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"Iph."Iphicles looked up from his desk where he had been working on instructions for his man of business.
"What is it, Harry?" His brother looked unusually diffident as he entered the library.
"Are you busy?" Harry indicated the papers strewn across the desk.
Iphicles laid down his pen, wondering what this was all about. "Not really."
"Oh good." Harry regained some of his normal cheery composure and flung himself down into one of the chairs. Iphicles turned in his seat to look at him. "Well?" he encouraged, when nothing further was forthcoming.
Harry grimaced apologetically. "It's Mama, you know," he started. "Wants me to have a talk to you about the succession and so on."
Iphicles snorted briefly. "You talk about siring heirs? Come on Harry, face reality before they cart you off to Bedlam."
There was a flash of resentment in Harry's face. "I'm not the Earl," he muttered, "I don't have a duty to the name. And anyway," he added ingenuously, "I don't like women - you do."
As Iphicles stared speechlessly at him, he shifted in his seat and met his brother's gaze with a dazzling smile. "Come on Iph," he coaxed, "What's the harm in gaining a wife? Means you don't have to go elsewhere to get it. And with your title, you can have your pick - you don't have to settle for some antidote. I don't see what the problem is."
"And I don't understand what your sudden interest is." Iphicles' words were clipped.
"Oh yes you do," his brother informed him with devastating honesty. "The longer you go without getting any offspring, the more pressure Mama puts on me to produce some myself, just to make sure. This way, you get to roll around in bed with some female with Mama's blessing, and Iorweth and I get left in peace."
Iphicles was on his feet, his face pale. "It may have escaped your notice, brother, but my wife has been dead no more than a year, and you're telling me to go and get another one, just like that?" He broke off, breathing fast.
Harry stood up slowly, concern on his face. "Iph?" He reached out a hand and touched his brother's arm. "Iph, I'm sorry. I didn't realise you still missed Bella."
"Still?" Iphicles laughed briefly, a sound that had little to do with humour. "She was the only woman I've ever loved, Harry. I know my duty, believe me, but I need more time." He looked into his brother's face. "I know she's dead, I don't mourn her any longer, but can you imagine what it will be like to have somebody else take her title, to have somebody else order the house as they choose, to have somebody else's portrait hanging in the hall? To have Bella relegated to a dusty memory, yet one which is always scorned, or diminished, because they know I loved her?"
"Iph." Harry's face was unwontedly sober. "I'm sorry. I suppose… if I lost Iorweth…" his voice trailed off and his cerulean eyes were suddenly bleak, then he shook his head. "I'll deal with Mama," he said firmly.
Iphicles never found out quite what 'dealing with Mama' entailed, but Harry was evidently successful; Iphicles' next encounter with his mother, as they passed on the stairs, was silent, but she took his hand and pressed it meaningfully, her large eyes fixed speakingly on his face, a tremulous smile tugging at her lips. A trifle bemused, the Earl was enlightened at supper that evening when the subject of the ball to be held by the Davenports was raised, and on discussing the guest list, Alicia merely mentioned Lord and Lady Annesley and daughter, rather than enlarging enthusiastically about said daughter's attractions. The brothers' eyes met across the table in a silent message.
Sadly, their amity was soon rudely shattered. Harry objected strenuously when informed by his brother that he would have to accompany the Dowager to the Trent's assembly.
"Why can't you do it, Iph? You said you would." Harry's face was resentful. "I did my bit at that ball the other night, doing the dutiful to all the old tabbies for Mama's sake. What's come up that's so important you can't miss it?"
"A dinner invitation which I wish to accept." The Earl responded calmly. "And I thought, with you home, you might see your way to spending a little time with Mama." He tried a smile at Harry. "You know how much she would love you to escort her."
An answering smile lit Harry's face for an instant, before disappointment set in again. "But it will be an entire evening," he protested. "Even if you can procure an invitation for Iorweth -" the carrot with which the Earl was trying to tempt his brother - "we'll scarcely be able to spend any time together."
Iphicles shrugged. "So? You have all day every day together, I assume you have an arrangement unknown to the household for the nights. What's the sacrifice in one evening to keep Mama happy?"
Eventually, with great reluctance, Harry agreed. "But I won't do it again," he threatened the Earl.
"Nor should you have to," Iphicles agreed. While discussing who should sacrifice their evening to escorting their parent to yet another mindless gathering, a thought had struck him.
"Harry," he said slowly. His brother looked at him, suspicion large on his countenance. "What if we tried to get Mama paired off?" Iphicles suggested. "Then neither of us need go to those cursed things."
Harry's jaw dropped. "Mama?" he echoed blankly. "But she's… No, damn it Iph, she's our mother. She can't marry again."
Iphicles was far too taken with his sudden idea to pay much heed to his brother. "Sir John Laxom has always been one of her admirers," he mused. "He's a decent sort, reasonable fortune, and his wife died four years ago. Think about it, Harry," he urged his brother, "What will she do with herself once you've returned to Spain and if she succeeds in leg-shackling me to some heiress? Don't you think, as dutiful sons, we should encourage her to find happiness for herself?"
"You mean for me to encourage her, don't you?" Harry was blunt.
"You know she don't listen to a thing I say," Iphicles shrugged. "The alternative of course, is to spend your next leave abroad so you don’t have to face this dreary round of pleasure."
A look of horror crossed Harry's face. "What, spend my leave among foreigners? Damn it Iph, I won't do it! Who is this fellow? Will he be there tonight do you think?"
And so the Earl, well satisfied with his afternoon's activities, found himself wishing a pleasant evening to his Mama and a grimly-determined Harry before he left for his own evening's entertainment.
On being admitted to the drawing room, he was a trifle surprised to find he was the only guest present. The Duke was reclining on a chaise longue - the chaise longue Iphicles realised with a shock - and merely gestured at the butler to provide his guest with a drink.
"I don't stand on ceremony with my friends," he informed Iphicles. "Have a seat."
Iphicles did as he was bidden, settling himself comfortably in a chair close enough to the Duke to allow easy conversation.
"I'm surprised you're not engaged to the Trent's tonight," the Duke observed idly. "I have a suspicion they have you in their sights for that second daughter of theirs."
The Earl's lips twisted. "If you know that, you shouldn't be surprised that I'm not there."
There was a gleam in the Duke's eyes as he acknowledged Iphicles' statement. He remained silent for a while, watching his guest. Iphicles sat at his ease in the chair, mentally contrasting this civilised atmosphere to the cattle market which the Trent's assembly would no doubt become.
"Do you have any other guests tonight?" he asked the Duke.
Aresborough's lips curved. "Not unless you wish it, Iphicles." He shifted slightly on the chaise longue, in a way which brought back only too vividly the images of Iphicles' last visit. The Earl suddenly found himself watching the Duke's muscular legs, sprawled in casual possessive ownership of the furniture, and remembering the last pair of legs he'd seen spread wantonly over it. He had the suspicion that his colour was slightly raised as he looked back up at the Duke.
"I had meant, any of your friends," he explained.
The Duke shook his head slowly, holding Iphicles' eyes. "I hoped we might improve our acquaintance."
