All My Broken Dreams (Locksley Hall #1)

Chapter Twenty

R obbie’s voice was slurry with sleep. “Sarah was underage when he got her pregnant. That’s statutory rape. The Black is not a good man. Maybe that’s why Harry bolted. Maybe he found out the truth about his biological father.”

“Maybe,” Deacon said, wishing she would just let it go. “The law is different here. Girls and boys can have sex at a young age and it’s not illegal. The age of consent in Scotland is sixteen. In Germany it’s fourteen.”

“What is his real name? Do you know?”

“I know his name,” Deacon said roughly. “There’s a reason he uses an alias. People are out to get him, tear him down. He’s had to defend himself his whole life.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult him. I just wondered if you knew who he was. He matters to you, doesn’t he?”

“He’s my uncle. He raised me from boyhood. I’ll not hear a word against him.”

He was curt with her. He wanted her to shut up, to keep her out of this. But it was too late for that and Deacon knew it was too late.

“The Black is your uncle?” Robbie’s tone was flat. “My brother Harry’s father is your uncle. What else haven’t you told me, Deacon Wake? How many other secrets are you keeping?”

He could feel her spirit pull away from him and after being so intimate with one another, it was a terrible loss.

“I found out he was Harry’s father at the same time you did. Your brother was my cousin and I didn’t know it and I should have known. My uncle is a hard man, but he has his reasons for doing what he does. If Harry was his son, then he’s suffering far worse than either of us.”

Robbie gazed at him. “Why are you talking about Harry in the past tense?”

Deacon could’ve cut his tongue out. “It’s just my way. I didn’t know him as my cousin. I won’t credit it as fact until we hear it from Harry himself and he can produce the letter. The Black could have invented the story to put an end to your search.”

“Is that something he would do? That’s diabolical. I was going to call my mom and tell her what I learned. Maybe I should hold off until I have all the facts. If I get this wrong, Sarah will never let me live it down.”

“It’s late,” Deacon grunted. “We should get some sleep.”

“Don’t forget you’re taking me to the cat colony in the morning.”

“I won’t forget.”

With his arm draped around her, he was amazed that she was still in his bed. That they had pleasured one another and that she wanted to do it again. That she wasn’t in a hurry to go.

He wished they could stay like this for the month that he had left with her. She had to leave at the end of the fall semester whether she found Harry or not.

She wouldn’t find Harry. Robbie’s brother, Harry, was dead.

The words were stuck in his brain on repeat. Harry Listowel was dead. That friendly, eager mountain of a man who played football and was crazy about books, was dead.

Harry, his cousin–a cousin he didn’t even know he had until a few hours ago.

Anger bloomed in Deacon’s gut. The rage that was always simmering in the depths of his being threatened to erupt to the surface. Casey was his target. Casey knew all three of them were related and didn’t say a word. When he got him alone, Deacon was going to thrash him to within an inch of his life. Not even Alastair would save the bastard this time. Seeing his cousin’s face black and blue would make whatever punishment he had to take worth it.

Harry was dead.

Deacon’s eyes burned with unshed tears.

Robbie shifted under his arm. He pulled the duvet up higher to cover her bare shoulders.

How was he ever going to tell her?

◆◆◆

The summons came when they were with the cats. Robbie had brought one of Harry’s knitted scarves for the cat box to keep the kittens warm when their mother was off hunting. Deacon was in the middle of constructing a makeshift roof to keep the snow off the cat box when his phone buzzed with a text from Alastair Manderville.

His presence was requested at an early morning meeting at Locksley Hall in the dining room reserved for Fuil Bratach.

“I have to go,” he said. “I’ll walk you back to the flat. We can pick up some breakfast on the way.”

“Is it him?” She paled. “Harry’s father? He wants to see you.”

“Yes.”

“Are you going to tell him about us?”

“No. We best keep that to ourselves, Robbie.”

“I’m not ashamed, Deacon. We didn’t do anything wrong. Are you sorry it happened?”

He met her eyes. “You know that I’m not.”

They had awoken early and reached for each other for another hour of sex play that brought them both to the brink of breaking their rule of ‘everything but.’ Deacon barely stopped himself that time. They were playing with fire and Robbie was the only one who didn’t know how badly she could be burned.

“It’s for your sake,” he said. “You don’t want to be seen in a relationship with the custodian of Locksley Hall. Not with this lot. They’ll never let you live it down.”

“I don’t care about that.”

He ducked his head, focused on the cat to avoid her scrutiny. “You say that now. One day, your feelings might change. You don’t want to be stuck with our acquaintance on your record. This meeting is going to be about nothing, Robbie. He probably wants a bulb changed in one of the rooms. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“Go ahead then. I’ll hang out here a while longer.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded. “I have to get used to this. It’s not bad here with all the stone buildings. If I’m not going to be stuck with your acquaintance, I can’t get dependent on you to bring me outside. I have to learn to do this on my own.”

“You have my number if you need me, right?”

“Go. I’m fine.”

He believed her. He didn’t know why he believed her. Probably because it was convenient. Alastair’s request to join them at the Hall was not a request. Even so, Deacon didn’t have it in him to disobey his uncle. Or make him wait while he walked Robbie home.

He hurried down the narrow alley, jogging in the direction of the tradesmen’s entrance at Locksley Hall. The snow had let up at least. He hated leaving her alone. He hated what he was running to even more.

Robbie caressed the mother cat for a moment before lifting her kittens to her lap. The mewling balls of fur comforted her. She leaned against one of the four stone walls and stretched out her legs. Harry’s scarf had one of them tangled. Its tiny paw was caught in the weave.

Maybe the scarf wasn’t the best idea. Harry didn’t take it with him wherever he’d gone. Probably wasn’t cold enough. The scarf had been knitted for New York State winters by a craftswoman in Ithaca. Sarah gave it to her son when she thought he’d be attending Cornell University.

Harry had a trick up his sleeve. He fooled both of them with his disappearing act.

Robbie’s thoughts were pulled in a far more interesting direction. Deacon Wake. Sleeping with him was completely unexpected and probably the worst thing she could have done.

Probably.

After vowing she wouldn’t get distracted, she got distracted.

That thing he did with his tongue….. This morning when they woke up, he fingered her to climax and then used his two fingers to penetrate her. And the way he did it … he made it feel like she was being fucked so slowly, taking his time, watching her come for a second time….

They held each other’s gaze when he touched her; a moment that she would never forget. The connection between them was heated, erotic … an orgasm all on its own. Like they were the only two people in the world.

His cock was massive. She only had one reference point to compare him to, but Deacon’s penis struck Robbie as being exceptional. He told her he was the usual size, that it was being with her that made him like that.

But he refused to have sex with her. Sexual intercourse. She knew they were having sex but the more they touched and groped each other, the more she wanted to have him inside her.

It was making her hot and crazy even now just thinking about it. Thinking about the moment he would stuff that hard cock inside her willing, wet vagina.

“Oh lord,” she breathed. “Gotta stop doing that, Robbie. You still have to walk home.”

She placed the kittens back in the box with their mother and got to her feet. The mother cat was snuggled in the folds of Harry’s scarf so it turned out to be a good call.

When she thought about Deacon and seeing him again, her anxiety nearly vanished. At least to the point that it didn’t interfere with her stepping into the street to find her way home.