Deceived

by Megan Derr

  Maitland shrugged casually, but his voice held a note of satisfaction. "The trick, Highness, is to inform only the necessary parties, and to inform them without giving a chance for argument. His Majesty will be most put out with me, but will not press for your return."

  "Oh?" Lazare asked, curious now, sensing there was something more to it.

  "I might have implied that comments made by the gentlemen this afternoon upset you terribly, and put you in a state not fit for attending the public. The fact you stormed out of there lends credence to that implication—he will leave you in peace for a few days."

  "You are truly a man of affairs," Lazare said, resting his hand briefly on Maitland's arm, giving it the gentlest of squeezes. "If you are not careful, I might try to pack you with my belongings whenever I return home."

  Maitland laughed. "Make certain you put me in the trunk, Highness, and not one of the satchels. They are not terribly comfortable when it comes to the longer journeys."

  Lazare laughed, the image of Maitland mashed up into a satchel leaving him gasping for breath, resting against what he realized was Maitland's shoulder as he finally returned to his senses.

  Hastily sitting up, he finally managed a reply. "I will take care to see you properly packed, never fear."

  "I appreciate it, Highness."

  "My pleasure." Lazare settled back in the carriage seat, stretching his legs out as best he was able, trying and failing to suppress a yawn. "How far is it?"

  "We'll be there shortly after dark," Maitland said, voice a fine, low rumble.

  Lazare nodded, but could not muster the energy to speak. Laugher faded, the warmth of the carriage and now smooth ride were all conspiring to make him sleepy.

  Despite his efforts to stay awake, after several minutes his eyes slipped closed. Traveling always did put him right to sleep, if the roads weren't so bad that every bump was a near-death experience.

  Lazare slid a bit to the right, head hitting something both hard and soft, but it was relatively comfortable and so he did not bother to move.

  "Sleep well, Highness."

  Lazare settled more firmly, speaking sleepily, not really hearing his own words. "You can call me Laz…"

  *~*~*

  "Highness."

  Lazare grunted, and reached out to grope for his blankets and pull them up over his head.

  Instead he encountered something that was not a blanket.

  Jerking awake, he yanked his hand from Maitland's thigh, realizing abruptly where he was and why.

  "M-my apologies," he stammered, shaking his head to clear away the last of the sleep fog.

  Maitland coughed. "We've arrived, Highness."

  Even as he spoke, the carriage pulled to a halt, and Lazare heard voices calling orders and greeting and still more orders, and then the carriage door was yanked open and the steps put down.

  He clambered out clumsily, stretching and groaning before finally taking in the house before them.

  Sadly, it was too dark to see much of anything, but it was most certainly impressive. He started to ask about it, but was ushered in by a hand on the small of his back, Lazare's voice rumbling gentle orders to the servants.

  The inside was beautiful; simple but elegant, a mix of dark and light woods, fresh flowers on stands and tables, crystal sparkling from the ceiling, hanging in tiny hollows in the walls. The scent of citrus and sandalwood filled the air, mixed with the sweet scent of the flowers.

  "You have a beautiful home," he said, and it only really and truly struck him then just how gracious and indulgent Maitland had been with this sudden trip. He turned and caught Maitland by the arm, holding gently but firmly. "I thank you for this. I have been rude and selfish, and it was far more than kind of you to go to such trouble."

  Maitland covered Lazare's hand with his own. "It is no trouble, Highness. I enjoy showing my home to friends."

  Lazare hesitated, then pressed forward. "If we are friends, then surely you need not be so formal?"

  "I—"

  His words were cut off by the sound of something hitting the floor with a hard thudding sound, and Lazare whipped around to see—but surely he was not seeing what he thought he was seeing. He drew a sharp breath, taking a step back, colliding with Maitland.

  He was so transfixed by the sight before him, he almost did not notice the steadying hand which rested briefly on his hip.

  "What in the world…" he breathed. "This is your pet?"

