The Hunt Club Chronicles Bundle (39 page)

Chapter Eight

Ambrose couldn’t believe his eyes. Francis Redding was blushing at the thought of undressing him. He let out a relieved breath but then quickly looked at his son. Rupert was still in shock about the club and the goings on that happened there behind closed doors so he never noticed the way his servant’s trousers had swelled around his groin. He’d better convince Rupert to go away and soon. He had a lot to talk to his servant about that he didn’t want overheard before this damn headache grew worse.

He licked his lips. “Rupert. Could we continue this conversation tomorrow? I’m weary.”

His son nodded his head absently, but then he glanced up. “I want to see inside the club.”

The flare of pain in his head made tonight an impossibility. He wasn’t feeling so good, although a lot better since Francis had returned. How long would Rupert wait before taking the matter into his own hands? He glanced at Francis quickly.

His footman met his gaze. “You must rest for a few days, Your Grace. Any tour by you will have to wait at least a week before I’d advise venturing out for even a short trip.”

A week? Ambrose winced. Rupert was an impatient man. He’d never wait that long before mounting an assault on the club. Ambrose shifted his left arm and bumped against Francis. “I cannot order this but will you take him on a tour of the place early tomorrow. Sign him in first and introduce him to Marinari.”

Francis frowned. “I can, unless Lord Bracknell disagrees and prefers to wait for you.”

Relief coursed through him. It was cowardly, of course, but he had not wanted to walk into the club’s torture room with his eldest son and explain about those that found their pleasure in chains. He had not looked forward to those puzzled looks. There were many things he had to keep secret from his son about his own sexual proclivities. A discussion of what he didn’t like would surely lead to more questions about what he did like. Rupert would be like the rest of society, he’d be appalled that his father made love to men as well as women.

“Tomorrow at ten?” Rupert asked.

Francis nodded. “As long as His Grace has rested well during the night, then I am at your disposal. Shall I meet you there?”

“No, here.” Rupert took two paces toward the door and stopped. “Rest well, Father. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

When the door shut behind his son, Ambrose cursed aloud. “He called me Father again.”

Francis shrugged and set his hand to Ambrose’s brow. “It is very rare he calls you anything but. I wouldn’t worry about it right now. You’re running a fever.”

“I have a headache.” Ambrose met Francis’ gaze. “That isn’t good, is it?”

Francis swallowed. “No, Your Grace. But it’s early days yet. Let me get you comfortable again.”

While his footman removed his clothing without a word, Ambrose worried. He’d thought when his mind was clear earlier that the injury could be behind him. An infection could kill him if it grew severe enough. He swallowed as a lump formed in his throat. He didn’t want to die. Despite Francis’ possible objection, he curled his good arm about his leg and squeezed. “Don’t leave me again.”

How pathetic he sounded. But he was terrified of dying and dying alone. He was terrified of losing Francis from his life. The man had always been on hand when he’d been injured, even when his late wife had been alive.

Francis ruffled his hair gently. “I’m here, Ambrose. Don’t get into a fret. Let me check the wound again.” He peered at the wound with a frown. “There is no infection forming that I can see.” His lips pursed. “Perhaps you should rest now. I imagine the conversation with Lord Bracknell about the club was somewhat taxing on your strength. Perhaps that is the source of your headache.”

Ambrose stroked Francis’ wide thigh. “He did raise his voice a fair bit.”

“I can imagine.” His footman removed Ambrose’s hand from his leg, and when he did not release him immediately, Ambrose twined their fingers together. He had never been so relieved when he’d heard Francis’ customary knock on his bedchamber door. His heart had raced with impatience to touch him again.

He stroked his thumb over Francis’ clenched fist and squeezed. “I take it I guessed correctly that you had fled the house for the club. How is Miss Felicity getting on?”

Francis leaned against the bed, but didn’t jostle him in the slightest. “Doing well. She has Mr. Banks dancing her tune, though. Caught them playing at cards in her chamber. All innocent, she assures me, but Banks could easily become infatuated with the woman.”

“He told me last week that he’d never fall in love,” Ambrose chuckled. “I shall have to tease him if he should fall in love with a courtesan.”

A rare smile crossed Francis’ face and Ambrose tugged on their joined hands, urging Francis to sit on the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, the man sat gingerly beside him, staring at where their joined hands now rested on his thigh. “Lust perhaps, but love?”

Ambrose stroked his skin again. “Stranger things have happened. It is impossible to decide whom you fall in love with.”

His footman’s face slacked of expression. Was he wondering about the possibilities of the pair of them as Ambrose was? His heart raced with excitement that Francis had not pulled away from him, as yet. What more would the silent man allow?

Despite the pounding in his head, he wanted everything he could get and more. He wanted to kiss Francis again and this time he’d do a better job of it. He yearned for the other man’s taste.

Very slowly, he brought their joined hands to his mouth. Francis followed the action, eyes wide, breath hitching but he made no move to resist. Encouraged, Ambrose pressed light kisses to his knuckles, and then impulsively licked one with his tongue.

The hand in his grip shook. “You should rest, Ambrose.”

He turned Francis’ hand palm up and pressed a kiss to the center. “I’ll rest soon enough,” he murmured against the rough palm.

