The Heart of Summerlin (1/5)
Masterpost and Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Epilogue | Bonus material
Two years later
As the youngest of five, Brendon Urie had always had the good fortune of being able to slip under the radar when plots for family advancement were on the table. The Uries were a trading family of little consequence as far as name and station went-a long line of merchants, sailors and foot soldiers until Brendon’s grandfather saved the young Lord Austin’s life at the battle of Thrushcross and got awarded a barony for his troubles-but with a fleet of nine ships sailing around the world, their annual income was substantial.
What they really wanted, however, was a charter from the king, allowing them to set up their own trading routes to Africa and the East Indies. And with three of five children married very strategically to foreign merchants (and one daughter making a most admirable career in the Royal Navy), all they really needed to achieve their goal was a strong connection to someone at court who would vouch for them and promote their interests.
Which is how Brendon found his luck changing and was called into his father’s study one day, being told, quite unceremoniously, that he was about to be most advantageously married.
Spencer felt his carriage come to a halt and took a deep breath, straightening his cravat self-consciously before stepping out into the empty street. Just as the coach drove off, he heard a voice calling from somewhere behind him, and when he turned around, he saw a young nobleman running towards him with a big cap sack on his back.
“Wait!” the man called out, running past Spencer and going after the coach, slowing to a stop and swearing loudly as it disappeared around a corner.
He turned around, and Spencer found himself suddenly face to face with the man he had been trying to ban from his thoughts for the past two years. The man from the wedding-a little older and decidedly less put together, but unmistakably one and the same.
He was still devastatingly beautiful.
“Sir Urie.”
The man wheeled around, looking alarmed, then confused, until a smile of recognition lit up his face. “My Lord of Summerlin! What a coincidence.”
“Indeed,” Spencer said, trying not to stare as Brendon took off his top hat and pulled a hand through his hair. “Um. Are you-um. Are you well?”
“Very well, thank you,” Brendon replied, though something about his voice made Spencer frown. “And yourself?”
“Also well. Your family?”
“Couldn’t be better,” Brendon replied, and this time, Spencer heard a definite catch in his voice. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to think of something else to say.
After another moment of uncomfortable silence, Brendon pursed his lips. “Well, goodbye, I guess.”
Spencer blinked in surprise. “Goodbye?”
Brendon nodded, one corner of his mouth lilting up into a half-smile that made Spencer feel uneasy. “I’m leaving London.”
“What?” It was really an incredibly rude question, however valid. They barely knew each other, and it was really none of Spencer’s concern as to where Brendon was going or why. Or so he told himself firmly, pushing down the sudden paralysing feeling that started to creep up his spine.
Brendon readjusted the sack he was carrying, rolling his shoulder where it was digging in. “It seems my father made a deal with the devil. Or the serpent would be more appropriate, I suppose, though the metaphor is the same in the end.” At Spencer’s confused face, Brendon laughed. Spencer liked the laugh about as much as he had liked the half-smile. “My father has, in his quest for family advancement, promised my hand to Lord Saporta.”
Spencer’s skin prickled. Lord Saporta was... an interesting character. Not necessarily a bad person, and he was definitely on the guest list of every to-do in London that mattered to anyone, but. Gabriel had accumulated a reputation of sorts over the years for flirting with everything that moved and collecting rare, exotic-and often less than legal-reptiles from all over the world. Suffice it to say that Lord Gabriel Saporta was a gentleman in only the loosest sense of the word. Surely Brendon’s father had to realise this. “Lord Gabriel Saporta? The Viscount of Ramsgate?”
Brendon nodded. “The very same. If my father has any say in the matter, anyway. And I aim to see that he doesn’t. My-” Brendon paused, unsuccessfully trying to hide a grimace, “-intended came calling at the house today, with one of his friends. The Earl of Lancaster, Lord William Beckett, I think. Do you know him? The viscount introduced him as his most intimate friend. And then both of them spent the entire visit looking like they wanted to eat me.”
Brendon looked away, seemingly very ill at ease. Spencer sympathised fully; the Earl of Lancaster was even more notorious than his friend, and the two of them together frequently kept the gossip mill at court fed with the most scandalous and decadent rumours. No wonder Brendon was running away.
“Augh.” Brendon shook his head, “I apologise. I’ve been babbling about my own worries when you look exhausted, my lord.” He turned around, looking down the street and raising his hand to stop a coach.
“Marry me,” Spencer blurted, instantly wishing he could turn back time when Brendon wheeled around, eyes wide.
“Forgive me,” Spencer hurried to say, head spinning as he tried to think of something to limit the damage. “That was unforgivably forward of me. I just-” An image of fire flashed across his mind. A few months back, a rogue dragon had ravaged the Southern counties, and though Spencer’s estate had been left mostly unharmed, many others had not been so fortunate, and the court was full of high lords and ladies seeking financially beneficial alliances this season. The Uries were successful merchants, and if Brendon’s parents were shopping for a title for their son, maybe Spencer could-
“I’m in a bit of a desperate situation myself,” he ventured, carefully choosing his words. “And I know it’s terribly uncivilised for me to even propose this, but perhaps we could help each other?”
“How?” Brendon’s eyes were, if possible, even wider than before.
“I need funds. The dragon rampage this winter charred my estate and has drained me with necessary repairs,” Spencer said, wincing inside at the lie. “You need a title. We could strike a bargain.”
“By getting married?” Brendon sounded almost faint. “You’re a marquess! I couldn’t-I’m sure there are plenty of people of higher standing who-”
“I’m also the brother of two younger sisters,” Spencer interrupted him. “They have their titles, but the estate is tied to the me alone, and they need funds to recommend them at court.”
