Chapter one
It was just after midnight in a rather dingy den on Jermyn Street, and Lord Eames the Earl of Hatherleigh was feigning an advanced level of inebriation to lull his companions into a false sense of security, and encourage them to up the stakes, when he first caught wind of the plot against the Marquis of Alverstoke’s young son.
With his cravat askew and his body carefully angled to present as little a threat as possible, Eames had initially been planning to win the current hand then bow out and make his way home, stumbling dramatically for effect, of course, but the words coming from a table some distance to his left caught his attention.
“I’m telling you, Bobby. He’s as tolerably well-blunted a cove as any you’ll find and Jimmy said that he’s as soft as you please on both his Lady and his heir. All we gotta do is nabble the brat, wait until the dibs are in tune, then we’ll stick a chive in him and be off!”
“Keep your voice down!”
The second voice sounded distinctly nervous.
Eames tipped his head back with his eyes closed before he feigned a start and pretended to jerk himself awake, catching a glimpse of the conspirators as he did so.
He only recognized one of the speakers.
Robert ‘Bobby’ Prendergast had arrived in town at the beginning of last season with a nice little fortune and subsequently became prey to the card sharps. He’d managed to stop playing before he ended in Marshalsea debtors prison, but it was common knowledge that his pockets were pretty much to let and he’d been punting on the river tick for months now.
Rather than rusticate on what was left of his estate, as would have been prudent, the not-very-interesting Prendergast had begun keeping company with a rather disreputable set and Eames wasn’t terribly surprised to see him in one of the seedier gaming hells.
But the conversation he was having right now was a different matter entirely.
“Be careful, Joe,” Prendergast’s voice was quieter now but this time Eames was listening for him. “Alverstoke is devilish high in the instep and as well breached as you could wish, but he’s also said to have excellent science, and is pretty handy with his pops. It’ll be bellows to mend with all of us if he discovers any hint of our plan! And this place is too public! It would be best to finish this discussion elsewhere.”
“If you say so.” Joe sounded conciliatory rather than convinced. “How about the lot of us meet at Crockfords tomorrow evening? I’ll book us a private room.”
“Make sure you arrive on foot. And wear a cloak with a decent hood!” If Bobby’s voice was any indicator, he was under considerable stress. “And don’t, for god’s sake, use my name when making the reservation! Use Jimmy’s, the whole thing was his idea anyway!”
“The ‘whole thing’ is to help you pay your debts.” Joe replied warningly before dropping his voice to a point where it could no longer be heard by Eames best efforts.
Bobby had a few good instincts, Eames mused as the hand he was playing drew to a conclusion. He wasn’t nearly paranoid enough to be making plans like the ones he sounded like he was making though.
Deciding he’d learned enough for the moment, Eames pocketed his winnings and staggered to his feet after making his incomprehensible goodbyes, and weaved his way to the door.
Outside it looked like the rain had cleared and, since his rooms on Stratton Street weren’t very far away, he decided to walk home rather than have the doorman find him a cab. Eames was feeling good about the prospect of some excitement and eyed several of the puddles with glee.
If he played his cards right, he’d be having a very good evening indeed!
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Because he was looking for it, Eames could see the moment when Arthur relaxed as he identified who had just come in the door. Arthur and Eames had spent some time when they first moved in hiding various weapons in easily accessible places as neither of them felt secure without something close at hand.
Given the times, that meant several knives were in reach at all times with a set of loaded dueling pistols kept close to the door.
“Hello, love!” Eames greeted his valet as he slid the bolt home on the door out onto the corridor. “I thought you might still be up.”
“I see you managed to miss the rain.” Arthur observed from his chair by the fire where he was sharpening the very nasty pair of trident daggers that he’d ‘found’ at the estate sale of an old baronet in Basingstoke. His hair was damp, an indication that he’d spent the evening in the bath. This day just kept getting better. “That’s a relief, I…”
Eames had turned away to hang his coat, and he knew the very second that Arthur had seen the state of his new hessians, delivered from Hoby just that morning.
