Ravensburg was a real bore, but he never came to town before parliament started. “Ah, you haven’t procured a townhouse yet.” Colton shoved Tarren’s feet.
They hit the floor with a thud, and Tarren sat up, glaring.
Dalton put his foot on the table next to Colton and rested his arms across his raised thigh. “No. I want to do that while I’m here, as well as look for a horse. Which is why I came looking for you, cousin.”
“Wish I could have a townhouse of my own.” Trouble pouted and hooked a finger in his cravat, pulling it out from his neck.
Dalton was unmarried and underage by Regelence law—he was only twenty-two years old—but he did what he wanted regardless of the rules of propriety. Ravensburg couldn’t control him, and Cony and Father didn’t try…much. Nate, however, could keep Trouble in line, so he would not be getting a townhouse.
Colton leaned back on his hands and looked up at Dalton. “You cannot have my horse. Sorry.”
Dalton’s grin widened. “I want you to help me pick one. I heard from Gareth Fareweather that Lord Rycroft will have a particularly fetching gelding up for auction at Tattersalls tomorrow. I’d appreciate your opinion.”
How splendid was it that the whole family came to him on matters involving horses? It reaffirmed that he’d made the right career choice.
Colton smiled. “Wait. You know Gareth Fareweather?” Fareweather’s father owned one of the best racing studs in Moreal. Fareweather would be a wonderful source of information, and he knew everyone who was anyone in the racing world. This could be Colton’s in. What if he could gain acceptance before he actually finished building his stables?
“Yes. Why?”
“You’ve got to introduce me to him.”
Dalton’s brow furrowed. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea. He’s not the sort you should be acquainted with.”
Great. Now Dalton decided to have morals? A few months before Dalton joined the navy he had participated in a duel over a tryst with a married man.
“I’m acquainted with you.”
“That’s different. We’re kin. Fareweather is a gambler, and he drinks entirely too much. I cannot in good conscience allow you to be in the company of a man of his ilk.”
A smile tugged at Tarren’s lips. “You could always teach us about men of that ilk.”
Trouble waggled his eyebrows. “I’m in. I love learning about men of that ilk. The Lady Anna was full of them.”
Dalton groaned. “No. All three of you need to stay away from men like that.” He pointed at Trouble. “Not only would Rexley throttle me, but you’ve no need of the information because Rexley is most definitely not a rake.” He gave Colton and Tarren a pointed look. “Uncle Raleigh and Uncle Steven would disown me.” Dalton bobbed his head for emphasis to show he meant business.
Colton rolled his eyes at the perfidy of it all. “You’ve a warped sense of ethics, cousin. And if you want my help choosing a mount, you have to introduce me to Fareweather.”
“Nice,” Trouble mumbled. He coughed into his hand but couldn’t disguise the mirth.
Dalton sighed. “I do admire a man willing to blackmail to get what he wants. Why’s this so important to you?”
“I’m going to start a racing stud. I need connections.”
“Very well. I’ll make the introductions at the ball tonight. But—” He straightened and held up a finger. “You must promise me not to be alone with Fareweather or any of his friends.”
Colton did his best to rein in his excitement. “I promise.”
“And you’ll go with me to Tattersalls on the morrow,” Dalton affirmed.
“I will.”
“What if one of us needed to know about rakes?” Tarren smiled sweetly.
Standing, Dalton picked up his cover and looked from one to the other then at Trouble. “How so?”
“If say…” Tarren cut his gaze to Colton and smiled bigger, “…one of us was being pursued by a rakehell, would you give us lessons then?”
Oh grand. Seeing exactly where this was going, Colton glared at his younger brother. Don’t you dare say anything about that stupid kiss. He kicked his sibling in the shin. “Oops. Foot slipped.”
“Dust for brains.” Tarren clutched his leg, pulling it up on to the sofa. “I just wanted to know for research.”
“For what?” Trouble blurted. “Are you planning on being courted by a rogue?”
“Maybe.” Rubbing his leg, Tarren pooched out his bottom lip.
Dalton held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not telling you anything.” To Colton he said, “I’m going with all of you tonight to the Hampton’s ball. Fareweather should be there.” Shaking his head and chuckling, Dalton left the room.