“I’m only the son of a baron,” Brendon protested. “Your reputation would be damaged beyond belief. I couldn’t do that to you, I-”
“Brendon,” Spencer said, feeling a spark of excitement from letting the name roll off his tongue for the first time. He took a couple of steps closer, placing his hands carefully on Brendon’s forearms. “Will you please do me the honour of becoming my husband?”
He could see shock in Brendon’s eyes, almost felt his sharp intake of breath as the muscles in Brendon’s arms tensed under his hands. “I would keep you safe,” he promised, feeling lightheaded by how much he actually meant it. “You would be free to live your life, and I would honour and support you. My family is old; it can handle a bit of scandal. And you could help me restore my estate. It is a perfect match.”
There was a long, painful pause, during which Spencer was nearly positive he would hear the ticking of his pocket watch if only his pulse wasn’t pounding so loudly in his ears. “Say something.”
“I,” Brendon stammered, bewilderment lacing every movement of his body. “I don’t-I mean, yes. Yes, of course I’ll accept.”
Spencer felt all the air in his lungs leave him at once and had to close his eyes for a second. A sense of relief burned through him together with something else-a deep longing he’d told himself he’d got over a long time ago, strong enough now to make him dizzy.
He took Brendon’s hand and felt a surge of fear and excitement when Brendon tangled their fingers together, squeezing lightly.
“So,” Brendon said, looking up at Spencer with a slightly wobbly smile on his face. “What’s the plan?”
When Brendon stepped out of his parents’ house, determined to get away from the fate they had assigned him, he didn’t even consider the possibility that he might end up in a carriage with the Marquess of Summerlin, running off in the dead of the night to a small country church.
And yet, here they were.
Brendon took a shaky breath as the carriage came to a stop, taking Spencer’s offered hand gratefully and holding it painfully tight as Spencer helped him out.
The church wasn’t really what Brendon had been expecting, though he wasn’t quite sure what that had been. Probably something similar to the churches his brothers and sister had been married in-something large and grand that could seat a thousand people if there was a need (and with his family, there had definitely been a need). Instead, this place was small-tiny, really-and the main thing distinguishing it from the equally small house peeking out from behind it was the lace and tulle framing the doorway and a small statue of St Mary beside the front steps. It was all rather quaint.
“This is Our Lady of Sorrows Chapel. It was the only place I could think to go,” Spencer said apologetically upon seeing Brendon’s face.
“No, it.” Brendon tried to smile reassuringly. “It’s nice.”
“Damn it, Gerard,” a voice hissed from the church’s open doorway as they approached. “They are not charming. They are a mess.”
Spencer’s eyebrows drew together, as though he was beginning to regret his decision.
As they entered the church, Brendon’s eyes set upon a small man gathering up a bunch of shining, mechanical flowers. “They are not. They’re romantic.”
“Only because you’re not the one deactivating them,” an even smaller man across the room insisted. A spark jumped to his fingers from the still-moving petals of the flower he was attending to, and he cursed again, bringing his hand to his mouth to blow on it. “These things are a fire hazard.”
“Frank, stop being so melodramatic. It’s just a-”
Spencer cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
The man gathering up the deactivated flowers-Gerard, Brendon assumed-started and wheeled toward them. There was a short, tense moment before Gerard smiled. “Lord Smith.”
“My apologies for arriving so late, but I was hoping you could do something for me,” Spencer said, smiling. Brendon noticed the dark impressions beneath his eyes for the first time and wondered just how late it really was. “If you don’t mind, could you perform one more marriage ceremony tonight?”
“Mikey has already gone home for the day,” Frank said as he moved to stand beside Gerard, crossing his arms. “We were about to head that way ourselves.”
Spencer bit his lip. “Could you please make just one exception? We really need this marriage to happen tonight.”
“We understand,” Gerard said, cutting Frank off. “And we would be happy to throw a little something together for you two.”
Frank gave Gerard a pained look. “Gee.”
“Frank,” Gerard smiled, placing a hand on Frank’s heavily tattooed arm; Brendon noticed that the nautical star just above Gerard’s fingers began spinning just a little bit faster than the others, “this is obviously important to them. Can you go fetch Mikey, please?”
Frank still didn’t look pleased, but he rolled his eyes and didn’t protest again. A couple of minutes later, he returned to the church with a tired-looking gentleman in tow.
Gerard waved the newcomer happily towards the back of the church, smiled and kissed Frank’s temple quickly. “All right, looks like we’re good to go. Mikey’s pretty tired, so I hope you’ll be okay with whatever he can play in his sleep. And we’ve still got the decorations from the last wedding up, so give us another couple of minutes while we get those down.”
Aside from the heap of mechanical flowers Gerard had set on a pew, there were dozens of real roses and mechanical ones clustered together and tied with lace adorning the end of each of the pews. An arch at the top of the steps was decorated with more tulle and roses, and a machine, whose cogs shone in the light of the lanterns that lit the church, blew bubbles over it that rose, glittering, towards the ceiling. Brendon thought everything was very pretty. “I think it looks nice the way it is.”
Gerard’s smile grew impossibly wider. “Great. Let’s get started, then.” He extended his hand toward the steps at the front. “After you.”
Brendon’s stomach churned uneasily, but he followed Spencer up to the front and turned to face him.
Gerard came after them, taking his place on the step above them. “I assume you haven’t brought anyone to be your witnesses?”
Spencer shook his head. “No, we haven’t.”
Frank moved next to Gerard, handing him a long piece of lace. “That’s okay. Mikey and I will sign with you.”
Brendon wasn’t entirely sure about the legality of having a witness who was (judging from the soft sounds coming from the organ in the back) asleep during the wedding, but he assumed Gerard would know better than him about these sorts of things.
He nervously bit his lip. This whole thing felt like being in a strange dream. His stomach squeezed uncomfortably again, and he looked up at Spencer for the first time.
Spencer was looking back at him, his eyes a little too wide, his jaw a little too tight. It was good to know that Brendon wasn’t the only one with bad nerves.