Turning back, he presented an overly innocent face of enquiry to his fuming servant.
“Eames! Did you purposefully trudge through every puddle you saw?” Arthur’s brows were drawn together in a ferocious scowl, which happened to look adorable since he’d changed into his nightgown already. If Eames hadn’t already had nefarious intentions towards his valet, that look would have awakened them. “Do you know how hard it is to get a shine on leather boots?”
“Darling, I’m truly sorry.” Eames said as he removed his gloves and slung them down on the sideboard before approaching the fire. “But look, I’ve wiped all the mud off!”
“Give them here.” Arthur growled, wrestling the offending items from his odious employer and inspecting them for damage. “Just look at this! Wet up to the ankle, these will take hours to polish, and that’s if they even dry in time for Exeter’s ball, which is tomorrow night, if you recall!”
“Oh, right.” With a great deal of effort Eames had forgotten about the ball his uncle the Duke was giving for his youngest child, his only daughter, and so his reply was more penitent than it otherwise might have been. “I am sorry, love. Let me make it up to you?”
Rather than swoon gratefully into his arms, Arthur looked at him suspiciously.
“Eames, did you get your boots wet just so you’d have an excuse to give me a blowjob?”
“Of course not!” Eames replied, looking as shocked as possible. “When have I ever needed an excuse? But since you brought it up, it is a rather good plan, don’t you think? In any case, come with me to the bedchamber, you’ll need to help me out of this coat. Weston does rather fine work, but his creations don’t make for quick disrobing.”
“Oh, very well.” Arthur rolled his eyes a little, but Eames had spotted the hint of dimples at his cheeks. Since the style of clothing Arthur could wear was restricted by the class he’d been born into, he’d taken to relieving his sartorial urges by ensuring Eames was as well dressed as possible at all times. There was little that could get him worked up as fast or as well than Eames either disregarding his advice or disgracing a carefully compiled ensemble with stains.
Luckily, Eames’ grandfather, the twelfth Duke of Exeter, had been both enormously wealthy and extremely fond of both his second son Charles and his ne’er-do-well grandson Martin. The Duke had been able to bestow an extremely comfortable living on Charles, a living that Eames had inherited five years ago when his doting parent had contracted an inflammation of the lungs and died, leaving his orphaned son quite well off indeed.
The Duke had also had generously granted the living attached to one of the more prestigious of his lesser titles, and the right to use said title, to his favourite grandson.
The thirteenth Duke was a stuffy and slightly ponderous man who knew his filial duty and had upheld his more eccentric parent’s disposition of title and fortune with the agreement that, as his nephew Martin, Eames had no issue (and had assured everyone he had no intentions whatsoever of providing himself with a wife and family), on his death both the title and the estate would devolve back to whomever was the current Duke of Exeter, less any agreed upon annuities.
As a result, Lord Martin Eames, Earl of Hatherleigh was rather well beforehand with the world. Allowing his valet to dress him as he pleased guaranteed that the Earl of Hatherleigh had quite the reputation amongst the ton for being exceedingly well dressed at all times.
By the time Eames had removed all but his small-clothes, Arthur seemed to have become distinctly more enthusiastic about the proceedings, removing (and folding!) his nightshirt without any urging.
They tumbled together onto the bed and Arthur obligingly ceded the top spot to Eames, both dimples in full view. One dark eyebrow arched imperiously towards a slight widows peak.
“Wasn’t there something you needed to get to, Mr Eames? A job that required tending to?”
“That’s Lord Eames to you, darling.” Eames replied with a wicked grin, dipping his head and nuzzling at the warm place where upper thigh met lower belly. “Mmmmm.”
A little to the left there was definite interest stirring, but Eames was distracted, entranced by the tender skin directly beneath his tongue. He scraped his teeth gently down towards the cock rising to meet him, and groaned at the familiar musky smell. His mouth started watering slightly in a distinctly Pavlovian response.
