“On the contrary again,” answered Lord Lyndon with a note of triumph.“Goule was his favourite of all our family residences, and he wanted it to be used.And…and enjoyed.”He made an exasperated grunting noise.“And I have no idea why I am explaining this when frankly it is none of your concern.And, whilst we’re at it, take it from me—you have not been sent here for deflowering a virginal butler.”
“A stable boy,” Rollo corrected.“And many years after his flower first came into blossom, I assure you.”
Harrumphing, Lord Lyndon tossed back his brandy.“Exactly.You’re here because Benedict requested that I accept your presence as a favour.In order for you to spy on me.And I’d wager you lack the bodily strength to deflower a dandelion.”
“Attacking my slender physique is a low blow, my lord.My smallness is beyond my control, just as your height and admirable musculature are beyond yours.”As Lord Lyndon’s expression turned to smugness, Rollo clenched his fists.“Perhaps your vicious tongue is too.As for the accusation of spying, I believe we established, yesterday evening, that I am doing no such thing.Foremost, because you are not interesting enough.But answer me this, my lord.If you aren’t exiled and your brother would welcome you back to society, then why the devil are you still here?”
That dart hit home.“I could have left months ago,” Lord Lyndon insisted haughtily.In his lap, his hands twitched, no doubt seeking his bow.“I’m here by choice, I assure you.”
“If that is the case, to what purpose?”
“None of your concern.”
The lord stuck out his bottom lip as he examined his nails.He then poured himself another generous drink, not offering the same to Rollo.After that, he toyed with the bow and huffed a couple of times.The whole pantomime reminded Rollo of himself, except when he was much younger, and Pritchard or Papa scolded him for some terribly minor incursion and filled him with impotent frustrat—
“You’re sulking, aren’t you?”Rollo burst out.He nodded rapidly.“Yes, that’s it.That’s why you’re still here.For the last eighteen months or longer, you’ve been sulking.The longest sulk in the history of sulks.”
“I am not!”
“Yes, you are.Even now.Sulking!”
“No, I’m not!”Lord Lyndon gave a withering snort.“At this precise moment, I’m waiting for violent urges to subside by being quiet and observant.For instance, I’m quietly observing how you move.Incessantly.”He waggled a finger at Rollo.“Seeing as one is in the mood for questions, pup, answer me this.Are you merely a fidget, or are you suffering a dose of the clap?”
That was rich coming from a man famous for his bedchamber exploits.Or at least he was according to Pritchard’s version of events, which were always subject to embellishment.But instead of snapping back with a healthy retort, Rollo bit his tongue.He would not take the bait.He would not allow Lord Lyndon to bring out the worst in him.Instead, he would rise above, like the air in one of Cook’s light sponges, and in the spirit of a true Duchamps-Avery.
Rollo wasn’t above dangling a little bait himself though.
“In that case, if you are not sulking, as you insist, then I shall have to guess as to why—of your own volition—you have chosen to lay low here in Norfolk.”
Pressing a finger to his lips, Rollo pretended to ponder.“Did you swive a stable boy too?Is there a law written down somewhere that the correct punishment for swiving a stable boy is a three-month stretch of solitude in Norfolk?It’s perfectly understandable if you did.There’s something irresistible, don’t you find, about those tight breeches, the close confines of a sweaty dark stall, the…
“Certainly not.”
“Perhaps the groom, then?You prefer your men slightly older?”
“No.”An uncomfortable expression flitted across Lord Lyndon’s handsome features that Rollo hadn’t seen before.“My carnal desires do not lie in that direction.Not at all.And they never have.Not one bit.I am a ladies’ man, through and through.”
Lord Lyndon’s big hand clenched around his brandy glass.His cheeks flamed so brightly they almost matched the vibrant tone of his hair.
Most interesting,Rollo thought.
“My lord doth protest too much,” he goaded.
“Poppycock!And it is only by dint of your papa’s wealth and breeding that you dare make such a boast yourself.You know as well as I that sodomy is illegal, abhorrent, abnormal, and unnatural.”
Rollo grinned at him.“Jolly good fun though.”He received a foul look.“And nothing is illegal until you get caught.My papa taught me that.”
A glimmer of amusement crossed the lord’s lips.If Rollo had blinked, he’d have missed it.
“Perhaps the gardener’s wife, then?”Rollo pressed, wanting to entice it again.“Yes, surely that’s it.You strike one as a man of more…vanillatastes, yes?Plain, unadventurous.”
“An attraction to the appropriate sex does not make one unadventurous.”Lord Lyndon’s expression returned to its usual glare.“And I do not employ a gardener.”
Rollo answered with a grin.“That’s right.I gather your comely stable boy tends the gardens.He sounds like a chap in possession of several talents.Perhaps I should pop along and introduce myself.Wouldn’t want to step on your toes though.”
“Put your bravado away, pup,” Fitzsimmons’s rich, throaty bass warned.“Your dear papa would tan your hide.And we both know it.”
Lord Lyndon’s eyebrows furrowed into a single line, and Rollo’s loins stirred.Perhaps he’d teased him enough for one evening.Though there was something undeniably attractive about hearing that crabby voice growl ‘tan your hide’.
