#guy thwarte

THE BUCCANEERS (2023-)

dir. susanna white

Summary: You, Theo, and Guy grew up together. Over time, your feelings for Theo changed, but he only ever saw you as a friend. One night, after some wine, he suggested you should marry — out of pity, not love. Unwilling to accept that, you left England for nearly two years. Now you've returned. Can your friendship with Theo survive? Or will something more finally bloom between you?

Author’s Note: I’m not sure if this fanfic will have multiple chapters, that depends on how readers engage with it. But I truly hope that those who love Theo will read and enjoy this story.

ao3 link TWO

ONE

A memorable night for your return. It had to be — an unforgettable evening. You try to steady your breath, but every time your eyes close, memories of Theo flood your mind. The way he taught you to ride when you could barely stay upright on a horse. The nights spent speaking of distant lands and wild adventures you might one day embark upon. But privacy was never afforded to you for long. Society would not allow it — always quick to judge, to assume he was taking advantage of you. And Theo would never dare. There was too much respect… and affection. A friend’s love, never anything more.

“You’re far too quiet. Soon we’ll be surrounded by potential suitors — you ought to practise being agreeable,” your mother remarks sharply, eyeing you from across the carriage. Forcing a hollow smile in her direction, you return to reality.

“I shall behave as the daughter you raised me to be,” you reply with a touch of cynicism, your thoughts drifting to how deeply your father’s presence is missed. He had supported your longing to explore the world rather than chase after marriage. But the moment he passed, your mother packed your trunks and ordered your return to London.

Returning, in itself, is already distressing. To now be expected to appear desirable to eligible suitors feels nearly unbearable. But nothing compares to the weight of knowing you’ll soon face Theo — not after the way things ended.

You left without a single word, after refusing his proposal. If only your mother knew the Duke of Tintagel had once asked for your hand…

“We’ve arrived!” your mother announces the moment the carriage comes to a stop. You glance outside and see a crowd pouring into Tintagel Castle — the very place where Theo resides, and where you last saw him.

“Conduct yourself properly tonight, and you’ll leave this ball with more suitors than you can count,” she says, fussing over you, smoothing your hair and adjusting your gown. She wants to be certain that you look precisely as a proper young lady should.

You step out of the carriage in silence, knowing that nothing you say will make the slightest difference. As you walk, you find yourself quietly wishing something, anything, might happen to free you from this place. Moving toward the elegant crowd entering the ball hosted by Theo’s mother, you hear a familiar voice.

“Well, look who we have here,” Guy Thwarte says, making his way toward you the moment you cross the threshold.

“Mr. Thwarte, I do hope you’ve missed me,” you reply, greeting him formally while feigning a genuine respect for society’s expectations. He chuckles, clearly amused.

“Miss, I’d say I was the gentleman who missed you most — if we both didn’t know the Duke likely felt your absence more,” Guy remarks with a sly smile. At once, the weight of seeing Theo again settles heavily upon your shoulders.

“He likely has no wish to be in my company,” you reply softly, aware that Theo may not want to see you at all. Perhaps you should have left a letter, some explanation for your sudden departure.

But how does one confess to their dearest friend that they ran away because he proposed out of pity and because they were hopelessly in love with him?

Or that your father had fallen ill and required treatment abroad, and made you swear to keep it secret?

None of it, you knew, could be written plainly in a letter, not without sounding either foolish or unforgivably dramatic.

“Do not speak falsehoods, my dear friend. Our gracious duke has waited for you all this time,” Guy says as he gently pulls you into the throng of ladies and gentlemen preparing to dance.

For a fleeting moment, you nearly forget that you could have refused — that you still might have avoided what was to come.

“And how can you speak with such confidence about something you cannot possibly know, Guy?” you reply, turning your back to him and readying yourself for the dance that is soon to begin.

The music swells, and as Guy approaches to take your hand, he leans in and murmurs, “Something tells me we’ll have our answer soon enough, my dearest Y/N.”

His gaze shifts behind you, and instinctively, you turn to see what caught his eye. There he is — Theo. And at his side, a striking young woman, smiling up at him. Your heart falters the instant your eyes meet Theo’s. Where he had just been laughing, his expression now hardens.

You miss a step in the dance, stumbling slightly. Guy catches you before you fall, but the motion draws curious glances from those nearby.

It feels as though every eye is upon you, from the moment Guy caught your fall to the moment you rose again and struggled to regain the rhythm of the dance.

