A Gentleman's Position (Society of Gentlemen) (20 page)

“Aside from the people at Millay’s and Quex’s? Housemaids and footmen. Grooms are useful. I had a footman in Lord Maltravers’s employ for a while, but he was very little use and got turned off in March for drinking.” He clicked his tongue. “Lord Maltravers is a terrible master.”

“What
is
the significance of that?” Richard demanded. “And of his poor state of dress? You mentioned that before, and I cannot see how it helps in the least.”

“It tells me that Lord Maltravers thinks he knows best. He will not be advised by his valet or his tailor. He doesn’t think other people are worth listening to. He has not put himself in Mr. Skelton’s hands; he is keeping matters from him. He does not consider the
outcome.
That may do very well for a duke’s heir in the general way of things. It is not advisable for anyone dabbling in politics, or blackmail.”

“I have found it to be ill judged in friendships,” Richard said. “Is this your utilitarian philosophy again?”

“I don’t have a philosophy. I decide what I want to achieve, and I do what I can to make it come about. Lord Maltravers lets his aims be blotted out by his self-love. He would like to be well dressed, but he overrules his tailor and abuses his valet rather than be obliged to a lesser man, and thus he fails. Do you see?”

“I think so, yes.” Richard paced on. “It is a common habit for men in high positions, I suspect. One must consider one’s manner, live up to certain standards, keep at an elevation. My father…” He trailed off. “Uh, you don’t have anyone in my brother’s household, do you?”

“No. I thought you’d prefer it if I didn’t.”

Richard’s hand brushed his. “Thank you. David, will you tell me something honestly?”

“Probably,” David said with caution.

Richard snorted. “Well, then: I know that I offended you with my offer. Was that my clumsiness, or would you truly not wish to change your role given the right opportunity? Would it not be more comfortable for you? I am not pressing you, not at all, but I should like to understand.”

“I like my work,” David said. “It’s second nature now, I can think while I do it, and the results please me. Putting things to rights. Besides, being a valet gives—gave—me freedom to do the other things for you too. People might be wary of a secretary in a way they are not of a valet. And…” He grimaced in the dark, but he had to be able to tell Richard the truth, and Richard had to be able to hear it. “The fact is, I don’t know if I should be a very good secretary. I read and write a
dequately,
but no more than that. I have never worked with a pen in my life. And I like to be very good, and I should not wish to hold a post for any reason other than that I
was
very good. I’m an excellent valet.”

“Yes,” Richard said slowly. “I beg your pardon. I should have thought of that. I assumed that you could do anything you wished.”

“My mother gave me the best education she could,” David said, feeling a little defensive. “But I always wanted to be working—we needed the money—so it never seemed the most important thing to do, and I never acquired the habit.”

“Philip can barely read,” Richard said. “Not for lack of effort or education, but he has no capacity. And he is the best man I know. There is no shame in it.”

David had known that, since he had made it his business to know about Richard’s life, but Richard had never spoken of it before. He knew damned well there was shame in it, and what it meant for Richard to give him that truth, and his heart clenched in his chest.

“It never bothered me before,” he said. “But Silas reads all the time.
Have you read this? Have you read that?
I had no idea anyone read so much. All the things he knows, and talks about, and I can’t remember the last time I read a book.”

“Dominic is a great reader too. I suppose that’s what they talk about.”

“Yes.” David knew that all too well. Mr. Frey and Silas had come together to fuck, but what joined them was a passion for an abstract world of ideas and stories and words that David knew to be far out of his own reach, and well within Richard’s. “Is that something you’d want?” He stared at the vague shapes of his feet as they walked. “To be able to talk about—books, and Latin, and scholarly things?”

“On the contrary. I cannot tell you how often I have begged Dominic to speak of something else. I like to read, granted, but I can find literary conversation very easily. Whereas your point of view is unique.”

There was such affection in Richard’s voice. David bit the inside of his lips, but he couldn’t stop the smile from growing. “I, uh, think we’re here.”

They had passed St. Giles church and were on the wide thoroughfare of Broad Street. Skelton lived just a short way from Bow Street, on Plumbtree Street. Its dark opening yawned ahead.

David glanced up at Richard as they crossed the silent road, seeing his face as a pale oval in the darkness. “I had better go alone from here. Wait for me?”

