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“Lord Gregory Davies.”
Ten years he had been introduced as such, but Greg had yet to become used to it. Of course, more frequently these days, he found the title ‘the Taskmaster’ appended to his name, and enjoyed that title far more than the noble one he bore.
But it would be strange to be introduced with the appellation in this house, and so he merely nodded to the butler as he strode past before allowing himself to smile at the familiar figure waiting for him on the settee in the parlour. “Lady Horne,” he said, giving her a short bow. “It is always lovely to see you.”
“And you, Lord Davies,” Rachel said, though in stark contrast to her words, she did not smile. Nor did she rise to greet him as she usually did, instead gesturing for him to take a seat cross from her.
Greg did not, something like wariness compelling him to stay upright. “It does not seem as though it is,” he said. “I hope Alex did not neglect to tell you that he invited me for a visit.”
Rachel took a sip of tea. “He did not,” she said calmly. “Largely because he did not invite you. I did.”
Greg blanched. “Well, that bodes poorly,” he said bluntly, sinking down onto the opposite settee from her.
“Yes,” Rachel agreed pleasantly, “I believe it likely does. Tea, Lord Davies?”
“Something stronger, if you’ve got it,” Greg said, scrubbing a hand across his mouth. “And a request to dispense of both titles and pleasantries, lest it keeps us from reaching the point of why I’ve been dragged out to the country only a few short weeks before the season is set to begin.”
He nodded his thanks to the footman who appeared at his side with a snifter of brown liquor. “Thank you, Horace,” he said as he accepted the glass, before wincing and adding as a caution, “Or, erm, Boris, is it?”
“Only Alex can tell,” Rachel said with an almost, but not quite, smile. “And I believe he rather enjoys it that way.” Greg snorted a laugh, reminded of when Alex had hired two Andys to work in his own household and purposefully neglected to tell Greg which was which. “Luckily, they answer to both names.”
Greg took a sip of whiskey, grimacing before saying bracingly, “Speaking of your charming husband, where is he?”
Rachel’s lips twisted into a sharp smirk. “Hoping for an ally?” she asked mildly, not waiting for Greg’s answer. “He’s in his shed, sulking.”
“His shed?” Greg repeated, bemused, before asking, even more bemused, “Sulking? What, like a child?”
Rachel shrugged. “He prefers calling it his shed because I think it makes him feel better about absconding there when he needs to get work done,” she told Greg. “It’s a small hunting lodge on the outskirts of the property. Four– no, five bedrooms only.”
Greg shook his head. “I will never get used to considering a house with ‘only’ five bedrooms small,” he said, taking another sip of his drink. “But I’ll note that you’re avoiding talking of his sulking.”
“He will not enjoy me calling it as such, but I have always preferred to call a spade a spade,” Rachel said. “He’d probably say that he just needs time and space to think, and undoubtedly he is spending much time doing as such. But it’s rather a different type of thinking than when he is thinking up tasks for the new season, and I suspect he hopes to get it out of his system before he sees you.”
Greg swallowed. “Then shall I take it from both your summons and his absence that his sulking is somehow my fault?” He could not yet see how, seeing as how it had been three months since he’d even seen Alex, and he struggled to see how he could have done that much damage while in London.
Rachel’s smirk disappeared. “You tell me,” she said coolly.
Greg drained his drink. “To my knowledge, I’ve done nothing,” he said, hoping the simplicity of the denial emphasised its sincerity.
But Rachel’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “No?”
“No,” Greg said forcefully, hesitating for a moment before adding, “And I rather thought you and I were in alignment as far as Alex is concerned.”
Theirs had been a less immediate bond than his and Alex’s, which Greg supposed was only to be expected, but over the past ten years, the three of them had woven together something of a shared life. Or at least, Greg thought they had.
Rachel tapped her finger against the arm of the settee. “We are in alignment insofar as our aim is in alignment,” she said carefully, and Greg frowned.
“Our aim?”
“My husband’s happiness.”
The one thing – the most important thing – they had in common, really. “I promise you, we remain in alignment on that.”
Rachel didn’t look as if she believed him. “And yet for three nights now my husband has stayed in his shed with only his dog for company.”