“Shall we step away?” Guy murmurs, as the two of you begin to move more closely together, though always maintaining a respectful distance. He has been your friend for far too long to invite gossip, and yet, you are well aware that in the eyes of society and your mother even the faintest familiarity can be easily transformed into the illusion of romance.

There is, perhaps, a quiet irony in the fact that you have always regarded Guy as a brother, while your heart continues to long for Theo. Both men were raised beside you, both know you intimately, yet only one ever truly claimed your affection.

“No,” you reply softly, steadying your breath. “That would only draw unnecessary attention. Though I do believe it is time we change partners.”

Guy offers a brief nod, then silently shifts his posture, placing himself between you and the gathering crowd, ensuring that you are spared the sight of Theo and the beautiful woman who stands beside him.

Of course, you had considered the possibility that he might fall in love during your absence — why wouldn’t he?

He has no idea that your heart has belonged to him for years.

“If you need a friend, I’ll be the gentleman by the wine,” Guy says gently, his voice laced with genuine care. The music then fades.

The moment to change partners arrives with such suddenness that you have no time to think, no time to prepare. In the space of a breath, you find yourself standing before the man who was once your closest friend — perhaps your forever-unrequited love. Theo. He should not be here, and yet, he is.

He places his hands upon you with a familiar ease that nearly undoes your composure, guiding you seamlessly into the next dance, while you struggle to process the nearness of him after so long.

“I suppose you thought you could avoid me at my own ball,” Theo whispers, his voice low and smooth, the warmth of his breath near your ear sending a shiver down your spine.

"If I had any intention of avoiding you, Duke, you may rest assured it would not be difficult, for just moments ago, you appeared rather preoccupied." You resist the urge to mention the striking young lady who had accompanied him — it would be far too bold, and besides, whomever Theo chooses to involve himself with is not, and never will be, any of your concern.

He gazes at you with a familiar sharpness, then leans in slightly, his voice low and laced with quiet provocation as he replies, “You’ve gone to great lengths to avoid me, that much is clear. We both know that a simple conversation with me might compel you to flee to another continent like a frightened child, so I shall do my best not to startle you.”

His hand tightens around your waist, pulling you nearer. His body presses against yours as you move across the ballroom, surrounded by other couples spinning and stepping in practiced rhythm.

“And are you holding me this tightly because you fear I might run from you…” you say daringly, meeting his gaze as you try to pull back — just slightly — “…or because you’ve missed me, Theo?”

You attempt to put some distance between your bodies, just enough to steady your breath, but not enough to disrupt the rhythm of the dance. He does not release you, not entirely and for a brief moment, the world around you blurs into music, candlelight, and the silent weight of everything left unsaid.

“You will not escape me this time, Y/N.” Theo steps into the library, his presence sudden and commanding, the tension in his features betraying a touch of irritation.

“I am not trying to escape you,” you reply, your tone measured, though you keep a cautious distance between you. “At least not at this moment.”

He closes the door behind him and turns the key in the lock, his gaze never leaving yours. Slowly, he begins to approach, one deliberate step after another.

“Then you admit there was a time when you wished to escape me?” His voice carries a subtle challenge, as though daring you to confess something left long unsaid.

“I admit no such thing,” you respond, your voice calm but firm. “What I do acknowledge is that if we remain here much longer, whispers will begin, and we shall be—”

You falter, losing the thread of your thought as his eyes, clear and impossibly blue, hold yours with quiet intensity.

“Obliged to marry?” he finishes for you, his words cool and tinged with irony. “That would be your worst nightmare, would it not? Enough to make you disappear from the face of the earth. I would never allow you to be condemned to such a fate.”

There is something in his expression — not quite cruelty, but a deliberate reminder of the last time you were this close. The memory of a proposal offered without love still lingers.

“If you think I might take offense, let me assure you I am grateful,” you answer, stepping forward until you stand directly before him. “I never intended to marry out of pity.”

For a brief moment, silence settles between you. His eyes linger, studying your face — and just for an instant, you think he glances at your lips. Or perhaps it is merely your imagination.

"Nor did I, Miss Y/L/N. Never, in all my life, have I desired or intended a marriage born of pity," Theo replies, his gaze locking with yours in a way that seems to capture your very soul.

He takes a step closer, then reaches out, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face with quiet intention. In that moment, it is as if he has taken hold not only of your gaze, but of your thoughts — of your heart itself — claiming them as his own.

"Nan, Nan." "There's— there's no time." "Listen." / "Nan, I need to talk to you. Please, Nan." "I can't." "What? This is me." "I…"

Theo, she knows.