Brook Street: Fortune Hunter (8 page)

Aware it would take a good thirty minutes if not more to reach Oscar’s town house at this time of night, Julian threaded his fingers into Oscar’s hair, let his head drop back against the interior wall behind him and gave himself up to Oscar’s eager mouth.

Yet he couldn’t stop his hips from rocking into each stroke. The slick, wet and unmistakable sound of a mouth working a cock filled the carriage. The hand at the base of his prick drifted down, cupped his ballocks.

He heard a distinct rustle of fabric, of buttons being tugged from their moorings.

“That’s mine,” he whispered, voice hoarse and rough from the lust soaking his senses. “Don’t touch your cock.”

Oscar whimpered, thin and threadbare. He increased his pace, his head bobbing faster over Julian’s lap. The quick pulls and hard, satisfying suction, coupled with those inquisitive fingertips caressing his sac brought the climax coiling down his spine.

He tugged on Oscar’s hair, tried to give the man a warning. Give him the option to pull off before he got a mouthful of seed.

Oscar’s grip tightened on his ballocks. The perfect hold—firm and secure with a hint of pain—to push Julian over the edge.

Clenching his jaw to hold back the growl, Julian came, spilling in Oscar’s mouth.

He tugged on Oscar’s hair again, this time harder, hard enough to pull the man off him. Then he pushed on Oscar’s chest, pushing his back to the seat cushion, and pulled his prick from the half-open placket of his trousers.

Bowed over Oscar, he opened his mouth, took Oscar inside. He could taste Oscar’s need in the first stroke, hear it in the thin, high moan that escaped the man. It didn’t take but a moment before Oscar was gripping his shoulder, his body shuddering beneath him, seed coating Julian’s tongue. Drawing back, he lapped the crown gently, dragging his tongue across the small slit, determined to taste every last salty-sweet drop.

Letting out a long sigh, steeped with blissful content, Oscar went lax beneath him.

Julian lifted his head, tucked Oscar’s sated prick back into his trousers and did up the buttons. With a hand on Oscar’s forearm, he helped the man to sit up. Well, it was more pulling the man upright than helping him, his limbs gone boneless in the aftermath of his climax. The amount of liquor he’d poured down his throat likely contributed to his state.

He’d meant the whisky to calm him, to take the pallor from his cheeks and help him to brush off the afternoon as completely inconsequential. He hadn’t anticipated it would lead them here, the taste of Oscar’s release fresh on his tongue, the man leaning against his shoulder, fingertips drifting lazily up and down his thigh. Not that Julian had any objections whatsoever.

“Do I have the brandy or the whisky to thank for tonight?” Julian asked as he righted his clothes.

“Both. Neither.”

“You’re that…brave on a regular basis?” He would have never guessed Oscar would be the reckless sort. Naughty and eager behind closed doors, the sort to bend over the side of a bed and all but demand Julian lick his pretty arse, but not reckless. How many other men had Oscar
entertained
in his box at Drury Lane?

“Oh no. Not at all. You have yourself to thank for that.”

The jealousy that had begun to clutch at Julian’s gut released.

Oscar leaned forward, toward the opposite bench. There was a metallic snick of a latch opening, the clink of glass. “Open the shade a bit, will you?”

Julian reached for the shade. Golden light from the passing streetlamps fell into the carriage. Oscar pulled a decanter from a hidden compartment under the seat, poured first Julian a glass then himself one. His own glass in hand, Oscar nestled back up against Julian’s side.

One sip identified the liquor as brandy. Fine, well-aged brandy.

He looped an arm around Oscar’s shoulder and settled in for the rest of the ride home, contentment clinging to his senses.

Oscar weaved through the crowd. The Hunts should be pleased. Not yet ten in the evening, and their ballroom was near packed with guests. He came upon a group of elderly gentlemen, brandy balloons in hand and waistcoats straining over their bellies, and with them was Oscar’s uncle…which meant his aunt and likely Alice and Caroline were also in attendance. He was bound to run into them eventually, though that didn’t mean he was in any way required to voluntarily speak with them.