Iphicles was caught between that swift uprush of exhilaration which he was beginning to feel more and more often in the Duke's presence, and a sudden very peculiar feeling such as he imagined a fly might feel, caught upon a web. Shaking his head slightly, he rapidly dispelled the illusion. There was no conceivable reason for his sudden odd fancy, unless it was too much wine on an empty stomach. His host laughed suddenly and encouraged Iphicles to tell him more of the exceptional cattle he had heard the Earl kept in his stables. With relief Iphicles plunged into an enthusiastic and often heated discussion with his host about the finer points of horseflesh.By the end of supper, Iphicles found himself invited to be a member of a party the Duke would be hosting at his country seat the following week. Even in this he was flouting convention, by holding such a thing in the midst of the Season. It appealed to Iphicles, both the fact of the masculine retreat from the frills and furbelows of the ton, and the unusual timing. The Duke had added that he wished Iphicles to join him at his hunting lodge in Quorn country later in the year; he had admired the way the Earl sat his horse, and wished to have the opportunity to see him in action. The Earl had accepted both of these invitations, although he was fully sensible of the fact he was unable to reciprocate. To think of presenting a man of the Duke's reputation to his mother was inconceivable. All he could hope was that Harry might be making some headway with the Sir John Laxom plan, and that the Dowager would soon occupy her own place of residence. To be sure, he could insist that she move back to the Dower House, whereupon she had removed when he married, but he did not have the heart to make her do so. He also entertained the lively suspicion that she would spend all her time visiting him in any case.
"I'm sorry?" Iphicles came back to the present, aware his host was evidently awaiting an answer from him.
"I wondered, my dear Lord Royston, if we might adjourn?" The exaggerated politeness, in sharp contrast to their relaxed conversation throughout the meal, showed that he had obviously repeated the question at least once.
Iphicles grinned unrepentantly and stood up. "By all means, your grace," he bowed. "As your grace desires."
The room spun a little as he straightened up. Perhaps the number of different wines they had sampled with each course had not been such a good idea. Or perhaps it had not been the number of wines, but the amount of each which caused the problem. The Duke was a generous host, and there was no doubt but that under his encouragement his guest had been dipping deep. Fighting the urge to grin like a village idiot, a decidedly bosky Iphicles followed the Duke back to the drawing room where, comfortably ensconced in the armchairs, the pair continued their lazy conversation and their steady inroads on as smooth a wine as Iphicles had ever tasted.
Once again, it was at some point in the small hours of the morning that the Earl rose to take his leave of the Duke. Despite the revolutions of the room around him, he managed to make his way to the hall, where the butler returned his coat and hat to him before opening the front door. As the cool night air flooded in, Iphicles made a grab for the doorframe and stood breathing deeply, trying to bring the flight of steps before him back into full focus. His blurred vision informed him that his footman appeared to be starting up the steps towards him.
There was suddenly an amused voice in his ear. "Let me give you a hand, Royston," and his arm was being taken in a reassuringly firm grasp. He was vaguely aware of the Duke waving back the footman and then the steady arm around him was helping him to his carriage. He clutched at the doorway, blindly feeling for the steps, and strong hands were on his waist, steadying him as he swayed up them, before he collapsed into the seat. The carriage was suddenly full as the Duke followed him in, propping him in the corner and straightening his legs. "Just as well your coachman knows where you live, Iphicles."
The Earl's eyes blinked open again and he looked up into the Duke's teasing gaze. A semblance of manners presented themselves to him. "Pleasant evening. Thank you," he uttered thickly.
The hands paused on his legs as the Duke smiled at him. "Sleep well, Iphicles." Then the Duke was gone and the carriage was suddenly cold and empty without his company, his lazy drawl and his touch. Iphicles' eyes closed.
The Earl was somewhat delicate when he finally emerged late the following morning. He was relieved to find that his brother and Burnage were off somewhere, and that his Mama was still in bed, resting in preparation for the evening's exertions. The Earl was left to roam a silent house. He had never before noticed how empty it was, how little he had to do now that his friends were overseas. His acquaintances at White's were simply that, acquaintances, and damned stuffy, most of them. If pushed, he could always visit the Rooms off St James' Street and enjoy a bout with the fencing master who ran the establishment, but his reactions today were dulled by his continuing headache. He would often take advantage of an empty few hours to pay a visit to Caroline, but the pounding in his head dissuaded him from following that course of action. Instead he sent to the stables for one of his horses and decided to take some mild physical exercise, enough hopefully to clear his head without over-exerting himself.
By the time Iphicles had reached the park, he was beginning to relax, having purposely chosen a smooth actioned well-mannered beast for his mount today. His headache was gradually dissipating in the gentle dampness of the overcast day, and he was able to greet acquaintances among the crowd which thronged the Park at this fashionable hour with an almost convincing display of good health. The thumping in his skull disappeared completely when he saw a familiar figure ahead of him. His pleasure was quickly swamped as unmistakable tones claimed his attention in no uncertain terms. He turned reluctantly to find Lady Foxcote, accompanied by her daughters, hailing him from her landaulet.
"Why, Lord Royston, I confess we have not seen you in what seems like an age - or so my daughters tell me," she declared playfully.
Lady Emilia hung her head, blushing in a not unbecoming manner and murmuring faintly "Mama!" Lady Charlotte however was made of sterner stuff and merely held the Earl's gaze with a world of meaning in her deceptively innocent blue stare. The Earl withdrew his gaze quickly, to find Lady Charlotte's mama not at all discomposed by the forward behaviour of her second daughter.
"Delighted to see you Lady Foxcote, Ladies," Iphicles bowed slightly and would have urged his horse on had not the determined lady continued obliviously.
"Oh, but Lord Royston," she protested, "You have not yet told us if you will be attending the Lennox's ball on Saturday."
The Earl cast a despairing glance past her at the Duke's steadily retreating figure, and his eyes suddenly narrowed. Sir Richard Hazell, mounted on one of his infamously ill-broken youngsters, had joined the Duke, and they were now walking their horses side by side, talking.
With difficulty, Iphicles pulled his attention back to the gushing female before him.
"…. his wonderful deeds in Spain?" She was looking expectantly at him.
"Harry?" He made a shrewd guess, then a sudden thought struck him. He smiled at all three ladies as he warmly invited them to wait upon his Mama tomorrow morning, when he knew for a fact that Captain Fairfax and his good friend Captain Burnage would be present and delighted to entertain them with suitably dashing tales of derring do.
"And may I ask, will you be present, Lord Royston?" The coy glance might have worked from one of her daughters, but from this redoubtable matron the effect was remarkably akin to having a tooth pulled.
"I regret that I have another appointment." He inclined his head courteously, "Ladies," and left before any further entanglements could be attempted.
His immediate impulse was to ride after the Duke and Hazell and join them, but as he saw their figures ahead of him, he hesitated. The Duke was leaning towards the other man, eyes on his face. Hazell was chatting animatedly, his body inclined towards the Duke in a way which suddenly irritated Iphicles.
He abruptly swung his horse around and decided to return home. The morning ride had somehow lost all pleasure for him.
He had not long returned to the house when he decided to call upon Caroline. He had called on her twice since the first time he had dined with the Duke, and on neither occasion had he been fortunate. His luck was none the better on this occasion; if anything, the news he received sank his spirits further.
"Mrs Howarth is gone out of town, my lord," he was informed by her butler.
