A Gentleman's Position (Society of Gentlemen) (10 page)

“I don’t care. I don’t care if it’s good or right or proper or sane. Refuse if you wish. You have every right.” Lord Richard gave a wry smile. “But I will not waste time waiting to be asked again. I will not make others do the asking for what I know I want. And I want you quite painfully.” His fingers brushed David’s. “Do you want that…David?” A little hesitation over the name.

“Yes,” David heard himself say before his brain had a chance to be involved in the decision. “Just tonight. One night.”

“And afterwards, nothing.” Lord Richard stroked hair back from David’s face with a hand that shook. “Does that matter?”

Only because it will destroy me.
“No. I don’t care. We should walk. People may look.”

Lord Richard nodded reluctantly, and they moved on. “Where can we go?”

“Did you ride here from Tarlton March? Send a note back there that the horse is lamed. Stay at the rectory tonight.” He saw Lord Richard’s twitch. “My mother
knows.
She will help. Believe me, you cannot surprise her with human nature.”

“Your stepfather—”

“We will be deceiving him, yes,” David said. “This is Cricklade. There are no assignation houses and anonymous rooms. And if you were not Lord Richard Vane and I were not Mrs. Fleming’s redheaded son, perhaps nobody would notice us lying under a haystack—”

“It’s April, you city creature. Do you see any haystacks? And in any case, I cannot tell you how uncomfortable they are to lie in. I grew up here, remember?”

It was a deliberate attempt to lift the mood, and David made himself respond. “You mean that the ballads have deceived me, my lord?”

“I fear so. Hay is extremely dusty, and has surprisingly sharp ends. Will you call me Richard?”

“Is that for one night too?” David asked, and wished he hadn’t as Lord Richard flinched.

“It’s for us. Between us. I have wondered how my name would sound on your lips without adornment.”

“I called you by it once,” David pointed out.

“You did. And it will be my own damned fault if you don’t want to do so again, but I wish you would. Please, David?”

David took a deep breath. “Richard, then.”

“Thank you,” Richard said, and David found they were exchanging smiles.

They walked on a wide circuit around the village, killing time, bringing the evening closer. They talked of trivial things or were silent, with the sun on their faces and awareness throbbing between them.
David. Richard.

David would not delude himself this time. He would not let obstinate hope blind him to reality. He would have to take another post with another man, where he would work morning to night; he knew damned well there would be no leisure for a love affair.

But they could have tonight. One night with his lord to make sure that he did not spend all his life regretting what might have been. Instead he’d spend it mourning what he no longer had, but at that moment, that sounded like a bargain he could make.

David dealt with the tale to his stepfather easily enough. He normally felt no compunction about lying; it was a useful tool, the more so among people who cared about their word and truth. On this occasion, though, he felt unexpectedly ashamed. Mr. Fleming was an excellent man, humble and good-hearted with a look of wonder in his eyes every time he contemplated his wife, and David discovered that he did not want to lie to him. He did it anyway.

Mr. Fleming was naturally daunted by Richard’s presence, given that his livelihood was in the family gift. A poor rector could not be blamed for panicking when informed that Lord Richard Vane needed a room for the night.

“Are you quite sure he would not be more comfortable at the Red Lion, David?” Mr. Fleming faltered. “Or I am sure someone could lend him a horse or a chaise. Really, the spare bedroom…What do you think, Ellie?”

“We shall put him at the end of the hall where he will not be disturbed by the household noise,” David’s mother said. “I dare say David will not mind ensuring all is to his liking. It is worth the trouble, John dear, if he wishes to reengage David.”

“Well, but does David wish to be reengaged?” Mr. Fleming asked. “It is little more than a week since he arrived in some distress. You know you are welcome here as long as you like to stay, do you not, my boy? There is no need to take a place you find distasteful. Your mother and I are greatly enjoying your company.”

“Do you know, sir,” David said, “one of the best things my mother ever did was to present me with you as a father. I don’t know whether Lord Richard wishes to reengage me, or if I’d take the place if he did, but I would be most grateful if you could extend your hospitality to his lordship tonight. It is rather late for him to ride all the way to Tarlton March alone on an unfamiliar mount, and the sheets are so often damp at inns.”

“But—what sort of dinner can we serve him? I suppose we can eat in the kitchen, and perhaps you could think of something suitable for his lordship, Ellie?”

“He will dine with us, my dear.” Ellie’s tone brooked no dissent. “If our house and our table are good enough, so is our company.”

Which meant that, in a very little time, Lord Richard Vane was sitting down to dinner with them all.

David had made preparations in a haze, dizzy with anticipation, exerting his professional skills without thought. The reality of it, of his lordship dining with his mother, only sank in as Mr. Fleming said the grace with his voice shaking and it suddenly, horribly dawned upon David that he had brought together the people he most loved in the world with no idea how this might go.

The grace ended. An awful silence descended. Richard took a mouthful of the stew and said, “Delicious, Mrs. Fleming. Is this local lamb? One can’t mistake the taste of the Golden Fleece.”