“Good fortune, my fox. If you need me—”

“Stay here, and bail me out if I get caught.” If he
were
caught, there would be a terrible hullabaloo, and he was quite positive Richard would come running. He would do well not to be caught then, at anything.

On the other hand…it was black night, well past one in the morning. There was not a soul on the streets, nobody to see. He reached up for Richard’s shoulders and at the same moment felt hands closing on his hips.

“For luck,” Richard whispered. His lips met David’s, and then they were kissing in fierce, passionate silence, freed by darkness, in the open street without fear or shame until David almost forgot he had a burglary to commit.

Richard went to see Lord Maltravers the next morning.

He had never liked the man. Maltravers was a fleshy, red-faced brute a couple of years Richard’s junior but so puffed up in his own consequence he might have been twice the age. His tailoring was expensive but poorly commanded; his coats were overtight in the wrong places; and that day there was a spot of gravy on his cravat. David would never have permitted Richard to be seen in such a state.

Philip sat by the Duke of Warminster in the House of Lords, and it was impossible to avoid Maltravers in society, so Richard had always felt obliged to maintain a civil manner with him. Maltravers rarely bothered to reciprocate. As the eldest son and heir of a duke, he outranked Richard and liked to show it.

“Well,” he said as Richard took his seat. “You wanted to see me.”

“Yes, I did. You engaged my former valet yesterday.”

“Is
that
what this is about?”

“What else? He was a good servant to me for some years, and since I understand you were not pleased with him, I wonder if you will cancel the contract. It is clear he will not suit you.”

“Your former valet is a damned insolent sneak,” Maltravers said. “He shall come back to this house, as engaged, and I shall teach him some manners.”

“How thoughtful of you. When I do not care for a servant’s manner, I simply dismiss him. You have made your dissatisfaction quite clear, my lord, so it seems reasonable that you should end the agreement.”

“He signed a contract,” Maltravers said obstinately. “I shall damned well hold the fellow to it.”

Richard leaned back in his chair. “My lord Maltravers, are you quite well?”

“What was that?”

“It is not my habit to deal with my former servants’ affairs. But Cyprian fled to my household for shelter after you assaulted him. The doctor feared that you might have cracked a rib, so brutally did you attack the man. And he tells me—I can scarcely comprehend this—that you did so because he would not swear to a series of extraordinary allegations against your own brother. My lord, your actions are disturbed.”

Maltravers went a satisfying shade of purple. “Disturbed? It is not
I
who is disturbed. My accursed brother—”

“Ash is a good friend of mine.”

“I know that. And I know he has told you about this.”

“About what?”

“About his vile acts and what you must do!”

“I am not aware I must do anything, and Ash has told me nothing at all,” Richard said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Maltravers’s mouth dropped open as he visibly worked that out. He would have to assume that Ash had been stalling him, wasting time. The blackmail had failed; the hoped-for political coup was slipping through his fingers. Richard could see his face darkening. “I told Gabriel to tell you that I intend to prosecute your man Mason, Harry Vane’s accomplice, for high treason, and you must not stand in my way. You had better speak to Gabriel at once, Lord Richard, or your cousin will face his just deserts.”

“Why on earth would I speak to Ash about any such nonsense? What is this?”

“I will tell you. Gabriel is a damned sodomite.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“A sodomite,” Lord Maltravers repeated. “He and that wretch Webster are engaged in unnatural acts of the most abominable kind.”

“I find that profoundly unlikely.” Richard struggled to keep his tone calm. He wanted to shout, to demand what the devil Maltravers knew of love or nature or anything. “I know them both well, a great deal better than you do. This is a nonsense, and—Lord Maltravers, I beg of you, stop this. Ash has never done you wrong, and he is your brother. Harry is a fine young man, Mason is a reformed character, and your quarrel with Francis Webster should have been left in the schoolroom. Don’t pursue this, my lord. Wipe the slate clean, let them all be, and, I promise you, it will be for the best. For everyone.”

“For the best?” Maltravers said incredulously. “Sedition and immorality, sir?”

“There is no sedition, and you have no need to concern yourself with Ash’s morals. He is an excellent fellow. I ask you again, Lord Maltravers, don’t stir up this trouble. You will do no good to anyone.”

Maltravers sat very straight. “I shall do as I see fit, sir. Mason will hang, and Gabriel can take the consequences of his own acts.”

