“She’s a very . . . forceful personality. She views me as a problem in need of a solution, and in her world there’s only one thing to do with a man who’s both penniless and pedigreed.”
Will furrowed his brow. “Which is?”
Martin cast him a glance that told him he was being very dim. “Marriage,” he said bluntly. “She means to marry me off to the daughter of some wealthy industrialist who wants his grandson to inherit a title.”
“And is this something you want?” Will asked carefully.
The glance Martin now gave him said he was being a monumental fool. “Do I want to marry an heiress? No. I don’t want to marry anybody. But as she has said many times, marrying well is the only way I’ll live as a gentleman. I’ve told her I have no wish to live as a gentleman, but the past few months have shown me I don’t know how to live any other way.”
Will knew he shouldn’t be bothered by that—it was the simple truth that Martin had been raised to be a gentleman. Without Will around, he’d starve or freeze in a matter of weeks. And Will wanted Martin to have the luxuries, large and small, that he had been raised to expect. Will had never known a life in which supper dishes miraculously got washed by unseen hands, or buttons reattached themselves overnight, or the larder refilled itself at regular intervals. Will never thought about sewing buttons or washing dishes as unpleasant tasks: they were just what one did. But to Martin those acts would always be an effort, a reminder of something that had been lost. Will wanted better for him; he didn’t want Martin to live out his life feeling resentful every time he needed to wear a shabby coat or eat off chipped china.
Still, it stung to hear Martin say that life in this cottage had been unsatisfactory in any way.
“I’m utterly dependent on you,” Martin went on. “And I don’t want to be.”
Will knew it would be useless to protest that this was help freely given. He couldn’t blame Martin for not wanting to be dependent on him; Will felt deeply uncomfortable and slightly ashamed about needing help on his worst days. He’d almost rather go without food or a fire in the hearth than let Martin see him at his worst. It was one thing to be looked after by servants, but another thing entirely to be looked after by a friend. With that in mind, Will tried to make peace with what Martin had said: Martin would eventually go to his aunt, who would find him a wealthy wife. Then not only would Martin have the kind of life he was accustomed to, but he could be looked after by servants and physicians who knew what they were doing. He would be safe and cared for.
Of course, that would also mean that this new physical aspect of their friendship would come to an end. At least, Will thought it would, because unless Martin married a very open-minded woman, being together would involve a degree of dishonesty that Will didn’t think he could endure. But the rest of their friendship would remain intact. They wouldn’t lose anything they hadn’t had the previous day. That was fine, he told himself. The strange thing fluttering in his chest was probably just relief.
“Don’t mind me,” Martin said, nudging Will’s knee. “I’m just being a sulky bastard.”
“Yes, but you’re my sulky bastard,” Will said. He took the tea out of his hand and placed it on the windowsill, then climbed onto the bed so he was kneeling over Martin’s lap. “Thank you.” He put a finger under Martin’s chin and tilted his head up, then kissed him.
“What are you thanking me for?” Martin asked.
“For being my sulky bastard,” Will said, then kissed him again, this time deeper.
It was all easier this time, maybe because Martin knew what to expect, or maybe because Will knew that his part involved a steady litany of praise and reassurance. Martin let his hands explore, roaming over the curve of Will’s arse and the planes of his back. Will hadn’t expected that—most people either avoided his scars, as if touching them would remind Will of their existence, or they made a great show of lavishing attention on them. Will didn’t mind either way, but it felt right that Martin would treat his back just like any other part of his body.