  Maitland laughed softly, the sounds warm puffs of air against Lazare's cheek and hair. "Yes, Highness," Maitland replied, then moved away to kneel before the gigantic cat, a beast with orange fur and black stripes, that nuzzled and rubbed and pushed eagerly at Maitland, making all manner of sounds that seemed equal parts mews, growl, purr, and plaintive whine.

  After a few minutes, Maitland stood and held out a hand. Lazare hesitated a moment, then took it and allowed Maitland to draw him close to the beast.

  "Highness, may I present to you Ruffian, the true lord and master of Lovett. Ruffian, his Royal Highness Prince Lazare. I expect you to comport yourself properly for once, troublemaker." Maitland turned to Lazare. "You may pet him, Highness. He's quite friendly."

  Lazare did so, allowing Maitland to take his hand and guide it, showing him the proper way to stroke the beautiful cat, though he still could not quite grasp that he was petting a beast and that beast was apparently a pet. He looked at Maitland. "You will have to explain this one, my good sir."

  "In the library, if you like. We can have a late supper." Maitland turned and, with the tiger on one side, Lazare on the other, led the way to the library.

  In due course they were settled with food and wine, in a room that was warm and masculine, the scents of books and leather and brandy strong. Settling deep into a sinfully comfortable leather chair, he stared at the giant cat which had stretched out by the fire, taking up pretty much the entire rug there.

  He shook his head in wonder. "How does a man come to keep a tiger for a pet? I have never seen them except when they come with the performers to the palace from time to time." Come to think of it, those specimens were always quite sad and pathetic looking. Ruffian seemed healthy and happy—and rather adoring of Maitland.

  Sipping at his wine, Maitland further surprised Lazare by eschewing a chair to sit on the floor with the cat, smiling fondly when Ruffian shifted to be petted, rubbing against Maitland's legs.

  "I found him at one of those shows, actually," Maitland said quietly. "I had been dragged to one by a friend." His mouth tightened as he said the word friend, and he paused long enough to take a deep draught of his wine. "The entire affair was wretched. I abandoned the show before it was half done, and wandered amidst the tents and showmen and riff raff. Towards the very back end of it all, near the river, I heard a terrible crying mewling sound…"

  He shook his head slowly back and forth at the memory, remembered anger and disgust flickering across his face. "I think the mother cat had been dead a couple of hours at least. Her poor cub…"

  Maitland finished off his wine, setting the glass aside to stroke and pet Ruffian with both hands. "I wound up causing a great enough scene the whole of the crowd bore witness. By the time the matter was over, I found myself short a great deal of gold and in possession of a tiger cub." He smiled softly. "Ruffian and I have been together ever since."

  "What did your friend think of the affair?" Lazare asked with a laugh. "I bet he never took you to a show again, or at least made certain no cats would be about? But it is a brave and noble thing you did; I do not know I would have been brave enough to try and raise a wild cat."

  "He was not so amused," Maitland said with a shrug. "I did not see him again after that night."

  It hadn't been a friend, but a lover. Lazare wasn't certain how he knew that, but he did, as sure as he knew his own name.

  "Well, it looks as though you gained quite the friend in exchange, and I would wager Ruffian was the better of the two," he said, feeling rather jealous of
the tiger and the way it could so casually rub and touch.

  He drank his wine, squelching an urge to join them on the floor. It would not do to intrude further than he already had into Maitland's private life. His mother would box his ears for the rudeness he had already displayed."Truly, he is beautiful. Though 'Lord Cat' made sense before, it makes far more sense now."

  Maitland rolled his eyes. "I am sorry Your Highness was forced to listen to what must have been dreadfully boring gossip about me. One would think people could find something better about which to converse."

  Lazare almost asked about the wager, some terrible, secret part of him curious to know the truth behind such an absurd rumor—the very idea of Maitland shooting anyone was absurd. But the topic was so miserable, he did not want to bring it up.

  He drank more wine, and absently noted he should eat something before the potent red went straight to his head and he did something foolish.

  Reaching for food took too much effort, however, and he sipped his wine as he continued to watch Maitland, whose attention was focused on the tiger. Together before the fire, they made an intoxicating sight. Who needed wine to get drunk?