Richard sighed internally. He had not imagined his plea would be heard, but he’d had to try. “Yes, we must all do that, you included. Very well. Follow your path if you must, but it is deluded and wrong. Ash is perhaps the most charming and gentlemanly fellow of my acquaintance.” He gave Maltravers a look up and down. “It is remarkable how families differ. And I must say, it is…
coincidental
that you make these allegations against a brother you loathe and a man you have hated for years. It smacks of malice, my lord, and you should consider that Webster can well afford to bring suit for slander.”

“These are not allegations. I have proof.”

“Nonsense. What possible proof could you have?”

“A letter,” Lord Maltravers said smugly. “In Gabriel’s own hand, to Webster. A full admission of unspeakable acts.”

Richard sat up, frowning. “A
letter
? May I see?”

“I don’t have it to hand.”

He leaned back again, allowing his dislike to show. “Of course you don’t.”

Maltravers clenched his fists. “What does that mean?”

“It means, my lord, that since you are unable to produce this supposed letter, I must decline to place faith in its existence.”

“Are you calling me a liar?”

“I am certainly not prepared to take your word,” Richard said. “If you can show me this letter, then I will make my apology for doubting you. Until then, my lord, I shall form my own opinion as to whether you or Ash is the more likely to be honest.”

Maltravers looked like a swollen bullfrog. “How
dare
you!”

“Very easily.” Richard stood. “One may dare anything against a man too cowardly to defend his name.”

Rage leapt in Maltravers’s eyes, and for a moment, Richard thought he might take the bait. He took a step closer. Maltravers did not rise from his chair. “I said,
cowardly,” Richard told him, looking down. “
Perhaps you did not hear me.”

Maltravers’s eyes bulged. “My father is the Duke of Warminster, sir. I do not lower myself to brawling.”

“Not with men who can hit back, at least. And my father was the Marquess of Cirencester, so do not cower behind your title with me.”

“You are insolent,” Maltravers snarled. “And you are wrong. I shall show you the letter, and you will make a public apology for your insults.”

“I will do so for calling you a liar
if
you can prove you are not one. The proof that you are not a coward is up to you,” Richard said, and stalked out.

David paced the length of the private meeting room at Quex’s, turned neatly, paced back. He didn’t feel like sitting.

Richard had gone to force Lord Maltravers’s hand; Lord Gabriel was to meet his brother afterward to refuse his blackmail once and for all. Everything would depend on how Lord Maltravers now played the game out, whether he would begin by prosecuting his brother or picking up the fight with Richard in a fury of insult and disappointment. David had men watching Ashleigh House; he would be informed by the swiftest possible messenger if Lord Maltravers headed in the direction of Bow Street first. David didn’t think he would. Lord Maltravers didn’t like to give up anything he thought his by right, including vengeance.

Mr. Skelton would doubtless have advised Lord Maltravers to put pressure on Lord Gabriel, but Mr. Skelton would not be available. Mr. Frey had called on his many connections from a lifetime of government service, and that afternoon Mr. Skelton was due to sit before a board of interview for an excellent post at the Admiralty. He would place that before his lordship’s failing scheme, David was sure. Lord Maltravers would have to make his decisions alone. And if Richard had carried out his task, the man would be in no fit state to do it.

Confuse him. Insult him. Make him angry with you,
David had said, and Richard had given that authoritative nod of his, accepting David’s instructions as though nothing were more natural.

He wanted that again. He wanted to tell Richard what to do, and he wanted to see him take it as easily as David took orders from him, and he wanted…

He reached the end of the room, turned again. He’d stand still when Richard arrived of course—no twitching nerves would be displayed then—but he needed action now, to get out the quivering tension that ran through his body at the thought of the game to come.

It wasn’t a game for Richard, with noble names at hazard and his friends in the balance, but David couldn’t help feeling the thrill. He’d worked from behind the scenes for so long. Now he had stretched out his hands across London and tugged on a tangle of threads painstakingly set up over the years, and this time he would see his puppets dance.

There were just a few hours to go.
David’s blood was singing, muscles tight with readiness.

He really needed to get the tension out. He had his own role to play, that of the loyal, faceless servant. He could not afford to look as he felt—like a predator poised to spring.

Heavy feet on the stairs. He was still and waiting as Richard entered looking somewhat ruffled.