And then, suddenly, they were talking, because of course Richard was a local man and dealt with so much of the Vane estates. He was able to speak of Cotswold sheep breeds, of farmers’ complaints and church issues; he listened with keen interest when Mr. Fleming was emboldened to put the case for a farmer enmeshed in a land dispute. Ellie was quiet, dropping in remarks to encourage her husband at first, then simply listening as he gained in confidence.

David sat and watched. He had never seen Richard in company before, and it was a masterful display of charm. Mr. Fleming blossomed; Ellie watched her husband with a small smile; David looked between them and could not quite believe it.

Mr. Fleming, who was not young, retired to bed around nine o’clock. He offered to stay up but was gently dismissed. “I shall remain a little longer, my dear,” Ellie told him. “I should like to talk to his lordship about David’s prospects. Good night.”

And then they were in the drawing room, David, his mother, and his no-longer master, not-yet lover, looking at one another.

“Well.” Ellie went to the sideboard. “We’ve plum brandy, your lordship. It’s a local drink, so I dare say you’ll praise it highly.”

“Mother,”
David said.

“Mrs. Fleming, I grew up on it,” Richard said.

“I doubt that. If ever drink was like to stunt your growth—”

“Without it, I should have been six foot seven.”

Ellie snorted with reluctant, unladylike amusement and passed them both glasses. “I will leave you, but, Lord Richard? My son puts great faith in you.” She gave him a smile that could have cut skin. “I hope you are the man you seem.”

She swished out of the room in a rustle of skirts. Richard gave a soundless whistle. “Your mother is indeed remarkable. Does she truly not—I was going to say
care,
but that is not the word. She does not mind?”

“She loves me as I am.”

Richard’s smile twisted. “You’re a fortunate man.”

David looked at him,
here.
“Yes, I am. Do you want to drink that?”

“Good God, no.” Richard put the glass of plum brandy down. “David, a moment. If you wish to consider matters further—”

“I don’t.”

“Nor do I. I want to forget about care and responsibility and tomorrow. I want…” He moved then, quickly for such a large man, so that he was kneeling by David’s chair, clasping his hand. “I want you quite painfully. I have wanted you since you stepped into the room for interview all those years ago, and I thought I could silence my desires with livery and hair powder. You may tell me I am a damned fool if you like, and you may also tell me no. To anything. I want you to swear to me that you will say no if you think it. I have been wrong too often. I will not be wrong now.”

David ran a finger down Richard’s cheek. “You have my word, but I should very much prefer to say yes.” He brought Richard’s hand to his mouth, kissed the knuckles. “And to hear you say it. Cry it out, for me.”

Richard groaned low. David pressed his mouth to the hand he held, parting his lips to take in the end of a finger, and sucked. Richard made a noise in his throat.

“Your hands are sensitive,” David whispered, and delved in between two fingers, pushing his tongue into the join, feeling Richard tremble. “I did wonder, when I have attended to them, if you…”

“Every time. Oh God, do that again.”

David had both of his hands on Richard’s now, sliding his fingertips between the bones. He pressed a little harder. “Every time?”

“Every time you had me at a stand, and I know you knew it.
David.
” Richard tipped his head back, exposing his throat, and David wanted the cravat out of his way.

Time enough. They had one night to make up for years of need. He did not intend to rush.

He raised Richard’s hand to his mouth again, thumbs tracing the sensitive palm as he sucked each finger in slow turn. Lips, tongue, teeth, over those big hands he knew as well as his own. Richard had his eyes shut, mouth open, and was breathing hard. David’s master, kneeling by him and entirely given up to the pleasure David was making him feel.

David gave the finger in his mouth one last, long stroke of the lips and let it go. A few seconds later, Richard opened his eyes.

“David.” His voice was thick, and he didn’t seem capable of saying anything else.

“Will you come to bed?”

Richard nodded and rose, with difficulty. Ellie had left a candle in the hall, which David took up, lighting the way through the old house’s passages, Richard at his heels. The rectory had been built for a man with a family and had more rooms than the Flemings needed, most unused. David had prepared a bedroom as far from his parents’ room as might be.

The room was still chilly from long disuse, though he had lit a fire some time ago. The bed was old but large, and he had made it with care, trying very hard not to think about what he was doing it for.

This could not be real.

But it was, because Richard shut the door as David put the candle down, came over with one long stride, and took him in his arms. David looked up, Richard’s mouth came down on his, and then there was nothing but kissing. Richard’s hand in David’s hair, the other arm around his waist, pulling David to him for long, hungry kisses with open mouths. David bit at Richard’s lips, felt him gasp at the scrape of teeth, and wrapped a leg around his powerful thigh. Richard’s hand moved to David’s arse, by instinct rather than intention because David felt the jolt of shock go through Richard as he did it. He groaned pleasure into the mouth against his, and then the big hand under him took confident hold, and David shut his eyes at the sheer joy of bodies pressed together, in perfect alignment.