One of the gentlemen caught his eye and smiled. Before the man could motion for him to stop, Oscar gave him a friendly tip of the head and continued on, toward the far end of the ballroom, where he found a somewhat out-of-the-way spot with an unobstructed view of the dance floor.

He could seek out Parker for a chat—he’d seen the man arrive a good half hour ago. Or he could survey the fare in the supper room, or slip out the doors to the terrace and escape the heat for a moment. But he’d rather wait.

Shoulder resting against the column behind him, he had just settled in when Radcliffe’s tall form rounded a nearby cluster of guests.

“Evening, Woodhaven.” The man took up a place next to Oscar. “I’ve heard you have taken in a house guest.”

“Yes. Julian Parker. He’s Parker’s cousin.”

Radcliffe nodded once. “Met him a few days ago.” Bringing his glass to his lips, he took a sip of whisky. “What time does he retire for the night?” he asked, slanting Oscar a glance.

A glance Oscar recognized. “Radcliffe, I have a guest.”

“Upstairs then?” he countered in an undertone. “The Hunts have a nice reading room. Very quiet. Rarely used.”

“Except by you?”

“Perhaps by us.”

Radcliffe was nothing if not persistent when he was of a mind to get a man in his bed…or bent over the arm of a couch, or pushed up against a bookshelf. A week ago Oscar would have accepted his offer without hesitation. Now though?

As if of its own volition, his gaze strayed to the dance floor, to Julian, handsome as ever in black evening attire. His dark hair was combed back, providing no distraction at all from his perfect features. The straight line of his nose, his chiseled jaw and his beautiful mouth.

That gorgeous man had actually sucked him off last night. Then after they had returned home, buggered him until he’d been reduced to incomprehensible moans.

A shiver of delight raced up Oscar’s spine.

“I’m not much for reading a book tonight.”

Radcliffe opened his mouth then shut it. A slight furrow on his brow, he looked to the dance floor, then back to Oscar and to the parquet floor again. “Ah. He’s that sort of guest, is he?”

Heat rushed up Oscar’s neck, stinging his cheeks.

Foolish to be embarrassed. Above all, Radcliffe was his friend, and it wasn’t as if he didn’t know Oscar preferred men. Radcliffe had also always been open about his dalliances with others. So there was no reason whatsoever for Oscar to blush simply because Radcliffe suspected he was dallying with Julian.

And he trusted Radcliffe to keep such knowledge to himself. The man might have intimate knowledge of most every gentleman under the age of forty who was open to male partners, but he was always discreet. Likely kept more confidences than anyone else in the
ton.

Wishing to turn the conversation away from his choice of bed partner, Oscar asked, “Have you been down to Sussex of late?” Radcliffe had been raised by his grandparents and occasionally visited his grandfather in the country.

“Not of late.” He took another sip of his whisky, his gaze going back out to the dancers. “I hear he is one of the Lord Albert Parker Parkers.”

Oscar’s hackles rose, stiff and bristly. “And he’s newly returned from Philadelphia. I’m certain you’ve heard every bit of gossip about his family.” At twenty-eight years of age, Radcliffe was old enough to have been in Town when the gossip was fresh, and to have heard it firsthand. “He, however, is not his grandfather or his father.”

Radcliffe arched an elegant brow. “If you insist.”

“I do insist.”

A shrug, then Radcliffe said, “He appears to be well received.”

If Radcliffe thought Julian well received then it must be fact. Oscar knew Julian had worried about his reception, but the man needn’t have worried. Handsome and charming, and related to a marquis, he was the sort of fellow Society jumped to fawn over. Soon, the day’s post would arrive with invitations addressed not only to Oscar, but to Julian, as well.

A footman crossed in front of them. Oscar reached out, passing over the brandy to snatch a glass of wine from the servant’s tray. Last night had been more than enjoyable, but after waking with a bit of an aching head, he should keep to wine tonight. Couples moved about the floor, the ladies clad in beautiful gowns, their skirts swooshing with each turn of the waltz. Anderson rounded the corner of the dance floor nearest Oscar and Radcliffe’s spot by the column, a tall buxom blonde in his arms.

Oscar smiled. The wager was his. That had been none other than Mrs. Hudson with Anderson. If the man was dancing, then he must be hard on the prowl.

