s thighs, bringing him even closer. The kiss deepened, and Andrew nipped at his lower lip, immediately soothing it with a sweep of his tongue. Jeremy moaned deeply, and Andrew smirked against his lips, He grabbed the bottle of oil again, pouring some in his hand. A moment later, Jeremy broke the kiss and his eyes flew open as he let out a gasp.

As he relaxed his muscles, Jeremy wrapped one hand around his own length, the other reaching around to grip Andrew’s ass. The movement spurred Andrew on, and he rolled his hips.  Jeremy groaned, the pain mostly dulled by the pleasure of having Andrew inside of him. The older man dropped his weight to his forearms, closing the distance between them so they were chest to chest. Paint smeared from Jeremy’s apron to Andrew’s shirt, but Jeremy couldn’t bring himself to care.

The pace quickened, almost frantic, and Jeremy’s breath came quickly as Andrew snapped his hips. His face was hot, and a light sheen of sweat had formed on his body from their close proximity to the fire. But he wouldn’t have traded this for the world. Something was different about this time. Emotions were laid bare, and it was raw. Open. Instead of the student learning from the teacher, they were on equal ground. Jeremy relished the feeling. He carded his fingers through Andrew’s tousled locks, his other hand clutching at Andrew’s shirt. As much as he wanted to tear it off, to expose Andrew’s muscular arms, chest, and back, he left it in place. They would get there someday.

Another thrust had him arching off the rug as Andrew brushed against that place inside of him that made him see stars. A low whine filled his ears, and Jeremy realised he was the one making the sound.

“Again,” he gasped. “Do it again.”

Andrew chuckled softly and rolled his hips again, and Jeremy cried out, his mouth hanging open even when the sound had faded. He forced his eyes open, though it was almost impossible. But the sight in front of him wasn’t one to be missed. Andrew’s face was flushed, his pupils so dilated that only a sliver of ice blue encircled black. His shirt clung to his skin, the white cloth translucent in places. Jeremy wrapped both legs around Andrew’s thighs, feeling the muscles cord and bunch. The sight was perfect.

He knew that neither of them would last long. They were too desperate; they needed each other too much. But Jeremy didn’t mind. It would be worth it to do this again and again. To be completely consumed by one another. Andrew rolled his hips at just the right angle, and he tensed, his muscles trembling.

“Oh god,” he breathed.

“Don’t come,” Andrew ordered. “Not yet.”

It took every ounce of willpower for Jeremy to wrap his hand around the base of his cock, but he did it. He would do anything for Andrew. His lover and his love. The realisation hit Jeremy hard, and he stared up at Andrew, stunned. He loved Andrew. He needed him. Above him, Andrew moaned, and the sound was nearly enough to undo him. But he tightened his grip, setting his teeth.

“Andrew,” he gasped. “Can’t—not going to—”

“Yes you can. You can.” Andrew rested his forehead against Jeremy’s. “I want you to come with me.”

The words sent shivers from the base of Jeremy’s skull all the way down his body. “Okay.” He nodded, their hands moving in tandem on his cock. “Okay.”

As soon as the words left him, Andrew snapped his hips, and Jeremy yelped as he scooted across the rug. He would definitely have carpet burns on his back, but he didn’t care. This felt too good. Andrew’s muscles tensed, and Jeremy knew he was close. He clenched his muscles around Andrew’s cock, earning a gasp. With his free hand, Jeremy cupped the back of Andrew’s neck, bringing him down for another searing kiss. As Andrew’s hips stuttered, Jeremy knew he was gone. He released the grip on his own cock, working quickly as Andrew thrust hard, panting above him. Then all restraint broke.

His toes curled and he shouted as his release coursed through him, every nerve pulsing. His seed landed on his exposed belly, smearing between them as Andrew moved. Seconds later, he gasped as he was filled, feeling Andrew pulse inside of him. The man collapsed on top of him, burying his face in the crook of Jeremy’s neck. His mind was hazy. Nothing mattered but the pleasure he had just received.

“God, I love you,” he breathed.

Ice replaced the fire in his veins as he realised what he said. No. No, surely, he hadn’t said that. It was a figment of his imagination. But as he opened his eyes and saw Andrew’s stricken expression, he knew that he had said it out loud. His mouth went dry, and he couldn’t get enough air.

“That was good,” Andrew finally said, his voice raspy.

They wouldn’t address it, then. He let out a hard breath, finally closing his eyes. They would let the matter drop. That was for the best. Because no matter how far they had come, Jeremy knew that neither of them were prepared for the possibility of love. They were both still too guarded. It had been a mistake. The heat of the moment, and nothing more. If he repeated that to himself enough, there was a chance that it would be true.