Richard’s fingers drove against David’s scalp, tangling in his hair. “Dear heaven. Mr. Fox.”

David had spent his life being called Foxy, when he wasn’t being called
ginger-pate
or
redcock
or
Scots bastard.
It was not novel. It should not have made him feel so warm.

He stepped back just a little, reached up to Richard’s cravat as he had a thousand times, and stopped.

They stared at each other in the candlelight, David consumed by sudden panic. If Richard withdrew again at that reminder of their positions…

“I think,” Richard said carefully, “I think perhaps I should be undressing you.” He brought his fingers to David’s face. “If you can tolerate my lack of skill.” A fingertip slid over David’s lips, teasing them apart. “Perhaps you could instruct me.”

David made an incoherent noise, shuddering with relief. Richard put his hands to David’s lapels, sliding his thumbs inside the cloth of his coat, and pushed it over his shoulders and down his arms until the material was tangled behind David’s back. “Ah. I see why you do this from behind. On the other hand…” Richard leaned in for another kiss while David’s arms were still caught by the sleeves. “I have you trapped, my fox.”

David whimpered, pressing himself forward. Richard kissed his lips, the side of his face, and stopped only at his neckcloth. “Curse it, I must be about my business.” He tugged at the sleeves of the coat. David gave a helpful wriggle, and they wrested it off between them.

Richard reached for David’s waistcoat buttons. “I trust I will be more handy here.” His fingers were large, not nimble, pressing into David’s chest through the cloth. One button slid through its hole, then another, and Richard gently pulled the waistcoat open.

“Should this be done from the back?” he asked. “Because I am loath to lose the look on your face. My God, David. How did you do this so often?”

“How did you?” David returned. He could barely breathe for the feel of Richard’s hands on him, now unknotting his neckcloth with infinite care and slowness and sliding it away. Richard leaned down to press his lips to David’s bared throat, making him groan.

“David, my David.” Richard straightened, tugging at David’s shirt. “May I?”

“Please.” He lifted his arms. Richard pulled the shirt over his head, and David stood, bare to the waist, bare to his gaze.

“My God.” Richard put out a trembling hand and ran his fingers over the copper hairs that sprinkled David’s chest. “Sweet Jesus, you are beautiful. I have wanted to know—”

“All red. All the way down.”

Richard closed his eyes. “You cannot imagine how that has occupied my thoughts.” His touch was a little more certain now, thumbs tracing David’s chest, sliding apart over the wings of his rib cage, coming back to meet at his navel and the red trail downward. His hands shifted to David’s waistband, then he glanced up, a question in his eyes.

“No,” David said.

Richard snatched his hands back, retreating a long stride, and David felt as though his heart might not be able to take the strain of all it had to hold. “No, because I want you somewhat more unclothed first,” he went on. “And no, because I want you to understand that I will say it for myself if I wish to, and I shall not wait for you to ask.”

Richard exhaled. “Noted. Noted. I may have an apoplexy.”

“I should probably loosen your clothing then,” David said. “Turn around.” That was quite deliberate. One did not ask one’s master to make any effort. Richard turned, and David reached up and slid the coat off his shoulders, down his arms. It was a tiny struggle against nature to drop it on the back of a chair, endangering the fall of the cloth, but he managed.

Richard had turned back to him. David came close to unfasten the waistcoat buttons, looking up into his face. He could have done it blind.

Richard’s hand was in David’s hair again, idly finger-combing. David smiled up at him. “You do like my hair.”

“Beyond anything. Or, beyond most things.” He let go to allow the waistcoat’s removal and tugged off his own shirt, and David caught his breath.

He had not seen his master stripped often. He had averted his gaze rather than put himself through it. Now he could look his fill, on a bulky chest thick with dark hair, wide shoulders, a body used to exercise and unmarked by suffering or work. He spanned his hands over Richard’s pectoral muscles and rubbed, very lightly, watching Richard’s throat convulse. David leaned forward and put his mouth to use, lavishing attention on a nipple that hardened under his tongue, relishing the scrape of curled hair on his lips.

“David.” Richard was clutching David’s hair again, stroking his neck, his back. “Dear heaven.
Stop.
”

David pulled away. Richard was breathing hard, eyes shut. “A moment, please. It has been too long, and I have wanted you too much, and…I think I have reached the limits of my self-control.”

David ran a finger down Richard’s arm, feeling his shudder. “I should very much like to see you lose control. Particularly if I could make you do it.”

“You have no idea.” Richard’s voice was a growl. “None.”

“Show me.”

Richard opened his eyes. He gave David a long look. Then he bent, grabbed, and hoisted David clean off his feet. Two strides, and he found himself dropped unceremoniously on the bed on his back with Richard leaning over him and blotting out the light.

“You,” Richard said. He fumbled at David’s waistband, opening the fall of his trousers, and pushed them and the drawers off over David’s rigid stand. “Oh, dear heaven.” He reached out and gently stroked the curls at David’s groin with a single, careful finger.