A/N: I wanted to say a special thank you to Mystykyten who busted my ass and 
made me get out the rest of this update and for helping me beta this chappie. 
Thank you as well to Legyviel, Galor5, and darcysonelove for betaing different 
chappies as well. Kisses all around!!!!!


Part 30:

It was two days since Orlando had denied Viggo, and the man was still in a state
over it. He had been angry and sulking each consecutive day since the episode, 
hiding in his study or stalking around the terrace. 

He had not listened to anyone that had tried to speak to him. 

He had not listened to Mrs. Huston when she said he needed to let Orlando out of
his room. He had not listened to even Davenport when the man said that he could 
not sit in front of the door any longer, instead he told the man to go about his
other duties and just leave the door locked. 

His solicitor Mr. Oldman had come by, insisting on speaking to him of matters 
regarding his stocks, but Viggo would hear none of it, insisting that the man 
return later that week. Mr. Oldman had tried to reason with the blonde Lord, 
stressing that the matter was of the utmost importance, only to soon find 
himself ushered to the door by the stony Mr. Davenport. 

He decided to spend his afternoon shooting, taking out his aggression on the 
clay birds launched by Mr. Davenport instead of the beauty that so vexed him. 

In truth he did not know what to do about Orlando. He had never had to deal with
this sort of rebellion before, aside from the meager attempts of Mr. Farrell. He
could tell there was nothing he could say to Orlando to get the boy to willingly
go back to his submissive position, and he was in no mood to forcibly make the
boy submit. He was sure that any violent action he made against his stubborn 
buck could only result in more trials for him, and at the moment he was at the 
end of his tether. 

“Pull!”

As soon as the clay bird was released, Viggo eyed it with the end of his rifle 
before firing. The harsh sound of the gun helped a little to ease his tension, 
but it was not enough.

Viggo tossed his rifle at Davenport in irritation for it to be loaded. He huffed
with his hands on his hips for a moment, shifting from one leg to another. He 
finally decided that he did not want to hear only himself in his head, he wanted
to speak his complaints to another, even though he did not care what his valet 
had to say.

“The nerve of the little bitch!” he thundered. “How dare he say such things to 
me? Does that little whore think he is better than me?” Viggo scoffed, feeling 
his face heat up as he got even more angry. “He should be grateful that I even 
ever took an interest in him!”

“Of course sir,” Davenport said, no emotion in his voice as he finished loading
the gun.

“I all but saved his life and he acts as though he does not owe me a thing. The
very thought…” Viggo did not dare to mention what Orlando had said to him those
nights ago. It was certainly no fault of his own if his cold spouse did not find
his touch pleasurable. He knew he was a very pleasing lover, and was determined
to not let some little working class tramp make him see himself in any other 
light. 

“Maybe a few more days alone in his room will warm him up a little bit,” Viggo 
hissed, snatching his rifle back from his valet.

“Quite right, sir,” Davenport said again, returning to the machine and preparing
to let loose another clay target.

Viggo snorted. “Of course I’m right. Pull!”

The clay pigeon was shattered by the impeccably accurate bullet, the crash 
resounding through the open field. 



Back at the house, Orlando could hear the shots fired, and he squinted his eyes
as he looked through his window, trying to see into the distance. The past few
days his sight had been returning even more, and he could now begin to define 
things. The images were still blurred, but as he sat by the window and looked 
about the well lit room, he could make out his bed, the little table beside it,
his wardrobe, his desk…he could even see the boldest parts of the pattern in his
rug. 

He had barely even noticed the passing of the last three days, as each day from
the moment he woke to the moment he lay his head down to sleep he had been
rejoicing in the thoughts that not only was his true love coming for him in a 
few days’ time, but he would also finally be able to see him with his own eyes,
and not have to be content with his seeing fingers.

Every morning he brushed his hair before the mirror, delighting that he could
finally make out his own fuzzy reflection. He fingered his soft curls, recalling
how much they had pleased Sean. He decided that he quite fancied them as well. 
Orlando made sure they were completely tangle less and silky soft to the touch.
He wanted to look his best in case this was the day that Sean would come to 
claim him again. Every night he went to bed hopeful that his lover would come 
the next day. 

Furthermore reason to rejoice was that in the few minutes that Colin was allowed
to see Orlando every day when he served him his meals, the Irishman had been 
happy and friendly to him. Just as the young Englishman had hoped, they had 
become friends, the romance between them seemed to be slowly forgotten. Their 
old natural ease between each other had returned.

Orlando was so glad to see Colin smile again. 

Those moments with Colin were too brief, as made certain by the ever present Mr.
Davenport. The obedient watchdog had been told by his master to watch Orlando 
and Colin every second they were together, and keep their interactions limited 
to the necessary. 

If they ever touched for too long or spoke too much, Davenport would merely step
between them and give Colin a look that indicated it was time for him to leave.
If Orlando protested or demanded a few more minutes with his valet, Mr. 
Davenport merely said that he had his orders. 

Colin had tried to get into Orlando’s room the first day of his imprisonment, 
quickly finding that without the key it was impossible to enter. The Irishman 
had voiced his regret through the door, but had quickly hurried off before he 
was spotted. 

Orlando wished they could talk more, but was glad for his free time as it 
allowed more time to day dream. And day dream he did. He dreamt of Sean’s hands 
on his body, his lips touching all of his most sensitive areas. He loved when 
Sean’s fingers would twist inside him while his sharp teeth grazed his wide 
nipples. He loved the feel of the blonde man’s labor roughened hands against his
own soft skin. 

He loved their contrasts. He was soft, Sean was rough, he was slender and Sean 
was strong, he was dark and Sean was light. So opposite and yet it seemed to 
make them fit together all the more. 

Orlando smiled to himself and stood, crossing to his large lonely bed and 
letting himself fall back onto the soft mattress with a sigh. The beauty’s naked
feet pushed him farther up onto the bed so that he rested in the middle. In his
past days of seclusion in the warm room, Orlando had taken to not dressing in 
the morning. He wore a long white shirt that was only buttoned at the bottom 
half. The youth loved the feel of the air around his legs and chest, and enjoyed
the comforting weight of the fabric about his arms and shoulders. 

The weight reminded him of Sean’s arms wrapped about him the night of their 
reunion. Those arms had held him close all night long. He remembered the feel of
Sean’s hot breath against the back of his neck.

The smile returned to his lips and his white teeth drew his plump lower lip into
his mouth. He bit the plump petal ever so slightly as his hand, as though with a
mind of its own, drifted from beside his head to his smooth chest. His long
fingers glided along the hem of his shirt and then over his clothed stomach, 
ghosting around his lax genitals and around his hip to his thigh.

Orlando moaned slightly as he caressed himself. From his hip he let his fingers
slip between his legs, making little circles on the delicate skin of his inner
thigh before drawing them up inch by inch, teasing himself. 

His breath caught with a little moan as the nerves were tingled with the tips of
his fingers. He felt his cheeks heat as his fingertip grazed over the silky skin
if his penis and then higher to push up the bottom of his shirt.

Orlando felt so utterly scandalous as his fingers gingerly pushed into the wiry
curls surrounding his sex. Never before had he felt such an overwhelming desire
to touch himself. With Sean at Lord Lee’s he had never needed to, and before 
Sean he had known nothing of the ways of the flesh. After his marriage he had
never wanted to give himself pleasure, and his times with Colin had only been to
feel alive. As he finally lowered his hand and began to stroke himself, all he 
thought of was the pleasure of it. 

His silky sex slowly hardened from his gentle attentions, and the little touches
he applied lengthened and hardened. His fingers wrapped around his length and 
began to stroke back and forth. His thumb brushed the ridge of the head of his
penis, making him give a little gasp of pleasure. His back arched slightly under
his ministrations and his mind began to wander.

He thought of Sean’s cock. He would have been too shy to think of it a year ago,
but now he thought on it proudly. 

The head of Sean’s penis was shaped like a mushroom, the ridge quite pronounced
and inside him it created the most amazing sensations. He loved to flick his 
tongue over that ridge on the few occasions he had taken his lover’s member into
his mouth. It was something he had only done for Sean, never offering it to his
husband or Colin or allowing another to request it. 

Orlando raised his hand to his mouth, first to stifle the little noises coming 
from between his lips, but soon the little bites to his knuckles became suckles.
Soon he drew two of his own digits between his lips, pretending they were a 
smaller version of Sean’s organ.

His other hand slid along his now hardened shaft, each stroke of his fingers
making him arch a little more off the bed. His cries of delight were held back 
by the fingers in his mouth, but soon he wanted more than just the touches to
his sex. 

He knew that if Sean were with him, he would want to unite with him again.
Orlando removed his wet fingers and closed his eyes. He saw Sean looming over
him, a smile lighting up his face before he leaned down to kiss him. Orlando’s 
lips tingled where phantom Sean had kissed him. He lowered his wet digits to the
hand stroking his eager sex, lowering them even further so that they brushed 
against his warm balls and then further still to his furled opening. 