Greg snorted a dry laugh, managing a small half-smile at the thought of dear, sweet Loky, who had seemingly had no thought in her head but love for Alex. “Better company than I, by far.”
But Rachel didn’t smile. “Self-deprecation works on him, Greg. I’ve never found it charming.”
Greg sighed, his own smile disappearing, and he ran a tired hand across his face. “You could just tell me what it is you – and Alex – think I’ve done,” he offered. “Or not done. Or done poorly.”
He hoped that would at least cover the bases, such as they were. Rachel pursed her lips, leaning forward to set her tea cup down on the table. “Are you familiar with the publication Popular Termagant?”
Greg blinked. “I did not imagine hearing such a word from your mouth,” he said on instinct alone.
For the first time, Rachel laughed, though it was a rather more brittle version of her usual laugh. “As if you have not heard far worse vulgarities from my mouth,” she scoffed.
“Fair enough,” Greg allowed. He frowned, trying to think of where he might have heard the name. “Popular Termagant – is that a scandal sheet?”
It was an absolutely ridiculous thought, but Rachel nodded. “Yes.”
Greg stared at her. “What has that to do with Alex?” he asked blankly. “For that matter, what has that to do with me?”
“You were spotted,” Rachel said tersely. “In London.”
“Of course I was spotted,” Greg said, incredulous. “I’m 6 foot 8 and knocking on the door of 30 stone. You’d have to be blind to miss me.”
The look she gave him was downright nasty. “You were spotted with a lady. A young, eligible lady.”
Were it not for the look on Rachel’s face, Greg would’ve laughed at the absurdity. “That’s news to me.”
Rachel leaned over to grab the leaflet of paper off the table, stretching it out towards him. “See for yourself, then.”
Greg accepted the piece of paper from her, squinting down at the tiny text, bemused despite the circumstances that there was enough gossip in Mayfair to merit such a small typeface. “Dearest gentle readers of the ton,” he read aloud, “Just as the birds return from their wintering, so too does gossip return to Mayfair—” He broke off, giving Rachel a look. “Please tell me I need not read this entire thing.”
Surprisingly, Rachel took pity on him. “Halfway down the second page,” she said, and Greg flipped the page, his eyes immediately drawn to his own name.
This he did not read aloud, instead skimming the words with an incredulity bordering on bafflement.
>> Panto-mine <<
An Unlady-like Possessiveness
Longest Lad writes:
“Spotted at an out of doors theatre performance in Kennington – Lord Gregory Davies, better known in recent years as the Taskmaster. He was lifting his very petite female companion so that she might see above the crowd, and she apparently spent much of the rest of the night gripping his hand as if worried someone might try to take him from her.” For good reason, too, as Lord Davies is a few decades past when most men would finally settle down. This may also explain the multiple reports we have received from a Miss Karen Powell that Lord Davies has been quietly exploring purchasing a house outside of London. Perhaps the hopeful future Lady Davies prefers a quiet life in the country – if she can convince Lord Davies to finally commit. We’d wish her luck in her endeavours, despite the countless hearts that will undoubtedly break if she is, but we have a feeling she’ll need more than luck to nail the Taskmaster down.
Greg raised both eyebrows, glancing from the broadsheet to Rachel. “Is that it?”
Rachel’s expression was stony. “Surely I need not explain to you why it would upset Alex to read that.”
Greg could not quite stop his laugh, dry and humourless as it was. “You cannot be serious.”
“And you cannot be so stupid,” Rachel snapped, snatching the scandal sheet back from him. “We knew the marriage mart might very well come for you in the end, but certainly Alex deserved at least a cursory warning that you were no longer planning to remain a bachelor.” Greg opened his mouth but she did not let him interrupt. “Tell me, does this lady you are courting at least know of your proclivities?”
“Very few ladies would be as accepting of them as you are,” Greg said, which had the benefit of being true without answering her question.
Rachel pulled a face. “Most ladies fear the loss of their position or their standing in the ton, should their husbands’ proclivities come to light. I have never courted the latter, and Alex has never given me reason to fear the former.”
Greg shook his head. “You are a singular woman, Rachel,” he told her honestly. “And Alex remains an exceptionally lucky man.”
“I know. And believe me, so does he.” She leaned forward. “But what of your lady?”
