He looked up at Robert’s shirtless form, breeches down to his knees, and while Robert’s voice might be enough to make him come, he didn’t want to miss this, either. He loved Robert’s body, lean and long, hard planes and sculpted muscles, somehow both elegant and coiled with a lithe strength.
He sucked at Robert’s cock, drawing it as deep into his mouth as he could. He was a bit clumsy, but Robert didn’t seem to care—a strangled moan escaped him, and he reached down blindly. Ian’s hand found his, their fingers twining together gently.
A pain pierced him, and Ian realized it was his heart.
Here he was, on his knees with Robert in his mouth, and his heart hurt.
Happiness shouldn’t be this easy, he thought. If it was stumbled into this easily, how easily could it be taken away?
But then Robert’s hips moved, and Ian could do nothing but focus on his lover, all other thoughts fading in light of the way Robert tasted, the way he moved, the strangled sounds he made.
…
When Robert closed his eyes, he could swear he saw stars.
But he couldn’t keep his eyes closed for long. Not when Ian was lapping at him, one hand on his thigh, callused fingers scraping at the sensitive skin, other hand clasped in Robert’s own.
A lock of hair fell across Ian’s forehead, and Robert brushed it back so he could see him better.
He loved the way Ian looked, like a pagan worshipping at an altar.
After a while, he couldn’t keep his hips from jerking as he fucked into the wet warmth of Ian’s mouth. He felt his release tingle at the base of his cock, and he was trying to be a gentleman and push Ian away, but Ian knocked his hand to the side, then gripped Robert’s hip to keep him in place, head moving until he’d devoured nearly the entire length. Robert stiffened, exploding in Ian’s mouth while the kneeling man drank every last drop.
For a full minute, Robert couldn’t do anything but lean against the wall, panting.
“‘These violent delights have violent ends,’” he found himself muttering when he regained his breath. And then he felt like a fool. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Ian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “What?”
“It’s Shakespeare.”
Ian rocked back so he could look at Robert’s face. A glimmer of amusement appeared in his eyes. Robert was noticing it more and more, and he liked that Ian showed this side of himself to Robert and no one else. “Townsend. You were thinking about Shakespeare while I sucked you?”
“You mean you don’t?”
Ian lifted his eyebrows, unimpressed.
“What? Do you have something against balding men with mustaches?”
Ian grimaced.
Robert, grinning like a fool, realized they were still holding hands and his breeches were still caught around his knees. He made a half-hearted attempt to pull them up as he tugged Ian toward the bed. The backs of his knees hit the edge of the mattress and he fell onto the bed. Ian landed on top of him, knocking all the breath from his lungs with his not unsubstantial weight.
Robert reached for his trousers. “I’m going to suck you now, and I dare you not to imagine Shakespeare licking your cock.”
Ian groaned. “Robert.”
“What?”
“I don’t know why I put up with you.”
“Yes, you do.” When Ian didn’t respond, Robert said, “It’s because I share a marked resemblance to William Shakespeare.”
“That’s it.” Ian rolled onto his back. “My cockstand is gone,” he said mournfully.
Robert propped himself up with his elbow so he could look down at him. “Surely it’s only a temporary state. With a little encouragement…” He reached for the flap of Ian’s trousers again.
Suddenly, he stopped. There was a smattering of short, dark hairs on the pillow next to Ian’s head. “What is that?”
Ian looked and then frowned. “Hair,” he said unhelpfully.
“It’s all over your pillow.”
Robert’s first reaction was suspicion, but it quickly dissipated when he actually took a moment to think about the matter. They’d been together so much these past days that Ian wouldn’t be able to find the time to take another lover, even if he wanted to. And Robert didn’t think he wanted to, anyway.
Ian was happy. Robert made him happy. He didn’t have any doubts about that.
So why was there hair all over his pillow?
It was black hair, and short. Too short to belong to anyone at the castle.
“Willoughby,” Robert exclaimed suddenly.
Ian looked confused.
“The cat.”
Ian still looked confused. “How did it get in?”
“What do you mean? By the state of the bed, I assumed you were in here cuddling with him.”
Ian didn’t seem to think that comment was worth addressing. “I keep my door shut.”
Robert frowned. “Are you saying Willoughby can open doors?” A new thought emerged, and he suddenly sat straight up in bed, accidentally smacking Ian in the face in his haste to sit up. The other man grunted. “What if Willoughby brought the stockings into your room?”
Ian pushed himself up, more slowly. “Do cats do things like that?”
“Cats are about as transparent as fog. I have no idea what they do or why. But it makes as much sense as anything else.”
“So what do we do?”
“We have a cat to follow.”
Chapter Sixteen
The first thing they had to do was find the cat. It was the middle of the night, and the creature could be anywhere—so they went to the kitchen and secured a plate of cold meat, which they put out in the hallway and watched.
Ian wondered if Robert felt like an idiot, too, crouched behind a corner as they waited for a cat who might or might not be a thief. Time ticked on steadily, slowly, and Robert shifted his weight, leaning against Ian. The pang this caused in Ian’s chest was as sharp and sudden as a gunshot.
And it was accompanied by a spike of fear. If the cat was the thief, did this mark the end? The thing that had brought them together in the first place would be over. The Worthingtons would leave and Lord and Lady Arden would return.
And then what? It seemed easy enough now to be together, while the real world was kept at bay and they played detectives, but what would happen later, as time passed, as Robert hid his relationship from a brother he loved and admired? As the threat of discovery grew greater with each night they had together?
What would happen then?
Ian glanced down at Robert. His head was on Ian’s shoulder, and his eyelids were heavy, as though he was struggling to stay awake. Pain sliced through Ian’s chest. He loved him, he knew. He loved him enough not to hold him to promises he couldn’t keep.
Before Ian could dwell on it any further, he saw eyes glinting in the dark. Ian’s hand tightened around Robert’s arm, and the other man straightened.
Willoughby stopped, investigated the plate of meat tentatively. Once he’d circled it and sniffed at it, he began to eat, quick, delicate bites.
Once he was finished, he stalked away, and Robert and Ian followed at a distance. They had no idea how close they could get, so they were cautious, staying at least thirty paces back and not speaking. They followed the cat down halls and up and down stairs for so long that Ian wondered if they weren’t being toyed with.
At some point, Willoughby slipped under the cat door and went outside. Ian and Robert paused at the entrance to the outer courtyard, looking out at a world that was different shades of black and gray and silver. It was a cold, windy night, and clouds moved across the sky quickly, covering and uncovering the moon and stars. “Where did he go?”
Ian suddenly made out a slinking shadow, heading toward the abandoned dovecote at the far corner of the outer courtyard. As they watched, the cat stretched up on its hind legs and pawed at the doorknob.
After three attempts, the door pushed open and the cat stalked inside.
Ian and Robert stared at the open door and then at each other. It appeared that Willoughby could, in fact, open doors.
And then, not sure what else to do, they walked across the lawn of the courtyard toward the cylindrical stone building.