A Seditious Affair(101)

His lordship carried his birth, responsibility, and principles very heavily indeed. Desire didn’t stand a chance against those serried ranks, and particularly not desire for a servant with hair of such a repulsive shade that he’d been ordered to wear it powdered at all times.

He’d seen Lord Richard watching him. He’d felt his lord’s breathing coming harder sometimes as David’s fingers moved over him, felt his big body tense, maintaining control. Another master would have reached for him. David was no stranger to this game; he knew hungry eyes when he felt them on his skin. Lord Richard had wanted him a hundred times, and if he had extended a hand or spoken a word, David would have come willingly. But he had not; he never would.

It only made it worse that they both knew. David had felt the crackle of attraction all those years back at his interview for the post, and it hadn’t gone away, any more than the sensation of that accidental, long-held touch on his fingers, which had felt so much like a door opening.

But Lord Richard had shut it. He would not reach for David, no matter how much he wanted to. And for once in his life, David didn’t know what to do.

He solved his master’s problems, and those of his friends. That was easy enough for an ingenious man unencumbered by principles and backed by Lord Richard’s money and influence. With Lord Richard behind him, he could do anything. With Lord Richard in flat opposition…

Because, in the end, David was his valet. He could persuade, even disagree, since his master generously permitted disagreement. He could not argue or overrule. He could not defy or persist. He could manipulate, of course; he was fairly sure that he could overcome his master’s objections for a night. Lord Richard was only a man, and men could be led; it was what David did best. But a single night would not do, and anyway that wasn’t what David wanted. Not at all.

It was easy to lie when one didn’t care for the truth, to play when it was just a game with living pieces. He couldn’t do that to Lord Richard, because Lord Richard’s truth mattered to David as none other. He did not want to get his way with tricks now, to be the invisible puppet master. He wanted Lord Richard to see him. He wanted him to choose.

And that left David, whose weapons were manipulation and deception, quite hopelessly adrift. All he could do was offer, as blatantly as he might, but without saying anything that would force Lord Richard to a decision, because David was too afraid that the decision would be no.

He was perhaps the best-paid valet in London and certainly one of the most envied. The great Cyprian, he was called by some, just as Brummell’s valet had been the great Robinson, and if he left Lord Richard’s service he would be able to name his next master and his salary too. That should be enough for any man in his position, and of his background. More than enough.

But it wasn’t. Because if David Cyprian had been asked to define his own particular hell, it would be night after night in Lord Richard’s bedroom, night after night undressing him with murmured words and infinite care, and then walking away to an empty room again, alone.