A Fashionable Indulgence (Society of Gentlemen #1) (6 page)

“Harry, you have a position to establish. I’ve no desire to distract you from that. But…” He tugged Harry closer, allowed himself the indulgence of slipping a hand inside the open waistband of his breeches, fingers against firm, warm skin. “I may have given you some thought over the past weeks too. And if you should wish to, while we’re here…” There was surely no harm in that. He tightened his hand on Harry’s arse and felt a responsive grip on his own, tugging their bodies together again.

“Mmm.” Harry’s lips found his jawline, kissed their way along, up to his earlobe, sending sensation quivering over his skin. Julius arched his neck by instinct, felt his knees bending. “I do wish to, yes. And will you show me how gentlemen do it?” Teeth closed gently on Julius’s earlobe and he heard his own exhalation.

“Yes. God.” Julius groaned. “I have a lowering suspicion that you may tutor me.” Harry was licking and biting his ear now, tongue caressing the ridges of flesh, and Julius pushed against him. This was in no way what he’d imagined, so very much better. Ridiculously, disturbingly good. He wanted Harry to rip off his cravat and do that to the rest of his neck and all the way down. He sagged against the wall with a helpless moan.

“Oh, you do like that. Mmm.” Harry’s hand delved between his legs again, fingers curling around his balls in gentle ownership. Julius inhaled sharply. “Are we best here or retiring to a room?”

“Here.” It was safe in the drapes’ disguise, no danger of discovery by roaming servants. Ash and Francis would not notice an orgy on the hall floor, or care if they saw one. And, mostly, it was dark.

It was so much easier in the dark.

The next few days were among the most simply happy Julius had spent since boyhood.

Harry was every bit as eager and ardent as his most fevered imaginings had painted him, and a great deal more confident. They were discreet, of course. Richard’s hospitality was not to be abused, and Julius was not quite sure if his endlessly responsible friend might consider Harry’s virtue to be within his purview. But there had been a few stolen hours, hurried fumbling at clothes and flesh, and just last night Harry had slid to his knees and taken him in his mouth.

It had been a while since Julius had tolerated that. The last time had seemed almost unbearably intrusive, standing in a house of assignation with a stranger mopping and mowing at his groin. Revolting, sordid, and sloppy. But Harry had grinned widely up round his prick as though he asked for nothing more in life, and brought him off with exuberant generosity that left Julius weak-kneed and warm with pleasure.

He was undeniably a likable young man, and he was proving it now.

Julius sat in the arbor that encircled Arrandene’s rose garden with Mrs. Martindale, a woman of immense influence. She was his cousin by marriage, a Vane relative of some kind, and one of the guests who had come to form Richard’s little party a couple of days ago. The perfumed air was decidedly hot, even in the leafy shade, where Julius sat since he had no intention of permitting the August sun to redden his cultivated pallor. Harry, with no such care, was accompanying Ash and the two young women of their party around the gardens. The ladies were giggling under sunshades as they peered into a fishpond.

“I expect Lord Gabriel will fall in,” Mrs. Martindale observed, as Ash clutched Georgiana Martindale’s arm to indicate some oversized carp. She squealed. Harry said something to her sister Laura, whose elbow he held, and she looked up and laughed.

“That young man is terribly charming, isn’t he?” remarked Mrs. Martindale. “Mr. Harry Vane, I mean. Pretty manners and a becoming modesty too.”

“Yes, he’s very pleasant.”

“Now, who is he exactly? Lord Richard said his cousin, but I couldn’t quite place him. He’s not of Letitia’s brood, is he?”

“The Vane family tree is beyond my comprehension, but I am told he springs from a cadet branch.” Julius was careful to sound uninterested.

“Well, of course, but which one? Let me see. Cirencester, the present Marquess’s father, I mean, had two brothers. Now, I know Lord Arthur’s family…”

Julius sighed internally, but the woman was an encyclopedia of genealogy. Better to be open. “He’s Lord Gideon Vane’s grandson.”

“Oh, of course. Poor Paul Vane died in that terrible fire last year…” She tailed off, clearly working it out, then looked up at Harry again. “Is he
Alexander’s
son?”

“I believe that’s the name. He’s long dead, of course.”

“Alexander Vane,” repeated Mrs. Martindale. “Goodness. There was a terrible scandal about that, you know. He made the most appalling marriage, quite without his father’s agreement, and was disowned.”

Julius gave a very small yawn, politely covered by his hand. “Really? How interesting. And was that
very
many years ago?”

“It may be old gossip to you,” Mrs. Martindale said, eyes narrowing, “but it was a terrible business. We were all quite shocked. Of course I was just a girl. I don’t believe I had come out yet, but I still remember the brouhaha it caused.”

