The Garden's End (MLM)

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE.

                Robert was in the dining room throughout the night, sitting alone in the dark, illuminated only by the faint light of the fireplace. The rain fell heavily and the flames crackled, and Robert once again remembered Pip. In the dress shop, the way he had held Robert so tightly, so securely. The way his voice had travelled beyond the nightmares and flash of images and the screams to Robert's mind and helped calm it.

Robert's lips were pressed against his fist, his elbow on the chair's armrest. He had been in that position for hours, thinking. He thought of Pip's body against his, his muscles cold from working outside, his breath warm. He had been so close—too close—to kissing him. And he had wanted it. Robert had never been able to understand other people's desire to have something that was so impossible. If it was challenging, best leave it alone until something easier came along. But now, at the thought of Pip curled in bed with Oliver, kissed by someone other than himself—he had to shut his eyes tight against the images before they drove him mad.

What had he been thinking, talking to Pip in such a way? Holding him so intimately, so desperately? Even now, Robert's muscles itched to touch Pip again, to feel him properly against him, to rid him completely of his clothes and—

"We were better off without you."

Robert's thoughts came to a still. He had never seen so much hatred in his brother's eyes . . .

"Er—pardon me," Robert heard a deep voice and looked up. There stood Pip's brother, Thomas, at the doorframe, hesitant.

"My apologies," he said. "I thought the rooms were empty."

"No, no, come in, please," said Robert, standing and gesturing at the chair opposite him which Thomas had moved against the wall earlier that night. "I could do with the company. There's rarely anyone else awake at this time."

Thomas bowed his head and took his previous seat. "I can't imagine anyone would be. At this hour."

Robert huffed a chuckle, rubbing his eyes. "And yet, here we are."

"Here we are," Thomas nodded. "Why haven't you gone to bed? Pip said you'd dismissed him."

"I had," said Robert, turning back to the fire and attempting to stop his mind from conjuring more images at the mention of the young servant's name. "In truth, it's not so easy for me to fall asleep. Not since . . ."

"You were a soldier as well?" said Thomas, though it did not sound like a question. Robert nodded. Over the years, he'd attempted to ignore any questions about his time at war, but something about this man with the name Kensley, something about his familiar dark eyes and honest expression, reassured Robert that he was safe.

"And you?" he asked. "Why have you awoken? If the rooms are too cold—"

"Oh, no," Thomas shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Everything is wonderful, I only . . . Every time I close my eyes, I . . ."

"I understand," said Robert softly. He did not want Thomas to force himself to finish such a painful confession. "I often have to keep myself from falling asleep. And on most nights, nights like this, I simply enjoy wandering the grounds. When it's all quiet."

Thomas sighed. "Normally, when he was in London, Pip could help me fall asleep. I would awaken, thinking I'd seen something or some—someone—" his eye twitched, and he heaved a sigh into his palms. "At any rate, I would think my brother is in danger, and he would wake and reassure me that he was safe, and would sleep beside me where I could guard him properly."