Lord Loxley's Lover (6 page)

Lord Loxley had almost forgotten how this felt, as Miles’ fingers massaged at his rim and then dipped deep, twisting within him in order to open and relax Fitz’s body. He shuddered, undulating against the wall of shelves as Miles’ mouth at last began to move, sliding down the length of Fitz’s prick and then back up. His dark brown eyes stayed locked on Fitz’s face, full of heat and affection as he teased out Fitz’s reactions.

“Another,” Fitz said, when his body had relaxed enough that he no longer felt the slight stretch of the intrusion, but only the slick, smooth pleasure of Miles’ fingers moving within him. Miles complied, carefully adding a third finger within him, twisting his long, graceful fingers inside his lover. Overwhelmed with pleasure, Fitz let his eyes fall shut, focusing on the exquisite sensations of Miles’ mouth enveloping him and Miles’ fingers working him open. He could feel the arousal building within his body, need pooling in his loins, and then Miles had pulled his mouth away and returned to chaste, maddening light kisses along the side of it.

“I know you’re about to come,” Miles said, his breath against Fitz’s damp skin earning a shiver.

Fitz
whined
in response, incapable of forming a more coherent complaint.

“Not yet,” Miles told him, continuing to dip his fingers into Fitz’s body with slow, steady strokes.

“I’m ready,” Fitz said, rocking his hips against the fingers within him. “Please, Mr. Rochester.”

Smiling warmly at him, Mr. Rochester drew his fingers out and got to his feet, letting go of Fitz as he began to unfasten the front flap of his breeches and drew out his cock from within.

Fitz moved his arms to rest around Mr. Rochester’s neck, holding on to him as his lover lifted Fitz off the ground by his thighs, pressing him back against the shelves as Mr. Rochester lined himself up and slowly lowered Fitz onto his length.

Groaning shamelessly, Fitz tilted his head for a kiss, and received it at once. Mr. Rochester swallowed his moans, pressing forward fully until they were sealed together, bodies entangled. He paused there, breaking the kiss and drawing back just enough to study Fitz’s gray eyes.

Heart thudding at how complete he felt with Miles within him, Fitz’s lips parted with intent to confess his new certainty that he loved Miles Rochester and always had, but the words caught in his throat, not sure that Miles would believe him, and knowing that it might interfere with the particular misapprehension that had led to their current situation. Instead, he leaned forward, kissing his partner once again and expressing his need and affection through their contact, the way he always had.

Miles moved within him, holding Fitz’s hips in place and keeping his strokes slow and deep as they kissed and Fitz adjusted to the feeling of Miles spreading him open and filling him.

“Are you going to let me come now,” Fitz asked against Miles’ lips, “or must I wait until you’ve had your satisfaction of me?”

“Touch yourself,” Miles commanded, and then darted his tongue out against Fitz’s lips to tease him. “I would fain feel you around me as you spend yourself.”

Flicking his tongue against Miles’ in return, Fitz complied promptly. His hand stroked over his length with firm motions that matched Miles’ pace within him, wanting to delay the end of their union but also driven by his body’s need for pleasure. Filled and ravished, Fitz’s breath came in quick gasps against Miles’ lips, body quivering as he began to come.

Miles groaned as Fitz clenched around him, continuing to drive his cock deep into Fitz’s body until the orgasm had passed and Fitz was panting and pliant in his arms. Then Miles settled against him, keeping him pinned against the shelves and remaining still to give his partner a moment to recover.

“Keep on,” Fitz insisted, which made Miles grin and kiss him.

“I will.” Miles promised, nuzzling at him. “Soon enough. When you feel you can stand, I’m going to turn you about so I can fuck you harder.”

Fitz groaned with desire at that, getting distracted with a few more kisses until Miles nudged him and started to untangle them. Getting his feet on the ground, Fitz only wobbled slightly as he turned, bracing himself against the shelves and arching his back to present his ass.

There was no hesitation before Miles grabbed his hips and slid straight in to the hilt. The new angle allowed him to go deeper and Fitz gasped at the feeling of it.