“Are you two okay?” Frank asked. “We can stop at any time before the papers are signed.”
“Oh, leave them alone, Frankie,” Gerard shushed him. “They’re just having pre-wedding jitters. It’s completely normal.”
Frank looked sceptically at Spencer, then Brendon. “Still. They should be aware of that.”
Brendon swallowed before taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Frank. I’m ready.”
“As am I,” Spencer added.
Gerard nodded, carefully folding the lace Frank had handed him earlier in his palm. “Okay, then. We’re here this evening to unite Lord Spencer James Smith, Marquess of Summerlin and,” he stopped, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
Brendon felt his ears grow hot, slightly embarrassed by his utter lack of a title. “Sir Brendon Boyd Urie.”
Gerard’s eyes lit up then, softening as though in sudden understanding. “Thank you. We’re here to unite Lord Spencer James Smith, Marquess of Summerlin and Sir Brendon Boyd Urie in holy matrimony. If either of you feel that you should not be married, please speak now.” Neither of them said anything, and Gerard continued, taking each of their hands in his own. “Lord Smith, repeat after me. I, Spencer James Smith.”
Their eyes connected again, and Brendon’s cheeks burned. He couldn’t help but think how handsome Spencer looked in the light of the lanterns. “I, Spencer James Smith.”
“Take thee, Brendon Boyd Urie, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”
“Take thee, Brendon Boyd Urie, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”
“To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer.”
“To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer.”
“In sickness and in health.”
“In sickness and in health.”
“As long as we both shall live.”
“As long as we both shall live.”
Gerard turned to Brendon then, squeezing his hand gently. “Sir Urie, repeat after me. I, Brendon Boyd Urie.”
Brendon felt his throat constrict, but he forced himself to speak. “I, Brendon Boyd Urie.”
“Take thee, Spencer James Smith, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”
Oh, God, he was really doing this. “Take thee, Spencer James Smith, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”
“To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer.”
“To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer.”
“In sickness and in health.”
“In sickness and in health.”
“As long as we both shall live.”
“As long as we both shall live.” Oh god, he had just promised forever to someone he barely knew. Brendon tried to push it from his mind, to remember that this was a marriage of convenience-one that would keep him safe from getting married off to suspicious viscounts with disturbing affections for snakes to boot-but the original thought of that promise of forever remained.
“Now,” Gerard said, “the rings.”
A chill jolted up Brendon’s spine. “We don’t have rings.”
Spencer looked to Gerard, breaking eye contact with Brendon for the first time since their vows began. “This wasn’t exactly planned, you must understand.”
“It’s all right, I promise,” Gerard assured them, squeezing their hands. “We actually get more elopements than you would think. We’ll just continue on with the binding, no worries.”
Gerard brought their hands up, firmly pressing their palms against one another. Spencer’s hand was warm against Brendon’s, slightly unsteady, just like Brendon’s own. Gerard folded his hands over theirs, pulling the lace around their hands so that they were tied together. “With the power vested in me by King Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third, I unite you. When one of you laughs, may the other find joy; when one of you cries, may the other be filled with sorrow, for you are bound together just as surely as your hands are bound.”
When Gerard released his hold on them, Brendon began to feel his hand grow hotter, and a tingling sensation erupted along his fingers and palm. The lace that tied them together began to emit a soft, white light, and Brendon’s heart skipped a beat. He looked up at Spencer, a little breathless, to see Spencer watching their hands intently.
Gerard grinned at them both. “Spencer, Brendon, you are now married. What has been created today, may no one break apart. You may now kiss.”
Brendon’s heart skipped one more beat as Spencer leaned toward him. He hesitated for a moment, then moved forward, pressing his mouth carefully to Spencer’s.
The tingling feeling in Brendon’s hand began again and grew until he felt like his whole body was warm because of it. The lace tightened on its own accord as Brendon’s lips slid against Spencer’s, tying them more firmly together as the kiss deepened. And even though this was a marriage of convenience on both of their parts, Brendon couldn’t help but feel like something special just happened.
Spencer pulled away from him first, and Brendon slowly opened his eyes to see him smiling. Brendon timidly returned the smile.
From the organ at the back of the church came a sweet, complex melody, starting quick and joyous and turning gradually slower until it stopped on one chord and soft sounds of snoring started up as an accompaniment. Gerard gave Frank a significant look while still somehow managing to smile at Brendon and Spencer.
“Congratulations, you two,” he said, sliding the lace from their hands without untying the knot as Frank turned and headed towards the back. “Just sign your marriage license, and you’ll be ready to go.”
They walked over to a small table where Frank handed Spencer a piece of parchment and a quill. Spencer signed it with a flourish, as did Brendon when Frank passed it to him. Frank and Mikey then took their turns signing as their witnesses (Gerard putting a steadying arm around Mikey’s waist to keep him upright) and then Gerard slipped the still-knotted lace over the parchment, rolling the paper up and sliding the knot down to hold it fast.
Frank opened a small wooden box he’d been holding, and Gerard placed the marriage license within it before handing it off to Brendon. “Congratulations, my lords.”
Brendon looked down at the box in his hands, realising that his hand was still warm where the lace had tied him to Spencer.
“So,” Brendon said once they were back in their carriage, “what happens now?”
Spencer slumped against the seat, turning his head to stare out the window as the horses started to pick up speed. “I honestly don’t know.”
“But we’re moving,” Brendon said, sounding honestly confused, and Spencer felt something inside of him flutter.
“I’m sorry,” he hurried to say, the feeling inside him growing stronger when Brendon shot him a relieved smile. “I meant-they’re taking us South. There’s an inn some five miles down this road. I thought we might spend the night there and continue on to my estate tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Brendon said, and Spencer swore he could see a faint blush taint his cheeks before Brendon turned his head away. Spencer forced himself to look back out his own window to keep from staring.
