only made the moment sweeter. Pain, pushing things to their limitations, had always gotten him off. This was going to be swift or he might have tested those limitations. Lyle’s fingers curled claw-like into his buttocks. Damn, his fingernails were sharp. He’d have half-moon-shaped bruises there tomorrow. The heat, the raw intensity of this … He couldn’t tolerate much more. He needed relief, not torture.
A week or two would give them plenty of time to draw things out.
Lyle’s fingers uncurled. He began to knead the tensed flesh, and then two digits speared into the channel between Darleston’s cheeks and headed straight for the sensitive hidden whorl of muscle. Just a tickle there, the very suggestion of a fingertip sliding within undid him completely.
His body gave up its gift in long shuddering rolls of bliss.
Legs, knees, arms – his limbs were jelly. Only Lyle’s hold kept him upright.
He heard him swallow.
‘Fuck!’
Lyle stood, wiping his lips with the back of his hand.
‘Fuck!’
Lyle’s kisses tore at his mouth. The taste of his own arousal mingled upon their lips.
‘I mean to have you, Robert. I’m not going to let you run away from me. I need a lover, not a wife.’
‘Right.’ The thought sobered him somewhat. Emma – Lyle’s wife, who was sweet and charming and no doubt sitting up waiting for him. Field House wasn’t anywhere near large enough to host couples separately when there were this many guests.
‘Come on, the Orangery is this way.’ Lyle tugged him along in his wake. Darleston followed somewhat unsteadily, still trying to fasten his clothing so that he wasn’t walking around exposed. Had it been this chilly before? A shiver rolled through his limbs, and Lyle noticed. ‘There’s a stove in there. We can keep warm and we don’t need to worry about being overheard.’
* * *
Condensation clouded the numerous window panes of the Orangery, obscuring the views of both inside and out. Lyle led the way through the towering foliage to a small stone grotto near the back, which also housed a raised silken divan. Darleston had only a glimpse of its gaudy lamp-lit stripes and then he saw Lyle spread out along it, his dress coat cast aside and his breeches tugged down so that the pale globes of his bottom lay exposed. Though he guessed what Lyle had in mind would involve him being spread out, and while in some ways it would be easy to give in, he’d always enjoyed ruthless self-flagellation.
‘This is a bad idea.’
Articulating the thought failed to destroy the rather lovely image. Instead he saw the scenario developing, himself creeping forward and enjoying the firm expanse of muscle laid out for him. Heat rose off Lyle’s body as he fitted them together in one slow, delicious push. He heard the hitch in Lyle’s breath, the momentary sign of protest. If he said ‘stop’, would he do it? He didn’t know. He wasn’t sure he could endure such torment. Things always got complicated when his heart said no and his cock said yes.
He followed Lyle over to the cushioned mattress. Watched him as he kicked off his shoes and perched crossed-legged upon the silk. Lyle wove his fingers together as he settled his elbows upon his knees.
‘There’s no pressure, Robert. I understand you’ve had a nasty scare. It’s natural that you’d have reservations. Maybe you think we’ve already stepped too far over the mark.’
They’d certainly taken more of a risk than he cared for. He’d never given up on loving men, but he’d always taken great pains to keep such doings out of sight. It benefited no one to expose that particular part of his persona. What they’d just done constituted lunacy, and this … this current proposition a spell in the asylum.
‘I’m not unaware,’ Lyle continued. His eyes remained fixed upon Darleston’s face. ‘You live in public. I know the company you keep, the clubs you frequent. I’ve seen the criticism levelled at your family ever since the Earl took it upon himself to marry a whore. As for your recent problems with Lady Darleston –’ Lyle raked his hand through the long strands of his fair hair, clearly uncomfortable, finally tugging loose the queue holding it in place. Soft fair curls sprang free and hung just shy of his shoulders. ‘I concede that puts you in a precarious position. I trust she can’t prove anything.’
The only proof of which Lucy was capable was her own wretchedness, and then only because it was apparent the very moment she opened her mouth. Darleston made an irritated swipe at the leaf of a coconut palm before leaning against the grotto wall. ‘I’m not wholly devoid of sense. I never put anything in writing. Also, I trust that any punks that might be rounded up would have the sense to realise their own necks are at stake.’
‘Your word would stand against that of a cooper or butcher.’
‘Perhaps. Either way it makes sense to lie low.’
Lyle cocked his head. ‘This would be why you’re attending a prize fight. Because naturally no one at all will spot you or remark upon your presence.’
Darleston conceded a grin. The situation wasn’t ideal, but at least he wasn’t flaunting his person around town any more. More importantly, he’d stopped playing unwelcome chaperone to Giles and his new bride. He hadn’t specifically come to Field House to watch the fight. Supporting Neddy, his twin, in his role as Mr Hill’s new trainer had merely provided a reason to be here.
‘Neddy’s deeply involved,’ he said to justify his presence.
Lyle continued to smirk and nod. ‘Is that who Hill has brought in as trainer? Ned must have put on some brawn since the last time I saw him.’ He unwound the length of his cravat, let it hang in a loose loop between his hands.
Darleston gave a quick shake of his head. ‘Not noticeably so, but he’s a good weave and a sharp right hook. I’m told his footwork is good.’
‘That’d make sense. Getting his legs in a tangle is Jack’s main downfall. He has a punch like a ton-weight bull, but the nippier boxers just dance around him.’
‘Think he’s a chance?’
‘Ned or Jack?’
‘My brother had better not be going anywhere near the prize ring.’
‘So-so. I don’t know much about his opponent. He’s not local. From Welsh stock, I’m told.’
Lyle cast his cravat aside and undid the ribbon fastening of his shirt. Pale blond hairs pecked provocatively through the opening. The yellow glow of the lamp warmed his skin, giving it a sun-kissed hue. Something about seeing a teasing glimpse of chest hair like that grabbed Darleston straight in the groin. Maybe it was the hint of masculinity or the exposure of all that was wild and was customarily hidden by clothing. They were all beasts when it came down to it. No one remained a gentleman in the heat of passion.
The bottom of Lyle’s shirt still hung over the top of his breeches from their earlier sport so it was simply a matter of unbuttoning his waistcoat and peeling the layers off to expose him completely.
‘Join me.’
Darleston slipped the top button of his own waistcoat, but paused before unfastening the second. Somehow they’d ventured
