So he was here. Gabriel looked at the woman with wide eyes, racking his brains for anything that could approximate a correct question.
Perhaps honesty was the best policy. “Is...is this the Society of Beasts?”
The woman’s gaze hardened. “An incorrect question, sir.” She carefully laid the half-finished hat on a nearby shelf. “You have two more opportunities to ask the correct one.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Oh, dear.” The woman reached under a pile of assorted bird feathers; Gabriel stepped backward, alarmed, as she pointed a small pearl-handled pistol straight at his heart. “I’m afraid that counts as a second question. We like to be precise.”
Gabriel held up his hands, looking around for Edward with increasing panic. How had he not prepared him for this? There had been no discussion of questions, had there?
The carriage conversation crept back into his brain, along with a mixture of admiration and extreme annoyance.
“All right.” He closed his eyes, smiling slightly, still half expecting a shot to be fired. I’ll kill you for this, Caddonfell. “Who recently scandalised all respectable members of the ton by riding astride through Vauxhall Gardens?”
“Ah. A guest of His Grace the Duke of Caddonfell, I see.” The woman was quietly sewing again as Gabriel opened his eyes. The pistol had vanished completely. “The answer is Lady Throckmorton. And I suggest you pick up the violet hat with the jay feather trim.”
Gabriel opened his mouth, ready to ask again, before he thought of the pistol. Instead he bowed to the woman, who gave no sign of having seen, before turning to the wall of hats.
A violet hat with jay feather trim? There was more than one purple hat on the wall, and all of them appeared to be feathered. Gabriel reached out a hand to one before deciding no, it was simply too mauve. He didn’t want to be shot in the back, after all.
With a wince, he picked up his chosen hat. With a well-oiled swing, the entire wall of hats opened inward in a single, silent glide, revealing a glittering corridor.
Gabriel looked back at the woman, who was still sewing in determined silence. “Were...were you really going to shoot me if I didn’t ask the correct question? What sort of person does that?”
“A well-paid one.” The woman looked up again, her gaze cool, her smile positively icy. “Now leave. Your host is waiting.”
“Host?” Gabriel turned, nonplussed—and looked straight into Edward’s eyes. Edward, at the end of the corridor, leaning casually against an enormous gilded picture frame as if he’d just woken up from a nap.
“Come on.” Edward winked. “Lots to see. Couldn’t you have chosen something slightly less muddy to wear?”
Chapter Thirty-Two
Edward slipped his hand through the crook of Gabriel’s arm as they walked down the corridor. Gabriel tensed at the unexpected contact, reflexively turning to make sure no one could see them, before realising that he was in one of the only places in England where such contact would go completely unnoticed.
He watched Edward out of the corner of his eye, not wanting to sully the moment with words. The young duke was...different, here in the palatial environs of the club he’d built. There was none of the awkwardness, the diffidence, that seemed to cling to him in Hardcote. He walked differently—prowled, almost. The cocky, confident gait of a lion.
A laughing lion. Gabriel guiltily recalled why they were here. A few more minutes of London Edward beside him, practically glowing with metropolitan charisma, and he would have trouble recalling his own name.
“I’ve sent Ginger off to pilfer all the cakes in the bakery that he can carry. I’ve never seen a boy in such desperate need of sugar.” Edward smiled at Gabriel’s questioning look. “Yes, we have a bakery here. And a fencing school, a sculpture gallery, a splendid rose garden... I’m sure there’s a Turkish bath, somewhere, but I can’t say I’ve ever managed to find it.” He led Gabriel down the corridor, turning left at a magnificent flower display. “Alas, the record-keeping room is considerably less exciting. And it will almost certainly be empty.”
He opened a handsome mahogany door, leading Gabriel into a circular room stacked high with bookshelves. A soft golden light streamed through the intricately panelled glass roof, illuminating an occasional speck of dust.
Gabriel breathed in the warm, comforting smell of beeswax and books as Edward locked the door, noting the bronze animal heads that stood at the top of each bookshelf. A sable, a bear, a wolf...and a lion.