“He seems rather fond of dancing,” Radcliffe said. “That’s the third lady he’s partnered this evening.”

Oscar’s brow furrowed. He didn’t recall seeing Anderson on the floor with anyone other than Mrs. Hudson. He followed Radcliffe’s line of sight to…Julian.

So what that Julian was doing his duty? Gentlemen were expected to stand up at functions. Shortly after arriving in Town, Oscar had learned that one’s dance partner didn’t necessarily imply a specific preference, rather just the appearance of it.

“Even you occasionally dance at a ball,” Oscar said. Radcliffe rarely danced and to Oscar’s knowledge, he did not actually bed women. Yet he had a reputation that rivaled Anderson’s, to the point where mothers warned their young, virginal daughters to steer clear of him. It just proved the unreliability of gossip and rumor.

“According to Anderson, she has many talents.”

“She, as in Lady Whitley?”

Radcliffe nodded once.

Unease nipped at Oscar’s stomach.

Radcliffe set his empty glass on the tray of another passing footman. “I’m off to the card room. Care to join me?”

“Not at the moment. I’ll likely join you later, though,” Oscar said, catching himself just in time and turning the
we’ll
to an
I’ll.

Once Radcliffe left him, he turned his attention back to Julian.

Was that polite attention on Julian’s features, or more than the polite attention due a lady during a dance?

Those lips that had slid down Oscar’s prick not twenty-four hours ago were curved in a smile, his gaze flickering over the shoulder of the woman in his arms as he expertly guided her around the other couples.

Merely polite attention and nothing more, he reassured himself.

Still, when the last note of the waltz faded into the din of hundreds of voices, Oscar set off for the opposite side of the parquet floor, toward where Julian stood with Lady Whitley, bowing over her hand.

He reached Julian’s side just as the man was stepping off the dance floor after surrendering the lady to another gentleman. “I believe I’ve won our wager,” Oscar announced. At the confusion in Julian’s hazel eyes, Oscar nudged his chin toward Anderson leading his latest conquest in the direction of the refreshment table.

Recollection dawned. “Indeed. It appears as if congratulations are in order. You chose wisely.”

“More of an educated guess. Unlike you, I had the advantage of knowing the man’s usual variety.” Julian’s gaze drifted over the top of Oscar’s head. “Care to play a hand of cards?” They’d surely find Radcliffe there, but the masculine room filled with only men suddenly held great appeal. He would just be sure to avoid Radcliffe’s table—no way could he sit across from the man, with Julian beside him, without blushing.

“Not at the moment. I’m engaged for the next dance.”

Engaged.
Even though he knew Julian was simply referring to a dance partner, the word snagged in Oscar’s mind. Unease nipped at his stomach again.

Lifting his chin, Julian scanned the ballroom.

“Who are you looking for?” Oscar couldn’t help but ask.

“Miss Katherine Wright. Ah, there she is, chatting with her mother.” He turned his attention back to Oscar. “If you care to play cards, don’t hold back on my account. Enjoy yourself. I’ll join you later in the card room. Perhaps we can find one or two more to make up a game of brag.”

“All right,” Oscar heard himself reply.

He frowned at Julian’s retreating back, the man’s long loose strides devouring the distance between himself and Miss Katherine.

Instead of heading to the card room alone, Oscar allowed himself to be pulled into a conversation with a dowager duchess. Sweet elderly woman, and quite kind. As she chatted on about the weather and her new barouche, Oscar could not stop his gaze from wandering back out onto the dance floor. To Julian, engaged in a country dance with Miss Katherine.

“My niece is having her come-out this Season. Very accomplished girl. I should introduce you to her.”

Oscar nodded. He could just make out Julian among the couples, on the far side of the floor, slowing to a stop as the music ended.

“Lovely.” She looped her elbow around Oscar’s. “Last I saw her, she was by the refreshment table. Shall we find her?”

Her who? What had he agreed to? And where had Julian gone? As he was tugged along, he caught sight of Julian through the crowd, speaking with Mark Wright, not making one move to go to the card room.

