The Hunt Club Chronicles Bundle (32 page)

“Who is to lose their bollocks?” The Duke of Staines asked from the open doorway, his face set in angry lines.

Mrs. Marinari started abruptly at the interruption, but then smiled sweetly in the blink of an eye. “Oh, no one, Your Grace.” She curtsied and hurried out.

Staines
closed the door behind him and leaned against it. His chest swelled as he drew in a large breath then let it out slowly. “I was wondering where you’d got to until I heard your skills were required this morning.”

The strain of the morning closed about Francis and he set his hand to the back of the chair for balance. “Lord Carter, again. You must do something about him this time.”

Staines
crossed the room and stopped within inches. His gaze roved over Francis’ face, a frown marring his usually happy expression. “I must?”

Francis nodded. “Yes, Your Grace. I had to stitch Miss Felicity’s nether region today.”

The duke winced.

Acid curled in Francis’ belly at the memory. He set his hand on his stomach as emotion rolled through him. “Yes, again. It is not her fault. He is far too rough with her and the others.”

Staines
mirrored his action and set his hand to his stomach, too. “Last time, he claimed he was enraptured by the new girl.”

Francis shook his head at the duke’s stubbornness not to see the truth. “Three times is no accident. The earl is little better than a rutting animal.”

Carter plowed with little care for the whore beneath him and no consideration for her pleasure either. Men like that had once disgusted
Staines
and Francis wondered when the duke had ceased to notice and care.

Staines
regarded him, his lips quirking upward. “Why are you the only one who will argue with me?”

Francis slumped to a chair wearily and rubbed his hands over his face. “Because it amuses you to let me, Your Grace.”

Staines
nodded, his gaze softened. “You look dead on your feet. Which reminds me, today is your day off. You should not be here.”

“I had—”

The duke waved his hands to silence him. “Yes, yes, you had a woman in need of your skills and we are very grateful, but you’ve done your best. Go enjoy what’s left of your day.”

Francis regarded the duke warily. Even though he’d been gifted with an additional day off from his duties each month as a reward for faithful service, he was loath to take them. His family worked from sunup till sundown and the only time they left the farm was to attend church. When he compared his day with that of his brother, he lived a spoiled and pampered life. A life of further idleness, without responsibilities, sat ill with him. And since the duke was prone to accidents, and misunderstandings frequently occurred when Francis wasn’t around, he hadn’t been overly concerned to lose the day off.

The duke stuck out his left hand. “Come on, get up and out of this mad house before I change my mind and force you to attend
Fairmont
’s ball with me. Lady
Fairmont
let slip that her companion was quite keen on you.”

Francis shuddered at the thought and the duke laughed at him.

“In that case, I’ll see you tomorrow morning at six, as usual.”

Francis groaned. Six was such an ungodly hour for riding about in
Hyde Park
. Yet the duke insisted upon the exercise and so they rode together in relative privacy. Every other sensible lord was abed at that hour.

He placed his right hand in the duke’s left and was hauled to his feet. Eye to eye, the duke was an imposing man. Handsome, determined, and with a playful streak a mile wide. At least
Staines
didn’t dump him on his arse today as he had several days ago.

The grip on his hand slackened and slid up his arm.

As always, the tight ropes of desire spun upward from that brief caress. Francis’ pulse hammered as the duke licked his lips. But then His Grace took a step back and spun about. He waved as he hurried for the door. “Till the morning, Red. Try to have fun without me.”

Francis shook his head. The duke baffled him, even after thirty odd years in his service. He doubted he would ever work out what that man wanted from one minute to the next. They were hardly equals, but far more than strangers. The duke frequently sought him out for company when he was bored, drunk or wanted to discuss a vexing matter. But that wasn’t how most noblemen acted around their personal servants. Whatever the reason, Francis didn’t mind too much. The duke had a wicked sense of humor.

Yet there were moments between them when he almost couldn’t breathe. When he sensed that the duke was thinking of doing sinful things in his company, but, inevitably, the duke always drew back. Perhaps he forgot, momentarily, that Francis was a farmer’s son. Usually he cavorted with titled lords and ladies of society.

Resigned to the inevitable day off, he cleaned his tools, redressed swiftly and left his chamber and the club. But rather than appropriate the duke’s carriage, as he was allowed to do, he enjoyed a quiet walk home toward
Golden Square
, albeit via a circular route through
Bond Street
. He stopped at Gilbert and Hamilton Booksellers of London to see if his latest order had arrived.

“You’ve got the devil’s luck, Mr. Redding.”

Francis grinned as he tucked his hat under his arm. “Is that so, Mr Gilbert? I take it my book has been found.”

“Indeed it has, sir. Just in this very morning and I have something that might interest you more.
Observations on Medical Electricity
and some others. Can I interest you in taking a look?”

Redding
set his hat to the counter. “I am yours to amaze and bedazzle.”