“The original founders. Founded many years ago, this place—we were all so angry, and so rich, and so ready.” Edward laughed as he slipped the key into his waistcoat pocket. “I’m the lion, of course—but in public life, such as it is, the names can be used interchangeably to ensure secrecy. And to ensure that the bills arrive at the correct place.” Edward looked up at the busts, a smile of quiet pride on his face. “Unfortunately, it means that looking for ancient, incriminating evidence connecting one of my Beasts to Sussex is going to be a job and a half.”
“I don’t wish to speak out of turn.” Gabriel looked up to take in the ornate splendour of the glass ceiling. “Please, tell me if it’s an unacceptable question, but—”
“But how on earth do I afford all this?” Edward laughed lightly at Gabriel’s obvious discomfort, and Gabriel relaxed a little. “My father was as aggressive a speculator as he was a household head. I’d say his financial shows of force were considerably more successful than his domestic ones.”
“I would have thought your father would turn his nose up at any kind of trade.” Gabriel reached out to touch the gilt edge of a bookshelf, before thinking better of it. “Not something a true gentleman would indulge in, surely?”
“The only thing my father loved more than blood was money.” Edward’s voice had acquired a harsh, sarcastic tone. “He would never speak of it in company, and certainly never to us. But after his death we discovered vast amounts of wealth acquired through both investment and trade.”
“Trade in what? Cotton? Spices?” Gabriel gingerly sat down on a richly embroidered sofa that sat in the centre of the room, feeling as if years of ingrained dirt would somehow leach into the fine fabric.
“Flesh.” Edward turned away briefly, apparently examining a row of books, but Gabriel knew he was marshalling whatever internal forces he possessed. “Slaves.”
“I see.” Gabriel shivered. He remembered Mr. Welton’s denouncing of the barbaric trade, from the pulpit and in private. “And...do you...”
“Of course not.” Edward turned back to Gabriel, his face a mixture of shock and hurt. “We sold off everything connected to it. The only thing the Stanhope family trades now is money for more money—which Maurice insists on explaining using those exact words. But the blood money remains. The most bountiful crops grow on blood and bone, and so it has been with us.” He shook his head, his voice weary. “So many freedoms purchased, so many abolitionist causes funded, but the guilt will never go.”
“It was your father’s sin. Not yours.”
“Of course. But the shadow doesn’t lift.” Edward looked around the room, a hard glint of triumph in his eyes. “It vanishes briefly when I do the usual things—widows and orphans, feeding the hungry. I can’t count what we have given, Maurice and I, to causes that attempt to overthrow the disgusting trade that brought us such astounding wealth. And...and there is some special satisfaction in creating a small earthly paradise for degenerates like me. Men my father would have refused to look at. Every time I acquire another painting, or commission a new glasshouse, I imagine his apoplectic face.”
Gabriel smiled. How very... Edward to do something like this. A seeming display of ego that turned out to be something very different. He looked at the books, the ceiling, with new eyes. “How many Society members are there?”
“Apart from the four founder members? Twenty or so. Growing every year. Sm
all, and exclusive—and secret.” Edward raised an eyebrow. “The membership requirements are stringent. Aristocracy or high gentry, notable for either great wealth or great feats of heroism. Or saving the life of a founder member.”
“That is a small list.” Gabriel briefly rifled through a mental list of men he’d read about in the papers. “So if I was to mention a name...”
“... I would tell you that a little curiosity is a very dangerous thing.” Edward smiled. “No doubt you’ll meet them in time.”
In time. Gabriel hurriedly focused on the bookshelf again, all too aware that this was the first time Edward had even vaguely mentioned a future that included him. That included them, whatever that was, whatever it would mean.
He should ask. He should at least...confirm. But whatever words he thought of, whatever seemingly innocent question, opened up a world of awkward confusion that he wouldn’t be able to bear.
Did Edward think they could just...continue, like this? Hidden in shadow, putting each other in danger, while Hardcote vicarage was left practically unmanned?