Greg shrugged unconcernedly. “She is extraordinary,” he told her honestly. “Witty, wise beyond her years, never fails to make me laugh, something only Alex has ever achieved.”
For a brief moment, Rachel looked stricken before her expression evened out. “Then she sounds perfect for you,” she told him, the pleasantry almost painfully forced.
As much as Greg might have wanted to tease this out for just a small bit of retribution, he cared for Rachel far too much to spin this out any longer. “She is my niece.”
Rachel’s eyes snapped to his. “Your—”
“My sister’s eldest,” Greg said, raising his glass before pulling a face at the realisation it was empty. “She is a year or two off from making her debut, and my sister thought that by spending some time with me in London, she might feel more comfortable ahead of it.”
“I see,” Rachel said, a little faintly.
Greg shrugged. “Alas that she did not inherit my height, so I thought I’d use what one asset that I have to assist her view. As I imagine Alex has used his for yours.” He gave Rachel a look. “And yes, in case you are concerned, I did rather injure my back in the process and this jaunt out to the countryside in a carriage has not helped matters, so thank you kindly for that.”
But Rachel just shook her head slowly. “I cannot believe it was your niece.”
“A lesson, perhaps, in not believing everything one reads in a scandal sheet,” Greg said flatly.
Rachel picked her tea cup back up but did not drink from it. “A lesson my husband, perhaps, should also be treated to.”
Greg rolled his eyes. “And here I was beginning to believe you brought me out to the country solely to excoriate me.”
She managed a small, soft smile. “Your visit is still young,” she said sweetly, and Greg exhaled, recognising it as the peace offering that it was, and as close to an apology as he was likely to get.
But there was still one member of the Horne household he needed make peace with, and he glanced out the window. “How long will it take for me to reach his shed?” he asked.
Rachel’s smile widened. “I did mean what I said before – it really is good to see you, Greg.”
While Alex was not necessarily the tidiest of men, Greg was still taken aback by the state of the place as Ian, Alex’s valet, ushered him in. It looked far more like Greg’s house after he’d taken a minor setback out on most of his possessions, which was deeply out of character for Alex and only spoke to how upset he clearly was.
Greg paused in the doorway of the study, looking pityingly at the man hunched on the sofa. When Greg was feeling sorry for himself, he sprawled, determined to take up as much space as possible as if inconveniencing everyone else might somehow make himself feel better. But Alex shrank into himself, drawing his long limbs in as if trying to hold himself together.
Greg wanted so badly to stride across the room and kiss him, but he did not imagine that Alex would appreciate it as much as he would. So instead, he cleared his throat pointedly. “When Rachel told me you were sulking, I didn’t believe she’d meant it quite so literally.”
Alex startled upright, blinking owlishly at him, three days’ worth of untamed beard growth making him look almost as fluffy as the dog panting happily at his feet. “Greg?” he asked, his voice cracking. “How did you—”
“I paid your man off not to announce me,” Greg said, pulling his gloves off as he sauntered into the room. “Good chap, Ian.”
Alex shook his head slowly. “Well, I suppose that answers how you got in here, physically, but, er, what are you doing out here in the first place?”
Greg shrugged. “Rachel wrote to me. Forged your signature, mind, and I’ll be taking no guff about how after ten years I still don’t recognise your handwriting.” He crossed over to the glass decanters that lined the cart by the window. “Drink?”
“Sorry,” Alex said, the polite word a reflex that did not quite mask his incredulity, “are you offering me my own whiskey?”
“I suppose that I am, yeah.”
Alex opened his mouth and closed it again, his brow furrowing in the way that made Greg want to kiss it. “Why did my wife write to you?”
Greg shrugged, busying himself with pouring two glasses of whiskey. “Because you’ve apparently spent a week sulking and she seemed to think it a matter of some urgency that I attend to whatever had driven you to do so.”
“Not quite an entire week,” Alex muttered, a little sullenly.
Greg gave him a look. “Because that makes it better, mate,” he said, crossing over to hand Alex one of the glasses. “Here.”
Though Alex accepted the glass, he took great care not to let his fingers brush against Greg’s, and Greg felt it like a pang in his chest. “I’m sorry that you’ve come all this way, but as you can see, I’m perfectly fine—”
Greg raised both eyebrows, taking a sip of his drink. “I think you and fine parted ways some time ago.”
