A Gentleman's Position (Society of Gentlemen) (21 page)

Richard grunted and leaned in harder, and David couldn’t hold himself up against the weight. He went forward with a yelp, and then he was facedown on the carpet with Richard’s arms wrapped around him, under his chest and belly—avoiding his bruised ribs, of course, though that was the least of David’s concerns—and Richard was driving into him mercilessly, in and out. David cried aloud, although he barely had the breath for the weight on his back, writhing in his grip for the joy of friction against the rug, and felt Richard’s teeth in his shoulder through the linen of his shirt. “Tell me,” he rasped, pushing back. “Tell me you wanted this.”

“Forever.” Richard sounded as though his teeth were set. “You cannot imagine. If I had dared I should have pushed you onto the bed and begged for your body every night. Christ, David, you have no idea how I imagined you.”

David felt his lips stretch in a savage grin. “Show me now.”

Richard made an animal noise. “Up.” He sat back, hauling David off the carpet with him, so he was kneeling up, and David sat splayed over his lap. Richard’s arm tightened across David’s chest even as his other hand moved to David’s aching prick. Dear God, he wished they had a mirror for this. He wanted to see his own slim body against Richard’s bulk, see the red marks of hard fingers on his own skin, watch himself being taken.

“You are going to spend like this,” Richard said into his ear. He was fucking with short, hard snaps of the hips now even as he worked David’s cock, sending the pleasure pulsing through him inside and out so that he felt utterly, gloriously overwhelmed. “Me inside you and holding you. I
dreamed
of fucking you like this, you beautiful bastard.” He bit at David’s neck. “I dreamed you’d want me to.”

“I wanted you to put me over the desk at the interview,” David managed. Richard’s hand engulfed his prick, his grip and his restraining arm so powerful that David couldn’t have got free if he’d tried. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Richard’s hips ground against him. “Then I should make it worth our wait. Like—”

“Oh Jesus!” David yelped as Richard thrust upward with startling force. “Please!”

“Again,” Richard said in his ear. “Say it again.”

“Please, Richard, more.
Please.
” David had known the man was strong but he must have thighs of iron to be pushing up like this and at just the perfect angle. If he wanted David begging, he could have it. “Fuck me, fuck me as you wanted to, don’t stop—”

“With me,” Richard gasped in his ear, hand tightening almost unbearably. “With me now.”

David threw his head back against Richard’s shoulder, crying out as he came so hard that it ached, only vaguely aware that Richard was climaxing at the same time. Two shuddering, interlocked bodies, two thundering hearts.

They gasped together a little longer as David’s vision cleared. David’s head was lolling back rather far for comfort, but he didn’t want to move.

“Ugh,” Richard said at last. “My knees.”

David wriggled off, rolled onto the carpet, and stared at the ceiling, getting his breath back. His chest smarted from Richard’s commanding grip, so much that he rather suspected Richard had picked up some ideas from Mr. Frey before they parted, and sent a grateful thought the gentleman’s way.

Richard was straightening his long legs, wincing as he unfolded himself. “My God, David, I cannot tell you how much I wanted that. I hope I did not crush you?”

“I told you, I like your size.”

“I hope I did not crush you excessively, then.” Richard leaned in for a long, gentle kiss. “And that you feel I have paid my debt.”

David smiled at that. “In full.”

“I don’t know if it was your intent,” Richard added, “but I suspect I shall find it a great deal easier to face this afternoon now. I only hope I can keep my mind on our business.” He brushed his hand through David’s hair. “We should get up. And dress.”

They should at that. David dealt with the ruin of his own appearance quickly and was restored to unexceptional decency while Richard was still in the bedroom, prodding at his somewhat disordered cravat in the mirror.

“Let me.” David went over to him. “You’ll need a new cloth; we keep some in the drawers.”

He whisked a snowy length of lawn out and stood in front of Richard as he had so often, valet to master. Richard lifted his chin to let David remove the creased neckcloth and tweak his collar points, then caught David’s hand before he could draw it back, kissing the fingertips. “Thank you for this. I appreciate it.”

“It’s my pleasure,” David said, and then, very softly, added, “It always was.”