  He was openly enjoying the view when Maitland abruptly looked up. Too late, Lazare yanked his gaze away, swearing silently to himself as he felt his cheeks burn.

  Suddenly the room seemed much too hot, and he set his wine aside before he lost good sense entirely. He finally looked back, though not quite at Maitland, as he heard Ruffian move.

  Making soft rumbling noises, Ruffian stood and stretched, then rubbed against Maitland one last time before padding to the door and vanishing into the hallway.

  Lazare retrieved his wine and drank deeply to avoid asking if he could take Ruffian's place, because hadn't he already humiliated himself enough for one night?

  Maitland's softly spoken words made him choke. "Forgive me if I'm being forward, Highness, but it is much warmer down here, close to the fire." The husky note to his voice made his message perfectly plain, and if that did not do it, the gold eyes were positively burning.

  "You could stop calling me 'Highness'," Lazare groused, and tipped back his glass to finish off his wine before he abandoned his chair in favor of being much, much closer to the fire.

  And the hearth.

  He went down on his knees, arms sliding bold as anything around Maitland's neck, dipping his head for a kiss as Maitland's arms wrapped around his waist.

  Mmm, yes. That mouth was everything he had dreamed it would be and more. He pressed closer, sinking one hand into the soft hair, tilting Maitland's head just so, trusting Maitland to take his weight, wanting more and wanting it now.

  The world spun a bit, and he broke away only long enough to drink in the sight of Maitland spread out beneath him. "I was not expecting this when I came to see your pet," he said, smiling faintly, fingers moving to attack buttons and knots.

  "Nor I," Maitland said, tugging him down and taking another dizzying kiss.

  The wine had been potent, and gone straight to his head, but it paled in comparison to what Maitland was doing to him.

  Lazare moaned and reluctantly pulled away, determined to get at skin. "I have been envious of your cat, touching you with such impunity."

  "Touch all you like, Highness," Maitland said with a smile. "I can be nothing but flattered and pleased if you want to spend such time with me."

  Abandoning the clothes, Lazare made a sound like a growl and kissed Maitland hard, not pulling away until their lips were sore and aching. "My name is not Highness."

  Maitland's voice was husky as he replied, "My apologies, Lazare."

  Lazare shivered. Oh, yes. He liked his name said that way. Liked it very much. He renewed his attack on Maitland's clothes, as well as his own, finally getting them free of the damnable things. "I do not think I have dallied on a carpet since I was seven and ten," he said with a laugh. "My father was not pleased to hear about that little adventure. I believe I was tutored on decorum and discretion for six months straight."

  "We can adjourn to my bed chamber if that would suit you," Maitland said, then bit down on Lazare's shoulder, soothing the mark with his tongue.

  "No," Lazare gasped out, ducking his head to do some biting of his own, pressing firmly at Maitland's shoulders to keep him in place. "I intend to have you here, before some problem comes along to ruin my chance."

  Maitland groaned loud and long, grinding up, pressing them together, making Lazare lose hold of his thoughts yet again. "We will have to move, unless you planned this and came suitably prepared," Maitland said, groaning again.

  "Damn you and your good points."

  Maitland laughed raggedly before disentangling them and pulling them to their feet. They made their way slowly, stopping frequently for kissing and groping, to Maitland's bedroom.

  It seemed a handsome room, but Lazare paid it little mind. He was far more interested in finally stripping away all of Maitland's bothersome clothes and getting him spread out on the bed.

  He really should take his time, but right then he wanted too badly to be bothered. Thankfully, Maitland seemed to agree, for it was only moments later than he'd located a botte of oil and slicked Lazare's cock before hastily preparing himself.

  That lovely sight nearly had Lazare spending himself right then and there. Thankfully, he managed not to embarrass himself. A few minutes later, he was pushing inside Maitland's slick heat, holding his hands to the bedding, fingers tangled together, as he thrust hard and deep into that welcoming body. They kissed hungrily, messily.