Mr. Gilbert grinned and shuffled off, wincing as he went. “They’re still in the backroom. Come see.”

“What happened to your limb, Mr. Gilbert?”

“Oh, just carelessness. A scratch.”

Francis frowned at what had to be a very painful injury. “A scratch that produces such a great limp should not be ignored. Better let me look at you first before I attend to the books. Sit down and show me where it hurts.”

The older man lifted is trouser leg slowly. “You’re not going to chop my limb off, are you?”

Francis smiled at the common question. “I’ve rarely been required to. This is infected, though. See the red at the edges? It needs proper attention. Can Mr. Hamilton handle the shop awhile?”

So instead of spending the afternoon quietly studying to be a physician, he used his surgeon’s skills to attend Mr. Gilbert’s limb, then set off for the duke’s residence as night fell with his arms full of medical books. In gratitude, and in lieu of payment, Gilbert had reduced the price of the books considerably. He had enough to read for the next two weeks, if the duke’s social engagements were low. Four, if the duke was restless and attended frequent society affairs. Unfortunately, the former wasn’t likely.

Francis slipped up the back stairs of Tindel House with a nod to the housekeeper and locked himself in his chamber for the night. He wouldn’t be disturbed, aside from the housekeeper sending up a dinner tray when she had a moment to spare. He had endless hours of reading before him, he just had to choose which book would be the most beneficial to his future and would keep his mind from imagining the mischief the duke could get into overnight at Lord Fairmont’s ball.

Chapter Three

Ambrose had flirted with three widows, two men and still had not found the right lover for the evening. All he could think about was the wide expanse of
Redding
’s stomach, damp with water from his wash and the thin line of hair that disappeared beneath the band of his trousers. He groaned as he kissed the air above Lady Russell’s hand after their dance and took his leave of her. She’d been more than willing, he’d thought. Experienced, adventurous and she
was
possessed of a large pair of breasts. Of course
Redding
, having accidentally stumbled upon her entertaining a lover, had once referred to them as overripe turnips and Ambrose had been hard pressed to hold in his mirth whenever he’d glanced down while they danced tonight.

He almost turned to speak with his servant, but then remembered belatedly that he’d sent the man away for the night. Annoyed to have almost spoken into empty air, he threaded his way through
Fairmont
’s ballroom until he reached a quieter area of the card room. Little groups clustered around the tables to watch the play underway. For a moment he did consider joining them, but he was too restless to sit still for cards and uninterested in losing his money again.
Redding
claimed he should just toss the money over his shoulder for the poor to take as he strolled along instead of pretending to understand the first thing about winning at cards.

Perhaps
Redding
was right. Perhaps Ambrose had no luck but what could be spared on infrequent evenings. And tonight did not seem to be his lucky night, so far. He was bored out of his mind and horny as hell. He couldn’t even approach
Fairmont
now. His former lover had taken to marriage and his young bride with startling single-mindedness and had turned aside all suggestions for further rendezvous.

Marriage to the right woman could do that. It could make a debauched rake something of a lapdog. Ambrose had been the very same when his own wife had been alive and didn’t resent
Fairmont
’s defection to the fairer sex. Lady Fairmont was very lovely.

Ambrose nodded to her across the room then sauntered out onto the terrace for some air and privacy. The end of the terrace was nicely dark and he stepped into the shadows and rested against the house wall.

What to do about
Redding
?

Although he asked himself the question at least twice a week, his previous answers had always been to do nothing. But as his birthday drew closer he was starting to feel his age. Five and forty was almost old. Was he going to wait till his sword was wrinkled and wouldn’t rise before he satisfied his craving for Francis Redding?

That image was not appealing. He wasn’t a vain man by any stretch of the imagination but he’d tried to maintain a robust physique to please his lovers. To his credit, he was fitter than most lords his age, but not as strong as Francis. How his footman maintained his strength when he stood about for most of his day eluded Ambrose but he would ask one of these days. If he was here tonight he would ask right now and then perhaps he could draw him into this dark seclusion for a kiss.

It was a constant wish.

A footstep scuffed the tiles to his left. Ambrose turned his head and cursed under his breath at the sight of Lord Silas peering into the shadows. He flattened his back hard against the cold wall and held his breath. Unfortunately, Lord Silas had excellent eyesight. He strode confidently into the shadows and stopped a pace too close for comfort. “Waiting for someone?”

“Just taking in some air.” Ambrose moved away from the wall to get past Silas, but was stopped by his touch.

The man’s fingers kneaded his belly. “Don’t go yet. We could do very well together, you and I. I would bring you great pleasure. It would be my honor.”

Although Ambrose’s libido fought to be satisfied, tempting him to consider the offer, an unnatural light lit Silas’ eyes and he shook his head. Silas was not speaking of affection or love in their future relationship. He looked for ownership and pride in seducing a duke, an achievement to lift his consequence.