“Will you just get on with it?” The words were testy, but the tone was breathless. They didn’t do this nearly as often as he would like, and Eames wondered briefly why that was? A hand gripping his hair and moving his head gently but firmly over to the hardening cock derailed the thought before it could be completed.
Taking pity on his long suffering valet, Lord Eames licked a long wet stripe up the centre of the leaking shaft in front of him. Arthur gave a quickly indrawn breath, and then leant back on his elbows, his eyes glued to where Eames’ lips slowly engulfed the head, drawing the entire length into the warm wetness of his mouth.
Eames slipped his hands beneath the tight arse attached to the hot, thick, cock down his throat, wordlessly encouraging Arthur to thrust, to fuck his face, loving the heat stretching his mouth open, the taste and the smell.
Arthur made a broken noise in the back of his throat and tipped his head back, exposing the long line of his neck as his hips began a shallow, rhythmic motion. His legs spread a bit wider which changed the angle slightly, allowing the cock in Eames mouth to go deeper than before, his two hands clutching spasmodically at the bed covers.
Eames couldn’t help rubbing his own erection gently against the bed covers beneath him as he sucked enthusiastically. He waited until the moment he could feel Arthur’s leg muscles tense up in the build-up to release and then pulled off, enjoying the shock and then furious exasperation that crossed his lovers face at the rush of cold air where there had just been wet heat.
“Don’t want this to end too soon…” Eames explained huskily, and swirled his tongue over the leaking tip, grinning at the annoyed face above him.
Arthur wanted to groan in frustration, but like hell he was going to give that fucker Eames the satisfaction.
God, the sight of those lips around his cock had been enough to get him more than halfway there and now Eames wanted to play silly buggers? It wasn’t until the large hands cupping his arse slid his cheeks apart, allowing the tips of talented fingers to trail down and brush over his hole that he realized what Eames intended.
This wasn’t something they indulged in often, there was just too much risk if anything went wrong. But they both loved it, and Arthur gave a full body shudder at the thought of what was to come.
“Turn over, love.” Arthur eagerly grabbed at the pillows as he rolled over, fully intending to enjoy every second of this. Those warm lips were wet when they closed over his hole in a kiss. Then there was an agile, slippery tongue lapping at him, laving over his tight centre.
He spread his legs almost helplessly, wordlessly encouraging Eames to lick deeper, to use his tongue harder, to…
…oh yes, there… warm, wet, pushing insistently inside him, the contrast of short whiskers abrading the tender flesh on either side. Arthur tried to move his hips, tried to get some friction against his aching cock but those large hands held him in place as that talented tongue worked him into a frenzy.
By the time a well oiled finger worked its way in beside the tongue, Arthur’s hole was considerably more relaxed. The tongue retreated as a second finger was added. With the slight burn of penetration came the incredible sensation of that one spot inside being stimulated with expert fingers.
“Look at you, love.” Eames murmured into his ear. When had he moved up the bed? “Writhing around, practically begging for it. I could have you begging, you know, if I wanted to.”
“Don’t you dare!” Arthur managed to get out, before his eyes rolled back at a particularly adept stroke.
“No?” Eames asked, tugging an earlobe into his mouth. He released it moments later to nibble at the base of the neck in front of him. “As you wish then darling.”
And then there was another finger inside him. The burn lasted a little longer this time, but Arthur couldn’t care less.
“Hurry up, Eames, now!” He gasped when his muscles felt as relaxed as they were likely to get. “Get on with it!”
“As you command,” came the infuriatingly smug reply and then the fingers were gone, leaving him empty for several long seconds. Before he had enough time to express his displeasure, Eames had rearranged his limbs to his own satisfaction, placing one hand in the small of his back to hold him down on the bed, and then Arthur could feel the blunt head of a cock nudging at his stretched entrance.
