by Megan Derr
Crispin's eyes widened. "That's impossible. How—who told? Bart did, didn't he? I'll kill him."
Jude released his chin and drew him close, kissing him deeply, ravenously. When they finally broke apart, it took him a moment to recall how to breathe. "Ah, pet, how did I never realize?"
"I don't know," Crispin said. "Every moment, every word, I expected you to finally discern the truth. When you didn't, I assumed it was simply because you had no interest beyond amusing yourself with the lessons."
Jude could not help but take another kiss, nearly dizzy with the knowledge that he would be able to take all of the kisses he desired for a long time to come. "I was seething with jealousy that you loved another."
Crispin shook his head in bemusement. "You have never favored innocents."
"You are hardly an innocent," Jude replied. "Any man so willing to take up such lessons was never truly innocent—merely awaiting an opportunity."
Even in the dark, he knew Crispin flushed. "I—you came upon me that day and I could scarcely manage to speak. When you offered the lessons…I figured it was my one chance to be with you. Three whole months to pretend we were lovers…" Crispin looked away, staring at the rippling reflection of the moon. "It was not an opportunity I was strong enough to resist, even as I knew it would end in pain."
Jude stroked his cheek, turning his head back around. "Well, you have proven yourself to be a natural in the erotic arts, pet, and far exceed me in the romantic. I've resisted love my entire life, but with you I find myself quite thoroughly and happily snared."
The fingers buried in his sleeves tightened. "I can scarcely believe it." Crispin leaned in closer, as though silently begging assurance.
Jude gave it gladly, kissing him until they were both rendered breathless once more. "You may believe it and depend upon it." He brushed a soft kiss across the wet, swollen lips. "I know it is not the done thing, but would you consider taking up permanently with your tutor?"
"Yes," Crispin replied, arms wrapping tightly around Jude's neck, the force of the gesture all but knocking them over.
Jude held him just as fiercely, laughing softly. "I guess this means that I am no longer a rake. I am not certain I know how to be anything else."
Crispin smiled, still clinging, the press of his body a divine thing. "I can give you lessons on how to be a boring, ordinary noble."
Jude laughed again, a sound that only Crispin could draw so easily from him. "You are many things, pet, but boring and ordinary are not among them. I'm sure I'll find ways to adjust." He took another searing kiss, leaving no doubt as to what those ways would be. "Come home?"
"Yes," Crispin agreed fervently, and strode alongside him as they quickly returned to the palace and Jude's carriage.
Seconds
So this was the lair of the Dragon. Certainly the sitting room was a trifle unusual, but it was beautiful and elegant. There was nothing overblown or garish or frightening about it, as all rumors insisted. Indeed, it looked like the parlor of a man who genuinely enjoyed the items displayed.
Honestly, Alexis was going to kill Henry himself. Young men were entirely too exhausting to be endured, especially at a quarter past three in the morning.
Leaving off his sulky thoughts, he gave himself over to studying an exquisite fan made of jade and silk, a delicate watercolor of lotuses painted upon it. Beautiful.
The door opened in the middle of his minute examination, and he looked up to see that while the lair was rather anticlimactic, the Dragon himself was not.
Alexis had long ago sworn off anything which did not require coin, but he was not above idle admiration. Beauty was to be admired, in all its forms.
Haven Linwood, the notorious bastard son of the late Earl of Chelsea, was certainly living up to the rumors. Half-Minian, the rumors said, and had lived in Minia until only a year or so ago. The eyes were definitely Minian, in shape and that beautiful gold-brown color. His size was entirely his father's—tall and broad, and quite fit, if the way his shirt and breeches clung to him was any indication. The long hair, deep brown or black, was just touched with silver and in need of a trim. He had not even bothered to comb it, and to judge from his casual state of dress, he had not been expecting visitors.
Society had exploded with scandal when the dying earl had claimed his bastard son and declared him heir. They were still gossiping about it, likely for lack of anything better to talk about.
How the new Earl of Chelsea had managed to get tangled up in this affair, he did not know. It was none of his business, so he did not intend to find out.