Richard sat in White’s that afternoon, looking at a newspaper without reading it, and waited.

He sat alone. The others were there but occupied so that they did not appear to be assembled as a clique. Julius and Francis were at the tables casting dice. Ash was with his bosom friend Freddy, looking white and sick, as well he might. Richard knew Ash had had an interview with his brother that afternoon in which he had informed Maltravers in so many words that he would not bow to the blackmail. It had evidently been a brutal discussion.

So he waited in the club as his ancestors had waited in tents or on horseback for battle to begin. But it had been two hours now, and the boredom was beginning to become as oppressive as the tension. He wished David were there.

David, twisting and spasming under him, given up to pleasure. David demanding what he wanted and Richard giving it to him because between them they were perfect.

A few weeks before he’d have been appalled at the thought of taking David with anything less than the most reverent care, probably would not have done it at all, could not possibly have backgammoned the man and then had him serve as a valet straight after. All that seemed bafflingly foolish now. David made his own choices; he did not require anyone to protect him from himself. Why on earth would one take a man like that and decide he needed to be coddled? One might as well attempt to make a fox into a lapdog. Of course he’d bite.

Richard knew what he was going to offer David when this business was over. It was not what he would have wanted to offer given a free choice and far from what he would have wanted to accept if he had been in David’s shoes, but he was not David. He hoped, desperately, that it would do.

Of course, any thoughts of the future assumed that David’s schemes had worked and that Richard and his friends would not be forced to flee the country, or deal with arrest, or face public humiliation or private shame or any of the other prospects that were keeping all the Ricardians awake at night. He did not want to explain matters to Philip if this went wrong.

There was a small stir at the door. Richard looked up, feeling his chest tighten with anticipation, and saw not Lord Maltravers but his own brother.

Philip lifted a hand from across the room and made his way over, pausing to greet Lord Alvanley as he passed. The corpulent peer was an intimate of the king and a well-respected man. “Ah, Richard. I had hoped to find you at home,” Philip informed him. “Could you spare me an hour of your time?”

Richard was supposed to be in White’s; it was no use to have Maltravers find him anywhere else. And he did not want Philip to witness whatever might happen.

“Now?” Richard asked. “Is this business or family?”

“Some business, but I hoped to speak to you. I was concerned to know you’re well. Will you walk with me? Unless you’re too busy,” Philip added, looking at the newspaper and the coffee cup by Richard’s solitary chair.

“No, not busy, but I am awaiting, uh, Dominic. Perhaps I could visit you tomorrow? I should like to see the children.”

“Please do.” Philip did not have an expressive face, but Richard knew him like none other. His brother was hurt, and it was not even as though he could mix with the other men there. Everyone in the room knew and respected Cirencester, but it would not occur to him to talk to any of them for pleasure. He was comfortable with Richard. “Would you prefer me to leave you alone?”

Good God, yes, go away.
“Not at all.” He could not send his brother off like this even with the awful possibility of confrontation looming. David would tell him he was not thinking of the outcome, he knew; he still could not do it. “Sit down. Tell me what you have been doing.”

“You tell me the same, brother. You seem to have been occupied these last weeks. What have you been up to? I did not ask you when we last spoke: How was Tarlton March?”

“Interesting,” Richard said thankfully, and plunged into the account of the sheep-farming dispute he’d heard about from David’s stepfather. Philip listened with close attention, putting in some questions Richard had not considered, and Richard found himself so engrossed in the conversation that he barely noticed the noise from the doorway until Lord Maltravers bellowed his name.

“Vane! You there, Vane!”

Conversations around the room faltered. Richard looked up. Beside him, Philip stiffened.

“Good afternoon to you, my lord,” Richard said. “Are you addressing me or Cirencester in that manner?”

“You, as you well know.”

“Lord Maltravers, you are very blunt,” Philip said.

“You may not hide behind your brother’s title, sir,” Maltravers told Richard with immense satisfaction. “You owe me an apology. A
public
apology.”

“For what?” Philip demanded.

“Has Vane taken up writing?” asked Sir James Cairn, a noted gossip and literary patron. There was a splutter of laughter from around the room. Richard didn’t understand why, but he would have wagered his fortune it was David’s handiwork somehow.