That had worked out splendidly, except… Colton pointed at Tarren. “No telling about the kiss. It’s over, and I want to forget it. It didn’t mean anything.”
“Or what?” Tarren dropped his foot to the floor.
Trouble came to his rescue. “Or he’ll tell you brought another puppy into the house.”
“That’s no fair. I wasn’t going to tell.” Tarren crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, are you sure he only kissed you to distract you? It doesn’t sound like something he’d do. I read this romance last month where the hero had been pining away for the other hero for years, and one day—wham—he just kissed him, like—”
Groaning, Colton held a hand up. He’d thought they were past this. “Sebastian Hastings is not pining away for me. And romance novels are not real.”
“Yes.” Tarren held up a finger. “But what if…?”
Trouble scooted closer to the edge of the sofa until his knees were touching Colton’s. “I hate to say this, but suppose Tarren is right? Maybe you shouldn’t give up on Wentworth so fast.”
Colton sputtered and clamped his mouth shut. It didn’t matter. Any of it. He had his horses and his plans. If he never had Sebastian Hastings, well, he could live with that. And sooner or later, if he repeated it enough, his heart might start to believe it too.
Chapter Four
The Silver Swan gaming hell, downtown Classige, Pruluce.
Bugger. He was late.
Sebastian snapped his pocket watch shut and crammed it back into the tiny pocket on his waistcoat. With any luck, Rourke would still be waiting on him. He was supposed to meet his friend at half past nine. It was already half past ten. He’d gotten caught up at the castle working on tomorrow’s schedule. Today had started out bad and only gotten worse.
He glanced up at the gaming hell sign swinging back and forth on its chains as he walked past it. The Silver Swan was such an innocuous name for a place swarming in sin. No one would guess the debauchery going on inside the unobtrusive red-brick building. The place had a bit of everything.
Nodding to Billy, the doorman, Sebastian hurried up the stoop. The door opened, and the warm musty smell of bodies, whiskey and cigar smoke drifted outside. A quiet hum of voices mixed with a melodious strain of some classical piece of music. Raucous laughter rang out. Ah, the scents and sounds of decadence. Sebastian smiled and stepped inside. Maybe all of today wouldn’t be a bust.
The club was comfortable and elegant with jewel tones and dark woods, catering to the ton, high-ranking military officers and the rich. There was gaming, drinking and sex. The patrons consisted of men and women. Several of the club’s courtesans mingled among the crowd, and upstairs private rooms were available to let. This was a place fortunes were won and lost, marriages made and dissolved, and alliances were forged either over drinks or through blackmail. It was a place Sebastian felt at home in.
Taking a deep breath, he tilted his head side to side and exhaled. He un-fisted his hands and relaxed his shoulders. He glanced toward the dealer-run gaming tables and recognized some of the players. A couple of seats stood empty at the hazard table, but he’d always preferred a quiet game among peers.
Catching a passing footman, Sebastian ordered a drink and headed toward the back of the club where the bil
liard tables were located. If Rourke was still here, he’d be in the back. That was where he and Sebastian went when they came to this particular haunt.
Leaving the carpeted area, he pushed aside heavy velvet curtains leading into the private section for members only.
The lights were dimmer, and the smoke hung in the air, giving it a sultry appeal. The sounds from the public room were muted, replaced with balls clacking together and more distinct voices rather than a continuous drone.
As he approached the back, something hit him in the thigh and thudded to the hardwood floor behind him. It hadn’t hurt really, but he’d certainly felt it. Turning, Sebastian looked down.
A white cue ball rolled toward the dark green curtains he’d just come through.
He scooped up the ball and nearly landed on his arse when someone plowed him over. “Bloody he—” Sebastian’s curse froze in his throat as he saw the imbecile who had bumped into him. Viscount Leith.
Their paths had not crossed in over twenty years, not since the day of Sebastian’s mother’s funeral. Even after all these years, the viscount rubbed Sebastian the wrong way.
“Beg your—” Leith looked up finally, laying eyes on Sebastian. His piercing midnight eyes widened. “Sebastian?” He touched his forehead for a brief moment and dropped his hand.