Linwood looked at him with eyes the color of good whiskey. "You are the Viscount Knox?" There was a lilt to his words, an almost sing-song quality, though not the sort of music to which Alexis was accustomed.
He smiled in reply. "Guilty as charged, I'm afraid. Alexis Mariemont, at your service, my lord. I do apologize for the ungodly hour at which I have disturbed you."
"Ungodly?" Linwood's mouth quirked in amusement. "I suppose that depends on which gods one follows."
Alexis laughed, surprised. "I prefer gods who bid me be fast sleep at half past three in the morning."
"Then I suppose the hour is ungodly, indeed," Linwood replied. "What brings you here at this unholy hour, my lord?"
He quirked a brow. "I confess I am astonished you have to ask, my lord."
Linwood frowned, brows furrowing. "Well, I shall have to confess my own confusion. I am at a loss as to why you would be here. Has something transpired of which I am unaware?"
Alexis coughed to hide a laugh. "Indeed, my lord. I believe a self-proclaimed good friend of yours declared you his second after he was challenged to a duel by a young man who is a friend of my family."
"Otis," Linwood said with a groan. "No lad that young should be allowed to open his mouth unless given direct order and a script to follow."
"My sentiment exactly," Alexis agreed, laughing openly this time. "As we are the seconds in this little drama, I thought perhaps our cooler heads might prevail."
Linwood nodded. "Of course. Come, we can speak in my study. I was working upon translations when you called."
Turning, he led the way from the sitting room.
Giving the jade fan a last admiring glance, Alexis followed him from the room and to a room that was small and filled to bursting with books, loose manuscripts, and more of the paraphernalia which had filled the sitting room.
Muttering apologies for the mess, Linwood cleared a chair of the books and papers filling it, then motioned Alexis to take it. "Would you care for a whiskey or brandy?"
Alexis shook his head. "I fear it would put me right to sleep, my lord, but I thank you."
Nodding, Linwood sat down behind his desk, absently raking a hand through his hair.
He was, Alexis noted, remarkably unpolished. The late earl had been the very glass of fashion, the very definition of propriety and manners. If the man had ever seen his study looking as it did now, he would have suffered an apoplexy. Never mind the utter impropriety of greeting a stranger in his shirtsleeves.
It was a pleasant change to deal with someone who had as little use for social frippery as Alexis, even if it must be at this wretched hour.
"So what has young Otis done now?" Linwood asked. "That lad gets into more scrapes in a day than I thought was possible. Even I was not so creative in my youth."
"This is his first season, is it not?"
Linwood frowned a moment. "Oh. Yes, I believe so." He shrugged. "I met Otis Bolton shortly after my arrival, and he was most helpful. I fear he has decided we are fast friends since. He has a temper on him, as most boys do at that age. You said something about a duel? I had not known him to be quite that hot-headed."
"Henry Young is, however. His family and my own are quite close, and I have been appointed to watch out for him during his first season. Unfortunately, I arrived late to the ball we were attending this evening—too late to prevent catastrophe. Henry challenged Otis to a duel, and I fea
r the situation only deteriorated from there. I am hoping we two can resolve this."
"By all means," Linwood said. "As apparently my friend has not seen fit to inform me I am his second." He shook his head and raked a hand through his hair again. "What is the reason for this hot-headed duel?"
Black, Alexis decided idly. He had thought it might be a deep brown, but it was definitely looking to be more of a true black.
"If you ask me," Alexis said dryly, "the underlying matter would be resolved if they had chosen a bed as their weapon of choice, but let them figure that out."
Linwood snorted with amusement, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms.
"The argument was over a supposed insult, I believe. To be honest, I'm not certain they remember what started it this time."
"I see," Linwood replied. "Well, then I shall pen a most sincere apologies on behalf of Otis, and offer them to you in person. That should settle matters adequately, hmm?"
"Quite," Alexis said, reaching into his coat and extending a sealed envelope. "I do of course extend the same on behalf of Henry. I am glad we could come to a more peaceful resolution."
