An Improper Holiday (7 page)

nipples, blending teeth, tongue and lips to bring hot pressure hovering at the edge of pain. Nicky lent encouragement with a hand on Ian’s head, willing his mouth lower, but as usual, hurrying Ian was

pointless. He left marks across Nicky’s belly, and no amount of trying to move his cock closer to Ian’s mouth brought satisfaction.

For all that Nicky had gained in experience, Ian could still drive him to despair. Frustration added a harsh note to his voice as he gasped, “Whoreson bastard.”

Ian’s hand squeezed Nicky’s hip. “My father would be grieved to hear it.”

The laugh happily perished in Nicky’s throat as Ian wrapped his lips around the head of Nicky’s cock

at last. Certainly there had been men with far more experience performing this task for him, but this was Ian, and when he set himself to something, he would have nothing less than perfection.

Perfection played out in the wet caress along the shaft, hand and mouth exciting every nerve, driving

Nicky’s hips to press upward, seeking more,
please
more. Instead Ian moved, dragged his tongue and then his chin across Nicky’s ballocks, a scrape of rough evening whiskers tingling the sac.

Ian had audacity by the score to play the hurt faithful lover. This was practiced skill woven to drive a man insane.

Nicky’s throat ached from swallowing back cries and pleas, sounds he feared would crack the oldest

stones in the castle were he to free them, when Ian took the shaft in a firm grip and applied his mouth. Ebb
An Improper Holiday

and flow of hard suction and comforting laps with a wet tongue, sensation alternately an agony of need and the sweetness of fulfillment.

As much as Nicky longed for the soft heat of Ian’s throat, his rhythm carried Nicky swiftly to the

edge. His body trembled with tension, the flood gathering in his balls, when the cursed fiend raised his hellborn head.

The blaze in Ian’s dark eyes stilled the protest firmly behind Nicky’s lips.

“When he took you did it feel as good as this?” Ian’s breath fell hot against the head of Nicky’s cock until he was sure he would weep.

He shook his head and then dared the word. “No. No. But—Christ—Ian—” How to tell Ian that he

longed for that full possession, the intimacy of bodies connected, all bundled with the gift of Ian’s single-minded attention?

Ian growled and dove back onto Nicky’s cock, swallowing, pulling him deep into the shocking heat

and slick, velvety caress of tongue, mouth, throat. Ian growled again, the vibration rippling across Nicky’s cock, piercing him on that blade-sharp moment from which there was no return.

Nicky reached down, scrabbling for a hand to grasp as the spasms racked his body, forgetting in that

perfect moment that there was none to spare. His hand closed around the end of Ian’s arm, the struggle as Ian sought to free himself making warmth sting the backs of Nicky’s eyes even as his hips pumped,

shooting his seed deep into Ian’s throat.

When Nicky had ridden out the last of the shudders, Ian wiped his face against Nicky’s thigh, twisting out of his grasp.

“No.” Nicky reasserted his grip. This was a part of Ian now and damned if he would let him hide it or

be ashamed when there was already so much Ian kept from those who loved him. He tugged Ian closer.

“Kiss me.”

Ian dragged the back of his hand across his mouth. “But—”

“I don’t care.”

Ian’s kiss was tentative, resisting all of Nicky’s efforts to coax his lips apart. In the end, Nicky had to relinquish Ian’s arm to make a grab for the hard staff jutting between them.

Ian gasped and Nicky licked into his mouth, tasting himself layered with the familiarity of Ian.

Ian pulled away, his chiding “Nicky” at once familiar and frustrating.

Nicky could feel his own grin down to his toes. “You will never change. And I am the happier for it.”

He licked his lips. “Climb up here and feed me your cock.”

Ian shook his head, backing away and taking his shaft in hand.

Nicky looked askance, for he could not imagine how one’s own hand could surpass a willing mouth,

even for Ian, but as Ian’s hips jerked and his lids fluttered over his eyes, Nicky decided he would not complain about this course of entertainment.

