Elliot’s cheek twitched and he entered the house. Peter shook his head as he followed. Apparently the marquess was back to being the distant patron rather than the passionate lover who couldn’t take his eyes off Peter’s body.
He followed Elliot into the kitchen where a large pot of water was boiling. Elliot removed it from the fire, filled a second pot with water from his bucket and then placed it over the flames.
He arched a brow at Peter. “Bring that bucket of cold and follow me.”
Peter inclined his head. “Yes,my lord.”
Elliot’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t respond, simply took the back stair out of the kitchen and up to the hallway. They entered the dressing chamber that was attached to the bedchamber where Merry slept. A huge tub was set in the middle. Huge, certainly big enough for two, and it was already more than half-full from the marquess’s efforts. He poured the boiling water in and the tub steamed.
“Pour yours in,” Elliot directed.
Peter did as he’d been told, pouring slowly as Elliot tested the water so it wouldn’t become too cold. When he’d poured about two-thirds of the bucket in, Elliot nodded.
“That will be enough,” he said. “And the water boiling downstairs can reheat it if she needs it. Or to wash ourselves after she’s finished.”
“You think of everything,” Peter said softly.
Elliot lifted his gaze. “When it comes to her, I try.” He shook his head.
“Which is why you brought me here.”
Elliot didn’t answer for a moment, just grabbed one of the towels stacked in a huge pile in the corner of the room and wiped the sweat from his chest after the exertion of filling the tub. Peter stared at him as he did it. He would love to follow the path of that towel with his tongue. What would the very proper Marquess of Egerton do then?
Peter had some idea. And it was explosive.
“I read about your parting from the letters between our fathers, as I said earlier in the day,” Elliot said. “But I never heard her side of the story, as I never brought it up. I’ve never heard the truth at all, I would wager, since her father was a terrible piece of shit who only cared for himself.”
Peter pursed his lips. He supposed if anyone had the right to know their story, it was Egerton. Not that he relished the retelling and all the pain it brought back up.
He ran a hand through his hair and began, “My father worked for hers. We grew up together. And grew to…” He hesitated. He would say love, but maybe not to this man. “We grew to care for each other.”
Elliot’s nostrils flared, as if he already knew the part Peter had withheld, but he made no corrections.
“I would have married her. Iwantedto marry her.” Peter caught his breath at the truth of that statement. “But her father caught wind of our feelings. He was enraged. To him, Merry was a tool, something to be bargained with and I, the son of a servant, could offer him no benefit. Though I suppose that isn’t uncommon in men of your rank.”
Elliot tilted his head. “I suppose not.”
“When he confronted me, he brought my father into the room. And it became clear that they were on the same side. I was pushed out. Expelled from the house with the threat that my father could be destroyed and Merry could be sold off to the worst of her potential suitors if I didn’t fall in line.”
“And yet you didn’t pursue her?” Elliot asked, and he sounded incredulous. “Had someone threatened to take her from me, I would have moved the moon and stars to have her.”
“And you have the resources to do both,” Peter said. “I had not a farthing to my name. I would have starved had I not had a few friends willing to take me in, and eventually a patron to support me until I began to make my own way.”
Elliot drew a long breath. “I suppose I can’t say I understand because I have never been in that position. And I cannot say I’m sorry, either, because your loss, painful as it must have been, was my gain.”
“And hers,” Peter admitted. “You have given her a life I never could have. She is obviously happy, Egerton.” He moved closer. “Elliot.”
Elliot swallowed hard at this first use of his given name. Peter could taste it on his tongue, the same flavor he’d tasted on Merry earlier. How he wanted to kiss this man. To feel him buckle beneath the desires he was so clearly suppressing.
But Elliot stepped away, looked away. “And do you still love her?”
Peter froze at the question. The one he tried not to ask himself over the years. The one he refused to face when he touched her.
“How could one not?” he finally said.
Elliot nodded and turned his head, like the admission was a physical assault. “I should get her before the bath gets cold,” he said, his tone choked.
Peter waved him toward the door that separated the chambers. “You do that. I’ll go take the water off the fire downstairs and join you shortly.”
