A Fashionable Indulgence (Society of Gentlemen #1) (14 page)

It was a long walk to Great Ryder Street with a skinful of gin. Long enough for Harry to note that his shining boots, now sadly dusty, were not made for four miles on hard pavements. Long enough for him to change his mind about his course of action at least six times, until he was no longer sure at all what he planned to do.

The walk was remarkably uneventful. Silas had accompanied him the first part of the way, against Harry’s objections, but there was no denying that a wealthy gentleman would be ill advised to walk the dark alleys of Ludgate alone. A sensible man would hire a phalanx of protectors. Harry had only Silas, but he was a familiar sight of the area, with his short cudgel and shorter temper, and Harry reached Holborn unmolested. There were more watchmen and broader streets here, and Harry allowed his guard to drop more the further he came into the prosperous west end of Town. He was walking down Great Ryder Street itself, heading for Julius’s rooms, when a man’s voice said, “Harry Vane?”

The attack came out of nowhere. One moment he was looking to see who’d named him, the next he’d been sent lurching sideways. A blow to his stomach knocked the breath out of him, and he found himself with his back to the wall, a powerful arm pressed into his neck. He choked and gagged for air.

“You,” said his assailant savagely. He was tall, perhaps thirty, dark-haired, with a long ugly scar down his cheek that distorted the eye above it. “You damned trifling bastard.”

The arm across his throat cut off Harry’s attempt at speech. He kicked instead, as hard as he could, and got another blow in the belly for his pains.

“Listen to me, you bloody shit,” the man snarled. “You leave Miss Vane alone, hear me? You stay away from Verona Vane, cousin or no, or I’ll break your damned neck. She’s not for your taking, and if you try any of your filthy rake’s tricks—”

“Hoi!” A bellow, startlingly close. “You!”

The man looked round. Harry shoved him, catching him off balance. He stumbled, turned snarling on the new arrival, and staggered back as if struck.
“Lieutenant Norreys?”

“Wh—Rawling?” Julius looked as nonplussed as Harry had ever seen him. “Sergeant Rawling?”

“Lord help us.” The big man passed a hand over his face. It shook slightly. “Of course. I beg pardon, sir.”

“Never mind that,” Julius snapped. “What the devil is this? Have you turned footpad?”

“No, sir!” said Rawling, hands up—no, hand, because now Harry saw that one arm ended at the wrist. “Nothing of the kind. Just a…personal disagreement.”

“Personal?” Harry spluttered. “He threatened to break my neck!”

“Understandable,” said Julius silkily. “And yet, impermissible. Mr. Vane is not your meat, Sergeant. Cross him and you cross me.”

“Then he shouldn’t cross me. I’ve had my say, sir.” Rawling looked round at Harry. “Heed my words. Lieutenant.” He gave Julius a nod and strode away, heels clacking on the cobbles.

Julius looked after him, then back to Harry. “Are you hurt?”

“No. Don’t think so.” Harry sagged against the wall, suddenly exhausted. “God, that was…Who was that? How do you know him?” He blinked as the most important part of events finally caught up with him.
“Lieutenant?”

“Just go home, Harry,” Julius said wearily.

“I want to talk to you.”

“No.”

“Julius…” Harry peeled himself off the wall. His boot sole skidded on something unpleasantly soft underfoot and he only just stopped himself from falling.

Julius’s arm shot out, grabbing his elbow. Harry stared pleadingly at him. “We were friends. I’m sorry. Please, will you talk to me, just once more?”

Julius muttered something under his breath. He glanced round, then let go of Harry’s elbow with an annoyed sigh. “Oh, the devil. Very well, come in if you must.”

Harry looked absolutely wretched in the candlelight of Julius’s rooms. He’d had too many late nights, too much to drink, and it seemed as though it was catching up with him. His face was drawn and tired, stark white against the revolting puce of that bloody, bloody coat.

“Take that thing off,” Julius snapped, thrusting a silk banyan at him. “Sit down.”

Harry stripped off the offensive item without argument and pulled on the quilted silk gown, then sat on the nearest piece of furniture, which was the settle. Of course it was the settle. They’d sprawled all over it together several times now, making a mess of seed and sweat. Damn his eyes.

