Deverell turned from the window, his gaze landing on Aiden before he could look away. One side of the older man’s lips turned up in a smile and Aiden’s heart nearly pounded through his chest. He’d seen many stunning men in his short life, he’d even drawn most of them, but the earl mesmerized him.
Aiden’s stomach fluttered and his prick filled with blood. Shifting, he tried to conceal his problem and make it go away at once.
Nathaniel arched a dark brow.
For several seconds they stared at each other. The heat of the man’s gaze did nothing to calm the thundering heartbeat in Aiden’s ears or his throbbing prick.
“Dance cards. Try not to lose them,” Father announced, holding up the pocket-sized thumb scanners.
Tearing his gaze from Nathaniel’s, Aiden joined his brothers in the chorus of groans.
Not long after Father passed out the cursed cards, the lift pulled in front of the Duke of Keithman’s downtown Classige mansion. With a last admonishment to behave from Father, they all exited the coach. Thankfully, the reminder of where they were going squelched his body’s reaction to the earl.
After getting out of the coach, Aiden followed Payton absently, contemplating possible scenarios to get Nat—Deverell alone. He needed to speak with Deverell long enough to ask for his silence regarding the tree incident. And maybe he could think of a way to find out what the man was doing here and what was stolen from the castle.
Payton looked left and right, tossed his card to the ground, stepped on it—grounding it under his heel—and let out an exaggerated, “Oh dear.”
Having been so caught up in thought, Aiden nearly forgot about the dance card. One of these days Father was going to get tired of replacing the stupid things. A person would think their parent would get the message after the first ten dozen times they’d “lost” their cards. Aiden ascertained that both his parents were too far ahead to notice, took a quick peek to each side and tossed the card over his shoulder. He stepped up next to Payton and peered down at Payton’s smashed dance card. He shook his head. “That’s too bad.”
Payton turned, a hand to his chest, looking positively stricken. “Indeed. Oh well, let’s go inside.” Even Aiden was impressed with the serious expression Payton maintained. If the Townsend boys had inherited anything from their father, it was his flare for acting.
Side by side, he and Payton entered the mansion. Outside the ballroom, they stepped in line behind Tarren and Colton and waited their turn to be announced.
“Excuse me, Lord Aiden?”
Nathaniel. Aiden’s breath caught. He’d forgotten the man was behind them. What could the earl possibly want with him? He turned, noticing three of his siblings, the ones in their immediate vicinity, did the same. “Yes, milord?” Did his voice crack? Aiden’s attention zeroed in on the spot where the man’s snowy white cravat met his charcoal waistcoat, under the black evening coat. Slowly his gaze drifted upward to chestnut eyes. Amazing, he has gold flecks in his eyes.
“Ahem.” Deverell grinned. “I believe you dropped this.” He held out his hand.
Looking down, Aiden nearly groaned when he saw the dance card resting in the older lord’s large, white-gloved hand. Ugh. A glance up assured him Nathaniel knew well and good that Aiden had not dropped the blasted thing.
Nathaniel brought the scanner to his gloved thumb. A red light flashed as the card scanned through the fabric. After it beeped, indicating it had recorded the identity of the person requesting a dance, the older man brought it close to his lips. “The first waltz.” Again, the card beeped, then Nathaniel handed it to Aiden. The entire time the wicked gleam in his eyes challenged Aiden to protest.
Aiden didn’t say a word, he couldn’t, he was too busy concentrating on making his body behave. He could not walk into the ballroom with an erection.
After a slight bow, Nathaniel stepped past Aiden to where Cony was motioning to him.
Tarren bumped Aiden’s shoulder with his own. “I don’t know whether to be jealous or concerned for you.”
Aiden was too stunned to respond. What had just happened? He’d either found his excuse to talk to the man in private or he’d obtained the means to embarrass himself in public.
When it was their turn to be announced, Payton took the card from his hand and ran it under the dance line-up scanner to the left of the ballroom entrance. The light on the black box turned from red to green, indicating that it had registered the line-up on Aiden’s dance card and his list of partners—that consisted of one—on the mansion’s main computer.