“I know it’s not much,” he said apologetically, wanting to keep a conversation going and his thoughts away from how smooth Brendon’s skin looked in the soft glow from the carriage lanterns. “If you would rather travel through the night to find better accommodations, I can talk to the driver?”
It would probably mean having to sleep as they were-a far from appealing option, but definitely preferable to taking Brendon somewhere he didn’t want to go or being forced to stop at some courtier’s estate in the middle of the night. Brendon most likely hadn’t been wrong when he’d predicted that Spencer’s reputation would take a hit because of their marriage, but as he met Brendon’s eyes again, Spencer couldn’t quite bring himself to care.
“An inn sounds good,” Brendon replied. “What time is it, anyway?”
Spencer pulled his watch out of his pocket and flipped open the lid. “Nearly two in the morning.”
“Wow.”
Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of the many hours since he last slept pulling down his body. A while later, the carriage came to a top, and Spencer gave himself a little shake, forcing his limbs to help him get up and climb out.
“Wait here.”
He took care of business as quickly as he could, probably paying too much and not caring in the slightest. Brendon was sitting in the same position when Spencer came back as when he’d left him, half-asleep against the backrest and still breathtakingly beautiful.
“We’re on the top floor,” Spencer said, touching Brendon’s arm softly to rouse him. “I asked them to send up a light supper and arrange for a warm bath. Follow me?”
Brendon nodded, and Spencer took his hand, helping him step down from the carriage. They crossed the tavern that was on the ground floor quickly, dodging drunk people and some exuberant dancing that was going on, and arrived in a small parlour, where a chambermaid curtsied to them both and led the way up a winding staircase until they reached a landing with a single door.
“Here you are, my lords,” she said, opening the door with another polite nod of the head and handing Spencer two sets of keys. “The food and water will be up shortly.”
Spencer thanked her and followed Brendon inside.
The room turned out to be a great deal bigger than it first appeared, probably covering most of the floor they were on and built in an angle, with a sitting room in the centre and a sleeping area to the right. The furniture was basic, but well kept, and the room looked clean enough, which made Spencer relax a little. There was a knock on the door and four servants appeared, two carrying large trays of food and wine while the other two had a water heater between them, cogs spinning merrily as they pushed it into the sleeping area and through a door on the far wall. Ten minutes and several comings and goings later, the servants were out again, having managed to also start a fire in the small fireplace and turn down the sheets on the bed. If this was the kind of service bringing a husband got you at a simple inn, Spencer didn’t want to travel on his own ever again.
“The bath looks heavenly,” Brendon said, pulling off his coat and draping it over a chair. “Do you mind if I-?”
Spencer shook his head, forced to swallow hard to keep his composure as Brendon continued to remove his clothing, folding it away carefully until he was down to his breeches and loose-fitting white shirt. He turned away quickly when he realised that Brendon was intending to remove even that, busying himself with putting food on two plates and trying to ignore the low moan of pleasure coming from the bathroom as Brendon got into the hot water.
Spencer took one of the plates for himself and sat down in front of the fire, guiltily registering every splash and sigh from the other end of their room with a rising blush on this face. A little voice at the back of his head kept insisting that Brendon was his husband now-Spencer’s to have and hold in whatever way he could possibly want. Another-stronger one-reminded him that Brendon was only married to him because he’d been desperate for an escape, and because Spencer had lied to him by pretending to be equally troubled.
Then again, perhaps Spencer’s desperation hadn’t been a complete lie. He pictured Brendon laid out on his back on a bed in Lord Saporta’s quarters and narrowly stopped himself from having to punch something.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself before pouring a glass of red wine. He’d been raised a gentleman, and, inappropriate feelings aside, he would make sure he treated Brendon with the respect he deserved. Lying to Brendon to get him to marry him was bad enough. Spencer really did not want to add pressuring Brendon into something he didn’t fully want to his conscience.
“The bath is yours if you want it,” Brendon said from somewhere close by.
Spencer looked up. Brendon crossed the floor into the sitting area and collected the second plate Spencer had prepared for them before collapsing into the chair opposite Spencer’s with a grateful smile. “God, I’m starving.”
“Can I get you some wine?” Spencer managed to ask, forcing his eyes away from Brendon’s wet hair.
“Please,” Brendon replied, and Spencer had a vivid flash of the same word falling from Brendon’s lips in a very different situation (not helped in the least by the way Brendon was pulling his legs up under him to lounge more comfortably in his chair, making the already loose laces on his night shirt move to show off a triangle of creamy skin on his chest and shoulder).
Spencer quickly distracted himself by reaching for the decanter.
They ate in silence for a while, and with the rich food settling in his stomach and the wine going to his head, Spencer eventually started to relax. He put away his glass and slid down a little in his chair, closing his eyes for just a second.
“Can you believe this is our wedding night?” Brendon asked. Spencer felt a guilty thrill run down his spine at the words, but sleep was pulling him down faster than he could fight it, and in the end, he settled for dropping his head back against the top of the chair.
“You look exhausted,” Brendon added, and even though Spencer couldn’t see him, he could hear a smile in his voice. “Come on. Bed.”
Spencer tried to shake himself awake as Brendon leaned over him and helped him out of the chair. He wanted to say something, protest maybe, but Brendon smelled like fresh soap and sweet wine, and Spencer found it impossible to stop himself from simply leaning close and burying his face against Brendon’s neck as he was half-carried across the room and dumped onto the mattress.
He felt Brendon move around him, pulling off his boots and loosening some of his clothes carefully. His hands were warm. Spencer wished he could keep them close.
“Night,” Brendon whispered, somewhere close to Spencer’s ear, and Spencer felt two fingers stroke his forehead once, pushing hair out of his face.
