I am in control here, he said without speaking, resolve driving his every thought, his every move. I’m here because I choose to be, because I intend to exact every penny of the money I need to save my skin before leaving you as you left me.
Alex was far too stubborn to be cowed, staring back at Benedict with unspoken challenges of his own. If he could read Alex’s thoughts, Benedict was certain they would echo the things already said. He was determined to win, to break through the walls Benedict had constructed around himself and reclaim a heart that had long shriveled up and died. There was the rub. He was almost tempted to warn Alex off, to tell him that there was no heart left for him to win. But it was far crueler and more satisfying to allow Alex to discover that for himself. It seemed a just reward for his unpardonable offense.
“You’re still as graceful as ever,” Alex said, his expression growing wistful. “The only partner who could manage to make me look good on the dance floor.”
“It’s simply a matter of residual skill,” Benedict replied. “I’m good enough for no one to notice how terrible you are.”
Alex chuckled. “Indeed. It’s one of the reasons I’ll be glad to quit London so I can shun all the invitations piling up in my study. If I’m not here to attend their balls, no one can coerce me into dancing with their daughters. The poor ladies’ toes will be trampled into dust by the time I’m finished with them.”
“I’m certain dear Lady Vautrey didn’t mind, as your massive fortune must have been a comfort to her, crushed toes notwithstanding.”
Alex stiffened, coming to an abrupt halt and nearly causing Benedict to stumble over his next step. The amusement faded from his face, replaced by stony ire. Without a word, he pushed Benedict aside and weaved his way through the other dancers without bothering to offer an apology.
Annoyed at having been summarily dismissed, Benedict gave chase, his warning glare enough to make the other men skitter out of his way. He stalked Alex toward a door to the left of the stage, which he knew led to a corridor giving access to a row of private rooms, as well as an exit to the outside privy. The door slammed against the wall when Alex threw it open, his anger apparent in his brusque stride and the stiff set to his shoulders.
“What the devil is your problem?” Benedict hurled at his back. “Does speaking of your dearly departed wife trouble you so much?”
Whirling on his heel, Alex strode back toward him with clenched fists, nostrils flaring. “It does if you’re going to be an ass! We were having a perfectly nice time, and you ruined it.”
Leaning against one of the rough doors to a private room, Benedict pursed his lips. “I was just making conversation.”
“No,” Alex insisted. “You were trying to get under my skin by speaking on matters you know nothing about, because you won’t let me explain why I had to do what I did.”
“Because it doesn’t matter. What’s done is done.”
“It damn well does matter, and you know it!”
Pushing away from the door, Benedict closed the distance between them. He took hold of Alex’s shoulder and shoved him against the opposite wall, crowding him against it and offering no escape. Alex sucked in a sharp breath when Benedict’s other hand fell against the front of his breeches, his cock twitching and beginning to swell. Tightening his hold on the stiffened shaft, Benedict stroked, watching as Alex’s anger faded in the face of pleasure.
“This is the only thing that matters between us now,” he growled. “The sooner you realize that, the easier this will be for us both.”
Alex flexed his hips, grinding his erection against Benedict’s palm with a shudder. “The sooner you realize that this means more between us than you’re willing to admit, the easier this will be for you.”
Benedict kissed Alex, primarily to shut him up—but also to smother the feelings such sentiments provoked. If Alex was kissing him back, he wasn’t trying to use words against Ben, or reminding him of how good it felt to know someone cared for him so deeply. They didn’t need to talk to fulfill the obligations of their contract. Alex’s assertion that the physical nature of their arrangement had meaning was a load of hogwash. Benedict had spent three years proving that he didn’t have to care about someone to fuck them; hell, he didn’t even have to like them. Skin on skin, lips on lips, tongues pushing and writhing. It was all mechanics leading to a pleasurable end, and fattening Benedict’s purse. The difference between ruination and freedom … that was all this meant to him.