Orlando bit his lower lip hard when he pressed his own fingers into himself, the
slight burn of the poorly lubricated fingers hurting and arousing him all at the
same time. He mewled slightly as he pushed his fingers deeper, forcing them 
inside as he slowly stroked himself. 

In his mind he could see Sean above him. He knew his lover would take better 
care of preparing him but at the moment he liked the pain. 

Orlando moaned Sean’s name when his questing fingers found his starry spot. He 
cried out wantonly as he rubbed his inner nub furiously in time with the quick 
pulls on his penis. His orgasm hit him unexpectedly and he could not hold back 
his cry of ecstasy, his back arching off the bed completely. 

His seed was sticky on his fingers, and he idly rubbed them together, feeling 
the sticky residue. Thus far he had enjoyed his newfound sexual awakening, and 
so he decided to let his curiosity take over. 

The beauty hesitantly raised his fingers to his lips and let his tongue snake 
out, tasting the milky white essence. 

It tasted strange…salty and heady. It was not a taste that he could compare to 
anything, and he could not tell if it was a taste he preferred or not. He snaked
out his pink tongue again and flicked it over the seed, tasting it again. 

It was still strange to him, but he decided it was not a taste he found 
offensive. He would have to taste of Sean when they next lay together. He was 
sure that his lover’s flavor would taste most succulent.

He left the rest of the sticky mess on his hand, in the end washing it in the 
water basin from his morning bath. He cooled his flushed face with the washing
rag that was left beside it, patting it against his heated skin. He knew that 
his dinner should be approaching, and so he made his way to his wardrobe and
found a pair of clean trousers which he donned. Once he was dressed, he sat 
again at the window and waited, thinking only of Sean.



The great house loomed before Dom as his carriage pulled up to it. The house was
so dark and cold, and he could feel shivers run up his spine as he thought of 
the man that lived within those walls. He was thankful to have Marton beside him
to support him.

He did not know what he would do when faced with his lover’s killer. How greatly
he missed his sweet Elijah, and now he would have to come face to face with the
man and do nothing. He would have to play the part of the impartial and loyal 
servant, and hold his tongue until Sean fulfilled his plan. He did not know if 
he would be able to do it, but he owed it to Sean and Orlando and his love for 
them that he had to at least try. 

The carriage came to a stop and Dom gathered his strength as he stepped down, 
the letter he held clasped tightly in his hand. He looked to the carriage and 
watched Marton get down as well, the big Russian landing with a less graceful 
grunt.

He wondered what it would be like to speak to Orlando again after all this time.
The last memory he had of the younger boy was splashing water at each other in 
the kitchen before being caught by Mrs. Dench. 

Dom had seen Orlando from a distance at the house while the boy and his bastard 
husband had been visiting, as it would have been nearly impossible not to have. 
He had not spoken to him though, nor had he alerted the now blind boy to his 
presence. 

He had been shocked to hear of Orlando’s infirmity when Sean had told him. It 
was hard to see Orlando as anything other than sweet and perfect. More than 
anything, this one imperfection seemed to humanize the other boy to Dom.

The young man waited for Marton to stand beside him before he raised his hand to
knock at the door and then waited, shifting the letter from one hand to the 
next. He had no idea what the contents of the letter entailed, all he knew was 
that it was to go to Orlando and only Orlando. Mortensen was not to see the 
note, though he was sure that Sean would not be so foolish as to write anything
incriminating. 

The door opened and a severe woman looked out to him. She looked down her thin 
nose at him and then looked over at Marton, arching a dark brow as she took in 
the man’s size. 

“Can I help you gentlemen?” she asked. 

Dom nodded, stepping forward and holding up the letter. “I have orders to see 
this note to Master Orlando.”

The woman’s eyes narrowed slightly before she nodded, reaching her hand out to 
take it. “I’ll see it to him,” she said.

Dom shook his head, quickly pulling the letter back towards himself. He gave the
woman a charming smile and then told her in as sweet a voice as he could manage,
“Forgive me, ma’am but I have strict orders to see the letter into Master 
Orlando’s hands personally, so that I can return his answer to my employer.”

The dark eyes narrowed again but the woman nodded, stepping aside and opening 
the door further so that the two men could enter. “You will find his lordship in
his room, he has not ventured from it for some days now.”

Dom’s brows furrowed at the slight distain in her voice, though he got the 
impression her venom was not directed at her young master. This certainly most 
puzzled him. Upon looking to Marton, he saw the same confusion written on the 
man’s scruffy face.

“Would you both follow me, please?” She said, brusquely turning and beginning to
walk once she had shut the door. Dom quickly followed, hurrying to keep up with
her swift pace on his shorter legs while Marton took long strides beside him. 

Mortensen’s house had much more show to it than Sean’s. Everything was of the 
most expensive quality. Each taken apart was surely a fine thing, but together 
it was a bit overwhelming. The Italian marble, the French tapestries, the 
Persian rugs, they all closed in around Dom and smothered him in finery. 

The young man was glad to be away from the front hall and up the stairs, away 
from all the fine things and the disturbing silence that resounded through the 
cavernous rooms to the more reasonably sized second level, and then up another 
still to the third level where the bedroom were kept. Dom and Marton followed 
the woman to the end of the hall where there was a closed door. Dom’s brows 
furrowed when he saw her take out a key ring before selecting a silver key. He 
was most puzzled as she unlocked the door, as he could tell it was a bedroom. 

“Pardon me, I don’t mean to pry but why is Master Orlando closed up in his 
room?”

The women looked sharply over her shoulder before once again narrowing her eyes.
“Even if I did have an answer to give you, I don’t suppose the matter would be 
of much importance to you, would it my boy?”

Dom flushed under her shrewd eye and found himself nodding in hasty 
understanding. He uttered a small apology under his breath as she opened the 
door. Marton placed a reassuring hand on the small of Dom’s back before 
whispering that he would wait outside for him.

“You must have time alone with your friend, I shall wait here and watch for 
you,” he said, again pressing Dom towards the door. 

The young man finally nodded in acceptance and entered the bedroom, ready to 
face his friend at long last.

The room was the sort that was well lit in the morning, but had fairly poor 
lighting in the late afternoon. There were a couple lamps lit on a table near 
the window, giving the room an orange glow to it. He looked around for a moment
and then saw the slender frame of a young man sitting by the window and looking
back at him. Dom figured that he had to be Orlando as there was no one else that
would be in the room.

“Orlando?…” he said timidly, stepping forward to let his former friend know who
he was. “It’s Dom…you remember me, don’t you?”

Orlando froze for a moment, his eyes narrowing a little as though he were trying
to see. After a moment of most uncomfortable silence, the young man stood, 
carefully setting his feet to the floor before hurrying to Dom. “Of course, 
Dom!” he cried, running forward and clumsily wrapping his arms around his 
friend. “How could you think I would forget you?” he asked, tears coming to his
eyes as he held the shorter youth tightly.

Dom felt tears coming to his own eyes as well as he returned to embrace. He
hugged Orlando tightly, feeling a surge of emotion he had not expected would 
overcome him. He had not been as close with Orlando as he had others, but at 
this moment he felt overjoyed to be reunited with the youth that had not only 
been his friend, but also had gone through much of the pain that he had of 
losing a lover. Sean had gone through a similar ordeal, but Dom had always felt
somehow inferior to the powerful man. Orlando had his own superior quality even
if he himself did not acknowledge it but he was more approachable and open 
hearted. 

“So much has happened to the both of us,” Dom finally said. “I do not see how I
could have been at all at the forefront of your mind.”

He could feel Orlando smile a little and the willowy arms clutched him all the
tighter. “I have thought of you Dom,” he assured him. 

Dom felt the younger boy’s warm lips against his own heated forehead before 
Orlando once again held him close. “I’m so sorry Dom…for Elijah…I wish I could
have been there for you…”

Dom shook his head, gently taking Orlando’s shoulders and pulled him back so he
could properly look at him. 

Orlando had changed drastically since last he saw him. He had been able to tell
when looking on from afar at Sean’s manor but now he could see all the little 
things. Orlando was still as beautiful as ever, his longer curls only 
accentuating his beauty. Gone though was the youth and innocence in his eyes and
in its place was an age beyond his years. It was the sort of age that came with
hardship, and Dom’s heart ached for he knew some of what Orlando had endured. 
There were creases in his forehead and beside his eyes when he raised his brows
or smiled. More than anything he looked tired. It was a fatigue that was showing
the slow signs of remedy, but still lingered in his dark eyes and heavy lids. 

“I have shed my tears for Elijah,” Dom said. “And soon I hope I will be able to
move on again. I think you and I are waiting for the same act to heal us, if you
know of what and whom I speak.”

Orlando nodded, his lips spreading slightly. “I do indeed,” he said. “I was so 
happy to hear that Sean had found you. I had tried to get you work here so you
would not be alone, but I think that you made the right choice.”

“I could not work for Mortensen,” Dom said, his face stony. “I to this day do 
not know how you managed all this time.”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Orlando assured him. “I will be leaving this place 
soon.”