Aiden could only watch with his mouth ajar as Payton sealed his fate. Even if he lost the card now, he had at least one dance of the evening promised to another.
Payton handed him the card back. “Be careful, Aiden, that man is dangerous.”
“What?”
“You’re obviously not the only one interested, little brother.”
Bannon Thompson’s dance card landed in the crystal punch bowl with a plop. Aiden bit his lip to keep from laughing as it sank in the sea of red liquid.
“Oh no.” While the men standing around the refreshment table let out refrains of “too bad”, Bannon slapped a hand to his lips. His green eyes twinkled with mirth and his dark auburn hair fell into his eyes as he shook his head. He hid his smile behind his hand, all the while achieving a perfect facsimile of distress.
Aiden had to leave. He was so close to laughing he would give up the game and then Bannon would likely throttle him. Brushing close to his friend, he whispered a, “good one”, before slinking away. That had been truly innovative. He’d never thought to discard dance cards in such a way. Speaking of… His own card still needed to meet its demise or, at the very least, gain its freedom from his person, preferably in a secluded place.
It wasn’t that he was above lying and saying his dances were full or that he had a terrible headache or a bum knee or some such, but his father would undoubtedly ask to see his card afterward to make sure he socialized enough. Thank goodness society deemed a young man properly chaperoned as long as their parents were there. He’d hate to have Christy or Thomas following him around, goading him to dance and flirt. Father and Cony were excellent chaperones. They went about their business, checking to make sure their offspring were still within eyesight on occasion but rarely did they pester their children to mingle more at a soiree. Their own social and political life was way too active for that. Parliament members used parties to further their agendas, and it seemed all of them wanted to discuss those agendas with the King and King-Consort.
Ah, a potted plant. Aiden made his way across the ballroom, getting waylaid several times to talk to acquaintances, but finally he made it to the ficus. He was in luck, the plant was potted in a dark violet hydrogel. It would help conceal the card.
He pulled his handkerchief from the breast pocket of his evening coat, then dug into his inside pocket and palmed his dance card. Pretending to mop the nonexistent perspiration from his brow, he dropped the pristine linen square. “Oops.” Bending to retrieve it, he reached behind him and pushed the card, concealed in his other hand, down into the hydrogel. Yuck. The tips of his fingers sank into the wet, slimy substance. Standing quickly, he wiped his fingers nonchalantly before stuffing the handkerchief back into his pocket. Nothing to see here. Just a man picking up his handkerchief.
“Lord Aiden.”
Aiden nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned to find Lord Chadwick Manchester, the Marquis of Braxton, standing next to him. If it weren’t for the way the man was peering down his nose, with his head slightly elevated, he would be quite handsome. He had a wonderful head of prematurely silver hair, cut short on the sides and longer on the top. His evening dress was in shades of a subdued navy and cream, accentuating his lean frame. He wasn’t as tall as Deverell but he was taller than Aiden’s own five-foot-eight-inches. “Lord Braxton.” Aiden tipped his head.
“I went by the palace the other day to speak to your father.”
“Yes, he infor
med me.” And the answer is no. Aiden smiled.
Braxton raised a brow. “Did he?”
Wasn’t it impolite to speak of marriage to an innocent? Aiden decided it should be. Or maybe he should be thankful that Braxton cared enough to speak with him about it instead of going over his head. No wait, he’d done that first. Before ever mentioning a thing to Aiden, he’d gone to Father. That was another strike against this man. “Yes, milord, he did. And I’m sorry to say I must refuse such a generous offer. I’m afraid we really don’t have much in common.” See me be diplomatic.
Braxton scoffed and waved a dismissive hand. “Of course not. You’re too young to know what you want. As your consort, it will be up to me to teach you my interests and your place in society.”
