Mending Him (5 page)

“No. That’s a terrible idea. Forgetting has been my goal, and I think I shouldn’t even try.” The light died from his face, and Worthington slowly shook his head. “I have drunk too much lately. You say you want to help me, Robbie Grayson?
Don’t
let me forget yesterday.”

The sunlight felt like warm honey trickling over his face. Charles tipped his head back and simply reveled in the sweet nectar of fresh air and sunshine as Forrester propelled his chair along bumpy garden paths.

Charles opened his eyes and glanced at the figure of Robbie Grayson before him. There was no room for the big, clumsy chair and a man to move abreast, but that was fine with Charles. He enjoyed the rear view of his non-cousin. The man’s leg might be lame from early lack of development, but his shoulders were wide enough to fill out his coat nicely, and his back was erect. His halting gait did not detract from the sight of narrow hips and a slim backside beneath his trousers. He couldn’t help thinking of the man as Robbie rather than Mr. Grayson. Such an interesting set of contrasts. For instance, he dressed in somber, almost Puritanical hues, yet there was something rather playful about the man. The clothes designed for a much older man hid that lighter side of Robbie. Charles was no clotheshorse, but he did appreciate flare and wished he could see Robbie dressed in more fashionable attire.

“As you can see, the gardens have been encouraged to grow in a more natural manner rather than the rigid lines of classic formal gardens.” Robbie glanced over his shoulder. “I admit to taking a bit of a hand in the redesign of the gardens. My aunt always had little interest in gardening, and my uncle none at all. Since the space didn’t matter to them, they allowed me free rein here.”

Charles looked around at the abundant foliage of topiary and ornamental trees, broken by open spaces in a harmonious blend. The views were pleasing to the eye. “A beautiful job. So you’ve an eye toward landscape design?”

Robbie didn’t answer immediately but continued to stride forward, leaving Charles to wonder if he’d heard. Then he glanced back again. “Designing interiors, actually. While studying at university, I realized how much I enjoyed the creation of a space. I found I had a gift for making a plain room inviting and assisted some fellows I knew in making their flats more pleasant.”

Some fellows.
Was that code for special friends? Or did he know the teaching staff at the university? Charles wondered.

“And yet you returned to help your uncle with estate business.” Charles worked at piecing together Robbie’s life story. “I presume you felt it your duty after all he’d done for you.” A debt that he too now owed Cousin Phillip.

“Not precisely.” Robbie turned away again so his voice was a bit muffled and Charles couldn’t see his expressive face as he talked. “After I graduated university, I moved to London, where I was apprenticed to the designer M. Reynaud. But I was there only a very brief time before I fell ill with influenza and had to return home.”

Charles frowned and wished good old Forrester would push the chair faster. He wanted to stay closer to Robbie. Actually, he wanted Robbie to turn around so he could see his face.

“Then why are you still here? Monsieur Reynaud didn’t save a place for you?”

Robbie’s shoulders moved up and down in a small but eloquent shrug. “Too much time had passed. Such a prime opportunity to learn at the feet of a master was filled by the next eager student. Besides, Uncle Phillip required my help. It was the least I could do.”

His statement actually raised more questions for Charles. Why had Robbie been so indispensable? What really kept him from making another try at the world outside this country estate? Charles felt certain there was more to the story than what he’d learned, and his eagerness to unravel the mysteries of Robbie increased.

“Wait up! Wait for me.” A high little voice called from some distance.

Charles turned in the chair, craning to see around Forrester’s generous figure. The big coachman stepped aside.

“Miss Gemma, what did I say about leaving the pups with their mother?” Forrester said. “They’re too young to be carried around.”

The little girl came huffing up, red-faced from exertion and clutching something to her chest. “I just have to show Daisy to Mr. Worthington. I promised. But you didn’t wait for me.” She glared at Robbie and Charles. “After I went to all the trouble of sneaking her into the library.”

“Sorry, darling.” Charles knew how to please women both young and old. They appreciated apologies for any slight, real or imagined. He opened his hands as the child came close, and she thrust a squirming bundle of doggery at him.

