He lay in the moonlit chamber, watching the silver light creep over the dark, polished boards and wondering if they’d come home tomorrow. It was too much, perhaps, to hope for.
Arden, however, was nothing if not hopeful.
Tomorrow, he told himself, there would be a stir outside, and Arden would rush out to stand on the front steps and welcome them, as Marl had done for Arden.
First Jack would dismount from his travel-weary horse and stretch his lovely tall body, and then…no.
First Beckett. Then Jack.
Beckett would sling a leg over the pommel, jump down, and be unstrapping the luggage before Jack even made it off his horse. He’d scoop up their bags and cases, ready to carry it all into the house and up to Jack’s chamber.
Jack would be annoyed with Beckett for slipping back into the role of footman, even as he strode up the steps to greet Arden with a wide smile and a kiss. And Beckett?—
Oh. Hmm.
Perhaps Beckettwouldn’tdon the mantle of servant straight away.
Perhaps…he blushed to think of it, to think that he, Arden, might be the one to make a difference here, but…
Beckett would see Jack greeting Arden. He’d see them kiss, and he’d set the luggage down to march up the front steps and demand a kiss of his own.
Arden rolled quickly onto his front with a gasp, pressing his face into the pillow and smiling. He pulled the covers over his head.
He was being silly, of course. Much as he yearned for it, they wouldn’t be here tomorrow. It was too soon.
But maybe the day after?
CHAPTER 30
BECKETT
He’d wanted to stay with Arden at Greylag. Jack wouldn’t have minded.
But Beckett was doing his best here.
He’d given Arden better memories of him to dwell on—memories of Beckett chasing him over the golden sand, lifting him into the air, turning him into Jack’s arms—and now he knew that he had to give Arden the space and time to miss him.
He hoped that when Arden thought of him, he thought of Beckett smiling, not scowling. Holding him gently, and letting him twist free to run again, not holding him down and making him beg.
Arden had blossomed under Beckett’s smiles so quickly. Too quickly, really.
Beckett had mentioned it to Jack as they rode away, Arden’s slight figure on the steps of Greylag growing smaller and smaller and finally vanishing.
When Beckett had turned for a final look before the curve of the road obscured the view, Arden had still been waving.
“He has been dying for someone to love him his whole life,” Jack had said flatly.
Beckett had shifted in the saddle with discomfort, making it creak beneath him. His mount, a mare from Greylag’s stable, had tossed her head with disapproval. “Ain’t right,” he’d muttered. “Everyone should get someone to love them.”
“I agree,” Jack said. He added with satisfaction, “Now Arden has two.”
“You think he could love me back, an’ all?”
Jack had shot him a smile. “I think he’s well over halfway there.”
“Not that I earned it,” Beckett said. “Yet. I will, though.”
“I know, my love.”