Dom smiled and held up the letter. “I have something for you,” he said, 
remembering Orlando’s troubled sight.

A grin of delight spread across Orlando’s face at the words and the sight of the
folded letter in Dom’s hand.

“Would you like me to read it to you?” Dom asked, making to open it.

“May I?” Orlando asked, holding out an eager hand.

Dom’s brows furrowed in confusion. “But how will you read it?” he asked 
carefully, hoping to not offend his friend. He was relieved to see the secretive
smile spread across Orlando’s lips and in his eyes. 

“Though my husband does not know I have been regaining my sight. It is almost 
perfectly restored,” he said in a hushed yet excited tone. “I do but want to see
the marks of his hand, but I fear I am for too excited to properly decipher the
words…”

Dom smiled in understanding and handed Orlando the letter which was promptly 
opened and pulled to Orlando’s heart. The youth held it there for a moment 
before raising it to his lips and kissing it, inhaling the scent that still 
lingered deeply. “I can smell my Sean,” Orlando sighed, not caring how foolish
or lovesick he may sound. He unfolded the letter completely and looked upon the
written words, not quite able to take them in but reveling in the familiar 
shapes and curves. 

“Please,” he said, handing the paper back to Dom. “Read it to me.”

Dom took the letter and opened it again, letting his eyes adjust before reading
the words written in the rough script. 

“My dear Orlando Mortensen, I greatly enjoyed the past visit of you and your 
husband at my estates. I would like to invite you back for another stay if it 
would please you, as the absence of any family at the present time has made my 
return home a less than joyous time. Your company would be greatly appreciated 
at the end of this week until a time of your choosing. Please leave your answer
with my manservant, Mr. Monaghan so that I may make the proper arrangement. 
Yours, Lord Alec Trevelyan Lee.”

Dom looked up to see Orlando’s face light with a glow that warmed even his 
heart. 

“At last, he comes for me,” Orlando said softly, joy filling his voice as he 
wrung his hands in delight. “At the end of this week, so soon he will be able to
fetch me?”

Dom nodded. “We will be around Saturday to fetch you if you like.”

“Friday?” Orlando implored. “Please let it be Friday, I do not wish to wait 
another two days and three would be unbearable.”

“Friday it shall be then,” Dom said in a jestingly formal voice. “Shall I inform
my master that your lordship shall be ready come Friday morn?”

Orlando nodded emphatically. “Early, before the sun has chance to rise.”

Dom smiled and nodded, taking Orlando in another quick embrace. 


Out in the hall, Marton waited at the entrance to the closed door, his foot 
tapping slightly against the rich carpet. He did not like the feel of this 
house. It was not at all like his home at Sean’s manor, or even the little
cottage he lived in alone. This house was so still, though he was sure that 
there was plenty of activity within it. 

“Marton?”

The big Russian turned at the sound of his own name said by a soft voice and saw
Colin standing several feet from him, a look of confusion marring his handsome
featured and furrowing the Irishman’s brows. 

Colin stepped forward, a mixture of concern and joy warring in his eyes. “What
are you doing here?”

Marton smiled at him and beckoned him closer with a wave of his hand. “I come on
request of my master,” he said, the corner of his mouth tugging into a grin. 
“Dom has a letter for young Orlando. He is invited back to the Trevelyan Lee 
manor at the end of the week. You will come with him, of course?”

Colin grinned at the question and gripped Marton by the shirtfront, pulling his
mouth against his own.

Marton hummed in appreciation into the kiss and let his fingers run up Colin’s 
arms and into the fabric of his shirt as well. He opened his mouth and his 
tongue immediately was met by Colin’s, the soft muscles crushing together in 
urgency. 

When their kiss ended, Marton let his hands linger on Colin’s arms, thumbs idly 
rubbing the Irishman’s shirt clad skin. 

“I have thought of you,” he said, his voice deep and rumbling, a sound which 
made all of the blood in Colin’s body rush to his groin. 

“Have you then?” Colin asked with a quirk of his brow. “How have you thought of
me?”

Marton made a sound deep in the back or his throat, resembling the purr of a
great cat as he moved the slightest bit closer to the other man. The closer 
distance was enough to bring them flush up against each other. “I think of you
at night,” Marton purred. “I did not know thoughts of men could make me…grow.”

The warmth in Colin’s groin turned into a heat as he felt the evidence of 
Marton’s ‘growth’ against his hip. “Well…these certainly are interesting 
thoughts you have been having.”

“Yes…” Marton groaned. “I can’t wait to tell them to you on Friday.”

“Neither can I,” Colin said, taking hold of Marton’s hand and moving it to his 
own hardness. He hoped Marton would not be scared by the speed with which they 
seemed to be moving together, but when he felt those thick fingers tighten about
the steadily growing bulge at the front of his trousers, he felt that worry 
vanish. He groaned and slightly humped against the hand that cupped him, leaning
forward to capture Marton’s lips again.

Marton kissed him for a moment before pulling back. He looked down at the 
slightly shorter man and let his expression go a little more serious. “Will you
teach me…how to…love man?”

Colin looked at the Russian blankly for a moment before realization finally 
dawned on him. “Do you mean have….intercourse…with a man?”

The confused look in Marton’s eyes let Colin know he did not completely 
understand the word. He looked around to make sure that there was no one 
approaching that would catch them in their current position. He leaned forward 
and let his voice go quiet and he found different words. “Do you mean you want 
me to show you how two men have…sex…with each other?”

Marton nodded. “I don’t know how it is. I know with a man and a woman…it must be
the same, yes?”

Colin shook his head. “Well, there are many ways we can have sex…but we will 
both still be men.”

Marton smiled. “You will show me?”

Colin nodded. “I will show you.”

Marton gave Colin’s straining cock one last stroke before letting go, adjusting
his own trousers and the hard bulge that was inside. “We will not have time 
today,” he said. “Dom will be done with your friend soon.” Marton studied 
Colin’s face at the mention of Orlando as he was unsure of how the Irishman 
would react.

Colin nodded in understanding, looking at the floor and wringing his hands 
before him. “I don’t deny that a piece of me still aches for Orlando, but I know
I can never have him.” Colin lifted his eyes from where they had rested on the 
floor, his no longer trembling hands found a home on Marton’s shoulder. “I also
know that having you rids me of that ache.”

Marton smiled broadly, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “I am glad of that,” 
he said. “After Friday you will never wish for him again,” Marton promised. “I
will not let you.”

Colin laughed a little at the confident remark, the smile bringing a little 
color to his cheeks. He ran one rough hand through his spiky black hair before 
leaning forward to kiss Marton one more time. “I see you are going to leave me 
high and dry today with my little problem.” The Irishman pointed to his tented 
trousers with a devilish grin.

Marton quirked a brow and looked down appreciatively. “You are a big boy, you 
can take care of yourself I am sure.” The Russian reached forward and stroked 
Colin’s cock casually again with that deep purr. “I think…my own is bigger.”

Colin gave a look of mock righteous indignation and he reached down with his own
hand to cup Marton. He felt the hot bulge and molded it with his fingers. “I 
don’t know,” he said in a rough voice. “I think closer inspection will be 
necessary…”

Marton cracked a pleased and predatory grin and he stepped forward, pressing 
Colin back against the wall in a manner in which Colin had never been cornered 
before. It felt strange to be the smaller of the two and to know that if Marton
wanted, he could overpower him, but at the same time it excited him.

“I think we have time to compare now,” Marton said huskily.

Colin’s eyes darkened in lust and he took Marton’s hand and dragged him towards
the bathroom, grabbing the back of the Russian’s neck to crash their mouths
together. Hands were already pulling at clothes even before the door was slammed
shut.


Orlando and Dom stood together by the window, talking softly together of past
times and things to come. Dom explained to Orlando that he would be collected 
early in the morning in a carriage manned by himself and Marton. 

“If you need any help carrying your belongings, I think Marton should help as 
he is much stronger than I,” Dom said.

Orlando shook his head to stop Dom from speaking. “There is nothing that I wish
to bring with me beside Colin. There is nothing in this house that I hold dear 
besides him.”

“What’s going on here?”

Both immediately looked towards the new voice and saw Viggo standing in the
doorway, his elbow resting against the frame. 

“Who the hell let you in here? What do you think you are doing?”

Dom froze as he stared at the man he loathed and tried to find any sort of word
that was not just a screaming accusation. 

Orlando sensed his friend’s turmoil and stepped forward. “Dominic had a message
for me which he delivered. He will be on his way soon, and then I shall be
returned to my prison.”

Viggo’s eyes narrowed at the cold tone in Orlando’s voice and he stepped forward
with his hands on his hips. “Who are you?” he hissed at Dom.

“I am a servant of Lord Trevelyan Lee,” Dom said though nearly clenched teeth. 
“I had a message for Lord Orlando from my master.”

“You could have left it with one of my servants,” Mortensen growled. “My darling
was not to receive visitors.”