Leaning forward with his chest against Fitz’s back, Miles put his hands over Fitz’s where they braced against the bookshelf, murmuring low in his ear. “If you wish me to slow my pace, you will splay your fingers as signal, do you understand?”

Fitz nodded, splaying his fingers briefly beneath Miles’ in order to demonstrate, glad that Miles remembered to accommodate for the fact that Fitz couldn’t always manage to communicate using words, a difficulty that often heightened when their coupling became intense.

Miles moved his hands back to Fitz’s waist, drawing back and slamming his hips forward, earning another gasp.

Widening his stance slightly for better stability, Fitz focused on bracing himself against the shelves as Miles started rutting hard and fast into him, the way
Miles
loved it. It had been a long time since Fitz had been shagged properly, and he knew he was going to be sore tomorrow from Miles pounding into him, but he loved it far too much to complain.

“You’re mine,” Miles rumbled in his ear, nipping briefly at Fitz’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Fitz vowed, gasping at the rough, quick thrusts that pounded against his prostate, making him ache for more. “
Miles
,” he begged, forgetting again, and this time Miles didn’t correct him.

He could hear the groans and catches in Miles’ breath that meant he was close, and then his lover spilled inside him, gasping Fitz’s name against his skin as he spent himself. “
Fitz.
”

Grinning as Miles slumped forward, crushing him against the shelves, Fitz arched his head back to rest against Miles’ shoulder. “I feel slightly more inclined to recognize your assertion of your claim now,” Fitz mumbled.

Miles laughed in startled mirth at that. “You cheeky bastard.”

Pulling out, Miles slid down to sit against the floor, drawing Fitz into his arms while they recovered. Fitz leaned his head back comfortably against Miles’ shoulder, blushing at the feeling of Miles’ seed dripping slowly out of him and onto the polished wood floor.

“Mr. Rochester,” Fitz said, trying to come to some sort of compromise within his heart between the disparate natures of his lover, Miles, and his emotionally damaged valet, Mr. Rochester.

“Mm,” Mr. Rochester replied, disinclined to move.

“Tell me where your parents are,” Fitz said, using the opportunity to press one of the issues that Mr. Rochester kept dodging.

Mr. Rochester grumbled irritably. “Why?”

“Because I need to know. If you’re to stay and we continue to introduce you as the son of Baron Rochester, sooner or later someone will ask me
whatever became of Baron Rochester
and I will be embarrassed to admit that I haven’t the faintest idea.”

“I’d rather you did, at that.” Mr. Rochester sighed with bitter frustration. “They put him in the Fleet.”

Fitz felt chilled. Fleet debtor’s prison. No wonder Mr. Rochester had been so loathe to speak of the subject. “Your mother?” he asked, because he had to know whether she had been condemned to the same.

“With her family. Disgraced, but safe and hale.”

“My sympathies,” Fitz said, sincerely, reaching to lay his hand on Mr. Rochester’s shoulder.

Mr. Rochester pushed him off and got to his feet.

Catching himself quickly before he fell, Fitz felt his cheeks color with surprised indignation. Not so surprising, really, and Lord Loxley was glad that he’d chosen not to press the questions of ‘Miles’ or ‘love’ while they were in the heat of things. Mr. Rochester’s emotional defenses had far too sensitive a trigger.

Leaning back against the shelves, Fitz looked away as Mr. Rochester dressed himself and left as swiftly as he could manage.

“I do love you,” Fitz murmured once he’d gone. Taking his time to recover himself, Lord Loxley got to his feet, tidied himself with a handkerchief, and dressed himself back to an acceptable level of dishevelment.

T
wo days later
, Miss Sarah Meriwether and her family came for a visit.

Mr. Rochester hadn’t kissed him again, but things between them had at least returned to the level of tension that allowed Mr. Rochester to hover and to occasionally drift his hand over Lord Loxley’s back, which was far more reassuring than being avoided entirely, and allowed for the possibility of further heated unions between them.