“Do you,” Alex said, not pitching it as a question.
Greg nodded. “Right around the time you read in some wretched scandal sheet that I’d taken up with a young lady.”
Suddenly, Alex seemed unable to meet his eyes, and he busied himself with taking a swig of his own drink, grimacing at the burn. “Ah,” he managed weakly.
Greg waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, he tapped a finger against his glass before telling Alex, “Which I haven’t, by the way, seeing as how the young lady I was spotted with was my niece.” Alex looked up at him, those big, beautiful blue eyes wide, and for the first time, Greg allowed himself a small smile. “In case it alleviates your sulking.”
Alex scowled, but relief was palpable in every line of his body as he shifted on the sofa, stretching his legs out, and shifting over to allow room for Greg to sit on his right-hand side. “I wasn’t sulking—”
“Well, I’m about to be if you don’t have a compelling reason for why you would believe a scandal sheet over your partner of the past decade,” Greg said flatly, sitting heavily down next to him.
Alex worried his lower lip between his gapped teeth. “Are you cross with me?”
Greg didn’t want to be, if only because it had been three months and he could think of a far better use of both their time than spending it cross, but he knew this was a conversation that needed having, if only so that they never need have it again. “I think I’ve a right to be, yeah,” he said. “Mainly that you apparently think so little of me as to believe that I would do this to you– to us.”
Alex had the good grace to at least look shamefaced. “I thought,” he started, barely more than a mumble. “This thing must end eventually. I thought perhaps this was your attempt at something of a gentler ending.”
He was such an idiot, Greg reflected, something soft warring with his own irritation in his chest, but God, he would be forever grateful that Alex was his idiot. “The only thing that may eventually need end is the shenanigans we get up to each season, and only because I do believe we may eventually run out of members of the ton willing to subject themselves to it,” he said in his firmest tone, leaving no room for argument. “But this– you and I this– I have no intention for this to end. Now or ever.”
Alex glanced up at him. “Truly?”
Greg nodded. “Truly,” he said, finally giving in to the urge he’d been battling this whole time, bending down to kiss Alex, as firm a statement as any he might speak aloud. “Though I admit I find myself still perturbed that you thought that I might.”
Alex wrinkled his nose. “I didn’t really.”
A lie, and not a remotely convincing one. “Right.”
Alex winced, fiddling with his glass. “I just– I know that we are eternally on uneven footing,” he said awkwardly, a fitting encapsulation of their strange relationship, of their difference in title and familial stability, of everything that had threatened to end their perfect partnership before it got off the ground ten years past. “And I know that you want more than I can give you. Ten years of that is much to ask.”
Greg did want more, it was true. Greg wanted to spend every moment he could with Alex, because he loved him. But even without the problem of Alex’s wife and family, of Alex’s duty to his estate and title, Greg could never have him the way he wanted. In a hundred years, in two hundred, maybe, but it was not to be theirs here and now. And in this lifetime, he had more of him than he could ever have dreamed, and more happiness than he ever thought possible. “You have asked for nothing that I am not willing to give,” he told Alex, reaching out to take his hand, lacing their fingers together before lifting it to his mouth to press a kiss to Alex’s knuckles as he had done countless times before. “Besides, what I want– what I want most, at the moment, is to know that my partner trusts me enough to not doubt me.” He squeezed Alex’s hand. “This has only worked for as long as it has, and will only work still, if we trust each other.”
Alex squeezed his hand in return. “I do,” he said, with far more conviction than before. “It was just– a momentary wobble.” Greg arched and eyebrow and Alex sighed before elaborating, “Seeing my worst nightmare in print. It made the possibility real, in a way that I do not normally allow it to be.”
As much as Greg wanted so badly to reassure Alex, to pull him to him and hold him close and tell him in as clear and absolute of language that he could that it was not real, that it never had been real, he knew Alex well enough to know he would not appreciate the sincerity, that he would shrug out of it and make some wretched joke to put them back on more even footing, having already said too much. Which meant it was on Greg to do it first, if only as acknowledgement that he understood. “See to it that it does not happen again,” Greg said, in his sternest tone before poking him in the side. “Or else I shall have to punish you.” Alex laughed, a breathless little honk, the sound a soothing balm, and Greg could not help but lean in to kiss him once more, slow, sweet and as sincere as he knew Alex would accept. “I love you.”