“It was instructed to me that I should deliver the message directly, as I was to
return to my master with Lord Orlando’s reply.”

“And to what exactly was he to reply to?” Viggo asked, his brows furrowing. 

“My master requested Orlando’s presence at his manor house for a visit.” Dom’s 
voice was short and clipped as he spoke to the blonde lord, and Orlando hoped 
that Viggo would not take offense for his young friend’s sake. 

Viggo narrowed his eyes and glared at Orlando. “We were just at Trevelyan Lee’s
manor house, why would he possibly want you to visit him again so soon?”

“The poor man is lonely, Viggo,” Orlando insisted. “He has no family here 
anymore and he is dealing with the loss of his father. If my presence in any way
soothes him than I am more than happy to go.”

Viggo sneered at his young spouse and stepped forward, grabbing Dom’s arm and 
pushing him towards the door. “Tell your master that my darling regrets to 
inform him that he will be unable to attend. He will not be so much as leaving 
his room until he learns to respect and obey his husband.” 

With a shove Viggo pushed Dom towards the door before turning his cold eyes to 
Orlando. “And as for you my lovely…you and I need to have a talk about this 
rebellious habit you have begun.”

Dom was unsure of what to do. He did not want to leave Orlando alone with the 
cruel man, but he could not think of a reason that he should stay. He stood by 
the door, his entire body tense as he waited for what was to happen next. 

“There is no reason that I should not be allowed to visit his lordship?” Orlando
asked, a confident air to his voice. “He is a good man that befriended me when 
all others have looked down upon me as though they were better than me…”

“That’s because they ‘are’ better than you, Orlando,” Viggo said in growing 
irritation. 

Orlando breathed in deeply through his nose and glared at his husband. “He is a 
better man than any of those pompous peacocks that you call friends and yet you
still think him lowly?”

Viggo slapped Orlando hard across the face, sending the boy stumbling backwards.
Dom stepped forward with a little cry but Viggo whirled on him and roared, “Get
out you worthless imbecile! And take your little love note with you!”

He took two menacing steps forward before the young man fled from the room. 
Viggo then slammed the door shut and turned back to Orlando who was standing in
the middle of the room, holding his reddened cheek with one hand. The rage 
inside Viggo swirled as he stared upon the one person that refused to obey him.
He stalked forwards and was even more angered when Orlando did not even flinch
before he grabbed his upper arms in bruising grips. 

“You dare to try and make such a decision without asking my permission?!” he 
thundered. “Especially to go and visit another man?” Viggo glared at Orlando and
tightened his grip again. “Give me one reason why I should not suspect you of 
having an affair with that man?”

Orlando rolled his eyes at the words, laughing a little as he tried to determine
what to say. “You are being ridiculous, Viggo,” he finally said.

The smack he received whipped his head to the side, making his curls bounce 
against the side of his face. He stumbled backwards but he did not fall. Even 
before he felt the pain in his lip where it had split he could taste the 
metallic blood that was in his mouth.

Viggo’s hands were on him again in a heartbeat, dragging him against the 
stronger man. 

“You will never speak to me in such a mocking tone” Viggo hissed, gripping 
Orlando’s curls hard and yanking his head back, making Orlando cry out in pain.
It was a noise that seemed to bring a little pleasure to Viggo’s eyes. “Now tell
me, my pretty little slut…give me one good reason why I should not think you are
adulterous with Trevelyan…and it had better be good.”

Orlando leaned forward a little, his whole face relaxing before a little smile 
crept across his lips. “Maybe you should,” he said smugly. “I am after all quite
the slut.”

Viggo’s rage boiled in rage as his hand cracked across Orlando’s face again, the
force of it this time sending Orlando to the floor. His fists clenched and 
unclenched at his sides, his entire body shaking in rage. Was he to believe 
Orlando? His beauty was far too clever for his own good…he would have to teach 
him that such cleverness had severe repercussions….

“You are mine, Orlando! Mine! You do as I say and nothing else! Now you listen 
to me, you will never see that man ever again…you will not speak to your 
precious Farrell either until you learn to obey me and heed my words. This 
disrespect and willfulness will end, or you will never again see outside of 
these four walls!”

Viggo snorted in amusement, his lips curling into a cruel sneer. “Well…walk 
outside this room, as we all know your sight no longer does you service.”

Orlando staggered to his feet, glaring at Viggo and wondering if his husband 
could even detect that he actually could see him before him. “So you are finally
dropping all pretense of me actually being your ‘wife’ as I know you and your 
bastard friends call me and keeping me as merely your whore?”

Again Orlando was sent to the floor by a powerful blow to his face. He looked up
at Viggo from where he lay crumpled on the floor and spat out the blood that 
filled his mouth from the splits to his lips. He wiped some of the sticky red 
fluid from his chin and looked up at Viggo with cold expressionless eyes.

“One of these mornings,” he said, the usually white teeth bared by his smile 
tainted red with his blood. “You will look for me, and I’ll be gone.”

Viggo stared hard down at the boy, the rage inside him mingling with the 
confusion of what to do and how to control the situation. Orlando was like a 
wild horse, unwilling to break or bend before its master. He was that sort of 
horse that could only be subdued by a bullet, but that in taking the bullet won
the battle of wills. Viggo refused to let Orlando win this battle, of he would 
have been able to bring himself to have Orlando put down…the boy was a rare 
beauty but was becoming quite a nuisance…he certainly would not be missed by 
many besides a few elderly lords and a couple headstrong servants.

The blonde lord shook his head. He had to clear his thoughts and he knew while 
he was near Orlando he would not be able to calm himself. He had to get away 
from the bewitching beauty before him.

“Say whatever comforts you, Orlando,” Viggo finally said in a harsh voice. “But
know that whatever silly fantasies you hold in that pretty little head will not
save you. You are mine, and no dalliances with some other lord will change that.
You may rot in this room but by god you will not leave it until you accept your
fate with me.”

Orlando did not say anything nor did he try and move from his place on the 
floor, but his eyes held Viggo’s and he swore he could see fear residing in 
those stormy orbs.

Without another word Viggo stormed from the room, roaring down the hall that the
door was to be locked and he was to be given any key that could open it on pain 
of immediate dismissal.


The next day passed excruciatingly slow for Orlando. He sat by his window from 
morning until night, watching the activity below him on the grounds of simply 
watching the path of the sun. He almost relished the pain in his lips and on his
cheeks for it gave him something to focus on. 

True to his stubborn word, Viggo had not let Colin in to see Orlando since their
fight. He had sent Mr. Crowe or Mrs. Huston to bring Orlando two small meals a
day. They were obviously from the table of the servants, as they were nothing 
exquisite, but they kept Orlando’s belly full and that was all that mattered to
him. 

The only regret he had was the swelling of his face. He had checked his bruises
in the mirror that morning and had found his right cheek swollen and red. His 
lips were split in three places alone the bottom and one alone the top, the 
lines of the cuts angry and throbbing. He tried to wet them with a warm towel in
the morning and then put the ice from his dinner water in a the towel and held
it against his wounds. 

Orlando had so wanted to look beautiful when Sean collected him. He knew that 
his lover would not mind how he looked. He knew that he could not have bathed 
since the moment they parted at Lee’s manor and Sean would still love and desire
him the same. 

Orlando, however, did care how he looked for Sean. It was the one time when he 
took pride in his looks. He wanted to look beautiful for Sean. 

He did not think of himself as handsome…Sean was handsome in his strong 
features, his bold eyes and cut jaw. He was solid, the essence of masculinity.
Orlando often worried if he was not worthy of such a man, as he himself was so
willowy and soft, his features so rounded and delicate. He never doubted himself
when he was with Sean though. All the insecurity melted away and he could think
of nothing else than how perfect Sean’s arms felt around him. 

He was most relieved when Viggo did not return to him that day or the next 
night. If he were to be caged, he would be caged alone. He wanted to tell Viggo
the truth of everything. He wanted to tell him that he had an affair with Colin,
that he had slept with Trevelyan, that Trevelyan was Sean. He wanted Viggo to 
know that he had failed in killing Sean, and that he would fail in keeping him 
as well.

Orlando smiled a little as he remembered the look on Viggo’s face when he had
threatened to disappear. Of course Viggo had sneered at him and looked at him
like he was a fool, but for a split second, he had been terrified. In that split
second Viggo had looked to Orlando like a little boy that had no idea of what to
do or say. That split second was enough for even Orlando’s poor eyes to catch 
the expression and give a sort of grim satisfaction to the youth. 

The beauty feared that during his time with Viggo he had become spiteful, but he
supposed that towards his horrid husband he was allowed a certain level of 
spite.

The second night was absolutely terrible. 

It had to be the slowest night of Orlando’s entire life, more horrible than even
his wedding night. He counted the seconds to try and speed up the time or at 
least occupy the cruel unending night, but eventually he gave up. He tossed back
and forth against his sheets, the cool fabrics heating up by the movements of 
his warm body. 

