Beautiful Things: Second Sons Book One

James wanted to die. He was quite sure if he sank under the water and waited long enough, he could accomplish the task. Two ladies… two guests in his house, just saw him naked. Damn Burke and his stupid bloody ideas!

The girls stood together behind a parasol, their faces hidden from view. Little Lady Madeline twittered as Miss Harrow shushed her.

“Good afternoon, ladies,” Burke called, his voice full of mirth. “How goes your strawberry picking?”

“Yes,” came Miss Harrow’s strangled reply. “Quite diverting! I believe we shall go back now, sirs. Please enjoy the day!”

James couldn’t help but smile as they made a show of turning their backs, keeping the parasol between them like a shield.

“I can’t speak for Lord James,” Burke called. “But when you next see me, I promise to be more formally attired!”

James lunged for his friend to the sound of both girls breaking into peals of laughter as they hurried away down the path. Burke let himself get caught and James shoved him under the water. “You arse!”

Burke resurfaced with ease, still laughing.

“What the hell am I going to do now?” James said, trying desperately to hold on to his anger, even as he began to laugh. “How will I face them again?”

“Very easily,” Burke said, swimming safely out of reach. “Why should you be ashamed? It’s not as if you’re missing any parts.”

James groaned, standing waist-deep against the gentle pull of the current.

“You’re a rich and handsome lord,” Burke added with a roll of his eyes. “I’m sure the ladies considered it quite the treat. If they don’t both blush furiously the next time you see them, I’ll give you ten pounds.”

“Ten pounds of my own money?” James scoffed. “How generous of you.”

“Fine, what do you want?”

James considered. What he wanted was Miss Harrow to look at him again. He wanted her in his arms, to watch those cheeks blush pink as she took his cock in her hand and—

Where the hell did that come from?

He shook his head, trying to clear it of the unbidden visions. Rosalie Harrow was completely off limits. She was penniless and all but alone in the world, with only a widowed aunt to her credit. She had no social capital, no title, no breeding or education. James shouldn’t give her a second thought. So why couldn’t he get her out of his mind?

Goddamn it, he had better control than this. He wasn’t going to give little Miss Nobody from Nowhere another minute of his time. He couldn’t afford it. Let Burke be impetuous. James would be rational and steadfast. He was married to his work.

“You’re plotting something,” Burke mused. “Care to share?”

“Not plotting,” James said quickly, still trying to push away that image of Miss Harrow and her wandering eye. “More like…musing.”

“On?”

James scowled. “Do I need you to know my every thought?”

Burke ran his hands through his slicked-back hair and laughed again. “Only the indecent ones. I care nothing for your thoughts on land conveyances or farming innovations…much as you’ve tried to reform me.”

James laughed too. “You’re not half as useless as you like to pretend.”

“Lies,” Burke replied, daring to look affronted.

James’ smile fell as he studied his dearest friend. “Why do you try so hard to be idle? What does it gain you?”

Burke just shrugged and began making his way out of the stream.

“You know, if I was the duke in fact, I would make you my steward in the next breath,” he called to Burke’s retreating form.

Burke paused, glancing over his shoulder. “And I would graciously decline. I already bring enough shame being your wastrel bastard of a friend,” he added under his breath. “Imagine if I actually put in effort. How they would all laugh and sneer then.” He snatched up his breeches and put them on.

James sank into the water, considering Burke’s words. “Is that it then? Is that why you won’t try to be more? Why you give up every position I’ve ever offered you after a six-month?”

Burke sighed, tucking his shirt into his breeches. “It’s selfish enough of me to stay at Alcott knowing I draw whispers and derision. If I were a better man, I’d leave. I’d save your family the disgrace of my connections—”

“Stop,” James called, his ire rising as he waded out of the stream. “I’ve told you once, and I’ll tell you again: I don’t care who your mother is. Damn the world and everyone in it for making it your cross to bear. But you have a chance here to use me to your advantage, so do it.” He placed a hand on Burke’s shoulder. “My family name is more than powerful enough to protect us both. You’re my dearest friend, Burke. I want to see you get everything you want in life, and I know this isn’t it.” He gestured to the quiet countryside all around. “Wasting away here at Alcott, helping me manage George’s moods, catering to my mother’s demands—you can do and be more. Take a position. Use my name if you want, lord knows you’ve earned it after all your years of loyalty.”

Burke raised a dark brow. “Use your name?”

James shrugged. He’d thought of this solution often enough, but never actually voiced it aloud. “If the Burke name holds you back, then let’s change it. Become a Corbin, and every door in society will open to you. I will finance entry into whatever profession you want. You could set up in Carrington or Town—”

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Burke said with a laugh, but James heard how hollow it was, how false.

“Never,” James replied. “But I’m done sitting by and watching you waste away as if you have nothing to offer the world.”

Burke shrugged out from under James’ hand and reached for his waistcoat. “And what if what I want isn’t suitable in the eyes of your high society? What if the things I want bring even more shame to the Corbin name?”

James lowered his brows as he reached for his own breeches. “You’re not…you don’t want to marry a goose or something, do you?”

“No,” Burke said with a laugh.

James smiled, happy to see he was easing his friend’s mind. “You’ll not take to the continent and become a nudist standing for paintings all day?”

Burke raised a brow at this suggestion. “I won’t say it doesn’t appeal, especially as an escape from the harsh English winter…and I do dearly love Florence.”

James just laughed as he worked himself back into his clothes. Burke finished first and went to unhobble the horses. As James leaned against the tree, shoving his foot inside his leather riding boot, Burke approached, reins in hand.

“And I know what you were thinking about,” Burke said. “You could never hide anything from me.”

James glanced up with a grunt as he gave the sides of his boot an almighty tug. Damn, this was always easier with a valet’s help. “What?” he huffed, snatching his other boot out of the grass.

“Earlier,” Burke said. “When you were musing.”

James slipped his other foot into the top of the second boot. “Oh, yes? And what was that?” He gave the second boot a Herculean tug.

“Miss Harrow.”

“Christ—” James lost his balance and nearly toppled over, shoving out his elbow to brace against the tree. He glanced up sharply, as if it were Burke’s fault he couldn’t put on his own damn boot. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Burke gave his horse’s neck a pat. “You were musing on the fine eyes and handsome figure of Miss Rosalie Harrow.”

James swallowed, still holding on to the sides of his boot. He tried to give nothing away in his face. “And why would I waste a moment thinking about her?”

Burke’s answering smile turned positively devilish. “Because your mother told you not to.”