Why, of all the arrogant… Aiden’s jaw tightened and his fingers flexed. He wondered briefly how much trouble he would get in for planting the pompous arse a facer, then decided the man wasn’t worth his attention, much less his anger. “And that, Lord Braxton, is why we don’t suit. I do know what I want and I will not be molded into something else. Good evening, milord.” Aiden turned to make a hasty retreat but was brought up short by a hand touching his sleeve.
“Forgive me, milord. I didn’t mean to offend. I think rather highly of you and truly wish you would consider my offer further. I believe we’d go well together. It’s rather pleasing to find that you do have a backbone.” Braxton smiled, looking contrite.
Aiden wanted to hang on to being miffed, but Braxton seemed very sincere. “Apology accepted.”
“Good, perhaps you’ll dance with me this evening?”
Not on your life. “I’m sorry, milord. I seem to have misplaced my dance card and I’m not certain what dances are taken.”
Braxton’s smile faltered a bit, but he recovered quickly. “Then another night? I would like to get to know you better.”
“I’m sorry, milord, I still don’t see any point. I want to be an artist, not a consort.”
“You are a beautiful man and should not sully your hands with such menial labor, but as my consort you could dabble in art to your heart’s content. Please, give it some thought.” The man bowed over Aiden’s hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his glove, then turned and walked away.
Aiden stood there for several minutes, aghast. What in the Galaxy was that about?
Someone bumped his shoulder. Rupert Cavendish, Aiden’s friend and fellow artist. “He really is handsome. I’ve always had a preference for light-colored hair.”
Aiden frowned at his blond friend. “Just last week you were gushing about Lord Wesley’s dark good looks.”
“Okay, fine, never let it be said I’m finicky.”
No Rupert wasn’t picky, not when it came to men. He liked any and all. The man was a hopeless romantic.
“Did you lose your card yet? Bannon’s needed a drink apparently. It’s in the bottom of the punch bowl.” Rupert chuckled.
“I saw. I had to leave to keep from laughing.” Aiden grinned. “That definitely wins for originality. Payton’s jumped from his hand and met the bottom of his shoe.”
“And where did yours end up?”
“Plant food.” Aiden pointed to the plant behind them. “Poor thing looks hungry, doesn’t it?”
Rupert’s lips twitched. He composed himself by looking across the ballroom. After a few minutes he waved and smiled. “Is that the earl who’s a guest at the castle?”
Aiden looked where Rupert’s attention was focused and found Deverell across the room staring straight at them.
Chapter Five
Standing off to the side of the ballroom partially hidden by a large potted plant, Nate turned his attention away from Aiden. As much as he hated to admit it, he hadn’t liked seeing the gray-headed gentleman kiss Aiden’s hand. Nor did he want to explore those feelings. And how weird was that to see a man kiss another man’s hand? Nate nursed a tumbler of scotch and waited for the first waltz.
The loud hum of chatter and the beginning notes of the quadrille assaulted his ears. He’d finally escaped the throng of people vying for his attention. It had been a long time since he’d been sought out because of his title. He had no delusions that his status as the guest of the king and the king’s consort didn’t weigh heavily on his popularity as well. However, he didn’t miss the hopeful expression on the faces of matchmaking fathers introducing their offspring to him. Steven wasn’t the only one interested in him as a possible son-in-law. This society was going to take some getting used to.
Watching the swirl of dancers, Nate determined that there were a few women in attendance, and a few of Regelence’s military officers—from both the Navy and Marines and even a handful of IN officers—but most of the assembly was comprised of older lords and their sons. He’d seen men dance together before but never in this type of setting. It would have been disgraceful for men to do something so intimate together on his home planet. He actually liked the idea—he enjoyed dancing and men, so why not mix the two together? Studying the couples gliding around the dance floor, it appeared that the older of the men always led, which was quite a relief because he had no idea how to follow and didn’t relish the thought of tripping over Aiden’s feet and ending up on his ass in the middle of a crowded ballroom.