Though he was confident that his love would fetch him as promised, a small part
of Orlando feared something would go wrong. He feared that the carriage would 
never come, or worse that he would wake to fine the previous weeks a glorious 
dream and realize that he was doomed a cold and loveless life with Viggo. 

With every passing second his heart constricted a little more in his chest until
he was sure it would collapse. His whole body went tense with the agony of it 
all, and he nibbled on his hurt lips until he could taste more blood in his 
mouth. He hissed at the little hurt but in the end did not pay it much mind. 

He was not sure the hour, but it was quite a time later that there was a sound 
at the door. 

Orlando shot up in bed, staring hard at the locked doorway of his bedroom. There
was the faintest of a glow beneath the doorframe, and again there was a 
scratching noise which Orlando soon realized to be a key in the keyhole. 

The youth drew the comforter closer up around him, gripping it hard in white 
knuckled hands as he waited to see who was entering. To his knowledge his 
husband was the only one in the house that had a key, and he greatly worried 
that the blonde man had decided to pay him a late night visit to remind him of 
his place. 

The key finally turned and the door slowly opened, admitting a figure holding a
candle. 

The manner in which they moved did not remind Orlando of Viggo at all. It was 
much too fluid and dainty. It was the steps of a woman.

Orlando squinted his eyes in the darkness and tried to make out a face. He 
stayed rigid in bed until he could make out who the person was. 

After closing the door, the figure turned and searched about the dark room for
the bed and more importantly, Orlando. 

“Orlando, sir, are you awake?” came the woman’s hushed voice.

Orlando softened when he recognized Mrs. Huston’s voice. “Yes,” he said. He
furrowed his brows in confusion as to what the woman would be doing coming to 
him at this hour. She had barely spoken two words to him since he had arrived at
Walker Estates. She had shown kindness to him when he had been in fights with 
Viggo, often taking his side but never speaking to him in any other situation. 
He had always figured he disgusted her in some way…or was just indifferent to 
his presence.

“What is wrong, Mrs. Huston?” he asked softly, tilting his head in question. 

Mrs. Huston did not say a word, instead hurrying forward and settling her candle
on the bedside table and sitting down. 

“I come for your friend, Mr. Monaghan,” she said, settling a hand on Orlando’s 
shoulder.

The young beauty’s face lit up at the mention of his friend. “Is he here?” he 
asked excitedly, bracing his hands on the bed and making to stand. “Is he ready
for me?”

Mrs. Huston put her hands on his slender shoulders to calm him and spoke, her 
voice still quiet and hushed. “Your friend is waiting for you down at the end of
the road in the trees. The man Marton is downstairs with Mr. Farrell and they 
will take you to the carriage. I’ll fetch you some clothes from the wardrobe and
take you downstairs to them…we must hurry now!”

Mrs. Huston made to stand and Orlando quickly took her shoulder in hand. “Thank 
you,” he said sincerely, gratitude visible in the dark pools of his eyes even in
the dimly lit room.

She looked at him for a moment, her hard eyes softening a little as she cupped 
his cheek. She did not smile…Orlando in fact had never seen the woman smile but
he could sense a warmth coming from her that he could not often detect. 
“You get out this place,” she said. “We all deserve happiness…and it is so rare
we actually find it.”

“Would you like to come with us?” Orlando asked, his eyes widening in his 
sincerity. 

She shook her head, letting a great breath out through her nose. “I’ve dealt 
with him since he was a child, I think I can handle Lord Mortensen a few more 
years.” Mrs. Huston sighed again before patting Orlando’s arm and crossing to 
the wardrobe. She began to search through to find something for Orlando to wear
but the boy’s gentle voice stopped her. 

“There is no need,” Orlando insisted, standing from the bed in his long 
nightshirt and reaching for his soft robe.

“But sir, you can’t walk about at night in only your shift! You’ll catch your 
death of cold.” Mrs. Huston’s brows knit and her lips pursed as he resumed her
search through the wardrobe again. She did not hear as Orlando gracefully 
stepped down from the bed and walked to her side, stopping her with a hand this
time. 

“I want nothing that came from him,” he said evenly. “I shall be fine, I promise
you.”

Mrs. Huston pursed her thin lips again and with solid steps returned to the bed.
She stripped off a warm blanket and then crossed back to Orlando. The youth 
stood still and let the woman drape the blanket about him, wrapping it about him
to ensure he would stay warm and covered. 

Orlando could not hide the little smile that crept to his plump lips and so he 
turned his head to the side to mask it. “Thank you,” he managed, relenting.

“Are you ready then?” she asked. 

Orlando was about to nod but then he had an idea. 

“One moment!” he said excitedly before turning and rushing to his little desk 
that rested alone to the side. He had never needed it before but after returning
from Sean’s manor house he had asked for pen and paper to put in it. It was the
pen and paper he extracted now, settling it on the desktop before quickly 
writing out a note for Viggo. He made it as brief as he could, writing the words
that he knew would cause the greatest sting to the man’s pride. He was glad for
his newfound spite, it made him feel more free in a way.

Mrs. Huston crossed to him, looking in astonishment as Orlando’s hand flew 
across the paper. 

“I had not known you were so healed, sir,” she said, taking in the delicate yet
slightly sloppy script. “Does his lordship know of this?”

Orlando shook his head. “It has been my secret,” he said in a slightly 
conspiratorial voice. “My blindness was my salvation, and was in no hurry to 
lose the solitude it allowed.”

The woman seemed to understand though she said no more. She never was one to say
any more than was necessary. 

Once Orlando was finished with his letter, he pulled out another sheet and
penned a second, this one in a more careful hand. He raised his head as he 
thought of proper words to use, before lowering his eyes and finishing it. One 
he was done he pocketed it and the took up the first letter, which he placed on
the pillow on his bed. He looked at it contentedly for a moment before nodding 
and turning back to Mrs. Huston. She was at the door and checking the hallway, 
candle again in hand. 

“We had best hurry” she said, urging him on with a hand. “Marton is waiting 
downstairs for you.”

Orlando caught her again, feeling suddenly most self conscious. Once he had the
woman’s attention, he pointed timidly to his torn lips. “Does it look too 
horrible?” he asked softly. “I don’t know how to cover it.”

She clucked her tongue before patting his shoulder. “Never mind it,” she said, 
taking hold of his jaw and having a look at his battered face. “It’s not you 
that should be ashamed…maybe this whole thing will finally teach him a lesson in
manners…lord knows nothing else has.”

With that final reassurance, Orlando let himself be led through the quiet halls
and dark corridors. Their bare feet barely padded against the carpet and marble
of the various halls and stairways. Mrs. Huston kept a careful hand on Orlando’s
wrist, pulling him along behind her to ensure the pace was swift and to hold him
if he stumbled. Though his sight was quite good during the day, at night he was
all but lost. 

Orlando stumbled behind Mrs. Huston, holding the blanket around his form as he
wandered through the dark house for the last time. He was so excited that he was
actually going to be free of Viggo and his cruel ways and with the love of his 
life that he forgot to breathe. He remembered though when the burning of his 
lungs forced him to take in a deep breath. 

They left through the back servant’s entrance, Mrs. Huston pulling him along and
hissing for him to hurry every now and again. The words seemed to Orlando like
little slaps to the wrist, as he received from his mother when he was a little 
boy. He hurried behind her as best he could, though he was most disoriented due
to the fast pace. 

Before he knew it, they were around to the front of the house. The little 
pebbles and twigs in the grass hurt his feet but Orlando did not have a moment
to mind his wounds. All of a sudden, Mrs. Huston came to a halt, making Orlando
almost crash into her. 

“Why have we stopped?” he asked softly, to which he was rewarded with a little
hiss to indicate his needed silence. Orlando held the tips of his fingers to his
lips to keep quiet and waited. It was quite dark out, no lights illuminating the
grounds but the faint glow of the moon, making it nearly impossible for Orlando
to see. Feeling suddenly helpless, he moved closer to Mrs. Huston. He wrapped 
both arms around one of her, holding it tightly to his body like a small child 
would his mother. The woman did not seem to may it any mind as she looked about
for something. Orlando wanted to ask what she was looking for, but he did not 
want to be reprimanded again.

His dark eyes shot up when he heard the sound of heavy footsteps approaching 
them. He tightened his grip on Mrs. Huston’s arm and tried to hide behind her 
when he could make out a large figure moving towards them. He did not know who 
it was, and in a desperate attempt to hide from what could possibly be Viggo, he
ducked be hind Mrs. Huston, uttering a sharp cry when a hand reached out and 
took him by the arm.

The cry was cut off by another hand that quickly moved to cover his mouth, 
stifling any sound and a deep, rumbling voice softly shushed him.

“It’s me, Orlando, Marton. I have come to fetch you for Dom. Will you be quiet
now?”

Orlando nodded his head emphatically and the meaty hand was removed. The young 
beauty quickly turned and squinted his eyes to get a good look at the big 
Russian. He was overjoyed to finally make out some of his strong features and 
quickly reached up on tiptoe to wrap his arms about the man’s neck. 