“Well?”

Harry looked up, face twisted with misery. “I need to apologize. I’ve done everything badly. I don’t think I learned anything important from you at all.”

“I’m sorry to have wasted your time,” Julius said furiously.

“I didn’t mean that!” Harry’s voice was urgent with the need for understanding. “I mean…I learned all the little things and all the time you were standing by me and I was…Oh God, Julius.” He put his face in his hands. “Gideon waved his gold at me and I went running off without a thought for Silas, or my mother, or all the people who brought me up. I agreed to marry for money, I never cared what Verona thought, and I didn’t care what you said. All I did was think about myself.”

“Quite,” Julius said. “And now you are inflicting this rather tedious self-abasement on me because…?”

“I need to tell you this. I know damned well you won’t want me again, but I need you to understand. I have to marry Verona if I want the money, but when I imagine it, all I can think of is you. I didn’t tell you about the engagement because…because I wanted to have you
and
my grandfather’s money.” His mouth, made for smiling, twisted unhappily. “And I don’t have you, and I don’t have your friendship, and I’m not going to have my grandfather’s money either, so—”

“What? Why not?”

“Because I’m not going to marry Verona. She despises me. She’s hateful to me whenever there’s nobody else to hear.”

Julius stared at him. “Richard said—”

“I think she probably told him so. I did quite a lot of thinking tonight. I think she’s trying to make me cry off. If I refuse to marry her, Gideon will be furious with me, and she’ll be his only heir.”

“That’s a damned serious accusation.”

“I’m not going to accuse her,” Harry said. “Maybe I’m wrong. But I am quite sure she doesn’t want to marry me, and I won’t marry her. I might see if Gideon will pay me to go away quietly. Learn a trade, perhaps. If I can’t do that I’ll go back to the bookshop.” He tucked his arms round his midriff. “God, listen to me, talking about myself. I just wanted to tell you that you should have been able to trust me. That you deserve someone loyal who makes you happy, and I wish I’d stood by you.” He looked up with a watery smile. “Because I love you. And you were so beautiful when you let me love you.”

Silence. Julius could feel an unpleasant, tight thumping in his chest, echoing dully in his ears.

“I love you,” Harry repeated. “Please don’t be alone, even if you’re not with me. And I’m sorry.” He started to rise. Julius put out a hand, and he flopped back down.

“You don’t intend to marry Miss Vane,” Julius said, with care. “Even if it gets you thrown back to the stews.”

“Silas will have me back.”

“Is that where you were tonight? In Ludgate?” Getting a dose of Jacobin sentiment and moral disapproval, he’d wager.

“I went to see Silas, yes.” Harry sat a little straighter in unconscious defiance. “He made me see how selfish I’ve been. Greedy and selfish and—”

“Harry?”

“What?”

“The devil fly away with Silas, your grandfather, and every Vane in the land, present company excepted.” Julius reached for his face, felt the rasp of stubble against his thumb, saw Harry’s eyes open wide. “I also made a bloody fool of myself, and we both know it. I should have listened to you a long time ago, if we’re to talk of ignoring people’s feelings. I don’t think I have done well by you, dear boy.”

The hope that lit Harry’s face was painful to see. “Oh God. Julius, please, if we could just have another chance, or start again—or if you want me to talk to Verona first—”

“Be damned to Verona.” He dropped to his knees in front of Harry, palm still against his face. “I was grossly offensive to you tonight. I was…”
Say it, Norreys.
“I was hurt. You hurt me.”

Harry grabbed his hand, pressing it harder to his cheek. “I never meant to, truly.”

“Sssh.” Julius leaned forward, resting his forehead against Harry’s. “You misunderstand. You hurt me, and I’m glad of it. I haven’t cared for anything in so long that I thought I never would again and then I found myself behaving like some clodhopping fool consumed by calf-love—” Harry gave an involuntary snort. Julius found his own lips curving. “I was offensive because you hurt me, which you could do because I…care.”

“Care?” Harry repeated breathily.

Julius’s heart was pounding. “More than I had known, and I fear my judgment failed me. I apologize for my words at Quex’s tonight. I’ll make a public apology if you like.”