He wasn’t a great pet enthusiast, but he had to admit the tan-and-white puppy snuffling in his lap was rather charming—until it piddled a few drops on his trousers. He offered the animal back to Gemma. “Very sweet.”

Robbie came over and stooped to rest a hand on Gemma’s shoulder while petting the puppy. “You should probably take Daisy back to her mum. I think she’s hungry.”

Gemma pressed her own small nose against the dog’s wet, black one. “You didn’t wait for me,” she repeated. “Neither did Bertie. He’s gone off without me again. He never wants to play with me anymore.” She looked up at Robbie, and tears shone in her eyes. “He hates me now.”

Robbie lowered himself to an awkward crouch to talk to her. “Bertie’s growing up. It’s natural for him to wish to spend time with boys his own age like Liam. But you mustn’t think he doesn’t love you. He’s your big brother, and he will always care for you.”

“But he still won’t play with me or take me to the woods,” she grumbled. “I have to stay at home with boring old Mary, who won’t let me have any fun.”

Almost as she said it, a white-aproned figure emerged from a side door of the great stone house and hurried toward the garden, calling Gemma’s name.

“I’m afraid you’ve conjured your nanny,” Charles teased, trying to amuse the sad little girl. “Are you certain you’re not a witch?”

The rather rotund Mary stopped walking and called from a distance, “Gemma. Miss Gemma. You must come inside directly. Come along now, miss. But first put that pup back where it belongs!”

“Robbie…” Gemma pleaded.

If she’d directed those liquid blue eyes at Charles, he would’ve melted and allowed her to linger. But apparently Robbie was made of sterner stuff. He pretended to steal her nose, his thumb tip emerging between two fingers, and Gemma smiled.

“Sorry, my sweet. Mary calls, and you must go. But I promise…I
swear
to spend time with you later this afternoon. Perhaps we might play a game.”

“All right.” The little martyr turned and trudged forlornly toward her prison guard in the white cap and apron.

“Poor wee mite,” Forrester muttered. “Her brother’s grown past her, and they were so close when they were small.”

“Nothing so fleeting as childhood.” Robbie watched his little cousin walk away. He stood so close that Charles could feel the warmth of his body, hear the whisper of fabric when he moved, smell a faint odor of starch from his shirt and something else, something earthier and manlier. Robbie’s nearness disconcerted Charles.

“I should like to see more of the grounds, but perhaps Mr. Forrester is tired of pushing me,” Charles said. “Besides, I feel it’s time to meet my responsibilities and apologize to my cousin and his wife for my deplorable behavior yesterday.” He glanced up at the big man propelling the ponderous chair. “Will you wheel me inside, please, Forrester.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You shall find Uncle Phillip in his study,” Robbie said. “Aunt Lenore will likely be in her sitting room, tatting lace or perhaps planning meals with Cook.”

“Lovely. How shall I manage the stairs?”

“I expect you may have to wait until they come down to tea.”

“Right. Best to get the apologies over with
en masse.
” Charles wrinkled his nose. “I presume Cousin Lenore won’t be easily thawed.”

“Oh, she’s not bad,” Robbie said. “She tends to believe the best in people. Tell her you don’t drink as a habit and prostrate yourself in greatest remorse, figuratively speaking, and she will be mollified.”

Charles grinned at Robbie’s teasing tone. This man he’d immediately assumed to be stodgy turned out to be an intriguing mix of starchy and relaxed. His subversive sense of humor coupled with a warm generosity of spirit were delightful.

And he smelled good.

Robbie continued. “You might take advantage of this afternoon to work on building your strength. There are exercises I was given long ago to help regain mobility in my legs. They might be of use to you.”

“Yes. I would appreciate that.” And more time spent in Robbie’s company, this time without a servant in attendance. “But I thought you helped Phillip with accounts or some such.”

“We have a new bailiff who has taken over some of my duties, and when Samuel returns, he will assume his rightful place at his father’s side.”