If he’d had the leverage, Arthur would’ve pushed back and eased the emptiness as quickly as possible, but Eames had anticipated such an action and had cleverly trapped Arthur to the point where he couldn’t move backwards unless Eames let him.
“You arsehole.” Arthur said with no true heat in his voice, “I’ll get you for that later.”
“Shh, love, I’m busy.” Eames said, and whatever Arthur would have said in reply was lost as Eames started sliding in, pausing to withdraw briefly and then begin that slow slide again, each time going deeper and deeper.
Arthur was unable to stop a heartfelt groan from escaping him at the sensation of being opened and truly filled again. When Eames was finally fully seated, he remained still for a long moment, his body giving the most minuscule of tremors.
Tired of waiting, Arthur clenched his internal muscles, smirking to himself at the sharply indrawn breath. It certainly got things moving again.
Eames used his knees to spread Arthur’s legs wider and then urged him backwards to end up practically sitting in his lap.
“God, you feel magnificent,” Eames sighed into his ear as he settled back, his mouth opening on a silent groan at the sensation, “I wish we had a big enough mirror so I could see you properly like this. Michelangelo would have wept.”
Arthur was shuddering, fully concentrated on the feel of the cock impaling him, going almost impossibly deep. Thanks to the width of his spread legs, he still didn’t have enough leverage to properly move, and could only whine in his throat when Eames began thrusting up into him in short, hard jabs that hit the sweet spot every time.
At least he had his hands free, and Eames didn’t object when he reached for his long neglected cock.
It was incredible, Eames strength holding him steady as his thick cock pounded up into him, his own hand stroking in counterpoint.
It wasn’t long before Arthur felt his muscles tightening again. This time Eames didn’t stop. This time, as Eames shoved up hard into him, he reached around with one hand to twist Arthur’s nipple, hard.
That was enough to send Arthur over the edge, his balls tightened and pulsed, and pleasure rushed through him in waves as his come spurted out, covering his fingers and splattering heavily onto the covers in front of him.
When he finally came down from his high, Arthur realized that Eames was still hard inside him just as Eames began nudging him forward so that he could reach the headboard. As soon as Arthur was able to support his own weight, Eames raised himself up slightly to align their bodies, and reached around and upwards to pull Arthur down by the shoulders, making his cock go even deeper. Arthur almost melted at the feel of that powerful body along his back, covering, almost enclosing him.
Several almost desperate thrusts later Eames came with a strangled groan, and Arthur could feel the warmth flooding him before Eames’ body came to rest more heavily against his back and they both collapsed in a heap on the bed.
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A short while later they were both curled up in bed. Eames was always so tactile after sex, and Arthur was setting in to enjoy a protracted cuddle when Eames finally got around to telling him all about the plot he’d overheard.
“They’re going after Alverstoke?” Arthur wasn’t at his best, he really just wanted to cuddle and then sleep, but kidnapping and murder was enough to catch his attention. “Are they insane? He’s not one to be trifled with, by any means!”
“What’s the below-stairs gossip regarding him?” Eames asked, drawing lazy circles on Arthur’s – not ticklish at all, thank you very much!– stomach with his thumb. Arthur batted his hand away absently.
“He is fair to his servants, but not one to cross.” Arthur replied after giving it a few moments thought. “There’s not a lot of talk about him, which says almost as much as if there was a lot. He married one of the Merriville sisters, did he not? I heard they came to town some years back with next to nothing in their pockets, although apparently the younger one had the face and body of a goddess. Was that her?”
“She may have looked like a goddess, but she also had precious little in her cockloft, if memory serves me correctly.” Eames remarked with a yawn. “No, Alverstoke married the elder sister, the younger one married his cousin, the fellow that was Alverstoke’s heir at the time.”
“Quite well played,” Arthur said thoughtfully. “That way they get the estate regardless of what happens. Well played indeed.”
“You are so cynical darling.” Eames slurred slightly, snuffling into Arthur’s shoulder.
