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Bless Us With Content

Ashton Laytham was a happy little boy until, at the age of seven, he lost his parents. Sent to Fayerweather to be brought up by his uncle and his uncle’s wife, he was perceived to be an unhappy, unlovable child. Shunned by family and servants and permitted no friends to visit, he grows to adulthood alone and aloof, with only an occasional illicit rendezvous to lighten his days.<br><br>When his uncle dies, leaving the estate virtually bankrupt, it’s left to Ashton to make good on his uncle’s gaming debts and save Fayerweather. But how? The family talisman, worth thousands of pounds, has been stolen and the suspects vanished in the night, leaving Ashton to face the loss of the home he’s come to love.<br><br>Geo Stephenson, who works in His Majesty’s civil service, has ghosts of his own. The product of a marriage of convenience, Geo has known all his life his father never loved his mother, and he vows that will never happen to him. Marked by a physical scar earned in battle, none of his previous lovers could bear looking at it without shuddering; his mental scars are due to the many friends lost in useless battles. Geo arrives with a fistful of Sir Eustace Laytham’s IOUs and a solution: Ashton accommodating him in bed, thereby paying off the debt.<br><br>Attracted to Geo in spite of himself and desperate for any human kindness, Ashton agrees ... never expecting to lose his heart to a man who has sworn he’ll never give his. Can these two men find a measure of happiness together?

Tinnean · LGBT+
Zu wenig Bewertungen
104 Chs

Chapter 81

“I rather think having my instructions flouted was even more uncalled for, Aunt.”

“The horse was in the stables for anyone to ride,” Miss Munro said petulantly from behind the screen. “Why shouldn’t I take it out?”

“Perhaps because I told you not to?”

“I was tired of that cart horse you saw fit to mount me on! You understand, don’t you, dear Lady Cecily? You must say you do!”

“My dear child, if Ashton asked you not to—”

“The groom saddled it for me.” Sulkiness was etched in her words.

“It was the stable boy, and only after you struck him with your riding crop.”

Aunt Cecily paled. She had as little reason as I to look with complacency upon a crop being wielded by anyone. “Juliet, you never told me—”