“Leith.” Sebastian stepped around the viscount and rolled his head on his shoulders. He was not going to let that pompous arse ruin his evening. Their history didn’t lend itself to politeness. Or even acknowledgment, for that matter. Bugger, his heart felt as though it were going to pound out of his chest.
There were six tables from left to right, all surrounded by plush fabric sofas and winged chairs. And all occupied. The weight of Leith’s stare pushed against his back, or so he imagined, but he would not turn to see if the man was still there.
Barnaby Plume, Leith’s heir, stormed past Sebastian toward the curtain, but Sebastian didn’t turn around.
A familiar, tall gangly man waved from the fourth table. “Oh, I say, sorry about the cue ball, Wentworth.” Lord Eastbrooke raised his cue stick upright and lifted his lips in a crooked smile. “Would you like to join us?”
Us consisted of Viscount Eastbrooke, the Earl of Ardingley and Lord Thaddeus. Eastbrooke and Ardingley belonged to several of the same clubs as Sebastian. Lord Thaddeus Deveroux was the youngest son of the Marquis of Moxborough. He and Sebastian had partied together on several occasions and sparred in the boxing ring once or twice. Deveroux was a nice fellow and a damned good boxer. They would not have been Sebastian’s first choice of companions, but under the circumstances he hurried to join them.
To the left of Eastbrooke, at the side pocket of the billiard table, two handsome half-dressed courtesans were trying to devour one another. One was blond and the other a brunet. The blond held the brunet’s leg hiked up on his hip and a handful of hair. What a lovely picture they made.
Another dark-headed courtesan perched on Deveroux’s lap. His hair was darker than the other brunet’s, and he too was shirtless.
Sebastian tossed the ball to Eastbrooke. “I’m looking for Knighton. Have you seen him?” It was still odd to think of Rourke as Knighton. He’d only been the younger son of a duke when they were in the RSR together.
Deveroux trailed a hand over the backside of the man in his lap. “He was here earlier. Said something about a rout tonight.”
Blast. It figured. Rourke had never been known for his patience.
“How do you know Leith?” Ardingley asked. “I didn’t think you attended parliament. With the exception of tonight, the House of Lords is the only place I’ve ever seen the man.”
Damnation. Sebastian did not want to think about his past, much less discuss it. He shrugged. “I don’t. My mother used to work for Leith.” Sebastian barely contained a snort. So did he, until the bastard kicked him out.
“Right, right. Forgot you were born a commoner.” There was no censure in Ardingley’s tone, only realization of a fact. He was a good sort.
Sebastian dipped his head in thanks.
“You missed the excitement. Leith just had it out with his son.” Deveroux smirked. “Put on quite a show, they did.”
“Sorry I missed it,” Sebastian mumbled. Actually, he wished he’d missed all of it.
The two courtesans standing began to topple over onto the table, and Ardingley caught them. “None of that, now. It’ll mess up the game.” With a stick in one hand and the brunet’s arm in the other, Ardingley chuckled.
“We’re playing a game of distraction.” Eastbrooke rounded the table. “Come join us.”
Sebastian really should go, but what the hell. He needed to unwind after his encounter with the man who had put him on the streets. “Distraction?”
Deveroux chuckled. It was a lazy, silky sound that went perfectly with his dark good looks. “Let’s show him,” he whispered to the man on his lap.
The pretty brunet smiled and stood up.
To Ardingley, Deveroux said, “I believe it’s your turn, old man.”
Ardingley groaned and narrowed his eyes at the brunet. He trudged over to Eastbrooke and snatched the ball from him.
The brunet winked and glanced back at Deveroux.
Deveroux nodded. “Go ahead, Peregrine.” He grinned at Wentworth. “Come have a seat. You’ll like this game.”
Sebastian sat next to Deveroux on the sofa, crossed one foot over his thigh and sipped his brandy. There was only one party tonight, so he’d catch up with Rourke later.
“You two, Hector, Francis, come over here,” Deveroux commanded of the other two courtesans.
Like obedient puppies, they bounded to the sofa. The brunet knelt beside Deveroux and nuzzled the outside of his thigh. The blond stopped in front of Sebastian. “May I sit with you, my lord?”
Sebastian held out his hand toward the other side of the sofa.