“Did it go well?” David asked as Richard bolted the door.

“You requested Maltravers angry and confused, and that is what you shall have. He is very angry indeed. I should tell you, I asked him to stop, to let the whole sorry business alone. I know how much work you have done, and I hope that did not threaten it, but I felt as though I were luring him down a path to destruction. I
had
to give the damned fellow a chance to step off.”

David would have been astonished if Richard had not made some such effort. “It didn’t work, I take it?”

“Not at all, but I salved my conscience somewhat. I am a little nervous, David.”

“Only a little?”

Richard gave a short laugh. “Very well, if you prefer: I am very apprehensive indeed. This is not a battleground on which I feel comfortable fighting.”

David reached up and put a hand to Richard’s jaw. “Trust me?”

Richard’s hand met his, interlacing their fingers. “Entirely. I am not concerned with your scheming, merely my ability to carry it out. I don’t want to let you down.”

“You won’t.”

Richard pulled, sliding David’s palm across to his own mouth, kissing the sensitive skin. “Not if I can help it. Never again.” The movement of his lips was a caress. “I love you, my fox, and whatever happens today, or afterward, I could not be more grateful that you came back to me.”

“I don’t want your gratitude,” David said, and felt Richard’s lips curve against his palm.

“I recall saying the same to you. I should like to give you a great deal more than gratitude, but—”

“You ought to. You owe me a debt, remember?”

“I owe—?” Richard began, and then his eyes widened. “Now?”

David pressed closer, against Richard’s powerful frame. “You owe me,” he repeated. “And we have an hour before you should be in White’s. And”—he let his hand slide downward—“I want it.”

Richard’s breath had grown faster, heavier on David’s hand. David pushed against his hips, rubbing like a cat, chasing his own pleasure as much as Richard’s. “I want it. I want you to fuck me on the floor, right here, and then face the greatest gentlemen in the land with my scent in your nose and my taste in your mouth, and not one of them will suspect you were pleasuring your valet a bare hour past. They wouldn’t dream of it. But you’ll know.”

He could feel Richard’s arousal against him now, see the expanded pupils. He grinned savagely. “Fuck me, my lord. Here, now, hard.”

Richard grabbed for David’s coat, wrenching it back off his shoulders and down his arms. David ground against him, relishing the friction of cloth and flesh. “Show me how strong you are. How big.”

“Christ, David.” Richard’s hands were at David’s waistband. He tipped his head back, baring his throat, felt Richard’s mouth on his skin. “If you want that—”

“All of it.”

Richard had his thumbs inside David’s clothing, shoving breeches and drawers down. “Then get on the floor. Oh, damnation. Is there oil?”

“Mantel.” David had put the discreet bottle there earlier. It was his job to think of everything, after all.

He got to hands and knees. Richard made it back to him with the bottle in two long strides and was settling behind him a moment later, clothing shoved out of the way rather than off. David shut his eyes, feeling his blood thump, the quiver of anticipation and nerves, as Richard’s hands closed over his arse, thumbs skimming his skin. “You know, I always imagined I would do this with such care the first time. Gentle and tender, on clean sheets. Looking after you.” One thumb nudging. David shifted his legs apart. “I must have been mad. You want fucking, my fox?”

David sucked in a breath, feeling Richard’s substantial prick pushing at him, seeking entrance. “God, yes. Just a— Yes, now.
Now.
”

Richard exhaled, a harsh sound. “Dear heaven. David.” He was pushing slowly and as gently as possible, taking David with care, whatever he might have said, but there was a lot of him. David set his jaw against the burn. There was a heavy hand gripping his shoulder, another arm coming around his waist. David locked his elbows to take the weight.

“Just a bit more.” Richard’s voice was strained. He pushed, and they both gasped as David’s inner resistance gave, and Richard was in him to the hilt. “Sweet Jesus. Yes?”

“Yes. Oh, fucking—yes. Move.”

Richard did, slowly but not tentatively. David pushed back and felt the hand and arm that held him tighten. He pushed again and found he was trapped. Richard gave a breathless laugh at his ear. “You wanted my strength. You may have it.”

David’s hands clenched at nothing, white-knuckled on the carpet. Richard leaned onto David’s back, hips moving faster now, his face pressed against the hair on the back of David’s neck. So strong, so powerful, and all for David. “
Richard.
More. Yes, God, like that.”