The duke snorted and laid a hand across Henry’s forehead. Now that the duke brought it to his attention, Henry was fever hot and drenched in sweat. He couldn’t understand why.
“Ah, you’ve developed a tricksters tongue have you?” The aristocratic quirk of one eyebrow confirmed he was speaking to the duke and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he blushed. He hoped the fever would disguise his reaction to his master’s caress.
“Can you sit up?”
It was an interesting question. Henry didn’t want to, but his habit of obeying the duke made the request impossible to ignore. As he struggled upright, Byworth hooked his hands under Henry’s arms and sped his movement. When he let go, the weight of his body pressed his backside into the bedding. A hiss of pain escaped his lips.
He rolled sideways and didn’t dare look at his employer. The pain brought back memories of his time with the Duke of Lewes. Humiliation washed over him. His Grace, the Duke of Byworth, would have a fair idea of why he was in pain and Henry waited to hear his condemnation.
“As I expected.” His master sounded pleased.
He supposed he was revolted with him, yet why was he here? Surely, he could have dumped him elsewhere: far away from him.
The duke circled the bed and sat on the side Henry faced. He didn’t say anything else, only held out a mug of ale for him to drink. Henry swallowed a few large mouthfuls, but His Grace took it out of reach fairly soon. Next came a hunk of bread and Henry gobbled it up, eager for more. The duke left the bed, but returned with a bowl of stew.
Henry had to meet the duke’s gaze. His Grace wouldn’t give him the spoon. Dark eyes should have poured scorn on his head, yet they held an odd gleam. His whole face reflected an emotional state with which Henry was unfamiliar.
Henry glanced about him nervously. “Where are we?”
“We are at the cottage.”
Chapter Seven
Their location surprised Henry. The duchess claimed the cottage a hovel, yet the room was clean and smelled only of the sea. He pulled a deep breath into his lungs, listening for the pounding waves beyond the walls. There. He hadn’t noticed it before, but the house seemed to vibrate with the soothing sound. He let his breath escape. With the drapes drawn against the night, he couldn’t see outside. Part of him longed to get out of bed and hurry outside to see the ocean he’d only heard about. The sensible part suggested that the excursion could wait.
The duke cleared his throat. “We’ll talk later: eat now.”
Henry obediently ate what the other man offered, barely more than the duke’s youngest child would manage, yet his stomach felt as if it would burst. When Henry couldn’t eat another mouthful, His Grace crossed the room, picked up a book and ignored him.
Uncertain of what his behavior signified, Henry sank into the bedding once more and studied him warily. The Duke of Byworth was a conservative man. If he had one glimmer of understanding of what Henry truly was then he’d be hauled before the magistrate and then the hangman’s stage.
The duke stirred in his chair like a restless cat. Usually, his placid countenance soothed but tonight Henry churned in the grip of lust. Despite the ache of his flesh, Henry’s prick hardened, lengthening under the sheet beyond his power to control. He rolled over, away from the arousing sight of His Grace stretching. The fantasy he’d dreamed about many a night was a dangerous one to cultivate. He couldn’t keep thinking of kissing a duke. Henry pulled the blankets tight around him, suddenly chilled through.
The duke’s chair creaked again and the room grew dark. Fabric rustled and then the bed dipped behind Henry as His Grace lay down. Henry couldn’t breathe and he certainly wasn’t going to turn over and ask his master what he was about. He had the most painful erection of his life and all he wanted to do was rub his prick against his master’s body.
The duke sighed. “Stackpool?”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“Are you feeling any better?”
Was he feeling better? He had no idea. He couldn’t feel anything beyond lust. “I don’t know.”
A warm hand brushed his shoulder and then swept over his face. “You’re chilled. You should have said something.”
The duke fussed with the blankets, but then settled his hand between Henry’s shoulder blades. That hot spot of warmth kept him aroused until fever swept over him again and he struggled out of the sheets. It was a good thing that the hot flushes cooled his ardor because the duke hovered over him all through the long night. Cooling him by flicking off the sheets, heating him with his simple touch; he’d never felt so cosseted in his life.
When morning broke, he was tired, but the fever and chills had passed. As he blinked sleep from his eyes, a large, warm hand slid off his belly as the duke turned onto his back. Henry gulped. Could his master tell he’d woken aroused? He hoped not.
Discovery of his lust would only speed Henry’s journey to the hangman.
The duke rolled out of bed and fumbled around in the half-light. Thin lines of sunlight filtered through the gaps in the drapes and Henry caught brief glimpses of his master’s naked body. In particular, Henry noted Byworth’s prick standing at attention with morning arousal. God, he was beautiful. Henry’s mouth watered.
He hoped he kept quiet. The sight of that thick length made his ass clench in anticipation, yet he was in no state to consider lovers of any kind. Even lying down, he throbbed and knew that sitting for any length of time would prove problematic. He feigned sleep as Byworth pulled open the drapes and let the sunshine fall into the room.