Now that Mr. Rochester was functioning as his official representative in many of the affairs of the estate, Lord Loxley had seen to it that he was provided with an additional two suits in the latest fashion. They made Mr. Rochester look much more naturally like the nobly-born gentleman that he was: tall and handsome, with such a regal profile that Lord Loxley quite thought they should have it hewn in marble as soon as possible, but he suspected that Mr. Rochester might object to such a consideration.

When Lord Loxley tumbled—late—through the door into the parlor, he found that an attractively-dressed Mr. Rochester had command of the room and their guests, and that Mrs. Meriwether and the three Misses Meriwether were gazing at Mr. Rochester with a sort of fascinated awe. Lord Loxley stopped short as he stepped into the room, stunned and just as awed as his guests, and it took him a few moments before he realized what precisely
was
so odd about Mr. Rochester’s current demeanor. The valet was perfectly composed and elegant, his manner more like the rightful lord of the manor than a mere valet, and his tempestuousness was hidden as he received the guests. It was terribly attractive.

The entire group turned to blink at Lord Loxley, who flushed with embarrassment and resisted the urge to smooth down his hair.

“Good morning,” Lord Loxley said, coming over to Mr. Rochester’s side and bowing politely to the flock of womenfolk who had arrived as his guests. “Mrs. Meriwether, Miss Sarah, Miss Lucy, Miss Anne.”

The four of them returned polite greetings, although all of them kept sneaking intrigued glances toward Mr. Rochester, who had promptly taken advantage of Lord Loxley’s proximity and the angle at which they stood in order to drift his hand very lightly down Lord Loxley’s spine, which was devilishly distracting.

Without the presence of Lady Mathilda Loxley or the impending necessity of any particular questions, the conversation over luncheon was much easier. Mr. Rochester dined with them, seated to one side of Lord Loxley at the head of the table with Miss Sarah Meriwether to Lord Loxley’s other side, and Mr. Rochester kept control of the conversation while Lord Loxley listened with interest and quite enjoyed that no one seemed to expect him to contribute more than the occasional statement or recounting. Miles’ Rochester’s charisma and decorum had always been flawless, and Lord Loxley enjoyed the grace with which Mr. Rochester encouraged even the younger Misses Meriwether to speak their mind, which led to recitations of Miss Anne’s lessons and a lengthy lecture from Miss Lucy upon the romantic habits of fairies. According to Miss Lucy’s well-informed understanding of faery culture, faeries married with no regard to the gender of their partners, and often—perhaps shockingly—marriages could even contain multiple persons.

Once this train of conversation was fully underway, Mrs. Meriwether turned pale and began subtle attempts to derail Miss Lucy’s lecture, which attempts were smoothly dismissed by Mr. Rochester who found Miss Lucy’s conversation really quite interesting and encouraged her further into a discussion of the culinary habits of faeries.

Lord Loxley found it all thoroughly enjoyable to watch, especially as Mrs. Meriwether realized that the gentlemen were not in the least bit shocked by her daughters’ strong wills and passionate interests and she ceased worrying over the appropriateness of letting the two youngest girls dominate most of the conversation at the table.

After luncheon, the group moved to the front parlor, which had the advantage of having a card table where Mr. Rochester, Mrs. Meriwether and the two younger Misses Meriwether were able to play at whist while Lord Loxley and Miss Sarah Meriwether took up a place on the landing of the stairs, where they could converse privately while still in plain view of the group.

The landing was a broad space, which had a large chest inset into the wall. When Lord Loxley had been a child, the top of the chest had been used as a table, whereon his parents and, later, his great-aunt had displayed certain trinkets and heirlooms of the manor. Once Lord Loxley had realized that—with careful management of Lady Melinda Loxley’s disapproval—the manor might be arranged to his
own
preference, he had boxed away the trinkets to the attic and had the space covered instead with cushions, forming the sort of reading nook Lord Loxley favored when he wished to feel a part of the industrious bustle of his household but without actually having to interact with anyone.

The bench was higher off the ground than a proper seat should be, but Miss Sarah hopped up without trouble and made herself comfortable on one side, while Lord Loxley settled at the other end. It did not escape Lord Loxley’s notice that Mr. Rochester had taken a seat at the whist table where he might keep constant watch on his wayward employer as he played.