He fell asleep smiling.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Epilogue | Bonus material
Two years later
As the youngest of five, Brendon Urie had always had the good fortune of being able to slip under the radar when plots for family advancement were on the table. The Uries were a trading family of little consequence as far as name and station went-a long line of merchants, sailors and foot soldiers until Brendon’s grandfather saved the young Lord Austin’s life at the battle of Thrushcross and got awarded a barony for his troubles-but with a fleet of nine ships sailing around the world, their annual income was substantial.
What they really wanted, however, was a charter from the king, allowing them to set up their own trading routes to Africa and the East Indies. And with three of five children married very strategically to foreign merchants (and one daughter making a most admirable career in the Royal Navy), all they really needed to achieve their goal was a strong connection to someone at court who would vouch for them and promote their interests.
Which is how Brendon found his luck changing and was called into his father’s study one day, being told, quite unceremoniously, that he was about to be most advantageously married.
Spencer felt his carriage come to a halt and took a deep breath, straightening his cravat self-consciously before stepping out into the empty street. Just as the coach drove off, he heard a voice calling from somewhere behind him, and when he turned around, he saw a young nobleman running towards him with a big cap sack on his back.
“Wait!” the man called out, running past Spencer and going after the coach, slowing to a stop and swearing loudly as it disappeared around a corner.
He turned around, and Spencer found himself suddenly face to face with the man he had been trying to ban from his thoughts for the past two years. The man from the wedding-a little older and decidedly less put together, but unmistakably one and the same.
He was still devastatingly beautiful.
“Sir Urie.”
The man wheeled around, looking alarmed, then confused, until a smile of recognition lit up his face. “My Lord of Summerlin! What a coincidence.”
“Indeed,” Spencer said, trying not to stare as Brendon took off his top hat and pulled a hand through his hair. “Um. Are you-um. Are you well?”
“Very well, thank you,” Brendon replied, though something about his voice made Spencer frown. “And yourself?”
“Also well. Your family?”
“Couldn’t be better,” Brendon replied, and this time, Spencer heard a definite catch in his voice. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, trying to think of something else to say.
After another moment of uncomfortable silence, Brendon pursed his lips. “Well, goodbye, I guess.”
Spencer blinked in surprise. “Goodbye?”
Brendon nodded, one corner of his mouth lilting up into a half-smile that made Spencer feel uneasy. “I’m leaving London.”
“What?” It was really an incredibly rude question, however valid. They barely knew each other, and it was really none of Spencer’s concern as to where Brendon was going or why. Or so he told himself firmly, pushing down the sudden paralysing feeling that started to creep up his spine.
Brendon readjusted the sack he was carrying, rolling his shoulder where it was digging in. “It seems my father made a deal with the devil. Or the serpent would be more appropriate, I suppose, though the metaphor is the same in the end.” At Spencer’s confused face, Brendon laughed. Spencer liked the laugh about as much as he had liked the half-smile. “My father has, in his quest for family advancement, promised my hand to Lord Saporta.”
Spencer’s skin prickled. Lord Saporta was... an interesting character. Not necessarily a bad person, and he was definitely on the guest list of every to-do in London that mattered to anyone, but. Gabriel had accumulated a reputation of sorts over the years for flirting with everything that moved and collecting rare, exotic-and often less than legal-reptiles from all over the world. Suffice it to say that Lord Gabriel Saporta was a gentleman in only the loosest sense of the word. Surely Brendon’s father had to realise this. “Lord Gabriel Saporta? The Viscount of Ramsgate?”
Brendon nodded. “The very same. If my father has any say in the matter, anyway. And I aim to see that he doesn’t. My-” Brendon paused, unsuccessfully trying to hide a grimace, “-intended came calling at the house today, with one of his friends. The Earl of Lancaster, Lord William Beckett, I think. Do you know him? The viscount introduced him as his most intimate friend. And then both of them spent the entire visit looking like they wanted to eat me.”
Brendon looked away, seemingly very ill at ease. Spencer sympathised fully; the Earl of Lancaster was even more notorious than his friend, and the two of them together frequently kept the gossip mill at court fed with the most scandalous and decadent rumours. No wonder Brendon was running away.
“Augh.” Brendon shook his head, “I apologise. I’ve been babbling about my own worries when you look exhausted, my lord.” He turned around, looking down the street and raising his hand to stop a coach.
“Marry me,” Spencer blurted, instantly wishing he could turn back time when Brendon wheeled around, eyes wide.
“Forgive me,” Spencer hurried to say, head spinning as he tried to think of something to limit the damage. “That was unforgivably forward of me. I just-” An image of fire flashed across his mind. A few months back, a rogue dragon had ravaged the Southern counties, and though Spencer’s estate had been left mostly unharmed, many others had not been so fortunate, and the court was full of high lords and ladies seeking financially beneficial alliances this season. The Uries were successful merchants, and if Brendon’s parents were shopping for a title for their son, maybe Spencer could-
“I’m in a bit of a desperate situation myself,” he ventured, carefully choosing his words. “And I know it’s terribly uncivilised for me to even propose this, but perhaps we could help each other?”
“How?” Brendon’s eyes were, if possible, even wider than before.
“I need funds. The dragon rampage this winter charred my estate and has drained me with necessary repairs,” Spencer said, wincing inside at the lie. “You need a title. We could strike a bargain.”
“By getting married?” Brendon sounded almost faint. “You’re a marquess! I couldn’t-I’m sure there are plenty of people of higher standing who-”
“I’m also the brother of two younger sisters,” Spencer interrupted him. “They have their titles, but the estate is tied to the me alone, and they need funds to recommend them at court.”
“I’m only the son of a baron,” Brendon protested. “Your reputation would be damaged beyond belief. I couldn’t do that to you, I-”
“Brendon,” Spencer said, feeling a spark of excitement from letting the name roll off his tongue for the first time. He took a couple of steps closer, placing his hands carefully on Brendon’s forearms. “Will you please do me the honour of becoming my husband?”
