Lord Silas drew himself up indignantly. “You cannot do that. I know things about you that would ruin you and expose the club.”
Ambrose stood suddenly, but a wave of dizziness swept him. Thankfully, Francis crossed the room and caught his elbow in a tight grip. Ambrose leaned on Francis and glared at Silas. “How long do you think you will live if you say one word about me or my club, eh? You signed the oath to keep the clubs activities secret when you were admitted, just like every other member. Expose one, you expose everyone. Another member with less restraint than myself will likely kill you before you can blink. I wouldn’t have to lift a finger to take my revenge if you should ruin us.” Ambrose stared the man down, ignoring the ache in his shoulder as best he could. “Do we understand each other now, Lord Silas? Come at me and you come at every member of the club and will suffer the consequences.”
Lord Silas ground his teeth, and then shot a look of venom at Francis. “So you’re the one,” he hissed.
Francis blinked. “The one what?”
“The one he’s chosen to be his next lover.”
Francis dropped Ambrose’s elbow and took a pace forward. “Say that again.”
“You can’t deny it. You’re always watching him.”
Instead of getting angry, Francis laughed. “Do you blame me? The duke might be a powerful man but he has nothing but bad luck and accidents. My job, as the late duchess insisted, is to keep him out of harm’s way. Would you like to see the handsome note she wrote before her death, asking me to keep him out of trouble? She didn’t ask for much, our duchess, but she thought of her husband before herself. You got him shot by your jealous lover. I should beat you to a pulp for that fact alone.”
Lord Silas lost some of his surety when Francis held still and glared. He took a pace back. “I am not responsible for the duel or Fletcherly. I barely knew him.”
Francis followed. “You first entertained Fletcherly at the Crows Head Inn in Hatfield and spent an hour or two above stairs. Fletcherly is a very vocal man. He calls you ‘sweetie’ while he’s plowing the furrow, does he not?”
Silas gasped. “You cannot prove that?”
Francis pivoted to face Ambrose. “Can I prove it, Your Grace? Do you remember the night last year when you stayed at the Crows Head on your way to Lady Fairmont’s first house party? When I returned with the brandy you requested, I was laughing.”
Ambrose stumbled back to the bed and sat down wearily. “You wouldn’t tell me the joke.”
Francis raised one eyebrow. “Now you know.” He turned back toward Silas. “While it would be my greatest wish to give you the thrashing you deserve for bringing harm to the duke I’m not going to hit you. As it is, you’ll need that pretty face to snare your next bedfellow. You’ve nothing else to recommend yourself.”
“I will not stand to be slandered by a mere servant and do nothing. You, sir, I shall see in court.”
Ambrose laughed. “No, you won’t.
Redding
here is the club’s first member after myself. You cannot say a word against him, either.”
Silas blustered but Ambrose ignored him. Having Francis as a member was a stroke of devious planning on his part and he was grateful now that he’d not been dissuaded from setting that security in place. At the time, he’d said it was only to ensure the footman’s silence and protect the club member’s secrets, but it would also protect
Redding
as well.
Lord Silas stormed out suddenly, leaving the doors wide open behind him.
Francis pursed his lips and then strolled after him to the doors, stepping over the mess on the floor with barely a glance.
Chapter Nine
Francis closed and locked the doors to the duke’s apartment. He rubbed his hand over the smooth surface, breathing hard as tension rose up to choke him. The duke had not denied that he would be his next lover and, now that Silas had gone, he didn’t know how to act. Behind him, the duke groaned loudly, the bed ropes creaking as he moved on the bed.
Francis turned slowly to face the duke. His Grace had settled with every pillow piled behind his back, but his left hand covered his wound completely. Concerned, Francis stepped over the mess of broken china and crossed to the bed.
The sheets were pooled at Ambrose’s waist, exposing the broad chest, flat stomach and trailing line of dark hair disappearing beneath. Francis swallowed, suddenly nervous and shy around the man he’d known all his life. The man he’d give his life for, if it was required. As if sensing his uncertainty, Ambrose held out his hand, palm up. Heart hammering, Francis covered it with his own and curled his fingers around the warm skin.
“I’ll never understand men like Lord Silas,” the duke whispered. “I never encouraged the fool. Let us hope he makes no more trouble.”
Francis nodded, and the duke smiled. He tugged Francis closer until he sat on the bed edge.
“How long do you think before I am my old self? There is so much I want to do.”
Ambrose lifted Francis’ hand to his lips and the warmth of his mouth on skin had Francis gasping. “A few weeks, I imagine.”
Ambrose opened his mouth wider and drew Francis’ thumb into his mouth. He sucked on the digit slowly, stroking his flesh with his tongue. Francis panted. His prick thickened swiftly. When his thumb was released, Ambrose sat forward. They were eye to eye, both breathing roughly. “Can I anticipate being alone with you for those bothersome weeks?”
He licked his lips and Francis followed the movement. “If you want me, I’ll be here. You’re the duke.”
“Oh, I want you. Right now, beneath me, and gasping for breath but I fear I’m not capable of giving you complete satisfaction just yet.” Ambrose grinned suddenly. “Never thought I’d say that to anyone. Thank God you can keep a secret.”