Linwood accepted the envelope, then shuffled things around on his desk until he had clear space to work, and quickly penned and sealed a letter of his own. He sealed the wax with the ring on his finger—a coiling dragon, Alexis saw as he accepted it. Had the seal given rise to the name, or the name to the seal?
"I do hope this resolves matters," Linwood said, rising. "I am sorry you had to go to such my trouble, my lord."
Alexis shrugged. "Henry is a good boy, and Bolton too, from what I have seen of him. They are young, is all. That is why we are watching over them, is it not?"
"Of course," Linwood said, rising. "I am certain you would like to find your bed, my lord, so I shall not keep you longer."
Nodding, Alexis rose as well. He paused briefly at the door to bow his head politely. "Good night."
"Sleep well," Linwood replied, and then the door was closed.
Yawning, Alexis climbed into his waiting carriage and bid it take him to Henry's rooms on Morton Street, so he could finally put the entire affair to an end.
*~*~*
"Honestly, Otis, you are not happy unless you are getting into scrapes."
Otis winced. "I am sorry, Haven."
Haven grunted, and clapped him briefly on the shoulder. "Simply learn to think before you speak. Also learn to tell me when I am to be your second, because it was deuced awkward to have Knox show up and I had not a clue as to why."
"I really am sorry," Otis said. "I didn't know he'd do that. I did not think to bother you at all; I just thought it would at least sound better if I declared a second."
"No matter, the affair is over."
Otis scowled. "So long as that ruddy bastard stays away from me, it is."
"Indeed," Haven replied, thinking back to what Knox had said about the two really just being caught up in young lust. "Why are you so angry with him?"
"He's a bastard," Otis repeated, looking at Haven as though that should make perfect since.
Hiding a smile, Haven nodded. "Of course. What are you up to the rest of the day, my trouble-making friend?"
"I've nothing until the Ford soiree tonight. Are you attending? It's supposed to be a grand fete."
"No," Haven replied, repressing a shudder. He was barely able to behave properly throughout the day, never mind wading through the treacherous waters of a soiree.
Otis glared at a rosebush. "Lord Bastard will be there, and probably with his damnable Viscount nearby. If not for him—"
"You would likely be dead or banished to the country," Haven interrupted, trying to ignore the way part of him had latched onto the bit about Knox attending.
Honestly, for all the rumors he had heard about the man, and the stormy figure he cut at a distance, he was rather more like a light summer shower than a thunderstorm. Perhaps it had only been the hour, for the man had seemed at least half asleep. Beautiful, despite that. Up close, he was all gold hair and dark blue eyes and sun-touched skin, a lean, long body that moved with the sort of grace Haven tended to associate with dancers.
Even now he felt a perfect fool. What a grand impression he must have made—half-undressed, unkempt from being bent over his desk at least half the night, and completely ignorant to the fact he had been declared a second in some hot-headed duel.
He was used to making poor impressions, for his impressive education was still no match for the ease of those naturally born to this life. It had been the nastiest shock of his life, at the age of thirty four, to travel halfway around the world to finally be accepted by a father who had only begrudgingly seen he was given adequate funds upon which to survive.
Now here he was, barely tolerated in society, and he had erred yet again.
It was unfortunate, for Knox had been polite, even congenial. When Haven had stepped into the sitting room to greet him, he'd actually seemed to be doing more than simply gawking at the items of Haven's homeland.
Nor had he given any sign the study had offended him, though Haven knew it must have. The place was a perfect wreck, but he never seemed to get it to the point where he trusted anyone to clean it properly. There was simply too much the servants might accidentally lose or ruin.
He raked a hand through his hair, stifling a sigh. A wreck it might be, but if he were there, he would not be here, and that was infinitely preferable.
Still, he wished he had made a better impression. For just a moment, last night, it had almost seemed as though he'd found someone who might be a genuine friend.
"Haven!"
"What?" He jerked, then blinked at Otis. "I am sorry, my thoughts took me."