He could see shock in Brendon’s eyes, almost felt his sharp intake of breath as the muscles in Brendon’s arms tensed under his hands. “I would keep you safe,” he promised, feeling lightheaded by how much he actually meant it. “You would be free to live your life, and I would honour and support you. My family is old; it can handle a bit of scandal. And you could help me restore my estate. It is a perfect match.”
There was a long, painful pause, during which Spencer was nearly positive he would hear the ticking of his pocket watch if only his pulse wasn’t pounding so loudly in his ears. “Say something.”
“I,” Brendon stammered, bewilderment lacing every movement of his body. “I don’t-I mean, yes. Yes, of course I’ll accept.”
Spencer felt all the air in his lungs leave him at once and had to close his eyes for a second. A sense of relief burned through him together with something else-a deep longing he’d told himself he’d got over a long time ago, strong enough now to make him dizzy.
He took Brendon’s hand and felt a surge of fear and excitement when Brendon tangled their fingers together, squeezing lightly.
“So,” Brendon said, looking up at Spencer with a slightly wobbly smile on his face. “What’s the plan?”
When Brendon stepped out of his parents’ house, determined to get away from the fate they had assigned him, he didn’t even consider the possibility that he might end up in a carriage with the Marquess of Summerlin, running off in the dead of the night to a small country church.
And yet, here they were.
Brendon took a shaky breath as the carriage came to a stop, taking Spencer’s offered hand gratefully and holding it painfully tight as Spencer helped him out.
The church wasn’t really what Brendon had been expecting, though he wasn’t quite sure what that had been. Probably something similar to the churches his brothers and sister had been married in-something large and grand that could seat a thousand people if there was a need (and with his family, there had definitely been a need). Instead, this place was small-tiny, really-and the main thing distinguishing it from the equally small house peeking out from behind it was the lace and tulle framing the doorway and a small statue of St Mary beside the front steps. It was all rather quaint.
“This is Our Lady of Sorrows Chapel. It was the only place I could think to go,” Spencer said apologetically upon seeing Brendon’s face.
“No, it.” Brendon tried to smile reassuringly. “It’s nice.”
“Damn it, Gerard,” a voice hissed from the church’s open doorway as they approached. “They are not charming. They are a mess.”
Spencer’s eyebrows drew together, as though he was beginning to regret his decision.
As they entered the church, Brendon’s eyes set upon a small man gathering up a bunch of shining, mechanical flowers. “They are not. They’re romantic.”
“Only because you’re not the one deactivating them,” an even smaller man across the room insisted. A spark jumped to his fingers from the still-moving petals of the flower he was attending to, and he cursed again, bringing his hand to his mouth to blow on it. “These things are a fire hazard.”
“Frank, stop being so melodramatic. It’s just a-”
Spencer cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
The man gathering up the deactivated flowers-Gerard, Brendon assumed-started and wheeled toward them. There was a short, tense moment before Gerard smiled. “Lord Smith.”
“My apologies for arriving so late, but I was hoping you could do something for me,” Spencer said, smiling. Brendon noticed the dark impressions beneath his eyes for the first time and wondered just how late it really was. “If you don’t mind, could you perform one more marriage ceremony tonight?”
“Mikey has already gone home for the day,” Frank said as he moved to stand beside Gerard, crossing his arms. “We were about to head that way ourselves.”
Spencer bit his lip. “Could you please make just one exception? We really need this marriage to happen tonight.”
“We understand,” Gerard said, cutting Frank off. “And we would be happy to throw a little something together for you two.”
Frank gave Gerard a pained look. “Gee.”
“Frank,” Gerard smiled, placing a hand on Frank’s heavily tattooed arm; Brendon noticed that the nautical star just above Gerard’s fingers began spinning just a little bit faster than the others, “this is obviously important to them. Can you go fetch Mikey, please?”
Frank still didn’t look pleased, but he rolled his eyes and didn’t protest again. A couple of minutes later, he returned to the church with a tired-looking gentleman in tow.
Gerard waved the newcomer happily towards the back of the church, smiled and kissed Frank’s temple quickly. “All right, looks like we’re good to go. Mikey’s pretty tired, so I hope you’ll be okay with whatever he can play in his sleep. And we’ve still got the decorations from the last wedding up, so give us another couple of minutes while we get those down.”
Aside from the heap of mechanical flowers Gerard had set on a pew, there were dozens of real roses and mechanical ones clustered together and tied with lace adorning the end of each of the pews. An arch at the top of the steps was decorated with more tulle and roses, and a machine, whose cogs shone in the light of the lanterns that lit the church, blew bubbles over it that rose, glittering, towards the ceiling. Brendon thought everything was very pretty. “I think it looks nice the way it is.”
Gerard’s smile grew impossibly wider. “Great. Let’s get started, then.” He extended his hand toward the steps at the front. “After you.”
Brendon’s stomach churned uneasily, but he followed Spencer up to the front and turned to face him.
Gerard came after them, taking his place on the step above them. “I assume you haven’t brought anyone to be your witnesses?”
Spencer shook his head. “No, we haven’t.”
Frank moved next to Gerard, handing him a long piece of lace. “That’s okay. Mikey and I will sign with you.”
Brendon wasn’t entirely sure about the legality of having a witness who was (judging from the soft sounds coming from the organ in the back) asleep during the wedding, but he assumed Gerard would know better than him about these sorts of things.
He nervously bit his lip. This whole thing felt like being in a strange dream. His stomach squeezed uncomfortably again, and he looked up at Spencer for the first time.
Spencer was looking back at him, his eyes a little too wide, his jaw a little too tight. It was good to know that Brendon wasn’t the only one with bad nerves.
“Are you two okay?” Frank asked. “We can stop at any time before the papers are signed.”