“No! It was my fault.”

Julius opened his mouth to argue and decided he didn’t have time to waste. “Could we agree that we both behaved disgracefully, and leave it at that?”

“Will you kiss me if I say yes?”

Julius leaned back a little, looking into those deep blue eyes, shining in the candlelight. He’d knocked the laughter out of them, this past month. “I’ll kiss you whenever you want me to.”

Harry said, quietly, “I wish to God you would.”

Julius leaned in, touching his mouth carefully to Harry’s, tasting the oily aromatics of gin. His lips felt so familiar, and something sick and tense uncoiled in Julius at last, an almost physical lightening of a weight he’d carried too long. He groaned. Harry mumbled something into his mouth, and grabbed a handful of hair, and Julius bit at his lip, pulled him forward, teeth slamming teeth, hands grasping, Harry sliding down between Julius’s legs and sending him sprawling back. Harry’s weight was on him now, pushing him down, and he wanted this. Wanted to be kissed and devoured and more, and not simply to let it be done to him either. He grabbed Harry’s arse with both hands, ground his pelvis up, pressing cock to cock.

“Oh, God.” Harry pulled his mouth away, eyes wide with delight. “Oh, Julius. God, I missed you.”

“I too.” Julius curled upward to get his mouth on Harry’s ear, heard him moan his arousal.

“God. I want—”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing. Just keep kissing me like that.”

Julius rolled his hips under Harry, weight and cloth lending his own erection an almost unbearable friction. “Tell me. What were you going to say?”

Harry leaned forward and licked at Julius’s mouth, opening his lips with the touch of his tongue. “Well, I was just thinking that I should dearly love to ride you some day. Should you like that?”

“I don’t know. Why don’t we find out?”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Now?”

Christ. But he nodded, because Harry was back in his arms, and felt his lover’s mouth close on his own, wet and warm, and how bad could it be, after all?

Harry stripped him first. Piece by piece, cravat and coat, waistcoat and shirt, down to his formal silk breeches, and then to the skin, till Julius lay naked with Harry kneeling over him. The shivery sensation on his nerves was rather outweighing any arousal.

“So lovely.” Harry ran a hand over Julius’s thigh as though gentling a horse. “I want you so. If I can’t have anything else, but I can have you…”

Of course he could do this. How could he not, for the worship in Harry’s deep blue eyes? “Get your damned clothes off.”

Harry was sporting an impressive stand by the time he was naked, jutting from the dark curls at his groin. Julius felt as though he’d forgotten how thick his prick was.
Breathe.

Harry’s eyes were on him, and there was concern there. He could hardly fail to notice that Julius didn’t share his arousal. He knelt down, over Julius’s prone body, and Julius sat up a little to kiss him again, concentrating on the
now
of lips and tongues, the smell and feel of Harry against him, until Harry pulled away slightly. “Do you have oil?”

“Oil?” Julius repeated. “For what?”

Harry’s brows tilted. “For…You have done this before, yes?”

“Yes.”

“But you didn’t have oil? Or anything else…slippery?”

“Should I have?” He was beginning to feel a little exposed.

“Right. Did it hurt?” Julius’s expression must have betrayed him, because Harry made a ferocious noise. “God almighty! Why did you let anyone do that?”

“How the devil was I to know what one should do?” Julius demanded, stung.

“Well,
he
should have!” Harry snapped. “What sort of brute—”

“I’m quite sure it was incompetence, rather than malice,” Julius interrupted. “We were only schoolboys, for God’s sake.” There had been fumbling, quite a lot of pain, and remorseful tears on both sides, and the experience was not one he remembered fondly, but it had not been cruelty, and the pity in Harry’s eyes stung.

“We can do better than that,” Harry said. “But not tonight.”

“I want to—”

Harry took Julius’s face in his hands and kissed him full on the mouth, hard and intense. Julius brought his own hand up, onto Harry’s shoulder, and opened his mouth to the kiss, feeling Harry’s probing tongue, the slide of lips, fingers down his bare skin, and Harry’s need. He pressed closer, sliding his thigh around Harry’s, feeling a hand come to grip his arse. Harry’s lips as they moved from his mouth, nibbled his ear, worked down his throat, Harry’s tongue pressed into the hollow of his collarbone, sending ripples of pleasure through him. No lack of arousal now.