Francis nodded. “I keep lots of secrets.” Mesmerized, he stroked the duke’s chest with his fingertips, touching hard pointed nipples and warm flesh. The duke closed his eyes, and Francis smoothed his palm down his ribs. “I’ll always keep yours.”
The duke opened his eyes. “And what of your secrets? Do I get to hear them, too? Do you want to leave my service and study as a physician?”
Now that he was touching Ambrose, Francis had a hard time following the conversation. He stoked Ambrose’s nipples again, catching the odd hitch to the duke’s breathing, being caressed in return. He was considering lowering his head to taste the duke’s flesh when Ambrose raised his chin with his finger.
Their eyes met. “Do you want to leave my service to become a physician?”
Francis frowned at the worry in his master’s gaze. “No. But I would still like the freedom to study the lore, if I may.”
“Of course you can.” The touch to his chin grew into a caress. “But I need to dismiss you from my service, Francis. I cannot make love to a servant who is in my employ.”
Francis drew away. “You would throw me out just because you desire me?”
Ambrose shook his head. “I have my rules, as you know. Seducing a servant goes against every principal I hold dear. I cannot make love to you as I wish to if you are here because you must be.”
Francis raked his fingers through his hair. “I have had scores of lords approach me with offers of similar positions over the years. I turned them all down. I
am
here by choice, you idiot.”
The duke shook his head. “It is not quite the same thing. I pay you a wage, put a roof over your head, and put food in your belly. You cannot say no to me.”
The duke had foolishness for brains. “You gave the duchess pin money, put a roof over her head, and gave her the best of everything. Are you saying she had no choice but to sleep in your bed? She loved you. Everyone knew that.”
Ambrose dipped his head. Without a view of his face, Francis didn’t know what he could be thinking. All he did know was that he was desperate to keep touching his skin. He leaned forward and set his lips to the duke’s neck. The hot skin was smooth and warm and he nipped and licked across his left collarbone.
Ambrose embraced him with one arm. “Shall I treat you as a wife? Do you like diamonds or rubies?”
Francis lifted his lips for a bare moment. “Don’t be an imbecile. Only Sapphires will do.” He pushed the duke gently back to his mound of pillows and kissed down his chest. He flicked his tongue over the tight nipple. Making love to a man was a new experience for him, but he still received the same whimpers of appreciation as from a woman so he continued in the same vein.
Ambrose gasped. “Quite right. Quite right. Don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll open the vault as soon as you let me out of this bed.”
Francis raised his head. “I was joking. I’m not at all like Marinari from the club.”
Ambrose ran his fingers over Francis’ skull. “Thank God for that. She’s an expensive minx. I’ll buy you a new horse instead. We will be doing a lot of riding together when I’m healed.” The duke grinned and kissed him fiercely. Angling his head for a deeper kiss, Francis swept his tongue deep into the duke’s mouth with a hearty groan.
But doubts teased at the corners of his desire. Should he tell the duke that he had never entertained a man before? As the duke pulled him atop his chest, he gathered his courage to make the confession. He hoped the duke did not laugh at his inexperience. He hoped he would not change his mind.
He hovered over the duke, keeping his weight from pressing on his wound and kissed him again. Kissing a man was different. There were gentle nips, the brush of whiskered jaw and taste of forbidden passion to stir his blood. He was harder than he’d ever been, groin pressed against the duke’s obviously thick prick.
As if reading his mind, the duke worked his hand between them. Francis shuddered as strong fingers closed over the aching bulge in his trousers roughly. The touch turned gentle as he shuddered, and then the duke stretched to cup his balls. “Thought you’d be a handful,” the duke groaned. “Cannot wait to get my mouth around you.”
Francis shoved the hand aside and captured Ambrose. Without trousers or sheet between them now he had his first touch of another prick. Soft, silky skin like his, long, slightly thinner but just as hard. He looked down to where his hand shuttled over the hot flesh, groaning as he imagined the prick in his mouth, or in his arse. That was going to be uncomfortable.
He swallowed. “Ambrose,” he started.
The duke’s fingers covered his lips. “I promise to look after you. I’ll take my time so you enjoy every minute in my bed, I swear. Trust me.”
Francis stared into languorous eyes and nodded. “I trust you.”
The duke wrapped his arm about Francis and squeezed. “Thank you.”
Their lips met again, harder, hungrier and surer of their pleasure. Ambrose clutched Francis’ bottom hard against him, caressing his cheek, slipping his fingers into the crack of his arse with more insistence. Francis groaned and shuddered at the unfamiliar but arousing sensation.
He wanted everything the duke would do to him. He wanted it all now.
He lifted up to tell Ambrose to take him this very instant, but a movement out of the corner of his eyes turned his head.
Lord Bracknell stood with the housekeeper’s keys swinging in his hand and murder plain in his eyes. Francis sat up, swiveling to face the bedchamber door.
Lord Bracknell blinked. “What the devil are you doing to my father? I’ll see you hanged for this.”
Chapter Ten
Ambrose’s lust drained away as if it had never been. Dear God, that boy of his had the worst timing. If he had just waited ten more minutes he would have never seen Francis’ acceptance of their passion and both of them wouldn’t have had hard pricks for him to see. He flicked the sheet over his hips. “Learn to knock.”