The Hunt Club Chronicles Bundle (18 page)

Aiden frowned. “You do remember you run a brothel, don’t you?”

Staines
folded his arms across his chest, but behind him a snort of laughter sounded from his footman.
Staines
threw a scowl over his shoulder at
Redding
. “I run a club for the discerning gentlemen of
London
, not a low class bawdy house full of lice and disease.”

“Of course, Your Grace,”
Redding
intoned seriously, yet Aiden thought the servant was quietly laughing at his master’s affront.
Redding
always had an edge to his words. They sounded respectful, but could easily be not.

Despite the hollow ache in Aiden’s chest tonight, a rusty laugh burst free. One of these days
Staines
would do something about his footman’s impertinences. He just wished he could be around to see how the confrontation played out. Would
Staines
throttle
Redding
or kiss him senseless? Aiden rather hoped the latter.
Redding
was a decent sort, for all his poor origins, and
Staines
deserved a long, happy life. Yet as far as he could tell,
Staines
and
Redding
were not lovers. However, there was an intimacy about them that Aiden envied very much.

He patted the back of
Staines
’ hand in sympathy, noting as he did so that
Redding
’s nostrils flared.
Redding
had hovered behind
Staines
for so long that Aiden was getting very good at reading his moods. He didn’t like other men touching his duke. At all. “Of course, you do. Forgive my poorly worded remark.”

Redding
snorted again, and Aiden had to work at keeping his expression neutral. He’d been a fool to deny himself his friend’s company. A few minutes with
Staines
, and
Redding
for amusement, brushed his cares away.

Staines
turned fully this time. “Did you have something of importance to say?”

Redding
shook his head. “No, Your Grace. I have nothing of importance to say at all.”

But Aiden rather thought that
Redding
had a vast quantity of opinion he’d love to share.

Staines
rapped his fingertip against the table suddenly. “Well, if you won’t dine with me, what brings you to the club at this hour?”

“My nephew is upstairs somewhere.”

“Ah.” Again,
Staines
turned toward his footman and, without a word,
Redding
disappeared from the room.
Staines
blew out a breath. “That takes care of
Redding
’s infernal hovering. He’ll check that your nephew is accommodated properly. Now. What am I going to do about you?”

Aiden raked his hands through his hair. “There is nothing to be done.”

Staines
sat forward. “Are you lonely? There is a new boy—fresh from the country. Lovely thighs and a firm hand with a whip. He could take your mind off your missing Archer.”

Aiden’s stomach revolted at the notion of submitting to a strange man. He shook his head. “No, thank you.”

Staines
frowned. “I have it on good authority that Archer’s skills were exceptional, but he is not the only man with a flair for dominance in
London
. Someone else may do very well for you.”

Aiden groaned. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain it to me.”

A thousand excuses filled his mouth, but not one passed his lips. The truth of the matter was he was lost without Archer’s presence. He couldn’t find fulfillment with other men present. That embarrassment couldn’t be uttered aloud. Not even to
Staines
. The second time it had happened had been more humiliation than he could bear.

Redding
rejoined them and whispered into
Staines
’ ear. His friend grinned suddenly. “Enthusiastic. He'll be down later, but he's onto his second girl.”

Aiden dropped his head to the table top to hide the relief that coursed through him. The succession would be assured. The inclinations that had plagued Aiden's life would end with him. The duchy would be secure. The next duke would have his own heirs, if the matter was handled swiftly. He'd have to take steps to see Robert wed, despite the boy’s protests that he was too young.

And then Aiden would be free.

“He takes after his father,” he murmured. Before his death, Aiden's brother had had a string of lovers, beside his wife, who regularly graced his bed. Josephine, poor naive Josephine, had been humiliated beyond a doubt when she learned the truth.

Staines
patted his head. “Don’t fret. Between us, we'll see that he's courted properly for the duchy's future. There's many a man who would jump at the chance to align their family with the house of Lewes.”

Align with Robert, but not with him. That was what
Staines
did not say. Aiden rolled his head and stared across the room. He met
Redding
’s gaze and sadness smothered his better mood. Aiden had burned too many bridges in the past to be favored by the
ton
. He accepted that. Yet he hated it. He did not belong in
London
. He never had.

His nephew’s existence, and his normal appetites, proved the succession was no longer a hindrance to Aiden’s plans.

The thought was distinctly liberating.

Staines
pushed at his shoulder and whispered, “You are rude to be staring at my footman that way. You’re not remotely his type.”