The blond smiled and scooted in close to Sebastian’s side. “I’m Hector.” He trailed a finger down the front of Sebastian’s cravat. Peering up from under the fall of bangs and ridiculously long lashes, Hector licked his lips. He was petite. What some would call boyish, but he appeared to be in his mid-twenties. His straight wheat-colored hair fell over his eyes. The coy act worked with his size. It screamed coddle me. Maybe Sebastian was jaded, but his last three paramours had perfected that look.
Sebastian uncrossed his legs and pulled Hector closer.
Chuckling, Hector climbed onto Sebastian’s lap. He continued to finger Sebastian’s cravat and waistcoat. He fit nicely with his face on an even level with Sebastian’s, but something was wrong. There was no frisson of excitement. No lust whatsoever.
“Wentworth, watch this.” Eastbrooke came over and leaned against the side of the sofa with his stick out to his side. He dipped his head toward Ardingley. “A hundred pounds says you miss this shot.”
As Hector blew in Sebastian’s ear, he rubbed his palm softly over Sebastian’s testicles.
Sebastian’s shoulders tensed, and the same irritability he’d felt most of the day seeped back into him. He caught Hector’s hand and moved it to his chest. “Watch.”
“Oh, I know this game, my lord.” Hector pouted. The simpering prickled at Sebastian. What was wrong with him? He had a handsome, experienced and willing partner on his lap, but he wasn’t the least bit interested.
Peregrine slinked around Ardingley, dragging his hands all over the earl. Peregrine was a beautiful man. He was tall, lean and muscled. He wound himself around the earl like a vine and leaned against the table next to Ardingley. The black trousers pulled taut across his backside, emphasizing his thickly muscled legs and buttocks. He palmed his crotch and glanced up at Ardingley.
Sebastian stared, riveted. Why did this young man spark his interest when the willing, eager man on his lap did not?
Ardingley cleared his throat, blinked and focused. “You’re going to lose, Eastbrooke.”
Purring, Peregrine unfastened his trousers and slid his hand inside. He
tilted his head back and groaned as his hand moved up and down on his cock. When he turned his head toward the sofa, his gaze was unfocused.
Ardingley moaned.
Blinking, Peregrine seemed to snap out of his daze. The corner of his mouth twitched, and his eyes sparkled. The expression was familiar.
It made Sebastian ache. His stomach stirred with the first signs of arousal. Where had he seen that expression? He was certain he’d never met the young courtesan before, but— Sebastian gasped. Peregrine resembled Colton. Their size, frame, hairstyles and their coloring were similar.
Ignoring Hector’s inquisitive glance, Sebastian closed his eyes. The image of Peregrine was replaced with Colton. Colton standing there stroking his cock with that same look of triumph. He’d seen it on the prince’s face many times throughout the years. Sebastian’s balls tightened, and his cock hardened. Bloody hell.
Crack.
Sebastian snapped his eyes open.
The earl straightened up from taking his shot. The ball dropped into the pocket, and he pointed his cue at Eastbrooke. “You owe me a hundred pounds.”
“Take your next shot, Ardingley. If you make this one, I’ll give you a hundred pounds too.” Deveroux leaned forward and whispered something to the courtesan at his feet. “If you don’t, you owe me the hundred you just won from Eastbrooke and another hundred on top of that.”
“Deal.” The earl hurried to line up his shot as Colton—no, not Colton, Peregrine—continued his slow seduction.
“Ah-ah. None of that. You know the rules. Go, Francis, tell Peregrine what I have in mind.” Deveroux nudged the brown-headed man’s shoulder.
Francis slinked across the floor and whispered something in Peregrine’s ear.
A beatific smile lit Peregrine’s face. His top lip curled higher on the left side. Colton’s smile was even…perfect. Without pulling away from Francis, Peregrine sat on the edge of the table. He looked just like Colton when he was about to get into mischief. Galaxy, when had Sebastian cataloged Colton’s moods?
Sweat beaded on Sebastian’s upper lip and forehead. Now that he’d realized the similarities between the prince and Peregrine, he couldn’t un-see it. Galaxy be damned, he could not deny his overwhelming lust for Colton. He’d been attracted to him for some time, but that kiss this afternoon had intensified those feelings. Sebastian’s pulse pounded in his ears.
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