PROLOGUE
Summer 1811
Benedict
“Christ, he weighs twice as much when he’s drunk,” Benedict Norfolk laughed as he adjusted the weight of his friend, Viscount Arthur Warwick, against his shoulder.
Warwick’s younger brother, Darrius, grunted with equal strain from the other side of the viscount. “He might be doing it on purpose.”
“I’m not doing itsh on porpoise,” Arthur said, looking over at Benedict and breathing rancid breath in his face.
They stumbled up the stairs together, laughing awkwardly, bumping the banister and the walls respectively as Arthur grumbled out drunken nonsense. Finally they reached the door to his chamber and Darrius flopped the lion’s share of Arthur’s weight onto Benedict so he could open the door.
“Give him here,” Darrius said, meeting Benedict’s eyes for a moment before he darted them away.
Benedict sighed. These two men were his best friends. He’d tell the world that if anyone asked, as would they, he knew. But he and Darrius…well, that was complicated. Far too complicated for Darrius’s taste, clearly.
“Why do you want to help all of a shudden?” Arthur asked, glaring at his brother while the two men led him to his bed. “You’re the younger one, you know. I’m the vishcunt.”
Benedict snorted. “You are that. Flop him down on the bed and I’ll get his boots.”
Darrius did so, sprawling Arthur on his stomach with his head somewhat off the edge of the bed, probably to keep him from choking on vomit if he cast up his accounts in the night. Benedict tugged on his friend’s boots, but the drink he’d had, himself, wasn’t exactly keeping his head from spinning. He stumbled a little and Darrius reached out, catching his arm, drawing him a bit closer to steady him.
They stood like that for a moment, faces too close together in the dim firelight of Arthur’s room. Above the throbbing of his heart, Benedict heard Darrius’s breath hitch. Then Darrius released him and pivoted back to his brother.
He grabbed Arthur’s foot and gave a great tug, removing the boot in one smooth motion. He repeated the action on the other side and tossed the boots away. Already Arthur was snoring, passed out. All but dead to the world.
Darrius made a soft noise of discontent and strode from the chamber without another word for Benedict. Benedict followed, shutting the door softly behind himself. Darrius had stopped in the hallway and turned to face Benedict.
His expression was unreadable, but then again, that handsome face was almost always that way. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. One was never uncertain when Darrius Warwick was angry. His brows dropped and a wrinkle formed between them, his full lips tightened and his jaw flexed.
But he wasn’t doing that now. No, he looked entirely blank. “We should have stopped after the second club. I knew he was too deep in his cups.”
Benedict tilted his head. “He keeps control until he loses control. He’s always been that way.” He shifted a step closer. “You too.”
Darrius glared at him. “I don’t lose control.”
A laugh was the only response Benedict could come up with, though he found this situation not funny in the slightest. “Of course not.”
Darrius’s nostrils flared and now he was starting to look angry. “What the bloody hell does that mean?”
Benedict drew a short breath. He and Darrius had been dancing around this conversation for years. Avoiding it. Playing it off. Creating distance between themselves so they would never have to have it.
Would he be brave enough to broach the topic now, standing in this hallway in the middle of the night, tipsy enough to have some inhibitions removed, sober enough to know what might happen next could have consequences?
No. He wasn’t.
“Nothing,” he grunted. “It’s always nothing, isn’t it?”
Darrius’s breath was short as his gaze flitted down the entire length of Benedict’s body and made him want. Want. Always want. Want things he couldn’t have, at least not with this man. Sometimes with other men. He knew what he was. What he desired. Sometimes ladies, sometimes gentlemen, sometimes both.
But Darrius squashed any part of himself that wasn’t in control. He’d never let this go so far.
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
Benedict blinked. There was something almost plaintive in that question. As if his friend, his best friend, his most cherished friend and companion…needed him to be the one to lead. For once.
“The same thing you want from me,” Benedict dared to whisper, moving another step closer. Now he could feel Darrius’s body heat. “The same thing we’ve both wanted for years and pretended didn’t exist. I want that, Darrius.”
