Two Rogues Make a Right (Seducing the Sedgwicks Book 3) by Cat Sebastian
English | 2020 | Romance MM | ePUB | 3.5 MB
Will Sedgwick can’t believe that after months of searching for his oldest friend, Martin Easterbrook is found hiding in an attic like a gothic nightmare. Intent on nursing Martin back to health, Will kindly kidnaps him and takes him to the countryside to recover, well away from the world.
Martin doesn’t much care where he is or even how he got there. He’s much more concerned that the man he’s loved his entire life is currently waiting on him hand and foot, feeding him soup and making him tea. Martin knows he’s a lost cause, one he doesn’t want Will to waste his life on.
As a lifetime of love transforms into a tender passion both men always desired but neither expected, can they envision a life free from the restrictions of the past, a life with each other?
Martin didn’t know if it was the sound of Will’s voice or the fact that it meant Will was nearby, but listening to him read aloud was soothing in a way no tinctures or balms had ever been. Even now, when Will was reading a thoroughly mad novel about villainous doctors hell-bent on grave robbing and vivisection, his voice acted like a snake charmer’s flute.
As Martin listened, he looked out the window at this landscape that was neither strange nor quite familiar in its gentle near-flatness. Martin could, he supposed, ask Will where they were. But what mattered more was where they weren’t: not near anyone who would try to browbeat or control Martin—for his own good, of course—nor anyone who thought Martin’s illness was an excellent excuse to politely take away his choices and his freedom, to delicately turn the key in the lock.
And yet. He didn’t think he had come willingly to—to wherever they were. He wanted to know where they were, but more importantly he wanted to know how they had gotten there, but he was afraid he wasn’t ready for the answer to that quite yet.
He became aware that Will had left off reading. “Don’t stop,” he said. “At least not on my account.”
“Your eyes were shut,” Will said. He sat in the chair beside Martin’s bed, his booted feet a heavy weight on the mattress. Martin could almost sense the heat pouring off Will’s body. Will had always run hot. “I thought you might have fallen asleep.”
“I’m paying perfect attention,” Martin lied. His fever may have broken, but his mind was the hollowed-out husk it always was after a fever. It had been two years since he showed the first signs of consumption, which he had acquired in circumstances he strongly preferred not to think about, but before that he had a lifetime of frail health and weak lungs and ill humors and whatever else the physicians and apothecaries decided to call it. By now Martin knew the lay of the land. “I want to know what happens to the poor man.” When Will didn’t answer, Martin opened his eyes and found Will looking at him curiously, his hair tumbled across his forehead in a way that made Martin’s fingers itch to brush it back.
“Which poor man?” Will asked carefully.
“The man who—he lives in the Alps and has an overbearing father.”
Will closed the book. “I think we’ll leave the rest of this novel for when you’re more lucid,” he said, his mouth twitching in a badly suppressed smile, “but I will always cherish the description of Victor Frankenstein as an overbearing parent.”