Charles couldn’t see Robbie’s face, as the man still walked a few steps before him, but he detected a hint of displeasure. “Well, that works out rather well, doesn’t it? Maybe you will be able to resume your original plans, or something like.”

He fell silent a moment. “Yes, perhaps. Samuel shall learn how to care for the estate. Between him and Mr. Todd, the bailiff, there will be no further need of my services.”

“Ah, I see.” Charles easily understood that rather disgruntled tone. Robbie had grown used to being needed. He would soon be free to pursue his own desires at last and was both hurt at his easy replacement and afraid of the future.

His woes were an exact counterpart to Charles’s. As Charles dreaded his narrowing options and acclimating himself to this smaller world, Robbie feared shedding his cocoon and stretching his wings. Ironic. What Charles could teach him about the possibilities of a dizzying pace of the city and the fun to be had.

An idea struck. A way to repay this man for his kindness. While Robbie helped him regain his strength and the ability to walk, Charles would offer something in return. Not overtly, but in subtle ways, he could teach Robbie how to fit into London society. That was the ticket. A project to keep him entertained during his recovery, and a mission to help his inexperienced new friend launch a voyage into the grander world. Despite his penniless state, he still had some sway with influential folk in London—and he vowed to use his connections to help Robbie.

Chapter Five

“Fourteen. That’s it. You’re doing well. Fifteen. Only five more… Sixteen…”

Robbie prattled encouragement and tried to pretend he wasn’t holding Worthington’s legs while the man’s feet rested against his chest. But he could feel the warm spot each stocking-clad foot pressed into his skin even through his shirt and vest, and the weight and heft of Worthington’s calves in his hands were distracting to say the least. The flex of muscles as Charles repeated each exercise sent little thrills through Robbie.

Sick to think so about a damaged man struggling to recover, but try as he might, Robbie couldn’t halt the desires percolating inside him, a thick brew that would taste so bitter and yet so sweet if he only dared sip it.

“All right. Enough.” He spoke to himself more than to Charles as he set the man’s legs back on the large Turkish carpet which covered the library floor. “No need to push too hard. You’ve only been at it for a week.”

“A week of torture,” Charles gasped as he flopped backward with his arms spread wide. His white undershirt and pale body made a stark and intriguing contrast to the burgundy carpet with its intricate geometric designs. It was all Robbie could do not to stare.

“I believe you’re enjoying this too much,” Charles added.

“No. No, I’m not,” Robbie said hastily, and flushed as he realized Charles was joking. “These stretching exercises may not seem like much exertion but will bring energy back into your legs, allowing them to heal more quickly.”

“Oh, trust me, the exercises feel like plenty of exertion.” Charles wiped a hand across his damp forehead. “Worse than a fencing lesson.”

“You fence? I’ve always admired that sport, though I haven’t had an opportunity to observe often. It’s beautiful to watch the movements. Like a hectic dance.”
A dance with graceful, well-muscled men.
He was glad Worthington couldn’t see into his perverted mind.

“I could teach you both when I’m on my feet again, which I no longer have any doubt I will be, thanks to your expert care.”

Robbie felt a stab of impatience. Surely the man didn’t think someone with Robbie’s physical flaws could either dance or fence? Charles would eventually recover his balance and stamina. Robbie never would. But the flash of hurt came and went quickly. It always did.

“These are only preliminary strengthening exercises. You have a long road to recovery before you.”

“Yes. I realize that.” Charles waved it away with a casual flick of the wrist.

The invalid wallowing in misery and liquor whom Robbie had first met had disappeared. Robbie felt he was seeing the true Charles Worthington, the man as he was before his accident and loss of almost everything he possessed. Such a man took life as it came, grabbed it and wrestled with it if need be, but always came out on top. Robbie could study a page from his book and adopt a bolder character when he ventured out into the world.

“Water, please,” Charles said.

Robbie scrambled up to get the pitcher and glass from the low bookshelf that had been dragged from a corner to act as a night table. Just as well to put a little distance between them. Sitting on his heels in front of Charles’s supine body felt too oddly provocative. Too close and too intimate. He offered Charles the glass and then sat on a nearby settee.

