Andrew Lord of Despair(31)

He tasted her tears with his tongue, then kissed her closed eyes and tucked her face against his shoulder until she quieted.

“Astrid, I would not cause you tears,” he said, rolling to his back. “I want to bring you pleasure, dear heart, not heartache.”

“I am simply emotional,” she said, resting her cheek on his chest. “You need not depart again for the Continent merely to escape my tears, Andrew. I will cope.”

He need not escape to the Continent again. That thought was too sad even for tears.

“Let me hold you.” His request—despite grammar to the contrary—was silly, when his arm was already around her and her knee across his thighs. But he scooted up, to rest his back against the headboard, and bent his knees so his feet were flat on the mattress. He hauled Astrid into his arms and tucked covers around her and himself both.

She curled up in the shelter of his body and took what consolation he offered in the simple—and temporary—animal comfort of his embrace.





Six





After stealing away from Astrid’s room, Andrew spent the balance of his afternoon working with Magic, patiently starting the process of gaining the horse’s trust.

“You’re not wasting any time with him,” Gareth observed when he wandered into the stables as shadows lengthened and the air grew brisk.

“He doesn’t have time to waste,” Andrew said as he drew a soft brush over Magic’s neck. “Every day he has to shift for himself in a world where he doesn’t feel safe, he becomes more convinced it’s the only option he’ll ever have. But he’s a good fellow,” Andrew concluded, thumping the horse on the shoulder. “Aren’t you?”

Magic gave Andrew a disconcerted look and raised his head anxiously, but he stood his ground when he could have broken from the cross ties in an instant.

“Say, yes, Andrew, I’m a good boy,” Gareth told the horse. Magic flicked an ear but kept his focus on Andrew. “And what about you, Andrew? Are you convinced shifting for yourself is the only option you’ll ever have?”

Older brothers never stopped being older brothers. This was as much irritant as comfort. “I beg your pardon?”

Gareth settled himself on a trunk, much like the stable cat might settle itself outside a promising mouse hole. “At breakfast today, Astrid suggested you had always wanted to travel, but you were prevented from doing so because you were too busy keeping an eye on your errant older brother.”

So they were going to air this old linen? Andrew would have to discipline himself to come down to breakfast and ensure Astrid’s opinions were limited to the weather. “Is there a specific question on the floor?” Andrew asked, shifting to brush the other side of the horse.

The brush box was at Gareth’s feet. He rummaged around until he found a hoof pick, and used it to scrape some dirt off his boot heel. “Is Astrid’s conjecture accurate?”

“Gareth, by your own admission, until you married Felicity, you were behaving like an ass. You had no one besides me to watch your back. And I have not always wanted to travel. The thought of crossing the Channel makes me ill.”

He should not have admitted that, but Gareth was winding up to some sort of display of fraternal pique, and Andrew was not in the mood to humor him.

“Then why the hell did you go?” Gareth asked, his sharp tone causing Magic to once again toss his head and roll his eyes.

“Not in front of the children,” Andrew warned, patting the horse reassuringly. He unhitched the gelding from the cross ties and led him to his loose box. After making sure the horse had hay and water, Andrew took off the halter and bolted the door.

Gareth tossed the hoof pick back into the brush box—fired it, more like—and remained enthroned on the trunk, an inquisitor who’d chosen his moment well, for no one would interrupt.

So Andrew cast around for a suitable version of a suitable truth.

“I needed to get away,” he said, busying himself with tying up Magic’s bridle. “If anything, I told myself I was keeping an eye on you because it kept me from my own worst impulses. When you married Felicity, it became obvious you were no longer in need of my support, and travel seemed like an adequate choice.”

“What aren’t you telling me, Andrew?”

Worlds, and he never would tell his brother, either. More half-truths were in order, though, because Gareth would sense outright prevarication easily.

Andrew sank down onto the trunk, feeling abruptly old, wicked, and tired. “As long as you were cutting such a wide, scandalous swath through Polite Society, then you were also taking care of my need to be upset—about the boating accident, about the ways it changed our family, and the ways it changed things for you and me. When you found your peace with Felicity, the upset came to rest more fully on me. I do not find it a comfortable burden, but I cannot seem to escape it.”