Iphicles concealed his surprise at the news. It was unlike Caroline to do such a thing without letting him know.
"When do you expect Mrs Howarth's return?"
"I really couldn't say, my lord."
And that was as far as the butler would be drawn. Dissastified, the Earl had to admit defeat and retire.
He was out of sorts that evening, unsettled by the day he had spent, which meant that when Harry cornered him he was in no mood to listen to his younger brother, responding ungraciously when the gallant Captain intruded unceremoniously into the sanctuary of the library.
"I'm busy," Iphicles snapped, indicating the papers before him on the desk.
"I need to talk to you, Iph," his brother insisted regardless.
Jabbing his pen into the standish with unnecessary force, the Earl swung round to face him. "What?" he demanded.
"Are you going to offer for the Westcourt chit or not?"
Iphicles was torn between anger and incomprehension. "We’ve already spoken of my marriage plans, Harry," he managed reasonably, at last. "I have none for the near future."
Harry chewed his lip for a moment, looking distinctly unhappy. "The thing is, Iph," he confided at last, "Mama's started on me again. About seeing me happily settled, with brats to inherit in case you get notice to quit."
"Your concern over my demise is touching, brother," Iphicles spat.
"It's not like that," Harry protested. "We both know that you'll marry again, so why not simply bring your plans forward a little? It's the Lennox's ball on Saturday - a nice romantic setting to make your play. Send her your flowers to wear, compliment her looks, you know how it goes. I wager with your title and fortune the girl would be willing to marry you if you would just play the pretty a little."
"It grieves me to cast a rub in the way of your plans for my future, Harry, but I shall not be at the Lennox's ball." The Earl's precise clipped tone betrayed his fury. "I am going into the country for a time."
Harry's brows drew down. "At this season? Not the estate again, Iph? Devil take it, you're becoming a damned bucolic!"
"Not the estate this time," Iphicles controlled his voice. "With friends."
"Who?" Harry was pugnacious.
"Not that it is any of your concern, but if you must know I am visiting Aresborough."
"Aresborough? But -" Iphicles could almost see the wheels turning behind Harry's blue eyes. "Iph - you're not! You never.. devil take it, you were married! You can't do it - you have to marry again and get an heir! It's your duty, Iph, damn it. You can't shirk it. I won't - "
"You won't be forced into an unpleasant duty, is that it, Harry? Not when you can force me into one instead?" Iphicles' voice was edged with fury. "Your conjectures about my friendship with Aresborough are sheer lunacy, but it makes no difference - I will not be forced into a marriage of convenience by you, Mama, or anybody else. Do you understand me?"
Harry stared for an instant at the furious Earl. "But it's your duty -" he began stubbornly.
"Get out." Iphicles strode to the library door, wrenched it open and held it so until the disconcerted Captain Fairfax, unused to seeing his normally quiet brother so forceful, admitted defeat and retreated, no doubt to seek Iorweth's advice on how best to handle this perplexing situation.
The Earl closed the door and leant his hot forehead against the heavy oak, one hand still holding onto the handle as he breathed heavily, trying to control his anger. Harry's assumptions about his brother's reasons for spending time with Aresborough had been wildly off the mark - were he not so angered by his brother, the Earl might have found them embarrassingly so - but the result was the same: Iphicles would not be browbeaten into a line of action he did not wish to take.
He eventually returned to his seat at the desk and stared blindly down at his papers before cursing and thrusting his chair back. He would give anything to hear the Duke's lazy drawl consigning all paperwork to perdition. The thought that in two day’s time he would have that opportunity steadied him slightly. Summoning a footman to bring him some wine, he stood staring into the fireplace, contemplating his escape.
Harry cornered him again the following day. "I can't believe you're going to abandon Mama and ruin your chances with the Westcourt girl to spend time with Aresborough," he challenged. "What's wrong with you, Iphicles?"
Iphicles held his accusing blue eyes. "For once Harry," he informed his brother, "I think that there's nothing wrong with me. I am doing something to please myself, and nobody else. It's an attitude to which I believe you are already accustomed."
It was enough to send Captain Fairfax packing in high dudgeon, no doubt to compare unfavourable notes with his friend Iorweth who had no disagreeable elder brother to concern him, leaving the Earl to his thoughts. The house party would be a change, a much-needed distraction. He was still concerned, when he thought of it, that Caroline had sent him no word, but he had begun to become accustomed to the familiarity of his own hand comfortingly stroking his cock, inevitably bringing him to lonely release each night. And morning. And whenever else he could be sure of privacy. He could not remember, since the days of courting Bella, such desire as now seemed to consume him. Perhaps all he needed was a week or so in the country with like-minded company ready to engage in physical pursuits that would leave him exhausted and ready for sleep each night. It was the boredom, the tedium, which currently led all his excess energy to be focussed in his cock, that was all.
That night, Iphicles unbent enough to accompany his Mama to an evening at the Trent's. He hoped that Sir John Laxom would be present, so that he might observe the two of them together. Following his contretemps with Harry, his younger brother had volunteered no information on how the campaign had progressed the previous evening.
The Trents were hosting yet another glittering party in their determination to marry off both daughters this Season. So determined were they, in fact, that they had produced a guest list that included every bachelor of the ton, regardless of eligibility. The result was a sad crush, the very sort which Alicia decried as being the most tedious of evenings, yet one which she would not miss for the world. Iphicles mentally gritted his teeth and settled himself in for a long evening. The one redeeming feature was his knowledge that once this evening was passed, only one day remained before he became Aresborough's guest.
It was still early when the young lady to whom he was listening earned the opprobrium of all those young ladies who had dextrously manoeuvred themselves into the Earl's line of sight. One moment he stood beside her, head bent in flattering attentiveness to catch her pearls of wisdom; the next, a smile of genuine delight curved his lips and warmed his eyes. Female breasts heaved with envy as jealous eyes watched the undeserving sallow-faced chit who was the sudden recipient of such attention. The young lady, as taken aback as any of those watching, instantly tried to press her advantage, but was disconcerted to find the Earl after a few moments adroitly excusing himself from her company. A glance around her led her to toss her head and smile mysteriously, indicating unmistakably to every other young lady present that she had arranged an assignation with the handsome Earl, and that their parting like this was merely a blind to the old tabbies who acted as chaperones. Gentlemen flocked around her, attempting to find out what had so captivated the Earl. The lady's social success for the rest of the Season was now assured, even though she had to confess herself puzzled by the Earl's inexplicable behaviour.
Iphicles was purposefully making his way through the crowded room when his mama suddenly seized upon his arm.
"Iphicles," she hissed, "This is your chance. That dreadful man, Aresborough, is here and forcing his attentions upon Sophia. Rescue the poor child, and she and her family will be forever grateful to you. Lord Ravenscourt has already made an attempt, but Aresborough is so shameless, he would not yield. Do something!"
It was a challenge to which the Earl rose nobly. He continued to make his way across the room to where he could see the Duke, dressed in dark, understated yet exquisitely cut clothes, talking to Sophia Westcourt. He saw the sparkle in Sophia's deep blue eyes as she gazed up at the Duke's dark face, and knew that Aresborough was exerting himself to be as charming as only he knew how. She did look particularly fetching tonight, Iphicles conceded; her three-quarter dress of sarsnet worn over an underdress of ivory satin was breathtaking on her elegant young figure, the modest pearl drops from her ears speaking further of her youth and innocence. No wonder her parents were worried; she appeared captivated by the Duke.