“Thank you” he whispered in the man’s ear, planting a small kiss the man’s
stubbly cheek. He was warmed by the deep chuckle that rumbled from the big man’s
chest at his action, and he was happy to feel the secure burly arm about his 
waist.

“I see you have everything under control then?” Mrs. Huston whispered, wrapping
her arms about her as she watched the Russian handle the young man. 

Marton nodded. “Many thanks.”

“Thank you for everything,” Orlando said to her, reaching out quickly to give 
her an awkward hug to which she responded with one arm, patting the youth on the
back three times before pulling back. “Best luck to you, little one,” she said.

There was a faint sound behind them and they all turned to see a light moving 
through the lower level before a familiar face passed a window.

“Davenport…” Mrs. Huston mumbled, her eyes narrowing in frustration at she 
recognized her employer’s guard dog. “You had better hurry, if he sees you he 
will kill you,” she whispered. “I’ll hold him off for as long as I can, but I 
can’t keep him from following you…go!”

Marton quickly took Orlando’s hand and pulled him behind him. The young man 
stumbled behind him as they made their way to the cover of the trees, but the 
father from the house that they got, the more harsh the ground got. The more 
harsh the ground got, the more Orlando stumbled. Their pace was slowed as the 
boy tried to keep up on the unfamiliar terrain, his steps he had so carefully 
memorized now forgotten.

He managed to quell his yelp of surprise when Marton pulled him into his arms, 
carrying him against his chest. 

Orlando protested immediately, pushing against the big man’s chest with his 
hands. “Stop this foolishness!” he insisted. “I am perfectly capable of walking
on my own!”

Orlando’s face burned when Marton did not heed him. Again he pushed at the man’s
chest, flailing his legs in an attempt to get the man to drop him. “Let me 
down!” he cried, trying to keep his voice down in case they were being followed.

“You are too slow,” Marton insisted, holding Orlando tighter against his hest to
quell the youth’s squirming. “Hold still or you go over my shoulder.”

Orlando stilled at the firm words, uncertain if the man was bluffing but not 
doubting that the big Russian would actually do it. The young beauty finally 
relaxed in the man’s burly arms, feeling ridiculous as he was carried like a 
delicate maiden but finding it the more desirable alternative to being thrown 
across the man’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. 

In the end he put his arms about Marton’s neck and held tight, trying to be less
of a burden. Their pace certainly increased now that Marton did not have to drag
him through the trees. Orlando would have to find away to regain his lost 
dignity and remaining masculinity later.

Marton hurried fast through the trees, going through the thick of the wood in 
hopes of losing whoever might be following, namely Davenport. From the few times
he had encountered the man, Marton knew to be wary of him.

It was just that thought that was passing through his mind when the shot fired 
behind them hit the tree next to his head.

Orlando shrieked at the sound and cried out again as Marton tossed him to the 
side, immediately falling into the brush beside him. Marton pulled Orlando to 
him and drew himself over the youth, covering the smaller form with his sturdy 
body. 

“Quiet,” he whispered, holding a finger to his lips as he looked down at 
Orlando. The youth pressed his lips into a firm line to silence himself. He kept
his head down as Marton instructed and watched with brows furrowed in worry as
the Russian gradually raised his head to look. Orlando watched as he saw 
Marton’s brows knit and then the man leaned down again to Orlando, whispering 
hotly in his ear. 

“Don’t move,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’ll be close…be still, close your eyes no
matter what you hear.”

Orlando nodded, pulling the blanket tight about him and keeping his head against
the cool earth as he was instructed. He tried not to call after Marton when the
man crept on bent knee away from him, before hiding behind a great tree trunk.

A snap of a twig made his eyes instinctually jerk towards the origin of the 
sound, and Orlando trembled when he saw a boot moving towards him. He knew he 
had been told to keep his eyes shut, but he could not help looking up to see a
man step forward. 

“What do you think you are doing out here?” 

Orlando recognized Davenport’s voice and stilled when he saw the man‘s figure in
the darkness. “You are too much a wild horse,” he said evenly, walking over to 
the prone young man. “You need to be properly subdued.” The man cruelly kicked 
Orlando in the ribs, making the young man cry out before lashing out with a foot
of his own. Davenport smirked at this and crouched down, leaning forward to take
Orlando’s slender throat in his hands, tightening his grip and cutting off 
Orlando’s air supply. “You cannot be subdued, can you? Then like the wild horse
you are, you should be put down…”

Orlando’s eyes widened as he clawed at the man’s tightening hands. He could not
breath through the crushing grip, and his strength was quickly leaving him. He 
chocked as he tried to breath, his eyes darting for signs of Marton. 

With a roar Marton rushed forward, startling Davenport before slamming into him,
his greater weight driving the man to the ground and rolling them several paces 
away. 

Despite his orders to stay put, Orlando bounded to his feet and rushed to his
friend’s aid, crying out for him when he heard a great cracking sound. The 
blanket fell discarded to the ground as he hurried. He stopped dead in his 
tracks though as he saw Marton raise the rock and smash it down again against 
Davenport’s face.

Orlando’s hands flew to his face, covering his mouth as he saw his husband’s 
faithful hound’s face cave to the powerful blow of the rock clasped in his hand.

The Russian’s head reared back at the sound of Orlando’s horrified cry. He tried
to move his body to cover the bloody mess before him. “I told you not to look!”
he shouted. “Turn away!”

Orlando did without a second order, turning so fast that his stomach flipped in
distaste. He closed his eyes tight and tried to rid them of the image that had 
so recently lain before him. He knew the man had intended to kill him, but never
before his own eyes had he seen such brutality.

Orlando started when a gentle hand fell to his shoulder. He turned to see Marton
behind him. The man had some blood on his white shirtfront which startled 
Orlando, but the boy was determined to not let the little bit of blood frighten
him too much. Marton was his friend, he was a good man, he had just saved his 
life. 

“Are you alright?” Marton asked, laying his hands softly on Orlando’s shoulders.
“I am sorry for throwing you.”

“I’m alright,” Orlando insisted, tearing his eyes away from the blood and 
thinking not on the corpse of Davenport that lay only a few feet beyond. “Are 
you?”

Marton nodded. “A scrape or two. We must get going, Dom and Colin are waiting 
for us at the carriage.”

Orlando’s eyes brightened. “Colin is with you?”

Marton nodded. “He waits for us, he left earlier in the night. Are you ready to
go?”

Orlando nodded. “My blanket…”

Marton waited as the boy quickly fetched the discarded cloth from the dirty 
ground and wrapped it again about his shoulders. He turned back to Marton to see
the man eyeing him cautiously. It was quite evident that the large Russian 
worried he had frightened the boy too much with his violent display. Hoping to
ease the kind man’s mind, Orlando reached forward and took Marton’s hand in his
with a little smile. “May I walk this time?” he asked softly.

Marton smiled as well and closed his hand around Orlando’s, leading the man
quickly away from the ghastly scene. 

A short walk later they arrived at the road where the carriage was waiting.
Orlando saw Colin and immediately broke away from Marton, running to Colin and
wrapping his arms around his friend that he had not seen since his imprisonment.
After hugging Colin and kissing him soundly on the lips, he turned to Dom,
embracing his other friend with the same vigor and also giving him a sound kiss. 

When Colin saw the blood on Marton’s shirt the Irishman immediately rushed 
forward to his new lover, worry knit in his furrowed brows. “What happened?” he
asked worried. 

“The blood is not mine,” Marton assured him, taking Colin’s hand in his own and 
kissing the tips of his fingers. 

At Colin’s confused look, Marton murmured, “Davenport followed us,” to which 
realization filled Colin’s eyes and he nodded. 

“We should leave,” Marton said loud enough for Dom and Orlando to hear him as 
well. Al heads turned to him and each nodded in turn. Orlando held up a hand and
quickly uttered “Wait!” When he had the attention of the others, he smiled slyly
and then asked, “may we please stop in town before we leave?”

The big Russian nodded and then directed Orlando and Dom into the carriage and 
he and Colin took their place atop. Colin started the horses and the carriage 
started off, leaving Walker Estates for the last time.

“What do you mean you can’t find him?” Viggo hissed to the young serving girl 
that stood before him. “It’s not as if Davenport could just disappear, which 
means you must not have looked hard enough. Check his quarters, and near 
Orlando’s room.” Viggo thought on this then shook his head. “No, don’t do that.
Check his chambers, and about the lower levels. I need to go pay my pretty 
Orlando a visit.”

The blonde man gave the girl a sharp looks before standing with a sigh, turning
his neck to the side until it made a popping noise and he groaned in
satisfaction. It had been too long since he last visited Orlando, and he decided
that he was in the right mood to make his little beauty bend to his wishes…or 
just bend altogether. 

Viggo was in need of release, and he was sure that his lovely’s spiteful mouth 
would do just fine. Those pouting lips would feel so very good stretched around
him. And if his beauty threatened him with teeth, he would merely turn him over
and take him like the bucking horse he insisted on acting as. 