“It’s not that I don’t want to fuck you,” Harry whispered against his cheek. His hands skidded lightly over Julius’s arse. “I want to so very much.” Fingers closing on buttocks and a little, tiny tug apart. “You’ll love it. I promise. You’ll be begging for more.” He was kneading Julius’s firm flesh, pulling his hips in so prick rubbed against prick. “I’m going to bugger you till you’re the properest mary-ann in Town. When you’re ready.”

Julius could believe it, with Harry’s roaming fingers gently probing him. “We could try,” he managed.

“Not tonight.” His grip relented a little. “I want to do you justice. And with oil. It’s much more comfortable that way till you’re used to it.”

“You’ve done it?”

Harry gave him a truly filthy grin. He looked more like a barrow boy than a gentleman, naked and tousled, and it made Julius’s breath catch in his throat. “I take either part. Whatever you want. Would I be your first?”

Julius nodded. After his school experience he’d never felt the urge to sweat over another man’s pain for his own fleeting pleasure. Harry’s expression was causing him to rethink that. “As it happens, to answer your question…I do have oil. Linseed.”

“Really? Then maybe,” Harry murmured, trailing his hand over Julius’s thigh and down, “maybe if you like…”

“I want you to do it.” Julius hadn’t intended to say it; the words spilled out. “I want you to fuck me. Tonight, Harry. I want—Christ, I want to feel.” He jumped to his feet, needing to move. “Oil, you say.”

Harry looked at him intently when he returned with it. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“If you want to stop, just say.” Julius nodded. Harry took his hand. “Then lie down, love. And talk to me. Tell me what it feels like.”

How it felt was…slippery. Slick. Intrusive in a deeply alarming way, as Harry’s finger circled and probed. Julius lay back on the rug, breathing deeply, not allowing himself to wonder what he was doing, and Harry knelt between his legs and murmured soft words of praise. “Beautiful. God, you’re lovely. I hope you like this because I’ve wanted to ride you for so long…”

Julius inhaled sharply.

“How does that feel?”

“Very like a finger up my arse, since you ask.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Harry grinned at him. His hand was working, pressing against the ring of muscle, one finger flexing inside Julius as the others massaged his skin. He let out a long breath. “Just relax a little. I’m going to…”

“Jesus!” Julius yelped as Harry’s finger hit something inside him that sent pleasure bolting through his nerves. “What—”

“Thought you’d like it,” Harry said smugly. “Legs apart. Tell me if it’s good.”

“Good,” Julius managed. “Oh, God.” He was pushing against Harry’s hand, he realized, couldn’t help it. The sensation inside him was maddening. His prick was at a stand again, and Harry leaned forward with a grin and took it in his lips.

“Harry,” Julius whispered, feeling himself pleasured and violated at once. “Oh sweet Christ.” He arched back, hopelessly exposed: legs apart, throat bare, naked and open and defenseless. Harry sucked and rubbed, stroking him inside and out until Julius was writhing, helpless under his hands, and in grave danger of spending.

Harry pulled away. “Shall I bring you off like this?”

Yes
warred with
No.
He wanted more, wanted Harry to have his way. “No. More.”

“I need to open you up,” Harry said softly, and Julius felt a second oiled finger probing at his entrance.

That was…less comfortable. Julius braced his legs wide and let Harry’s murmurs wash over him. “Oh, my Julius. So good, so lovely. So perfect. So desperate for it.”

“What was that?” he croaked.

“You’re desperate,” Harry repeated. He leaned forward, two fingers still rhythmically moving to create a definite sensation of stretch where no stretch should be, bracing himself with his other hand by Julius’s head, so their faces were close. “You’ve needed a good hard fuck as long as I’ve known you. Untouchable Julius.” His tongue flicked out, over Julius’s parted lips. “Why hasn’t anyone given you a proper ride before now?”

“Nobody was sufficiently insolent,” Julius managed. Harry’s affectionate smile made it even harder to breathe than the intrusive, strange, increasingly pleasurable sensations caused by his fingers. “Oh, God. Will you do it?”