"Aresborough."
The Duke's smile reached his eyes as he turned to the Earl. "Iphicles. I had thought you would be present tonight."
Iphicles bowed slightly, then again to Sophia. "Miss Westcourt, delighted," he acknowledged.
She smiled warmly at him, a becoming colour staining her cheeks. "Lord Royston," she welcomed, her eyes conveying her delight at seeing him.
"May I request the pleasure of your hand later?" he enquired.
"A little forward in public, don't you think Royston," the Duke murmured very quietly.
Iphicles ignored him and engaged himself to a waltz later in the evening with the fair Sophia. "I believe Lady Annesley is anxious to introduce you to an old friend who has just arrived," he concluded.
Since the Duke's flattering attention seeming to have wavered, Miss Westcourt reluctantly obeyed Iphicles' unspoken injunction and rejoined her mama, reassured at least by the unusual readiness of the Earl's smile and the warmth in his eyes.
"I thought St George ended up with the fair maiden, not the dragon," Aresborough jibed as Iphicles remained with him rather than accompanying Miss Westcourt.
"I rather think we are supposed to believe that, as a Knight of the Church, he was chaste and ended up with neither," Iphicles commented wryly.
"Poor St. George," Aresborough mused. "Still, I suppose virtue brings its own reward. Damned if I can see it though."
Iphicles laughed. "Aren't you damned anyway?" he flicked back.
"True enough," the Duke owned. "Speaking of which, I was thinking of trying my luck at this new hell off Pall Mall tonight," he continued. "Join me?"
Iphicles hesitated, torn.
The Duke leaned in close to Iphicles so none would overhear him, his breath caressing the Earl's cheek. "Then maybe you'll just have to dream of your reward, Iphicles. Have a virtuous evening."
With that, he turned and made his way from the crowded room, people in his way moving swiftly to allow him unimpeded egress. Iphicles stood staring after him, damning his conscience, his mother, his brother for not being here to take over responsibility for her, and most of all his odd reaction to the Duke's statement. After a moment he recollected himself, biting back his disappointment, and moved towards his partner for the next dance.
Before he reached her, Lady Annesley descended upon him, declaring herself forever in his debt for rescuing her poor dear lamb from that man, and for then seeing him off.
"Dear Lord Royston, I don't care what the rest of the world thinks - your brother's heroism doesn't hold a candle to you in my estimation."
"Thank you," Iphicles murmured dryly, freeing his sadly crushed sleeve from her eager grasp with a little difficulty, before continuing towards his object.
Somehow he got through the evening, which rapidly descended into a particular form of torture, becoming a whirl of objectionable people claiming his notice, young girls employing the arts of the coquette as they attempted to capture his obviously wandering attention, and capped off by a waltz with Sophia that ended with that young lady almost in tears at the Earl's heartless abstraction. Her crushing disappointment at the change in him from earlier led her into unbecoming frankness. She told him bluntly that she wore Ravenscourt's flowers, again. He nodded. She told him that Ravenscourt had proposed to her. He wished her happy. She asked him in a voice which trembled if he did not care for her. He asked her to repeat what she had said; he had not quite heard it.
She continued the moves of the dance, too well-bred to risk social disapprobation by slapping the Earl across his undeniably handsome but cruel face and storming off, but no sooner had the dance finished than she retreated to her mama and begged to be taken home, pleading a headache.
It was not long before the Earl found his own mother and encouraged her home. Reluctantly she allowed herself to be persuaded from Sir John Laxom's flattering attentions, and agreed. Once she had taken herself to bed, the Earl found himself with one arm leaning on the overmantel, a highly polished boot resting on the fireguard as he stared down into the empty grate in the drawing room, wondering if he might find his way to the new hell of which the Duke had spoken. He angrily conceded that he did not know enough to find it, and was no longer sure how pleased the Duke would be to see him there. With that option denied him, he was not in the mood to find other company tonight. He wanted Caroline with an intensity which took him by surprise; her continued absence had brought him to a new level of frustration. He could always find a lightskirt to release his desires, but the Earl had seen the results of the pox. So he took himself off to bed.
Once his valet had left the room, leaving the Earl in bed, Iphicles' hand went straight to his cock. He thought back to that scene in the Duke's drawing room as his hand moved slowly over his hardening cock, needing release but wanting to prolong the pleasure as long as possible. One finger stroked over the smooth head, and he remembered Caroline's tongue doing the same thing to him. He imagined how it would feel if she were to kneel before him, as the woman at the Duke's had knelt before her partner, so that he could thrust his cock deep into her mouth. As he thought back to that night, he remembered the sounds from Hazell and Farraday. Without volition, he found himself remembering the way Farraday had pushed desperately into Hazell's hand. Iphicles' hand moved faster, his hips lifting as he thrust into his own hand, feeling the sudden wetness of the tip of his cock. Eyes closed, teeth biting into his lip to keep quiet, he thrust faster, thinking of the woman on her knees, taking his cock, taking all of it into her moist mouth as Farraday's moans grew louder, and then the Duke's voice in his ear asked him what he thought. He exploded into his hand, gasping and sweating at the release.
He lay for a moment before turning over, wiping the cum from his hand onto the sheet and closing his eyes. But sleep eluded him still; that same scene, the sound of the Duke's voice in his ear, kept haunting him. It wasn't long before his hand was slowly stroking his cock again, gradually bringing it back to hardness while his other hand began to move across his nipples, touching, then rolling them between his fingers as he worked his full cock. He heard again Farraday's wild sounds of delight as he impaled himself on Hazell's fingers, and tried to discipline his mind, to bring back the mental picture of the man and woman in front of him, but all he could see were bodies, naked and entwined, pleasuring one another, and he could no longer tell who they were.
He groaned as he found himself imagining what it would have been like if the audience had taken off their clothes and joined in, imagining thrusting into the woman until she was writhing under him, begging him for more, and then suddenly he saw the Duke, smiling lazily at him as he brought the woman to orgasm, watching him as he spent his seed deep inside her. Iphicles cried out as he came, his eyes tightly closed, desperately trying to summon a vision of Caroline to him. He failed.
The busy streets of London gave way to open country and the Earl, his attention no longer on threading his match bays through the traffic-filled thoroughfares, found his mind drifting back to his departure from Half Moon Street. He had needed to employ unusually firm measures with his mother to prevent an embarrassing scene as his portmanteaux were loaded.He had gone into the drawing room to say his farewells, only to find his parent labouring under a strong sense of righteous indignation. She could not understand, indeed she refused to see, any possible reason for Iphicles wishing to leave town at the height of the Season, and as for her feelings upon learning -from Another, moreover, not from the lips of her eldest son - that he would be a guest of that Dreadful man…
Iphicles had eyed her narrowly. "My brother, I take it."
"There is no call to decry your brother for his sense of duty towards his Mama." Her bosom swelled indignantly. "Precisely when did you intend to inform me of your destination, Iphicles? Do you have no consideration for the blow to my sensibilities it has been to find that you know That Man? That you willingly will spend time as his guest?" Her eyes beseeched his tragically. "Have you no proper feeling?"
