Just a Little Temptation

by Merry Farmer

  Stephen’s brow rose slowly as Max rolled up his shirt-sleeves, revealing strong arms with the perfect amount of dark hair. He pushed his spectacles up his nose as if to get a better look. “Your lordship plans to paint wainscoting?” he asked, lips twitching into a grin.

  “With your permission.” Max bowed his head quickly.

  “Well, I couldn’t possibly let you do it alone.”

  Helping the man to paint wouldn’t put his girls in danger, or so Stephen told himself. He removed his own jacket, laying it on the table beside Max’s and getting a ridiculous thrill at the sight of their clothes side by side. He rolled up his sleeves as well and was gratified by the look of interest Max gave him.

  “I would never have expected a soft-hearted orphanage owner who wears spectacles to have such impressive biceps,” Max said, his smile a little too wide, as he knelt to rummage through the canvas bag. He came up with a pair of paintbrushes and something to pry the paint cans open with.

  “Carrying around small children all day and doing all the manual labor around this place does help keep one fit,” he said, joining Max on the floor. He should back away, find something else to do. Alice’s final, plaintive wails of pain echoed in his memory, but even they weren’t enough to stop his heart from pounding as he smiled at Max.

  As he took a paintbrush from him, their hands touched. They both lingered over the contact, meeting each other’s eyes and getting lost there. Stephen tried to summon the will to be sensible and stoic, but without a hint of luck.

  “Should we start here and see how far we can get?” Max asked in a low voice laced with deeper meaning.

  Blood and heat pounded through Stephen. Never in his life had he lost his head over a man so fast. But Max didn’t feel like a stranger, he felt like the limb Stephen didn’t know he was missing. On top of that, their fingers still touched as Max hadn’t let go of the paintbrush between them.

  “I think that sounds delightful,” Stephen said, his voice deeper than usual.

  “Delightful,” Max echoed. He leaned closer, his gaze dropping to Stephen’s mouth.

  Fear and the weight of responsibility screamed in Stephen’s head, warning him to back away. But he couldn’t move. All he could think about in that moment were Max’s lips and the temptation they presented. Max was close enough for him to drink in the scent of his cologne and his skin. It felt as though he were falling into a bottomless pit and he couldn’t stop.

  They were a hair’s breadth apart, so close Stephen could feel the heat pouring off of Max, so close blood pounded through him, hardening his cock, when Annie marched into the room.

  “Is Lady Bardess staying for tea?” she asked.

  Stephen and Max jerked apart so fast that Stephen nearly upset the can of paint by his side. The paintbrush between them clattered to the floor.

  “Er, what? No.” He leapt to his feet, adjusting his glasses. He cleared his throat, feeling heat flood his face. “She’s already left.”

  “Oh.” Annie’s shoulders sagged. “I was hoping she’d stay and sample the scones I made this morning.” Her expression turned moony again as she glanced up at Stephen, grinning. “I made your favorite, orange ginger.”

  “Thank you,” Stephen said, still desperate to catch his breath.

  Annie blinked, looking past him to Max, who was red-faced and furiously slapping white paint on the wainscoting closest to the doorway. “Oh, Lord Hillsboro.” She managed a quick curtsy. “I didn’t realize you were here. Would you like some tea?”

  “Um, why, yes. That would be nice.” Max smiled guiltily at her and continued painting, sloppily enough to drip white on the floor.

  “I’ll fetch it right away.” Annie smiled, twirled toward the door, and skipped on her way.

  As soon as she was gone, Max burst with laughter. “I can’t believe she didn’t see that.” He sent Stephen the most adorable, guilty look.

  Stephen cleared his throat and lowered himself carefully to his knees, picking up the fallen paintbrush. “I don’t believe she would know what she was looking at even if she did see it,” he said with a meaningful look.

  “Thank God for innocence,” Max agreed, attempting to be neater with his painting. “That and ignorance has kept more of us alive and safe than any measure we’ve taken ourselves, that’s for sure,” he added.