"I noticed," Otis said. "You looked unhappy. Is someone giving you trouble again? You should just call them out."
Haven laughed and shook his head. "Very few problems are best resolved through violence. No, no one has troubled me." He hesitated, then gave an inward sigh and let the impulse have its way. "I was only thinking that Knox was nothing at all like the impression I had been given."
Otis laughed. "Where do you think that bastard Young gets it? All I hear from him is Viscount this, and Lord Mariemont that—honestly, it's pathetic the way he admires."
"You sound jealous," Haven teased. "Jealous of Young, or jealous of Knox?"
"You are not amusing," Otis said, glaring. "I am not jealous of anyone. It's simply annoying."
"Mm," Haven said, hiding a smile.
"Anyway," Otis said pointedly, sipping at the coffee he had until then neglected. "They say you should never let your guard down around him. He's all sunshine one minute, and thunder and lightning the next. He fought a number of duels back in the day. It's said he was nearly clapped in irons for the last one, and that was the only reason he left off dueling finally. A strong family, though, and he is fast friends with Lord Bartholomew Ford and the Marquis of Lovett. No one dares cross him."
Haven barely stifled a groan. Wonderful. He knew he should have paid more attention to the nonsense people spewed when he was about. He would make a fool of himself in front of such a powerful man.
He only hoped Knox was not the sort to use it to make a mockery of him. He liked to think not, for hadn't Knox gone to an awful lot of trouble to keep two hot headed young men from doing something stupid?
Stifling a sigh, he motioned a server for another coffee. Strong and dark, but not nearly as good as what he was accustomed to drinking back in Minia. He wondered sometimes why he did not simply say to hell with it, and return to a place where he was not rejected out of hand for his strangeness.
At thirty five, he should be well past clinging to stupid, foolish dreams.
Should be, but obviously was not.
"You're looking gloomy again," Otis said, breaking into his thoughts. He frowned, obviously miserable. "I'm sorry, did I really cause you so much trouble with Knox? I did not mean to, I swear it, Haven."
"Not at all," Haven replied, summon
ing a reassuring smile.
Otis didn't look convinced. "Well, you shouldn't worry upon it. He can be quite dangerous, but I don't think he's lost his temper in a long time. Since he was nearly clapped in irons, I think, and that was years ago." He tapped his chin thoughtfully, one hand idly tracing the rim of his coffee cup. "A love affair, I believe, was the cause."
"Isn't it always?" Haven asked dryly. "Enough. I should know better than to listen to gossip. If I was surprised by him, then it serves me right for forming unfounded expectations."
They subsided into silence, Otis quite happy to attend the treats which had accompanied their coffee.
Haven let his thoughts wander, until he noticed the way Otis kept looking at him. He attempted to ignore it, but at last gave a sigh of defeat. "Out with it, lad."
Otis ducked his head guiltily. "Um, I was only wondering…are you certain you won't attend the soiree?"
"Why?" Haven asked cautiously. "You didn't do something else involving me without telling me, did you?"
"No…" Otis said. "It's only that—well—I thought you might like to come." He looked down at his coffee, frowning deeply.
Haven frowned in his own turn. "What have you done now?"
"Nothing!" Otis said, head jerking up. "I swear it. Only—well—" He sighed. "I thought it might be nice if you came. Knox is showing stupid Young around, and Redbank is the Duke Piedmont's brother…"
Haven blinked, startled for a moment into silence. "Haven't you a brother or a cousin to run you about, Otis? Come to that, I cannot see that they would approve of you hanging around with me." He tried not to let the bitterness slip out, but sensed it had anyway.
Otis shrugged. "I don't have any brothers, only sisters, and they're all married and busy with their own children."
That made no sense—if they had husbands, those husbands should be more than happy to show around a brother in law. At the very least, they should be aware of their obligations.
"Anyway," Otis continued. "I've told everyone we're friends, but no one ever believes me."
"Well, they're all fools anyway," Haven said. "I cannot think it will do you any good, Otis, but I will attend your soiree if you like. Only promise me no more of this dueling nonsense, all right?"