Here her emotion overcame her and she uncorked the vinaigrette which had been her constant companion since the dire news had been broken to her. Caught between annoyance and concern, the Earl hesitated. At that moment, Harry entered the room, checking on becoming aware of the atmosphere, before advancing to seat himself and watch the show with every appearance of complacence.
"Tell him, Harry," the Dowager appealed with a pitiful flutter of her hand towards her younger son. "Tell him he must not do such a thing."
Captain Fairfax eyed his brother with disenchantment and supposed that the Earl would do as he wished, regardless of his mother's need for her eldest son's support at this time, the anniversary of her husband's death. Gasping at Harry's temerity, Iphicles was wrong-footed for an instant, long enough for his mama to launch into another lament.
"I don't understand what has got into you, Iphicles, that you intend to do this. What shall I tell people? I refuse to repeat that you will be That Man's guest. What in heaven's name possessed you to accept his invitation? You must know his shocking reputation. What will people think?"
Iphicles had finally been pushed into declaring that as the head of the household, what he did was nobody's business save his own. He was leaving now; he would return to his house - a very slight emphasis on the possessive - when he chose, and only then. Harry's furlough was long enough to enable him to keep his Mama company for some time yet, so the Earl need have no fears as to her safety. He wished them farewell, and left.
By the time the Earl reached his destination, many hours later, his unpleasant leave-taking was almost forgotten, and as he swung the curricle neatly between two cotswold stone pillars and past the gatehouse, a sudden sense of release and freedom ran through him. He looked with interest for his first sight of the Duke's country seat, and as he rounded the last bend in the drive, he was not disappointed. Built of the same mellow cotswold stone as the gatehouse, it glowed gently and welcomingly in the afternoon sun. It was an impressive sight, more grandiose by far than the original house which the first Duke had caused to be built. This had been razed almost to the ground as the result of an unfortunate incident involving the third Duke, a chicken and a burning cigarillo. By way of expiation, the third Duke - who had escaped from the blaze only slightly singed, which was more than could be said for the unlucky chicken - had built the present imposing edifice which greeted Iphicles.
He was shown into the great hall, where he was relieved of his many-caped driving coat and gloves, and asked if he wished to be shown to his room before joining the other guests. Impatient suddenly for congenial company, knowing they were not precisely high sticklers and would forgive the travel-worn nature of his garments, and knowing that there was still plenty of time to change for dinner even allowing for the possibility that the Duke kept country hours here, the Earl desired to be taken to the other guests. He entered the room somewhat diffidently as he saw faces he recognised but nobody he knew, and then he relaxed and smiled as the Duke's unmistakable figure crossed the room towards him. Suddenly almost giddy with relief at the removal of any duty except to enjoy himself, the Earl accepted the glass of wine the Duke pressed upon him and joined enthusiastically in the lively debate raging over the finer points of some of the leading actresses.
By the time he came to change for dinner, Iphicles had imbibed generously enough to allow his valet unaccustomed liberties. When finally that worthy allowed the Earl out of his clutches, it was for Iphicles to encounter the Duke in the passageway outside his room.
The Duke's eyebrows raised. "Such splendour in my honour, Iphicles. I'm overwhelmed."
Suddenly self-conscious, Iphicles glanced down at himself, seeing with repugnance at the fob with which his valet had triumphantly finished off his outfit. "Oh my God, I look like a damned dandy," he uttered with loathing.
The Duke laughed, then moved forward. "Let me help you," he offered, and bending his head, concentrated on unfastening the fob at Iphicles' waist. The Earl stood watching the dark head bent before him, breathing in a strangely heady scent as he did so. By the time the Earl looked up, with the offending object safely in his hand, Iphicles' colour was high and his breathing had quickened.
A slow smile curved the Duke's lips. "I should turn the fellow off, if I were you, Iphicles," he said. "He's obviously dressed you too warmly."
It was true. The Earl was aware that his cheeks were flushed, his clothes seemed to cling tightly to him, and perspiration was beginning to gather beneath his shirt, a drop of sweat sliding down his spine as the Duke looked at him.
"Perhaps I should," he agreed automatically, uncomfortably aware that the wine he had drunk appeared to have robbed him of the ability to hold a sensible conversation. He stood staring back into the Duke's dark eyes until they were interrupted by Farraday's eruption from his bedchamber, the one next to Iphicles'.
"Damnation, Aresborough," he demanded indignantly on seeing the Duke, "What the devil do you mean by giving me a room full of paintings of some damned female type wringing her hands and crying over her dead child?"
Aresborough's eyes gleamed with sudden amusement as he turned slightly to look at the indignant peer. "Come now, Rupert, that's one of my esteemed ancestors you're objecting to."
"Well I'm sorry for you Aresborough, that's all I can say." Farraday shuddered artistically. "Can't you do something about it?"
The Duke sighed. "I'm sure I can have it removed, if you find yourself unable to support its presence," he agreed.
"I don't care what the devil you do with it, as long as you get rid of that damned depressing woman!" Farraday informed him, in a manner which suddenly reminded Iphicles irresistibly of Harry. The Duke's gaze let Iphicles know that he shared his amusement even while he assured Farraday that the offending picture would be removed before he had to brave his bedchamber again, and the three of them continued downstairs to where supper would be served.
By the time Iphicles returned to his bedchamber, he was decidedly the worse for wear. In his cups, in fact. He heard a thump from the next door bedchamber announcing Farraday's arrival in his own bed as Iphicles blew his candle out, and deduced that the painting which had so offended Farraday must have been removed. Either that, or he was no longer in a fit condition to notice it. Smiling as he thought of the evening he had spent, the conversation he had enjoyed with the Duke, and the Duke's flattering attention, the Earl slipped into a sound sleep.
He was jerked suddenly awake. He lay there, wondering what had woken him. Then he heard it again. A muffled moan. His brows drawing together, Iphicles sat up, wondering where it was coming from. There it was again, and then a gasping pleading "Yes, now!" His cheeks grew hot as he realised what the sound was which was coming from the bedchamber adjoining his, and he slid back beneath the covers, punching the pillows into shape with enough force to temporarily drown the sounds. Only temporarily though. A low constant groaning became audible, punctuated with another's rhythmic grunts, then Farraday's unmistakable voice, begging, pleading to be taken harder and faster, to be fucked until he couldn't stand. Iphicles turned over in his bed, pulling one of the pillows over his head, trying to block out the sounds. To no avail. The bed next door creaked rhythmically, the groans continued, and to his horror Iphicles found his body responding to the sounds of pleasure.
He tried desperately to ignore it, but as the sounds became wilder, as the grunts turned into gasping cries, close together now as the man's thrusts into Farraday quickened, he was powerless to stop himself shaking free of the muffling pillow or to prevent his hand drifting to his aching cock. He almost groaned as his hand closed around the hot shaft, and he began to work it in time with the groans and gasps from next door, trying to keep silent as his other hand trailed across his lips and his tongue flicked out to wet a finger. His throat dry, he swallowed hard as he drew that one finger very lightly down his throat, across his collar bone, tracing an undeniable path to his nipple. The already tight flesh contracted further at the touch of his finger and raised beneath his touch. Closing his eyes, he took the nipple between his fingers and rolled it as his other hand moved faster, finally pinching his nipple hard as his hand tightened convulsively around his cock. His cry as his warm cum spilled over his stomach was drowned by the abandoned sounds of ecstasy from next door.