However, it became far too difficult to hold on to such notions with Alex clinging to his lapels and kissing him with desperate fervor. Benedict’s mind went empty of all conflicting thought, and he gave himself over to sensation only—Alex’s mouth on his, the thud of his own heart and the pulse of blood racing to his cock.
He was moving against his own will, propelled across the corridor with each of Alex’s forward steps. Benedict’s back came against the door, and Alex bit at his lower lip while fumbling for the knob, panting as if starved of breath. The door fell open and they stumbled into the empty room, devoid of all light save for a waning fire burned down to simmering coals. They had inhabited every room in this corridor at some time or another, Mother Morton’s proving one of the only places they could safely be alone during their university years. The memories followed him here, but Benedict ruthlessly shoved them aside as he turned Alex to hurl him against the door.
Alex tried to move away from the door when allowed the barest few inches of space, but Benedict disabused him of any such intentions. Taking hold of Alex’s coat, he yanked it down his arms and left it at his elbows, the tight fit acting as the perfect restraint. Alex grunted and tried to pull free, but was left to slump helplessly against the door as Benedict tore at the buttons of his fall with one hand while yanking his shirttails free with the other. The heavy length of Alex’s cock strained toward him from a light thatch of dark curls, shorter than his own but impressive in its girth.
“Do you still want to talk?” he taunted, lightly flicking the swollen head and producing a pained groan from Alex. “Or do you want me to make you come?”
Alex closed his eyes and let his head fall back in silent surrender. Benedict’s own cock pushed against the front of his breeches, begging for freedom and release. There was no time for slow and steady finesse, or even to make their way to the bed. Benedict had a point to make, and his impatient cockstand demanded he make it right here, right now, against this door.
Bracing a hand at Alex’s throat, Benedict opened his own fall, his movements bumbling and clumsy. A button skittered across the floor due to his carelessness, but Benedict ignored it. Gripping his pulsing shaft, he stroked himself, allowing the tip of his cock to brush against Alex’s. Alex gasped, arching his back and trying to get closer, a desperate sound resounding in his throat. Benedict tightened his grip just enough to feel the rapid flutter of Alex’s pulse, commanding him to stillness. Alex opened his eyes, his dark gaze wide and pleading, his chest heaving with panting breaths.
“Please,” he begged in a hoarse whisper. “Please, Ben.”
Benedict edged closer, slowly pumping his own cock, his knuckles brushing along the turgid length of Alex’s. He fed off the desperate plea in Alex’s voice, the need radiating from his eyes. It was nearly enough to finish him then and there, but he wasn’t nearly done with Alex. All the years of wanting and being denied, needing and being starved, drove Benedict to tease and torment, to exact his own form of revenge.
Alex tried to take hold of his cock, but Benedict slapped his hand aside and took it in hand, working them both in a slow, aching rhythm. Alex groaned, pumping his hips to match Benedict’s pace, his fingernails scraping against the door. He grew wet after a few strokes, the drip of his semen slicking Benedict’s hand. Benedict’s cock answered in kind, his head smeared with the evidence of his matching desires.
Benedict rubbed over his slit to collect a drop, then braced a hand at Alex’s jaw before pushing the glistening thumb against his mouth. Alex
parted his lips, allowing Benedict’s thumb to caress his tongue. Then, he closed his mouth and sucked, his cock leaping in Benedict’s hold as if in reaction to the taste of him. Benedict delved his thumb deeper, his balls drawing up tight to his body as Alex sucked, cheeks pulling inward.
“Fuck,” he muttered, nearly unmanned at the rasp of Alex’s tongue against him. He edged even closer, pulling his thumb free of the sucking mouth to replace it with his tongue.
Alex responded eagerly, lunging to capture Benedict’s lips, suckling at his tongue as if it were one of his beloved peppermint sticks. The taste of wine and his own seed mingled on Benedict’s palate as he opened his grip to take Alex’s cock against his. They moaned in unison as the tight grip of Benedict’s fist pressed their shafts together. Benedict worked them both in tandem, his other hand tight against Alex’s jaw as he plundered his pliant mouth. Alex trembled and bucked against him, adding more friction to the pulls of Benedict’s hand.