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After only a few quick strokes of his hand, Ian’s cock spurted, streams landing from Nicky’s chin to

his navel. Ian folded from the waist as he spent himself and then looked up, trailing his fingers across the creamy drops. Nicky watched in astonishment. Ian had always seen bodily emissions as something to clean away as soon as possible.

“Ian?”

Ian stroked his hand across Nicky’s chest again. “Wanted to cover you with it.” Ian’s smile was

rueful. “As if I might leave my mark.”

“Noddy fool.” Nicky tapped Ian’s temple. “You already have done.”

~ * ~

Icy, predawn air bit at the tip of Nicky’s nose, and he squinted at the fire. He hadn’t been a very good valet. Unbanked, the fire had burnt itself out. Ian had ever been a heavenly bedmate in the winter, body radiating enough heat to thaw a glacier, but as soon as Nicky put his foot out on the floor he knew he’d be perished. He’d heard it was warm in Italy and Greece the year round.

Ian didn’t stir, but Nicky felt the body beside him shift to wakefulness just the same. At school, the all-male environs had offered something of a shield. The masters were lax and some students even

managed to smuggle in their
filles de joie
. Carleigh Castle was another matter entirely. Nicky must need to start the day from his own bedchamber.

He slipped one leg from beneath the bedclothes and held off a groan. Knowing a dilatory effort would

only prolong his agony, he vaulted out and began to haul on his clothes as swiftly as his benumbed fingers could manage.

Ian remained silent, though Nicky could feel the weight of his gaze. He expected a lecture, expected

recriminations, and was surprised by a deep chuckle from beneath the quilt.

“You could scare children with that head of hair, Nicky.”

He brought both hands to his head and peered into the glass on the washstand. Half of his curls were

flattened, but for one that twisted out like a billy goat’s horn. As for the other side…who knew what he had slept in to create the resemblance to an angry badger. He reached into the washbowl and cursed as his

fingers cracked through a thin film of ice.

“What?” Ian’s voice was the deeper from recent sleep.

“The blasted water’s frozen. I’d rather hang than coat my head in it.” He cast an eye to the window,

trying to gauge the time. Nothing but darkness, broken by a hissing clatter slashing the glass. Finding it too cold to snow, the heavens were hurling ice at them. “Even the pig-swiving snow is frozen. We won’t be

hunting this morning either. And it’s Boxing Day which means cold meats and old bread. Damn it.”

“I don’t recall you being quite such an ill-tempered riser.”

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An Improper Holiday

“Then there is some fault to your memory.” Nicky shivered violently, sending the icy water on his

fingers flying into his face. “Shit.”

“Be grateful for the fortunes of birth. If you’d ever had to stick out a day of soldiering I think you’d be cashiered before nightfall.”

“And be glad of it. Didn’t you have a batman? I thought all officers were assigned one.”

“Father said we couldn’t afford it. Not with Charlotte’s come-out. I was treated to a lengthy letter on how her court dress alone would have kept three profligate households flush for a year.” Ian’s voice

deepened another octave until it was positively sepulchral. “No one to bring your tea. Boxing Day, every day, Nicky. Imagine the horror of it.”

Perhaps it was the chill or perhaps it was the remnants of sleep still wrapping Nicky’s head with wool, but he finally latched onto the realization that Ian was not carrying a millstone of shame this morning. He’d half-expected Ian to deny what had happened and then Nicky would need to spend yet more time

convincing him to resume their physical relationship. Yet with this morning’s familiar exchange, the

intervening five years might have been a dream from which Nicky had just awakened in Ian’s bed as he

used to do. One thing was true, when Ian committed to a course, it took a labor of Hercules to deter him from it. Nicky should know. He’d undertaken the labor twice now. With sweeter rewards than the gods

could dream.

After shrugging his coat onto his shoulders, he sat on the bed and brushed a thumb across Ian’s rough

cheek. “I’d kiss you, but I’m afraid our lips will freeze. Of course, I’m sure we could find a way to thaw them. It might be fun to have my mouth stuck fast to your cock.”

Ian gave him a stern look.

“In the absence of a fire, I could stand some bracing before I make my bitter journey.”

“For God’s sake, your room is just across the hall.”