Blinking rapidly to pretend the glare had woken him, Henry tried to keep his focus on the other man’s face. His Grace quirked his lips a little hesitantly and Henry dropped his eyes to the man’s chest. Thick with muscle, not a spare pound of flesh in sight, he let his eyes graze and dream that he might touch that tanned skin. That one day he might rest his head upon his flat abdomen and nuzzle Byworth’s thickened prick into his mouth.
The duke moved closer and Henry almost reached for his master, yet the other man merely grabbed his pillow and made a show of removing the dent his head had made. Ignoring an upstanding prick, displayed in Henry’s line of sigh, was never an easy task. The fully aroused length didn’t do anything but make Henry want. He licked his lips as His Grace turned away and began covering himself with clothes.
It was hard not to be disappointed. The duke was a fine specimen, fit and densely muscled. And his heavy prick would be so sweet across his tongue. He wanted him in his hand, in his ass. He wanted to kiss the Duke of Byworth so badly his head spun.
The duke rushed from the room.
Startled by his abrupt departure, Henry looked around. As he glanced toward his feet, Henry realized his erection would have been noticeable.
His poor master. Henry bet the other man was disgusted. He rolled over onto his belly and breathed in the scent of His Grace’s skin imprinted on the sheets. His prick throbbed and he ground his hips into the bedding, letting his mind conjure images of his master beneath him. He rocked his hips, again and again, until he heard the door click shut behind him.
Horrified, caught with his ass in the air and an erection burrowing into the bedding, Henry stayed still.
Soft footsteps came closer. A hand touched his calf. “The cuts have bled again.”
The duke’s softly uttered observation stopped his heart. Lewes, that sick perverted monster, had taken a whip to him for refusing his advances. The leather had quickly cut through Henry’s trousers and the biting sting had made him scream. But to know that his master inspected his bare ass proved a humiliation he’d never expected.
Water poured into a basin and he buried his head in his pillow as the duke patted over the welts. Yet the humiliation did nothing to control his arousal.
“Widen your legs.”
God, he was going to explode. The damp cloth probed around his inner thighs, patting carefully, then brushed his stones. Henry couldn’t control his reaction and he came from just that slight teasing. Pleasure burst from every nerve in his body and as he returned to earth, he realized that the duke still cleaned him, paying particular attention to his stones as they descended again.
It tickled and Henry wondered how the duke could ignore that his servant had just spent himself before him. The sheet fluttered over his ass and the Duke of Byworth left him alone.
~ * ~
Nathan peeked through the gap between door and hinges, waiting for his steward to climb into bed and cover himself. After the events of half an hour ago he didn’t know what he’d face. He shouldn’t have caressed his servant the way he had, even if his actions provoked an interesting response.
That Stackpool had soiled the sheets excited him. He glanced down at his impatient prick and rubbed his hand hard across. The desire to test the waters and see if Stackpool truly desired the touch of another man held sway until he got a good look at his steward’s poor battered body.
There were bruises on Stackpool’s ribs and hips. Ugly purple shades that made Nathan’s blood boil in anger, dousing his lust in seconds. Over some were whip marks. Nathan wanted to go back and beat the life out of Lewes for losing control, yet he couldn’t leave Stackpool just yet. Not until he was certain the other man was well.
When Stackpool lingered at the window, Nathan grew impatient. He squared his shoulders and walked in. “Are you hungry?”
The expression on Stackpool’s face was priceless. His skin flushed, eyes quickly darting downward, then snapping back to Nathan’s face. Intrigued, Nathan placed the tray on the bed and took a step in his servant’s direction.
Stackpool’s bare prick filled, thickened until his impressive length stood tall. Nathan’s own flesh responded in kind. Pleased that his servant was attracted to men, or at least to him, he’d see whether Stackpool’s employment could be altered to include the occasional pleasure once Stackpool had recovered his health.
Nathan’s pleasure had to wait.
He crossed to where Stackpool had stilled like a hunted fox. Nathan smiled and the other man seemed to come alive again. He hurried across the room, slid beneath the covers, attempting to hide his body’s response from Nathan’s eyes.
Nathan followed, draping himself across the foot of the bed, watching as Stackpool made a show of eating. “What the devil were you doing with Lewes?”
“I, ah, was invited to dine with him,” Stackpool stammered.
“It is not like Lewes to entertain the common man without some form of compensation changing hands. Were you there by your own wish?”
Stackpool shifted. “Of course I was.”
Nathan gestured to the bruises encompassing Stackpool’s arms. “And these marks of restraint? Were they willingly accepted?”
At that, Stackpool finally appeared uncomfortable. Nathan wondered if he’d lie.
“No. But Lewes never made them.”
Nathan shuffled down the bed, arranging his body more comfortably. “Of course not. His habits are simpler, direct. Like the whip marks on your skin. No doubt that bruise forming on your jaw is courtesy of him. Did you try to leave?”
Henry dropped his head. “No. He wanted information.”
Nathan sat up, leaning forward towards his servant. “About whom?”
Up close, Stackpool’s green eyes, flecked through with gold, mesmerized Nathan.
“About an old friend of mine.”
Nathan rubbed his jaw, considering. “In all the time you’ve worked for me I’ve never heard you mention friends, or family for that matter. Where do you hail from?”
“
London
.”