Aiden set his chin to the table top. “Does
Redding
have a type?”

“Of course he does.”
Staines
bristled, flicking lint from his sleeve.

The gruff set of
Redding
’s features as he closed the gap between them to stand in
Staines
’ shadow choked off his reply. The footman had overheard the conversation, and heard
Staines
remarks about his type of bed partner. He didn't seem to appreciate being the subject of their conversation.

When
Redding
stopped,
Staines
’ head turned to mark his presence, reaffirming Aiden's belief that there was more than a master/servant relationship between them. They were constant companions. Friends almost. Yet neither one of them risked taking things further, despite years of obvious opportunity.

He dropped his eyes to the table as he remembered his own blindness. He’d not known how important Archer was to his existence until the man had disappeared. Was he any wiser than his friend?

Staines
sat back suddenly and lifted his hand in greeting. “Ah, you must be Lewes’ nephew. Welcome to the Hunt Club, Mr. Banks. I’m
Staines
.”

Aiden turned. His nephew’s color was high.

“Thank you for the invitation to the club, Your Grace.”

Had the boy’s voice grown deeper? He certainly seemed calmer than his earlier bearing as he conversed with Aiden’s oldest friend. Growing into the title of the Duke of Lewes would take time. Aiden had never managed it. Oh, he'd done his duty to the estate and provided for his poorer relatives. And he'd tried to put aside his desires more times than he could count. But he liked a man’s firmer touch and not a woman’s softness. He could admit his needs that only now that Archer had gone.

Not for the last time, he wished he might have a second chance to fix things with Archer, to show him he accepted himself. But Archer was gone from him and the sad thing was, even if he knew where Archer resided now, he couldn’t write or even call out to him. He’d never discovered Archer’s real name.

Chapter Four

As the witching hour approached,
Covent Garden
was awash with devilry and Terrance soaked up every wicked sensation. He’d been good for far too long. Now he was back in familiar territory, his fingers itched at every temptation.

A lady strolled on her husband’s arm, her reticule carelessly dangling from her wrist. Another couple nearby dripped more jewels upon their persons than could ever possibly be wise. He glanced beyond them and spied a pair of grubby urchins keeping pace with them in the shadows. The foolish pair had been marked as prey.

Terrance stepped aside to let the couple pass, but a tug of guilt tightened his gut that he did not whisper a warning to be cautious to the lady. She appeared a delicate sort and the eventual confrontation over her jewels would no doubt cause her considerable distress. He shook his head. What happened to them was of no concern. They were nothing to him. Just a pair of foolish cull’s fated to pay high for their ostentatious display. Getting involved in other people’s business was a sure fire way of getting into trouble.

Further along, he encountered a sight rather more to his taste. A young man waited without apparent purpose at the junction of two paths. Tall, dark haired and with full lips made for kisses, the whore acknowledged his interest by parting his lips and tugging sharply on his waistcoat. When Terrance drew closer, his anticipation vanished. The darkness had hidden the boy’s weedy nature and bad skin. Terrance continued on.

He wanted more meat than a scrawny hide could offer. He wanted muscle and heavy bone, full cheeks and a heavy prick. He wanted strength held against him. A strong man to match his desire.

Again, the Duke of Lewes flickered through his mind. Now there was a man who’d had potential, but had wasted the opportunity. At his age, Lewes should have accepted his inclinations toward men as a natural need. He had chafed at feeding his hungers. Yet he’d had a body Terrance could put his soul into enjoying and unfortunately missed without a doubt.

He stopped suddenly, hating that the one man who’d come close to satisfying him had lacked commitment, even if Terrance had been the one to leave
London
. The duke’s temper had always been as quick to rise as his prick. Yet it would have been impossible to remain at the Hunt Club after their brawl. And a God awful brawl it had been. Already in a bad mood over a trifling matter with another whore at the club, Terrance had pushed the duke too far, denied him the pleasure he’d expected, and received a trouncing he’d not easily forgotten. Or forgiven.

As soon as he’d been able to draw a full breath without pain, he’d made a serious decision about his future. He’d had enough of pretending to be cruel and breaking in each new man that entered his chambers at the Hunt Club because he was paid well to act the tyrant. Each time a little bit of his soul had withered. Terrance wanted control of his future and, with the small wealth he’d managed to tuck away, he had the means to make a change. Since he’d devoured every newssheet and book that had passed his way, the lure of becoming a tutor had held a surprising appeal.