Shaking his head, he smiled ruefully to himself. How foolish.
He entered his own chamber then, and began to get ready for bed, washing his face in the cold water in the ewer and cleaning his teeth, before sliding between the rough sheets on the bed. Closing his eyes, he remembered how Theo had looked at him earlier, his gaze heavy-lidded, his voice low and full of promise.
“Why not enjoy whatever pleasures present themselves while you can…”
Theo’s words continued to echo in his mind, nagging at him even as he blindly sought out the ultimate, furtive distraction, taking his cock in hand and beginning to stroke himself.
His climax, hard and brisk, came upon him in an unexpected rush, far sooner than he expected. And after, as he lay with his eyes closed, his chest heaving, and his warm spend cooling on his belly, Theo’s words still rang in his mind.
14
GEORGE
Five days later
Over the days and nights that followed, the remaining vestiges of George’s shyness around Theo gradually ebbed away. Each day, they rode hard, covering as many miles as they could before stopping at an inn to spend the night. And each night, after dinner, they’d talk and talk, until exhaustion drove them to their beds.
George didn’t usually confide much in others, but for all his brusqueness, Theo was a surprisingly good listener, and George found himself slowly, carefully, opening up to the man. He even talked about his mother—only the fond memories at first, but one night, a few days into their journey, as they sat together in a shadowy inn parlour gazing at the fire, he found himself telling Theo about her death. How lost he’d felt, and how the passing of his youngest sister, just two years later, had felt like an impossibly cruel second blow.
He found himself telling Theo other things he’d never spoken of. About how, in the months following Alice’s death, he used to rise in the night, his heart slamming in his chest with panic, as he checked to make sure his younger brother was still breathing. About the long night he’d spent perched on his bedchamber window sill, watching anxiously for his father after spotting him striding off into the woods one night. It had been nearly dawn before the duke had reappeared, but George had kept watch the whole night, convinced, somehow, that if he went to bed, he might lose another member of his family.
George didn’t do all the talking. Theo shared stories of his life too. His travels, of course, and his own family, though they didn't seem to be as affectionate or close as George’s—in fact, Theo’s dealings with his father sounded mostly antagonistic. He seemed fonder of his mother, despite her being as acquisitive as a magpie and dedicated to spending as much money as she possible could, by the sound of it.
“Not that I can claim to be particularly provident myself,” Theo had admitted. “I went through all the money my grandmother left me in less than two years. You probably think me quite irresponsible.”
That was Theo. Bluntly direct, even when he was talking about his own flaws. Over the years, George had forgotten that about him, and other things too. How likeable he was, and how honest. Quick to laugh and quick to offer assistance to anyone in need of help. Perhaps he was a bit too much for some people’s liking, lacking in manners, often lacking in tact. But good-hearted, and good company, with a ready laugh and a generous spirit.
When had George forgotten those things about him?
Probably after the incident with Ollie’s father. George had believed that Theo had betrayed them, and it had been easy, over time to adopt Ollie’s view of Theo. It bothered George, now, that he had allowed Ollie’s views to affect him so.
Their conversation only ever became strained when the time came each evening to retire to bed. When they reached the first of their bedchamber doors, Theo wouldn’t say anything, but often he’d raise a teasing brow, and George would immediately think of his invitation from that first night.
“…if you get a little lonely in the night, you’re welcome to join me…”
He hadn’t said the words again since, but George would think of them, and blush like a schoolboy. And sometimes, he’d wish that Theo would repeat the offer.
The rest of the time, they were constantly on the go. By day, they covered as many miles as they could, changing horses several times. Most nights, by the time they’d dined and had an hour or two of conversation, they were dead on their feet.
By the sixth day, George’s muscles were stiff and sore, and when they found themselves approaching an inn at half-past four in the afternoon, he all but groaned with relief.
“Tell me we’re stopping here,” he begged, slowing his horse to a walk.
“Yes, but only to change horses,” Theo said, implacable as ever. "There’s another inn, a few miles from here where we can stay the night.”
George groaned. He dismounted carefully, his body aching from the distance they’d already covered that day. “Do we have to? It’s almost five o’clock. Why don’t we stay here? They seem to have lots of rooms.” He lifted his nose to the air. “And do you smell that roast beef?”
“I’m sure the next inn will have roast beef too,” Theo replied unsympathetically, swinging down from his own mount. “And we’ll be a few good miles closer to our destination.”
“But we’re already making good time,” George whined.
“All the more reason to press on,” Theo said briskly. “If we get a decent start tomorrow, and go hard, we could be in Llanberis by nightfall.”
George sighed. “I suppose.” He ached all over—thighs, buttocks, shoulders, hell, even his fingers ached from grasping the reins—but he had to admit, the thought of reaching their destination a whole day sooner than planned was quite appealing. Just one day of not riding at all would be nice, even if it meant he had to climb a mountain instead.
“We’ll have a short stop here, then be on our way,” Theo said, handing off the reins of his horse to an approaching ostler. “I’ll speak to the stable master about our next mounts. Then we can go inside for a quick rest.”
George nodded and watched him stride across the courtyard, marvelling at his unquenchable energy. After almost ten hours on the road, two previous changes of horses and just a single, all-too-quick stop for luncheon, George was dead on his feet, yet Theo seemed as unflagging as he had at breakfast. But then, while George was a reasonably active man, Theo had spent the last few years pushing his body to its limits with his adventuring. He was well used to traversing long distances.