His gait was brusque as he walked, eager to get to Orlando and make use of the 
boy. He was ready to show his darling a little discipline, and he was actually 
looking forward to Orlando’s unrelenting spirit that day…it could prove quite 
amusing…

Viggo approached Orlando’s door and was about to search for the key when a light
caught his eye. Viggo’s stormy eyes narrowed when he realized that the light was
coming from the open door, the sun shining through into the hall. He didn’t know
who had opened that door but they were going to need to be finding a new place 
of employment…

The blonde lord stepped forward and pushed the door open with a rigid hand. His
stone eyes were set on the room before him, and he could feel his blood boil 
when he did not see any sign of his beautiful spouse. He stormed into the room,
looking about as though he expected Orlando to suddenly appear from the walls or
a shadowed corner, but he did not. Viggo rushed to the rumpled bed, tearing away
the sheets and comforter with a roar as he continued his pointless search. He 
was about to tear away the pillows but stopped when a neatly folded note caught
his attention. 

Viggo’s brows furrowed as he picked up the paper, unfolding it with stiff 
fingers. His gray eyes ghosted across the poor but steady handwriting.

- I had an affair with Colin. I also had an affair with Alec. Call me a whore,
but at least I am no longer your whore. I have left you for a better man and the
only man I have ever really loved. Do not try and find me. The next time I shall
contact you it will be with my divorce papers. Kindly forward them to my new 
solicitor.

Orlando -

Viggo’s hands shook with rage as he stared at the paper they held. His entire 
frame began to shake before he finally let out a deafening roar. In a moment of
fury Viggo tore the paper to pieces, crushing the remains in his hands before 
throwing them to the floor. His face was red with rage as he roared again to the
empty room. He grabbed the first thing he could, a pillow, and threw it across 
the room. He finally began to grab at anything he could: pillows, blankets, a
water basin and dish, a chair, and he began to throw them about, slamming some 
against the wall and smashing others with his fists alone.

There was a commotion outside, but none of the arriving servants dared intrude 
on their master’s fit. They all waited outside the doorway, their hands covering
their mouths as they listened to the sounds of destruction coming from inside. 
Little whispers and rumors began to float about. It soon became clear to most 
what could have been the possible reason for their lord’s state, as his 
beautiful spouse was nowhere to be found.

Mrs. Huston pushed through them, rolling her eyes at the whispering girls and 
inquisitive men. “Get back to work,” she ordered. “There is nothing more to 
see.”

The group of servants disbanded when the stony woman snapped more orders at 
them, still quietly muttering to each other as they went about their business.
Mrs. Huston watched them leave for a minute before entering Orlando’s room, 
closing the door behind her. 

Viggo whirled on her with a reddened face, rage in his eyes. “Get out of here
this second,” he seethed.

“While you are flailing about like a discontented child? I think not,” she said
coolly. 

Viggo spun on her but the woman did not so much as flinch. 

“Is there something you wanted?” Viggo hissed. “Or did you come in here just to
vex me?”

“I have much more important things to do with my day than vex you, sir,” she 
assured him.

“Then go do them!” he shouted, his fists clenching at his sides.

“I am sir,” she said, folding her arms before her. “your solicitor is here to 
see you.”

Viggo bared his teeth to her in irritation before flexing his fingers. “Do I 
look like I am ready to receive company at the moment, woman?!”

Mrs. Huston sighed before opening the door and gesturing for him to walk through
it. “He said it was of the utmost importance, sir.”

Viggo growled in frustration but in the end took a deep breath and smoothed back
his hair. “Alright…tell him to meet me in my study.”

“Oh, he’s already there, sir,” she said, crossing her arms before her chest. “I
assumed you would like to speak to him and directed him there.”

Viggo narrowed his eyes at her as he passed by. “How presumptuous of you,” he
said, stalking past and into the hall. He did not wait for Mrs. Huston to say 
anything else and instead heading to the study, ready to just tell Mr. Oldman to
leave and come back some other day when he was in better spirits. 

Throwing the doors open Viggo prepared to yell at his mousy solicitor, but was 
stopped at the man’s wan face and his nervous voice when he said, “I really do 
not appreciate the situation you placed me in today, Mr. Mortensen!”

Viggo’s brows furrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“The situation today with your husband! I informed Orlando that before making 
withdrawals it is customary to have both signatures, but as he had your note 
there was not much I could do to deny him…I just wish you would have accompanied
him…especially to make such a sizable withdrawal…”

Viggo stood frozen. He could feel the world around him contracting onto him and
all he could do was stand and shout, “what the bloody hell are you talking 
about?!”

Mr. Oldman froze, his beady eyes wider than Viggo had ever seen them before. He
visibly shrank from the formidable blonde lord and folded his fingers together.
“The withdrawal you requested in your letter, saying that you were busy and 
therefore entrusting the handlings of the funds to your spouse…”

Viggo was shaking now. His teeth were clenched together and through the pressed
teeth he hissed, “I never wrote a notice to you.”

Mr. Oldman continued to wrought his hands together. “You mean you…didn’t…write 
the notice?”

“That’s what I just said, you imbecile,” Viggo grated.

“But Orlando…h-he had it…h-he was s-s-so insistent that it was of the utmost 
imp-portance. I did not want to question him too much as he is after all your 
husband…”

Viggo fumed, but all he could manage to say was, “How much?”

“Sir?” Mr. Oldman managed. 

“How much money did that little whore take from me?!” Viggo roared, the sound 
filling the small room and making Mr. Oldman shrink from him.

“I advised against it sir, I told him that such a substantial amount was not 
wise to remove from the accounts…”

“HOW MUCH?!”

“All but fifty dollars, sir…that as the maximum amount that the bank would allow
him to withdraw.”

Viggo’s eyes narrowed murderously as he breathed hard through his nostrils. His
fists clenched and unclenched several times, there was nothing else he could do
at the moment.

“I’ll kill him…” he hissed. 

Mr. Oldman did not know what to do when the blonde lord stalked towards him, 
cringing and raising his arms to protect himself from the blow he was sure was 
coming. He looked up in surprise when Mortensen just passed him by and continued
to his desk. It was there that the blonde man pulled open a drawer and took out
a pistol. Mr. Oldman’s eyes widened when he saw the pistol and he shrank back,
terrified that the man was intending to use the weapon on him.

Viggo loaded the gun with a deadly calm look to him, though in his eyes and
tense shoulders was the rage that was still just as strong. Once loaded, Viggo 
placed the pistol in his pocket and walked straight to Mr. Oldman. “What about 
the rest? My stocks for my companies…did he have a note for those too?”

Mr. Oldman paled even further. “Well…I tried to tell you before sir…about the 
stocks…”

“What about them?” Again Viggo breathed heavily through his nose.

“A majority of the stocks were bought by a single investor…I tried to warn you 
that such purchases are dangerous as it puts your company assets in a weak 
position…”

“Just say it!” Viggo ordered with a shove to the man’s shoulders. 

“As I had tried to warn you they were sold!” Oldman confessed. “And sold for 
barely a fraction of what they are worth!” Mr. Oldman swallowed loudly. “I am 
sorry sir, but unless you can find an alternative means to fund your company…you
are going to have to sell it…”

Mortensen suddenly grabbed Mr. Oldman by the front of his shirt and yanked him 
forwards. “Who bought it?” he demanded.

“I can’t be certain sir…I investigated and I can only tell you a guess…”

“Tell me!” 

Mr. Oldman jumped at the blonde lord’s roar. 

“I think it was Lord Trevelyan Lee, sir! It was his solicitor that made all the
transactions…”

Mr. Oldman did not even have a chance to finish before Viggo shoved him back 
before turning around and storming out of the room, shouting for Davenport at 
the top of his lungs.

Davenport was still nowhere to be found. Viggo would normally want his loyal
manservant to accompany him, but at that moment he could not wait for him. He 
would deal with Davenport’s inefficiency later. He instead called for Mr. Crowe
to accompany him, deciding that the bulky man would have to do. 

They rode like the wind to Trevelyan’s manor. Viggo clutched the pistol the 
whole way. He would shoot Trevelyan first, and make the whore watch, and then he
would dispatch his treacherous little beauty. 

He daydreamed of their impending deaths the entire way. His mind refused to stop
thinking of all the times the little witch had deceived him, played him the 
fool. He could not believe Orlando would give his body to a common nothing like
Farrell, and willingly no less. That more than anything was the greatest insult.
At least Trevelyan Lee was of somewhat noble birth…that insult could have been 
suffered after Orlando was properly punished but not the both. 

Though the journey took hours, as soon as the coach came to a halt Viggo jumped
down from it. He did not so much look back to see if Mr. Crowe followed him, 
instead he stormed up the front walk to the manor house.

“TREVELYAN!!!!!!!!!” Viggo roared. “SHOW YOURSELF!”

He brandished the pistol, awaiting any sign of the man. “I’ve come for my whore!
Give him to me!”