Francis’ fingertips scraped against his stubble. “This can wait till you’re better, can’t it?”

Ambrose grinned. “I’m impatient.” He tugged Francis forward and kissed him fiercely, heart pounding as Francis kissed him back with as much passion.

He threaded his fingers through coarse curled locks and held Francis close as he teased his tongue into his mouth, lighting little fires in his soul that he had no hope of dousing. He was alive again as he never had been. And the man kissing him back was moaning softly into his mouth.

He grinned as he drew back. “I can wait till later, but not a second beyond that.” A ruddy flush had swept over Francis’ cheeks and he touched the clenched jaw reverently. “I’ll get better soon.”

When Francis set his head against Ambrose’s, his breath a hard pant in the silent room, his heart pounded. He’d rattled his footman good and proper with his kisses. He slid his hand down the other man’s back to calm him. Heat radiated from the touch, making Ambrose realize that he was cold. He shivered.

Francis noticed, and quickly pulled the sheets and bedding higher around his shoulders. When he was done, Francis met Ambrose’s gaze. “No more excitement, all right. You must rest if you want to be well again.”

“I want it. I want you.”

His footman smiled quickly, and then settled into the armchair. After a few minutes, he pulled the chair as close as possible and set his arm upon the bed so they touched. With that small sign of companionship, Ambrose closed his eyes and followed his orders.

~ * ~

While Ambrose thrashed on the bed in the grips of delirium, Francis hurriedly sponged him down with a damp cloth. A high fever had developed during the night and Francis was afraid. Afraid that he’d missed a piece of linen, afraid that the duke would die. But the wound showed no sign of infection and he was puzzled by the cause of the duke’s restlessness.

He leaned close to the duke as morning approached and pressed his lips against the sleeping man’s. The duke stilled in his dream and lifted his chin for more. Although it was a highly unlikely remedy for the affliction, the duke quieted after being thoroughly kissed, a discovery he’d made quite by accident. Francis slipped his tongue past the open lips and ravished the duke’s willing mouth. When he stopped, the duke sighed with contentment and promptly fell asleep again.

That was the third time.

Weary beyond measure, Francis sat on the bed and considered lying down. He had to stay as close to the duke as possible but he was so tired that he kept falling asleep where he sat. He slid sideways on the bed and rested his head on the empty pillow. The duke’s fidgeting would surely wake him when necessary and he’d be up before anyone found him like this.

The duke moaned. Francis turned over quickly and peered at the duke’s face in the gloom. His eyes were closed but his arm lifted. “Come closer, Red. I won’t bite. Yet. ”

Surprise held him still a long moment then he shifted marginally closer. The duke hauled him against his good shoulder and settled Francis against his side. “Much better.” Ambrose kissed the top his head. “I wondered what it would take to get you in my arms.”

The duke sighed heavily and grew still again. Francis listened to the duke’s thudding heartbeat, regular as the tide, and knew exactly when he fell into a deep, healing sleep.

Yet Francis remained awake until the household stirred. Then as the rattle of pails echoed outside in the hall, he carefully extracted himself from the duke’s bed to call for the duke’s valet to relieve him while he took care of his own needs. He was starving and so should the duke be when he awoke.

Once Smith eventually arrived, he hurried down the servants’ stairs to the kitchen and wolfed down the contents of the heaped plate set before him. By the time he was done, Cook had put together a new tray to tempt the duke’s appetite. Everything the duke loved.

“A note came for you, Mr. Redding,” Mrs. McClurry said from the doorway. When she held it out, Francis tucked it into his coat pocket to read later. He needed to get back to the duke quickly. He needed to check those kisses hadn’t been the product of his sleepy mind.

Francis slipped into the chamber quietly in case the duke was still sleeping, but then he dropped the tray when he saw a man leaning over the duke’s bed.

~ * ~

Ambrose jerked awake at the loud crash, groaning as his pleasant fantasy of making love to
Redding
by the riverbank ended so suddenly. He blinked his eyes and swore. “Get the hell away from me.”

Lord Silas jerked back. “It’s only me.”

His coy smile made Ambrose’s guts turn over. He glanced at the door where Francis stood immobile as a statue, and then he started backing out of the room.

“Get your arse back in here, Red.”

Lord Silas touched his bare leg where he’d escaped the sheets covering him. “Send your servant away.”

His hand skimmed up and down seductively but Ambrose was anything but seduced. He shifted his leg and gestured for Francis to come closer. “Red, escort Lord Silas from the chamber. He is unwanted.”

Francis’ jaw worked furiously but he didn’t speak or move.

Ambrose frowned. “Damn it all.” He rolled to his side with a groan and sat on the bed edge. Lord Silas shifted closer and before the young lord could touch him again he drew back his left arm and punched him in the jaw. He gasped as the impact shook his body and healing shoulder wound. “Is that clear enough for you? Get out.”

Lord Silas stared up at him, gaze darting beyond them. “I know you have to pretend for the servants’ benefit but why did you have to hit so hard,” he whispered.

Ambrose shook his head at the obtuse man. “I don’t want what you’re offering. I told you I was otherwise engaged and I don’t need some sniveling backdoorsman creeping into my sickroom. Get out. Don’t come near me or my club again. Your membership is revoked and I have no wish to speak to you again.”