Turning away from the dance floor, Nate studied the mural behind him. It was similar to some of the paintings he’d seen in Townsend castle. Greek warriors in the midst of battle. There was lots of blood and gore in front of beautiful scenery but that wasn’t what fascinated Nate. The warriors were nude except for shields and helmets. Throughout history there were several bands of warriors who fought nude, but it was surprising to see them depicted where so many virginal young men were present. Although, it made sense in a way. On Englor, female nudes decorated the walls. They were the predominate subject matter in Englorian art. Regelence glorified male beauty and strength and it showed in their artwork. Nate glanced around the ballroom. The white marble columns around the wooden dance floor were carved into picturesque soldiers, all nude. Even the dome over the dancers depicted a war scene, with men surrounding the base and the sky appearing in the very top and center.
As he turned back toward the dance floor, Raleigh sidled up beside him, a smirk on his handsome face and a tumbler in his hand. “Go ahead and ask your questions. You won’t offend me.”
“Ask?” Nate watched the dancers whirl by.
“Yes. How our society works. It must be quite foreign to you.” Raleigh took a sip of his drink.
“It appears to be age. Am I right?”
“Partly. It is age, but also title.”
“I see.” No, he didn’t see at all. As far as the dancing went it appeared the older of the partners led, but how could they base things on age? That was hardly fair. Come to think of it, it wasn’t right that on Englor, women couldn’t decide for themselves either. He’d never actually considered it when he was the one at the top of the food chain, figuratively speaking, but what if he’d been raised here?
Raleigh turned toward him. “Ask.”
What the hell, he’d give the man what he wanted. “If a man marries an older lord he is always, what…property?”
Raleigh laughed. It took him several moments to compose himself. When he was finally able to talk, it was with a huge smile. “No. It’s all based on age and rank. A man is not considered of legal age until he is twenty-five years of age. Until then he must defer to his parents, guardian or his consort.”
“So until the age of twenty-five they are essentially, what? Treated as children?”
“Not at all. They are educated. Some join Regelence’s armed forces or the IN. It’s much like the unmarried females on your planet, with the exception of the military of course. However, when a man reaches his majority, then he has rights, unlike the women on your planet. His consort’s land becomes half his. He, in essence, becomes his consort’s heir.” Raleigh took another swig of his beverage and set the glass on the tray of a passing waiter.
In
teresting. “What if both consorts have titles? It’s the higher title? Your title is King-Consort?”
Raleigh nodded. “Yes and yes. Take my children for example. Rexley, when he takes a mate, will be Prince Rexley, and his spouse will be Prince-Consort. But the rest of the boys would take their spouse’s title. As princes they are the higher title but they are empty titles—they don’t come with land or power, other than the heir apparent, Rexley. If say…Tarren were to take a marquis to partner, then his title would be Marquis-Consort and only then would he get a seat in the House of Lords. Essentially, every title has two seats in parliament, one for the lord and one for his consort. If a lord is unmarried he has only one vote until he takes a consort, or if he is underage, his guardian and his guardian’s consort control both votes. But only those lords whose titles include land.”
Raleigh shook his head, staring out over the room.
Nate followed his gaze to Tarren, who was trying to obtain a glass of brandy.
Shoulders slumping, Tarren set the glass back on the waiter’s tray and turned toward the punch bowl.
Nate laughed. “Very impressive.”
“They keep me on my toes.” Raleigh chuckled. “Sorry, where was I? Oh yes. I’m Steven’s heir and Rexley is my heir to the throne as the first born. Any lesser title is given to the second born.”
The whole thing was rather fascinating and much more fair than Nate had first thought. Much more civilized than his home planet, where the women had few rights. But… “Only those who have passed their majority can choose a spouse?”
“No. Anyone can choose, but unless they have a title, they must have means to support themselves. It actually works out very well.”
“Yeah, it sounds like a good concept, but being a naïve virgin doesn’t sound like much fun.”
Raleigh laughed.
“When Steven asked for your hand, he was not of age?”
My Fair Captain Page 7