The Christmas Wager (8 page)

the past four hundred years,‖ Thomas replied, exasperated.

―It‘s tradition!‖

Edward sighed and sat down in one of the stuffed chairs

near the fireplace. ―You‘ve never lost a wife, Thomas.‖

Suddenly, all of the fight seemed to have gone out of him.

He stared into the fire, lost in unhappy memories.

Thomas sat opposite him, uncertain what to say. At last,

he spoke softly. ―No, Edward, I haven‘t. I‘m sorry about Anne. I

really am. I… didn‘t know her well, but she seemed like a

wonderful woman.‖

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58

―Yes,‖ Edward agreed, ―she was. Too good for the likes of

me.‖

This seemed an odd thing for Edward to say, but he looked

so morose that Thomas didn‘t have the heart to prod him about

it.

There was another long silence between them before

Edward said, ―It just didn‘t seem appropriate to celebrate, with

Anne gone.‖

―But three years, Edward? How long can you keep Susan

in mourning?‖

Thomas half expected his brother to snap at him again,

but Edward simply said, ―She doesn‘t even remember her

mother.‖

Thomas didn‘t have a response for this. He wouldn‘t expect

Susan to remember the mother who had died when she was

less than a year old.

Edward heaved himself up out of the chair with a heavy

sigh. ―It‘s late. I should spend some time with Susan before

dinner.‖

As he reached the door, Thomas called after him, ―Will you

allow the dance to go off, Edward?‖

Edward hesitated. ―It appears Mother has her heart set on

it.‖

―So does Susan. And from what I saw today, many of the

villagers may be planning on it, as well.‖

―Very well,‖ Edward relented, ―we‘ll have a dance.‖

He gave his younger brother just the faintest of smiles,

before walking out of the room.

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DINNER that evening was a tedious affair, brightened only by

the delicious holiday fare coming from the kitchen—spicy

glazed ham, scalloped potatoes, and fresh rolls. The duke and

his eldest son conversed about business affairs in London,

while Thomas and Andrew did their best not to appear bored.

Every once in a while, Duchess Barrington would interject

something about how wonderful the meal was, or how much

she wished it might snow. But nobody seemed inclined to

discuss the dance, as though afraid of starting a quarrel.

―So,‖ Andrew asked Thomas when they had retired to

Thomas‘s room much later, ―was that your father‘s great plan?

To summon Edward home in the hopes of sabotaging your

Christmas dance?‖

Thomas laughed. ―When you put it that way, it does seem

rather ludicrous. I don‘t think that can be all. I can‘t imagine

Father relying on anything so dubious.‖

Andrew laid a card on the table between them—the ace of

hearts. ―Are you so certain he‘s planning something?‖

―The old goat is nothing, if not manipulative,‖ Thomas said.

―Did I ever tell you the cause of our argument?‖

―You told me you refused to marry the woman he‘d chosen

for you.‖

―Quite a lovely young woman too,‖ Thomas replied,

dropping the two of hearts on top of the first card, then

scooping both up. ―Her name was Rebecca.‖

Though the thought of Thomas with a woman made

Andrew‘s stomach tie itself in knots, he felt compelled to ask,

―If you found her so lovely, why didn‘t you marry her?‖

Thomas laughed and took a sip of his brandy before

answering. ―What a wretched thought! I have absolutely no

interest in being married—to
any
woman.‖

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Andrew struggled not to read too much into that. There

were, after all, many confirmed bachelors at the club. And none,

to the best of Andrew‘s knowledge, were… of his sort.

He smiled at Thomas affectionately, the warming effects of

the brandy making him less cautious than he normally would

be. ―That‘s hardly any way for the son of a duke to be talking.

Don‘t you have an obligation to have an heir? To perpetuate the

family line?‖

Thomas sighed and downed the remainder of his brandy.

―No. That‘s up to Edward. And I‘m tired of being the son of

a duke. I would love nothing more than to go back to our rooms

at the club, and never see this drafty old hall again. I could

stay there for the rest of my days, drinking good brandy and

playing cards with you until we both expire of old age.‖

It didn‘t sound like such a bad life to Andrew, either. But

he had to point out, ―You‘re the one who got your father and

everyone else in the hall stirred up about Christmas.‖

―Bother! Someone had to stand up for Susan. And you, as

well.‖

Andrew laughed. ―Me?

Thomas regarded him with a wounded expression. ―Really,

Andrew. I should think you‘d know by now how important your

happiness is to me.‖

Lud, he really was drunk.

―Consideration for others? If you‘re not careful, Thomas,

you‘ll find yourself becoming a decent person. I shan‘t be able

to recognize you.‖

Thomas smirked at him, then tossed his cards on the table

and stood up, stretching as he walked over to his bed. ―I‘m

bored with cards.‖

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Alternative activities flashed through Andrew‘s mind,

proving to him that he‘d had a bit too much to drink himself.

Thank God he wasn‘t more drunk than he was, or he might say

something disastrous.

Thomas sat down on the edge of the mattress and stuck

his foot out. ―Help me with my boots, will you?‖

It wasn‘t a request one gentleman would generally make of

another. But Andrew had spoiled Thomas for years now,

allowing—even encouraging—him to behave inappropriately

when they were alone together. Andrew knew it wasn‘t solely

for Thomas‘s benefit. He liked being relied upon; liked being

asked to do things normally only asked of a personal valet. He

liked the intimacy of it.

He knelt by the bedside, unlaced the boot, and removed it.

