Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One

The morning of the ball arrived at last. James couldn’t wait to put this whole day behind him. He was sick to death of having the house bursting with people. He stormed down the grand gallery, weaving between a trio of men toting away a rug and a harried florist carrying an arrangement so large he couldn’t see around it.

“Christ’s sake,” James growled as the florist nearly crashed into him. “Bates, help this man get where he’s going!” he called over to the footman. “And someone tell me where the hell is Burke!”

Something was wrong. He noticed last night but couldn’t get Burke alone to ask. Then the man disappeared like a puff of smoke. Burke had agreed to lead some of the guests down to the lake this morning, but he never showed. He skipped breakfast too. James would have asked Renley about it, but he left after dinner too. He wouldn’t be back until tonight with his brother and sister-in-law in tow.

He took a sharp right out of the grand gallery towards the new wing, determined to hunt Burke down in the storage room. Before he could get that far, the man in question came through the door at the end of the hall.

“Where the hell have you been?” he called.

Burke looked miserable. His black hair was untidy, his eyes hooded with lack of sleep. He wasn’t dressed properly either. He wore only half an ensemble—his riding boots and high slung tan trousers were to be expected, but he wore no waistcoat or cravat, not even a coat. No hat, no gloves, no walking stick.

“Where have you been?” James repeated.

“Walking,” Burke grunted, stepping past James.

James struggled to control his frustration. “Where have you been walking looking like that?”

Burke swung left, making his way for the back staircase. “Fuck off, James. I’m in no mood.”

“I know where you weren’t walking,” he called after Burke’s retreating form. “We agreed you would take a group down to the lake at half eight, did we not? It is now half nine.”

“Are you a talking pocket watch now?”

James growled, following quickly after his friend. “Tell me what happened.”

“Just leave me alone.”

“Damn it, don’t walk away from me!”

“You’re my friend, not my master,” Burke barked over his shoulder. “I don’t follow orders.”

James felt the tenuous hold on his patience snap. Burke wasn’t going to get away with being pouting and petulant for the next week as he mulled whatever grievance plagued him. James had entirely too much on his plate to manage without Burke’s help. He thought fast. Nothing had ever been as effective at rousing Burke from one of his moods quite like physical exercise. This was going to be fun.

As Burke reached the bottom of the stairs, James took a few running steps and launched himself on Burke’s back. He twisted both his arms under Burke’s, wrapping them around his shoulders and linking them behind Burke’s neck, effectively locking Burke’s arms in place.

Burke stumbled forward. “James—fuck—”

James kicked out Burke’s leg, dropping him down to one knee.

Burke growled like a bear, twisting and grunting as he tried to break James’ hold on his shoulders. “Ouch—get off!”

“Say it,” James laughed, holding on for dear life as Burke tried to wrestle free.

“Say what—”

“Call me master,” James hissed in his ear.

Burke exploded. He heaved with all his might, slinging James free. James rolled to his feet, nearly knocking a vase of flowers off a table. He turned; fists raised. Burke scrambled to his feet too, chest heaving, eyes manic.

“Come on then,” James said with a playful beckon of his hand. “You may be an Oxford-trained boxer, but I’m a fucking Corbin. My ancestors grappled in the mud at Agincourt. Knights’ blood flows in my veins. Take me down if you can, you little ponce.”

Burke’s eyes flashed obsidian as he lunged. James braced for impact as both men went sprawling to the floor. James hit the table with his shoulder, sending the vase and the spray of flowers crashing down. The vase shattered, pooling water over the parquet floor.

James grunted as Burke landed two good punches to his side. “Fucking hell—” He twisted his legs with Burke’s, snaking his arms around until he could get Burke in a headlock. “Say it, and I’ll let you go,” he taunted, tightening his hold on Burke’s neck.

“No—”

“Call me ‘master’ and I’ll stop.”

“Fuck you—”

James tightened his hold and Burke groaned, panting out what little breath he could catch in his lungs.

“Christ man, say it before you pass out,” James urged.

“God—damn it—”

“Excuse me,” came a soft voice.

Both men looked up to see Madeline floating down the stairs. She slipped past them both sprawled on the floor. James loosened his hold and Burke took a gasping breath.

“Lady Madeline,” James murmured with a nod.

“Good morning, Lord James,” she replied, making no comment about their ridiculous display. She navigated the shards of broken vase and went on her way.

Burke used the distraction to scramble out of James’ grasp, flopping on his back and leaning against the bottom stair. “What the hell was that?” he said as soon as she was safely around the corner.

James dabbed at his lip and blinked to see a stain of blood on the back of his hand. “Christ, did you split my lip?”

Burke just laughed.

He fished in his pocket for a handkerchief and leaned against the wall, his legs stretched out across the carpet. “So…what happened?”

Burke shrugged. “Nothing you couldn’t have predicted.”

A thousand thoughts flashed through his mind as he paused with the handkerchief halfway to his lip. His cheeks suddenly blazed at Burke’s guilty look. “Did you—”

“Not exactly,” Burke replied. “But I ruined everything. I pushed her too far.”