“Oh, leave them alone, Frankie,” Gerard shushed him. “They’re just having pre-wedding jitters. It’s completely normal.”
Frank looked sceptically at Spencer, then Brendon. “Still. They should be aware of that.”
Brendon swallowed before taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Frank. I’m ready.”
“As am I,” Spencer added.
Gerard nodded, carefully folding the lace Frank had handed him earlier in his palm. “Okay, then. We’re here this evening to unite Lord Spencer James Smith, Marquess of Summerlin and,” he stopped, smiling apologetically. “I’m sorry, what’s your name?”
Brendon felt his ears grow hot, slightly embarrassed by his utter lack of a title. “Sir Brendon Boyd Urie.”
Gerard’s eyes lit up then, softening as though in sudden understanding. “Thank you. We’re here to unite Lord Spencer James Smith, Marquess of Summerlin and Sir Brendon Boyd Urie in holy matrimony. If either of you feel that you should not be married, please speak now.” Neither of them said anything, and Gerard continued, taking each of their hands in his own. “Lord Smith, repeat after me. I, Spencer James Smith.”
Their eyes connected again, and Brendon’s cheeks burned. He couldn’t help but think how handsome Spencer looked in the light of the lanterns. “I, Spencer James Smith.”
“Take thee, Brendon Boyd Urie, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”
“Take thee, Brendon Boyd Urie, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”
“To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer.”
“To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer.”
“In sickness and in health.”
“In sickness and in health.”
“As long as we both shall live.”
“As long as we both shall live.”
Gerard turned to Brendon then, squeezing his hand gently. “Sir Urie, repeat after me. I, Brendon Boyd Urie.”
Brendon felt his throat constrict, but he forced himself to speak. “I, Brendon Boyd Urie.”
“Take thee, Spencer James Smith, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”
Oh, God, he was really doing this. “Take thee, Spencer James Smith, to be my lawfully wedded husband.”
“To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer.”
“To have and to hold, for richer, for poorer.”
“In sickness and in health.”
“In sickness and in health.”
“As long as we both shall live.”
“As long as we both shall live.” Oh god, he had just promised forever to someone he barely knew. Brendon tried to push it from his mind, to remember that this was a marriage of convenience-one that would keep him safe from getting married off to suspicious viscounts with disturbing affections for snakes to boot-but the original thought of that promise of forever remained.
“Now,” Gerard said, “the rings.”
A chill jolted up Brendon’s spine. “We don’t have rings.”
Spencer looked to Gerard, breaking eye contact with Brendon for the first time since their vows began. “This wasn’t exactly planned, you must understand.”
“It’s all right, I promise,” Gerard assured them, squeezing their hands. “We actually get more elopements than you would think. We’ll just continue on with the binding, no worries.”
Gerard brought their hands up, firmly pressing their palms against one another. Spencer’s hand was warm against Brendon’s, slightly unsteady, just like Brendon’s own. Gerard folded his hands over theirs, pulling the lace around their hands so that they were tied together. “With the power vested in me by King Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third, I unite you. When one of you laughs, may the other find joy; when one of you cries, may the other be filled with sorrow, for you are bound together just as surely as your hands are bound.”
When Gerard released his hold on them, Brendon began to feel his hand grow hotter, and a tingling sensation erupted along his fingers and palm. The lace that tied them together began to emit a soft, white light, and Brendon’s heart skipped a beat. He looked up at Spencer, a little breathless, to see Spencer watching their hands intently.
Gerard grinned at them both. “Spencer, Brendon, you are now married. What has been created today, may no one break apart. You may now kiss.”
Brendon’s heart skipped one more beat as Spencer leaned toward him. He hesitated for a moment, then moved forward, pressing his mouth carefully to Spencer’s.
The tingling feeling in Brendon’s hand began again and grew until he felt like his whole body was warm because of it. The lace tightened on its own accord as Brendon’s lips slid against Spencer’s, tying them more firmly together as the kiss deepened. And even though this was a marriage of convenience on both of their parts, Brendon couldn’t help but feel like something special just happened.
Spencer pulled away from him first, and Brendon slowly opened his eyes to see him smiling. Brendon timidly returned the smile.
From the organ at the back of the church came a sweet, complex melody, starting quick and joyous and turning gradually slower until it stopped on one chord and soft sounds of snoring started up as an accompaniment. Gerard gave Frank a significant look while still somehow managing to smile at Brendon and Spencer.
“Congratulations, you two,” he said, sliding the lace from their hands without untying the knot as Frank turned and headed towards the back. “Just sign your marriage license, and you’ll be ready to go.”
They walked over to a small table where Frank handed Spencer a piece of parchment and a quill. Spencer signed it with a flourish, as did Brendon when Frank passed it to him. Frank and Mikey then took their turns signing as their witnesses (Gerard putting a steadying arm around Mikey’s waist to keep him upright) and then Gerard slipped the still-knotted lace over the parchment, rolling the paper up and sliding the knot down to hold it fast.
Frank opened a small wooden box he’d been holding, and Gerard placed the marriage license within it before handing it off to Brendon. “Congratulations, my lords.”
Brendon looked down at the box in his hands, realising that his hand was still warm where the lace had tied him to Spencer.
“So,” Brendon said once they were back in their carriage, “what happens now?”
Spencer slumped against the seat, turning his head to stare out the window as the horses started to pick up speed. “I honestly don’t know.”
“But we’re moving,” Brendon said, sounding honestly confused, and Spencer felt something inside of him flutter.
“I’m sorry,” he hurried to say, the feeling inside him growing stronger when Brendon shot him a relieved smile. “I meant-they’re taking us South. There’s an inn some five miles down this road. I thought we might spend the night there and continue on to my estate tomorrow.”
“Oh,” Brendon said, and Spencer swore he could see a faint blush taint his cheeks before Brendon turned his head away. Spencer forced himself to look back out his own window to keep from staring.