Iphicles lay there for a while in the dark, panting, before his hand moved to his mouth and he began to lick it, lovingly tasting his cum in slow comforting swipes of his tongue. The noises from next door had now become the low murmur of conversation, a sudden characteristic laugh informing the Earl that Farraday's visitor was none other than Sir Richard Hazell. An inexplicable wave of melancholy hit Iphicles as he heard the sounds of conversation from next door, and imagined the two of them lying there holding one another. He turned over in his bed and willed sleep to return. Eventually, it did.
Iphicles drifted slowly awake, taking a moment to remember where he was. Dull daylight from between imperfectly drawn curtains lit the room, the sound of rain lashing against the window panes persuading the Earl to turn over in his bed and stay there a while longer. It could not yet be midday as his valet had made no appearance. It was unlikely any of the other guests, or their host, would arise so early following the night they had spent. And the sound of relentless rain which, now he was fully awake, he realised had been going on for some time, did nothing to tempt him from the warm haven of his bed.
He stretched, luxuriating in the sensation of waking muscles, wondering what the day had in store. Last night he had eagerly accepted the Duke's invitation to ride out with him, but there would be little pleasure even in the Duke's company in hacking in this weather. Out of season, there was no hunting or shooting to tempt any of the party outside and no other reason for them to venture out in such persistent rain. Some of the company last night had gamed, although no money appeared to have changed hands, only promissory notes; others, like him and the Duke, had simply talked. Perhaps today would simply be a repeat of last night, only a little less well-lubricated. However the day was spent, Iphicles reflected with a smile, it bore no comparison to the tedium and claustrophobia of tonnish life. He spared a brief thought for his Mama and Harry, wondering idly which of them he felt most sorry for being left with the other, before a noise from next door took the smile from his face.
He glanced at the wall between the two rooms, unwillingly reminded of the activity that had disturbed his sleep last night, and also wondering how it was that noise travelled so clearly through solid stone. In the grey daylight, his question was answered. A door in the wall announced that these two rooms had, at some time, been used as bedchamber and dressing room. Although solidly built, the door was ill-fitting, and the sounds were unavoidably filling the Earl's silent bedchamber. Unmistakable sounds which would not stop, and which could not be ignored. The sounds of hand meeting softer flesh in a series of hard slaps. Each slap was followed immediately by a gasp, a plea, a begging, "Harder, please Richard, harder." But the slaps kept their own slow rhythm, causing Farraday to beg more loudly, more desperately. Then there was sudden silence. Iphicles strained his ears to find out why.
His mouth opened in shock as the silence was broken by the brutal smack of leather against skin. There was a cry of pain, then one of outrage. "Don't stop, for God's sake Richard, do it. Please." Again, leather meeting flesh, the cry, followed by a groan. "More, God, more." Quicker now, groans almost constant, the slap of leather punctuated by Hazell's growled commands. "Beg for it, whore. Tell me you want it." And Farraday's gasping "Yes, please Richard, I want it, please don't stop. Harder. Make me come. Please."
Iphicles lay rigid in his bed, trying to deny what he was hearing, and encouraging the sense of revulsion he knew that he should be feeling. The sounds continued unabated. In desperation, Iphicles threw back his covers and, heroically ignoring the hardened state of his cock, walked across the room to the china bowl. Pouring some water into it, he reached for the washcloth and began to sponge himself. The slight noises he made did little to drown out what was happening. Farraday was whimpering now - pain or pleasure, Iphicles couldn't tell, as the leather continued its inexorable assault. Iphicles looked down, to see the cloth in his hand slowly circling his left nipple, again and again, long after it was necessary. He abruptly threw the cloth into the bowl and snatched up a towel. Drying himself roughly he looked around for a shirt. What in hell had his damned man done with them? He finally located one and pulled it on over his head with clumsy hands, realising his mistake as the shirt slipped lightly down his body, its tails trailing over his aching cock with a soft caress which made his cock jerk and his teeth bite hard into his lip to prevent a whimper escaping him.
His eyes closing, the Earl gave up the unequal fight. Drawing the ends of the shirt aside, he wrapped a comforting hand around himself. Nothing more than that, certainly not to stroke the straining flesh in time with the groans from next door, the sound of leather on flesh, the wild urging for Hazell to continue, harder, to make him come. Iphicles' hand stilled and his cock began to leak as, in a wild string of explosive sounds, Farraday finally came.
Iphicles stood, head down, eyes closed, breathing fast, torn between relief and overwhelming disappointment. He could finish himself off in a business-like manner without being troubled by the inappropriate sounds from next door. That had to be a good thing. He simply felt disappointed because he would now have to be silent, that was all. Just as his hand began to move again, a raw voice came from next door. "Suck me."
Iphicles' eyelids screwed more tightly together as he tried not to think of the scene playing out only yards from him; of Farraday, spattered with his own cum, sore and bruised from Hazell's attentions, kneeling before him, taking the sensitive tip in his mouth before pushing down fully on it. Of Hazell wrapping his hands in Farraday's hair, thrusting into the welcoming mouth, fucking it hard until he was groaning with each thrust. Iphicles' thrusts into his hand were in time, soft moans escaping him as Hazell groaned, and then as the pace quickened both thrust faster, deeper, feeling it build, needing release, desperate to come, desperate…oh God. Iphicles' knees buckled and he made a wild grab at the side of the bed as the world tipped around him.
He opened his eyes to find himself on his knees, the covers pulled half off the bed beside him, and his seed strung across the Axminster carpet beneath him, his lawn shirt damp with sweat. He buried his face in the bed covers where he was clutching them, smelling the lonely scent of his seed on his hand. He knelt there in the silence from next door, waiting for his heart-rate to slow, for his breathing to steady. Waiting for… something.
The rain continued with the particular enthusiasm reserved for an English summer's day, and the party broke down into small groups to pursue their own pleasures in such inclement weather. Iphicles found the Duke at his side after luncheon, offering to show him around the house. He accepted the invitation with alacrity and spent a pleasant hour being shown the picture-gallery, containing paintings from the third Duke onwards, the earlier portraits having been lost when the house was burned. There was a strong family resemblance in the male line of the family, and Iphicles found his gaze flickering between the paintings and the man at his side to verify this. The same dark eyes and hair, the same full lips; even the faintly ridiculous fashions of yesteryear could not hide the muscular build common to each Duke through the years.
The portraits ended with the previous Duke. Iphicles expressed his surprise that there was as yet no portrait of the present Duke.
Aresborough emitted a dry crack of mocking laughter. "Do you really think I have nothing better to do than sit for hours before some damned painter simply to satisfy the vanity of a family of which I am the only surviving member, Iphicles?"
The question seemed rhetorical, so the Earl allowed his attention to be drawn to the series of engravings which followed the portraits. After an instant of shock, he felt his colour rise. They were engravings the like of which he had not previously encountered. Their artistic merit might be questionable, but that was not their purpose. He flicked a sideways glance at the Duke, wondering at the man shamelessly displaying these alongside his family portraits. The Duke was watching him, an amused smile playing across his lips.