“We may speak privately here,” Lord Loxley informed Miss Sarah Meriwether. “If we speak softly.”

“I am glad for that,” Miss Sarah said, resting her hands primly in her lap. Unlike her sisters, Miss Sarah was a very quiet and studious person who contained and analyzed her thoughts rather than expressing them. Because of this habit in addition to Lord Loxley’s weakness at conversation, the two of them sat in silence for several moments as they decided how to approach the subjects that they wished to discuss.

“Your companion,” Miss Sarah said at last, with her eyes toward the lively game going on at the card table. “Mr. Rochester. He is very kind. Especially toward the girls. We are… a headstrong family, I suppose, and… one grows accustomed to being dismissed for being unsuitably opinionated.”

“I quite like opinionated people,” Lord Loxley said, realizing that at no point had anyone mentioned to Miss Sarah Meriwether that Mr. Rochester was supposed to be a mere valet. “They save me from having to contribute opinions of my own to a conversation, which I find really quite refreshing.”

Miss Sarah laughed in startled surprise, giving Lord Loxley a puzzled look as though she wasn’t at all certain whether he was in earnest.

“Miss Meriwether,” Lord Loxley said, “I thought we might, you see, discuss the nature of our arrangement.”

Miss Sarah immediately looked concerned. “I hope you aren’t reconsidering. I am quite set in my determination to never marry. Romantic impulse is simply not in my nature and I am quite opposed to the thought of bearing children.”

“No, not reconsidering in the least,” Lord Loxley assured her, coloring at once. “I have no wish for… wife. Or children. Though of course I hope we should never mention such things to my aunt.”

“It is our secret,” Miss Sarah said, reaching out and touching his hand with reserved reassurance.

Mr. Rochester’s eyes followed the movement. Just for that, Lord Loxley took hold of Miss Sarah’s hand and entwined their fingers.

“I should very much like that we will be friends,” Lord Loxley said.

“As should I,” Miss Sarah smiled, seeming already more relaxed in Lord Loxley’s company now that they had made these assurances.

“And I feel,” Lord Loxley said, fidgeting. “That I ought to tell you my reasons for my… preferences, such as they are.”

“You needn’t,” Miss Sarah said gently. “I don’t mind if you keep your secret, though I will of course keep any secrets you share with me in the strictest of confidence.”

“I,” Lord Loxley said, taking a deep breath for courage. “The truth is that my heart belongs to someone else.”

“Oh!” Miss Sarah Meriwether’s hand fluttered to her throat in sympathetic concern. “Oh, I’m so terribly sorry. And I suppose you cannot marry this person?”

“No,” Lord Loxley confirmed, blushing deeply. “In truth, Miss Meriwether, my vice of choice is currently sitting at the whist table scowling jealously at us.”

Miss Sarah’s eyes went quite wide and she joined Lord Loxley in blushing, but to her credit she managed to
not
look toward the whist table. “
Mr. Rochester
?” she asked at a careful whisper.

“The same.” Lord Loxley confirmed, fidgeting.

Miss Sarah sat back, giggled once, and then gave Lord Loxley a conspiratorial smile. “I understand completely.”

Lord Loxley blinked. This reaction seemed better than could possibly be hoped. “You do?”

“Well, truly, I have no comprehension whatsoever of how it might feel to be in love with anyone, for I have never in my life gazed upon man or woman and felt the slightest inclination toward amorous or marital affection, but I do understand that there are men in the world who prefer the company of other men, and women likewise, and I promise to most vigilantly keep the secret and to aid in creating a deception as to which one of the members of your household is actually sharing your bed.”

Blushing helplessly, Lord Loxley cleared his throat and tried to formulate some sort of polite response or at least thanks for her promise.

Miss Sarah leaned forward curiously. “May I ask whether…?”

Lord Loxley nodded that she should continue, feeling quite flustered by her enthusiastic acceptance and likewise by Mr. Rochester’s scowl, which had none improved when Lord Loxley began blushing and the couple’s whispering had become more animated.