He gave Cairn a suitably blank look. “I called Lord Maltravers a liar.” That dragged all the attention back to himself, and Richard had to pitch his voice loud to go on over the stir it caused. “And I shall be glad to retract my words at such time as I see proof that he is not one. I await that proof with interest, my lord.”

The room was completely silent now. Maltravers paced forward. Behind him and through the other door, more men were coming in, attracted by the raised voices.

“Richard.” There was a clear warning in Philip’s tone. “It is not like you to make accusations.”

“No, it is not, but then, I don’t often mix with liars,” Richard said. “I beg your pardon, Cirencester, but Lord Maltravers has made allegations against my friends that must be substantiated or withdrawn.”

“This is not your quarrel, then,” Philip said with a frown.

“Lord Maltravers has made it my quarrel.” Richard rose. “He knows how. And I say again, sir, that you must prove your words or withdraw them.”

“No, Lord Richard,” Maltravers said. “
You
will withdraw your words, or I shall make you eat them here and now. Won’t I, Gabriel?”

“What?” Ash, in the corner of the room, blenched.

“Do you wish me to prove my words to your friend here?” Maltravers shot a malevolent look at Francis. “Do
you,
Spinning Jenny?”

That was one of the schoolboy taunts Maltravers had long used on Francis, who returned a look of withering contempt. “If you have something intelligent to say, I’m sure we’d all be astonished to hear it.”

“No, please don’t,” Ash said. “Please, Mal. Richard, I must ask you to take this elsewhere. This is—private business.” He glanced around the crowded room, visibly unhappy.

“No, I don’t think so,” Maltravers said. “Vane has called me a liar, in public, and I will have my apology. I told you, sirrah, that your dear friend Francis Webster was a sodomite.” There were audible gasps from around the room. “And I repeat that, and here, sir, is my proof of it.”

He pulled out a sealed letter from his breast pocket and waved it.

There was an endless moment’s total silence. Richard didn’t dare look at the others. He set his jaw, unsure he could control his features.

Finally Francis managed, “
What
did you say?” His voice had a strangled sound.

“Oh God, please.” Ash put his face in his hands, a picture of shame. “Mal, don’t.”

“Give that to me.” Richard took a pace forward, holding out his hand in command. “Let me see that at once.”

Maltravers snatched the letter back. “I think not. I do not trust it to your hands, sir.” He glanced around, spoke more loudly. “This is from my misguided wretch of a brother to that weaver’s brat—”

Francis lunged. Julius grabbed him, hissing, “Steady, now. Steady.”

“It is a full confession to the vilest crimes, and I shall be acting on it once I have your apology, Lord Richard.” Maltravers shot a malevolent look at Ash. “You have only yourself to blame.”

Richard set his shoulders. “Let me see it, my lord. When I see that it says what you claim, I shall retract my words at once. For God’s sake, let me read it.”

Ash made a stifled noise. Maltravers glanced at Richard and then thrust the letter in Philip’s direction. “You may read it, Cirencester. I should not wish my evidence to be harmed.”

Philip looked at Maltravers with glacial disdain. “It is not my habit to read other men’s letters, Lord Maltravers. I am surprised to learn that it is the habit of any man in this room.”

“Well said,” someone mumbled, and there was a general murmur of support. Richard doubted its sincerity. If Philip had offered to read the thing out loud, nobody would have moved from the spot.

“I should very much wish it to be read.” Francis had his voice back under control. “
I
want to read it.”

“Ash, may I have your permission?” Richard asked gently. Ash nodded, staring at the floor. Richard held out his hand for the letter once more. “I will not throw it in the fire or tear it up, if that is what you fear, Lord Maltravers. You have my word. But I must know if what you say is true.”

Lord Maltravers glanced around. “Every man here has heard you say that. Very well.” He handed over the letter.

Richard broke the seal, unfolded the sheets, and scanned them. He took his time, reading the letter carefully, turning the closely written pages, letting nothing show on his face. The silence built. He came to the end, shuffled the pages together, and turned the sheaf face up.

“Well?” Francis demanded. “What the devil is this?”