Alex rested his head against Greg’s shoulder. “And I, you.”
For one long moment, they stayed just like that, Greg stroking Alex’s hair gently as they finished their drinks. Then he turned and pressed a kiss to the side of Alex’s head before telling him, “They did get one thing right, at least.” Alex looked questioningly up at him. “I am thinking of buying a place in the country. Some place I can go outside of the season, and not just to stay away from the prying eyes of the ton.”
Alex nodded. “Near here?” he asked.
Greg shook his head. “No. I do not think that wise. For Rachel’s sake far more than mine. This is your home with your family, and I would never want to intrude on that.” Had never, for all the years they had been doing this. He returned to stroking Alex’s head as if he was the dog and not Loky, still drooling happily at their feet. “I was thinking on the coast. Cornwall, perhaps.”
Alex brightened, twisting to smile up at him. “Where we holidayed a few years past?”
“The very place, yes,” Greg said, smiling slightly at the memory of their holiday. “Where I might play host to all sorts of visitors without raising any eyebrows whatsoever.”
“I think you would be very happy there,” Alex told him.
Greg nodded. “And I think Loky might enjoy herself,” he said casually.
Alex scrunched his nose as if he was considering it. “Almost certainly.”
Greg wet his lips. “And would her master?”
A smile lifted the corner of Alex’s mouth. “I think we both know Rachel’s far more her master than I ever could be.”
Greg snorted a laugh. “Her master and yours.”
Alex didn’t bother denying it. “But I suspect should I ever find myself there, I would enjoy myself as well.”
He said it casually, as if there was a world in which he would not find himself there, as if he would not be the first guest that Greg invited, for as many days as he could spare. “Then consider this an invitation. With no end date.”
Alex grinned, something almost impish in his expression as he asked, with faux innocence, “Not even should you marry?”
Greg laughed. “Love, I believe that ship has long sailed,” he assured him. “And if—”
“Mm, quite a big if,” Alex said.
“If that ever changes, for any reason, you will be the first to know,” Greg told him, suddenly serious. “Long before Popular Termagant or any other scandal sheet gets wind of it. I promise you that.”
Alex’s expression softened. “I love you.”
“I know,” Greg said, because he did, because he knew that all of this had stemmed from that very real fact. “And I love you.” He kissed Alex once more before tossing back the rest of his whiskey and standing with a groan that came from two carriage rides in one day. “Now come,” he ordered, offering his hand to Alex to pull him to his feet. “Rachel has instructed me to return with you in a less dishevelled state or not to return at all, and you are desperately in need of a bath and some clean clothes.” Alex stood, eyes widening as Greg tugged him very nearly off balance so he could pull him close to kiss him, open-mouthed and heady. “But first,” he murmured in Alex’s ear, grinning when Alex shuddered against him with almost certain anticipation of what he was about to suggest, “what I have in mind involves you getting unclothed and even more disgusting than you already are.”
Alex’s answering grin was blinding. “Yes, Greg,” he said eagerly, taking Greg’s hand and pulling him toward the stair, where, if Greg knew Ian, the valet had already prepared a bath for Alex upstairs before politely excusing himself.
Which was for the best, as Greg had plans to make up for their three month absence from each other, as well as plans to do everything he could to get Alex to forget this momentary wobble had ever happened.
They would be fine – of that, he was certain, because their ten years together had been hard won, and because their partnership was one that defied logic, reason, or any gossip that a scandal sheet could dream up. And if Greg had his way, their love would be enough to see them through any scandal still to come. No matter if it took him dragging himself out to the country to remind Alex of that.
He’d do it in a heartbeat, for as long as Alex needed him to.
Though perhaps next time, he’d invest in a slightly better carriage, if only because all of the things he wished to do with Alex would be easier without his back hurting and without the inevitable jokes about his age that Alex would make.
He’d still take them, and treasure each one. Because they meant that he and Alex were still them.
And he wanted nothing more than that.