“I think you’ll find the term is ‘realistic’. Now shut up, we can talk more about this scheme you’ve uncovered tomorrow. Some of us don’t live the life of the idle rich and I have to get up in the morning and go to the markets. Make yourself useful while I am gone and sort out the washing? Mrs Dalliard will be by to pick it up sometime in the afternoon.”
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The next evening found Eames (sans his new hessians which had yet to dry, leaving him to wear the more conventional buckled slippers) doing his duty to his family by socializing at his cousin’s ball, moving from room to room with a smile, a laugh, and sometimes a quip, for everyone he saw.
While in general he tolerated events such as this with equanimity and depending on the occasion, actually enjoyed them, tonight he was rather annoyed that his familial obligations stopped him from being out with Arthur, tailing some truly havey-cavey individuals and having fun.
Except… over there.
Well, well, who would have guessed his stuffy uncle could get Alverstoke and his wife to grace Margaret’s ball? Eyes alight with genuine glee, Eames bowed and nodded and smiled and greeted his way across to where the Marquis of Alverstoke was standing with the rather attractive lady who must be his wife, both of them conversing amiably with Lady Jersey.
Lady Jersey? Another coup! Eames decided he must stop by the old mausoleum one of these days and catch up with his cousin Rupert (who would be inheriting the Dukedom, barring accident, injury and epidemic) and find out what the devil was going on. His relatives didn’t generally mix much with the ton, for all their wealth and station. It appeared that Margaret’s debut was finally bringing them out of semi-seclusion.
Given Eames’ adept social skills and reputation for exquisite dress and amusing comportment, it wasn’t difficult to wrangle an invitation to tea the next day from the Marchioness of Alverstoke, although the entire time they were talking Eames was aware of the eyes of the Marquis upon him.
When he chanced a glance in that direction, it was to find himself being assessed by a heavy lidded and somewhat amused gaze. Good, the last thing he needed was to be called out by a man with Alverstoke’s reputation for trifling with his wife.
Eames’ airy comment as he departed that he would be glad to see the both of them when he called tomorrow was the cause of a wry mouth turning sardonic but the Marquis was as polite as his wife in his declarations of delight for the forthcoming visit.
Pleased with his progress, Eames rewarded himself with a glass of brandy from his uncles hidden stash before continuing on his rounds. Another three hours of this, two of those hours spent dancing, and he should be able to slip away with none the wiser. For all of Arthur’s complaints about the class divide, he felt that sometimes his valet had the better deal.
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That night Arthur was in a terrible mood when he finally got home.
“How can you stand such places?” He asked Eames as he divested himself of his outerwear and came to stand as close to the fire as he could get without setting himself aflame.
“They grow on you, darling.” Eames replied, helping Arthur with his boots.
“Like a particularly noxious fungus, no doubt.” Arthur muttered, and then threw himself back into his usual chair. “Have you asked for the bath water to be brought up?”
“Two days in a row, darling?” Eames beamed at his dishevelled lover, whose hair had escaped the strict confines it was usually kept in. The difference in hairstyle changed his usually impeccably turned out valet from looking like a refined gentleman’s gentleman of the first stare, to more resemble a young man just heading off for his first year at Cambridge (or Oxford, if the family was misguided enough to patronise the lesser university). Eames was careful never to mention this of course, it was a sure way to receive cold shaving water for a week.
Arthur glared at him.
“You could do with one too, now that I think on it. And you didn’t answer my question.”
“Of course I asked for water to be brought up.” Eames said indulgently. “They think I’m some sort of water fanatic. Luckily, I am well blunted and aristocratic enough that I am considered eccentric rather than insane. I hear Bedlam is somewhat less than pleasant at this time of year.”
“Any time of year, I should imagine.” Arthur replied sternly, but the prospect of a warm bath was working it’s magic upon his demeanour and he allowed Eames to hand him a glass of burgundy ‘to warm you up a little, darling’.