  Gods, there was nothing lovelier than Maitland flushed and mussed, sweaty and messy and utterly wrecked from fast, hard, greedy sex.

  Lazare thrust into him one last time and came, and between them he felt Maitland jerk and spill all over their skin.

  Lovely.

  Gently pulling out, Lazare shifted to lay half-on Maitland, reluctant to be separated by even a short distance.

  They stayed that way—quietly panting, hot and sweaty, tangled together—until they drifted off to sleep.

  *~*~*

  Two days should not be enough time to become accustomed to being woken by the growls and nudging of a giant cat, but Lazare found he was used to it. Half-groaning, half-yawning, he tugged a hand free of the warm blankets to pet Ruffian.

  A couple of minutes later, he felt a stirring from the pile of blankets next to him, then Maitland was pressing against him, warm lips against his throat. "Good morning, Highness."

  Stifling the annoyance and disappointment that came with Maitland's seeming inability to call him Lazare more than once or twice—and those only in moments of passion—he threw back the blankets and turned to take a proper good morning kiss.

  "So what shall we do today?" Maitland asked. "You've got roughly two days of freedom left."

  "I suppose simply staying in bed is out of the question?" Lazare asked with a smile.

  Maitland laughed. "We've already nearly done that," he replied. "Would you like to see the rest of my home? The grounds are beautiful, and the village is only an hour away. We're relatively isolated here; the nearest neighbors are a few days away, closer to the coast."

  Lazare nodded, murmuring absent agreement, more interested by far in the feast before him. Had he ever been this addicted to a lover? Though he did not flaunt and flash the way his siblings did, he had never been a shrinking violet either. Reserved and modest until the clothes came off, his eldest brother had once described him. What, Lazare had challenged, was the point in being reserved and modest at that point?

  Their mother had appeared before the conversation could be concluded, but his brother's laugh had indicated Lazare had made his point.

  Maitland pushed. "You are the very definition of evil, Highness."

  Lazare smiled and sat up, shoving back his tangled hair. "Very well, man of affairs. Show me your beautiful home."

  "I'll take you up the kissing path," Maitland said, kissing him long and slow before finally pulling away to ri
ng for a bath and food, ordering horses readied when the servants appeared.

  Two hours later they were riding out, Ruffian dashing off ahead of them to…do whatever pet tigers did. "So does your family land boast ghosts? Smugglers? Anything like that?"

  Maitland laughed. "No, Highness. Nothing so exciting as that. My family has always been dreadfully boring."

  "Boring is not always a bad thing," Lazare said. "My family could stand to be boring. My mother is on her third husband, after she and my father had a threesome with him last year and they all eventually decided it would be better if they married, and my father was free of royal obligations so he could do other things. Her first husband is still in jail. If we start on the marriages of my eldest siblings, we'll still be discussing them at dinner."

  Maitland laughed. "That sounds like every royal family I've ever met, and most of society, to be honest. However did you turn out so quiet?"

  "Every loud family has a staid and boring member." Lazare winked.

  "I would never even think to describe you as staid and boring. Quite the opposite." He cast Lazare a heated look.

  Lazare returned the look full measure, shifting on his horse in an attempt to make himself more comfortable. "That is certainly good to hear."

  They explored all afternoon, stopping twice when taunting, heated exchanges got to be too much for either to bear, and once for a lunch that took nearly three hours all on its own. Lazare was left sore and tired, but also sated and quite pleased with himself, given how well-fucked Maitland looked.

  Dusk was beginning to tease the sky when they finally began to make their way home.

  Lazare noted with a yawn that the way they were going was not the way Maitland had taken them before. "Your lands are extensive."

  Maitland shrugged. "Tracts of land were gifted to my family for one thing or another—we might be boring, but we do work hard—so there is a great deal more of it than when we first were bestowed the Lovett title."

  "I will have to tell his Majesty that you continue that tradition," Lazare teased.

  "I am happy to hear it, Highness, "Maitland replied, echoing his earlier words, but they were distracted. Maitland's brow was furrowed, eyes distant; obviously his mind was on something else, and that something was troubling.