“So,” Charles said after he’d drained the glass. “Do you think Cousin Lenore has truly forgiven me? I was as profuse and lavish with the apologies as I could possibly be.”

“Which she greatly appreciated, though she’s still not keen on you spending much time around Gemma or Bert.” Robbie smiled. “But she has begun to make plans for us concerning the harvest ball, so you can’t be too much in her bad graces.”

Charles quirked an eyebrow, and Robbie’s heart skipped a beat. Such a small thing, and yet Charles’s ability to easily arch one eyebrow simply made him giddy.

“What in the world are you talking about?”

“The harvest ball which is hosted in turns by various gentry in the district. It’s the gala event of the season here. It is the Chesters’ year for it. ”

“I see.” Charles stretched, braced his hands behind him and carefully pushed up to a sitting position. “And what is Lenore’s great plan that concerns you and me?”

“Because we can’t dance, we are to partner a pair of aging spinsters, the Brown sisters. We are to make them feel admired and squired, even though we are unable to dance with them. You and I will be their playthings for the evening.”

“Ah.” Charles rotated his head, cracking his neck with an audible pop, then stretched his arms in one direction and his torso in another. Robbie watched, mesmerized by the sinuous movement.

“I will admit I have been called on to ‘make the numbers’ at a social event more than once in my life, but it’s been years,” Charles said. “I gave up on such awkward conventions and pursued my own desires over the past few years.”

“Oh?” Robbie wanted to hear more about Charles’s dissolute and probably fascinating life, but the man didn’t elaborate, and it didn’t seem good form to pry.

“I may be stuck in a chair, but there’s no reason
you
can’t enjoy yourself at this harvest ball and flirt with women other than the spinsters we’re meant to entertain.”

“Between my lame leg and orphan status, I’m hardly considered a catch amongst the local young ladies.”

“Then they are fools not to look past surface flaws, for you possess all the qualities any sane woman would be glad to have in a husband.”

Robbie laughed as he rose, then fussed about, tidying the books Charles had left in a careless pile by the bed, avoiding any glimpse of Charles’s vibrant face.

That face would do him in, making him desire things that he could never have and should not want. It roused all sorts of dark feelings he’d mostly managed to push deep down for years. Helping Charles with these exercises every day and having such long, friendly conversations made the desires grow stronger. Yet he couldn’t avoid Charles, because Phillip wanted him to aid the man. What to do?

“I believe Gemma would greatly love a game of Snap. Shall I go find her and the cards?” Yes, anything to put a buffer between them.

“If you like. Or we might sit and play a game of chess, just you and I. After you help me into my chair, that is.”

“Right. Sorry.” Robbie hastened to drag Charles upright and into the wheelchair. Charles wasn’t a dead weight but Robbie had to wrestle with the other man’s greater height and weight, and the proximity with that muscular body left Robbie with his clothes disheveled and his spirit even more so.

“I, um. I’ll get out the chess pieces.” He was so flustered he forgot for a moment where he was. He started to head toward the door, remembered that both the inlaid chess table and the marble pieces were in the room, and spun around to retrieve the box from within the window seat. He focused on setting up the board and regaining his wits. When he glanced up, Charles had wheeled himself over to the table. He was getting stronger.

Worthington cocked his head and looked up at Robbie. “What’s the matter, Cousin? You seem a bit winded, as if you were the one who’d been exercising.”

“Not your cousin,” Robbie said shortly. “And there’s nothing wrong with me. Simply looking forward to a rousing game of chess.”

“Ah yes, the anticipation of such an exciting match has got me on pins and needles too.” Charles matched his dry tone. “Could you help me steer a little closer to the table? I think I’ve gone as far as I’m able.”

“Of course.” Robbie moved behind Charles and pushed him up to the parquet game table set in front of a large window. Usually the drapes were drawn to protect the library from sunlight. Robbie had tied them back with tasseled ropes, allowing a golden glow to fall on the glossy wood table some long-dead, chess-loving Chester had crafted.