"An interesting collection," Iphicles managed. "Is the accumulation of such pieces your work, or a family tradition?"
"I feel it incumbent upon me to patronise struggling artists, Iphicles," the Duke informed him. He looked over the pictures before him before adding, "I believe this one to show particular talent."
His hand gestured towards a painting a little further along the gallery. Iphicles obediently moved along and looked, only to be further discomposed. The others he had glanced over had been of men and women; the one before him was of a man thrusting into a man from behind, the artist capturing in exquisite detail the moment when all control was gone and both were lost in ecstasy.
"It has some merit," Iphicles agreed, his voice oddly tight. Was that what Farraday and Hazell had looked like last night?
"This is one of his also," Aresborough continued.
Iphicles withdrew his gaze from the picture before him and joined the Duke further along the gallery, where he was standing full-square surveying a picture with an expression of satisfaction. The Earl turned to look, wishing above all for this to end. There were not many pictures left before the gallery finished; please God may the Duke not want him to examine every piece of art between where they now stood and the far doorway. He turned his attention to the picture before him. The central figure was a naked man, his arms outstretched, chained between two columns, with figures crouching at his feet, working their way up his legs, tongues snaking over flesh, teeth biting, while he was taken brutally from behind, the pain on his face belied by the way his erect cock strained for attention. Iphicles stared at the painting for a moment before seeing the dark figure at the back of the room watching the action, sprawled on his seat in an oddly familiar manner.
He looked away abruptly, discomposed. "He's good," he agreed again, hardly knowing what he said, his eyes falling on yet another picture as he did so, with yet more naked men in the throes of passionate copulation.
Before the Duke could call his attention to any more pieces, Iphicles made his way towards the doorway at the end of the gallery. To his infinite relief, the Duke didn't call him back to witness any further examples of his particular taste in art. Iphicles stood in the doorway to the next room, relieved beyond words to find it harboured no exotic art or sculpture. It was merely a small room with an escritoire against the window, a few mundane paintings on the walls, and as deadly-looking a pair of gold-mounted pistols as ever he had seen on the wall above the fireplace.
Swiftly crossing the room to them, Iphicles lifted one down, enjoying its weight and balance. It was quite evidently a weapon meant for business, but there would also be pleasure in its employ.
He sighted experimentally along the barrel at a miniature hung on the far wall.
"It throws a trifle left," the Duke informed him. "Allow me…" Moving behind Iphicles, his right arm followed the path of Iphicles' and his hand closed around the Earl's wrist, moving it the appropriate amount to counter the action of the weapon. Iphicles stood very still, the Duke's arm against his, his back against him, and his warm breath stirring the Earl's hair. When the Duke moved back, Iphicles found the room oddly cold. He held the gun a moment longer, for form's sake, before relinquishing it to the Duke. While Aresborough returned it to its original position on the wall, Iphicles moved jerkily across the room to look out of the window and watch the relentless rain over the manicured gardens,
"Do you fence?"
He turned to see an almost feral smile on the Duke's face.
"It has been known," he agreed, a sudden excitement rippling through him at the thought of some activity on this day of unforeseen incarceration.
Calling for a footman, the Duke commanded the man to fetch his foils. He then proceeded to strip off his coat and turn back the sleeves of his shirt. Iphicles followed suit, and when both were ready, the Duke took the foils from the man, dismissing him as he did so.
They moved back to the gallery where the long stretch of floor allowed unimpeded movement, brought their blades together in a swift salute, and began. It did not take long for Iphicles to recognise that he was outclassed; he had a quick eye and a supple wrist, but he was no natural at this. His preferred weapon was the pistol, and he was well-known at Manton's Gallery as a deadly accurate shot. The Duke on the other hand fought with a pace and enjoyment that conveyed his love of the art; his swift moves were disconcertingly unpredictable to his opponent, his teeth bared in a smile as he employed them, but his dark gaze spoke of the careful planning underlying each. He might look to be an undisciplined fighter, but every move and counter-move was thought out.
Iphicles found himself hard-pressed, and could feel himself beginning to sweat as he was forced onto the defensive. Aresborough was steadily moving him backwards along the gallery, his lips drawn back in that same smile even though he was breathing a little more quickly now, his eyes alight with enjoyment, and his body tireless. For an instant, Iphicles found himself fatally distracted by the unusual lightness of the Duke's moves, seeing the answer in the muscled thighs which absorbed the shock of the rapid foot movements. Aresborough took advantage of the instant's inattention to break through his guard. Moving swiftly, Iphicles managed to deflect the Duke's lunge, so the point of the Duke's foil caught his left arm instead of coming to rest above his heart.
With a slight laugh, but aggrieved at himself for giving away the match before it had reached its natural conclusion, the Earl allowed his foil to drop until the end touched the floor. "Touche," he admitted, breathing heavily still.
The Duke's foil clattered to the floor and he was at the Earl's side. "My dear Iphicles, are you hurt? The button must have come off my foil. I would not have such an unfortunate incident happen for the world."
Iphicles stared nonplussed for an instant, before following the Duke's gaze to the left sleeve of his white shirt. There was a fresh red stain on it, growing by the minute. The Earl, lost in the excitement of the challenge, had not felt it when the Duke's blade had caught him, but now he had seen the wound, he could feel the beginnings of a dull ache.
"I'm fine," he muttered, embarrassed.
"Let me see," the Duke commanded peremptorily. When Iphicles made no instant move he insisted, "Oh for God's sake, man, take off your shirt. Let me see."
Iphicles laid his blade to one side, reluctantly ruined his valet's careful work with his neckcloth, and then unfastened his shirt, slipping it off over his head. The injury was bleeding heavily but was quite clearly a clean and superficial cut. Nevertheless the Duke directed Iphicles to be seated whilst he took the Earl's discarded neckcloth and began to mop the flow of blood with it. After he had dealt with the blood which had spilled from the wound, he held the cloth firmly to the injury to arrest any further bleeding. Iphicles sat there in his breeches and began to feel oddly light-headed as he felt the Duke's breath against his bare skin. It was the loss of blood, he realised, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. As though dreaming, he slowly became aware that the Duke had removed the makeshift pad, and he felt another sensation. He looked down at his arm with shock, to see the Duke's tongue moving over the site of his wound. Startled, he pulled away with an oath.
The Duke raised mocking eyes to his. "My apologies, Iphicles, for taking you by surprise, but human saliva holds definite healing qualities," he explained. "It cleanses the wound - any leech worth his salt will tell you that."
Feeling a trifle self-conscious, Iphicles moved back to his previous position. "You took me by surprise," he apologised.
The Duke looked at him, dark eyes gleaming. "Yes, I can see I did." His head began to lower to the Earl's upper arm, before he looked up at the Earl again. "You don't mind, do you, Iphicles?"