Then when Thomas presented him with the other one, he

removed that, as well.

Thomas lay back on the bed, making room for Andrew to

perch beside him. Almost without thinking, the blond reached

out to undo Thomas‘s cravat. The man made no move to stop

him, merely watching him quietly with those soft green eyes.

―Perhaps it‘s time for me to retire,‖ Andrew said reluctantly.

The brandy seemed to be going to his head more than he‘d

realized. He was feeling very warm.

But Thomas lifted a hand and placed it over his, where he

was still holding onto Thomas‘s collar. Those beautiful green

eyes met his, and Andrew‘s breath caught in his throat.

―There‘s never been a friend like you, Andrew,‖ Thomas

said, almost in a whisper.

Perhaps it was the brandy, but Andrew fancied he could

see in those eyes something beyond friendship, an intense

longing equal to his own. He leaned in close, half expecting

Thomas to pull away. But he didn‘t, and in a moment their lips

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were touching. For a brief time, Andrew was happier than he‘d

ever thought possible. His heart felt as if all the love he‘d been

keeping in check for years was beginning to pour forth into this

one kiss, and it seemed that he could feel something being

returned by Thomas.

Then the horror of what he was doing suddenly struck him.

He leapt up from the bed. ―Thomas, I… forgive me. I‘m sorry!‖

His friend was staring at him, an expression of shock on

his handsome face.

My God!
Andrew thought,
I’ve destroyed everything!

―I‘m sorry, Thomas.‖

There was no response apart from Thomas bringing his

hands up to cover his eyes, as if he could no longer bear to

even look at his friend. Unable to stand it any longer, Andrew

turned and fled from the room.

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Chapter 11

THOMAS
had
been surprised by the kiss. He‘d never thought

Andrew capable of doing such a thing. It was as if everything

Thomas thought he‘d known about his friend had suddenly

gone topsy-turvy. Was Andrew a pervert? It was inconceivable.

But what had surprised Thomas more was his own

reaction to it. He‘d kissed women before, and enjoyed it. But it

had never felt so… right. And wonderful; and beautiful.

But it wasn‘t any of those things. It wasn‘t right. It

couldn‘t be beautiful. It was wretched. If it was inconceivable

for Andrew to be a pervert, it was also inconceivable to think

that
he
might be. Thomas had always thought of himself as a

healthy man—a bit lazy, perhaps, with a touch of hedonism

thrown in. But otherwise a decent sort.

Yet a decent man would feel revulsion at what Andrew had

done, horror, disgust… any number of things. And deep down,

Thomas knew he did not.

What he
had
felt, at the time, was… love. A love deeper

than anything he‘d ever felt toward a woman, rising up in him,

flooding his entire body, and reaching out to the one person he

truly wanted… to Andrew.

This is madness!

He lay there for a long time, feeling as though everything

familiar had been wrenched from him. He was lost, floundering

in a chaos of mixed emotions. It threatened to overwhelm him.

He needed to find something to hang onto. He needed….

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Andrew.

For the first time, his thoughts turned to something other

than his own turmoil. Andrew must be in Hell. Thomas had let

him run out without a word. How terrible he must be feeling,

thinking… God knew what. If he was still at all the person

Thomas had thought him to be, he would be blaming himself.

And though he might have instigated it, Thomas couldn‘t let

him shoulder all of the blame. He‘d done nothing to stop

Andrew.

Thomas got up, bracing himself against the bedpost to

steady himself, as the effects of the brandy hadn‘t quite worn

off. Then he found his way across the room to the door that

connected it to Andrew‘s room. He expected it to be locked, but

it opened easily.

The candles were all out, but the moonlight coming

through the draperies illuminated the room faintly, and in that

pale gray light Thomas could see a figure lying in the bed.

―Are you asleep?‖ Thomas asked quietly.

Andrew was slow to respond, and when he did, his voice

sounded dull and listless. ―Don‘t be absurd.‖

Thomas wasn‘t certain what to say. He wanted to tell his

friend that it was all right, that it wouldn‘t change anything.

But it wasn‘t really all right. And it
would
change things

between them.

He moved to the bed and sat on the edge of the mattress.

―Don‘t sit so close, Thomas. Please.‖

Andrew was lying fully clothed on top of the blankets.

―It wasn‘t your fault,‖ Thomas said, ignoring the request to

move away.

―Of course it was my fault, you fool,‖ Andrew said bitterly,

―I took advantage of your drunkenness and good nature.‖

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―I wasn‘t that drunk.‖

Andrew drew a ragged breath and turned his face away. It

was then that Thomas noticed the moonlight glinting off the

tears on his face. The first time he had ever seen Andrew cry.

―Thomas, please. Don‘t defend me. I‘ve done a horrid thing.‖

Thomas reached out to touch his arm, but Andrew pulled

away.

―No. It was the brandy. That‘s all. Come morning, we‘ll

laugh it off.‖ He didn‘t really believe that, and neither did

Andrew.

―There‘s nothing to laugh about. Thomas… I love you. I

know it‘s a dreadful thing to tell you, but I can‘t hide it any

longer. I‘m sorry.‖

A chill ran down Thomas‘s spine. He wasn‘t ready for this.

It was too much to cope with. It was as if Andrew were standing

at the bottom of a deep, dark abyss, reaching out a hand to

him, to pull him down….

―Please, Andrew. I…. No friend could ever match you. I

don‘t want this to come between us. But you mustn‘t speak of

it.‖

There was a long silence, before Andrew responded,