Standing behind the wheelchair, he could look down at the crown of Charles’s head and the way his hair swirled in a perfect spiral from one point. Such thick auburn hair. It crackled with hints of red fire and seemed as if it would be hot to the touch. Oh God, how badly he wanted to do just that, stroke lightly and then plunge his fingers through the fine strands. And then to touch that strong neck, the muscle in the side, right…there! Robbie’s cock began to quicken.

He stepped back, discreetly adjusted the bulge in his trousers and took his seat across from Charles.

The only solution to this torture was to focus on the game, and Robbie did so with a vengeance. He matched Charles’s every move with aggressive counterattacks and in short order had the other man’s queen pinned.

Charles studied the bloody battlefield and grunted in dismay. He rested his fingertip on the king and pushed over the piece. “I can see I need to strengthen my game play as well as my legs. I hope you’ll continue to help me with both. Don’t see how I could do it without you.”

His tone telegraphed another of those silent messages to Robbie, the sort of message that tingled up and down his spine. Coupled with the long, steady
look
Charles gave him, there was little doubt the man was…flirting was the only word that came to mind.

“Yes. Well. That is…” Good Lord, his babbling was back. “Uncle Phillip ordered me to help you during your recovery, and so I suppose I shall keep doing so.”

“Ordered?” Charles’s voice was flat.

Robbie wished he hadn’t been quite so blunt, but he was desperate to put a fence between them. Apparently he’d erected a wall.

“You’re helping me only because your beloved uncle asked you to do it?” Worthington reiterated, but this time there was a challenge in his tone.

“I don’t mind. I mean, I like helping you out, and, um, spending time with you. It’s quite…pleasant.” Embarrassment heated his face. He hadn’t meant to make Charles feel like a chore or unwanted. God, no. He’d only meant to cover up how very
much
he wanted Charles.

“That’s all right. I understand,” Charles said coolly. He pushed on the huge chair wheels with all his strength, his biceps bulging under his shirtsleeves, and the chair inched away from the table.

“Here. I can help you.” Robbie leaped from his seat, eager to push Charles wherever he wanted to go, wishing he could take back the suggestion that Charles was a burden and return to the camaraderie they’d enjoyed over the past week together.

“No. That’s quite all right. I’ve become quite capable of manipulating my own wheelchair.”

“Please, don’t… I’m sorry.” Robbie felt breathless, shaken and infinitely regretful.

“For what?” Charles swiveled in his seat and gazed up at Robbie with fiery eyes. “For being a good host to your pathetic invalid relative? Or for looking at said relative with desire?”

Robbie wondered if he’d misheard the words. “I don’t understand,” he tried, but fell silent because he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear that thought voiced aloud again.

Charles snorted. “You’re hiding. I’m not sure if you’re lying to me or to both of us.”

“No.” Robbie had to defend himself from this outrageous charge, especially because it was too true. “You are mistaken.”

“Don’t think I can’t see the hunger in your eyes. I’m crippled, not blind. Phillip may have told you to aid me, but you want to do it anyway. You can’t admit the real reason why. It’s not altruism or sympathy for a fellow cripple. You
want
to be near me. And by the by, you’re a terrible liar. I suppose that’s part of your appeal. Honesty is such an alluring trait.”

Robbie was at last rendered speechless. He couldn’t believe Charles had actually given voice to the veiled inklings of lust that had shot between them practically since they’d met. It was like kerosene poured on a fire that raged into a towering bonfire. How had this change occurred so quickly? Two minutes ago, they’d been talking about chess!

“I don’t… I’m not…” Robbie floundered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about. Stop denying it.” Charles gripped the arms of his chair so hard his knuckles were white. And his face was turning a dark red to match his hair.

“No.” Robbie tried again. “I couldn’t begin to think that way. It’s—”

The library door flew open and nearly crashed against the wall.

Both men looked toward the noise.

A tall young man with the fair hair and erect carriage of his father and the deep blue eyes of his mother walked into the room. “Hello there, Cousin. I’m home. And you must be my—is it second cousin?—Charles. Pleased to meet you. I’m Samuel.”