"No, I don't mind." And it was the truth as soon as he felt that moist tongue against his flesh. Licking him, cleaning the oozing blood from the wound with slow, deliberate sweeps of his tongue, the damp warmth seeming to draw patterns on his flesh. Iphicles was floating, unwilling to come back to reality as the Duke's mouth closed over the wound. The injury ached, but that soft tongue slowly wiped the pain away. He sat there drifting, his eyes closing as the Duke's tongue worked its magic. It was only slowly that he became aware of the increasing constriction of his breeches, announcing his cock's reaction to the pleasurable sensation. In concert with that reaction, Iphicles was suddenly aware that his nipples were beginning to tighten. It had been too long since he had seen Caroline, that was the trouble; his body was ready to treat any touch from another as stimulation. He sat as still as he could, waiting for it to be over and hoping desperately that the Duke had not noticed his wholly inappropriate reaction to a simple piece of first aid.
Finally, the Duke straightened up from his work.
"I should think you'll live."
His eyes opened at the familiar mocking tone to find the Duke had regained his feet and was extending a hand. Taking it, he allowed himself to be pulled to his feet, and began to put his shirt on.
Iphicles still felt oddly light-headed when he joined the party in the drawing-room before dinner that evening. The Duke had left him to change his shirt after the incident in the gallery, and Iphicles had not seen him since. A quick glance around the assembled company informed him that the Duke was not yet present, so the Earl joined the group closest to him, consisting of Farraday, Sir George Ogborne and Viscount Roslyn.
The Earl attempted to concentrate his mind on their discussion, but each time he glanced at Farraday he found himself reminded of the sounds from the previous night, somehow accompanied by visions of the painting he had seen. Was that really what Farraday and Hazell had looked like together?
Lost in his involuntary reflections, Iphicles was taken by surprise when the company began to move into the dining room. He had not noticed the Duke's arrival, and by the time his group reached the table Iphicles was disappointed to find that the seats beside the Duke had already been taken. He had swiftly discovered the previous evening that no formalities such as planned seating arrangements were in force here. The Earl pulled himself together with an effort and began to take a more active part in the conversation around him. He had after all enjoyed the Duke's company for most of the day, as well as last night. It was damned unreasonable of him to expect any more. He was seated with Farraday on his left hand side, Roslyn beside Farraday, and Ogborne opposite him, with Appleton at Ogborne's side. They were pleasant enough company, Iphicles supposed, then had to suppress a grin as he mentally compared this to what he would be subjected to were he still in London. They were wonderful company, he amended determinedly, and joined in their light-hearted banter with renewed vigour.
As had been the case the previous night, the wine flowed freely and the party grew steadily louder and less inhibited as the meal progressed. Iphicles' enjoyment was dimmed slightly by the fact that each time he looked the Duke appeared to be deep in conversation with Asbury, who was seated to his right, but he thrust that aside and allowed himself to be entertained by Appleton's seemingly endless fund of scandalous stories about Wellington, one of whose Staff happened to be Appleton's younger brother. He idly committed some of these to memory, enjoyably anticipating passing these on to Harry and Iorweth who would, the Earl was sure, relish them as much as did the assembled company.
It was as the port did the rounds and some of the assembled company took snuff that, through his haze of well-being, Iphicles was brought to a realisation that shocked him. As the Earl reached yet again for his glass, a laugh breaking from him at the latest outrageous claim from Appleton, his attention was caught by a movement to his left. A glance was sufficient to inform him that Roslyn's hand was on Farraday's leg. Not just resting there as he made a conversational point, but stroking, moving to his inner thigh as Farraday's legs parted to facilitate this, and then slowly moving upwards towards his cock which was becoming increasingly evident, swelling against his breeches. Iphicles jerked his eyes away. He had thought that Hazell was Farraday's lover, but Hazell was seated further down the table, either unconcerned or unaware of what was taking place; in fact, as Iphicles looked more closely, he could not be sure that a similar scene was not taking place between Hazell and his neighbour.
Disconcerted, Iphicles took a deep draught from his glass. He was not shocked, precisely; he knew of Farraday's and Hazell's preferences, and had not forgotten their previous public uninhibited expression of these, but to indulge these with partners other than each other, and to do so at the dining table, moreoever when seated close beside him, disturbed Iphicles greatly. In his determination to look anywhere but at what was taking place next to him, Iphicles' gaze found Ogborne's blond good looks across the table. Ogborne met his eyes with a smile so suggestive, before dipping a finger in his port and lifting it to his mouth to slowly suck the dripping liquid from it as he held the Earl's gaze, that Iphicles thrust his chair back and left the room with no more than a muttered excuse.
The door swung closed behind him as he made for the sanctuary of the empty drawing room. He stood at the window, resting his overheated forehead against the cool glass and waiting for his breathing to calm. Gradually it did so as he stared out into the grey evening outside, noting with the part of his mind that was attempting to distract him from recent events that it had at last stopped raining. His cheeks heated anew as he realised what he had done, rushing from the room like some schoolroom miss. It was not as though he were precisely a stranger to the habits of the Duke's friends, after all. No, it had been the proximity to him of what had been going on which had so disturbed him. That, and the unmistakable invitation from Ogborne. Iphicles was prepared to ignore the proclivities of those around him in order to enjoy the Duke's company, but to find out that he was now considered as a possible player in their games… His eyes closed and he breathed deeply again, trying to calm the sudden quivering inside him at the thought.
Eventually he turned from the window and wondered what to do. He preferred not to run the gauntlet of returning to the dining room; in any case, he strongly suspected that Farraday and Roslyn would still be indulging themselves and he emphatically did not wish to be seated beside them whilst they did so. No, it would not be long before the company adjourned, no doubt breaking up into smaller groups as they had done yesterday evening. The Duke had made his way to the drawing room when that had happened yesterday, and Iphicles hoped that this would be the case again tonight. He settled himself in a chair and, contemplating the polish on his boots, waited.
It was a full twenty minutes according to the ormolu clock on the mantelshelf when a sudden increase in noise announced that the dining room door had opened and closed. Iphicles waited hopefully, but whoever it was had left had taken themselves elsewhere.
He sat there, watching the hands of the clock, waiting. There were occasional bursts of uproarious laughter from the dining room, but no more movement in or out of the room. He remained undisturbed even by servants in his solitude. Growing ever more uncomfortable, Iphicles finally got to his feet and went looking for company. He knew that there was at least one other no longer at the table. As he walked past the door to the dining room he could still hear voices; although he strained his ears, he could not tell whether or not the Duke was still part of the collected gathering. He made his way along the west corridor of the house, opening doors at random, hoping for company or, at the very least, some sort of diversion. He stood in the doorway to the Yellow Parlour for an instant too long, before he stepped sharply backwards and let the door swing to.
Blindly he sought for the doorway to the gardens and escaped into the warmly damp evening air, desperately seeking sanctuary. He finally made it to the shelter of the line of elm trees and leaned against the wide trunk of one of these for support, lifting his overheated face to the grey skies in denial. Yet still all he could see was the tableau which had greeted him in the Yellow Parlour: Hazell bent over a chair, his breeches around his knees, while the Duke slid his cock into him. Iphicles' hand wrenched at his damnably tight neckcloth as he denied the moment when he had watched, when he had seen the Duke's hard cock pushing into Hazell's ass, the moment when the Duke had looked up and seen Iphicles standing there watching in shock, and smiled. Oh God.
Stumbling slightly as he moved, Iphicles ran. Over the soaking grass, then along the path, gravel spurting beneath his boots, away from the house, away from the sight of the Duke fucking Hazell, away from the laughter and the wine and the confusion.
On to Part Three