“I think I must withdraw my claim that Lord Maltravers is a liar.” Richard could hear himself with odd clarity, sounding deep and grave in the silent room. “It is quite evident that he is insane.”

“What!” Maltravers shouted over the babble that erupted. “You just read—”

“I did read it.” Richard had a very loud voice when he chose, and he made it loud now. “I have read four pages of chatter and gossip in Ash’s inimitably bad handwriting and saw not one single word that any man could interpret as criminal. What is
wrong
with you?”

“It is four pages of perversion!” Maltravers shouted, eyes bulging. “What the— Someone else read it!”

“An excellent idea.” Richard passed the letter to Alvanley. “With your permission, Ash, of course.”

“I suppose you must,” Ash said. “It’s only fair on Webster. I am awfully sorry about this.”

“What the devil was
in
that letter?” demanded Francis.

“Nothing at all. It was addressed to you and dated from Christmas,” Richard said. “The man is quite mad.”

“That is one explanation,” Alvanley said, as Richard went to ring the bell and murmured an order to a wooden-looking footman. “There is nothing blameworthy in this letter except, as Lord Richard observes, the penmanship. Lord Maltravers, what on earth are you about?”

“Give that to me!” Maltravers snatched the letter from Lord Alvanley’s hand, ignoring the peer’s offended look. Maltravers’s eyes bulged as he scanned the pages. “But this is not the right letter. This is the wrong one. It is nothing but a foolish mistake. I shall send for the correct one—”

“I spoke to Lord Maltravers this morning about another matter,” Richard said. “He mentioned this supposed letter then but was unable to produce it, for unexplained reasons. He has had the afternoon to retrieve it and brings the ‘wrong one.’ I dare say that if he goes to find it again we will hear another excuse.”

“It was in my man’s keeping,” Maltravers said. “He must have given me the wrong one, that’s all. There has been a mistake.”

“I beg your pardon?” Richard gave Maltravers an incredulous look. “You say you had a letter written by your brother, containing an admission of a capital crime, and you handed it to a
servant
?”

“For this confusion to arise, the servant must have at least two of Lord Gabriel’s letters in his possession,” Philip said. One consequence of his illiteracy was that he listened to detail very carefully indeed. “How is it that you have so many of your brother’s private communications, my lord?”

“He stole three at Christmas,” Ash said, a picture of reluctant admission, as Maltravers groped for an answer. “Or, at least, I put out several to post at Warminster Hall, and only one ever arrived. This has been coming for a while, I’m afraid. It happened to our Great-Aunt Lucinda too. You couldn’t trust her with the spoons.”

“You damned little bastard!” Maltravers bellowed. “You lying swine!”

“I hardly think that is an accusation you can make,
my lord.
” Venom dripped from Francis’s words. “And you owe me an apology.”

“He does, but I claim precedence.” Richard glanced at the open door of the room. “Lord Maltravers has an apology to make to me first. Ah, Cyprian. Please come in.”

There was a soft cough, and David stepped around Lord Maltravers, giving him a markedly wide berth.

“I beg your pardon, gentlemen, Cirencester, Alvanley,” Richard said. “This is Cyprian, formerly my valet. I sent for him just now for reasons which I trust will become clear.”

David stood in the middle of the room, under dozens of eyes, face blank. The ugly bruise was a spectacular shade of dark purple now, its swelling marring the line of his cheek. Otherwise, he was soberly clad, expressionless, a picture of the perfect servant except for his vibrant hair. Richard rubbed his fingertips together at the memory of how that hair felt.

Just a few hours ago he’d fucked this imperturbable, unreadable man till he begged and babbled. They had kissed and conspired and climaxed together, and just as David had said, nobody in the room would ever know. Richard had to bite back a sudden wild urge to laugh.

They were going to win this, because he had David on his side and that meant he could not lose.

“Good heavens,” Julius was saying. “What on earth happened to him? Footpads?”

“No,” Richard said. “Lord Maltravers attacked him.”

There was a flurry of shock. A man might well throw a boot at an ordinary valet, but this was the great Cyprian.

“He is my valet. I may chastise my own servant,” Maltravers snapped.