A feral anger simmered in his chest. “What does that mean?”

“I may have said something stupid. I saw her with Bray last night and I just—I lost control. I had to know—”

“Whoa, stop.” James held up a hand. “What do you mean you saw her with Bray?”

“It was nothing. She was just talking to him at dinner…but I snapped. I want her so goddamn much,” he said, dragging his hands through his hair. “I don’t think I’ve ever—I know I’ve never—but I can’t stand feeling like she’s going to walk away. That I’m not enough. And there’s Renley and you, and I just couldn’t handle the idea of Bray too. Sharing her is already hard enough.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

Burke blinked. “What?”

“Sharing her is hard enough? What do you mean?”

There was that guilty look again. James wanted to punch it off his face.

“I…found her kissing Renley in the woods after the picnic. And I may have…joined in. I really don’t mind Renley. He’s a friend and…damn if it didn’t turn me on,” he added under his breath. “I mean, I could more easily share with you…but I draw the line at Charles fucking Bray.”

This was a lot of information for James to process. Rosalie Harrow was kissing Burke. And now she was kissing Renley…and Burke…together. And if Burke’s guilty looks were any indication, it may have gone further than kisses in the woods. The lady ought to show more propriety! It would be enough to ruin her if it were discovered. So why was James’ first reaction jealousy? Why did he feel this tightening in his chest and a throbbing at his temple?

Holy hell…what else did Burke just say? James could hardly think straight. Burke was willing to share her with him. In what universe could James ever allow that to happen? Would he even want that?

Yes, a dark voice whispered. Anything for a taste of her.

He shoved the thought away. He could evaluate the cracks in his morality later. For now, Burke needed him. “What exactly did you say to the lady?”

Burke lifted his face off his hands. “I may have implied she was a jezebel seeking a harem of men.” He glanced up. “I was angry and jealous and desperate to know if she really cares for me…but I already know how she feels. I feel it every time she moves, every time she looks at me, every time I touch her. Christ, it’s electric. She’s a goddess—”

“I don’t want to hear.”

Yes, he did. He wanted to hear everything. Every detail.

“I was a fool,” Burke groaned. “She wants me and I’m pushing her away because I don’t like her terms.”

“And what are her terms?”

“No cages, no labels. She doesn’t want marriage. Now I understand why. Her father was a monster, James. He hurt her. I think he might have…” He swallowed, his voice hollow. “She has boundaries to protect herself, and I stomped all over them.”

“What…so she just wants to be free to love you and make love to you, and do the same with Renley, and never consider the idea of marriage to either of you? She expects you both to just live in sin with her?”

Burke just shrugged.

“And…what about what you want? Do you want to get married? You’ve never mentioned a word in the affirmative about the institution.”

“What could I offer a woman in a marriage?” Burke muttered. “What lady would swoon at inheriting my soiled name and my empty pockets?”

James scowled. “You’re being defeatist again, and I’ll not stand for it. I told you we have a quick fix for both those challenges.”

“James—”

“But you have to want to be married. Would you marry Rosalie Harrow if you could?”

“She doesn’t want that,” Burke muttered

“I’m saying if she did. If right now she came sweeping down those stairs and said, ‘Marry me, Burke’…would you do it?”

Burke let out a long exhale. “I don’t want to leave you…”

James forced a laugh, even as he felt a tightening in his chest. “You’ve met my mother, right? Does she strike you as a particularly accommodating person? Do you think she’ll accept your whirlwind romance and just let Rosalie move into the bachelor’s corridor with you?”

“Alcott is my home,” Burke replied softly. “As much as I want Rosalie, and as much as I want her to want me…I don’t want to be forced to choose between her and Alcott…between her and you.”

James swallowed thickly. This was getting precariously close to the kind of sentimentality that English gentleman were warned against from their earliest breaths. He got to his feet. “You know, I can stand on my own two feet. I can manage things here alone while you go find your own life. It won’t mean we care for each other any less.” He held out a hand, helping Burke to his feet.

“I don’t want you to be alone. I want you to be happy,” said Burke.

James smiled weakly. “Your happiness is my happiness.”

“It’s not enough,” Burke replied, holding his gaze. “You are the best man I know, James. You deserve to be happy too.”

James gave another false laugh. “Well, perhaps you can ask if Miss Harrow has a sister.”

Burke’s eyes were serious as he put a hand on James’ shoulder. “Make jokes all you want, but I know you. I know how you feel about her. I know how you watch her. Don’t ask me to make any of this make sense, because I can’t…but I think she wants you too.”

His words sent a stone sinking into the pit of James’ stomach. It wasn’t possible. What the hell was James supposed to do with this information?

“I know what I must do,” Burke went on. “I intend to apologize. If she forgives me, I’m not going anywhere. You of all people know the strength of my constancy. If Rosalie Harrow will have me, I’m hers. She can name whatever bloody terms she wants.”

James raised a wary brow. “Why are you…”

“Because, you need to know where I stand. If you seek to claim her…just know you’ll be claiming me too.”