  Stephen hummed in agreement, wondering how long Annie’s innocence and ignorance would last if Max made good on his promise to devote himself to the orphanage. He wondered if he would be able to resist the man’s charms or if disaster were about to strike again.

  Chapter 4

  Max took Stephen’s comment about ignorance saving lives to heart. He was right. The vast majority of men like them that he knew were able to lead perfectly normal lives and to engage in society the same as anyone else by virtue of the fact that the world around them was ignorant to their true nature.

  He wasn’t ignorant about his attraction to Stephen in any way, though. The man was like catnip. His cheer and good nature were infectious. Max had been instantly enthralled by him. And when they had come within inches of kissing, he knew that he was gone. He wanted Stephen. He wanted to pull off his spectacles, tousle his hair, peel off his clothes, and explore every inch of the man’s body. He wanted to hear the sounds of passion Stephen was bound to make and feel the release of tension in his body as he came. It didn’t matter to him that they’d known each other for such a short time. If he had anything to do with it, they would know each other for a very long time to come.

  But even the longest stretches of time started at the beginning.

  “Are you certain you have time to pay this call with me?” Stephen asked him with genuine concern as the carriage Max hired to take them to Bardess Mansion pulled into the short drive in front of the townhouse.

  Max laughed. “I thought I told you that I was an idle aristocrat with nothing better to do than throw himself into the affairs of a certain orphanage.” He opened the carriage door without waiting for the driver to do it for them and hopped down, turning to offer Stephen a hand.

  “I’m not keeping you from an afternoon of cards or shooting or whatever it is that the upper classes do to amuse themselves?” Stephen asked, taking Max’s hand and stepping down.

  Of course, he didn’t need a hand getting out of the carriage at all. Max’s assistance was all just an excuse for the two of them to make contact. He lingered with Stephen’s hand in his for a moment, enjoying the heat that passed between them. Not a soul who witnessed the moment would think a thing of it. Ignorance was indeed bliss.

  “I’m terrible at cards,” Max chuckled as they fell into step together, heading from the drive to the impressive stairs that led to Bardess Mansion’s front door. “And as unmanly as it makes me, I’m not particularly enamored of shooting helpless animals.” He paused, tilting his head to the side. “Except, perhaps pheasants. There’s nothing like a well-roasted pheasant with new potatoes and seasoned vegetables. And perhaps a good Yorkshire pudding to go with it.”

  “Stop,” Stephen laughed. “I haven’t had lunch yet. You’re making me hungry.” He sent Max a sideways look that hinted his appetite went far beyond excellent cooking.

  Max’s trousers went tight, particularly when Stephen walked ahead of him on the steps, giving him a perfect view of his excellent backside as he reached to ring the bell. It was all just so delicious—the titillation, the budding desire, the feeling of instant kinship—that Max couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. He enjoyed the sensation of feeling unsettled in his own skin, and if he were honest with himself, he wasn’t in any hurry to rush things to the next level. Not that he didn’t imagine all the ways he could have his way with Stephen in every free second of his day and most of the ones where he was supposed to be paying attention to something else.

  Stephen stepped back from the door, adjusting his glasses and glancing to Max. “What is that look for?” he asked, his cheeks going pink. There was just enough reserve in his manner to
check Max and to leave him questioning whether Stephen was as open to wickedness as Max wanted him to be.

  Max didn’t have a chance to answer. The door opened and a dour-faced butler glared down his nose at them. “Can I help you?”

  “Mr. Stephen Siddel and Lord Hillsboro, here to see Lady Bardess,” Stephen said. In a flash, he switched from being hot and bothered and a bit sheepish to being a business owner in command of the situation in front of him. The transformation shot straight to Max’s cock. He would be entertaining fantasies of Stephen having his way with him instead of vice versa for the rest of the day.

  “You are expected,” the butler said, standing aside with a formality that would have put the beefeaters at Buckingham Palace to shame.