“Are you a molly, then?” Miss Sarah asked, whereupon Lord Loxley discovered that he
could
blush even deeper than he already was.

“Certainly not,” he insisted, and then considered that if either of the two of them were a molly, it certainly wouldn’t be Mr. Rochester. “Mayhap. No.”

Miss Sarah watched this with polite interest, having apparently no strong opinion as to the matter and having not in the least having meant it as an insult. “Forgive me, I’m afraid I don’t know the social niceties of … your sort of thing.”

Lord Loxley refrained from telling her that it wasn’t any sort of thing, especially since he didn’t have a particular definition as to what part of his nature caused his inclination toward Mr. Rochester, aside from pure love.

“The mollies I’ve met have all been really quite nice,” Miss Sarah continued.

Blinking at her, Lord Loxley opened and then shut his mouth a couple of times, having never met a molly rather than knowing
of
one who had been in another college at Oxford. “Have they?” he asked, voice squeaking.

“Oh, yes,” Miss Sarah said. “Mr. Innisworth, who is our neighbor, is a molly, and his friends are all very lively and fascinating. Indeed, I must introduce you, particularly if you are similarly inclined. I’m given to understand that there’s an entire culture of this in London, which most everybody knows about but no one talks about, but I am not enough acquainted with London society to be certain if this is true.”

“Indeed,” Lord Loxley said blandly, quite perplexed about the turn this conversation had taken. He certainly had no idea if this was true, and really knew no more of it than to recognize the term. They sat in silence again for a few minutes, both of them watching the group around the table in order that the silence between them might be more comfortable.

“He watches you very intently,” Miss Sarah observed, gently providing the opportunity for Lord Loxley to comment.

“He is jealous,” Lord Loxley explained.

Startled, Miss Sarah looked back at her betrothed. “Of me?”

“I may have…” Lord Loxley cleared his throat. “Neglected to tell him of our arrangement.”

“Why indeed?” Miss Sarah asked with great concern.

Struggling for the words to explain, Lord Loxley sighed and leaned back against the wall. “I’m afraid that our relationship is not currently on the best of terms.”

“I’m terribly sorry for that,” Miss Sarah said, patting Lord Loxley’s hand with gentle sympathy. “Would you like to speak about it?”

Lord Loxley had never in his life spoken of his relationship with Miles with anyone, and had indeed hardly discussed it with Miles himself. He chewed at his fingernail, thinking it over and at last deciding that he did indeed desire a sympathetic ear on the subject.

“I met him at Oxford,” he said, not allowing his gaze to drift toward Mr. Rochester as he spoke. “My parents were reclusive, as am I, so I had not known much of him or his family before that. We became bosom friends at once. I did not know I loved him. I only knew that he was the best thing in my world, that nothing mattered so much as his laugh, his attention, his admiration. We were in our third year when he kissed me. I think in retrospect he might have wanted to kiss me sooner, but didn’t dare, and I myself had given very little consideration to my occasional wayward thoughts of kissing him.

“It should be noted,” Lord Loxley added, “that I am very oblivious about these sorts of things.”

Miss Sarah pressed her lips together with friendly mirth.

“After university, I didn’t see him. I thought he wanted it that way. I had no idea that his family was ruined. And now, he is wroth with me. He is hurt, angry, and bitter, in way that I have never seen him before. He will not speak to me, nor tell me what he has endured, nor tell me how I have given offense. I am afraid I realized too late that I loved him, and now my beloved is like an injured dog, who will bite at anyone for helping him. His jealousy is one of the few ways I can get him to touch me, which is why I may have neglected to tell him of our arrangement.”

“How piteous,” said Miss Sarah. “You are quite the tragic lovers.” She looked over curiously at Mr. Rochester, who watched them both with steady intensity. “I do not envy you at all, though I can see that he is really quite handsome. There can be no doubt that you are important to him.”

“Do you suppose that I’m naive, to believe that I can soothe his sorrows through only the strength of my love?”

“I am certain that it is the only thing that can.” Miss Sarah smiled reassuringly at him.