Gritting his teeth and fighting for time, Benedict kept each pump of his hand slow and steady, reveling in the feel of Alex’s thighs against his own, the hairs soft and wispy, the muscles firm. Alex was unraveling fast, arching away from the door and thrusting into his grip, his hands still trapped by his coat and searching for purchase on the door.
Benedict moved his hand to the back of Alex’s neck and held fast, quickening his strokes as he sensed the inevitable end. Alex let his head fall against Benedict’s shoulder, moaning and shaking and nuzzling into Benedict’s neck. His lips and tongue found the sensitive patch of skin beneath his ear, and Benedict pressed against Alex’s neck, urging him on. It was as if they’d never been separated, Alex knowing exactly what he wanted. As Alex stiffened and groaned his release, he sank his teeth into Benedict’s neck, just hard enough to produce a sharp sting. Benedict growled his approval, stroking even faster as Alex’s cock spurted hot streams of semen, slicking Benedict’s pulsing cock. He followed within seconds, his release coming on the heels of Alex’s. He fell into Alex, still holding the other man’s face against his neck and wringing them both dry amid a chorus of deep, visceral groans. Neither of them moved right away, leaning into each other and simply breathing. Benedict closed his eyes, helpless in the face of the warmth coming over him in the aftermath. He didn’t want to cling to Alex, his chest swelling and his throat burning with suppressed emotion. Despite his insistence that only the physical mattered between them, Benedict was struck with the realization that Alex had been right. Somehow, what they’d done felt like so much more, though he was loath to acknowledge that.
Alex slumped against the door as Benedict slowly peeled himself away, his hand and groin sticky with a mixture of their seed. His heart pounded like a drum. His body was sated, slowly climbing down to steady calm—yet his mind was still awash in turmoil. He could hardly hold onto one thought before another one descended on him. With a whispered curse, he stumbled to the rough bedside table, which was thoughtfully stocked with a basin of water and linens. Benedict offered Alex a wet linen without meeting his gaze, before turning away to clean himself. Ignoring the sounds of Alex shuffling about, Benedict took his time. All the while he told himself that they had only done what their agreement stipulated. He was a courtesan and Alex a paying client like any other. What did it matter that he knew how Benedict liked to be touched and kissed or that they’d come together as if they’d never parted?
Alex was nothing but flesh and a bank draft to him—a means to an end so that he could see his plan through to the end. Cynthia Milbank needed to be dealt with, and then his father. Alex was instrumental only within the framework of those plans. Benedict couldn’t let himself forget that.
“You have to admit,” Alex remarked. “We’re still good together. Always have been.”
Benedict turned to find Alex composed, his clothes straightened and his expression placid—though his color was high and his eyes bright.
Benedict raised an eyebrow. “I’m good with all my lovers. It’s my job, after all.”
He had meant the remark as another barb, a defense against the truths Alex was forcing him to confront. But Alex had the most curious reaction. Instead of growing cross, he simply approached Benedict with a sly grin, reaching out to adjust his rumpled cravat.
“I’m glad your lovers have enjoyed your skilled attentions,” he purred, leaning so close that his lips brushed Benedict’s. “It is good to know you’ve put all the things I taught you to good use.”
With that, he pressed an abrupt, punctuated kiss to Benedict’s lips before turning to exit the room without a look back—leaving Benedict with a hot face and a jaw dropped in stunned disbelief.
Chapter 7
“It would seem the Earl of V’s visit to London is coming to an abrupt end. Apparently, the excitement of London does not compare to the serenity of the Kent countryside. Will he return for the start of the Season? With no countess or heir, the earl must soon set his mind to fulfilling his duty as a peer of the realm. Time will tell, I suppose.”
-The London Gossip, 28 January 1820
Benedict woke the next morning with a splitting headache and a foul disposition. He and Alex had returned hours after midnight, and Benedict spent what was left of the night tossing and turning, his mind refusing to allow him rest. When he wasn’t turning over the events of the evening with Alex in his thoughts, he ruminated over the preparations he’d made for the impending journey to Kent.