“I know it’s not much,” he said apologetically, wanting to keep a conversation going and his thoughts away from how smooth Brendon’s skin looked in the soft glow from the carriage lanterns. “If you would rather travel through the night to find better accommodations, I can talk to the driver?”
It would probably mean having to sleep as they were-a far from appealing option, but definitely preferable to taking Brendon somewhere he didn’t want to go or being forced to stop at some courtier’s estate in the middle of the night. Brendon most likely hadn’t been wrong when he’d predicted that Spencer’s reputation would take a hit because of their marriage, but as he met Brendon’s eyes again, Spencer couldn’t quite bring himself to care.
“An inn sounds good,” Brendon replied. “What time is it, anyway?”
Spencer pulled his watch out of his pocket and flipped open the lid. “Nearly two in the morning.”
“Wow.”
Spencer nodded, feeling the weight of the many hours since he last slept pulling down his body. A while later, the carriage came to a top, and Spencer gave himself a little shake, forcing his limbs to help him get up and climb out.
“Wait here.”
He took care of business as quickly as he could, probably paying too much and not caring in the slightest. Brendon was sitting in the same position when Spencer came back as when he’d left him, half-asleep against the backrest and still breathtakingly beautiful.
“We’re on the top floor,” Spencer said, touching Brendon’s arm softly to rouse him. “I asked them to send up a light supper and arrange for a warm bath. Follow me?”
Brendon nodded, and Spencer took his hand, helping him step down from the carriage. They crossed the tavern that was on the ground floor quickly, dodging drunk people and some exuberant dancing that was going on, and arrived in a small parlour, where a chambermaid curtsied to them both and led the way up a winding staircase until they reached a landing with a single door.
“Here you are, my lords,” she said, opening the door with another polite nod of the head and handing Spencer two sets of keys. “The food and water will be up shortly.”
Spencer thanked her and followed Brendon inside.
The room turned out to be a great deal bigger than it first appeared, probably covering most of the floor they were on and built in an angle, with a sitting room in the centre and a sleeping area to the right. The furniture was basic, but well kept, and the room looked clean enough, which made Spencer relax a little. There was a knock on the door and four servants appeared, two carrying large trays of food and wine while the other two had a water heater between them, cogs spinning merrily as they pushed it into the sleeping area and through a door on the far wall. Ten minutes and several comings and goings later, the servants were out again, having managed to also start a fire in the small fireplace and turn down the sheets on the bed. If this was the kind of service bringing a husband got you at a simple inn, Spencer didn’t want to travel on his own ever again.
“The bath looks heavenly,” Brendon said, pulling off his coat and draping it over a chair. “Do you mind if I-?”
Spencer shook his head, forced to swallow hard to keep his composure as Brendon continued to remove his clothing, folding it away carefully until he was down to his breeches and loose-fitting white shirt. He turned away quickly when he realised that Brendon was intending to remove even that, busying himself with putting food on two plates and trying to ignore the low moan of pleasure coming from the bathroom as Brendon got into the hot water.
Spencer took one of the plates for himself and sat down in front of the fire, guiltily registering every splash and sigh from the other end of their room with a rising blush on this face. A little voice at the back of his head kept insisting that Brendon was his husband now-Spencer’s to have and hold in whatever way he could possibly want. Another-stronger one-reminded him that Brendon was only married to him because he’d been desperate for an escape, and because Spencer had lied to him by pretending to be equally troubled.
Then again, perhaps Spencer’s desperation hadn’t been a complete lie. He pictured Brendon laid out on his back on a bed in Lord Saporta’s quarters and narrowly stopped himself from having to punch something.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself before pouring a glass of red wine. He’d been raised a gentleman, and, inappropriate feelings aside, he would make sure he treated Brendon with the respect he deserved. Lying to Brendon to get him to marry him was bad enough. Spencer really did not want to add pressuring Brendon into something he didn’t fully want to his conscience.
“The bath is yours if you want it,” Brendon said from somewhere close by.
Spencer looked up. Brendon crossed the floor into the sitting area and collected the second plate Spencer had prepared for them before collapsing into the chair opposite Spencer’s with a grateful smile. “God, I’m starving.”
“Can I get you some wine?” Spencer managed to ask, forcing his eyes away from Brendon’s wet hair.
“Please,” Brendon replied, and Spencer had a vivid flash of the same word falling from Brendon’s lips in a very different situation (not helped in the least by the way Brendon was pulling his legs up under him to lounge more comfortably in his chair, making the already loose laces on his night shirt move to show off a triangle of creamy skin on his chest and shoulder).
Spencer quickly distracted himself by reaching for the decanter.
They ate in silence for a while, and with the rich food settling in his stomach and the wine going to his head, Spencer eventually started to relax. He put away his glass and slid down a little in his chair, closing his eyes for just a second.
“Can you believe this is our wedding night?” Brendon asked. Spencer felt a guilty thrill run down his spine at the words, but sleep was pulling him down faster than he could fight it, and in the end, he settled for dropping his head back against the top of the chair.
“You look exhausted,” Brendon added, and even though Spencer couldn’t see him, he could hear a smile in his voice. “Come on. Bed.”
Spencer tried to shake himself awake as Brendon leaned over him and helped him out of the chair. He wanted to say something, protest maybe, but Brendon smelled like fresh soap and sweet wine, and Spencer found it impossible to stop himself from simply leaning close and burying his face against Brendon’s neck as he was half-carried across the room and dumped onto the mattress.
He felt Brendon move around him, pulling off his boots and loosening some of his clothes carefully. His hands were warm. Spencer wished he could keep them close.
“Night,” Brendon whispered, somewhere close to Spencer’s ear, and Spencer felt two fingers stroke his forehead once, pushing hair out of his face.
He fell asleep smiling.