Chapter Five

Craven’s face still burned with the aftermath of lust when he met up with Anthony in the darkened corridor of Beresford Hall. Dismissing thoughts of Dominic’s strong hands on his naked flesh and the man’s ebony hair glistening beneath the pale moonlight, he exchanged glances with his friend. Anthony appeared dazed and his clothing clung haphazardly on his tall, lean body. Craven didn’t need to ask what happened in the room he just left.

“We best make haste before we’re waylaid again,” Anthony whispered. “Do you know the way out of this monstrous abode?”

Craven shoved his crumpled shirt into the waistband of his trousers, aware of the fine beads of perspiration still clinging to his flushed skin. “Down the stairs and across the main foyer to the front entry.”

“Do you think this will be the end of it? I mean, Beresford won’t bring trespassing charges against us, will he?”

“Doubtful,” Craven said, recalling the man’s warm breath against his skin and the vulnerability in his soft-spoken words. “He got what he wanted, and it’s not likely we’ll see or hear from him again.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you sound regretful.”

Pangs of shame and emptiness mingled to wrench his heart. “You couldn’t be further from the truth,” he lied. “But Beresford is not as evil as he appears.”

Moments later, the massive doors creaked when Craven yanked on the brass handles and opened them. Like thieves in the night, they slipped out into a yard canvassed in silver moonbeams, and stumbled toward the dimly lit knoll where they’d met the Lord of the Manor several hours ago. Beyond their pseudo-sanctuary, they crossed an empty wheat field, and at the far end of the field, clambered over a whitewashed three-rail fence. From there, the darkened outline of the University rose before them.

Here they would part, Anthony heading north to his quarters, Craven southeast to his. “Listen,” Anthony said, his voice hoarse. “I think it best we forget about our misadventure, not discuss it again.”

“Yes,” Craven replied. “You’ll not get an argument from me in that regard. I’d just as soon pretend it never happened.”

Beneath the strands of moonlight, Craven saw his friend shudder. “If the chancellor were to find out, we’d face expulsion.”

“He’s not going to find out, I tell you. We’ll not hear from Beresford again.”

“I pray you’re right.” Anthony clapped him on the shoulder and opened the outside door of his building. Craven waited until he disappeared and then headed for the entrance to his own quarters.

Something had changed in him, something deep and irreversible. He shucked his clothing, tossed it onto a nearby chair and climbed beneath the bedcovers. Lying in his familiar bed, his blood sang with recurring exotic remembrances. Already he craved the hard thrusts of Dominic’s body and his hot hands skimming over his quivering flesh.

Christ, how would he ever erase the lust-crazed memories from his brain?

* * *

At dawn, with sandpaper eyes and rumbling stomach, Craven tossed the covers aside and rose from bed. Classroom studies began at eight, and would last all day―Geology and Mineralogy, Letters and the English Language, Ancient and Modern- Day Languages—a heavy curriculum that inhibited any social life on Craven’s part. It was just as well, he thought, retrieving his trousers and shirt from the nearby chair, especially after last night.

He flexed the muscles of his shoulders and arms and felt the lingering stiffness. Tendrils of pain slithered up his legs and butt cheeks, yet he would endure it all thrice over for another night with Dominic Beresford. With a sigh, he stepped into the trousers and tossed the shirt over his torso, shoving his arms into the long sleeves. His books sat on the bureau near the bed and beside them the ink quill he needed. He walked toward it, picked up the books and stuffed the quill case into the pocket of his trousers.

His fingers met a hard, metallic object. As he pulled it out, his eyes widened and his jaw dropped. A ruby brooch, and not just any brooch, but the one fastened to Dominic Beresford’s cravat last night. How in the hell did it get into the pocket of his trousers? His stomach churned and not from hunger. He shook his head and prayed it was all a mistake, especially after promising Beresford he would keep his nose clean. How would he explain this seeming thievery to a man who reduced him to marmalade with one look from those mosaic blue eyes?

Sick to his stomach, he headed for the mess hall looking for Anthony, although he felt certain he wouldn’t be able to eat a bite now. He found his friend perched on a bench at the long trestle table, shoving eggs and ham into his mouth like a starved coonhound after a fox chase.

“Good, God, man, you look utterly pallid, whiter than goose down,” Anthony said between bites.

Craven pulled the ruby pin from his pocket and held it out before him.

“Where did you find that, you lucky bastard?”

Craven shook his head. “In my trousers.” He ran his hands through the hair at his forehead. “It belongs to Dominic Beresford.”

Anthony choked on a mouthful of eggs. “What! How in hell did you end up with it?”

“I have no idea, I swear, but he’ll never believe me. He’ll think I stole it from him.” Craven paced a small area in front of the table. “We must return and I’ll tell him it appeared in my trousers this morning, tell him―”

“What’s this we presumption? I’m not returning to that den of iniquity under any circumstances, particularly if I have to face Lord Beresford. No, thank you very much. I value my body parts however useless they may seem to him.”

Craven’s voice took on the innocent pleading of a child. “A fine chap you are. I’m not asking you to speak with him, only accompany me.”

“No. Absolutely, categorically, no, and that’s final.”

“What in the world has come over you, Anthony?”

“Martin Hubbard, that’s what’s come over me.”

“What are you babbling about now?”

“Don’t attempt to tell me you don’t know what happened to me in that room; the same thing that happened to you in Beresford’s bedchamber. Two men worked me over thoroughly and one was Martin, I’m certain of it, and I’ve no desire to run into him again.” Anthony shuddered. “Jesus, the embarrassment of it all!”

“Christ, what am I going to do?”

“Return it to him; tell him what you told me. You said yourself he isn’t the ogre everyone makes him out to be.”

“I don’t recall saying that exactly.”

“Well, maybe not in those words, but I saw how you looked when you exited his room and it didn’t resemble fear or loathing.”

He tucked the pin back into his pocket and shuddered. “Tonight, I’ll return to Beresford Hall and ask to speak with him.”

“Then what?” Anthony resumed his attack on his plate.

“I don’t know. I’ll think of something. Convince him I didn’t steal it.” A long, exasperated sigh left his lips. “Lord, help me.”

Classes dragged on at a snail’s pace for the remainder of the day. Craven couldn’t concentrate on the lectures, and once or twice the professors had called on him for an answer and he looked the oaf for not knowing the questions. He fidgeted, he squirmed and he sweated.

To deny the existence of the brooch in his possession would be his undoing. Beresford was too smart not to notice its disappearance or the coincidence of when it disappeared. There was no help for it. He would have to return it to the man as quickly as possible and plead ignorance about how it ended up in his trousers.

The thought of seeing Dominic again sent the blood pedaling through his veins. When he saw him face-to-face, how would he deny his wild attraction for the man, pretend he didn’t want to see him again? He had to get his emotions under control before he called on Beresford Hall.

In the meantime, he’d pray Beresford would believe him about the brooch.