This type of thinking led to dangerous places—and it certainly didn’t lead to a solved mystery, or salvation for Edward. Gabriel jumped off of the sofa as if it had scalded him, eyeing the luxurious fabric with more than a little distrust as he rolled up his shirtsleeves.
“Well then. Let’s start searching.” He spoke a little more gruffly than usual; Edward eyed him quizzically. “Although I don’t see why he wouldn’t have simply burned something incriminating. Or kept it at home.”
“You clearly didn’t grow up with Maurice as a sibling.” Edward rolled up his sleeves, grinning. “Never throw away anything that demonstrates someone else’s wrongdoing. That receipt is as damaging to Sussex as it is to whoever did his dirty work—you can bet it wasn’t written without a few incriminating assurances. And as for keeping things at home...here is much, much safer than any home. No prying visitors...no servants who don’t share the same proclivities. And, of course, the loyalty of one’s fellow Beasts.” His smile faltered. “At least, I thought.”
“You don’t think it’s true.” Gabriel tried to speak gently. “You don’t think we’ll find anything.”
“No. I hope—and hope is a very different thing.” The sadness in Edward’s eyes moved Gabriel. “If I thought that, we wouldn’t search. Because I hope it, we have to search through every scrap of paper in this room.”
* * *
Edward said the words with much more conviction than he felt. The idea that one of the founders—one of the men with whom he’d shared so very much—had been involved with a man who was actively trying to kill him was disconcerting, to say the least. It left him feeling lost, in the place that had been his chosen home for much of his adult life.
Gabriel being beside him helped even more than he’d imagined. An air of calm clung to the man, giving everything around him a deep stillness. With his patience, and his diligence, searching through the piles of papers felt achievable.
Almost anything felt achievable. How on earth had he managed to get things done without him?
Without planning or debate, they each took the bookshelf farthest away from the other, Gabriel at the sable, Edward at the lion. In a companionable silence, the only sound the quiet rustle of papers, they commenced their search.
It was...pleasant. It became more pleasant with every innocent piece of paper Edward triumphantly discarded. When he took in the sight of Gabriel working, sneaking glances at the man’s tensed thighs as he leaned up to put papers back, it became almost too pleasant.
Good God. Edward looked down, rolling his eyes at how exasperating his own body could be. He was as hard as a rock, with no sign of the condition abating.
If there was ever a wrong moment...but then the kitchen hadn’t exactly been the right moment, and that had been spectacular. And now he and Gabriel were here in his stronghold, his self-built palace of pleasure—with only two more bookshelves remaining before they met.
He made sure to check every item on the remaining shelves with particular care; the waiting only heightened his pleasure. Waiting may have been hell at Hardcote, but here, with Gabriel inching closer minute by minute, it was practically an aphrodisiac.
Well. An aphrodisiac up to a point. By the time Gabriel was halfway through the wolf shelf, Edward was more than ready to stop him. Yes, he was running away again, losing himself in pleasure rather than confronting life’s slings and arrows...
Funny, though, that wherever he ran to, Gabriel always seemed to be at the end of the road.
Casually glancing through a bundle of creased documents, all too aware of how Gabriel’s clean, soaped scent was sending his mind off at a gallop, he finally broke. Gently, firmly putting his hands on Gabriel’s shoulders, turning him around, he pressed him up against the bookshelf with barely concealed frustration.
“This is the first place I’ve never had to worry about people seeing us.” Gabriel’s smile was slow, innocent, and utterly seductive. “No one would ever know we were here.”
“How accurate. How...inspiring.” The feeling of Gabriel’s thighs pressed solidly against his own was crowding out all finer sentiments. “How infinitely exploitable.”
“I don’t know. This doesn’t seem like your prefer—preferred location.” Edward smiled at the hitch in Gabriel’s voice, his hands sliding slowly inside the man’s waistcoat. “Should I throw an egg at you?”
“You’re right. I am having to force myself.” Edward chuckled as he moved his hands lower, finding a welcome bulge in Gabriel’s breeches. “But circumstances change. One can only adapt.”