  Max followed Stephen into the house. He’d been there before for balls and social events. The Bardess family was wealthy to the point where they could flaunt it. The front hall alone was a masterpiece of marble and gilding, straight from the heart of the Georgian era. The paintings that surrounded the hall were of ancient men and women staring down on any new guests, judging them. Oriental carpets marked off areas where the guests should walk and places that were clearly out of bounds. The whisper of rules and elitism on all sides certainly had a way of putting people in their place. Max felt the deliberate intimidation, and he was the son of a duke.

  Stephen marched through the hall as if he owned it. For a man who hadn’t been born into the aristocracy, Stephen certainly did know how to carry himself. It made Max wonder exactly what the man’s origins were. It was yet another thing to add to his list of topics for pillow talk, when the time came.

  “Her ladyship is waiting for you in the conservatory,” the butler said, leading them down a side hall and on to a huge room lined with tall windows on all sides. He stopped by the doorway, gesturing for Stephen and Max to go in.

  “Thank you.” Stephen nodded to the butler, even though the haughty old man all but ignored the two of them and turned to go about his business.

  “Looks like you’ve made a new friend,” Max joked in a low murmur as they stepped deeper into the room.

  Stephen did his best to hide a laugh. The way his face pinched and his eyes sparkled made Max want to try to get him to laugh at inappropriate times more often.

  “Ah. Mr. Siddel. There you are.” Lady Bardess turned from where she stood supervising a small team of servants as they moved furnishings aside at one end of the room. Several large pieces of what looked like a platform rested against the wall, waiting to be constructed.

  “Good morning, Lady Bardess.” Stephen’s mannerisms switched again as he approached the grand widow. Now he looked like a humble supplicant, come to pay homage. Max liked that character far less than powerful, confident Stephen, but he had to give the man credit for knowing how to play the situation.

  Lady Bardess’s no nonsense frown shifted to Max, and she smiled. “Lord Hillsboro. How delightful to see you here as well.”

  Max wasn’t fooled for an instant. Lady Bardess wasn’t the first society woman to take a shine to him, or rather, to his father’s title and his family’s position. “Lady Bardess.” He greeted her with a respectful nod, taking her outstretched hand as she approached and bowing over it with all the decorum that had been drilled into him by the finest nannies and tutors money could buy. “It is a pleasure to see you again.”

  “If I had known you would be accompanying Mr. Siddel, I would have arranged for tea,” Lady Bardess said, flickering an eyebrow at him.

  “You are too kind, my lady. But Mr. Siddel and I are here on business,” Max said, deliberately glancing to Stephen as a hint that he was the one Lady Bardess truly should have been speaking to.

  Lady Bardess didn’t take the hint. “And how is your dear mother?” she asked.

  “Quite well,” Max answered as curtly as possible without being overtly rude. “She is enjoying her time in the country, assisting my sister in her confinement.”

  “How delightful.” Lady Bardess batted her eyelashes provocatively. “You must miss them terribly.”

  Max shot a sideways glance to Stephen, his lips twitching in amusement. He expected to find Stephen glancing mischievously back at him, but something else had caught Stephen’s attention. He was engaged in studying the room with a slight frown.

  “I’m afraid my business in London takes up much of my time these days,” Max said, keeping an eye on Stephen as he spoke to Lady Bardess. His bubbling good mood began to flatten as Stephen’s expression turned graver. “I am chief patron to Mr. Siddel’s orphanage now, and with this important concert just over a week away, I thought it was my duty to accompany Mr. Siddel so that we could see the arrangements and plan accordingly.”

  “Yes, I called you here today to explain the performance space to you and to make certain the rules I have set in place for the performers are understood.” She spoke to Max as though he were the one in charge, ignoring Stephen completely.

  Max’s instinct to be offended by that was overruled by his sense that Stephen needed him to handle the interaction while he contemplated whatever had brought a frown to his face. “We are at your mercy, my lady,” Max said, making a deferential gesture.

  “Good.” Lady Bardess turned away from him, marching back to the side of the room that the servants were preparing. Max nudged a distracted Stephen, and they both followed her. “The stage will be set here,” she said without checking to confirm the two of them had followed her. “Prior to the performance, I want the children lined up here, so that my guests can get a good look at them.” She indicated an area to one side of the room. “They should be lined up in single file, and I insist that they have all the dirt scrubbed from them. They should be dressed in their Sunday best and groomed.”