Mrs. Martindale must have been at least twenty at the time of the scandal. Julius didn’t correct her mathematics. “All very shocking, but scarcely young Harry’s fault. He is, as you say, very pretty behaved, and so many of us have mortifying parents.”

“I rather liked Alexander,” said Mrs. Martindale, surprisingly. “He was terribly enthusiastic, full of life. A wonderful dancer. But very argumentative, and in search of purpose. He wanted to
do
something. I dare say that was what made him such easy pickings for that
female
who entrapped him.” She shuddered. “Dreadful for the family. But that young man’s undeniably a Vane.” They both watched the subject of conversation. Harry was nodding, seemingly fascinated, as Laura spoke with animation. “Very pretty ways indeed.”

That was hopeful. Mrs. Martindale was a hostess of the highest standing, connected by birth and marriage to most of the best families. A word from her could make all the difference to Harry’s career, for good or ill.

“He is a likable fellow,” Julius agreed. “I hope nobody finds it necessary to revive the memory of his father’s disgrace.”

Mrs. Martindale knew a hint when she heard one. “I don’t suppose many people will remember. The family is large, and it was a long time ago. Does he have a fortune?”

“I believe his grandfather intends to settle a sum on him.”

“No money, what a shame. Hmm. Let me see.” She considered. “Tell me this, Julius. Has Lord Richard present intentions to marry?”

“Not to my knowledge, dear lady. He’s a man of exacting standards. Monastic, even. And only thirty-six—yes, I thought older too, but I have it from the horse’s mouth. Why?”

“Georgiana needs at least twenty thousand a year.” There was a touch of grimness in Mrs. Martindale’s voice. “She’s expensive and flighty. I’ve often felt Lord Richard would be good for her. A sobering influence.”

“I fear that scheme is doomed to failure, cousin. Richard is not charmed by levity.”

“Then why’s he
your
friend?” Mrs. Martindale asked, with an air of mild triumph.

“A palpable hit. Are you keen to marry her off?”

“Ah, well, she’s still only eighteen. In any case, Laura should be fired off first, as the older.” Mrs. Martindale gave a little private smile.

“You are big with news,” Julius observed. “Go on, tell me.”

“To be quite honest, and in the strictest confidence, I’m expecting Lord Maltravers to come up to scratch.”

That was Ash’s eldest brother, the Duke of Warminster’s heir. Julius raised a brow. “Goodness, cousin, you are to be congratulated. As is Laura.”

“Nothing is settled, of course.” Julius interpreted that as meaning that everything was very close to being settled. “But if you wish to serve me, you might persuade Richard to attend Almack’s now and again, and dance with both Georgiana and Laura. Maltravers regards the young men there as trivial, and he would certainly regard
you
as trivial—”

“You wound me deeply.”

“—but if he thought Lord Richard, a man of maturity and wealth, was
also
taken by Laura, it might concentrate his mind a little, don’t you think?”

“I imagine it might.” Maltravers had a grossly inflated sense of his own consequence; Mrs. Martindale’s plan would work as well as any. Julius had grave doubts about the success of the proposed marriage, but that was scarcely his concern.

“Once Georgiana sees her sister with the advantages of an excellent marriage, I hope she will consider her own future with a little more common sense.” A shriek of laughter from the fishponds suggested she hoped in vain. “And, of course, if Lord Richard
does
take to her…”

“It shall be done. I cannot deliver Richard’s hand in marriage, you understand, but his arm in the quadrille shall be at your disposal.”

“Thank you. I would talk to Richard directly, but…”

“He is quite the worst man for these matters,” Julius agreed. “Leave it to me, cousin. May I hope that when I bring Richard to Almack’s, the doors will also be open to Harry?”

“I’m sure I can drop a word in dear Lady Jersey’s ear.”

“It would be most kind. I should hate the unfortunate circumstances of his birth to detract from his excellent character.”

Ash’s laugh rang out, clear and joyful, over the giggles of the two young ladies. Harry had evidently amused them all. Mrs. Martindale considered him as he stood, the sun glinting gold and bronze on his deep chestnut curls. “I hope his grandfather makes a settlement promptly. I dare say he’ll do very well.
I
certainly shan’t mention that unfortunate business. A Vane is a Vane, after all. And I do detest those cattish people who delight in dragging up old gossip.”

“I couldn’t agree more, cousin,” Julius assured her. “And I look forward to dancing at Laura’s wedding.”

The party lasted for a full ten days, with some changes of guests and several evenings of dancing, for which Arrandene’s dining room was cleared. It was large enough to allow eight couples to stand up together, although they found themselves one male partner short when Dominic failed to arrive as intended.

“I am exhausted by society and the Little Season hasn’t even started,” Julius observed at the end of the evening. The guests had departed or retired and the Ricardians were either seated or sprawled in Richard’s withdrawing room, recruiting their energies with brandy. The windows were open, letting the chirping of grasshoppers float in on the August night air. Harry was still rather pink, having danced for some three hours without stopping, but the exercise clearly agreed with him. He looked flushed and happy, and he met Julius’s eye with a glimmer in his own that suggested he had plenty of energy yet. “Where is that traitor Dominic?”

