A Gentleman’s Position(11)

His ally, his helpmeet. His valet.

Richard stared at the letter, looking through rather than at the spiky handwriting. He tried not to think about Cyprian, ever, but the choices of what he could think about now were both limited and unpleasant.

He should not have touched Cyprian the previous night. Should never touch him. Other men might give in to temptation or self-indulgence; Richard owed his valet far too much to do that. He owed himself a duty, come to that. But the sensation of those buttons coming undone one by one, the feel of those sure fingers approaching the opening of his shirt, where the skin of his chest had felt so naked…

He’d stopped Cyprian’s hand to stop himself, and he’d seen the look on his valet’s face as he did it.

He could have Cyprian. He could pull him close, claim that clever mouth, lay him down on the bed that made itself so very obtrusive in the room whenever they were there. He knew, from nights of imagining, how Cyprian’s slender body would give way to his own bulk, how he’d clutch Richard’s shoulders, how Cyprian’s lips would welcome the invasion…

Or they might not, and in that case, there would be damn all that Cyprian could do about it, because Richard was his master. Richard remembered his cousin, outraged and bewildered at his fury because of course the housemaid whose breasts the man had fondled had made no objection to the master’s relative having his way. How could she, when she needed her place?

Richard was sure—almost sure, so close to sure—that Cyprian wanted him. That moment in the book room…Richard had not been able to move his hand, though every decent instinct, every self-protective part of his brain had screamed at him to do so. He had not been able to take his eyes off Cyprian’s face, so often expressionless, but at that moment giving away so much. Richard had wanted more than anything to reach out and pull him close, and he believed his valet would have welcomed it.

But Dominic had welcomed Richard’s touch once too. Men deceived themselves and one another. They made mistakes or simply changed. And what the devil would Cyprian do if that happened? To think of him forced to pretend enthusiasm or endure unwanted attentions…The very idea made Richard angry. That it could be his doing made him queasy.

Keep your hands off the staff. It was as simple as that. There could be no justice where one party had all the power and the other risked his livelihood with refusal. Therefore, one did not even ask, because one could never be sure that a “yes” didn’t mask “because I must.”

Richard had made too many mistakes in his life; this one would be unforgivable. He was damned if he would put his own selfish wants first with Cyprian.





Chapter 3


“Good afternoon, Mr. Cyprian. His lordship requests you in the book room at once.” Schooler coughed behind his hand, shooting a glance at David’s state of dress. “I believe it is urgent.”

David dropped his parcel on the kitchen table and shrugged off his topcoat. “Thank you, Mr. Schooler. Do you know what’s the matter?”

Lord Richard’s butler was an imposing man, as butlers usually were, and an intelligent one. Other men would have resented David’s peculiar preeminence in the household, where the butler should have reigned unchallenged. Schooler, no fool, had considered whether he was more dispensable than David, as well as Lord Richard’s dislike of domestic brangling, and the two servants had settled into a relationship of weighty courtesy on both sides. Schooler doubtless relished seeing David go to Lord Richard’s presence improperly clad, but he would not say so. “I could not speculate, Mr. Cyprian. His lordship returned from Cirencester House over two hours ago and requested you should attend him at once.” Which you have signally failed to do, he did not add. The two footmen polishing silver didn’t comment either, but David saw the glance flash between them.

He could not expect to be popular. He was too close to the master, too intimate with him, too often the mouthpiece of Lord Richard’s wishes. He was not one with the other servants, and so they enjoyed his discomfiture.

“Thank you,” David said, and hurried through.

It took a little nerve for him to open the book room door. The first order that he had received in Lord Richard’s service was that he should keep his hair powdered. He couldn’t resent it, little as he liked the thick, dry coating; nobody wanted to see that garish red. He was also obliged to wear livery, which had been harder to swallow, but if Lord Richard’s whim was to have his valet clad like his footmen, it was not David’s place to object.

He was redheaded and black coated now, quite out of uniform, but “at once” was “at once,” and if Lord Richard needed him urgently after a visit to the marquess, something was up.