“Don’t you think I arranged it so? But in this air, I could catch my death without something to warm

me.”

“Your complaints are too fatiguing. Get to bed and speak to me when you are fit for company.”

“What sort of company?” Nicky offered him a leer.

“You know whose it had best not be.”

Nicky smiled. He had never received a better gift than such narrow-eyed proof of Ian’s devotion. “I’ll see you at breakfast, Mr. Stanton. And do try not to issue any challenges to my friends before then.”

~ * ~

Nicky’s mother had begun the tradition of a Twelve Night party when she had been a young bride,

and Nicky had enjoyed every one, even when he had to sneak out of the nursery to spy on the goings-on

just as his twin brothers were doing when he caught the lads skulking on one of the tower’s stairs. When

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K.A. Mitchell

they’d been in leading strings it had been impossible to tell them apart, but now at eleven, Richard had an inch on Robert and Robert’s hair was showing a tendency to the wildness that had plagued Nicky just this morning.

He considered dragging them by their ears back to the nursery, but he was feeling a considerable

amount of charity toward all mankind this morning, though it resulted more from how he had spent the

night than from the joyful Christmas season. Besides, he was owed a respite from listening to everyone decry that it was by far the coldest winter England had ever seen, following hard on a bleak summer. If he heard one more suggestion of impending doom for all humankind, he was likely to lose his head.

Dickie, older by several hours, immediately offered up a denial. “Nurse said as long as we stayed on

the upper floors—”

Robbie gave him a sharp elbow. “Shut it. Annie told us we may.”

Their sister Anna had mothered them as best she could when Mother failed to recover from birthing

them. Nicky supposed he felt an awkward affection for them, but they had been born when he was at

school, and his first memory of them was a jumble of burial, christening, condolences and mourning. He remembered little of it except that it had been the first time he’d ever seen his father cry.

He knew less of his brothers than he did most of the guests at the party. With himself at school and

then in Town, Nicky scarcely saw his brothers, would see even less of them now that they were going away to school.

Robbie’s question came out in an awed whisper. “Is it true Weatherby just lost two thousand at

hazard?”

“Probably.” Without any outdoor pursuits, stakes were edging higher. If this weather did not let up,

half the guests would be in dun territory.

“I wonder if his wife knows,” Dickie said.

“I wonder what he’d pay to be sure she doesn’t,” Robbie added.

At first his brothers’ enterprising natures were a source of pride tempered with concern over exactly

what their tutor had been covering, but a sudden shock of alarm sent Nicky’s bonhomie cowering. “How on earth did you hear that? Not from Anna, I’ll wager.”

“There’s that spot on—ow!” Dickie’s answer was again foreshortened, this time by a hard stomp on

his instep.

But Nicky was able to finish the sentence. There was a disused medieval privy in the tower, and

depending on how close one stood to the wall, it was possible to hear conversations from the north end of the gallery and the hall. Sweet Christ. If they’d been out early Christmas morning they might have heard him and Ian in the gallery.

The gallery wouldn’t be used until New Year’s Eve, and Nicky would remember to hold any future

tête-à-têtes elsewhere. In the meantime, perhaps he could discourage the budding blackmailers. Disused or 40

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An Improper Holiday

not, it took a certain willingness to disregard the lingering odor of its prior incarnation to make use of it as a listening post.

“Ahhh.” Nicky wrinkled his nose. “That’s what I smell. Best change or Nurse will think you still need

swaddling.”

They ran off, though Nicky suspected they would find their way back—or happen on another method

of subterfuge. If he weren’t trying to secure his future happiness, he would have applauded their ingenuity.

But when he thought of what was at stake, all he could manage was to swallow back a cold lump of dread.

~ * ~

Nicky had good reason to be wary of his brothers’ skills at reconnoitre when Ian herded Nicky into

the gallery from the Gold Salon. In deference to Ian’s temper, Nicky had avoided Julian’s company all day, and while that might have kept the peace, Nicky’s head ached from a day of feminine chatter and the attar of too many different massacred flowers.

He wished Ian’s sudden desire to converse intimately was born of passion, but it was born instead of