“At work,” Richard said. “Some sort of trouble brewing in the North, I believe. He found it necessary to stay in London.”

“He is dishearteningly predictable,” Francis said. “I believe Gabriel and I will return to Town tomorrow. What do you all intend?”

“Oh, is it time to go to London?” Harry sat up, eagerness in his eyes. “Wonderful. At least—” He glanced at Julius, seeking permission.

“I’d intended to wait until September,” Julius said. “The Little Season really can’t be said to start until then and Town is unbearable in August.”

“I’ve never—” Harry began, and swallowed it.

Never minded before,
Julius would have wagered were the words on his lips. “I don’t usually return in August either,” he put in smoothly, covering over the mistake.

“It might be as well to let Harry familiarize himself with the place while company is thin,” Richard suggested. “And Gideon is keen to see you, Harry; he wrote to me just yesterday.”

“It’s Wednesday. We might plan to return next Monday,” Julius suggested. “That will give us a week before anyone of importance even considers returning to Town. We mustn’t bore Harry to death by solitude.” And he wanted just a little more time here, in Arrandene’s cool gardens and secluded rooms, a little more time with Harry by his side.

He listened in silence as the others discussed carriage routes and post-houses, waiting impatiently for the first of them to go to bed. Finally, after what seemed an age of pointless meandering, Richard rose to bid them all good night, and Julius took Harry’s arm in friendly fashion as they walked down the corridors to their adjoining bedrooms.

“Will your valet be waiting up?” Harry asked.

“Certainly he will. Give me ten minutes.” He ought to take at least half an hour to undress and for Frampling to put away his garments properly, but be damned to it. He allowed the man simply to remove his tailcoat then sent him off, disregarding the very slightly raised eyebrow of disapproval at his vagaries.

Two minutes later, as Julius sat on the bed undoing his shoestrings, Harry padded softly in. He was in linen shirt, breeches, and bare feet, the very model of a gentleman bent on criminal conversation, and the sight made Julius’s chest heave. “Good evening.”

“Good evening to you.” Harry came closer as Julius kicked off his second shoe, and dropped to a crouch in front of him, between his knees. He reached for Julius’s hands with both his own.

“Harry?”

“Tell me.” Harry took a deep breath. “Did I do well enough? Will I pass as a gentleman?”

“You
are
a gentleman.” Julius squeezed his work-tough hands. Harry was applying Trent’s Cream daily, but only time would take away that hardened skin. “And you appear one, without a doubt. You will be accepted. In fact, I think you will be in demand, and I am immensely proud of you.”

Harry’s eyes shone in the candlelight. “Truly? Because I’ve worked as hard as I can…but Julius, it was all you. If I can do this, it’s because of you.”

“You, dear boy. You were delightful, and—entirely satisfactory. And I think you will enjoy London.”

Harry swallowed. “I’m a little nervous. It’s ridiculous, I’ve lived there for years, but this feels like a different London.”

“It will be.”

“And I’ll have to do that on my own, won’t I? Without you.”

“I’ll be there,” Julius said firmly. “We all will, dear boy. Richard protects his own. And I shouldn’t miss your debut for the world.”

“I know I have to stand on my own feet, of course, but…well, the thought of people
looking
at me, and of making mistakes—”

“Of course you will make mistakes. Everybody does. That’s in large part what the Little Season is
for.
By spring, you will be entirely habituated.” He brought Harry’s fingers lightly to his lips. “To the manner born. The past is dead, and the
ton
awaits your arrival on its stage.”

Harry nodded, looking down at their entwined fingers. “Thank you. For everything. I, uh, I don’t know what Gideon will want of me, in London, but do you think we can still see each other? Like this?”

Julius arched a brow. “Clothed, you mean?”

Harry’s mouth curved in wicked response. “Well, not as such.” He tugged at their tangled hands, pulling Julius forward rather than seeking release. Julius came at his bidding, and Harry’s mouth met his.

He felt that old, deep reluctance again, but Harry’s lips were moving gently against his own, a series of tiny kisses without pause, and his tongue wasn’t pushing or plunging for entry. None of that open-mouthed business, wet and gasping, but careful, cherishing movements that took no more than he could comfortably give, so that it was Julius, perversely, who parted his lips, just a fraction. Harry made a little noise of pleasure in his throat, but continued his slow, soft kisses, hands still locked between them in front of pounding hearts, so that only their lips touched. But that was enough. Harry kissed him in the warm night, and Julius allowed himself to be kissed, allowed the intimacy and the closeness and the wetness of it, until Harry’s flesh felt so familiar that he could forget it wasn’t his own.