On the afternoon that he and Alex had agreed on the terms of their arrangement, Benedict paid a visit to Madame Hershaw’s dress shop in Cavendish Square. Taking care to use a hat and muffler to conceal his identity, he entered through a door off the back alley, coming upon the modiste as she exited her office. The woman burst into tears at the sight of Benedict, blubbering apologies between hiccups and sobs.
“It’s all right,” he crooned, pulling her into his arms and patting her quivering back. “You had no choice. I don’t blame you.”
“That venomous shrew of a woman!” Madame Hershaw wailed, pounding a tiny fist against his chest. “She threatened me and my girls. This shop is our livelihood, Mr. Sterling. We’d all starve without it.”
“I know. Don’t worry about it a moment longer. The Gossip and I have been in touch and are coming to an agreement. We’ll all be safe soon enough. I simply need you and your girls to continue as if nothing has happened. Can you do that?”
Madame Hershaw nodded, accepting his handkerchief and using it to mop at her reddened cheeks. “I’m so sorry. All I ever wanted was to help you.”
“And you did,” Benedict assured her. “I’m the one who brought that woman’s wrath down upon us all. So, I must be the one to fix it.”
Once the modiste had been comforted and calmed, he left the shop, then paid final visits to Aubrey, Celeste, and Millicent. His friends had assured him they had matters in London under control. Millicent and her contacts would keep a close eye on Cynthia Milbank and write to him at Alex’s estate if she seemed up to anything more unscrupulous than usual. Aubrey would work with Lyons to ensure their friends and the other courtesans were kept calm and discreet, while combing their daily copies of The London Gossip for any hint that Cynthia was making a move against them.
His final order of business had been to visit the Milbank residence. Cynthia’s father had left town on business, leaving her in the company of a spinster aunt. The old woman suffered from unreliable hearing and rheumatic eyes, so she heard none of their conversation as Cynthia guided him to the corner of a drawing room.
“Well?” she prodded. “Have you already come to a decision regarding my offer?”
“I have,” Benedict replied. “I will pay you, but I’ll need one month to produce the money. Do you think you could exercise patience long enough for me to do that?”
He hated to bow to her demands, but that she had uncovered his most damning secret changed everything. Each of them held the power to destroy the other—but Benedict knew as well as Cynthia did that both secrets
would prove more detrimental to him than her. Even if everyone believed that Cynthia had assaulted his person, no one would think of him as a hapless victim. Benedict would be painted as an effeminate weakling, and once Cynthia ensured the entire beau monde knew of his proclivities, he’d be known as a sodomite as well. As well, he had his friends to think of. The money would silence talk of them and their families, not just Benedict himself. He would never forgive himself if he gambled with their lives and lost. For now, bowing to blackmail seemed his only option.
If there was a way out of this conundrum, Benedict hadn’t found it yet. Asking Cynthia for time to procure the money gave him room to think and plan. If there was a way, Benedict would find it.
Cynthia’s cat-like smile made his blood run cold, her signature scent agitating his nostrils. Nausea roiled in his gut and his head spun, but he maintained his outward composure.
“I’ve waited this long to see you receive your comeuppance,” she murmured. “I am certainly patient enough to wait for this.”
“Good. In the meantime, my names and those of any man previously or currently in my employ are to be kept out of your paper. I am leaving London for a short time, but will be kept apprised of your writings. Should I find a single sly mention of anyone associated with me, the deal is off. That includes Lady Browning and Lady Dane, as well as Madame Hershaw and her girls.”
Cynthia puckered her lips in distaste. “The London Gossip is my livelihood. It cannot survive without the lifeblood of rumor that maintains it.”
“This city is filled with any number of scandalous people you can use as fodder for your columns. I daresay you will never be short on titillating material.”
Chasing Benedict (The Gentleman Courtesans Book 5) Page 13