Viggo waited, breathing heavily through his nose. He stood with his weight on 
one leg, his hip cantered with his pistol at his side. He scoffed when no one 
appeared, and taunted the man again. “Are you not man enough to face me? I 
challenge you Trevelyan! Stand and face me!”

“It is I that challenge you.”

Viggo looked to the side of the house and saw a blonde man approaching. His face
was smooth, and he walked with a confident swagger though he was dressed in the 
simple clothing of a groundsman, brandishing two rapiers.

Viggo narrowed his eyes to try and see the servant’s face better. “I have no 
time for you,” he sneered. “Call out your master, if he be man enough to face 
me.”

“I am the master of the house,” the man said. “Though my name is not Alec 
Trevelyan Lee.” At Viggo’s confused look, he tilted his head, a sly smile 
spreading on his lips. “Do you not remember me, Mortensen? Pity…one should 
always recall the face of a man they try to kill.”

Viggo’s eyes narrowed and again he looked. Upon closer examination, he saw the
featured he knew to be his rival lord’s. The nose, the eyes…gone was the beard 
and the man’s hair had been cut shorter and was lighter than he remembered it.
Without the few simple changes, the man resembled someone Viggo had not thought
of in over a year…

“You? That servant from Lee’s household? The one who was to marry my whore…”

Sean’s eyes darkened, he took a rapier in his free hand and pointed it in 
Mortensen’s direction. “Never again shall you use that to describe my love.”

Viggo smirked, raising his pistol in mock salute. “I shall call him what I wish,
as he is mine, and I shall call him what he is. He sold himself cheap for the 
lives of a few servants. He took it like a whore too…”

Sean’s emerald eyes darkened and he stepped closer. “I challenge you for the 
honor of him that you have so horrendously dishonored. Do you accept my 
challenge, or are you not man enough?”

“I am more man than you shall ever hope to be,” Viggo sneered, holding out a 
hand for the second rapier. “It shall be a pleasure gutting you.”

Sean said nothing as he tossed the rapier to Mortensen. The blonde lord caught 
it easily, turning it twice in his hand before setting a strong grip on it. He 
put his pistol back in his belt. He knew he would not need it, for this commoner
could pretend all he wanted at dinner parties and social settings, but he could
not pretend to know the art of using a blade. An art which Viggo was quite 
versed in.

“Sean wait!”

Both turned to see Orlando running towards them, clad in simple clothes just as
his lover was, the shirt too large for him and hanging from his shoulders. 

“And there he is, the little harlot appears to see his lover’s final moments.” 
Viggo said in a snide voice, even offering his spouse a little theatrical bow. 
“I’d let you keep the little whore,” he said to Sean. “If I didn’t so badly want
the pleasure of running him through, maybe even before I kill him.”

Orlando paled a little but still neared them, going to Sean and beseeching his 
lover. “Sean please, don’t fight him…he is skilled with a blade and I will not 
risk losing you again.”

Sean shook his head and gently pushed Orlando away. “It must be done,” he said 
softly, kissing Orlando’s lips tenderly. 

Orlando shook his head. “I don’t care Sean, I’ve filed for divorce…it’s over 
now…let us leave him here…”

“No, Orlando,” Sean said. “I have to do this…I have much to avenge.”

“Enough with talk then and let’s get to it!” Viggo ordered, preparing his stance
as he readied his blade. He lunged forward, swiping at Orlando first but Sean 
managed to step forward in time, parrying the blade before it could harm the 
beauty. 

“Get back, Orlando!” Sean ordered. 

The fight began.

Both man calculated the other, taking swings and lunging to test the skill of 
the other. Viggo was indeed more skilled than Sean, but the Yorkshire man was 
quicker. Sean took a swing and miscalculated his step, falling forward a little
and losing his footing just long enough for Viggo to catch him with a strike
across his ribs. 

Orlando cried out, barely able to keep still as he saw a thin line of blood 
spread across his love’s ribs. He wished he had a blade as well, or that he 
could reach Viggo’s pistol long enough to take it from him. He hated feeling so
useless in this situation, having to just watch on helplessly. He looked back to
the house and was relieved to see Colin, Marton and Dom headed their way. He 
whipped his head back and forth, keeping an eye on the two fighting alpha males
and then his approaching friends. When he looked back to Viggo, he saw a man he 
recognized as Mr. Crowe approaching them. The man had a look of confusion on his
handsome face, but did not make a move to aid his master. 

Viggo hissed when Sean’s blade caught him past the shoulder. Though the wound 
did but sting a little, it did knock him down from his solid confidence he had.
Their rapiers clashed against each other, thrust and parried with matched 
enthusiasm and growing fatigue. Both fought with all they had, and both were 
beginning to realize that neither would cave before the other. 

Sweat shone on the men’s brows, as did it on the brows of those that watched. 
The small crowd fixed in rapt attention. Marton had his strong hands on 
Orlando’s shoulders, and Colin had an arm about the youth’s waist. Orlando 
clutched Dom’s hand with all the strength he had in himself, biting his lip to 
keep from shouting out and possibly distracting Sean. He prayed that Sean would 
not be hurt or killed, though at that moment it was not at all clear who might 
hail victorious. 

Mortensen swung again at Sean but his blow was evaded, as most of his had been 
before. His hand stung from a cut he had received to the top. He shoulder stung
from that blow as well. He knew the man before him had his own stings and 
injuries, but he was not fading as swiftly as Viggo would have liked. 

Deciding that he had had enough of the child’s play, he slowly moved his fee
hand to his belt and removed his pistol, cocking it and quickly firing without
properly aiming.

Orlando screamed and ran forward when the shot was fired and Sean fell to the 
ground. The youth fell to his knees beside his love, looking for where he had 
been shot and seeing blood bloom at his shoulder. 

“You bastard!” Orlando shouted at Mortensen. “You honor-less monster!” He 
cradled a gasping Sean to his chest, checking the wound and protecting his 
fallen lover from Mortensen’s blade. “Are you so incapable that you must resort
to treachery? You are pathetic!”

Mortensen growled at Orlando and moved towards the beauty brandishing his blade,
ready to strike. 

He was struck from the side by Colin as the Irishman slammed into his with a 
mighty roar. The two fell to the ground and the sword fell for a moment from 
Mortensen’s hand. Both scrambled for it while Sean reached for his own rapier
even as Orlando held the weakened man back.

Mortensen reached for the sword first and slashed it at Colin, catching the 
Irishman across the ribs and middle. Colin cried out as he fell to the ground, 
but Mortensen did not have time to revel in the victory as he was caught across
the face by one of Marton’s meaty fists, the rapier again lost from his grip and
this time tossed away. 

The blonde lord fell to the side with a curse, watching as the big manservant
rushed to Colin’s aid, pulling the bloodied Irishman away from the scene.

Mortensen shook his head to stop it from spinning. He pressed his palm to his 
forehead in hoped of settling his eyes and held out his free hand to stable 
himself. “Crowe!” he shouted to his servant. “My blade! Get me my blade.”

The big servant did not move forward, instead crossing his arms about his broad
chest and shaking his head in objection. 

“Get me my sword you worthless bastard!”

“I’ll get you your sword!”

Mortensen looked down in time to see the blade of Sean’s rapier as Dom thrust it
into his stomach. 

The blonde lord’s gray eyes widened in shock, his mouth falling open in a silent
cry as his hands fumbled for the handle of the rapier. He looked up into Dom’s 
face to see the scowl marring the normally tender features before the young man
twisted the blade in his bowels, wrenching a strangled grunt of pain from his 
mouth. His face was twisted in agony, red with color, the veins on his forehead
and throat straining. A thread of saliva fell from his trembling lower lip to
the ground.

“For Elijah,” Dom hissed through clenched teeth to men man he so hated and
despised before wrenching the blade up, tearing the man open. 

Mortensen’s eyes widened in recognition of the name before he fell to his knees,
sliding off the rapier that had slit him. He fell to the grassy earth with a 
dull thud, no longer moving or breathing. 

Dom looked down upon the body of the odious man with a sort of grim 
satisfaction. He had not intended to kill Mortensen, but the rage had come over
him in those final moments and he had taken the sword from Sean’s hands and done
the deed himself. They had each had their piece of the man before he was 
dispatched, as they each deserved.

Finally wrenching his eyes free from the still form Dom turned to his friends.
He saw Marton supporting Colin with an arm about his waist, Colin’s arm draped 
over the big man’s shoulders as he limped closer. He had two slashes across his
torso from Mortensen’s blade, but they appeared to only have cut his flesh. They
would certainly leave crude scars, but would by no means take his life. 

All looked to Orlando and Sean, who were locked in an embrace several paces 
away. Orlando clutched Sean to his chest, tears steaming down his face as he 
held a hand over the bleeding would in the blonde man’s shoulder. He finally let
out a cry and kissed the top of Sean’s head, rocking him back and forth. All 
were relieved to see Sean’s hand rest atop Orlando’s, his chest rising and 
falling steadily. 

“It’s over,” Orlando cried into Sean’s golden hair, kissing his crown again and
holding him tightly. It’s all finally over.”