  “Yes, of course.” Max took a page from Stephen’s book and feigned complete deference to the woman, though he was irritated enough by her arrogance and obvious distaste for the very children she was inviting to perform in her home that what he really wanted to do was call her out for it.

  “After the performance, I want the children removed to the parlor across the hall while I speak to those who have come to donate to the cause,” Lady Bardess went on. “Some say that children should be seen and not heard, but I say they shouldn’t be seen either. Not when their betters are speaking.”

  Stephen stood close enough to Max that Max felt his indignation at the comment.

  “I’ll have one or two of the maids keep the darling little ones quiet as we conduct our business,” Lady Bardess went on with a sour sneer. “I trust this all meets with your approval, Lord Hillsboro?”

  Max turned to Stephen. Stephen’s expression had gone as dark as a thundercloud, but he did an admirable job of evening it out as he nodded to Lady Bardess. “I believe we can accommodate you, my lady.”

  “Good. Now, after the concert—” She was cut short as one of the footmen moving furniture dropped a small table. The sound of wood cracking made Max cringe. “What the devil are you doing, you ham-fisted lout?” Lady Bardess whipped away from Max and Stephen to deal with the footman.

  “What are you thinking?” Max whispered quickly to Stephen, unsure how much time he had to discover the source of Stephen’s frown.

  “I don’t like this place,” Stephen murmured back, leaning closer to Max. “Something isn’t right about it.”

  Max inched closer to him, enjoying the closeness, but more concerned with Stephen’s observations. “I’ve been here several times before,” he said, speaking out of the side of his mouth while keeping his eyes on Lady Bardess as she harangued the footman. “The Bardesses have always been stuck-up nobs. They’re deeply proud of their own importance and not afraid to throw their influence around. Other than that, they’re only skin deep.”

  “That may be,” Stephen whispered in return, “but this isn’t a house built for children.”

  “No, it’s not.” Max let out a humorless laugh. “You’ll have to warn the girls not to touch anything.”

&n
bsp; Stephen looked directly at him. “It’s not that. There’s something else about the place. Something I can’t put my finger on.”

  “Now you know why I wish to break away from this life,” Max said, arching one eyebrow.

  Stephen hummed as if he agreed with Max’s intentions.

  “Do you want to cancel the concert?” Max asked. “Or at least your girls’ appearance in the concert?”

  Stephen pressed his lips together and let out a breath through his nose. “I don’t know,” he said, brow furrowed. “We need the money.”

  “You have my money,” Max told him, brushing his hand against Stephen’s arm.

  The uncertain smile that flittered across Stephen’s lips as he glanced down to Max’s hand filled Max’s gut with butterflies. “Please don’t misunderstand me,” Stephen began, moving away, “but as deeply valued as your sudden patronage is, I must be circumspect about things. What is given today may be taken away tomorrow. I have to think of the girls and their security first and foremost.”

  Max’s smile dropped. Was Stephen implying that he might change his mind, lose interest, and take his money elsewhere? Or was there something deeper? Was Stephen putting him off on a personal level? The guilt in Stephen’s eyes seemed to hint at that. Max fought his burst of melancholy. He couldn’t deny he had been extraordinarily forward with Stephen. Their friendship was barely a week old, and as magnificently as it had started, as much as Max felt he and Stephen had known each other forever, it was all new. Stephen was being practical. Which only endeared him to Max more.

  “You’re right,” he sighed, trying to be practical. “If it helps, I can promise you that I have no intention of withdrawing my support. But logic and reason dictate the girls should have an alternative means of income.”

  “Thank you for understanding.” Stephen’s grateful smile was even more dazzling because of the way his expressive, blue eyes were framed by spectacles. He turned to face Lady Bardess, who was finishing up with the footman. “Is it my imagination or did she just fire that poor chap?”