An hour later they were both drying by the fire and Arthur was in a considerably better mood.
“They’re not the cleverest of hedge birds, Prendergast’s friends.” Arthur mused over some of the Massougnes Cognac. “As ramshackle a lot as I have ever seen. There is one of them though, a Mr Brown. He seems a trifle more downy than the others. He was the one doing most of the talking and I caught him casting his eyes my way more than once.”
“Did you manage to get any details of their plan?” Eames asked, putting more wood on the fire and poking at it desultorily with one of the two pokers, the one without the concealed blade.
Arthur frowned.
“There will be two kidnappings. The first will be either the child or sibling of one of the under-servants, as yet unspecified, which will allow Mr Brown and his compatriots access to the house after the rest of the household is asleep. I got the distinct feeling that it didn’t matter which servant was picked for the role. That it would be largely a matter of convenience.”
Eames swore colourfully. Well, that explained some of Arthur’s grim demeanour. It was a lose, lose situation for whichever poor servant got caught up in this. Still, now that they knew what was happening hopefully something could be done.
“They plan to keep the children together while awaiting payment of the ransom,” Arthur continued, “just in case some sort of proof of life is asked for. Mr Brown did not say where, or what sort of proof of life he was planning on offering. But as soon as the money has been received and the men sent to collect it are away and safe, he plans to kill both children and throw their bodies in the Thames.”
“Why, how charming.” Eames said, stabbing harder at the blazing logs. “Well then, I suppose there is nothing for it but for Lord Eames and his trusty sidekick to save the day.”
There was a loaded silence.
“I am not your sidekick. If anything, you are my sidekick.” Arthur said, fuming away in his quilted dressing gown, his hair the kind of riot of locks and curls that regularly took the best dressers of the ton hours to achieve for their employers.
“Come now, darling,” Eames smiled charmingly, a good reason not to trust a word coming out of his mouth. “I am the one regularly dressed up in ridiculous costumes, while you remain more sensibly dressed and in the background. It’s quite clear that I am the heroic portion of this duo.”
“Oh really?” Arthur said dangerously. “I haven’t forgotten that it’s entirely your fault that I’m a valet, you know. While at first I appreciated your insistence that I be allowed to learn under Biddle, now I’m not so sure it was the right idea. If you’d just left me where you found me, I would be cosy and warm at Exeter at this moment and not about to embark on a crazy plan to foil a kidnapping!”
“About to? But darling, surely we’ve already begun? Did you not spend hours tonight spying on desperate criminals in order to further our quest?”
“If you don’t intend to discuss this like a rational person, I’ll be off to bed. Alone.” Arthur threatened, glowering at him.
“Very well.” Eames put the poker back in it’s holder and took his seat, stretching his legs out before him so that he could toast his toes on the hearth. “I was not completely idle this evening, you know. Somehow Exeter managed to get Alverstoke and his wife to Margaret’s ball, and I shall be calling on them for tea tomorrow. I would like you to come with me, if you would be so kind.”
Arthur frowned. “Will it not look rather strange for Lord Hatherleigh to bring his manservant with him for a morning call?”
Eames shrugged, wiggling his toes. “It matters not. Your description of the meeting you witnessed will likely be paramount in convincing the Dauntrys that their son is in danger. If they find your presence in their parlour objectionable, then that is their own problem.”
That night as he curled up alone in his smallish bed in the room off the main bedroom, Arthur once again considered just joining Eames in his bigger bed. But Eames had only ever once invited him, and that was so long ago he wasn’t sure if the invitation was still current. Sharing space after sex was different to just… climbing in together.
At the time he had been in a state of considerable annoyance, and his response to the invitation had been a cutting rejection. Now, as he lay in bed staring at the door that separated the two chambers, he wondered if the vociferous diatribe he had subjected Eames to was the only reason the invitation had not been renewed. Sighing, he rolled onto his back to look up at the darkness. Given his own hesitation to trespass beyond his station, it was likely he’d never know.
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