Ten minutes later, Oscar was able to politely disengage himself from the dowager duchess and her niece. A check of the ballroom proved Julian still hadn’t made a move to the card room. In fact, Julian was now in a conversation with not just Wright but Wright and two of the man’s friends.

Oscar set his empty wine glass on a footman’s tray and grabbed a brandy. In the back of his mind, he was aware he was sulking. He shouldn’t begrudge Julian his new friendships. He truly wanted Julian to be a success. It was what the man wanted. But not once did Julian pass his gaze over the crowd. Not one quick glance looking for Oscar.

As he stood near a potted palm, he let out a sigh. He could go to the card room by himself, but the prospect of being invited to join a table simply because he frequently lost held no appeal.

“Woodhaven, have you seen Radcliffe recently?”

Oscar pulled his attention from an obviously happy Julian, who was laughing at something someone said, and looked up to Anderson who stood beside him. “About a half hour or so ago. Said he was going to the card room.”

A frown creased Anderson’s brow. “He’s not there. I just checked.”

“Perhaps try the reading room.”

That frown made its way to the man’s mouth. “I’d rather not.” Anderson looked out over the ballroom. The frown vanished. “Never mind. He’s over talking with Parker. Much thanks, Woodhaven.” Anderson clapped him on the shoulder then left him to seek out Radcliffe.

The crowd in the ballroom swelled, couples moving on and off the dance floor at each pause in the music, as Julian continued on, chatting with his new friends.

For all Julian cared, Oscar might as well not be at the ball.

And the man couldn’t claim he had let time get away from him. The gold chain Oscar had selected dangled from his waistcoat.

Finally, Julian turned and began to make his way along the wall, in the direction of Oscar’s spot at the potted palm, a path that would take him toward the card room.

But he wasn’t alone.

Setting his empty brandy glass in the palm’s ceramic pot, Oscar took a step from the wall. “Julian.”

Julian turned his head in Oscar’s direction, pulling his attention off Wright beside him, and came to a stop. “Ah, Woodhaven.”

The smile tipping the edges of Julian’s mouth did nothing to placate the ugly familiar feeling that filled Oscar’s stomach. The one that came from knowing he’d been forgotten in favor of another. “Where are you off to?”

“To the card room. We are going to play whist.”

Oscar did not need to ask to know the
we
did not include himself. Wright and his two friends, who were continuing on to the card room, plus Julian made four. The exact number needed for a game of whist. “What about brag? I thought we were going to play.”

“Are you coming, Parker?” Wright called over his shoulder.

“I’ll be right there,” Julian said to Wright.

Oscar should have known Julian would abandon him. His friends always chose someone else over him. “I’ve had enough of the ball.”

He looked back to Oscar, his smile vanishing. “You’ve had enough? Do you mean to leave?”

“Yes.”

“So early? Benjamin hasn’t even left yet.”

Julian hadn’t been so engrossed in his conversation with Wright that he had been oblivious to everyone else at the ball. He had noticed his cousin.

“You can stay if you wish, but I’ve had enough.”

With that, Oscar stepped around Julian. When he reached the main double doors of the ballroom, he glanced behind him.

Just as he had suspected. Julian’s tall, broad-shouldered figure was nowhere to be seen.

Oscar hoped the man lost spectacularly at cards.

***

Keeping his expression wiped clean, Julian debated his cards. Perhaps he should cut his losses and follow Wright’s and Montgomery’s folds.

So much for any hope that his luck would turn if they changed to brag. He had already written three vowels to Wright during whist. Then one of Wright’s friends left the game and Radcliffe took the man’s place. During the change of players, someone had suggested they change games. He’d been all for it…at the time.

“You’re not going to fold on me, too, are you?” Radcliffe asked him from across the table.

Wright and Montgomery were leaning back in their chairs, their brandy glasses in hand and discarded cards facedown before them, waiting to see who would come out the victor.

Hell, he couldn’t fold now, not after Radcliffe had all but challenged him to stay in the game. And Wright might wonder if the betting had gone too high for Julian’s means. Definitely couldn’t risk that. Wright had followed up on his invitation for shooting in Durham, proving yesterday’s invitation had not been idle chatter. Even more promising, Wright had approved of Julian dancing with his sister, who had fifty thousand pounds.