“Perhaps we could find a discarded apple? A coffee stain? Something to make you feel a little more inclined?”
“Absolutely not.” Edward gently squeezed Gabriel’s growing manhood. “I’m far too busy here. Let me manfully try and overcome it.”
“If this is what happens when you try...perhaps some arrangement could be made.” Gabriel bit back a moan, then laughed. “I’m still used to trying to keep quiet.”
“Stop trying.” The idea of Gabriel’s uninhibited moans crowded out all other thought. “Please.”
Before Gabriel could speak again, Edward pulled his mouth to his.
Bliss. That’s what it always was; that was what rose like a tide in him at the first touch of Gabriel’s lips, the first teasing, delicate flash of his tongue against Edward’s own. It was never enough—could never be enough. He sank gratefully into the kiss, giving as much of himself as he could, knowing that Gabriel would more than repay him.
Every sigh, every small sound of pleasure, settled softly into the book-lined walls as he took his fill. He deepened the kiss by degrees, thrilling with every involuntary thrust of Gabriel’s hips against his own, using every ounce of knowledge and skill he possessed to bring him to a fever pitch.
This was what it was all for, those wasted nights, those faceless men. He could lay it all at Gabriel’s feet, like an offering, using it all for his pleasure.
“Touch me.” Gabriel’s hand gripped Edward’s breeches, pleading and shameless. “Please.”
“Only touch? Such a lack of ambition.” Edward tugged at Gabriel’s breeches with hasty fingers, roughly pulling them down. He sighed with pleasure as Gabriel’s rigid cock filled his hand, thick and taut with need. “I’ve got other plans for you.” He ran his fingers along Gabriel’s shaft, revelling in Gabriel’s answering moan. “Just you wait.” He stroked the man’s cock, wishing he had more time to linger, kneeling down inch by inch as Gabriel gasped under his touch.
“Please.” Gabriel’s lust-filled plea was the best kind of sound. “Please.”
“There’s no pleasure in doing something rushed, is there?” Edward breathed gently on the tip of Gabriel’s cock, smiling as Gabriel’s hips strained upward. “Weren’t you lecturing me on the importance of taking my time, at some point
over this bloody awful week?”
“Never bloody listen to me again. I don’t know what the—ah!—what the hell I’m talking about.”
“So much profanity for a vicar, and not enough for a rake.” Edward licked along Gabriel’s shaft, taking in the sheer size of him. “I... I did tell you that I haven’t done this particular thing very much?”
Gabriel lifted his head, concern in his heavy-lidded eyes. “Do you not want to?”
“I do.” Edward tripped over his words; God forbid Gabriel thought he didn’t want this. “But... I’m normally good at everything I do. Perfect, even. I mean, I’m very good at the things I’ve done many times over, but...”
Before he could move away, Gabriel leaned down. He pulled Edward into his arms, flushed, brimming with strength. Edward searched greedily for his lips, needing Gabriel’s solidity, his certainty.
“All right.” Gabriel’s murmur went deep into Edward’s core. “But...but we’re here together, aren’t we? We always were.” His voice trembled a little. “No matter what you do. No matter how wrong it goes. We’re here together.”
Together. The words felt like a sacrament, changing Edward as he let them settle in his heart.
His knees thumped against the polished floorboards as he knelt fully. It was true that he’d never been enamoured with this particular act before—he’d taken it, of course, with pleasure, but never found much point in doing it. But with Gabriel it was a craving. He needed to taste him, to give him all the pleasure of his mouth—lack of technique be damned.
He greedily took Gabriel’s cock, sinking it to the back of his throat, fighting his reflex to cough as he took as much of him as possible. Gabriel’s loud, sudden moans, his muttered expletives, were music to him. Edward didn’t want to draw it out, didn’t want to tease him, given all the teasing he’d been doing over the previous week. Fast, and hard, and so blindingly good his knees would buckle—that’s what he wanted for Gabriel. A draught of pure sin, in a life of sacrifice.
The Vicar and the Rake (Society of Beasts) Page 15